The two other women began a chorus of protest, but Huy raised a hand and, surprisingly, they both fell silent at once. “The idea is ridiculous,” he said, “and no, Mother, of course this was not my idea. Ishat has thought it up all by herself.” The girl nodded triumphantly.
“But you must have hinted at such an insanity last night when the two of you were alone in the garden,” Hapzefa said hotly. “It is not proper, a single man and a young girl by themselves under the same roof! Everyone will assume that my daughter’s duties must go further than sweeping and laundering! You are a naughty slut, Ishat!”
The smile left Ishat’s face. “I am no slut, Mother!” she shouted. “I am a servant, and a good one at that! You yourself trained me! Huy is my friend, and he will be my master. To Set with what other people will think!”
“But Ishat, Huy is an ordinary man with a man’s appetites,” Itu put in. “You cannot expect him to spend week after week with you in his house and not … not …”
“I do expect it. Neither of you want to remember that Huy is a Seer. He cannot make love. He told me so.” Huy saw a look of sheer craftiness flit across her strong, even features.
Itu swung an agonized face towards him. “Oh, my dearest!” Her voice trembled. “Oh, Huy, how terrible! Is it true? But you told me only yesterday that you still desired your friend’s sister!”
Huy, glancing at Ishat’s now-pious expression, wanted to shake her. All the same, he thought in the moment before he answered his mother, it would be a relief to have someone to look after my domestic needs. The temple servants always took care of them before. I never imagined having to wash my own linens and clean my own rooms. Not if Nakht had employed me … given me Anuket … As it is, I ought to either learn to do these things for myself or hire a male servant, and who will work for nothing but a couple of meals a day? Only the very rich have slaves. But Ishat? Servant to the High Priest’s scribe? There would indeed be gossip. You little vixen, he accused her wordlessly, meeting her eye. You have hated being under your mother’s thumb ever since you were old enough to hold a broom. I remember your complaints. And whatever I say, you intend to trail after me and importune me until I agree. Well, another voice objected in his mind, would having Ishat in that other room be so bad? Hapzefa has trained her well. As long as she does what she’s told … He grimaced. Controlling Ishat could prove more difficult than keeping Methen’s temple affairs in order.
“Yes, Mother, it’s true,” he admitted. “The High Priest of Ra, the Rekhet—you remember her from the exorcism that was not needed—Methen also, all agree that I will lose the gift of the god unless I remain celibate.” He hesitated, not wanting to add to the anguish on his mother’s face and furious with Ishat for forcing him to do so. “I still love Anuket,” he went on hurriedly, seeing Hapzefa’s protest taking shape. “But my emotion is pointless. I wanted to rid myself of my gift. I tried to make love to a woman, and failed. Atum prevented me.” He swallowed. “I should have been more honest with you, Mother, but I wanted to avoid causing you the pain you feel today.”
Itu’s hands had gone to her throat. “I shall have no daughter-in-law?” she half whispered. “No grandchildren?”
“Not from me.” An illogical yet familiar guilt welled up in Huy, the guilt of inadequacy, of his uniqueness. “But there is Heby,” he went on grimly.
“Yes, there is Heby.” Itu’s arms dropped to her sides. “This is a shock, but I must not grieve.” Her voice was trembling. “I must be proud that my son is a man chosen by the gods to be a Seer. I wish you had come to me freely with this knowledge, Huy, in private.” She turned to Ishat. “It was wicked of you, Ishat, to use it for your own ends.” Her glance went to Huy and then back to Ishat. She is not stupid, this mother of mine, Huy thought with a rush of love for her. She is aware of Ishat’s feelings for me. She weighs the bond of friendship between us. She does not want me to be lonely in the town. She will want news of me, and who better to supply it than Ishat? Perhaps it even crosses her mind that one day Atum will release me from the spell under which I struggle to live, and if my situation does not improve Ishat would make a vigorous and healthy wife for a peasant such as me. Itu’s next words proved him right. Her voice strengthened. “Huy, do you want this?” Hapzefa gave a cry, but Itu silenced her with a peremptory wave and for once Huy saw them as they really were, mistress and servant. “Ishat’s father will be incensed.”
“No he won’t,” Ishat cut in promptly. “He’s tired of trying to find a man for me. If I become a servant to Huy he will think it odd, but he will enjoy peace in his hut for the first time since I was born.”
“Evil girl!” Hapzefa said hotly. “Your father loves you! He wants good things for you!”
“Yes, Mother,” Huy said clearly, “I do want this. It was not of my choosing, yet it makes a peculiar sense.” He turned to Ishat. “Will you agree to be under my authority? Will you obey me, Ishat? I cannot pay you anything. My house has only three rooms, one of which will be yours, but the street it’s on is noisy. My days will be at the High Priest’s disposal. You will be a long way from any fields or canals.”
Ishat beamed at him. “I don’t care. I will obey you as my master, Huy, I promise.” And I doubt that, Huy thought wryly.
“She must visit you and her father once a week,” he told Hapzefa. “Thus you may see for yourselves how she is faring. Honestly, Ishat!” he snapped at the grinning girl. “How is it that you always seem to get your own way?”
Ishat picked up her linen bag and approached Hapzefa. “Because I always try to please the gods, of course.” She kissed her mother’s crimson cheek. “You really do not need me here anymore, Mother,” she said sweetly. “Not now that Heby is in school. Thank you for your leniency.” She bowed to Itu. “And thank you, my mistress, for your wisdom. Huy, I shall wait for you by the gate.” Then she was gone. The remaining three looked at each other.
“If she proves headstrong and disobedient, you must send her back,” Hapzefa said. She was obviously still angry.
Itu stepped to Huy and, putting her arms around him, laid her head on his chest. “I am so very sorry, “she whispered. “Let us hope that the operation of a Seer’s gift will be some compensation for all that you have lost.”
Huy crushed her to him. He was exceedingly moved. “I regret the years when I ignored you. Forgive me, Itu.” When she moved away from him, he saw that the sa symbol had been imprinted on her cheek.
“Pack your satchel and go,” she ordered him. “Hapzefa, we have lentils to wash and onions to chop for the noon meal.” Deliberately she went to the door and Hapzefa followed her. The servant did not bid Huy goodbye.
Ishat saw Huy coming and swung her bag over her shoulder. “I didn’t sleep all night,” she told him as they moved through the gate and began to take the long walk into the centre of town. “The more I thought about coming with you and looking after you, the more sense it made. Oh, I am happy today!”
“Ishat, I will not try to make love to you,” Huy said firmly. “You should not have used the shame of my impotence as an argument. That was cruel.”
“I only implied that a virgin Seer has much dignity,” she responded indignantly. “Where is the shame in that? As for making love to me, first of all, I know that your affection is still centred on that worthless little snob who probably can’t even tie her own sandals, and secondly, you have already shared the secret of your inability with me, where it is entirely safe. I cannot speak for our mothers, of course.” Grabbing his shoulder, she pulled him to a halt. “Huy, I intend to take care of you as the best servant you could possibly have. I promise not to embarrass you, to see to your needs even before you know what they are, to keep my emotions to myself. You and I have been bound together since our childhood, and I think this is why: you will be a great Seer, and I will rise with you to be your protector and close friend. Yes?”
Oh, Ishat, I wish with all my heart that I could love you as more than a close friend, Huy thought, looking int
o that shining face, for I see that you have grown up to be beautiful and spirited and intelligent. You waste yourself on me when somewhere out there is a man who truly deserves you. He forced a smile. “Yes,” he said.
Briefly she lifted the amulet from his chest then let it fall. “What is that?”
“It’s called a sa. It keeps the demons away from me.”
“Indeed,” she said thoughtfully. “And you will be my sa, won’t you, Huy, and keep the Khatyu away from me. Will you teach me to read and write?”
He could not follow the convolutions of her thought. “Yes, of course I will if you like.”
“Good.” She turned back to the road. “Someone must keep a record of all the people who will be coming to you for healing and to know their future, and you cannot afford a scribe.” She giggled. “You can’t even afford to buy me a pair of sandals, can you? Well, never mind. One day I shall be shod in gold-tooled leather.”
She strode on, whistling, and Huy followed her, bemused.
16
ISHAT’S INSPECTION of her new home took no more than a few moments. Huy watched her move swiftly though the three minuscule rooms, her nose wrinkled against the stench of mice and the unwashed state of the previous occupant, and when she returned to him she put down her bag and stood first on one foot and then on the other, trying ineffectually to brush the dirt from the soles of her feet. Huy was amused, considering that she had walked unshod through the dust and dung of the town. “Do you have a broom?” she asked at last without too much hope.
Huy shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Cloths? Natron? Can you get whitewash?”
“I don’t know. Methen says he will ask the temple’s gardener if he has any.”
“Gods. Well, at least we’ll be close to good beer.” She jerked an elbow towards the beer house. “What exactly do you have, Huy?”
“Only the things I brought from school in my two satchels and my chest—some kilts and loincloths, one good pair of sandals, my keepsakes.”
“The scarab? Do you still have the scarab?”
“Of course. It’s my greatest treasure.”
Ishat groaned but looked pleased. “So you are poorer even than my father,” she said with relish.
Annoyed, Huy picked up her bag as well as his own and stepped to the doorway. “I have employment under Methen. I am a scribe. I have some furniture from the temple storehouse, but we’ll need a couch and linen for you. Come and meet him. He may not approve of the arrangement you so arbitrarily decided upon, Ishat.”
“I’ve met him before,” Ishat said indignantly, “although he may not remember me. He was at your house a lot when you were recovering, years ago.” Even Ishat is unable to say aloud what I was recovering from, Huy thought as together they made their way along the crowded street. Perhaps such reluctance is a good thing for me. Certainly it’s a change from having to be reminded of it every time I look into a priest’s eyes.
Ishat did not seem bothered by the furore around them. She wove easily in and out of the crowds, nimbly sidestepped the loaded donkeys, and showed no particular relief when they reached the relative peace of the temple courtyard other than to wipe her feet on the soft grass. Methen’s quarters were empty. Huy ushered her in and they sat and waited, relaxing in the coolness. “He’s probably eating the noon meal in the kitchens rather than having it brought all the way here,” Huy commented.
Ishat sighed. “I would like a meal myself. How are we to eat, Huy?”
At that moment the doorway darkened and Methen himself swept in. Ishat rose at once and bowed to him. For a second he peered at her, then his brow cleared. “It is little Ishat!” he exclaimed. “But not so little now. Welcome! And Huy. Was your visit home a success?”
“I think so,” Huy answered cautiously. “My mother was overjoyed to see me, and Heby is a charming child. I have promised to see them once a week.”
“Good.” Ishat still stood, obviously waiting for the priest to take her chair. Methen waved her down. “Has Huy brought you to me for prayer or advice?” he asked her kindly.
Leaning forward eagerly, Ishat opened her mouth to reply, but Huy quickly forestalled her. Tact was not one of Ishat’s assets. “Ishat has offered to take care of my domestic affairs,” he said. “She has the permission of her mother Hapzefa, my family’s servant, and of my mother. I realize that a male servant would be more appropriate for me, Methen, but as yet I am unable to pay for any help. Ishat will work for her food and a bed.”
Methen regarded him thoughtfully. “If you were attached to the temple directly, such an arrangement would be inadmissible. But I have engaged you privately, as my personal scribe. I trust it is not your intention to try to subvert the will of Atum with this girl?”
Ishat had sat back and folded her legs. Now she folded her arms as well, glancing from one to the other. Huy wondered if she had understood what Methen was implying. Her face bore an expression of serious innocence.
“Not at all!” Huy answered. “Ishat and I have been friends since our childhood. My mother no longer needs her at home and she did not want to seek employment with strangers. She can visit her parents when I visit mine, every week. She can have one of my three rooms for her own. It will be all right, I swear it, Methen. Do I have your permission for this?”
“With reservations,” the priest said heavily. “We will see if there are any complaints from worshippers or from my assistant priest as time goes by.” He turned to Ishat. “And you, Ishat. Under the law you are not obliged to serve Huy if you don’t want to, unless there is a formal contract.” Huy waited anxiously as Ishat unfolded herself and placed her palms decorously on her thighs. Don’t tell him that this whole arrangement was your idea, he spoke to her silently, surprised at how pleased he suddenly was that she would be sharing his life. He had not considered the prospect of his loneliness until now.
“I am happy to continue to serve Huy’s family by serving him, Master,” Ishat said. “I shall work hard and cause no scandal.” Her fingers laced. “I believe that the gods have a great plan for Huy. He will need to be free of household chores in order to properly fulfill it.”
Methen’s eyebrows rose. “Do you indeed believe this?” he murmured. “Do you indeed? Obviously you know your friend well. We shall see. Huy, I have spoken with the gardener. He will allow you some whitewash. You may go back to the storehouse and try to find a cot for Ishat. As for the rest, there is natron and rags in the kitchen and probably a spare broom.” He smiled. “The Amun-feast of Hapi is about to begin. Few citizens will be coming to pay their respects to Khenti-kheti, so the two of you may as well use the first five days of the festival to make your house habitable. The festival lasts almost a month, halfway into Athyr, but most of the townspeople will have had their fill of revelry long before that, so I shall expect you to begin work for me on the twenty-fourth day of this month. I am going to celebrate the god of the river with my parents.” Huy was taken aback and Methen laughed. “You think me so old?” he mocked Huy. “I was only twenty when I picked you up outside the House of the Dead, Huy. My parents live on their land just north of the town. Well. You must begin your task and I must prepare for my little journey. Be sure and find a few flowers to throw onto the water. The god is always generous with his fish once Isis has cried.”
It was a dismissal. Huy and Ishat got up. Methen embraced Huy and touched Ishat briefly on her shoulder. “Do what is right,” he said to them unexpectedly, then they were out under the sunshine and walking across the grass.
Ishat pulled Huy to a halt. “He knows everything, doesn’t he? About the spoiled brat you are stupid enough to love? And about the whore?”
Huy shook his head. “Not about the whore. And stop calling Anuket names just because you are jealous,” he snapped.
Ishat blew air out of her nose, a sound of derision. “Yes, I’m jealous, but from what you’ve told me the girl is indeed a spoiled brat,” she retorted. “Now Huy, I refuse to burrow into the temple storehou
se until I’ve eaten. I’m absolutely faint with hunger. Besides, if I’m going to prepare your food in the temple kitchens I need to see exactly what terrors await me. I presume they are at the rear of the compound?”
Huy would not admit it, but he too wanted to eat. My first instinct is to argue with her, to disagree with her and deny everything she says, he thought as they skirted the sanctuary, walking in the shadow of the protecting precinct wall. It has been that way ever since we were little. I wonder why. Is it because she tries to control me and I do not want to be controlled? Or does she threaten me in some other way? Surreptitiously he glanced sideways at her strong brown ankles and bare feet, visible under the sluggish swirl of her thick peasant sheath. Running through the fields and padding through my father’s house and garden is one thing, he decided, but she can’t go barefoot every day in the town; there are too many opportunities for an accident. Somehow I must find sandals for her.
The kitchens turned out to be one kitchen, a large, three-sided building facing two deep firepits, one of which was topped by a clay oven for baking bread. The floor of the kitchen was taken up with a long table on which sat piles of pots and dishes of various sizes. Waist-high jars ranged against one wall contained water. Another wall had shelves on which sat small jugs of sealed wine and larger vats of beer. To Ishat’s relief the table also held vessels covered with pieces of linen which, when removed, revealed cooked meats, vegetables of various kinds, a pungent garlic and onion soup, and a selection of dried fruits including a few tiny, wrinkled apples. “All this for two priests, a gardener, and two servants!” Ishat marvelled as she tore at a haunch of beef.
Huy laughed. “Methen has to entertain noble visitors from time to time as well. This is a very small kitchen serving very simple food to very few people, Ishat. One day I will take you to Iunu. The temple and its kitchens there will amaze you. Will you be happy cooking here?”
The Twice Born Page 44
