House of Dreams

by Pauline Gedge

  There were Nubhirma’at and Nebt-Iunu, a pair of nubile Egyptian girls from Abydos who had been raised on neighbouring estates and had been friends since their birth. Ramses, on a visit to Osiris’s temple at Abydos, had been captivated by their singing and had contracted with both their fathers for their inclusion in the harem. They regularly went to Pharaoh’s bed together and were summoned to him frequently, but it was hard for me to see them as my rivals. They were sweetly stupid, obligingly good-natured, and had eyes only for each other. One was never seen alone. They shared the same couch in the same cell and sometimes even ate with fingers intertwined. They consulted me together, coming into my cell with shy determination and asking for a contraceptive. “We know it is forbidden,” Nebt-Iunu whispered breathily, hanging onto her lover’s arm, “but although it is the greatest honour to bear a child to the Great God we really do not want to. Can you help us, Thu?” I did not want to help them. I did not want to be discredited, or worse, incur the anger of the God I myself had yet to encounter, but I was conquered by their pleading looks and transparent distress. I did as they asked, grinding up the acacia spikes with dates and honey and saturating the linen fibres with the mixture, thinking of my mother and the furtive consultations I had witnessed in her herb room. Perhaps we are not so dissimilar, I mused as I worked. Perhaps it is true that blood will out.

  More often than not I had the cell to myself during the daylight hours. Hunro seemed to have much business to attend to, but she would slip onto her couch as Disenk was putting flame to the wick of my lamps and then we would lie watching the shadows gyrate on our walls and talking lazily. She spoke of Ramses and how to please him, her language unselfconsciously explicit as she described in graphic detail the mysteries of the royal bed, and I listened and stored away the information, bringing it out later to ponder and dissect while Hunro slept peacefully.

  It came to me then that I could not expect any kind of fulfilment from my role as concubine. Not for me the anticipation that brought a smile and a thudding heartbeat when a lover was close by. Not for me the moment of sheer joy when a beloved face appeared. There would be no tenderness, no urgent yet gentle merging of body and ka. Such things would be forever beyond my reach, forever beyond my experience, and I was not yet sixteen years old. I was paying a high price for dreams that were not yet within my grasp, gambling with enormous stakes for a future that might never be mine. My sole purpose was to please Pharaoh. He had no obligation to please me. At least, not yet, my mind whispered back. Not yet … I tossed and turned restlessly. If I wanted love, if I wanted real passion and romance, I would have to come to the attention of the Prince, but even if I did, what then? I belonged to his father.

  One early morning, when Hunro and I were speeding along the narrow path on our way to the pool with the air still cool on our naked bodies and the walls on either side of us still cutting out the new light, we almost collided with a small procession that was emerging from the Queen’s domain. I was ahead, but at the sight of the cavalcade Hunro grabbed my shoulder and brought me to a sudden halt. We stood panting and exposed as first a Herald in blueand-white livery and then a Steward came towards us. The angle of a white canopy inched around the corner and then a dull flash of jewels, a wide, braided and coronetted wig, an expanse of flowing, gold-shot linen. The Herald stopped opposite us. “On your faces before the Lady of the Two Lands, concubines!” he snapped. Obediently we went down, kneeling in the cramped space with our foreheads against the gritty stone of the path, and the man moved away. I felt the tiny breeze of the Steward’s passing and then the shuffle of the canopy bearers. Greatly daring, I lifted my head.

  The miniature woman beneath the filmy gauze was as tiny and willowy as an artist’s dream. The feet stepping delicately by were shod in sandals that could have fitted a child of ten and the transparent linen swirled around ankles I might have encircled with one hand. Yet as my rapid glance sped upward I realized with a shock that I was seeing an aging body. The Great Queen’s belly sagged slightly and the vague outline of her small breasts beneath the pleats showed that they were not firm. Her high neck, draped in many gems, was ropy and in the second when I scrutinized her meticulously painted face I was aware of the clefts that ran beside her nostrils, the fan of lines about her eyes that the kohl could not disguise in the pitilessly revealing light of morning. Her bearing was haughty, her expression closed.

  My forehead once more touched the ground. The footsteps receded and I had begun to pick myself up, one knee still resting on the stone, when I heard someone else coming quickly. Hunro was already on her feet. From the entrance to the Queen’s quarters a man was striding towards us, arms swinging, head raised. My heart gave a leap. It was he, so handsome, so strong, so glorious with his square chin and flashing black eyes, the hennaed mouth I longed to kiss and the flexing thighs that begged to be caressed under the short kilt. Intent on catching up to his mother he merely glanced at us and I was grateful, for I was unpainted, drenched in sweat from the exertions of my exercises, and my sticky hair was plastered to my skull. Then all at once he checked himself and turned. Hunro and I extended our arms and bowed very low.

  “Greetings, Hunro,” the well-remembered voice said. “I trust you are well. And how is Banemus? We have received no message from him yet. Have you?”

  “No, Highness,” Hunro replied with her usual aplomb. “But you know my brother. He will be more concerned with the welfare of his contingent as they march to their fort in Cush than with dictating a scroll to the palace.” The Prince smiled. His even teeth were dazzlingly white.

  “And so he should be,” he retorted. His attention turned to me. At first it was politely non-committal, then his gaze became keen. “It is the female physician, is it not?” he said. “The Seer’s assistant? You are now one of my father’s acquisitions?” I nodded dumbly and the smile returned. “He has made a good choice, I see.” Without further comment he went on his way. I watched him hungrily until he was out of sight then I grimaced and fell into step with Hunro.

  “Gods!” I groaned. “It is just my luck to be caught by him in this lamentable state! What will he be thinking of me?” Hunro shot me a sharp look.

  “He will not be thinking of you at all,” she said quietly. “Why should he? And for your own sake you must not let your mind dwell on him or you will come to grief.”

  I did not answer. When we came to the garden I attacked the water of the pool as though it was an enemy, slicing through it with ruthless power until the blood was pounding irregularly in my ears. It was time to make Pharaoh my slave.

  That very afternoon I requested, through Neferabu, an interview with the Keeper. I had expected that he would come to my cell but I was sharply reminded of my true station when Neferabu returned to tell me that although the Keeper was otherwise engaged he would be pleased to give me a few moments towards dusk in his office. Now that my decision was made I was impatient to put it into action. Irritably I accepted the message, sent for a harem scribe, and whiled away the intervening time in dictating a letter to my family and one to Hui. I said nothing of any great import in either of them, certain that all correspondence passed under the Keeper’s eye before finding its way out into the world. I had hoped that Hui might have visited me or at least been called to treat someone in the palace and come to see how I was faring, but neither he nor word from him had arrived.

  Just after sunset a runner came to escort me to Amunnakht. I went with ill grace, wrestling with my pride as we walked far to the rear of the compound, through a guarded gate, and out onto a wide yard of beaten earth. Against the far wall was a long series of many cells and beside them the kitchens. They were surely the harem servants’ rooms. But we turned sharply right, brushed a short way along the inside wall, and then turned right again through a throng of soldiers who watched us carefully.

  I found myself within a vast garden, on a path that soon veered left to run in front of a row of large cells whose doors were open. Inside I glimpsed men sitting behi
nd desks, scribes taking dictation, scrolls piled everywhere, and presumed that these were the offices of administration for the palace. On my other side, indistinct through the trees, I could make out the solid wall of a huge building. After frantically trying to place my position I decided that I was actually inside the palace grounds and was looking at the seat of power itself. I was not particularly impressed. The little runner paused outside one of the offices, knocked on the open door, announced me to whoever was within, bowed, and hurried away. I did not wait to be invited, but walked forward.

  The office was scrupulously neat, its desk cleared of all but a palette and a box of scribe’s brushes, its walls lined with dozens of round, open-ended receptacles for scrolls. There was little else. I wondered briefly which niche held my contract and what other information about me was being amassed and recorded. It must have been a monumental task to document each woman in the harem. My inspection lasted only seconds, for Amunnakht was rising from his chair.

  “Greetings, Thu,” he said imperturbably. “May I offer you wine or a dish of figs? What do you require of me?” Mindful of Hui’s warning I declined the refreshment. Amunnakht did not ask me to sit, in fact he regained his chair and crossed his legs, arranging his linen over his knees and looking up at me inquiringly. I wasted no time.

  “I am ready to go to Pharaoh’s bed,” I declared without preamble. Amunnakht’s perfectly plucked eyebrows rose. He nodded.

  “Good. Ramses has been asking for you but I have told him that you are indisposed. He thought that was very funny, a sick physician. Nevertheless he will not be patient for much longer.” I was secretly thrilled. Pharaoh had not forgotten about me, indeed, he had actually been asking for my presence! It was an excellent omen and my good humour was restored. “Do you need any advice, Thu?” Amunnakht was continuing. I blinked.

  “Advice, Keeper?” For one idiotic moment I expected him to launch into a list of sexual instructions that would have seemed wildly indecent coming out of that urbane yet stern mouth.

  “Are you aware of the etiquette of the situation? Do you know how to behave when you approach the God?”

  “Oh!” I said with relief. “Oh yes, Amunnakht. I have been in the royal bedchamber before.” Was that the suspicion of a smile on the Keeper’s face? Did he sense that I intended to break most of the rules, that I had listened to Hunro, to Hui, to my own intuition, and had decided that the last thing I must do is behave like a shy, overawed virgin even though I probably would feel like one?

  “So you have,” Amunnakht replied gravely. “I had forgotten. Then I wish you the blessing of Hathor and the favour of our King. I had not yet selected someone to share the royal couch tomorrow night. You may have that privilege. A palace servant will come for you after sundown.” Should I thank him? I thought not. Bowing, I retreated and found another runner waiting for me outside, doubtless to make sure that I returned the way I had come and did not go wandering where I should not.

  The palace garden was still suffused with a peaceful bronze glow, and as I set off past the other offices I saw a cat jump from the lower branch of one of the trees, and reaching the ground, slither away through the flaming grasses with a boneless, fluid grace. I took the sight as a promising omen and said a quick prayer to Bast, cat goddess of sexual delights, asking her to prosper my endeavour.

  That night I also prayed, long and earnestly, before my little statue of Wepwawet. I reminded him of my faithfulness, of the way he had answered my earlier plea and had taken me out of Aswat, and I begged him not to let his effort be in vain. I told Disenk that my moment had come and instructed her in what I wanted to wear. She became hesitant.

  “But, Thu,” she said, “with much respect, it is an untried virgin clothed simply in white linen that Pharaoh wants. If you go to him in gold and yellow with a wig on your head and fine jewels on your person he will dismiss you immediately.”

  “I do not think so,” I smiled. “I will not be able to disguise my inexperience, Disenk, and I will not try. But I have a better idea. I will go as a person of authority, a virgin masquerading as a physician. Ramses will be intrigued.”

  “I hope you are right,” she demurred unhappily and Hunro, who had been flexing one slim leg against the wall, touched her forehead to her knee and murmured, “It is very clever, Thu. You just might make it work.” I shrugged, displaying more confidence than I really felt.

  “If not, I will try something else,” I said loftily. “I will rely on my instinct. I will be one concubine Ramses will not be able to discard.”

  I slept fitfully that night, waking several times to lie gazing into the darkness, once hearing the soft voices of the runners who kept a vigil in case any woman should need her servant and once being startled by the eerie scream of a desert hyena coming clearly and ghoulishly on the wind. The verdant Delta stretched a long way to both east and west before it met the intractability of the sand and I wondered if the sound was for me alone, a warning from the gods. But perhaps the animals crept into the city under cover of darkness to scavenge. That was just as likely.

  Mentally shaking myself I turned over to slip once more into unconsciousness but the experience had started a flow of unrest in me that I had to deliberately subdue. I did not want to give my virginity to that man. Years ago I had been prepared to sacrifice it to Hui in exchange for a glimpse into my future, but I had been a child then, ignorant and reckless. It had been nothing more to me than a commodity, something to trade. Now it represented a great deal more. It was still a commodity but its worth had grown, become entangled in my mind with the value I placed upon myself as a whole, and in a moment of genuine insight I knew that Hui was more worthy to receive it than the Lord of the Two Lands. Yet for me it could never be a gift. I was at last using it to pay for the future I had wanted to see so long ago, and the revelation brought me both hope and shame.

  I pursued my morning routine a little later than usual, wanting to be completely rested for the coming event. I checked the contents of my medicine box, and while I was doing so the fresh supplies I had requested from Hui arrived. In the afternoon’s heat I slept again, and until sunset I composed myself by playing dogs and jackals with Hunro. Then it was time for the ceremony of dressing and painting. When the palace servant appeared, I kissed Wepwawet’s feet, picked up my box, and followed him out into the fragrant evening. I had chewed a kat leaf while I was waiting and my anxiety had become nothing but a dim throb deep in my belly. I was young, I was beautiful, I was wily and clever. I was Thu, Libu princess, and I was going to conquer the world.

  I had anticipated a long walk, time in which to collect myself, but the silent servant led me out of my courtyard, a few steps diagonally across the path that ran from end to end of the harem, and straight through a gate in the palace wall onto a short avenue. Almost at once we came to a door. The man said a few words to the guards upon it and they knocked. It was opened and we went in.

  I blinked in momentary confusion. Without warning I was in the royal bedchamber. I recognized the elegant chairs with their glimmering electrum legs and tall silver backs, the low tables exquisitely embossed in golden figures. My eyes flew to the massive couch, bulking dimly in the soft light of the many lamps on their cedar stands.

  Someone was sitting on the stool beside it and I half-expected to see the Prince rise briskly from it as he had on the day Hui brought me here, but the linen-swathed form bending to watch his sandals being removed was Pharaoh himself. The servant who had escorted me was crossing the floor to take up his station by the farther door. Ramses had seen his movement, and looked up. Heart pounding I took a step then went carefully to the lapis-inlaid floor, first my knees and then my face and the palms of my hands as Disenk had taught me. I had placed the box beside me. “Rise!” the well-remembered voice commanded and I did so, pulling the box back into my chest for the comfort of its familiar authority. I did not wait for permission to go forward. Squaring my shoulders and taking a deep, quiet breath I stalked up to the stool.
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  Ramses had risen. I had not seen him on his feet before. He was taller than I but only just, so that as he looked me up and down with obvious disappointment our eyes met. His head was covered by a loose linen cap that served to make his cheeks seem more pendulous, his generous mouth more prominent than I remembered.

  “The eyes are the same,” he grumbled, “but that is all. I am tired, I have a headache. I was pleased when Amunnakht told me that you had recovered from your slight indisposition, for I was beginning to think that you were reluctant to gratify your Pharaoh. I was looking forward to a closer acquaintance with the sprite who called herself a physician. But what do I find?” He swung away petulantly. “A wigged and bejewelled creature who could be anonymous in any court gathering. I am not happy!” The last words were shouted. They echoed from the high, blue-tinged ceiling and thudded into me like blows. I was trembling inside but I followed him. As I did so, I noticed a motionless, blueand-white sashed form in the shadows on the other side of the couch. With a shock I recognized Paibekamun. He was staring at me in puzzlement, his face a dusky oval in the gloom, and I met his gaze. Trust me, I tried to say to him mutely. Just trust me.

  “Sit down, Majesty,” I ordered in a firm voice. Ramses halted abruptly and I repeated myself. “Sit down. I am willing to wager that your Majesty did not follow my instructions last time regarding a fast of water only. Does your Majesty not remember his pain, his fever, from overindulgence in the sesame paste? Your Majesty’s head aches because the Metu to the head is clogged with too much wine, too much fine food. Is it not so?” I made myself busy as I was speaking, not looking at him, opening my box and lifting out my mortar and pestle. I began to unseal jars. Your Majesty’s person is sacred and precious to all Egyptians,” I went on reprovingly. “Your Majesty owes his subjects a little self-discipline.”