The Twice Born

by Pauline Gedge

  But his resentment soon faded. The focus of his life had gradually been shifting from Hut-herib to the school at Iunu. Immersed in his studies, involved more and more with Thothmes’ family, he knew that he was forging a future of his own. The baby had been named Heby. According to Hapu’s letter he had been born on one of Mekhir’s lucky days, was healthy, and had his mother’s eyes. Huy wrote back, “As Mekhir falls within the season of growing I pray, dear Father, that Heby may spring up as strong and straight as Ker’s many flowers. Give Mother all my love.” He used one of the precious rolls of papyrus Ker had given to him after his first year at school. His command of language was almost complete. He could read any document with relative ease, but he still wrote laboriously, forming the hieroglyphs with slow care. He had begun to study hieratic, the scribe’s fast-flowing substitute for the more formal and beautiful glyphs, but it would be another two years before the dusty shards of broken pottery over which he had sweated were a nuisance of the past.

  His youth lock had eventually returned to its former length and then continued to grow. Now it hung well below his collarbone. White ribbons had given way to yellow, blue, red, and now a simple copper arm band, and Huy looked forward to his twelfth year when he would be allowed to wear the coveted gold arm band and tie his braid with anything he chose. He would also be given the care of a new boy as Harnakht had been responsible for him. Each Tybi he watched them come, bewildered, sometimes frightened, always homesick, and remembering his own first few weeks at the school he did his best to be kind to them.

  Although he knew his classmates well and liked them all, but for Sennefer who continued to treat him with an often wounding contempt, it was Thothmes who had become Huy’s best friend. With the greater freedom accorded his age and a good record of behaviour he was able to spend every feast day with Thothmes’ family. The large estate bordering the river, with its gilded furniture and host of servants, had long since ceased to awe him and he basked in the attentions of Thothmes’ two remaining sisters, Nasha and Anuket. Meri-Hathor, the eldest, had married and now lived with her husband farther upriver.

  Nasha reminded Huy of Ishat. Vital and energetic, she was always ready to explore the city’s markets or go fishing or pole a skiff through the marshes so that Thothmes could practise, rather ineffectually, with his father’s throwing stick. Huy, as the son of a commoner, was not allowed to handle the nobleman’s weapon, but he was happy to sit in the skiff beside Nasha while she hurled good-natured insults at her brother, who had launched the stick at some safe and quite indifferent duck. “I really don’t want to kill anything,” Thothmes confessed on more than one occasion, “but Father insists that I try,” and Nasha would snort and call him a girl. Open, frank, and impulsive, she was what Ishat might be, given an education and an arsenal of social graces. Huy still loved the playmate of his childhood. Going home always meant hours idled away in her company, but they were hours taken out of the stream of thought and discipline his life had become, a minor tributary up which he ventured, happily and temporarily, and where he could fully rest.

  It was Anuket, Thothmes’ youngest sister, to whom Huy felt most drawn. Older than he by one year, she had the delicate features of her noble bloodline. At twelve she had entered what for most girls was an awkward stage of gangling limbs and clumsy movement, and Anuket was no exception. But her eyes seemed to hold a constant, quiet wonder at the world around her as she performed her household chores or wove the garlands needed to present to the gods on their feast days. Huy often found her in the garden or the herb room, legs crossed and head down over some new, flowery creation, and his first urge, swiftly quelled, was always to gather up the long tress of her black hair hanging over one thin shoulder and press it to his face. He did not know what she thought of him. She was not shy, but reserved. Nasha would grab and kiss him, tease and jostle him as she did Thothmes, but Anuket simply smiled and kissed his cheek whenever he visited the house. She talked to him readily enough, laughed at his jokes, even made some of her own, but her self-containment seemed impregnable. “Actually, she thinks you’re quite wonderful,” Thothmes had assured him once when Huy had voiced his doubts. “She just doesn’t see any need to make a show of it. She doesn’t maul me either, and I’m her brother! Don’t worry, Huy. She’ll make you a fine wife!” But Huy, increasingly conscious of the gulf between himself and these aristocrats, although he was comfortable with them, did not believe that Anuket would be permitted to wed a lowly scribe.

  The King was in his fiftieth year on the Horus Throne, and Thothmes, his namesake, faithfully entered the inner court of Ra’s temple, feet bare and an offering in his hands, to pray for the continued good health of his hero when the King’s Anniversary of Appearing took place. Huy sometimes accompanied him, waiting in the outer court while the solemn little figure disappeared into the pillared gloom bearing his gift for the god. Huy never made fun of his friend’s loyalty, unlike Sennefer, who jeered at Thothmes’ obsession at every opportunity. “He still hates us,” Huy said one evening when he and Thothmes, walking together across the concourse of the temple in the warm red glow of Ra’s setting, had been pelted with mud by a grinning Sennefer, who had been standing waist-deep in the lake by the temple watersteps. “We have done nothing to antagonize him, and apart from those few weeks after I got caught roaming about the temple where I shouldn’t and became a sort of hero, he’s continued to persecute us.”

  “Sometimes I feel sorry for him,” Thothmes put in tartly, trying to pick a wet clod from the hem of his kilt, “but only sometimes. He’s jealous of me because my lineage is older than his, and he envies you your intelligence and good looks. He’s too lazy to work hard and too much in love with his food to give any of it up. We must just ignore him. He hates that.” He sighed. “I suppose we’d better stop by the bathhouse and wash off this mess.”

  By the time Huy went home at the end of Mesore, his brother was six months old, a placid, happy baby just learning to roll from his stomach onto his back. Itu often left him in the shade of the garden with Huy while she attended to her domestic duties. At first Huy, rather afraid of this plump scrap of humanity, protested, but he grew fond of Heby as the days went by, watching his chubby arms push against the grass until he flopped over. Then he would chuckle with delight and reach for Huy’s nose as Huy bent over him. Later Huy was confident enough to put him in a sling and carry him about on his back. He particularly enjoyed the feel of that warm, tiny body against his spine when he stood painting or practising his characters on the whitewashed outer wall of the house.

  Ishat had been hired to help Hapzefa with the cooking and cleaning while Itu attended to the baby’s needs. At ten years old she was entirely capable of both, but to Huy she lamented the loss of her freedom. “Why couldn’t everything have stayed the same?” she complained one evening as they sat together in the privacy of the orchard, safely away from any summons from the house. “Why did your mother have to go and get herself pregnant after so long? How did she do it?”

  Huy knew that she was not asking about the process of sex; the joining of man to woman was no secret to the practical peasants of Hut-herib. He lifted one bronzed shoulder. “It had been so long since I was born,” he replied diffidently. “I expect she saw no need to use the acacia spikes anymore. It’s not so bad, Ishat. Heby is a sweet baby.”

  She began to brush the dust off the soles of her bare feet with brisk little slaps. “Well, it’s all right for you,” she snapped, not looking at him. “All you have to do is talk baby talk to him while he lies on the grass and gazes at you adoringly. I can’t wade in the canals or climb the trees or chase the cats anymore. I’m too busy scouring pots and sweeping floors.” The bitterness in her voice alarmed Huy.

  “But it won’t be forever, Ishat. Besides, it means more of everything for your family. Food, linens, fripperies for you and Hapzefa—”

  She rounded on him savagely. “Do you think I care anything for ribbons and ornaments? Why should I want to be better t
han I am? Will ribbons make my skin pale like a fine lady? Will a piece of faience around my neck soften these calluses on my hands?” She waved them in his face. “You! Every time you come home your skin is softer, your manner is more lordly, your speech has lost more of its Delta accents. It wasn’t so bad when we could run off and play together the way we always did—then the differences between us melted away. But now I am becoming a house servant like my mother and we can’t have fun anymore and you’ll soon stop seeing me as your friend! All because of that stupid baby!”

  “But Ishat, you don’t want to be a fine lady,” he faltered. “You just said so. You want the freedom to run wild in the fields and canals.”

  “Oh, you are as dense as a tamarisk thicket!” she cried out. “Must I explain? I want to be whatever you would like me to be. I don’t want to lose you, Huy!”

  He took one of her flailing hands in both of his, feeling the rough palms, the coarsened tips of the long fingers. “I am little better than you,” he tried to reassure her. “Even though he has many arouras to care for, my father is still a gardener.”

  She snatched her hand away. “But you will be something more,” she half whispered. Tears had begun to trickle down her cheeks. “Already you have those noble friends you told me about, Thothmes and his sisters, and as a scribe you will know many more. You will leave me behind.”

  Guilt momentarily closed his mouth. He sat watching the full, trembling lips, the halo of untamed hair frothing past the hunched shoulders, the dark, moist eyes full of emotion. She had grazed her knee; it had scabbed over, and there was a thorn scratch on her thigh. All at once Huy ceased to see her as the little girl who had always been his playmate. She seemed to grow right under his gaze. Her arms and legs lengthened. Her face thinned. The buds of tiny breasts swelled almost imperceptibly on her naked chest, and he found himself looking at a strange young creature with Ishat’s features.

  “How could I leave you behind?” he said softly. “All my memories of home have you in them, Ishat. How can that be changed?”

  Furiously she swiped at her eyes with the edge of her limp kilt. “My mother is going to put me in a sheath,” she spat. “I have become a woman. And my father is already talking about finding me a husband within the next few years. A husband, Huy! Me! I don’t want any stupid husband, and I certainly don’t want any stupid babies! Oh, why can’t everything stay the same?”

  To that Huy had no answer. The thought of Ishat married to some labourer was as shocking as the revelation of her maturing that he had been too blind to see before. He was surprised at the twinge of possessive jealousy he felt. She was his. He himself, once he had recovered from the first anguish of being torn from his home and deposited at school, anticipated the gradual changes each new year had brought. But Ishat must not change, Ishat must always be here, Ishat must admire him unconditionally forever, no matter what he became or where he ended up.

  She was watching him out of the corner of her eye. “You could marry me, Huy,” she murmured. “Not yet, because neither of us is old enough. But if you told your father that you wanted to marry me later on, then my father would stop casting his net among the sons of his friends. You wouldn’t make me cook and clean and have babies, would you?”

  Huy was aghast. A vision of gentle Anuket, her white lap full of flowers, bloomed in his mind. “Ishat, I am years away from even finishing school, let alone thinking about supporting a wife!” he protested. He could not keep the panic out of his voice, and after one cold glance she scrambled to her feet and began to walk away.

  “I did say not yet,” she flung back over her shoulder. Huy watched her disappear into the dusk with a sense of relief that almost, but not quite, eclipsed the ache of his loss.

  His Naming Day, his twelfth, was celebrated as usual with a visit to Khenti-kheti’s shrine, and this time Huy offered his precious paints as a thanksgiving to the god. It was not that he believed his uncle would replace them, but the time was coming when he hoped to be able to buy them for himself. Each year since the episode with the skittles he had made an honest choice from among his possessions, and he looked forward to his visit with the priest who had given him such good advice. He now wrote to the man once a year and always received a letter back, full of kindness and humour. It was an odd relationship, but one Huy had come to value.

  Afterwards there was the usual celebration in the garden. Huy spent most of the afternoon running after Heby, who at eight months was now crawling and determined to explore the invitation of the pool. Huy was uncomfortably aware of Ishat’s scornful attention as each time he scooped the baby up and returned him to the shade. He had seen little of her since that awkward conversation in the orchard. She was avoiding him. There was nothing Huy could do about it. He could make her no promises. He missed her more acutely than he had imagined he would, and her absence made him lonely. He was very glad when Khoiak began and he could look forward to returning to school.

  He endured the Feast of Hathor on the first of the month, and then it was time to say his farewells and join Ker on the barge that had become a delightful part of the ritual of each new academic year. The trip to Iunu passed pleasantly in conversation with his uncle and the sailors. Occasionally he was allowed to clamber up onto the prow and take the tiller, sitting high above a river already sinking to expose the little fields glistening wetly in the sun, and it seemed to him in those moments that his life was as firmly under his control as the great shaft of wood imprisoned in his hands. Hut-herib slid quietly from his consciousness and the mighty double walls and flagged pylon of Ra’s temple filled the space the shabby Delta town had left.

  His cell welcomed him with the aroma of fresh whitewash and a whiff of jasmine from the neatly folded sheets on his cot. Sighing with satisfaction, he dropped his two leather bags, both now considerably the worse for wear, on the floor, pushed the linen after them, and stretched out on his mattress. There was no sign of Thothmes, but Huy knew that his friend would appear after the evening meal. Closing his eyes, he listened as the emptiness of the compound began to fill with the familiar sounds of an old routine. Someone ran past his open door calling, “Those are my sandals, not yours, you idiot! You left yours by the bathhouse!” The shouted reply was lost as someone else, presumably a servant, dropped what must have been a basin of water and let forth a string of loud curses. The snatch of a song drifted across the grass, the boy’s voice a high, true treble, followed by a gale of laughter and a scuffle. Lazily Huy was considering unpacking his goods and then going in search of something to eat when a shadow fell across his floor. He sat up. Harnakht stood with one hand on the lintel of the doorway, regarding him critically.

  “As indolent as ever,” he said with humour. “It’s good to see you again, Huy. How was your summer?”

  Huy came to his feet and eyed his old guardian with interest. Harnakht’s head almost brushed the ceiling. His youth lock was gone. One plain golden hooped earring trembled against his neck and two bracelets tinkled on his left wrist. His eyes were kohled and his mouth hennaed.

  “You look wonderful, Harnakht,” Huy said enviously. “I didn’t expect you to be back at school this year. You’ve shaved your whole head at last. I wondered why you kept the lock for so long.” He shrugged. “My summer was much as usual. I was busy with my new brother, though, so I had no time for archery.” In truth he had stowed away the bow and handful of arrows he had taken home and forgotten about them.

  Harnakht tutted. “You’ll be sore and out of practice next week and you’ll be punished,” he retorted. “Same old Huy, doing exactly what you want in spite of the consequences. I’m back for one more year to study military tactics. I’ve decided to make the army my career. My father is happy enough.” He stepped farther into the room. “But I didn’t seek you out for the pleasure of your company, young miscreant. The Overseer sent me. You are to shepherd one of the new boys for the first month. He will be taking Thothmes’ cot. Thothmes also has a charge.” He laughed at Huy’s expressi
on of dismay. “Now you know how I felt eight years ago when I was saddled with you! I wouldn’t trust you myself with anyone I liked, but the Overseer seems to think it’s your turn.”

  Huy tried unsuccessfully to master his disappointment. “I shall do my duty,” he replied stiffly. “Where is this unfortunate boy, Harnakht?”

  “He won’t be here for a couple of days. He’s coming up from Weset. The Overseer will let you know when he arrives. Oh, cheer up, Huy! It’s only for a month and if you’re lucky he won’t snivel and snore as you did. Incidentally, the High Priest himself will be leading the evening prayer in this compound tonight, so you’d better be presentable. Somehow I don’t think he’s forgotten about you.” He softened. “Seriously, Huy, you should be proud of what you have accomplished in the last eight years. To be given the responsibility of a new boy is an honour.”

  Huy made a face, although he was secretly delighted at the compliment. “I suppose so. Thank you, Harnakht. I’d better make up my cot now.”

  “And lie in it!” Harnakht walked away chuckling and Huy bent to retrieve his sheets. It’s only for a month, he thought as he shook them out. Don’t be so selfish. You are twelve years old, no longer the spoiled darling of your family through your own will to be independent, and somewhere on the river is a frightened little child who needs you. Nevertheless, the old familiar feeling of resentment at the intrusion into his own plans rose up to taunt him with its tenacity. Absently he finished dressing his cot and opened his bags.

  By the time the evening meal was being served outdoors as usual, Huy had recovered his equilibrium, eating his onion and garlic soup, cucumber salad, and roasted gazelle, a rare treat, with a group of other boys from his class and sharing the news of his time at home. He was now allowed a cup of wine with the food. Like everything else provided for the students, it was a good vintage, dark and tart, and Huy sipped it appreciatively. Looking about at the loose clusters of white-kilted bodies dotting the lawn, listening to the murmur of conversations and the occasional muted plop as a frog jumped from a lily pad into the water of the pond, feeling the last touch of warmth from the setting sun caress his bare shoulders, he found contentment filling him once more. This was where he belonged. Tonight he would sleep with Khenti-kheti newly placed beside him, the scarab at the feet of the god, his precious palette beside his sandals ready for the morning, his kilts and shirts neatly folded away in his chest, and he would rise eagerly, his mind already impatient to be challenged.