Affection, pity, and annoyance warred briefly in Huy and then were swept away on a wave of sheer excitement. A hidden scroll had emerged from the darkness of uncounted hentis, a scroll regarding the man who was now worshipped as a god. Regarding? Is it too much to hope that the hieroglyphs on the ancient papyrus were painted by the great Imhotep himself? Are they even legible after so long? And, oh gods, are they the key to the puzzle of the Book of Thoth? The final entry I’ve always suspected to be missing?
Huy began to weave his way purposefully towards where the King now sat, Seal Bearer and Chief Scribe Nebmerut on the floor beside his chair, intending to ask Amunhotep’s consent to leave, but there was a sudden commotion by the doors and a path magically appeared for Chief Steward Nubti. Amunhotep sprang to his feet.
“Majesty, you have been blessed with a son,” Nubti announced. “The Empress begs for your company.”
Amunhotep gestured peremptorily to Huy and, without waiting for an answering bow, hurried through the doors and into the passage beyond. Tense with frustration, Huy followed. How many hentis had that scroll lain in dust and darkness before being pulled into the dimness of the temple’s House of Life?
The doors to Tiye’s apartments opened briefly and the King, his scribe Mahu, Mutemwia, and Chief Steward Nubti, together with Royal Seal Bearer Nebmerut, disappeared inside. Huy, bringing up the rear, caught a brief glimpse of Tiye’s mother, the Lady Thuyu, dishevelled and obviously preoccupied, performing her obeisance before the doors closed again. An expectant silence had fallen among the aristocrats and their various servants waiting outside. They drew away from Huy as he found a place by the wall. Coolly, Kenofer reached behind one of them, picked up his stool, and set it down for Huy, who sank onto it gratefully. He had no idea how long he would have to wait before as mer kat he would be commanded to inspect the little Prince and sign his name over Nebmerut’s seal, beside those of the hereditary lords required to attest to the royal arrival. Fortunately I won’t be asked to See for the baby at once, he thought, his eyes on Perti’s sturdy spine where the soldier had taken up his station in front of him. I have a day or two in which to compose myself. I have a strong inkling of what Anubis will show me, and how will I summon up the courage to approach Tiye and Amunhotep with the truth? After a while a subdued conversation resumed around Huy, but he did not hear it.
The sun was about to set and a gloom was creeping into the crowded corridor by the time the doors were again flung open and the aging but still imposing figure of Chief Herald Maaninekhtef appeared, flanked by Chief Harem Steward Userhet and Seal Bearer Nebmerut. “The Queen and Empress Tiye, beloved of Mut, divine wife of Amunhotep hek-Weset, Neb-Ma’at-Ra, Ka-nakht kha-em-Ma’at, Great of Strength, Smiter of the Vile Asiatics, has been delivered of a son.” Maani-nekhtef’s clear tones rolled over the weary throng. “Let Egypt rejoice! Let her citizens bring offerings of thanksgiving to mighty Amun, father of our King! Approach, noble ones, and recognize your Prince! Do homage to him, and set your illustrious names upon the scroll of legitimization!”
The men surged past him. Huy followed more slowly. As the pre-eminent power under Pharaoh, it was his right to be the first to acknowledge the baby and sign the scroll, but he walked through the spacious antechamber and into Tiye’s sleeping room reluctantly. The air was hazed and fragrant with the incense still wisping from the cup set at the feet of Bes, fat-bellied dwarf god of fertility and safe childbirth, who was grinning complacently through the smoke. The birthing stool had already been removed, and Tiye lay propped up on her couch, the baby in her arms, her women around her, and a beaming Amunhotep beside her. Huy bowed respectfully to her mother Thuyu, who gave him a frosty nod in response. Thuyu had never warmed to the man she saw as a usurper of her husband Yuya’s place at the King’s side. Long ago Huy had given up trying to win her over. Tiye’s body servant Heria had obviously just finished washing her mistress and was reaching for a comb on the littered bedside table. Anhirkawi, Tiye’s scribe, cross-legged on the mat by the couch, was opening his palette. Huy sensed relief in the purposeful activity around him.
Seeing him, Tiye waved him forward while the cream of Egypt’s nobility waited impatiently behind Commander-in-Chief Wesersatet’s unspoken warning. Huy knelt at Tiye’s elbow, and after kissing her hand he glanced at the boy. Red, wrinkled, and hairless, the tiny being was asleep. Bundled in spotless linen as he was, Huy could see little but his head.
“Don’t touch him, not yet,” Tiye said. “He already has the protection of onions dipped in honey tied around his waist, and as soon as you predicted a son for me I commissioned an amulet from a lector-sau at Amun’s temple to place on his wrist. I want you to See for him before the seventh day when the seven Hathors come to predict his fate. Their pronouncements will be unimportant, because you will See everything, Huy.” She winced as Heria found a knot in her tousled red hair, then smiled up at her husband. “I know you’re eager to send out the heralds. Give Egypt a few days of holiday in honour of your second Prince.”
Amunhotep bent and took her head, pressing it tightly against his gold-hung chest and then carefully smoothing his son’s tiny brow. “I adore you for this amazing accomplishment, my Tiye,” he exclaimed. “Rest now, and enjoy your triumph.” He strode away, pride and confidence in every step. The assembled mass knelt as he passed. The doors slammed shut.
Tiye waved Heria away. “Bring me a small dose of poppy,” she ordered. “I ache and I’m sore.” When the servant had gone, Tiye put her face close to Huy’s. “Last night Amunhotep dreamed that a serpent had slithered into his beer,” she murmured. “It’s a good omen, as you know. It means that his heart will overflow with happiness. But I dreamed that I was drinking beer, gulping it down with a terrible thirst that would not abate. Suffering will come upon me, Huy, terrible distress going on and on. You have the ear of the gods. How may I avert this thing?”
Huy thought quickly. “There’s no suffering as acute as the pains of childbirth, Majesty,” he said, matching her quiet tone, “and more often than not it increases in intensity and seems endless. Don’t fret over this dream. Suffering has already come upon you and continued for many hours. The meaning of the dream is true, and has been fulfilled, and is gone.”
Her expression cleared. “Of course. How wise you are! Now please, mer kat, after you set your name to Nebmerut’s scroll, have that ghastly statue of Bes removed. I didn’t want him here in the first place, but my ladies were insistent. I’ve endured his fat belly and the tongue hanging out of his grinning mouth for long enough. Let Hathor preside over our dancing and merrymaking instead, and drive away the evil spirits!” All at once she yawned. “As soon as the rest of them have done their duty, I shall take my poppy, hand over my miraculous Prince to his wet nurse, and sleep for a very long time.” Planting a kiss on his cheek, she dismissed him, and he rose gratefully to his feet and moved away from the couch.
His first look at the child had filled him with a sense of foreboding that stayed with him as he gave orders for Bes’s removal, gathered up his entourage, and sought the privacy of his litter. Full night had now fallen. The stars were clear in a velvety black sky and the air was pleasantly warm. Weset’s inhabitants were still wandering about the streets. The combined noise of their thousands followed Huy as he left the palace precincts and turned south towards his house, the litter-bearers carrying him through the city’s outskirts and beyond, to the guarded poppy fields. As usual his escort was challenged. As usual Perti answered curtly, and before long Huy was walking into the blessed familiarity of his vast reception hall. Paroi met him with a lamp and accompanied him to the communal room that lay between his bedchamber and Nasha’s apartment, offering him food and drink before leaving him to settle into the plain cedar armchair with its matching footstool he most preferred. He dismissed Paneb, and Kenofer took up his post within earshot by the door.
Nasha looked across at Huy and smiled. “You’re back early,” she commented. “So was I. Nebetta’s party bored me.
She should restrict the use of her skills to her official profession as a singer in Isis’s temple. Catching up on the news is difficult when one must listen politely to yet another ode devoted to His Majesty’s glory and composed by the singer herself.” Swilling her wine, she drained it, licked her lips, and set the cup back on the table between them.
It had been several years since she had fingered her burgeoning girth, gazed with distaste at the faint spidering of broken veins across her cheeks, and regretfully decided to restrict the amount of wine she drank. Two cups at social gatherings and only one each evening when she was forced to stay at home were all she allowed herself. Huy, remembering Anuket’s disastrous addiction to wine, had admired Nasha’s self-discipline. Her waistline had slowly shrunk. The veins in her face had been replaced by a myriad of delicate laugh lines around her eyes and of smiles around her generous mouth. She was now sixty-six, and as full of acerbic wit as ever. She had never curbed her tongue when confronted by the babble of a fool, and expressed herself with such a consistently intuitive perception that Huy had come to rely on her as a trusted intimate. She had never reminded him of her sister Anuket, Huy’s great love, but often her walk and gestures brought Thothmes, her brother, to mind.
“Egypt has another Prince, Nasha.” Huy broke the small silence that had fallen. “The astrologer-lectors will decide whether this evening was a lucky third to the day and therefore auspicious for the baby or not. I think they’ll choose to call him Amunhotep after his father and grandfather.”
“His birth is no surprise,” Nasha commented. “You forecast it months ago. But it troubles you, Huy, and you won’t tell me why.” She shot him a shrewd glance. “You often find comfort in unburdening yourself of the weight of government, and I hold many of your secrets. This child has haunted you from the time he was conceived. There’s something dark in his future, isn’t there?”
“Yes.” Huy hooked one foot under the stool, pulled it towards him, and lifted both feet onto it. “Atum has not yet shown me exactly what it is, but in some way it concerns the fate of Egypt herself.” He watched the play of lamplight glide across the moonstones on the thongs of his sandals. “The less you know, dear Nasha, the safer you will be if Wesersatet comes to question you.”
“Huy!” She reached for her cup, remembered that it was empty, and crossed her arms over her breasts in an involuntary gesture of self-protection. “You make it sound as though you are contemplating something reckless that will bring danger to us here! You are mer kat! You can do anything without fear of retribution. Your word is law. You are not accountable for any deed other than blasphemy against the gods or the King.” Her grip on herself loosened. “Egypt is under the shelter of both, as long as her citizens honour the laws of Ma’at. I’ve known you almost all my life. There’s no one in this blessed country more honest than you, or less likely to violate Ma’at’s statutes. So what on earth are you talking about?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure.” He leaned back and signalled to Kenofer. “Find out from Paroi whether Rakhaka has stored any lotus petals steeped in red wine, and if he has, bring us enough for one cup each,” he ordered. His attention returned to Nasha. “Break your rule for once,” he said wryly. “The infusion of lotus will make us both very happy.”
Her kohled eyebrows rose. “Your permission is my excuse, mer kat, but pouring good wine down your throat is a waste.”
“The wine’s a waste, but the wine-soaked lotus petals are not. Added to my nightly dose of poppy, they might give me a sound sleep for once.”
Paroi, Huy’s under steward, had obviously been preparing for bed when Kenofer approached him. With freshly cleansed face and bare feet, he served them himself before padding back to his own quarters. Huy and Nasha sat on, talking with the ease of long aquaintance. Both avoided the subject of Egypt’s baby Prince. By the time Nasha stuck a finger into her goblet and tried to extract the limp and saturated lotus petals remaining, she was giggling at nothing. Huy, mildly stimulated, took it firmly from her. “If you suck them, they’ll be bitter,” he told her. “Go to bed, Nasha, and get a massage in the morning. You’ll need it.”
Obediently she gathered up the folds of her yellow sheath, kissed him on the cheek, and unsteadily made her way across the shadowed room. Her door opened and closed behind her. Huy was alone. Getting up, he retraced his steps through the house, and emerging into his garden he walked a short way across the grass. The sod was damp through the labour of his gardeners. The noise of the city had been reduced to a constant drone. If he listened carefully Huy could separate the various sources of the sound, but he had no interest in the daily life of Weset, or in its nightly pursuits either.
He lifted his face to the breeze and closed his eyes. It’s coming out of the west, Isis’s wind, flowing over the City of the Dead, stirring the growth on the banks of the river and finding me here in the safety of my own domain. Isis, faithful wife, loving mother, surely there is pity in your tender heart for me, for my young King, for the tiny scrap of irreplaceable life just born! In the deeper darkness of his high defensive wall a guard coughed briefly, and with a sigh Huy swung back into the house. There are six days left before the seven Hathors make their pronouncements, and I could be summoned to See for the child on any one of them. There is no time to hurry to Mennofer and return, but I simply must travel to Ptah’s temple as soon as possible. The answer to every riddle I’ve pondered lies there—I’m sure of it. I’ll See for the Prince, but I won’t speak of the vision. Not yet. Tiye won’t understand, but the King will. The Book of Thoth comes first.
The astrologers wasted no time in proclaiming that the boy should be called Amunhotep, and long before the six days were over Huy received an official summons from the King to look into the baby’s future. Amunhotep seldom issued orders to his mer kat anymore, so Huy knew that he must obey at once. Speaking briefly to Nasha, Amunmose, and Paroi, who were discussing household affairs, he took Paneb and Perti with a contingent of soldiers and was carried to the palace.
It was the seventeenth day of Phamenoth, the morning air hot and still. Everywhere along the river, Huy knew, the farmers and their peasants would be out in the fields inspecting the barley, precious flax, emmer, and hemp for signs of ripening. Later in the season the fat purple and green grapes would be plucked, the marshes of the Delta combed of the reeds and rushes that offered a hundred uses, the clover cut yet again to make semu. Huy, tense with apprehension, allowed his imagination to feed him with memories of great piles of the plant waiting to be bound for forage, the almost unbearable gusts of fragrance the acres of his uncle’s flowers exuded as he walked past them on his way to Hut-herib, the tang of crushed mint from his mother’s herb garden. Here in the south the odours of growing things were more ephemeral, quickly thinned and then dispersed by the desert winds. I’m homesick for my youth. I want to be waiting by the orchard hedge for Ishat to appear, with our house behind me and Father away at work among Ker’s glorious perfume blooms and Mother on her knees by the tiny pool, weeding her cabbages and melons and humming to herself.
His litter had emerged from the poppy fields and onto the public path that ran beside the river and into the city. Huy pulled the curtains more tightly closed. Perti began to call the usual warning: “Make way! Make way for the King’s mer kat!” Sounds drifted past Huy—snatches of conversation, the soft thud of a donkey’s hoofs on the sandy track, the laughter of a group of children running past. I’d give all my wealth to be somewhere else in another time, to be free, his thoughts ran on. Terror is looming in the nursery of the palace, invisible evil waiting for me to give it the power of form. I know it. After my moment of cowardice before the Horus Throne and the Osiris-one, our King’s father, Atum was merciful. There would be another chance to right the wrong I had done. Today that chance will at last be offered, and I am deathly afraid of the things the god will show me, in what dreadful manner I will be required to rectify both my weakness and the conceit in which I interpreted the vision of Tiye to
suit my own vanity.
He heard his escort challenged, felt his bearers step onto more solid ground, and soon he was being set down. Perti opened his curtains and held out an arm for assistance. Huy glanced up at him as he left the litter and stood straight. You refused Wesersatet’s offer of promotion within the ranks of the royal Division of Amun for my sake. You are no longer the talented young soldier in whom I placed my safety, yet you still command my guards, and now you control the vast web of spies you and I placed throughout Egypt and beyond when I first became mer kat. I am as loyal to you as you are to me, and the King sleeps more peacefully because of you.
“Mer kat? Master?” Perti said quietly, and Huy came to himself.
“Let the bearers wait under the trees,” he said. “Bring all my escort with me, Perti. By now the palace guards understand that they may not be prevented from entering. Paneb, are you ready?” His scribe nodded, and surrounded by Perti and his soldiers they crossed the broad concourse and walked between the pillars into the cool spaciousness of Pharaoh’s reception hall. Few people were about, but their reserved conversations still echoed softly against the lofty star-spangled ceiling. They knelt in homage to Huy as he passed.
It took him and his men a long time to arrive at the tall guarded doors beyond which were the women’s quarters and the nurseries. Userhet rose from his stool and bowed. “His Majesty, the Empress, and Queen Mutemwia are waiting for you, mer kat. They are in the anteroom to Prince Amunhotep’s nursery, where there are refreshments for you. I am to assure you that His Highness fed well this morning and Royal Physician Seneb has pronounced him healthy.”
Huy nodded. “Let us in, then, and announce me.”
Userhet gestured at the guards, the heavy cedar doors swung open, and Huy and Paneb passed through. Huy did not particularly like small children or the harem. Its corridors were narrower than those in the main body of the palace. Many doorways fronted their lengths, the rooms beyond them each occupied by one of the King’s concubines or one of his foreign acquisitions. Huy was familiar with most of the foreign women. They had been acquired as part of various official agreements between the Horus Throne and its vassal states or those petty kingdoms greedy for gold, linen, and papyrus and wise enough not to challenge Egypt’s superior power. The alien princesses on the whole were arrogant and demanding, noisily claiming their royal rights over the King’s native women and threatening to send letters to their relatives complaining of their treatment in Egypt. Userhet occasionally consulted with Huy over some particularly delicate situation within the harem if it might endanger an advantageous treaty. Otherwise Huy stayed away from the shrieks of children and the nattering of the adult residents.
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