Heqareshu looked interested. “Do the gods speak to you in the night, then?” he wanted to know. “Kenamun told me of your prediction to Pharaoh, how every detail of it was fulfilled. You are blessed, Seer Huy.”
“He ate every single pastry Khnit made,” Ishat remarked later to Huy as they lay slumped on reed mats under the garden’s shade. “How does he stay so skinny?”
Heqareshu had gone upstairs for the afternoon sleep, and the lesser members of his retinue had flocked back onto his barge. Neither Huy nor Ishat wanted to retire to Huy’s room, so close to the one where Heqareshu was doubtless snoring on the couch.
Huy smiled at a purely feminine question that did not really require an answer. “His food is surely nothing but fuel for his overweening arrogance, and does not benefit his body at all,” he replied. “The King must have formed an affection for him in his younger days, before he acquired discrimination. Such early associations cannot easily be broken.” He was immediately aware of the truth of his words, and glumly fell silent. Ishat said no more. Both of them drowsed uncomfortably as the implacable heat of the afternoon shrivelled the grass around them.
In the evening, after finding fault with everything in the bathhouse, from the temperature of the water to the quality of the massage oils and the grit in the natron, Heqareshu sat in the reception room and methodically demolished the sumptuous feast Khnit, Huy’s cook, had laboured all day to produce. Yet between mouthfuls his conversation was light and correct, the accomplished patter of the seasoned courtier. He continued to behave as though Ishat failed to exist. Afterwards, surrounded by his guard and with his body servant holding a parasol over his head, he took a short walk along the river path in the red-drenched sunset. Once full night had fallen, he climbed the stairs to the roof, where he sat listening to the stories his scribe read to him from his box of scrolls.
Huy and Ishat retreated once more to the now dusky garden and lay looking up at the stars. “How clear the Red Horus is tonight!” Ishat commented. “Can you see the Leg of Beef? The Inundation is late. The Running Man Looking Over His Shoulder should be appearing on the horizon very soon.”
She turned towards him, propping her head on her hand, her features indistinct in the weak starlight, but Huy did not need illumination to trace every line and curve of the face he had known since boyhood. Her perfume rose to his nostrils as she moved.
“I can hardly wait until he sails away tomorrow,” she went on. “Even his scribe deigns to speak to me only if I ask him a deliberate question, and then very brusquely. Are all courtiers like him, do you think? Must I continually put up with them for Thothmes’ sake?”
Yes, they are, Huy wanted to insist with vehemence. I met some of them during my audience with the King. You will come to hate them all, Ishat. Stay here with me!
“No, they are not,” he admitted. “His son Kenamun is unpleasantly jealous of his closeness to Amunhotep, but the rest of the King’s servants and companions I met were kind. You will only have to curb your tongue upon occasion, Ishat.”
She was quiet for a moment, then she said, “Why do you think he’s here, Huy? It has seemed to you that Amunhotep is reluctant to allow any noble to consult you. Is he afraid of what you may discover about him? Something about his future? Why him?”
Why indeed, Huy thought, sitting up.
“I don’t think he’s here on his own behalf, although I expect that he believes otherwise,” he said. “In my opinion the King wants information regarding his unborn child.”
“But why send the Royal Nurse? Why not send Queen Tiaa?”
“Because a Royal Nurse spends far more time with a royal child than does a Queen. He engages the wet nurse, appoints the nursery guards, oversees the daily routine. He even selects the tutors who will guide the Prince or Princess—under the King’s direct approval, of course. His responsibility is heavy. Amunhotep will learn more about his child’s future from Heqareshu than he would if the Queen had come for a Seeing.”
“He is clever and subtle, then, our King.”
Clever and subtle. And filling me with anxiety for some reason, Huy thought.
“I wish he would go to bed. I need to be on my couch instead of lurking in my own garden like a criminal,” was all he said.
He spent a restless night, sleeping fitfully, unable to still his mind, his body too hot under the one thin sheet with which he had covered his nakedness for Ishat’s sake. He worried, as always before a Seeing, that the god would reveal nothing and he would seem like a charlatan. Added to that, when he attended the few nobles allowed to consult him, was the fear that if he Saw nothing, Pharaoh would begin to doubt his power and remove the patronage that had so suddenly and wonderfully changed his and Ishat’s lives. And this time there was a new concern: what if he Saw something that would anger or distress Amunhotep? He wanted to wake Ishat, sleeping quietly on her pallet, her sleeping robe a grey jumble on the floor between his couch and the slatted hanging of the window. He wanted to hear her reassurance that the King’s generosity would continue regardless of what was Seen, that even if no vision was fed to Huy through the Royal Nurse’s aristocratic fingers, Amunhotep would be satisfied. But soon Ishat will be gone, he told himself miserably. I must learn to rely on my judgment alone. I can ask for her advice through letters. I can even visit her if I must. But that strong, honest, often caustic voice will answer to Thothmes’ needs, not mine. How in the name of all the gods can I go on without her? Ishat!
As though he had cried her name aloud, she stirred, muttered something unintelligible, and fell into deep unconsciousness again. Huy resigned himself to an anxious boredom.
Heqareshu took his morning meal in the privacy of the guest room. By the time he was escorted to the bathhouse by his guards, his body servant, his masseur, and his tiring woman, Huy and Ishat had been washed, painted, and dressed and were waiting tensely in Huy’s office for their summons. Heqareshu, for all his protestations of haste, took his time, but at last Merenra bowed himself into their presence. “Royal Nurse Heqareshu will receive you now, Master,” he said, unable to fully conceal the relief on his face. “He has already given orders for his belongings to be transferred to his barge, and his sailors wait to cast off.”
“Well, thank the gods!” Ishat blurted, reaching for her palette. “Let’s hope that this Seeing will be over quickly, Huy, and we can wave goodbye to a most disagreeable man. Lead on, Merenra. You can announce us.”
Half a dozen pairs of eyes were fixed apprehensively on Huy and Ishat as Merenra bowed them into the guest room and withdrew. It is as though none of them has seen me before, Huy thought irritably as he performed his obeisance, Ishat beside him, and rose to meet Heqareshu’s heavily kohled gaze. But I suppose this morning I have become something exotic and perhaps even threatening in my guise as mouthpiece of Atum.
Heqareshu gestured him forward. “I do not wish to hear the words of the gods in the presence of your scribe. Dismiss her.”
“My scribe always transcribes the proceedings so that those who consult me may have an accurate record of what is said,” Huy said mildly. “Ishat must stay.”
Heqareshu frowned. There was a flutter of shocked whispers from those around him. “My scribe will perform this duty,” Heqareshu answered coldly.
Huy shook his head. “Your pardon, Great Lord,” he objected. “I fully trust my scribe, even as you trust yours. This is the way I work. Perhaps you wish to leave at once, and carry a complaint to Pharaoh?” For the first time Huy saw uncertainty flit across the haughty face. He pushed his advantage. “Furthermore, I would like you to order all your servants to leave the room. I do not know what Atum may say to you, but his words must be private, for you, me, and my scribe’s records alone.”
The frown deepened, but after a moment an imperious hand waved once, betraying the savagery of the man’s acquiescence. The room emptied swiftly. Ishat went to the floor, saying the customary prayer to Thoth under her breath as she plied her papyrus scraper and uncapped and mi
xed her ink.
Huy approached Heqareshu and knelt. “I must hold your hand. Atum speaks through the physical connection between us. Forgive my temerity.”
For answer, five heavily ringed fingers were extended. Huy took them softly, laying them between his palms, and as he did so a wave of pity swept over him. Startled, he glanced up. Heqareshu’s eyes were closed and he had folded against the gilded back of the chair, the stiffness of blood and protocol going out of him. Huy closed his own eyes. Now, he said mutely to the god, let your power flood through me, Neb-er-djer, Lord to the Limit. Show me why I tremble with compassion for this proud creature. Tell me what it is that you wish Amunhotep to know.
There was no moment of transition, no vertigo. At once he found himself standing in a pleasant room facing Heqareshu across an ornate crib. Behind him, the chatter of many female voices mingled sweetly with the swish of linens. He could feel the rhythmic swirl of perfumed air as someone just beyond the range of his vision plied a large fan. He bent over the crib. A pair of alert black eyes regarded him solemnly out of a tiny face. Suddenly the baby smiled. His arms and legs jerked in excitement. Heqareshu leaned down and picked him up, crooning wordlessly to him, the mop of black hair settling against the hollow of his shoulder.
A hush fell. Heqareshu turned and so did Huy. A woman was sweeping towards them, her delicate little face dwarfed by the ornate crown of Mut, the queens’ crown, which sat firmly on her long, ringleted wig, its vulture beak jutting over her forehead, its golden wings wrapping behind her ears and touching her shoulders. With a rustle and a sigh, the servants behind Huy went to the floor. Heqareshu, the baby in his arms, bowed low. “Give him to me,” the woman said. “I wish to hold him for a moment. Is he well? Does he feed lustily?”
“He is perfect in every way, Majesty,” Heqareshu answered, passing him carefully to his mother. She bent her head and kissed her son’s button nose. The baby gurgled blissfully. The scene was touching: the naked child held close to the Queen’s lapis-and-gold-hung breast, her face, as she gazed down at him, soft with love, the vulture goddess on her head seeming to lean over the boy protectively. But Huy, caught up in the charm of the moment, was startled by a sudden shadow that passed over him and came to rest on the crib. He glanced up. A hawk was hovering erratically over the baby, uttering cries of distress. One of its wings hung bedraggled and useless. It was trying unsuccessfully to make it beat. Huy automatically put out an arm so that the bird might have a place to rest, and right away it struggled towards him, perching awkwardly on his wrist. Then, as he turned his head towards it, it drove its sharp beak against his mouth and vanished. Stunned, Huy put a finger to his lips. It came away red.
The Queen was handing the baby back to the Royal Nurse. “The priests have chosen his name,” she was saying. “He is to be called Thothmes. Pharaoh is pleased. It is an honourable name, full of the powers of godhead.” Huy heard the words, but his attention was fixed on the baby. A circlet had appeared on his head. Attached to it, the royal uraeus, the vulture Lady of Dread and the cobra Lady of Flame, reared up together, but there was something wrong. The mighty protectors of kings were not facing forward, united in their warning and defence of a pharaoh. As Huy watched, the cobra’s frill closed up and the vulture’s head sank slowly to lie against the snake’s skin. It was as though the two potent symbols had turned to each other for support.
A thrill of terror shot through Huy as the sight dissolved, taking with it the baby, the Queen, the crowd of whispering women, until nothing remained but the face of the Royal Nurse. Rapidly it aged. The cheeks hollowed. The blue-painted eyelids puffed and sagged. Deep lines appeared beside the widening nostrils. Distress was clouding the tired eyes. “But Majesty, it is not right, it is not just!” Heqareshu was saying. “I have raised both princes. They are both estimable, both honourable! I beg you, for the love in which you hold me as your own Foster Father and the father of your dearest friend—reconsider this decision!”
Huy’s hand trembled slightly. He looked down. The fingers enclosed in his own moved. The rings bit into his palm. Opening his hand, he rose with difficulty. His knees felt weak and a pounding in his head made him wince as he groped for the stool set ready and slumped onto it.
“Well?” Heqareshu snapped, rubbing at his rings.
Ishat picked up her pen.
“Queen Tiaa will give birth to a healthy boy,” Huy managed. “He will be named Thothmes. He will survive. You yourself will also survive into old age, Royal Nurse, but an event in the far future will bring you much grief. The god did not show me what it will be.” In the moment of silence that followed, Huy could hear the faint pressure of Ishat’s brush against the papyrus.
Heqareshu leaned forward. “That is all?” he asked sharply. “I have come all this way for that?”
Huy smiled, a mere twitch of his mouth. “Considering that the King moved his capital from Weset back to Mennofer over a year ago, you will be back at the palace in about two days. His Majesty will be very pleased at the news you will bring him. Would you like a little wine before you go, Royal Nurse? It will take my scribe a moment to make a copy of my words for you to take away with you.”
“No.” Heqareshu stood and shook out his linen impatiently. “If you will allow my servants back into the room, I will have them escort me to my barge.” His tone was sarcastic. “Your steward can bring me the finished scroll.”
Huy had had enough. “Is it my peasant origins that disturb you so much, Heqareshu, or my calling? For I had no choice in either one. If the gods had decreed otherwise, you yourself might even now be padding barefooted through the dust of the river path somewhere, sweating into your coarse and much-mended linen. I would remind you of the words of Amenemopet: ‘Man is clay and straw. Atum is the potter. He tears down and he builds up every day, creating small things by the thousands through his love.’ You and I, my Lord, are merely clay and straw, and in the balance of Ma’at we are small indeed.”
Heqareshu had gone gradually pale as he spoke. Huy had expected an angry rebuff that would put him in his place, but he stared at him for a moment, head on one side, then nodded. “Egypt fears you, Seer, and fear often manifests itself as anger. With your permission, I will thank you for your hospitality and leave your house.” He bowed to Huy, walked to the door, opened it, and was gone. Through ears ringing with pain, Huy heard his retinue scatter along the hallway and down the stairs.
“I have completed the copy, Huy,” Ishat said. “The Seeing was very short.” She made as if to set her palette down, but Huy forestalled her.
“Take another roll of papyrus and write what I will tell you,” he ordered. “I withheld something from the Royal Nurse that I want recorded and filed with my private scrolls. It disturbs me greatly, Ishat.” Quickly, he spoke of the wounded hawk and the twisted uraeus. When he had finished, he made his way unsteadily to the door. “Have Heqareshu’s scroll delivered at once to the barge, and stay at the watersteps until he has gone. I want to talk to you about what I saw, but later. I have seldom suffered such an extreme physical consequence to the Seeing.” He was ridiculously grateful to see Tetiankh waiting for him outside his room a short way along the passage. “Poppy,” he grunted, and lurched towards his couch.
He slept the day away, waking only to gulp a cup of water before falling back into a sodden unconsciousness, and the sun was setting before he woke fully, wrapped himself in a sheet, and went in search of Ishat. He found her in the garden with a flagon of shedehwine and a bowl full of fruit, vegetables, and bread beside her.
“The peaches and figs are simply luscious,” she said as he lowered himself beside her, “and the currants are very sweet. You should eat something, Huy. Wine?” She handed him a brimming cup, and he tossed a handful of currants into his mouth before drinking and reaching for the sticks of crisp green celery. “Seshemnefer tells me that there is a small rise in the level of the river,” she went on. “He asks that we put the soldiers to work digging the canal we promised him so that h
e can care for the garden without hauling water. We could make it pretty by planting palms along its length beside the house.” She paused, looked bewildered, then laughed without humour. “What am I saying? I won’t be here to see the palms grow.”
Huy did not respond. He felt calm and emptied, as though the poppy had scoured both body and mind.
Ishat spat out a melon seed. “Huy, is it your duty to give the King the rest of the Seeing? You described terrible omens over the little Prince.”
“I know. But I have a strong intuition that they are for me as well as for Thothmes, that I am obliged to ponder their meaning with regard to that baby before I decide what to do. What do they mean to you?”
“I’ve been thinking about it. Horus hovers above the Prince. He is in pain, unable to fly properly, unable to soar. But Thothmes is not the Hawk-in-the-Nest. His older brother Amunhotep is the heir to the Horus Throne. Is Amunhotep to die, then? Is Thothmes to become the Hawk-in-the-Nest? And if so, why is Horus wounded? The holy uraeus appears on Thothmes’ brow, but it too is wounded, disfigured, perhaps even impotent. Will Thothmes take the Double Crown by force from his brother, and try to rule without Ma’at?”
Without Ma’at. Her words struck an answering chord in Huy. The visions have something to do with Ma’at, with cosmic and earthly rightness, he thought to himself. They speak of more than just a brother usurping the throne or a Prince dying. They shout to me of an Egypt wounded to the heart.
“I have got no further in my guesses than you,” he put in, “but I believe I must keep this knowledge secret until Atum wills its exposure. It makes me nervous, Ishat. In fact, even before Heqareshu arrived, his coming made me anxious. All I can do is wait.”
4
It was a good flood that year, a full twenty-five cubits, the water completely covering Huy’s watersteps and lapping at his gate. Although it was the season for fevers, fewer townspeople bothered to negotiate the sodden path that ran past Huy’s estate, and neither he nor Ishat ventured into Hut-herib. It was Amunmose, as under steward, who went to and fro, fulfilling the necessary errands for the household. Huy put Anhur’s soldiers to work, first building a small dam at the flood’s edge and then digging a canal beside the house and into the garden. Seshemnefer, in his capacity as gardener, had the privilege of breaking the dam when the work was finished, and everyone on the property turned out to watch the deep ditch fill swiftly and the water run out to pool on and then sink into the thirsty soil. The soldiers rebuilt the dam, this time to keep the water in, and Seshemnefer began the task of planting date palms along the verges of the canal, to both provide fruit and prevent subsidence.
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