“That’s the end of next month,” Thothhotep said with some agitation. “Do we have enough room for a royal entourage, Master? And the river will still be rising. Why would she brave the current?”
The end of Paophi. I shall be forty-one years old on the ninth. Forty-one. Where are my grey hairs, Atum? Why does my belly not sag? Where are the lines that should be appearing on my face? Your patience is a terrible thing, Great Neb-er-djer. I feel it infusing me, holding me up, steady and relentless. What will happen to me when I have at last fulfilled your task for me? Will you plunge me into an instant old age? He shivered.
“Merenra is perfectly capable of organizing the household for a royal visit,” he answered her absently. “The Princess is not coming for a Seeing, Thothhotep. She is not in the least concerned with her own fate, and if her health was poor she would have sent for me. All her hopes and fears go towards little Amunhotep, her son, and whatever she has to say to me is not for the ears of palace servants or the courtiers constantly passing by her doors. Until she arrives, we must get about our ordinary business. This scroll need not be hidden.” She has begun to deliberately forge a bond between herself and me, his thoughts ran on as he stood immobile in his office while Thothhotep filed away the Princess’s scroll. Her son is how old now? Three? She is coming so that he may begin to recognize me as … what? An uncle? An authority? What do you want of me, Mutemwia of the soft gazelle’s eyes and gentle manner?
There was no Naming Day celebration for him that year. His forty-first birthday passed in the gloom of an Egypt grieving for its dead god. Even the peasants, who cared very little what person sat on the Horus Throne and who had nothing to do while all building projects halted until after the King’s funeral, sat about and commiserated with one another. Huy and Thothhotep, fly whisks in hand, made their annual treks into Hut-herib with the curtains of their litter closed against the swarms of hungry mosquitoes. On the days when he did not heal or scry, Huy often found himself standing outside his gate on the edge of the flood, watching his watersteps gradually become submerged. There was little river traffic. Flotsam drifted by, dead tree branches, the occasional bloated body of a drowned cow or goat, sometimes a carelessly tethered raft or skiff. Almost the whole month of Paophi was taken up with festivals of thanksgiving to Hapi, god of the river, and even they were subdued.
He was not a great pharaoh, Huy mused as his feet took him unchecked along his path and through the gate. He triumphed against the rebellious eastern chiefs early in his reign. He started a small temple at Ipet-isut that was never finished. He repaired a few others, particularly in the far south, between the First and Second Cataracts. He will be remembered for his physical prowess and little else. I wonder if Kenamun, his foster brother and best friend, will now try to wriggle as close to Thothmes as he was to the father? I need not care. Thothmes will never allow me to See for him for the same reason that the King did not summon me when paralysis struck him. All I have to do is endure the nine years Atum predicted for Thothmes’ reign. Then Ma’at can be restored in all her purity.
Punctually at noon on the last day of the month, a series of barges all flying the royal colours of blue and white were skilfully eased out of the north-flowing current with a proficiency Huy wholeheartedly admired, and sailors splashed into the water to rope them to the poles at the foot of Huy’s watersteps. Ramps were run out and carefully positioned so that no aristocratic feet would become wet. Huy, Thothhotep, and the household staff were waiting halfway along the path, having been warned at sunrise that Her Highness’s vessel, tied up a little to the south of the town, would arrive within hours. Anhur and his soldiers, clean and polished from their sandals to the oiled leather caps on their heads, were ranged to either side. “I’m very nervous,” Thothhotep whispered to Huy as the first members of Mutemwia’s staff paraded onto the ramps.
“You look better than acceptable,” he whispered back. “You are quite lovely today. You will probably be dealing with any problems the Princess’s scribe may have while he’s here. Just remember that this is your domain, dear sister, and you are his equal.”
She turned a well-painted face to him in surprise and pleasure. “Huy! You have never called me your dear sister before!”
“Hush!” he responded sharply. “The herald is approaching.”
The man wore a short white kilt trimmed in blue, a white linen helmet also edged in blue, and rings on every finger of his hennaed hands. He stopped a few paces from the pair. Behind him straggled a small crowd of similarly clad and hennaed men.
“Her Highness the Princess Mutemwia is pleased to grace this house,” he called. “Do her reverence.” Huy, glancing over the company, could not see her, but he, Thothhotep, and the few members of his staff bent deeply together, arms outstretched. Next time we meet, she will be a Queen, Huy thought fleetingly, his eyes on the ground. He straightened and she was there at the end of the ramp, smiling at him, one hand enfolding the fist of a sturdy little boy, who was looking about him with a fearless interest. She and he stepped from the ramp onto the path, followed by two men Huy recognized but was unable, in the stress of the moment, to name, a man with a palette under his arm, and a young woman he had never seen before.
The herald moved to one side. To Huy’s utter amazement, Mutemwia relinquished her grasp of her son, laid both hands on Huy’s shoulders, and, raising herself on the tips of her toes, kissed him on both cheeks. She smelled deliciously of a perfume combined, Huy thought, of lotus, narcissus, and henna, with an undertone of spices doubtless imbuing the oil that provided a base for the flower essences.
Mutemwia laughed. “It is satke oil. I saw your nostrils dilate, Great Seer, and I do not forget that you were raised beside the fields of Egypt’s most famous perfume maker. Your uncle, is he not? Nefer-ka-Ra, Pa-shed, Tekait, do homage to our Great Seer. You also, Amunhotep.” The child executed a graceful and obviously well-rehearsed bow.
Huy bowed back then squatted, looking directly into the child’s dark, kohl-ringed eyes. “I like the ornament on your youth lock, Highness,” he said. “I too used to wear a frog at the end of my own lock, and I still do when I have my hair braided.”
“I love frogs,” Amunhotep responded. “I love snakes too, and lizards. The Princess my mother shrieks every time she sees lizards on the walls of my apartments, but I command Heqarneheh to leave them alone and bring flies for them to eat.”
“There are many lizards among the palm trees along my canal, and a house snake that comes to drink milk every morning outside the rear entrance,” Huy told him.
The young Prince nodded sagely. “A house snake is very good luck.” He glanced up at Mutemwia. “Mother, I’m thirsty. I would like a drink of milk myself, please.”
At once the man Mutemwia had introduced as Pa-shed stepped forward. “We have met before, Great Seer. I am Prince Amunhotep’s chief steward, but until he returns from exile I serve the Princess. Is there fresh milk in the house?”
Huy stood and crooked a finger at Merenra. “I remember you now,” he replied. “My steward Merenra will see to the royal needs with your assistance.”
At the child’s request, a young man had detached himself from the onlooking group and came up smiling. “I am Heqarneheh, nurse of the Prince Thothmes’ son Amunhotep,” he explained to Huy as Amunhotep pulled himself from his mother’s grasp and attached himself to Heqarneheh’s linen. “I believe that you are acquainted with my father, Heqareshu, who is now retired. Let’s find you some milk, my little princeling.” Together with Merenra and Pa-shed, the pair set off along the path.
“Nefer-ka-Ra, go with the Seer’s scribe. She will see to your needs,” Mutemwia ordered. “Now I would like to see my quarters and then break my fast. It’s noon, and I’m hungry!”
“Highness, my steward has prepared our guest room for you,” Huy told her as they moved towards the inviting dimness of the house entrance. “It is the only accommodation I’m able to offer you, but if it is not suitable, please choose any ot
her place in the house.”
“It will be perfectly adequate.” Mutemwia gestured to the girl behind her. “Tekait, have my chests brought in and unpack them at once.” Standing inside Huy’s pretty but small reception room, she studied it with curiosity. “Your estate is quite modest,” she said in surprise. “I had imagined Egypt’s Seer to be living in much grander circumstances. Is this what the King gave you and the Lady Ishat in gratitude for the details of his successful campaign?” Her tone had become dismissive. Like me, she harbours an aversion to our dead Pharaoh, Huy thought. I wonder what she feels towards her husband, Prince Thothmes, soon to be crowned King?
“The gratitude was mine and Ishat’s,” he hastened to assure her. “Moving here from the town was like entering the Paradise of Osiris. We were very happy within these walls.” She nodded once but did not comment further. “A meal has been prepared for you, if you will choose a place,” Huy went on, indicating the scattering of cushions set behind his little inlaid tables. Ankhesenpepi, now in charge of two other house cleaners, had spent the previous day scouring every inch of Huy’s domain. The black and white tiles gleamed. Even the blue-painted, star-dotted ceiling had been wiped. A small bouquet of wildflowers— tiny white mayweed blossoms, yellow wild poppies, sun-coloured crown daisies, and blue lupines and cornflowers—rested on each table. “I would like to have included persea for their fragrance,” Huy said as Mutemwia sank gracefully onto the cushions she had selected and waved Huy down beside her, “but the flowers have gone and the persea fruit is ripening instead. I—”
Mutemwia leaned across and touched Huy’s knee. “You are flustered and anxious, having me here. I am flattered, but it is I who should be nervous in the presence of Egypt’s treasure. Now, may we eat? Heqarneheh will bring Amunhotep as soon as the boy has drunk his milk.”
Amunmose was waiting in a state of obvious agitation for Huy’s signal. As he brought the tray of food forward, Huy prayed that he would not fall over his feet. Beyond him, Anhur and his soldiers, together with the sparse contingent Mutemwia had travelled with, filed into the hall and took up their stations around the walls. Anhur was standing beside one of the men Huy had vaguely recognized.
“But of course!” he blurted suddenly. “It is Wesersatet, the Supreme Commander of All His Majesty’s Forces! He and Anhur will have much to talk about.”
Mutemwia took a sip of the shedeh-wine she had chosen and dabbled a stick of celery in the garlic oil. “My husband insisted that he command the soldiers travelling with me,” she said. “I was pleased. I like Wesersatet. Not only is he talented in the many areas of his responsibility and devoted to all the members of the royal family, but he maintains an agreeable non-partiality. He found Captain Irem as a military trainer for your older nephew, did he not?”
Huy put down his cup. “Highness, is there anything about my family that you do not know?”
Her gaze narrowed, those limpid brown eyes with their blue-and-gold-dusted lids and sweeping black kohl twinkling at him. Her orange mouth quirked. “No,” she answered promptly. “Is that grilled ox liver I can smell? How wonderful!”
At that moment the Prince and his nurse appeared. Amunhotep wriggled down beside his mother while Heqarneheh filled his plate and stood by watchfully as he began to eat. The child’s manners were already faultless. He did not talk with food in his mouth, struggled with his spoon rather than using his fingers in a desperate attempt to capture whatever morsel he wanted to taste, and when fingers were called for, he swirled them afterwards in the scented water of his finger bowl and dried them slowly on his linen napkin. But when his meal was over, he deluged the others with a stream of questions and information, most of it directed at Huy: Why are you a Seer? Do you have a wife? Why not? Where are your children? Have you got dogs for me to play with? May I paint outside on your walls after the sleep? Why is your hair so long? I am learning to swim. I can write my own name and some other words too. Wesersatet made me a bow. I shot a cat by mistake but I didn’t hurt it. My grandfather has gone to be with Osiris and my father will soon be the King.
Huy answered the questions as best he could, and when he spoke, the boy fell silent, listening to him with solemn attention. Then all at once he yawned and Mutemwia told Heqarneheh to put him on the cot in her bedchamber. When the nurse and his charge had gone, Mutemwia smiled ruefully. “He wants to know everything, and I have instructed his tutor Menkhoper to make sure that all his questions are answered as truthfully as possible. He sleeps in my quarters, not with the other children in the harem.”
You have complete faith in my vision for your husband’s brother, Huy thought. You are already grooming your son to take the Horus Throne when his father dies. Then what of Amunemhat, the son of Thothmes’ Chief Wife Neferatiri? He was mentioned in the Seeing that sent Prince Amunhotep into exile. He is only a few weeks older than Mutemwia’s boy. Will he indeed die?
A young woman was walking across the gleaming floor with a determined expression on her face. Mutemwia put her head close to Huy’s. “Here comes my body servant Tekait to remind me that it’s time I went to my couch. She was aptly named after an ancient fire goddess. She burns with zeal for my welfare, but occasionally her flames roar too loudly and I must sternly dampen them.” Mutemwia rose to meet the girl. “You must sleep also, Huy,” she said in parting. “After the evening meal there are matters I wish to discuss with you.”
Huy came to his feet but found himself bowing to her retreating back. The swirl of air she left was redolent with her perfume. At once two soldiers detached themselves from their station by the wall and followed her. Wesersatet had already left in the little Prince’s wake. Anhur ambled over to Huy.
“I’d like to find Thothhotep and make sure she and the Royal Scribe have found something to eat,” he said. “It’s all a bit intimidating, isn’t it? The Princess seems gracious as well as beautiful. You won’t need me for a while, will you, Huy?”
Huy dismissed him, all at once tired. He had begun to sweat lightly. His legs were trembling and the meal he had eaten had begun to churn in his stomach. Resignedly, he recognized his need for poppy. Making his way to his room, he saw that Tetiankh had left a vial beside his couch. Huy drank it down quickly, shed his sandals and kilt, and, tossing his pillows on the floor, set his ebony headrest in their place. Lying down, he closed his eyes, feeling his upper spine crack as his neck relaxed against the cool wood. How is it that she knows so much about me and Heby, and probably Uncle Ker and my parents also? Do I have a spy, even a benign one, in my household? Perhaps Methen is in correspondence with her. Did Pharaoh have me closely watched also? And what about his son, our new King? I must talk to Merenra. A steward knows everything that goes on under his charge. But he’s one of the servants provided by Hut-herib’s Mayor so long ago. All those people are in their middle age: Merenra, Tetiankh, Seshemnefer, Khnit, as well as the servants I chose myself. Seshemnefer is away caring for my arouras most of the time, but what of Tetiankh? Will the Princess tell me the truth honestly if I dare to ask her? The house had gone quiet, and even the birds nesting in Huy’s trees had fallen silent under the afternoon’s heat. His stomach settled, his limbs no longer trembling, Huy slept.
The evening’s feast was a cheerful affair. Mutemwia’s staff was co-operating easily with Huy’s, a sign, Huy mused, listening to the babble all around him as he sipped his beer, that the Princess has trained them kindly and well. I wonder if Prince Thothmes has any idea how extraordinary his secondary wife is. Apart from a few soldiers guarding the entrance doors and the passage to the rear garden, everyone was dining together. Anhur had the leg of a roasted goose in his hand and was gesticulating with it to Wesersatet, who had his chin cupped in his palm and his elbow on his littered table and was listening with a smile. Thothhotep and Nefer-ka-Ra both had their palettes out, and Mutemwia’s scribe was showing Thothhotep something he had written on the clay plate he had scoured with a piece of linen. The one herald in the Princess’s entourage, obviously, due to his hen
naed hands, a noble, seemed to have brought his own body servant with him. The man was bending to hear something the herald was saying. Huy looked in vain for the man who had delivered each scroll that had arrived from Mutemwia over the last months, and was not surprised at his absence. She’ll keep him secret, his thoughts ran on under a gust of laughter from Anhur. She spins a web using men like him to catch information like flies. I am beginning to admire her very much. She was talking with her son, stroking his shaved skull, straightening his youth lock, her features full of a sober attentiveness while the child prattled on. His nurse sat cross-legged nearby.
I like this, Huy told himself. The hall full of happy noise, the mingled aromas of good food and many different perfumes in the air. Ishat would have loved it too. But of course, such feasts must have become commonplace to her by now. He thrust away the pang of sadness. Ishat was healthy and content, and if she walked in memories sometimes, as he did, it was surely without the grief that had dogged her. She was aging, as she had wanted to do. He remembered how she had described her fear of him, the aura of stale timelessness she felt surrounding him, the prospect of being caught in that changelessness with her long love for him forever unslaked. Now her hair was tendrilled with grey. Laugh lines had formed to either side of her mouth and eyes. Nevertheless, her husband continued to adore her and at last she had achieved the peace of loving him back.
Seer of Egypt Page 39
