Seer of Egypt

by Pauline Gedge

  “Are we going home, then?” Anhur inquired as they approached the litter.

  “No,” Huy replied. “I want to eat with Thothmes and then spend the evening with little Huy, and in the morning we’ll take the barge south to Mennofer. I need to talk to Heby.”

  He dictated what he had learned to Thothhotep before re-entering Thothmes’ house, shared a cheerful meal with Thothmes and Ishat in her bedchamber, where she was sitting up and nursing her maimed hand while her husband did his best to feed her, and took young Huy into the cabin of his barge, listening carefully and with affection to the boy’s unselfconscious conversation before sending him off to his couch.

  He was still on his cot the following morning when his vessel turned obediently against the small, sullen tug of the current and the sail was unfurled to catch the strong north wind. No oars were necessary, and by the time the moon had reached its zenith the next night, they were tying up at Mennofer’s communal watersteps.

  13

  Huy ate his morning meal before ordering out the litter. By the time Heby’s gate guard waved him through the high brick wall separating the house from the noisy maelstrom outside, a thin film of dust had insinuated itself onto his skin and settled on the litter’s cushions, even though the curtains had been closed. Thothhotep fluffed at her hair and shook out the folds of her sheath before following him across the patchy grass and drooping trees to the welcome shade of the three little pillars fronting the house’s entrance. A servant rose from his stool in the shade and welcomed Huy with a smile. “My Master is at work in the temple and will return at noon,” he told Huy, “but my Mistress and your nephew are within. Let me tell them you are here.”

  It was not long before Iupia came hurrying from the dimness to greet him. Huy bowed to her as the daughter of a noble, then she embraced him warmly. “Heby will be so pleased to see you,” she exclaimed as she ushered them inside and sent a servant scurrying for beer and honey cakes. “So will Amunhotep-Huy. He didn’t go to school today. He has a cough. My father’s physician has prescribed licorice and ground cumin seeds in honey for him, so I expect him to be better in a few days. How very hot it is! We all sleep on the roof. Heby has taken to watching for the rising of the Sopdet star, but of course it’s a little too soon. All of us long for the Inundation.” She was shepherding them through the cramped entrance hall and into the reception room, where the only light came from two clerestory windows.

  Huy, passing through one of the shafts of light, felt its heat fire his shoulder before he sank onto a chair and into the blessed coolness provided by the thick walls. Heby’s first wife, Sapet, was such a quiet young woman, he thought as Iupia prattled on. Iupia shows her breeding by her conversation. Raised in a home where other aristocrats were regularly entertained, she has learned to leave no awkward silences and to speak while saying nothing. Nevertheless, she has no arrogance, and she loves Heby for his many fine qualities. How odd that my disagreeable nephew should display none of the sensitivity of his dead mother or the grace of his father.

  The servant entered carrying a tray that he proceeded soundlessly to unload, placing the cakes on the table beside Iupia and pouring the beer. “Please go and tell my son that his uncle is here,” Iupia ordered, and Huy’s heart sank. “We’re trying to decide whether or not to hire a tutor for him.” Iupia offered the cakes. Thothhotep had settled herself cross-legged on the floor, the correct place for an inferior, her palette ready beside her. “He does very poorly at the temple school, but he simply must have an education. Heby thinks he needs a more stringent routine and a tighter control imposed on his behaviour, and naturally I can say nothing because I’m only his stepmother. Well, his disposition might improve with a brother to amuse. He’ll be nine when my baby is born.”

  Huy had been listening with half an ear, but now he got up and took her hand, kissing her on both cheeks. “Iupia! That’s wonderful news! Heby must be very happy!”

  She laughed. “The birthing stool will claim me sometime towards the beginning of Athyr, only three months away. You did not notice, did you?” Standing, she pulled the front of her yellow sheath tight over her belly. Huy saw a slight bulge. “This child will be my first, therefore his presence is not very obvious.”

  “His presence?” Huy teased her. “You will have a boy?”

  “But of course. The Purified of Ptah have predicted it. Heby consulted them.”

  “Do you want me to See for you, Iupia?”

  She considered, her head on one side, kohled eyes raised. Huy thought that she was as beautiful in her way as Sapet had been, with the coronet of yellow faience flowers cutting across her forehead and her golden scarab earrings half lost in the thick braids of her wig. There was an animation to her that had been absent in the delicate Sapet, a vitality that was not sexual but that had the power to attract.

  “No, I don’t think so,” she replied. “I enjoy the surprises each day brings, even those deemed unlucky for me by my father’s astrologer. Ah! Here’s your nephew! Amunhotep-Huy, do reverence to your uncle.”

  The boy did look mildly ill. His complexion was pasty. As he came up to Huy and bowed, Huy could smell the cumin on his breath. “I’m sorry that you’re not well, Amunhotep-Huy,” Huy said kindly.

  The boy grimaced. “My throat hurts when I cough, that’s all. There is vehedu in the city’s constant dust. Don’t take that plate away, and bring me a cup!” he snapped at the servant, who had reappeared. The man sketched a bow and retreated. “Iupia, can I have the last cake?” She nodded. He scooped it up, flung himself into the chair next to Huy, and began to eat. “Father might have me taught at home, Uncle Huy,” he said between mouthfuls. “I’d prefer that. The boys at school don’t like me. Nor do the teachers.”

  Huy did not know what to say. He watched the cleft chin, a mark of stubbornness, move up and down as the boy chewed. Iupia’s own hennaed mouth was pursed. He was saved from the necessity of saying anything by Heby’s arrival together with the servant, who set a fresh dish of cakes on the table, emptied the jug of beer into Amunhotep-Huy’s cup, and took it away to be refilled. Coming to his feet, Huy hugged his grinning brother. Heby smelled of sweat, dust, and ink. He was barefoot, carrying his grimy sandals in one hand. “This is wonderful!” he breathed, then he sneezed. “Iupia has told you our news? Good! And you, my son, is your cough better today? And do you remember that a child should stand when an adult enters a room?”

  Amunhotep-Huy slid off the chair with a scowl. “I am not much better, Father. May I sit again now?”

  Heby sighed and waved him down. “I need some time in the bathhouse, and clean clothes. Will you stay for the night, Huy? What has brought you here? Are Hapu and Itu well?”

  Huy nodded with a mild pang of guilt. He loved Heby and enjoyed Iupia’s often amusing talk, but he disliked his nephew more each time he was forced to spend time in his sullen company, and so visited less than he should. “They remain in good health,” he said. “I’d like to stay, but I’ll sleep on the barge so that I can start for home early tomorrow. May I join you in the bathhouse?”

  Heby’s property was larger at the rear than in the front, and his bathhouse well appointed. Together, he and Huy stood on the bathing slabs to be scrubbed and, later, lay side by side in the shade just outside, to be oiled and massaged. Huy told his brother what had happened to Ishat. “Her wounds are not serious,” he finished. “Mostly cuts and bruises, and of course it will take some months for her hair to grow back.” He hesitated. Heby was lying on his stomach, his chin resting on his arms, his expression full of the question Huy knew he would not ask. “Yes, I scryed for her,” he went on, “but what I Saw had everything to do with me, Heby.”

  Under his brother’s even gaze, he unburdened himself of everything. Heby, like Methen, was a good listener. Before the full story was told, the bath servants had picked up the pots of fragrant oils and withdrawn. The men sat side by side, their brown nakedness gleaming. Huy’s unbound hair now fell almost to his waist. Heby h
ad also kept his hair, but cut level with his chin. Anyone watching them would have recognized the kinship between them, two handsome brothers with strong features and lean bodies at the height of a vigorous maturity. The watcher, however, would have been unable to decide who was the younger. Heads turned to one another, elegant hands gesticulating as they talked, they seemed to embody the health and intelligence of Egypt’s finest sons.

  Heby shook his head. “Imhotep may have been a High Priest of Ra,” he was saying, “and he definitely served Ptah as a priest, but our archives hold no other information about him at all. Several books of spells attributed to him are here, but they’re copies of the originals at Iunu.” He stood and stretched. “I think it entirely possible that he knew the Book as thoroughly as you do, and if it is incomplete, that he found the rest of it. How else could he still be venerated as a great magician and Seer? If his reputation rested solely on his facility in designing tombs and monuments, he would now be nothing more than a name with which to torture students. You don’t choose to become a Seer, Huy; the gods choose for you, as you are well aware! Come to my room and borrow one of my kilts while yours is being washed.”

  “If I were you,” he continued as Huy followed him into the house, “I’d assume that Atum assigns no task to his creatures that they cannot ultimately perform. Imhotep helped to shape the Egypt of yesterday. It’s your destiny to shape this age using the same gifts and tools Imhotep had.” He was climbing the stairs as he spoke, with Huy behind him, his voice slightly muffled. “All you have to do is go home, keep doing the will of the god, and let the future unfold around you.”

  They had reached Heby’s bedchamber. Huy, watching him riffle through the contents of one of his tiring chests, felt a wave of relief. My own conclusion has been confirmed. I must stop peering ahead and learn to value the present, even though fully half the petitioners who find their way into my garden come to learn what the future holds for them. My future, like that of Imhotep before me, is already set. May I compare myself to him? Perhaps. After all, it was Imhotep who greeted me in the Beautiful West and offered me a chance to decipher the Book of Thoth. Did Imhotep ever fail his god?

  “Here, tie this around you.” Heby tossed him a white kilt. “You needn’t bother with anything else, we have no guests tonight. Prahotep!” After a few moments his steward entered, and seeing Huy, he smiled and bowed to him. “Huy’s grubby kilt is in the bathhouse. Have it washed. And set another table, will you?” Prahotep left. Heby yawned. “I expect that Iupia is already on her couch. Take the guest room for the afternoon sleep, Huy. Prahotep can find a mattress for Thothhotep, and Anhur doesn’t mind snoring under a tree. The Chief Priest and I spent the whole morning tallying the harvests from Ptah’s various holdings. I love my work, but sometimes it can be very boring.”

  Huy’s sleep was dreamless and he woke to the sense of peace and security he always felt in Heby’s house. It was as though Heby was the older brother, Huy often reflected, protecting him and offering practical, down-to-earth advice when necessary. Heby was not in the least awed by Huy’s unique gift. He respected it, loved and tolerated Huy as his blood kin, and treated him without a hint of adulation.

  Huy’s own kilt and cleaned sandals had been left just inside the door. Putting them on, he went downstairs.

  By the time he folded himself behind his little table, with Thothhotep and Anhur seated behind him and Heby, Iupia, and his nephew close by, he was hungry. The sunset was always lingering at this time of the year, and although the hour was late, the reception room held pinkish shafts of light in which tiny dust motes hung suspended. There was no evening breeze to give an illusion of coolness. Although she kept up a stream of lively talk, Iupia only picked at her food, but both Huy and Heby ate heartily. Amunhotep-Huy stayed mercifully silent, coughing occasionally and clearing his dishes but offering no contribution to the general conversation. He gave no argument when Heby bade him good night and sent him to his room with a nursery servant. He merely bowed to the company and retreated.

  Iupia sighed. “He’s so unhappy. We simply don’t know what to do with him, do we, Heby?”

  “The Division of Ptah has permanent barracks here, just to the west of the Peru-nefer docks.” Heby was not looking at his wife, his gaze resolutely fixed on something just above Huy’s head. “It’s almost never at full strength. The soldiers take turns to go on leave, patrol the borders, conduct training manoeuvres out beyond the City of the Dead to the west. Iupia’s father, Merira, knows almost everyone at court through his position as Assistant Treasurer. I’ve been thinking of asking him to inquire of Commander Wesersatet whether there’s an officer who would take Amunhotep-Huy in the afternoons when school is over, give him lessons with the bow, teach him to wrestle. A soldier’s discipline might be good for him.”

  “He’s only eight!” Iupia protested. “He’s too young, Heby. He could get hurt.” Her response had been immediate, and Huy realized that this was an old argument between the two of them, its formula rigidly set.

  “Well, perhaps with a genuine scrape or two his whining over imaginary injuries would stop. How old were you when you began military training at school, Huy?”

  Huy was saved from answering by Anhur, who had stirred and cleared his throat. “I know Wesersatet well, Master,” he interposed. “Before Huy petitioned for my transfer into his employ, I was assigned to guard the King under the Supreme Commander. He was just a Commander of the Army then. He’s a good man. He’d find someone suitable for your son.”

  Heby reached for his wife’s stiff fingers. “We’ve tried everything else but a tutor, Iupia,” he said softly. “He’s so disruptive that the temple school is most reluctant to take him back. Huy wanted to See for him, but I refused. I was afraid of what would be in store for such a… a… ”

  “A Setian one?” Iupia looked to be on the verge of tears. “I did not give birth to him, Heby, but I ache for him all the same.”

  “You spoil him. Your guilt gives him whatever he wants.” Heby turned to Anhur. “I shall speak to my father-in-law and I’d be grateful if you would approach the Supreme Commander on my behalf. Somewhere there’s an answer for Amunhotep-Huy. What do you think?” His gaze had gone to Huy.

  “I think it’s a good solution,” Huy agreed. “I’m sorry, Iupia.”

  She shrugged. “Will he still love us?” Her question had no answer, and after a moment she left her cushion, took a formal leave of Huy, who would be gone at dawn, and left the hall with her body servant trailing after her.

  “The boy would have destroyed my gentle Sapet by now,” Heby said grimly. “For all her distress, Iupia is stronger. I worry about her because of her state.” He got up. “I’m sorry, Huy, but I must go to her. Anhur, send me a reply from Wesersatet as soon as possible. Do you want the lamps lit?” Prahotep and the servants were waiting, and Huy realized that at last full darkness had fallen.

  “No. We’ll go back to the barge at once.” He stood and embraced Heby. “Thank you for your advice. You’re such a comfort to me, Heby. Write to me about my nephew and Iupia’s health and your own well-being. I don’t expect to be tying up at Mennofer again for some time.”

  The street was more crowded but less noisy than it had been when Huy arrived at Heby’s house. The citizens of Mennofer strolled aimlessly, enjoying the coolness the night had brought, and Huy left the curtains of the litter open as he and Thothhotep, with Anhur beside them, were carried back to the watersteps, which were even more crowded than the dusty streets. People sat chatting in groups, milled about above the steps to finger the cheap wares displayed by the stall keepers, and stood to watch a trio of dancers who were dipping and twirling to the high-pitched music of a lone flute. Craft were jostling against each other at the moorings, their sailors sitting drinking beer on the steps or dozing splayed out on the still-warm stone.

  “Tell the captain to round up my rowers and get the barge out of this mess,” Huy told Anhur as the litter was lowered. “He can tie up somewher
e out of sound of the city. Thothhotep, you can sleep on the floor of the cabin if you like. Tell Iny to drag your pallet inside. And tell Tetiankh I want poppy as soon as he can prepare it.” He had done without the dose he habitually took in the middle of the day. He was perfectly aware that his mounting irritation, the itchiness of his skin, his slight nausea, had their source in his craving. Crossing the ramp past his two guards, he went into the cabin. He had begun to sweat. Tetiankh had changed the linen on his travelling cot while he had been gone, and a lamp sent out an inviting glow from the small collapsible table. The air in the small space was still hot. Tetiankh bowed his way in, closed the door behind him, and proffered the vial. Huy downed the contents at once. He had it ready for me, he thought as the drug began to soothe him and the servant began to take off his clothes. He has become so efficient that most of the time I am unaware of his presence.

  “The water for your washing is not hot, Master,” Tetiankh apologized. “I could find no space close enough to the barge to light a fire and heat it. I think that the whole city lives on the watersteps at night now that Mesore has ended.”

  Today is the fifth of Thoth, Huy thought. A new year has begun.

  “I don’t care to be washed tonight,” he said aloud. “Bring me water to drink. That’s all I’ll need until the morning.” He drowsed, vaguely aware of Thothhotep settling herself on her pallet just inside the doorway, and by the time the barge had shaken itself free of its cramped mooring and was turning its prow to the north, he was asleep.

  Mindful of his new resolution, he did his best to concentrate his mind on the present. In the weeks that followed, he diagnosed, prescribed, and scryed for the people who continued to cluster hopefully outside his gate. At the end of the month a letter arrived from Amunnefer, who reported a bountiful crop of poppy from his and Huy’s fields and a continued improvement in Anuket’s health and behaviour. The news was an invitation to dip into his memories, but true to his resolve, he denied the whispers. Nor did he allow himself to ponder the worrisome contrast between what he had seen when he took Anuket’s hand, her unexpected decision to amend her behaviour, and Ishat’s brush with violence. He knew that the answers were beyond him. Seshemnefer arrived at the estate in person to proudly list the weight and amount of the harvests from Huy’s arouras. At the same time Merenra made an accounting of the latest gift of gold from the palace. For years it had arrived punctually in spite of Huy’s growing wealth from his own holdings, but now Huy listened to the news of its arrival with a sense of shame. It has become a bribe, a payment for my collusion, he thought as his steward bowed himself out of the office. I should send a request to the King to direct it elsewhere, but then he would fear that I was about to change my pronouncement regarding the Prince Thothmes’ so-called dream.