Seer of Egypt

by Pauline Gedge

  What is all this about? Huy wondered. Is the King reminding me that in his divine omnipotence he knows everything that passes in Egypt? And why is he paying me and Heby such compliments?

  “Thothmes has been my dear friend ever since we were at school together, Majesty,” he answered carefully. “Ishat is very happy with him. I see them often. Iunu is not far from my home.”

  “You did not answer the question, but it’s of no matter. Thothhotep is an adequate scribe?”

  “More than adequate,” Huy hastened to say. “She is exemplary in every way.”

  “Good.” Amunhotep signalled. “Men, bring a stool for the Seer.” Another murmur went up from the listening people, and this time the sound was full of a surprised incredulity. Only foreigners equal in station to the King were allowed to sit in his presence, and that only because they were equal in temporal power. Of course, the King was without peer in his divinity.

  The stool was produced. The chief steward smiled at Huy and gave him a swift greeting before melting away. Self-consciously, Huy sat, awkwardly aware of the honour being done to him, and embarrassed by it. Folding one tense hand into the other, he laid them against his thigh. A moment of silence fraught with expectancy fell. No rustle of starched linen or click of gem against gem came to Huy’s ears. Even the breaths of those beside and behind him seemed stilled. The eyes of the King, his sons, the favoured ones on the dais, were fixed steadily on Huy, and he knew that the next words Amunhotep spoke would reveal the purpose of his, Huy’s, presence here. Dread filled him with its familiar metallic taste, stiffening his limbs and cramping in his bowels. He still had no presentiment of what was to come, what mysterious crime he might have unknowingly committed. Since hearing the contents of the scroll now being held by His Majesty’s Scribe, he had been sure that no royal gift was awaiting him here in the palace at Mennofer.

  10

  “This is my son Prince Thothmes,” Amunhotep said, indicating the young man on his right. “He has had a dream of great prophetic power that requires a most careful interpretation. The High Priests of Ptah, Neith, and Hathor of the Sycamore have all rendered a conclusion. The Purified of each temple have also spoken. But Thothmes has begged me to invite an opinion from Egypt’s greatest Seer, for surely a perfect understanding of this matter will come from the creator-god through his chosen vessel. Atum’s words to my son will flow from your mouth, Son of Hapu.”

  Huy felt himself go cold, so cold that he needed to clench his teeth together to prevent them from chattering. He forced his gaze to remain locked on the King’s face. How old is he now? he wondered idiotically. Forty-three? Forty-four? He has not changed much since his Appearing. He was in his early twenties when he made war so confidently in Rethennu because Atum had told me of his victories. His colour is too high, though. The veins stand out on his neck and his brow beneath the rim of the uraeus. Something is wrong here. I sense it, like the wind that sometimes blows in from the desert and brings a pestilence with it. I read it in his eyes. He knows what he wants from me, and it is not something benign.

  “Majesty, I am not one of the Purified,” he managed to say, hearing the strain in his own tones. “I am not an interpreter of dreams or prophecies. Atum heals and tells the future through me. I was not chosen for any other work.”

  The royal forefinger began to tap against the arm of the gilded throne. “Have you been asked to unravel the meaning of dreams before? Have you ever given Atum the opportunity to do so through you?”

  “No, Majesty.”

  “Then how do you know that the gift does not lie dormant in you, waiting for a moment such as this to be released?” Amunhotep leaned out over the gold-shot kilt hiding his muscular thighs. “Is it not true that visions of our future often come to us in dreams?”

  “So the Purified say.”

  “Then what the Prince asks of you is very little different from the usual exercise of your ability.” He sat back.

  Another pregnant silence fell, and this time Huy was fully aware of the quick breaths around him, as though the courtiers and ministers had just completed some sort of strange race. I’m trapped, he told himself frantically. I cannot argue against his point, though I know that somewhere it is flawed. I can’t think of the right words to get me out of this magnificent room and back to the safety of my barge. Amunhotep will have his way—but why? Why does he need an interpretation from me? Because my pronouncements are respected as truth throughout the country and thus I give validation to… to what? Anubis, whisper to me! Tell me what to do! He waited, but the grating voice of the god did not come. In the end he sighed inwardly.

  “I am Your Majesty’s servant,” he said. “Your will is the will of Amun. I will hear this dream.”

  The King’s black eyebrows drew together in a swift frown and his grip tightened on both arms of the throne. I’ve offended him, Huy thought in dismay. But how?

  At a muttered word from his father, Prince Thothmes kissed the hand of the girl beside him, let it go, and rose. He was taller than he had looked when seated, leaner than Amunhotep, his muscles lying long and close to his bones. Now he resembled his brother, the older man on the King’s left. Huy knew he ought to get off the stool and reverence the Prince, but he also knew that his knees would tremble.

  “I thank you, Great Seer, for your august attention in this matter,” Thothmes said. His voice was surprisingly deep and rich for such a young man. “I value your interpretation of my dream above all the priests I have consulted. Know, then, that I was out hunting in the desert west of the mighty tombs of my ancestors. I was alone with my horse and chariot. I often leave my guards and servants by the pool of Pedjet-she, just beyond the canal, so that they may enjoy the shade of the sycamores there while I hunt lions and gazelles by myself. It is what I prefer.” He paused, and Huy, thoroughly mystified, had the time to wonder why he was being told such inconsequential details before the Prince continued. “At midday I became tired and thirsty. Leading my horse into the shadow of the great head that juts out of the sand, he that we call Harmachis-Khepera-Ra-Temu, I drank from my water skin, lay down on my cloak, and fell asleep.” He paused again, his arms at his side, his glance going to the spangled ceiling, and all at once it seemed to Huy that he was like a schoolboy using a brief respite to remember what next to recite.

  “I dreamed,” Thothmes continued, “and in my dream the stone mouth of the god opened, and his eyes became alive, and he spoke to me. ‘Free my limbs from their prison of sand, O Prince,’ he said, ‘so that I may once again be worshipped, and in return I will set you upon the Horus Throne and you will rule over the Red Land and the Black Land. Egypt will be yours.’ I was troubled when I awoke. I stood gazing upon the beautiful face of Ra-Harmachis and imagined his limbs held tightly in the grip of the sand where no one suspected that the god was more than his head. Then I got into my chariot and hurried to tell my father what had transpired, but not before I commanded Tjanuni, my father’s Overseer of Works, to gather a force of labourers and go out to begin digging around the god. And behold!” There was a third pause, this one, Huy was certain, for effect. “Already the supine body is emerging from the sand, still stained and damp, but drying quickly in the heat! Ra-Harmachis is taking the form of a lion, Great Seer! The Aten, the blessed rays of Ra’s light, strike the earth to become lions, and this sphinx-god is the greatest lion of them all!” He regained his seat, a flush spreading over his eager features. “So, Seer of Egypt, do you believe that my dream spoke true? That the Horus Throne will be mine? Consider, and then speak!”

  He and his father smiled briefly at one another, then their attention returned to Huy. He hardly noticed. His concentration had turned inward. Where have I heard that before? he thought furiously, desperately. The rays of Ra are the Aten, and the Aten strikes the earth and becomes the sacred lion. Oh, of course! Ramose, my old mentor, High Priest of Ra, told me many things pertaining to spiritual truths, and that was one of them. So the monumental head rearing out of the desert bet
ween this city and the three wonders of our ancient history, always regarded as a god, is indeed a god. Of the sun. Of Ra. Of the Aten. Relief flooded Huy. There’s nothing to fear here, he told himself. The Prince is obviously well educated and intelligent. He guesses, probably without being aware of the information, that the head is connected to a buried body. He sleeps, and a dream does the rest. As for his ascension to godhead himself, he is Amunhotep’s second son. The Hawk-in-the-Nest is his older brother, named after his father. If I could See for him, I would expect to tell him that his death will be an early one. Thus Prince Thothmes would in time inherit the throne.

  Yet it was all too neat, too clean. Thothmes had been reciting a lesson, Huy was sure of it. The King looked smugly triumphant. Prince Amunhotep… Huy placed his hands over his face, fingers splayed, and his elbows on his knees, in a deliberately studied gesture to give the impression that this was how he pondered the deeply mysterious ways of the gods. But he was studying the heir. Prince Amunhotep’s face held no expression. His cosmetician had obviously tried to hide the dark circles under His Highness’s eyes, but their shadow remained. His skin was sallow. He was staring at the far wall above the heads of the enthralled crowd. The Prince is troubled, Huy thought in surprise. No, more than troubled. This young man is either very distressed or trying to control a fear of some sort. I am missing something here, a piece of vital knowledge. What does Prince Amunhotep have to fear?

  The answer came to him immediately, as though at last he had asked the right question. Not what, the voice of Anubis whispered in Huy’s mind. Whom. Whom does the Nestling fear? Huy waited. Had the god spoken, or was his own ka asking the question? And answering it. In a gush of sweat, Huy knew the source of the Prince’s fear: the King and Thothmes. This was no dream. This was a clever concoction between a favourite son and an unscrupulous father. No wonder Thothmes’ story sounded like a schoolroom recitation. Were they planning to murder Prince Amunhotep, the first-born, the heir to the Horus Throne? But why? What possible advantage could be gained by such a ploy? Prince Amunhotep was not physically maimed. He had not spoken, but his face did not display the unfocused vagueness of the interiorly impaired. He appeared to be a healthy, entirely acceptable heir. Perhaps he was a Setian, like Huy’s nephew, the rages and even the cruelty full-blown. Perhaps he had no desire to be Pharaoh, and had bequeathed the honour to his brother. But then, why the story of a dream? Why the involvement of the sun-god buried in the desert?

  Huy ground his teeth under the cover of his palms. My duty is clear. I must stand up and tell the King and Prince Thothmes that although it is likely that the god came to the Prince in a dream and requested that his body be freed from the sand, the promise that followed is not to be counted on. Only the death of the legitimate Hawk-in-the-Nest would ensure Thothmes’ elevation. Such a sadness might occur in the future, but for now the Prince must make sure that the work out on the desert is fully completed, and put the rest of the dream aside.

  But the King himself heard and approved the whole vision, Huy realized. Summoning me, surrounding me with witnesses to whatever I might say, trapping me into listening, exchanging a smile with the Prince as he regained his seat—Amunhotep is happy with this … this construct. Huy almost groaned aloud. Had the King and his second son conspired together to fabricate the dream? Had the King sent someone out onto the desert to dig a little, a very little, around the god, to make sure that there was indeed a holy body buried under the sand? But why, why, why?

  It doesn’t matter why, the stern voice of his conscience interposed. You must tell Prince Thothmes not to trust the dream, that in all probability it is a deception inflicted upon him by the Khatyu, the devils that inhabit the fiery noontime and attack those who are foolish enough to fall asleep without a protecting amulet.

  But no—better to agree with everything, an insidious voice whispered, drowning the cries of protest from Huy’s conscience. Let Egypt see the form emerging from the desert as proof of the love of the gods towards the royal family, and presume, along with everyone else, that poor Prince Amunhotep will not live long enough to inherit anything but a sumptuous tomb. Besides, if you speak against this thing, you speak against His Majesty. He can do you harm, Son of Hapu. You are rich, but how secure would you and your household be if the King took back the arouras he gave you, took back the incense concession, maybe even decreed that your share in the poppy fields must go to someone else? He has total power to pervert Ma’at in this way.

  As if his growing anguish had opened a door, Huy heard his own voice speaking to the King in the words of Atum, as he had done so many years before: “Tell my son Amunhotep the things I shall show you, and give him this warning. He must not depart from the balance of Ma’at I have established. Already he is tempted to do so.” Was this the temptation, Atum? Huy begged the god silently. The desire to pervert Ma’at by passing over the heir in favour of his brother? I told them that I am no dream-reader. If I touched Thothmes, would I See a lie or the truth? I must protect those who depend on me—the members of my household, the ill, those anxious about their future. I carry them all on my shoulders. Surely I cannot be expected to contradict the One himself! I do not understand, Huy shouted dumbly, all at once flooded by the need for a mouthful of poppy. But you know the dream is false, the calm voice said. You must speak the truth and take the consequences. Atum expects such courage from his Twice Born. Do it, Huy, and be at peace.

  Taking his hands away from his face, Huy came shakily to his feet. All three men, King and both princes, were watching him, but Prince Amunhotep’s expression was now one of sadness. It doesn’t matter what I say, Huy decided as he opened his mouth. The King is omnipotent. He will do as he wishes in spite of Ma’at.

  “This dream is of such simplicity that I need not even ask to touch the Prince’s fingers,” he said as firmly as he could. Once more a glance passed between father and son, and before its significance could choke off his words, Huy continued. “Part of it has been revealed as a genuine message from the god. His body is even now being released from the sand. I interpret the rest of the vision thus. At some time in the future the Horus Throne will go without fail to Prince Thothmes. Ra-Harmachis has spoken through his son. That is all.” He executed a clumsy bow and almost fell back down onto the stool. Not now! he shouted to the clamour of rebellion beginning inside him. I could do nothing else! I did the wise thing! I have preserved myself, my people, perhaps even Heby and Iupia, from any retribution! At that moment he realized that he did not like the King, had not liked him even when standing in awe before him as a very young man. Get me out of here! he begged whatever god or spirit might be hovering nearby. I need to breathe clean air!

  The King was smiling. “Treasurer Sobekhotep,” he said, holding out his ring-laden hand, “give me the pouch.” A small leather bag was passed to him. He beckoned Huy closer. “This is for your wisdom, and also for the expenses of your journey to Mennofer,” he told Huy. “Go home to Hut-herib. We thank you for your service today.”

  Yes, my service, Huy thought dully as his knees buckled into the correct position of reverence. Anubis, what has happened here? To me? To Egypt? Fleetingly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the stricken expression on Prince Amunhotep’s face, then Pharaoh was dismissing him and he began to back down the room towards the door.

  The King was yawning. “You are all dismissed,” he called, and rose, and as Huy gained the open air, he saw everyone in the room go down on their faces like so many sheaves of harvested wheat.

  He stood just beyond the threshold for a few moments, taking deep breaths of the hot, sweet air, his eyes closed against the sudden brightness of the afternoon sun. The hue of the light told him that sunset was still some time away. He was amazed. It seemed to him that he had been crouched on that damnable stool for hentis. He turned to the guard at his elbow. “Please lead me back to the main entrance of the palace,” he said. The man nodded and set off, and Huy followed gladly.

  They had not gone fa
r when they came to a place where one passage crossed another. Huy’s guide strode forward without looking to right or left, but before he reached the continuation of the corridor, a herald in royal livery stepped out of the right-hand way and held up an arm. The guard halted. The herald bowed to Huy. “Great Seer, your presence is required in the royal apartments,” he said. “Please come with me.” And to the guard, “You are dismissed.”

  What now? Huy thought resignedly as he followed the herald. Has the King decided that he wants me to See for him again after all these years? Doesn’t he know that if I do so I will discover the subterfuge he and Prince Thothmes concocted? Or is one of the queens ill? Reaction from the tension of the last hour was beginning to set in, and all Huy wanted to do was lie down in the latticed dimness of his cabin and go to sleep.

  He had expected the passage to go on forever, but before long it ended at a sturdy cedar door. The herald pushed it open, and Huy found himself still in the garden surrounding the building that held the Throne Room. A corner of its roof could just be glimpsed away to the right, between the trees. Ahead was a wide two-storeyed edifice, its frontage riotous with paintings of blue water teeming with fish on which several gilded barges floated. Each held the seated image of one of the gods: Ptah with his lapis helmet, Hathor, whose long hair was adorned with her two cow’s horns rising out of a golden circlet, and Amun the Great Cackler, wispy white goose feathers on his head seeming to quiver in a breeze that the artist had hinted at with expertise. Rays ending in golden ankhs, the symbols of life, spread downward from his hands to the figure wearing the holy uraeus kneeling before him.

  Huy had never seen such a thing before, but he had little time to be mystified. Just beyond the door, the herald paused, glancing this way and that. It was the time of the afternoon sleep, and the green lawns were empty. Huy suspected that the man was making sure they would not be seen before he set off again. The suggestion was not reassuring. Coming up to the two pillars fronting the building, the herald quickly passed between them and through the doorway. Huy followed.