The Twice Born

by Pauline Gedge

  “Welcome to this house, illustrious one,” Itu managed. “We are honoured by your presence. I am Itu.”

  “And I am honoured to meet the mother of my son’s best friend,” Nakht replied gravely. “I beg your forgiveness for descending on you with no warning, Itu. My wife was horrified at the idea, but Thothmes insisted on this visit until I was compelled to either tie up his mouth with his own kilt or give in.” He smiled. “I gave in.” He snapped his fingers and the occupant of the other litter came hurrying up to him. Nasha grinned at Huy. Nakht indicated her. “My daughter Nasha.” The girl bowed, her ornaments tinkling. Nakht gestured to the servants. “My wife has sent gifts of food and wine for your storehouse as an apology,” he continued. “Enjoy them in good health.”

  Itu was recovering. Thanking him profusely, she indicated the house and the little crowd followed her into the reception room. “Huy, you need to wash and change your kilt after your walk into the town,” she said. “Perhaps Thothmes would like to keep you company. When Hapzefa returns we will have wine. In the meantime, noble one, please sit. Or would you prefer to rest in the garden?”

  “Your mother is very beautiful,” Thothmes commented as he and Huy retreated to the rear of the house, where the water was stored.

  Huy was startled. “Is she? I don’t know. Oh, Thothmes, this is the best surprise in the world!”

  The fire between house and kitchen was almost out, but the large covered pitchers were full of water. There was no sign of Hapzefa, and Huy did not want to waste time building up the fire and heating the water himself. Stripping, he took a cold wash, then he and Thothmes made their way to Huy’s room. Thothmes wriggled onto the couch at once, folding his arms and watching as Huy withdrew clean linen from his chest, dressed quickly, and pushed his feet into his best sandals.

  The murmur of voices came to Huy faintly. He heard his mother laugh, and knew that the relaxed sound was a tribute to Nakht’s conversational skill. Taking the chair, he surveyed Thothmes’ expectant face.

  “We have a few moments before your father appears,” Thothmes said. “I want to know everything, Huy. Strange rumours have been flying in Iunu. People who thrive on stupid gossip are even saying that the gods resurrected you from the dead.” He pursed his lips and gave Huy a dark glance. “I must say you look amazingly healthy. You’ve grown. But there is a certain strain about you … something different …” He shrugged. “It’s to be expected after the blow you took. I wasn’t strong enough to haul you out of the lake myself, you know. You sank right to the bottom and lay there. Sennefer and Samentuser had run away. I jumped into the water and screamed for help and a couple of passing priests came, but not right away.” His gaze went to the floor. “By the time we got you onto the stone verge, you were white and your lips were blue and your eyes were open. Your eyes were open!” Diffidence and pleading fled across his features and Huy’s heart sank. Not you too! he thought dismally. Love me without dissimulation, Thothmes, for I am lonely and afraid and need your unstinting trust!

  “I will tell you everything,” he said, “but you must swear to hold my words secret. You will be the first to hear the whole matter. Our friendship depends on your caution.”

  Thothmes lifted the pectoral amulet lying on his chest. “I swear by Thoth whose name my beloved King carries,” he replied. “You are my friend forever, Huy. I will not betray you.”

  So under Thothmes’ sober attention Huy recounted everything, from the moment when he felt himself falling into the deepest well on earth to the end of his encounter with the Rekhet, and as he spoke, the memories at last became not only vivid but seamless, no longer fragmented—with one exception. He could see Imhotep’s mouth moving but still was unable to recall the august man’s words. All he had was the anxious knowledge that a momentous choice had been presented to him and that he had made it. Thothmes listened, his already large brown eyes becoming even larger as they registered awe, astonishment, and occasionally bewilderment, but to his relief Huy saw no disbelief on his friend’s delicate face.

  Huy fell silent. Thothmes stared at him for a long time, arms still folded, his whole body motionless, then he shook his head. “If I had not known you for so many years, I would call you insane,” he said huskily, “but you have not come under the special protection of the gods in that way. No, I believe you. It is the most wondrous story I have ever heard.” He grimaced. “And the most absurd. Are the gods playing a game with you? What do they want of you?”

  “The Rekhet said that they had bestowed a gift on me.” Huy spoke dully; he was tired. “She did not know what it was and neither do I. I just want to come back to school and work and have fun with you and let it all fade away.” He placed his palms together between his knees and bent forward. “Help me, Thothmes.” To his horror he began to cry. “I remember the aroma of the flowers in Paradise, their glorious colours, the breathtaking majesty of the Ished Tree, the splendour and purity and vibrancy of everything I saw, so that when I look out over my uncle’s acres of perfume flowers or stand by the river or glance up at the sky, the world seems cold and lifeless. I cannot prevent the comparison, and it hurts my heart.”

  Thothmes jumped from the couch and, kneeling beside Huy, pulled him close. “Dear brother, I understand so little of what you’ve told me, but since the moment we first met I have felt a kinship with you. We take care of one another. Come back with us to Iunu when we go. Father’s business will be concluded in a few days. Huy?” Huy wiped his eyes on his kilt and Thothmes sat back.

  “But I’ve only just written to Overseer Harmose for permission to return,” he objected shakily.

  Thothmes tutted. “Harmose will be pleased to have one of his best pupils wreaking havoc again,” he said stoutly, and Huy laughed. “It can all be sorted out, Huy. Your cot is still empty.”

  Huy rose. “First I must approach my uncle. He has not actually said so, but I have a feeling that he may not wish to support my education anymore.”

  “If he won’t, then my father will. He believes that every deserving child, peasant or not, should be allowed to learn. An impossible dream, but it does him credit. Can you imagine those ghastly children who play in the canals of your town and fling mud at the passersby donning fine linen and growing youth locks and memorizing the Precepts of Amenemopet?”

  Huy smiled wryly and decided not to remind Thothmes that he, Huy, was only one rung above those rascals. “Father must have returned by now, and I have recovered. Let’s join our families.”

  Hapu had indeed preceded them. He was sitting cross-legged in a corner of the crowded little room, his still-wet hair slicked back, a cup of beer cradled in both brawny hands. He rose with difficulty as Thothmes entered, lowered his head in a respectful bow, and resumed his place. Why, I suppose Thothmes is an aristocrat, Huy thought.

  His mother looked him over approvingly. Heby was deeply asleep in the sling her sheath had made between her thighs. “That’s better,” she said gaily. Her cup was obviously full of wine. Her face was flushed.

  Nasha waved at Huy. “Come and sit beside me,” she offered. “I’ve missed hauling you into the marshes with Thothmes to frighten the ducks. It’s good to see you, Huy. Anuket sends her fond greetings. Father decided that she is still too young to leave home without Mother. Are you quite recovered from your terrible wounding?” Huy, sinking down at her knee and inhaling the expensive odour of myrrh and cassia surrounding her, was glad that her sunny disposition did not include much room for complicated introspection.

  “The gods have been kind,” Itu answered for him. “Huy has been restored to full vigour. Ah! Here is Hapzefa with refreshments. I hope you like cold pigeon meat, Governor Nakht, and of course there is new lettuce and onions and figs from our first crop of the year. More wine?”

  They ate and drank in an atmosphere of easy talk. Nakht asked Huy’s father many questions regarding his work and inquired after Huy’s future plans. Huy, with one eye on Hapu, answered carefully. Nasha chattered about household affairs
with Itu. “I am of an age to marry,” she said at one point, “but Father hasn’t yet selected a suitable husband for me. I think he hesitates because he hates to see his home emptying of his children. Well, I am in no hurry. I love wandering around the markets of Iunu and punting in the papyrus swamps by the river.” Huy picked at the food and drank his date wine enveloped in the pleasant miasma of Nasha’s perfume, which forcibly reminded him of Anuket’s tiny face as she peered up at him from whatever wreath she was making through the curtain of her thick black hair. He found himself all at once desperate to be gone from this house, from Hut-herib, from the sidelong glances of its citizens. He caught his father’s eye.

  “May Thothmes and Nasha and I go into the garden?” he asked. Hapu nodded brusquely and the three of them rose, Huy bowing to Nakht, and went out into the mid-afternoon sunshine.

  “Father dines with your mayor tonight,” Nasha said, flinging herself down in the shade of the shrubbery by the orchard gate, “so Thothmes and I will eat on board the barge. Do you think you could join us? Look at the litter-bearers! They are all asleep! I see that your servant has fed them.”

  Huy dragged his attention from the flash of white he had seen out of the corner of his eye as he lowered himself beside her and Thothmes unfolded at her feet. The bushes were trembling. Someone was watching them from the safety of the orchard. Huy knew it must be Ishat. He smiled grimly to himself, anticipating her tart, jealous comments.

  “I’d like to,” he replied. “I’ll ask Father after the sleep. By the look of Mother they’ll both need their couches today!”

  Impulsively Nasha threw her arms around him and held him tightly. “Dear, earnest Huy! It’s good to see where you live at last. I love your little house, and the garden is a gem. But where are the paintings you told us you daubed all over the walls?”

  “Father whitewashes every year when the Inundation keeps him out of the fields,” Huy answered absently, for a peculiar sensation was seeping into him from her arms, a coolness that was rolling into his chest, curling through his torso, flowing down his legs, and inching upward towards his head. The feeling was familiar and wholly terrifying, yet when Nasha slapped his back amiably and relinquished her hold on him he was compelled to grab both her hands convulsively. His eyes closed of their own accord. The coolness crept up the back of his neck and began to fill his skull, becoming colder as it went. He shivered once uncontrollably. I feel death. I have been here before. Gods! It is death! I am dying! Panic seized him, clenching in his bowels, but that icy tide rapidly quenched it. A dense blackness formed slowly somewhere behind his eyes. He fought to open them and failed. He was aware of Nasha frantically trying to free her fingers, and although he wanted to release her, he could not. “Nasha,” he heard himself grind out from between clenched teeth. “Nasha. The Street of the Basket Sellers. Don’t go there. Mud. The ground is muddy. Don’t go there.” At once the dreadful cold blackness began to lift, and as it ebbed his eyes flew open. Nasha was staring at him, white-faced. Weak and nauseous, he released her hands.

  “What happened, Huy?” she half whispered. “Did you just prophesy? Is a god speaking to me through you? But you’re not even a priest! It wasn’t even like your voice! Tell me it was a silly joke.”

  A droplet of sweat rolled down Huy’s temple. Drawing one finger across his forehead, he felt the clamminess of his skin. “Forgive me, Nasha,” he muttered. “I don’t know what happened. You hugged me and suddenly I felt as though I was dying and then the words came to me.” Bending over, he clutched at his stomach. “I’m dizzy. The sky is heaving. Why is there a cart parked where the pond should be? There are rocks inside me. I think I’m going to be sick.” He fought the urge to retch, aware of the shocked silence around him, not wanting to look up and see the Street of the Basket Sellers superimposed over the grass and gently stirring shrubbery of the garden. But by the time he had regained control of himself, the mirage had disappeared. His head had begun to throb.

  “You look ill,” Nasha said, her voice stronger. She was rubbing her fingers lightly. “I think that there are things you’re not telling me about what happened to you by the temple lake, aren’t there, Huy? I want to know everything, but not now. You have given me a great fright.” She scrambled up and walked away, her yellow sheath rippling with her stride.

  Thothmes’ eyes were on Huy’s face. He had not moved. “The Street of the Basket Sellers in Iunu is seldom muddy, and Nasha goes there often on her jaunts through the markets with her bodyguard. Am I to keep her away from the Street of the Basket Sellers, Huy? For now or for years to come?”

  “What do you mean?” Huy croaked, but he knew, he knew, and the knowledge was like carrying a belly full of stones.

  “No Anubis bowl of oil on water. No lamp and censer, no diviner lying on bricks, no invocation. You saw Nasha’s future, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know.” Huy was massaging his temples.

  “It was a warning for her. At least, we must pray that it was a warning and not a glimpse of the inevitable.” Grabbing Huy’s shoulders, Thothmes knelt upright. “Wake up, Huy! We both know what just happened. We now know the gift of the gods. You will predict the future for anyone you touch!”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Huy responded dully. The stones in his abdomen shifted, grinding together, and he winced at the pain. “Even a Rekhet must perform the rituals, speak the spells that coerce the gods to reveal what cannot be seen. Besides, why would they bestow such an ability on me? Of what use am I to them, an anonymous boy from an ugly town in the Delta?”

  “You must ask them.” Thothmes’ eyes were shining. “Everything they do has purpose. Do you think you might be able to see your own future by looking into a mirror?”

  “Oh, be silent!” Huy begged, then put out a hand in apology but withdrew it hastily. He was afraid to touch his friend. “Forgive me,” he begged. “Whatever Nasha’s embrace caused was so sudden that it has unmanned me.”

  “Yes, Nasha.” Thothmes’ tone was urgent. “I love her, Huy. I do not want any evil to befall her. How may I protect her? Can she protect herself?”

  “I don’t know!” Huy cried out. “All I know is that something terrible will happen to her in the Street of the Basket Sellers!” There. It was out. And I believe it, Huy thought in dismay. It was death filling me once more, Nasha’s death, pouring into me by the power of … “The gift,” he said miserably. “I suspect you’re right, Thothmes. But I don’t want it! How may I get rid of it?”

  “Would you blaspheme?” Thothmes objected softly. “Think what good you can do, Huy, how many hearts you can soothe, what such a certainty will mean to so many people!”

  “Or what horror. Perhaps it will not happen again. Perhaps it was a moment of disorder caused by Sennefer’s throwing stick. A dizziness. A surge of ukhedu in my blood.”

  Thothmes held out his hands. “Let’s find out.”

  Huy recoiled. “No! I don’t want that creeping cold again, or the nausea. What if I feel something … bad?”

  Thothmes regarded him steadily. “We all die, Huy, even the gods who follow one another on the Horus Throne. Please try.”

  With an inner revulsion against the gods, against the grotesque facility he now suspected to be lurking inside him, even against Thothmes himself, he grasped the young man’s hands. Familiar and warm, they instantly curled around his own. He felt no compunction to close his eyes. For a moment there was no change either within or around him. Thin shadows were creeping across the grass as the afternoon inched towards evening. The green fronds of the vegetables ranged around the pool quivered in the breeze. A bird alighted on the pool’s verge, dipping its beak into the water with quick, decisive little advances as it drank. The sun was hot on the back of Huy’s head. I should move farther into the shade, he thought, and then he felt himself slipping sideways. Thothmes’ eyes remained large, but the skin around them puffed and wrinkled. His nose lengthened and spread. His mouth thinned, but his features still held the stamp of dec
eptive fragility that belied his stubborn nature. An elaborate collar of red jasper scarabs and golden ankhs clasped his neck, its beauty partially obscured by the wings of the white-and-black-striped linen helmet he was wearing. Behind him, the sun’s rays lay splashed across a white wall bright with painted grapevines and flowering trees. As Huy stared at him in wonder, he smiled. “Greetings, Huy,” he said, his voice thin but strong, an old man’s voice, then all at once Huy was back in his garden. The bird had gone. Thothmes was looking at him anxiously.

  “Well? Is something going to happen, do you think?”

  “It did. You will live to turn into a rich and ugly old man and we will still be friends.”

  “Tell me what you saw!” Huy complied. The pain in his stomach had disappeared, but his head still ached. “For myself I am content,” Thothmes said, “but what of Nasha? You have just proved that the gift is true, but can what you see be changed by knowledge or will?”

  Huy’s father had come out of the house and was beckoning them. Unsteadily Huy got up. “I don’t know,” he said for the fourth time. “Tell no one about all this, Thothmes. If you do, I will soon be seen as a curiosity at best and an aberration to be shunned at worst. Promise me!”

  “I have already given you my word.” Thothmes joined Huy and together they hurried towards Hapu. “I suppose Father and Nasha are ready to leave. Will you dine on the barge with us?”

  Huy declined. “I have changed my mind,” he said deliberately, “but ask Nakht if I may return to Iunu with you. The sooner my life resumes its normal course, the better.”