Seer of Egypt

by Pauline Gedge

  “Your steward,” Anhur said heavily. “The gods have certainly smiled on you, haven’t they? No, there aren’t enough cells in your servants’ quarters, but it will only take a week or two to buy mud bricks and erect another row. My soldiers can pitch their tents and sleep in their blankets until then. They’ll be content as long as there’s plenty of food and beer.”

  Together they entered the house. Tetiankh and Iput were moving quietly about, lighting the standing lamps in the reception hall. They bowed briefly to both men, curiosity in their gaze.

  Anhur blew out his breath. “What do you have to do for the King to earn all this? I thought you’d end up serving the priests of Ra at his temple in Iunu when you finished school. I never imagined something like this for you, and of course when we spoke briefly to each other during Pharaoh’s visit to Hut-herib, there wasn’t time to exchange any news.”

  “I’ll tell you everything while you eat,” Huy repeated. “Afterwards I’ll take you over the house and grounds. The estate is small and will be easy to patrol. The disposition of the soldiers will be all yours, Anhur. I see that Merenra has already set out a table and cushions for you. Sit down.”

  Anhur dropped his equipment on the tiled floor with a clatter. “I’ll see to the feeding of my men first. May I go through to the kitchen? I presume it’s outside at the rear.”

  “Of course. I’ll come with you and meet them. I’m so glad you’re here!”

  Later, Huy and Ishat sat with him as he folded himself behind the low table laden with the meal Khnit had provided; Merenra stood a short distance away, holding the beer jug ready to serve him. The elegant room was quiet, full of a peaceful, soft light from the steady glow of the alabaster lamps placed around the painted walls. Anhur pulled off his crumpled linen helmet, ran a hand through greying hair, and began to eat, swiftly and methodically. While he did so, Huy related the events of his life since they had parted. Anhur listened carefully, glancing up from his emptying platters occasionally to nod or raise his thick eyebrows in surprise.

  When Huy fell silent, Anhur drained his goblet and, holding it out to Merenra for more beer, said, “And what about that magic Book you were reading at Khmun, Huy? Did you finish it? Weren’t you supposed to interpret it for High Priest Ramose? I remember that the Chief Librarian, Khanun, at Khmun’s House of Life, was eager to hear the results when you were done.”

  “I finished it,” Huy answered reluctantly. “I have yet to understand its secrets fully. I do not think about it much anymore, Anhur. I am stretched thin with the exercise of healing and Seeing. One day perhaps I shall have enough time to ponder it anew.”

  He did not add that the thought of the Book of Thoth plunged him into sadness and a sourceless guilt when its words crept unbidden into his mind, and that he deliberately turned away from any thought of it, and of the sacred Ished Tree under whose branches he had first unrolled it. It was all there in his consciousness, ready to scroll through his thoughts like some portentous spell full of power whose meaning eluded him. He had agreed to read it while his body lay cold and lifeless in Hut-herib’s House of the Dead and his ka stood before the great Imhotep, who had offered the boy Huy the choice. Huy, drenched in the sunlight of Paradise while the Judgment Hall lay dim and forbidding behind him, had agreed to the will of the creator-god Atum. At twelve years old, he had not considered the cost, had not been warned that in doing so he would become Atum’s property and tool. As long as he did not think about the Book, he need not be angry. As long as he moved from day to day through the tasks set before him by the acquisition of his peculiar gift, he need not look into his own future and that one duty he had been unable to fulfill.

  Anhur swallowed his last mouthful, emptied his goblet yet again, and pushed the table away. “Luckily, I don’t have to worry about such mysterious things. Give me a practical task that has a practical solution and I’m happy. Well, I’d better order a guard for the house and gate tonight, see that the men are comfortable, and set up my cot somewhere.” He grinned. “I won’t miss being a member of His Majesty’s Shock Troops, but I hope I won’t be bored, trudging up and down your passages.”

  “You can sleep in the guest room until your men have built you a suitable home,” Ishat said. They were the first words she had spoken all evening.

  Anhur shook his head and rose, snatching up his wilted headdress as he did so. “If I’m to keep discipline among my ten, I must be with them, but thank you, Mistress,” he replied. “I wish you both a safe rest. If you hear footsteps in the night, don’t be alarmed—it will be one of the soldiers patrolling inside the house.” He bowed and quickly vanished into the shadows.

  Merenra began to clear away the debris of the meal and Ishat turned to Huy. “I like him and you obviously trust him,” she said. “But extra cells to have built, extra mouths to feed, means too much work for Khnit and Merenra. We must hire an under steward, Huy, and another cook, and perhaps a couple more house servants.” She sighed. “Is this the negative side of how rich people live?”

  “Yes.” Huy got to his feet and held a hand down to her, fighting a sudden sense of suffocation. “You’re right, Ishat. Merenra can see to it as soon as he has the time. We will adapt to this as we have bent to every gust of fate that has blown at us.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek and called for Tetiankh and Iput. When they came, lighted tapers in their hands, he followed them and Ishat up the stairs, bade her sleep well, and went into his own bedchamber.

  Tetiankh put the taper to the lamp beside the couch, and as a glow of light began to diffuse through the large room, he bowed to Huy. “Master, if you will wait until I have drawn fresh water from the barrel downstairs to put on your table, I can then prepare you for sleep. Do you need an infusion of poppy tonight?”

  Huy considered. Well, do I? I have no pain, but the drug does give me a deep and dreamless sleep. Without it, I am afraid of the visions the god might send me. Yet I am doing his will to the best of my ability, so why would he accuse me? Nevertheless, my work is arduous. I must have a good rest. He knew that he was edging his thoughts towards a justification for taking the poppy, knew that the desire for it existed apart from any rationalization he might conjure, and stopped trying to deceive himself.

  “Bring me an infusion, Tetiankh, but make it a weak one,” he said heavily. “I shall undress myself. Is there no hot water for my wash?”

  “I’m sorry, Master,” Tetiankh answered. “Khnit asked Iput and me to help her in the kitchen. Seshemnefer prepared the vegetables, but then he left. He was tired from digging over so much ground today. At least you will have a flourishing garden when he is done.”

  Huy sighed. Ishat was right, more staff were needed. “I’ll go down to the bathhouse,” he decided. “I must clean the kohl from my eyes. I don’t need your help, Tetiankh. I took care of my own bodily needs for years. Go and mix the poppy.”

  Tetiankh looked distressed. “It is not right that you should perform such tasks for yourself,” he retorted as he left.

  Huy stripped off his kilt, laid his new belt carefully over the back of one of the cedar and ivory inlaid chairs, and, pulling a sleeping robe over his head, padded barefoot along the dusky passage and down the narrow stairs at the rear of the house to the little bathhouse below. As always, the damp interior smelled of Ishat’s perfume blend—myrrh, cassia, and henna flowers. Huy inhaled it with pleasure. The water for their ablutions was often left just outside, to be heated by the sun. Huy found a jug in which some warmth remained and quickly washed his face, scrubbing it with a little natron and wiping it over with ben oil. He would have liked to clean his long hair of sweat and dust, but he needed Ishat for that. No, not Ishat, he corrected himself as he dragged a comb through the thick tresses. I must be tired. My mind is playing me tricks. Ishat used to do it, but it’s Tetiankh’s job now. I remember the evenings in our miserable little hovel, when she would kneel before me with a basin full of the water in which we would both have to wash, and she would lift my filthy, swoll
en feet into it. While they soaked, she would wash my face, my neck and chest, my legs, and then with the basin on the table she washed my hair. Only then would she banish me, while she took off her one serviceable sheath and cleansed herself. She is the one who deserves this sudden change in our fortunes, not I. I will begrudge her nothing.

  Tetiankh was waiting when Huy returned to his bedchamber, the small clay pot of white liquid in his hand. Thanking him, Huy took it and drank. As always, the taste was so bitter that his throat tried to constrict against it. Tetiankh was ready with water. Huy sluiced his mouth clear and swallowed so as not to waste a drop of the precious drug. The sheet on the couch had already been turned down, the doors of the shrine beside the bed opened to reveal the little statue of Khenti-kheti, totem of the town and surrounding district. A mat lay before it.

  Once more, Tetiankh bowed. “Do you need anything else, Master?”

  Huy shook his head. “No. Bring my first meal at dawn tomorrow, Tetiankh. Tell Khnit I will be hiring help for her. Good night.”

  After the servant had gone, Huy prostrated himself on the mat before the crocodile god and began his prayers. He had vowed long ago that he would not address Atum because of the grudge he held against the Omnipotent One, but it often seemed to him that the divine ears open to his words were not those of Hutherib’s protector. Khenti-kheti had been rendered deaf by Atum’s superior power, and in spite of Huy’s hubris, it was Atum who heard him. Always Atum. Everything reverted to the god who had brought him back from the dead and laid such burdens upon him.

  Huy was seldom able to finish his petitions, and tonight was no exception. The poppy coursing through his veins was already making him sleepy and euphoric. Rising clumsily, he rolled onto his couch and into unconsciousness almost simultaneously.

  He woke in the night with a start, already listening for the sound that had disturbed him. His lamp had gone out. Faint moonlight was filtering through the reed slats of the window hanging, casting bands of blurred grey on the floor. Footsteps were passing his closed door. After a moment Huy realized that they belonged to Anhur or one of his soldiers. He lay down again and turned on his side, but he did not fall asleep at once.

  Suddenly he remembered a comment Anhur had made regarding the speed with which Huy’s request for a guard had been answered. The Queen had given birth to a son. Egypt had an heir. What was his name? Anhur had not said. The news had been swallowed up in the excitement of their meeting. But with a pang of anxiety it came to Huy that Pharaoh had sent no summons to him to travel to Mennofer and See for the child. There had not even been a scroll announcing the boy’s arrival and warning Huy that he would be called upon at a later date. Why not? Huy asked himself uneasily. Surely the future of this Prince will be of vital interest to Amunhotep. Is the King afraid to know it, and if so, why?

  As if he had posed the question aloud to someone in the room, an answer came right away. All the wealth that now surrounded him, all the generosity of a grateful King, had been bestowed because Amunhotep had stopped outside Hut-herib on his way to do battle against the rebellious chieftains of the east, and Huy, being granted the privilege of actually touching the royal hand, had Seen the most vivid and detailed visions he had ever experienced. The King had later returned to Egypt triumphant, laden with all the gifts and booty Huy had predicted, and His Majesty had shown his appreciation by deeding this pretty little estate to Huy.

  But with the promise of victory had come a message for Pharaoh from Atum himself. The words rang in Huy’s head with perfect clarity as he lay tensely on his couch. “Tell my son Amunhotep the things I shall show you, and give him this warning,” the god had said to Huy, deep in the revelations opening out before him. “He must not depart from the balance of Ma’at I have established. Already he is tempted to do so.” How is the King tempted to disturb the balance of cosmic truth and earthly justice Atum decreed for Egypt? Huy wondered. He sat up and, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch, gazed unseeing into the calm dimness. “He must not depart … ” It was a caution, implying that Amunhotep had not yet begun to upset Ma’at but was thinking of doing so. With full knowledge of what he was doing? How can a King make Ma’at tremble?

  Huy rubbed his forehead and reached for the water beside him, all at once thirsty. He can do so in a hundred different ways. By subverting the cosmic laws. By ignoring justice for his subjects. By refusing allegiance to our gods, becoming ungrateful to them, setting himself above them. Huy drank and sat holding the cup in both hands. Supposing the King has succumbed to the temptation Atum was implying, his thoughts tumbled on. Supposing he remembers very well the words the god spoke to him through me but he does not care, he has set his face towards some evil believing it to be good, believing he knows better than the gods. Now his son is born. Egypt’s heir. The King does not want the child’s future revealed for fear I may see more than Amunhotep wishes. Or more than he himself desires to know. What course has Pharaoh embarked upon that will bring Atum’s disapproval? I can think of no other explanation for the King’s silence with regard to his son, and if I am right, then I will never be invited to See for the Hawk-in-the-Nest. Is there any evidence at court, in the affairs of the administration, that Ma’at’s laws are being subverted? I must ask Anhur tomorrow, but carefully; and in any case, there is nothing a Seer can do in such a situation. He must wait to prophesy until Atum provides an opportunity to do so.

  Huy lay back but could not sleep again for some time. He heard the patrol outside his door pass and repass twice more before drowsiness overcame him.

  Tetiankh woke him at dawn as he had requested, tidied the room as he ate, then accompanied him to the bathhouse, where hot water steamed. Huy stood on the bathing slab to be washed and then lay on the bench just outside, hidden from the rest of the garden by a wall and many shrubs, to be shaved, plucked, and oiled. By the time he sought out Ishat on the grass at the front of the house, there was an orderly queue of petitioners waiting quietly, their eyes flicking from the two soldiers who watched them to the empty stool with Ishat cross-legged beside it.

  She smiled at him as he took the stool. True to her word, she was wearing the silver circlet. Its ankhs trembled against her forehead as she picked up her burnisher and began to apply it vigorously to the sheet of papyrus on her palette. “There was a large crowd outside the gate this morning,” she told Huy. “Anhur was ready for them. He counted in ten of them and sent the rest away. Kar is most relieved.” Laying down the scraper, she ran a hand over the smooth surface of the papyrus, uncapped the ink, and selected a brush. “Merenra has gone into the town to send our invitations and to find more servants,” she went on. “He will also go to the straw pits and order bricks for the new cells. Are you ready to work?”

  Huy nodded. No plants would be trampled today. No disgruntled Seshemnefer would have to clean up human feces from behind the grain silo. Each person would be escorted back to the gate by a guard when Huy had finished caring for his or her need. Ishat whispered the scribes’ prayer to Thoth as Huy beckoned the first patient forward and took her hand. The day’s labour had begun.

  By the middle of the afternoon, the courtyard was empty. Huy wiped the sweat from his neck with the linen Tetiankh had stood ready to offer him, and Ishat rose from the grass, flexing her shoulders and yawning. “We will have to take the litter into the town tomorrow,” she remarked. “The list of those too ill to come here is growing. I must eat and then lie on my couch for a while, Huy, and there is no sign of Merenra yet. I hope he’s having some success.” She kissed him briefly on the cheek and hurried into the shade cast by the entrance pillars.

  Huy left the stool more slowly. Any swift movement would increase the pounding in his head. He debated whether or not to order poppy from Tetiankh, who had retired a short distance and was waiting for his summons, but decided to try to see if the usual hour of sleep everyone took in the heat of the afternoon would calm the pain. He was about to follow Ishat into the house when he saw Anhur approaching throug
h the glare of full sunlight. He waited, eyes screwed half shut and beginning to water, and when Anhur came up to him, he took the man’s arm and drew him into the coolness of the portico. At once Tetiankh brought in the stool. Huy sank onto it.

  “You look terrible, young Huy,” Anhur said, bending to peer into Huy’s face. “Are you sick? Is there a physician in your house?”

  “Besides me and the god?” Huy managed with a grin. “It’s just a headache, Anhur. The visions seem to leave it behind, like dross from the refining of metal. I heard you in the house last night. How are your men today? Will they be content here?”

  Anhur squatted in front of him. “They will. They like being close enough to the river to swim when they are not on duty. So do I. Now that your peasants have gone home, I’ve relieved the two guards, placed only one at the gate and one at the rear of the house, and told the rest they are free to sleep or gamble. What about the bricks? I’m anxious to begin building something permanent for them as soon as possible, before the Inundation comes and the nights grow cool.”

  They talked for a while, then Huy said, “It must have been wonderful to be in the palace when the Prince was born. What has he been named?”

  Anhur shrugged. “If you can call a lot of cheering and shrieking and wine-drinking wonderful. We members of the Shock Troops, being household guards as well, didn’t get much sleep. Drunk courtiers kept trying to stagger into the royal apartments at all hours, and the common well-wishers kept trying to push their way onto the palace grounds with gifts. A week’s holiday was declared, of course, which didn’t make things any easier. Our Prince has been named Amunhotep after his father.”

  “Pharaoh must be pleased.”

  Anhur frowned. “I don’t think so. The One in his divinity is the Incarnation of Amun, and the Prince will also become Amun’s power on earth when he succeeds to the Horus Throne, and naturally it is Amun’s priests and astrologers who have the privilege of choosing his name. I was on guard in the reception hall when Amun’s High Priest arrived all the way from Weset to give the King the good news. Amunhotep was angry, I could tell. He raised his voice to the High Priest. He demanded that the stars be read again, insisted that the astrologers had made a mistake. The High Priest stood firm. It was his right to name the Hawk-in-the-Nest. He was very offended when he left.”