Seer of Egypt

by Pauline Gedge

  He dictated a respectful request to Wesersatet, the King’s Commander-in-Chief, and to his old guide and overseer High Priest Ramose at Iunu, his eyes on Ishat, sitting cross-legged at his feet, her pink tongue caught between her teeth as she laboured to produce the neatest hieroglyphs she could. Then he took each scroll from her and wrote his own name, Huy son of Hapu, Seer. “Give them to Merenra. He can go into Hut-herib and find a herald,” he told Ishat as she stoppered her ink and scrambled up. “I think that until we receive replies, we will close and chain the gates, and you and I will take the litter into town, to the finest jeweller Merenra can recommend. It’s time we used some of Amunhotep’s gold on ourselves. Merenra can find us a barge and a few sailors as well.”

  Dropping her palette on Huy’s desk, she flung her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, my dearest brother, thank you!” she breathed. “Oh, Huy, I love this house and my big bedchamber and the glorious food I don’t have to cook myself and seeing our laundry come in from the tubs outside while my hands get softer every day! Am I becoming shallow, do you think?”

  Enveloped in the combination of myrrh, cassia, and henna flowers Ishat had taken to wearing, reaching up to smooth the strands of her hair away from his face, Huy was filled with a familiar sadness. I wish with all my heart that I could love you as you deserve, my Ishat, he thought. Aloud he said, “Yes, you are becoming the most shallow, spoiled, demanding princess Egypt has ever seen. Soon you will refuse to rise from your couch until the noon meal and make Merenra serve you only wine of year one of the King, four times good.”

  She laughed and withdrew, her eyes shining. “I want my mother and father to come and see me here when the jeweller has finished making my hair ornaments and bracelets and anklets and rings and necklaces and … Huy, shall you invite Thothmes to stay soon? After all, he’s been your close friend since you and he were at school together. He’ll rejoice at your good fortune.” She had wept with shame and embarrassment when Thothmes, whose aristocratic father was a Governor, had arrived with the King but chose not to accompany Amunhotep on his way to war. Instead, he stayed moored close to Hut-herib and invited both Ishat and Huy to dine aboard his barge. Then she had possessed no jewellery or face paint, and one spare coarse sheath. She had never been a guest before, never been waited on by servants—who were in reality her equals—and she had been afraid of what they might think. But the evening had run smoothly thanks to the tact of Thothmes’ steward Ptahhotep and Thothmes himself, who had fallen in love with Ishat before the week was out.

  Huy understood her question perfectly. “As soon as you are ready, I will write to him myself,” he promised. “Now, let us discuss the other matter, Ishat. How many people should be admitted, on how many days?”

  It was some weeks before a reply to Huy’s request came from Wesersatet, and during that time the flood of Hut-herib’s needy was forcibly slowed to a trickle of no more than ten petitioners on four days of the week. True to his word, Huy took Ishat to the jeweller, and, leaving her inside the small workshop that smelled of hot metal and faience dust, he lowered himself to the pavement outside, his back against the warm mud-brick wall, and contentedly watched the bustle of the street. In spite of the happiness his new estate brought him, he sometimes missed the noisy life of the district where he and Ishat had lived in three dark, tiny rooms next to a beer house. Times had been hard, but he had felt a sense of accomplishment in his close connection with the suffering denizens of the town, a connection that had become more formalized and somehow less personal now that he was no longer on an equal social footing with them.

  Ishat’s voice drifted to him through the open door, her tone authoritative, her laugh spontaneous. She was quickly finding the self-assurance and poise that grew with the acquisition of wealth, Huy observed, yet he knew her peasant heart, sturdy and immovable in its ability to see through any posturing, critical of anything that smacked of a certain arrogant dishonesty. She would order whatever pretty baubles she wanted, but not to excess. She would order jewellery for him also, earrings, bracelets, and necklaces, all bearing the stamp of her innate good taste, simple yet beautifully harmonious.

  But she would not buy him rings. Stretching out his fingers, Huy examined the amulet rings the Rekhet had made for him: the Soul Protector with its hawk body and man’s head, and the Frog of Resurrection, its deep blue lapis eyes gleaming dully in the strong sunlight. He had never removed them from his hand. Thinking of the old woman and her powerful magic gave him a twinge of guilt. He had not written to her since leaving the town, yet he loved her for her wisdom. She and Ramose, High Priest of Ra, were related. Both were Huy’s mentors, but the Rekhet brought to him a tolerance and understanding that had been largely lacking in Ramose’s advice to Huy, who saw that the Priest was torn between his ambition for Huy and his obvious affection for his unique pupil. Huy had not written to him either. The thought gave him a moment of physical agitation. At once his litter-bearers, sprawled in the shade a polite distance from him, sat up and glanced at him expectantly, but he waved them down again, drawing up his knees and resting his chin on them.

  Obligations, he thought dismally. To the Rekhet and Ramose, to my parents, to Thothmes and his family—all of them waiting to receive an invitation from me to stay in my house, exclaim over my good fortune, when all I really want is an occasional visit from Methen. He would lay aside the formality of his position as priest to Hut-herib’s totem, Khenti-kheti, and talk to me with the ease of a friendship begun when he found me naked outside the House of the Dead and carried me home. His presence ought to remind me of that miserable time, but when I am with him I remember only his warmth and kindness. I do not want the past brought to life on my estate by the people who determined it. Except for Thothmes, of course, but even he would bring a threat with him. What if he is still in love with Ishat? What if he still wants her for his wife, and her decision to remain with me becomes weakened in his presence?

  As if his thought had summoned her, Ishat came out of the doorway and stood smiling down at him. “He will send the pieces as he finishes them,” she said. “All will be in our boxes two months from now. You look pensive, Huy. What were you thinking?”

  Huy swung to his feet, disliking the question. “I was feeling the lack of regular exercise and wondering when Anhur might arrive,” he lied.

  Ishat snorted. “No, you weren’t.” She straightened the sa amulet hanging from its gold chain on his naked chest, then laid a hot palm against his skin. “You were remembering with nostalgia the hovel we used to inhabit, because this street reminds you of it.” She waved at the bearers, who rose reluctantly and picked up the litter. “Let’s go home, Huy. May we stop on the way and buy some hot date pastries? I’m hungry.”

  He tugged at her hair, his good humour restored, as they scrambled onto the cushions of the litter. “Of course.” He called the order to the bearers, then pulled the curtains closed. “Now, tell me what adornments His Majesty’s gold is paying for,” he teased her. “How many circlets will be cluttering up your cosmetics table?”

  She grinned across at him. “Only three. One to keep for when the aristocrats come to consult you, one for everyday wear, and one to fill our less illustrious guests with awe when we give the parties I’m sure you will allow me to plan.”

  Huy turned to her anxiously. “But Ishat, we have work to do. I don’t intend—”

  She put a finger to his mouth. She often touched him with what appeared to be unselfconsciousness. Huy could always sense the need behind her gestures and had learned to harden himself against the compassion welling up in him. They had grown up together, both of them peasant children, the long days of childhood forming a bond between them that even Huy’s years away at the temple school in Iunu had not severed. Huy loved her deeply as his lifelong friend, but Ishat desired him with all the fervour of her passionate nature. It was not in her character to dissemble the matter, to hide her feelings behind a wall of feminine guile or attempt to win him by s
ubtle manipulation. She had openly and frankly declared herself. The knowledge of her pain was often hard for Huy to bear.

  “I’m not serious,” she said. “Or at least, not really. I look forward to entertaining our families. I want to show off our good fortune, Huy. You have been vindicated in the face of your uncle Ker and your father, and Thothmes will be delighted to see you living without worry about the future. Invite his father as well—Nakht must have his nose rubbed in the glory of your success after refusing to help you gain a position as a scribe. A scribe! You are far above such a humble station now.”

  “Scribes need not be humble,” Huy responded swiftly. “Their skills are vital to the efficient administration of every aspect of Egypt’s life.” Privately, he was thinking that his future depended on a continuation of the King’s generosity, and that the King’s open hand would swiftly close if his gift deserted him. He sometimes wished it would. Then perhaps he would be free to get happily drunk on hot summer nights like everyone else, and free to throw off the burden of enforced virginity the god Atum had laid upon him and experience the final intimacy he had only been able to imagine. If he was able to make love to Ishat, would that love become something rounded, more complete, turning his desire from Thothmes’ sister Anuket to the young woman sitting so cheerfully beside him now, the folds of her scarlet sheath resting lightly on his thigh, her perfume filling the stuffy, enclosed space of the litter? He knew that such thoughts only led to anger and sadness, and he was glad when the litter was lowered and the aroma of hot pastries edged out the scent of Ishat’s fragrance.

  Huy grew to value the precious three days when his garden lay empty of strangers and the house remained quiet but for the polite comings and goings of the few servants. During that time his headaches began to ease, although he still dosed himself with the poppy against the fourth day, when they returned as he went about the business of Seeing for those lucky enough to be admitted.

  For a month the new routine ran its course. Pieces of jewellery began to arrive from the craftsman, each wrapped in white linen and placed in a soft leather bag with drawstrings. Ishat withdrew them reverently. Huy shared her admiration. They were both delicate and bold, each creation seeming to Huy to reflect a combination of the facets of Ishat’s personality. The man had done his work well, with intuition and skill.

  “This one,” Ishat said, holding up a thick gold circlet from which a single large red jasper hung to rest in the centre of her forehead, with smaller orbs of the stone set around its upper rim, “this one I shall save for meeting the King’s ministers. Look, Huy! A net of golden threads is attached to its back, to hold my hair. How very elegant. But I like the silver one too. So simple. A thin band hung with tiny silver ankhs. I shall wear it every day.”

  “But silver is much more rare and expensive than gold,” Huy told her, amused. “The King’s ministers would be far more impressed by the silver band than by the gold and jasper one.”

  “Perhaps. Do you like the earrings he made for you, Huy? Three tiny scarabs of green turquoise hanging onto each other? And the one of Ra-Harakhti, Ra at the dawn, the hawk’s feathers inlaid with blue faience, and the Disc of the sun on his head done in pale yellow chalcedony so smooth that the light flows over it? The gold talons of the bird almost brush your shoulder.”

  “Yes, I do like them, and the belts of gold links and the decorated sandals. The servants are more pleased than you are, have you noticed, Ishat? I suppose that now they can feel we are worthy of their ministrations. They are even more snobbish than you!”

  “May the gods grant that I never develop the arrogance of riches!” she said fervently. “My rings, bracelets, and necklets are to come.” She lifted the silver circlet and placed it on her head. “Let’s go on the river in our new barge at sunset and drink wine and watch Ra being swallowed up by Nut. You can fish. Your head is better today, is it not? And I can lean on the railing while the sandbars glide by. Oh, Huy! What a dream I am living!”

  But before they walked up the ramp and onto the cedar deck of the barge that still smelled of sweet wood and paint lacquer, Huy dictated an invitation to his family and to Ishat’s; one to Thothmes, Nakht, and Nasha; one to High Priest Ramose; and one to the Rekhet. Ishat, in her role as his scribe, looked up at him from her perch on the floor as she capped her ink and flexed stiff fingers. “I hope they don’t all come at once,” she said.

  They ate their evening meal aboard their boat while the litter-bearers, learning to double as sailors under the sharp eye of Ibi, a captain Merenra had hired permanently, rowed them clumsily upstream and back to their watersteps as the river turned from brown to gold to red and the long shafts of the sun’s last rays began to shred over its rippled surface. Dust motes danced in the pink light. The evening breeze sprang up. Ishat took Huy’s arm as they stood contentedly side by side, her long black hair lifting with the moving air, her eyes closed with pleasure against the glare of Ra’s final burst. Neither of them spoke. Huy too allowed himself a moment of unadulterated serenity. His head was free of pain, his mind calm. The captain’s peremptory commands began to echo against the riverbanks as the sun’s rim disappeared, and suddenly the sky opened up above, a new presence of pale blue and weakly blinking stars.

  Ishat opened her eyes and sighed. “I will not think of Ra’s twelve transformings as he battles through the womb of Nut,” she murmured. “I will concentrate on lamplight and a bath and then a quiet night on my couch. We are approaching the watersteps, Huy. Now who is that, standing just outside the gate with Kar beside him? Your scrolls of invitation haven’t left the house yet.”

  Huy’s heart sank. He was not expecting a visit from a court official, but doubtless many of them felt they possessed the right to demand his attention whenever they chose. The watersteps drew nearer. At Ibi’s shout, the oars were shipped and the ramp lifted from its resting place against the railing. Huy peered through the gathering gloom at the tall figure now striding onto the topmost stone step, and recognition struck him in a burst of gladness.

  “Anhur! It is Anhur, Ishat!” He waved and the man waved back. The boat bumped the foot of the watersteps, the ramp was run out, and Huy hurried to embrace his old friend. “We did not expect you so soon!” he breathed as they pulled apart. “There has been no word from Commander Wesersatet! He must have petitioned the One and then released you from the army very quickly.”

  “He did.” Anhur took Huy’s shoulders and stood back, surveying him critically. “It seems that whatever the Seer wants, the Seer gets, particularly now, when the Queen has presented the country with a Hawk-in-the-Nest and His Majesty is happily scattering favours to all and sundry like chaff in the wind. I barely remembered you until the King ordered Wesersatet to replace me in the Shock Troops and send me to guard you. Gods, young Huy, look at you! How old were you when I saw you last? Thirteen? You’ve become a handsome man, but I’d still recognize those eyes. Is there anything to eat? It’s been a long march and we’re starving.”

  “We?”

  Anhur waved towards the house. “I’ve brought ten soldiers with me. The King didn’t know how much protection you needed. Neither do I. Is ten enough? What are we supposed to be protecting you from? Demons and angry priests?”

  Huy laughed. “I’ll explain while Merenra finds you all some food. Anhur, this is my companion and scribe, Ishat.”

  Anhur turned to Ishat, waiting patiently at Huy’s elbow. He bowed. Ishat extended a hand.

  “Welcome to our home,” she said formally. “Huy has told me all about the time you spent together at Thoth’s temple in Khmun.”

  Anhur enfolded her fingers in his own large paw, then he bent and retrieved the spear and shield leaning against the still-open gate. Behind the three of them, the boat was being moored to its post and the ramp run in. The crew dropped into the water and, wading to the steps, bowed briefly before disappearing into the strengthening darkness. Kar had ambled back to his hut just inside the gate.

  “Thank you, Lady Isha
t,” Anhur responded.

  Ishat shook her head. “I’m no noblewoman, Anhur. Call me Mistress, or Ishat. Now I suppose I had better find Merenra and he had better drag Khnit away from her stool and back to the kitchen. How many men must she feed?” At a nod from Huy, she turned towards the house.

  Anhur watched her go. “You are wedded to her, Huy?” he wanted to know as he and Huy followed more slowly. “She is your wife? Well, good for you. She’s very beautiful.”

  “Ishat is not my wife,” Huy replied swiftly. “She’s my oldest friend and a partner in my work.”

  “And you can resist that loveliness? What’s wrong with you? What work are you engaged in?”

  “Later.” Huy smiled across at the blunt features he remembered so well. Already he felt more secure, as though with Anhur’s arrival a cloak of protection had been cast invisibly over the estate and everyone in it. This was the man who had refused to leave his side during his difficult days in Khmun, who had stepped between him and an enraged Sennefer, who as a boy had attacked him with a throwing stick, precipitating his death and miraculous resurrection, and who had been banished to the temple school at Khmun, where he had again attempted to harm Huy. “Now we must fill your belly. Has my steward found accommodation for your men?”