Huy sat up. “I am getting hot. Shall we go in the water again?”
Thothmes considered, then shook his head. “No, let’s go in. I’m hungry. Besides, Meri-Hathor has promised to take us into the marshes this afternoon to look for egret eggs, and we will be eating supper with her on the bank afterwards. She says she will build us a fire, but I don’t think she knows how. Maybe we can take a servant with us.”
Meri-Hathor was Thothmes’ eldest sister. At fourteen she was already contracted to marry the son of one of the many King’s Overseers in the city. It was an advantageous match for her, but to Huy she did not seem very impressed. A graceful girl with her brother’s huge eyes and pointed chin, she seemed to spend all her time fussing with cosmetics and having long discussions with her mother about furniture and such things. A trip into the marshes with her was an unusual treat. Huy was sure that Thothmes had asked for it and had of course not been refused.
Apart from feast days spent at Thothmes’ home, Huy found himself regularly at leisure in the hours between each afternoon’s exercise and the evening meal. Sometimes he would join the other boys gathered by the pond to toss a ball or wrestle or simply lie in the grass and talk. They were cheerfully offhand with him, aware of his lower social status but not particularly caring about his origins, for Huy’s arrogance had suffered a death blow, as his father had hoped it would, and he approached his classmates with a humility born of new experiences. He was accepted for his quick mind, his healthy little body, and his eagerness to make the wearing of the youth lock legitimate by earning his own place among them. The one exception was Sennefer, who held himself apart from his peers. He ignored the other blue ribbons, ingratiating himself with those a year ahead of him, the ones who wore red ribbons on their youth locks. Few of them had responded to his overtures in the three years he had been attending the school, but as is often the case he had drawn three or four other coarse boys around him. They delighted in making the lives of the younger boys a misery, and Huy and Thothmes always slid out of sight when they entered the compound.
It was on one of these occasions that Huy discovered the Tree. After a rare display of inattention, Thothmes had been given extra work to do that kept him in their cell, so Huy, at a loose end, began to wander. He had already explored the limits of the precinct. From a respectful distance he had watched the priests submerge themselves in Ra’s sacred lake, knowing that its placid waters were forbidden to him. He had roamed the area behind the temple where the kitchens and storehouses were, although he was afraid that Pabast might catch him. He had even found his way into the animal enclosures, happy to lean over the fence and talk to the pigs, stroke the rough hides of the cattle, and watch the imprisoned doves and pigeons flutter and twitter in their cages. Someone was always there, either feeding and watering the livestock or opening the gates to lead an animal away to be slaughtered, but the men ignored Huy. Obviously he was not their business. The only section of the temple that he had not ventured into, apart from the inner court and the Holiest of Holiest itself, was made up of the priests’ cells, robing rooms, and the places where the sacred vessels and implements were stored. These were most definitely out of bounds, even to the oldest boys, and for all his curiosity Huy had made sure to stay well away from them.
On this particular afternoon, he was with the animals and happily engaged in reaching through the birds’ cage to collect a fine pigeon’s feather when he heard a familiar voice. “They need another couple of pigeons in the kitchen,” it said. “Go and wring their necks and be quick about it. As if I haven’t enough to do without running all the way to this stinking place.” It was Pabast. Huy’s view of him was blocked by the animal keeper approaching the servant, but he knew those hectoring tones only too well. His heart had begun to pound. Fortunately, he had been crouching to grope for the feather or Pabast would have seen him at once. As it was, his usual way of escape was blocked. The keeper would be coming towards the birds at any moment. He had seen, and not bothered with, Huy before, but now that Pabast was there, would he give Huy away? Only one route remained. Huy had not taken it before. It led to the killing ground. He did not want to take it now, but he had no choice. On hands and knees, he crawled towards it as fast as he could.
The beaten path was thick with animal dung and Huy could not avoid it. Soon he was mired in foul-smelling excrement, but he dared not stand, not until he knew he was out of sight. Panting with fear, he struggled on, wrists aching, knees sore, until all at once the ground opened out before him and the odour of old blood caught in his nostrils. The place was not unlike the training ground but smaller, its floor of churned sand stained brown, the area bounded by a high mud-brick wall hung with a combination of axes, clubs, and knives that made Huy shudder. A huddle of rickety pens at the farther end crowded to either side of a door. No one was there. Breathing a prayer of thanks to Ra, Huy stumbled towards it. It was not locked. Leaning on the door with all his weight, Huy managed to inch it open, and tumbling through he quickly heaved it closed again.
He found himself in a dark room full of frames on which cattle hides in various stages of curing were hung or stretched. Barrels full of bones and urns full of liquids he could not identify lined the walls. A large wooden table holding scrapers and other strange tools sat in the centre. Huy, trembling and nauseous, thought he had never been in a more foul place. A door opposite him stood ajar and through it he could see grass and blue sky. With a shriek of pure relief he fell through it.
A grove of palms faced him and he ran between the smooth, spreading boles of the trees until he knew he could not be seen, then he collapsed onto the sparse grass and began to scrub frantically at his filthy legs. His kilt had dragged in the muck. He pulled it off and rubbed it between his hands, wondering how far away the river was. His panic was subsiding, his heart receding from his throat to settle once more in his chest, when he realized suddenly that he was outside the frowning double wall surrounding the temple, the school, and everything else in his world, but on the opposite side of the one he knew. If he turned to his left he must eventually come to the canal and the lake and the apron of stone before the outer court, but he quickly discarded the idea; he did not fancy crossing that vast expanse covered in animal excrement when it would be busy with people. Going right would mean a very long walk, but it was his only hope of slipping unnoticed into the corridor between the walls and from there to his cell. A slim hope, he told himself dismally as he came to his feet, but I have to try. Damn Pabast and his pigeons!
He set off, keeping to the cover of the palms, but he need not have been concerned with secrecy. I must go all the way around the back, he decided, behind the animal pens and the kitchen gardens and the servants’ quarters. It will take me forever. He groaned, his nostrils full of the foul odour rising from his kilt and his skin, his ears alert for any sound of approach. But the palm grove lay quiet in the late afternoon heat. The only sounds were the secretive rustling of the dry leaves above him and the warble of the pigeons circling the roof of the Holiest of Holiest.
Once oriented, he set off, keeping well away from the wall and under the slim cover of the palm trunks. He was tired from both physical exertion and the shock he had received, but the fear of retribution drove him on. He must get to the bathhouse before his fellow pupils took their evening wash, before the end of the sleep if possible, but one glance up at the sky told him that the sleep was probably already over. The wall ran on without a break, but soon the trees grew more sparse, giving way to patches of sand and clumps of spiny grey tamarisk bushes. Huy did his best to stay within their shadow, but he was now fully visible. Clenching his fists, he ploughed doggedly through the churned sand. He did not mind being seen by a servant. His forays into the forbidden areas of the school had taught him that servants were generally too busy to mind anyone’s affairs but their own. It was the priests he feared, with their spotless white robes and gleaming skulls and voices heavy with authority. Fervently he wished that he had never ventured into the
animal enclosure, never, in fact, disobeyed the rules of the school at all. I shouldn’t have gone where I am forbidden, he told himself as he stumbled on, and I am being punished. Please, great Ra, mighty Khenti-kheti, take pity on me and show me how to get back to my cell!
At that thought he stopped dead and stared at the seamless wall, heart thudding. I should have come to the gardens by now, he reasoned. Surely I should be somewhere near the rear of the enclosure. The wall should be curving. There should be doors or gates. I should be able to hear the gardeners and perhaps even smell cooking from the kitchens. Where am I? Oh gods, I’m lost! But how can I be lost if I’m just following the wall? He felt panic clutch at his stomach and with it the urgent need to squat and vacate it through his bowels. Fighting the spasm, he tried to think calmly, closing his eyes and retracing his steps from the moment he had heard Pabast’s hectoring voice.
At once he realized his mistake. He had always come to and gone from the huge pens the same way, noticing but not really absorbing the route along which the condemned animals were led to the slaughtering yard. In his fright and confusion, he had believed himself to be heading towards the northern side of the temple where, if he had turned east, he would have easily come to the training ground and from there, with luck, could have slipped back into his compound. But the slaughtering yard and the tannery were on the southern side, and he had not only swung in the wrong direction but had also been much closer to the river and the facade of the temple than he had imagined. He tried to think coolly. All I have to do is keep going. I have not yet reached the rear, but I must get there if I watch the wall. It will take me longer, but I can still cut through the gardens and then the kitchens and avoid being caught.
The dung with which he was encrusted had begun to dry and flake. He brushed at it absently and started off again, looking ahead in the expectation of a row of shade trees that would signal the wide acres of the temple gardens, but instead he saw a peculiar shadow triangulating out from the bricks of the wall. As he drew closer it became a small door, and the door was slightly ajar. Huy slowed, hesitated, held a very short debate with himself on the relative merits of stumbling on wearily or taking a chance on an unknown shortcut, and quickly made up his mind. After all, he thought miserably, how many more disasters can this day bring me? He approached the door and cautiously peered around it.
The first thing he saw was another door directly opposite, set into the inner wall that encompassed the whole temple complex, and he sighed with relief. Wherever that door led him, he would be back inside Ra’s domain and could surely get his bearings. But the second thing he saw was the Tree, and the sight of it drove every other thought from his head. Rising from the low circle of mud wall that retained the water on which it throve, the Tree’s many grey branches turned and twisted to fill the space around it with a delicious leafy shade. To left and right Huy saw that the corridor which ran between the walls had been blocked off, making a roofless area with the Tree in the centre. There was nothing else, only this great, gnarled trunk with its winding arms and pale green, latticed foliage that covered the ground in a moving pattern of coolness. Huy stared at it in wonder. He had never before seen anything like it. Not sycamore, not palm, not willow or olive or carob, it exuded such an atmosphere of otherness that Huy was almost afraid to step through the door. For what seemed to him a long time he merely stood with one hand on the lintel and watched the play of breeze and sun on those delicate, almost translucent leaves. But he knew that beyond the other door lay the end of his grim adventure. In twenty steps or so he could be free. Taking a deep breath, feeling that in some strange way he was committing an act of blasphemy, he started across the smoothly pounded earth.
He was almost halfway across when the door he was facing suddenly swung open. A large male hand appeared, but the rest of the body did not immediately follow. Huy heard a brief conversation going on. Frantically he looked about for somewhere to hide, but there was nowhere, only himself and the Tree and the thickly dappled shade. Spinning about, he headed for the door through which he had come, but he was too late. The door behind him clicked shut and then his youth lock was grabbed so violently that he was jerked to a halt. Cringing, he waited for blows to rain down upon him, but the hand gripping his lock had begun to tremble and then it released him. He turned, and found himself staring up at a temple guard. The colour was draining from the man’s face. Huy had never seen such a thing before, and he watched in fascination as the skin became grey.
“What are you doing here?” the man hissed. “You shouldn’t be here! And so filthy! Never! Never!” His gaze slid to the half-open door and he began to push Huy towards it. “Get out! Gods, I’ll be flogged for this!” Huy shrugged his youth lock back against his shoulder and sauntered towards the door, his terror fading; this man was more frightened than he was. “Hurry! Hurry!” the soldier was whispering, no longer touching Huy but hard on his heels, and Huy, his confidence returning, decided to take his time. Whatever he had done, he would obviously be in less trouble than the frantic man gesticulating at his rear, and his day had been horrendous enough without yet another Pabast forcing an undignified retreat upon him. But his arrogance was his undoing. He had not quite reached freedom when the other door creaked open. The soldier groaned. Huy glanced behind him, and froze.
A priest stood there, transparent white linen falling from one bronzed shoulder to his gilded sandals. A golden arm band emblazoned with Ra’s symbol hugged one of his wrists and the same hieroglyph hung on his chest. He held a white staff topped by Ra’s hawk head, and even as Huy made a dash for the door he heard it clatter to the ground as the man lunged for him. He was too late to squeeze through the gap. A strong hand descended on the nape of his neck and he was dragged unceremoniously backward.
“Close that door and take up your station outside it,” a voice ordered coldly. “You know that if you must leave your post even for a moment, it has to be locked. I will deal with you later.” Huy heard the soldier swallow noisily as he passed him and disappeared. The door to Huy’s salvation clicked shut.
Boy and Priest regarded one another, Huy in trepidation, the Priest expressionlessly. His grip did not loosen. At last he said, “Do you know who I am, you disgusting little scrap of humanity?”
“Yes, Master,” Huy croaked. “You are the High Priest of Ra.”
“And do you have any idea what you have done?” Huy tried to shake his head. “You have desecrated one of the most holy places in the world. Not only is your presence a grave offence, but you dare to enter here stinking of the cattle pens. If you were any older, your punishment would be death. Who are you?”
Huy felt a sudden urge to void his bladder. Desperately he forced his besmirched knees to remain firm. He had begun to cry. “I am Huy, son of Hapu of Hut-herib,” he sobbed. “I am a pupil at the temple school. I meant no harm, Master. I was lost.”
“What were you doing so far from your quarters?” the man demanded. “Well, it does not matter. I will want an explanation later, but every moment you stand here unpurified you invite the wrath of every god. By the time you crawl onto your cot tonight, you will wish you had never been born.”
Now Huy’s knees did give way. He would have collapsed at the High Priest’s feet but for the man’s inexorable grip on his neck. Grasping one of Huy’s arms, the man pulled him roughly through the door, turned the massive key to lock it, and began to tow him past a series of cells from whose depths the murmur of voices rose. As they passed, a few curious heads poked out, but Huy was too distraught to note that he was in the middle of the quarters where the many priests attending to the temple’s duties lived. He continued to sob from both fear and pain. His arm felt as though at any moment it would be parted from his shoulder, and he could not find his feet, the High Priest was moving so fast.
Presently they were joined by a younger priest and at last the High Priest’s brisk pace slowed. A door was opened. Huy found himself hauled across grass then paving before being flung to the sto
ne at the verge of a body of water he recognized, in spite of himself, as Ra’s sacred lake. “Strip him,” the High Priest ordered curtly. “Burn his kilt and his sandals. Cut off his youth lock and burn that also. It too is polluted. I want him scrubbed and shaved from his head to the soles of his feet. Then bring him to me.” Picking Huy up, he tossed him into the water. By the time Huy came up for air, spluttering and gasping, the High Priest was striding away and the younger man was lowering himself into the lake.
“I can’t imagine what evil you have done,” he said, reaching for the knife Huy saw resting beside a pot of natron on the lip of the water, “but it must have been serious. Our High Priest is a very holy man and is considered merciful and just. Stand still while I detach your lock.” Exhausted beyond protest, Huy saw his precious braid with its white ribbon tossed onto the bank. His kilt followed. Silently the priest used the same knife to none too gently shave Huy’s scalp. Then he set about the small body with the natron and a cloth. Huy had no recollection of when either knife or salt, or the second priest for that matter, had been collected. He stood woodenly under the man’s handling, hiccuping occasionally, as yet too numb with shock to grieve for the loss of his youth lock and what that would mean.
Before long he was taken into a kiosk not far from the water, dumped onto a slab, oiled, and shaved again, this time over every part of his body. He submitted dumbly although the process hurt him. “Now I wash off the oil,” the priest said at last, and once again Huy was thrown into the lake. Shivering more from reaction than from cold, he was commanded to stand on the stone rim until the now-westering sun had dried him. The man slipped plain papyrus sandals onto his feet. “You are purified,” he said. “I must return you to the High Priest.” The sandals were too big for Huy and he stumbled as he made to follow. The priest turned. “Do not fall or I must complete your purification all over again,” he said sharply, “and I must go to perform my evening devotions. I have no more time to spend on you.”
The Twice Born Page 9
