“And it is the King who provides for Egypt’s Great Seer,” she said slowly. “I believe I understand. Shall I be able to trust you, Master, as you hope you may trust me?”
“Yes. Anhur, captain of my guards, will come for you with a litter tomorrow morning.”
“If I am not happy in your house, you will let me go?”
“Of course.” Huy felt suddenly exhausted. “This is Egypt, not some barbarous country. If you agree to serve me, be ready here, in this spot, with whatever possessions you wish to bring.” He turned on his heel and, taking the few steps to the litter, got into it and drew the curtains closed. It’s done, he thought dully. I had no choice, Ishat. I did not intend to hire a woman, much less a girl, but somehow it has happened. You will surely see my necessity, but will you accept it? He was too thirsty to doze on the long walk home.
Ishat was waiting for him, pacing the reception hall. He could hear the slap of her sandals as he paused in the passage to draw water from the large urn kept freshly filled each day by Seshemnefer. Drinking deeply, he went through into the relative coolness of the room. At once she ran to him, taking his arms and searching his face. “Where have you been?” she demanded sharply. “I’ve been so worried, Huy. Merenra wouldn’t tell me anything. Look at you, covered in sweat and your feet filthy with dust! You gave a reading to someone without me!”
“No.” He pulled himself out of her grasp and, going to a chair, he sat, unlacing his sandals and placing the soles of his feet on the tiles of the floor with great relief. “I’m sweaty and dusty because I had Anhur take me into the marketplace. The heat there was unbearable.”
“You had to go in person to buy something?”
“No. For Set’s sake, come and sit down, Ishat.”
“You swear by the god of chaos. Now I know that something is wrong.” Tugging one of the pretty cedar and ivory chairs close to him, she perched on its edge and leaned towards him. “The King has withdrawn his support, hasn’t he? I knew it! Buying into the incense caravans was a dangerous idea. Who told you? What did Mery-neith have to say?”
She had voiced her greatest fear, and Huy, looking into her contorted face, felt a rush of love for her. Reaching across, he ran a hand down her cheek. “It’s nothing like that, my Ishat. If I had received word from Mennofer, you would have known about it. I went into the town to hire a new scribe.”
For a moment she stared at him, blinking, obviously puzzled. “A new scribe? Whatever for? Do you think you need two of us?” Then her expression changed and, sitting back, she covered her face with both hands. “Oh gods, Huy, of course you need a new scribe. Will need one. I’ll be gone. I should have thought about it myself, talked to you about it, offered to select someone suitable myself. I’m so sorry.” Her hands fell into her scarlet lap. “But why the marketplace? Why not apply to Mery-neith? As Mayor he would know of many suitable men.”
“You know why. I had to choose someone entirely unconnected to any noble household.”
“Oh, of course,” she said again. “How stupid of me. But it makes me sad to think of someone else sitting on the floor at your knee, sharing your thoughts and decisions.” She laughed self-consciously. “I’m a little jealous. How hard you worked to teach me the mystery and beauty of the written word, and how hard I worked to learn! Now it is all wasted. I suppose you want me to train him.”
With alarm, Huy saw that the full import of his need was at last overtaking her. Her fingers had wound around each other and she was smiling, grimacing, in an effort to control an impulse to cry.
“Train her, Ishat. I have hired a woman.”
There was a moment of shocked silence, then her eyes narrowed. The action forced two tears to dribble down her cheeks. Slowly she wiped them away with her knuckles like a wounded child. “A woman,” she said with difficulty. “Why a woman, Huy? How is it that in a profession made up almost entirely of men you managed to go out and in a few hours find yourself a woman? Are you trying to replace me in every way?” Her mouth twisted. “Or perhaps the god sent you a vision in the night, a message of absolution from your impotence, and you went seeking a bedmate.” She sprang from the chair and, hands on hips, began to stride back and forth across the floor in front of him.
He was relieved. He was used to handling an angry Ishat. Her fire was familiar. Her tears were another matter entirely. “Don’t be ridiculous!” he said curtly. “If such a wonder had come to me, I should have rushed straight into your bedchamber and shaken you awake and poured it into your ears! We’ve known each other all our lives, Ishat. No one is closer to me than you. Even Thothmes doesn’t know things about me that you do!” Please don’t use your own pain to hurt me, he begged her silently. My impotence is a raw, constant wound, and you know it. “I went into the market intending to hire the best independent scribe I could find. I was drawn almost at once to this girl.”
“Girl? First it was a woman. Now it’s a girl.” She threw up her hands. “And what exactly drew you to this … girl?”
“I don’t know. Her indifference, I think.” He was trying to remain calm, to keep her calm.
“How old is she?”
“About fifteen, I think.”
“You think! You think! Gods, Huy, you intend to place your whole life, all the complexities of your gift, your business dealings, your very character, into the hands of a fifteen-year-old stranger?”
“No. By the time I take you south for your marriage, you will have completed her training and you will tell me honestly, Ishat, honestly, whether or not she will be adequate. I cannot hope to replace you, my dearest one.” He got up and, pulling her tight, he held her rigid, furious body. “But you know I cannot function without a scribe, and there is too much work for me to do myself.”
“I hate her already.” Her voice came muffled against the hollow of his shoulder, and above her head, unseen, Huy began to smile. It was going to be all right. “She will be some silly, wide-eyed child who will fall in love with you at once,” Ishat went on waspishly, “and she will end up worshipping you and your gift so utterly that she will be of no use whatsoever. How will she ever learn to give you advice as I do, let alone take a faultless dictation!” She lifted her head and looked up into his face. “How did she do at that, anyway?”
“Passably well.” Huy let her go. “I don’t expect you to like her, Ishat. Just try to prepare her for her work. I’m not trying to make a new friend. I shall still have Anhur to talk to when I get lonely.”
She stood back, smoothing down her ribboned braids and canting her head so that she could begin to unscrew her earrings. “I’m going to my couch for the afternoon. When may I expect this pupil?”
“I’ll send Anhur for her in the morning. I’m sorry, Ishat. I should have taken you with me today.”
“But you were afraid that I might make a scene.” She was already in the doorway. “We are both sorry, Huy. Every decision we have made lately has been a compromise. I hate Atum for what he has done to you. I have hated him for a long time, almost as much as I have hated the bitch who broke your heart. Rest well.”
Her last words came floating from the passage. Before following her towards the stairs and his own bedchamber, Huy stood for a moment, listening to the silence of the house. Anuket, he thought. In two months I shall see you again, for surely you will come to Thothmes’ wedding feast. Her tiny, delicate face swam into focus in his mind. Brutally he dismissed it, mounting the stairs and greeting a drowsy Tetiankh, who was waiting to wash him before seeking his own pallet. I must decide on a wedding gift for Ishat, Huy thought as he pulled the sheet up over his shoulder and closed his eyes. Better if I ask her what she would like. Perhaps this evening, in the garden. I sometimes hate Atum also, my Ishat, and that is permissible as long as I am obedient to him. Soon the petitioners will line up again at my gate. This respite won’t last. Thothhotep—Ishat will laugh at the name. I hope that Thothhotep has a great deal of courage. She is going to need it all.
5
By
the time the litter bearing Thothhotep approached the house, Ishat and Huy were standing together in the shadows cast by the entrance pillars to welcome the girl. Or perhaps to let her know her place immediately, Huy thought to himself, enveloped in a miasma of Ishat’s perfume. Ishat was wearing the scarlet, gold-trimmed sheath and the thick gold circlet with its large jasper resting on her forehead. The smaller ones around the rim nestled in her hair. She had removed from the circlet the net of golden threads meant to imprison her tresses. Her earlobes were heavy with electrum earrings fashioned in the likeness of Hathor’s face. Rings sat on every one of her capable fingers, and silver bracelets tinkled on her wrists at her slightest movement. Huy had not been able to repress a smile when he had seen her sweep down the stairs to greet him before they took up their station, and her chin had risen. “I have not arrayed myself like this because your new scribe is a person of importance,” she had said. “But if I am to train her, she must understand my superior position from the start. Besides,” she had finished in true Ishat fashion, “if I feel in any way inferior to her, I shall be tempted to treat her sternly.” She had grinned back at him, her carefully hennaed mouth curving upward, her kohled eyes sparkling.
“You have always somehow managed to make your honesty either a stick to beat me with or an unguent to soothe me,” Huy had retorted. “You look wonderful. You would awe even Pharaoh himself this morning.”
She had nodded. “Thank you, Huy. But perhaps the gold circlet is a little too overpowering just to impress the daughter of a sailor.”
So that was it, Huy thought again. The daughter of a sailor is less lower-class than the daughter of a peasant who labours in the fields. I understand. I share your roots, Ishat, but my gift has compensated me for them. Thothmes has not yet been able to lift you above your own lingering sense of inferiority. For answer he had pulled a strand of her hair free of her earring and watched it settle against her cheek. “Your ability alone is enough to impress anyone,” he had said.
Now the litter was approaching, and at a word from Anhur it was set down. The curtains had obviously remained tied back. The form inside seemed smaller, slighter than Huy remembered, hidden as it had been by loose linens. A foot appeared, shod in a worn reed sandal, then a head capped by short, gleaming black hair. Thothhotep stepped forward and bowed. With a shock Huy saw that she was taller than the delicate hands and narrow shoulders of the day before had indicated, as tall as Ishat, and slender to the point of emaciation under a stained sheath with a tattered hem.
“Gods, Huy, is she going to collapse and die on our doorstep?” Ishat murmured as the girl straightened, her eyes flicking nervously between them. She was clutching a small linen bag to her chest. In the moment before Huy spoke, he heard Ishat sigh, a sound of both compassion and exasperation. Good, he thought. Ishat’s pity always takes a practical form.
“Welcome to our home, Thothhotep,” he said. “There is beer and food for you in the reception hall. Amunmose! Take her bag up to the guest room.”
The young man emerged from behind him, smiled at the girl, and held out his hand. After some hesitation Thothhotep thrust her possessions at him. “My palette is in there,” she said breathlessly.
“My name is Amunmose. I am the under steward here, and whatever is in your bag will be perfectly safe,” Amunmose replied. “Incidentally, the leek soup waiting for you in the house was made especially for this occasion by Khnit, our cook, from my mother’s famous recipe. It may be eaten hot or cold, and today it is cold. I accompanied the Master to Khmun some years ago when he had business in Thoth’s temple. My family lives at Khmun, where my mother is well known for her kitchen skills. I—”
“Amunmose!” Ishat said sharply.
He wheeled about. “I was trying to put her at ease,” he muttered as he passed between Huy and Ishat, bag in hand. “I swear, if Anhur coughed behind her, she’d faint with fright.”
Huy indicated the doorway. “Come inside, out of the heat. Thank you, Anhur, I’ll see you at dinner. This is my scribe and my dear friend Ishat,” he went on as Thothhotep came forward. “She will be your mentor for the next two months.”
Again Thothhotep bowed. “I know that I am very privileged to be here, Lady Ishat. I promise to work hard and learn from you as quickly as I can. My name is Thothhotep.”
“You will indeed work hard,” Ishat replied as she preceded Huy into the house. “This appears to be a most informal household, Thothhotep, but that is only because the Master’s needs are varied and change from day to day. We all serve him, and he serves Atum and the King.”
They had reached the reception hall. Huy, turning to show the girl to the small, low table that would become her place at meals, saw her eyes widen as she quickly scanned the large room with its costly furnishings, its tall, gracious lampstands, the dull gleam of the black and white tiled floor, before she sank onto her cushion. Good, he thought again. She is awed, perhaps even overwhelmed, but she keeps it to herself. Ishat was watching her critically as she picked up a spoon and stared down at the bowl of soup. Huy could read Ishat’s mind. She is wondering if she will have to teach Thothhotep social graces as well as a scribe’s skills. As long as she is busy organizing the girl’s life, she will forget that she is training her usurper. But Thothhotep ate and drank politely, thanking Merenra when he refilled her bowl and cup and answering Ishat’s abrupt questions when her mouth had emptied.
Later, she was shown the guest room, where the shrine stood open, ready for the totems of visitors. “I presume that you worship Thoth and Nekhbet,” Ishat said.
Thothhotep nodded. “I do, but I have no effigies to stand guard over me,” she replied. She did not add that she could not afford them, and again Huy was pleased.
“Show me your palette,” Ishat demanded, and the girl opened the bag Amunmose had placed on the couch and passed the palette to her. Ishat examined it respectfully. “You have managed to care for it well,” she commented.
Thothhotep flushed. “My cousin gave it to me when he thought I would agree to be betrothed to him,” she told them. “I tried to return it before I left Nekheb, but he was kind enough to let me keep it.”
“Otherwise you would have starved or ended up selling your body,” Ishat said tartly, passing it back to her. “Doubtless he knew that. Put it on Huy’s desk in the office beside mine. I’ll show you where, and then you can go to the bathhouse and be bathed and oiled. Iput?” Her body servant, who had been hovering with interest by the door, came forward. “Will you mind caring for this girl until I or the Master can find a replacement for you? Thothhotep, have you any more linens in that bag of yours?”
Huy was outside talking to Seshemnefer when Ishat pulled him away. “She and Iput are in the bathhouse, getting rid of that indefinable smell of poverty we ourselves used to carry about with us when we couldn’t afford enough natron to wash ourselves every day,” she told him. “She owns nothing apart from her palette and the sheath she’s wearing but a huge old man’s shirt and an equally big kilt. She needs literally everything, Huy, even new brushes and a better quality of ink. Couldn’t you have found a less drastic drain on Pharaoh’s Treasury? Iput is a good girl and can sew well, but I wouldn’t trust her to barter for sheath linen. Merenra and I will have to go to the flax merchants and then the weavers. What a bother! And she must have kohl for her eyes and at least one pair of earrings and two pairs of sandals and a belt and a lot of time-consuming care on Iput’s part for her hands. After all, the servants here must represent you properly, particularly a scribe.” She threw out her arms. “And I don’t even know yet whether or not she can spell!”
“Do your best with her,” Huy said. “I think that she will prove to be a ready pupil and will adapt to our ways. Take whatever gold you think you may need and go into the town with Merenra tomorrow. Perhaps you could lend her some of your sheaths in the meantime.”
“No! No, Huy. For one thing, she’s skinnier than a dry reed and nothing I have will fit her. For another …” She p
ulled him to a halt and stepped to face him, lifting defiant eyes to meet his own. “For another, I am doing my best not to resent her being here. I know how necessary she will be to you, but I don’t want anyone to be necessary to you but me! It is not logical, but I do not apologize. Let Iput alter her ugly shirt and kilt. I am giving her my life with you. I will not have my sheaths rubbing against her miserably dry flesh!”
So Ishat was indeed fully aware of what she was being called upon to do. Huy kissed her. Together they began to walk towards the house.
“You’re right and I’m sorry,” he said. “I should not have made that suggestion. Forgive my insensitivity.” They had almost reached the house when all at once Huy remembered the ivory monkey toy his uncle Ker had given him on his fourth Naming Day. He had hated it from first sight, hated its mindless grin, its grasping paws that would clap together if one pulled the cord in its back, and he had grown to fear it also, for reasons he did not understand. It had seemed to him to have a malevolent sentience, to hate him in return and wish him harm. One night some years later, he had taken it into his mother’s garden and, setting it on one of the rocks surrounding the pond, he had picked up a stone and pounded it into little pieces, not realizing that he was weeping as he did so, crying with the grief of his father’s betrayal and his uncle’s desertion after the priest Methen had carried him home from the House of the Dead and everyone but his mother and Ishat had disowned him out of fear. Ishat had come up behind him in the darkness as he was trying to scrape the remains of the monkey together. “I will dispose of the pieces, Huy. Don’t worry about it. Go and wash your face and then sleep,” she had said. “Your hand is bleeding.” He had held her tightly then, his loyal friend, full of the pain of nostalgia for a time of simplicity that would never come again.
“The times only seem easier now,” he said thickly aloud as the memory bloomed, bringing with it the old familiar ache of loss. “Underneath all this luxury there is still a well of uncertainty. I love you so much, Ishat.” Please don’t leave me, the words ran on silently. She took his arm, briefly laying her head against it as they entered the passage, and did not answer.
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