Seer of Egypt

by Pauline Gedge

  Ishat emerged from the litter, hot and tired, as Merenra was unsealing the wine for their last meal of the day. Amunmose stood waiting with obvious impatience, the steam of boiled cabbage and onions rising from the tray he held. Thothhotep and Huy were already on their cushions in the dining hall. The house was full of the odours of fried fish, garlic, and coriander. Ishat flung herself down behind her table. “I need beer before wine, please, Merenra,” she sighed. “I’m very thirsty. Well, Huy, it is done. I’ve put the scroll on your desk. Did you sign your copy?” Huy nodded. “Good. Tomorrow it can all go south to Iunu. Serve us, Amunmose.”

  “Your parents are well?” Huy asked as the under steward came forward and set the vegetables before him.

  “Yes. And relieved to see me go, I think. Mother said that no matter how much the gifts improved their circumstances, she would go on caring for your family. I had no time to walk to your father’s house, but I saw Heby playing in the orchard. He needs a friend.” She paused to take a long draft of the beer Merenra had quickly brought, and in that moment Huy was assailed by a torrent of memories of the two of them, himself and Ishat, half naked and dusty, crouched together under the trees while they argued over the toy soldiers his uncle Ker’s chief gardener had made for him. Ishat always wanted to be the King but usually ended up as Commander of the Braves of the King, Egypt’s elite fighting force. Huy’s fingers tingled as he remembered how often he had pinched her into submission.

  “Next year he can come and stay with me while the school is closed during the flood,” he responded. “Father can no longer object, seeing that you will be gone and no question of immorality in this household will exist.”

  “Oh, no?” Ishat jerked her spoon at Thothhotep, who was quietly chewing, her glance moving from one of them to the other. “Your father will use any excuse to keep Heby away from the knowledge of your eccentric past. It’s bad enough that his son has become a Seer. Tell me, Thothhotep, has anyone spoken to you of your master’s terrible accident during his schooldays at Iunu?”

  Thothhotep looked startled. “No. The people of the town call him the Twice Born because it was at his school that he became a favourite of Atum, and thus a Seer. That is all I know.”

  Her inflection had risen at her last words, but neither Huy nor Ishat responded to the implied question. Ishat, her beer cup empty, was sniffing the cabbage appreciatively and ignored the girl. Huy gave her a smile but gestured to Merenra. “Pour the wine now,” was all he said.

  The scrolls went south, and a mere week later a letter arrived from Thothmes addressed to both Huy and Ishat, warning them that he would be arriving in the middle of the month to gather up Ishat and her belongings and escort them both to Iunu.

  “I have already asked Iput if she wishes to continue to serve as my body servant in Thothmes’ house,” Ishat told Huy as they stood staring at the scroll quivering in the breeze from the window where Huy had laid it on the desk.

  It looks so innocuous, so harmless, he thought, but it holds within it the spell that will change my life forever.

  “I dare say she agreed at once,” he replied wryly. “What is this household compared to the luxuries and excitement of an Assistant Governor’s home? I suppose I must find a replacement for her, someone to serve Thothhotep.”

  “Thothhotep is quite used to seeing to her own personal needs,” Ishat said darkly. “A body servant will only embarrass her.”

  Huy laughed aloud. “How long did it take you to become used to having your hair dressed every day by other hands than your own, and your laundry done, and your face painted?” he mocked her. “How quickly we forget the days when you hauled our linen to the river to wash it yourself, and kohl was something you could only dream of! Thothhotep must be cared for, Ishat, otherwise she will not have the time to attend to my needs.”

  Ishat made a face. “All the same, Huy, she’s a simple girl who wants nothing more than a few plain dresses and a pot of unscented oil to keep her happy. Anything more will corrupt her.”

  Huy cupped her face. “Your jealousy is flattering,” he began, and at that she jerked her head out of his hands.

  “And your insensitivity is wounding!” she flashed back. “Gods, Huy, why can you not see my pain? Find her some town waif of her own class she can gossip and giggle with if you like! Why should her welfare outside her duties as scribe matter to you anyway?” She stalked away, her four gold-hung braids swinging.

  I do see your pain, Huy replied to the empty air still redolent with her perfume. I have seen it every day for years, my darling Ishat, and I cannot bear it anymore.

  He instructed Merenra to hire a suitable body servant for Thothhotep, his only stipulation being that the woman must not come from the household of any of the King’s local officials; and within hours of the directive Huy was accosted by Amunmose as he was walking along the passage to the rear door. The under steward was half buried under a load of what Huy recognized as Ishat’s freshly laundered sheaths. “A word, Master, if you please,” he called as Huy brushed by him with a smile. “Merenra tells me that you’re looking for a body servant for Thothhotep?”

  “Yes. Iput will be going south with her mistress.”

  Amunmose’s chin descended onto the precarious pile he held as the gossamer linen slid this way and that. “Then I’d like you to consider my sister Iny.” The young man’s voice was muffled. “She’s only fourteen, but she’s been helping my father in his capacity as cosmetician to the wife of one of Khmun’s administrators. She knows how to work hard and she’s a quiet little thing.”

  Huy grinned. “If she’s at all like you, she’s anything but quiet,” he retorted. “Would she want to leave the incomparable delights of Khmun to come to this miserable estate?”

  Amunmose grinned back at his master’s sarcasm. “I do rattle on about how wonderful Khmun is, don’t I? But I’m certain that Iny would rather serve your scribe than mix henna and apply kohl to the aging eyes of an exacting woman. You may trust that she is a virgin and reveres the laws of Ma’at and the King,” he went on more soberly. “Thothhotep will not know how to train her, but it will not matter. She already knows the rudiments of face paint and the dressing of the hair.”

  “You will need Merenra’s permission,” Huy said. “He rules the servants. If he agrees to talk to her and assess her suitability, you can send a message to Khmun.”

  “Thank you, Master! Now I must get these sheaths upstairs. Iput is packing the Mistress’s things.”

  I was not at ease in Khmun, Huy remembered as he emerged into the glare of the morning, where the ten townspeople allowed entrance waited for his hands to touch them and where Ishat sat with her palette across her knees, Thothhotep beside her. I felt Thoth’s heka, his powerful magic, weighing on me as I went about the business of reading the scroll in his temple. It was not like the happy turbulence of Ra’s presence at Iunu. Thoth was watching me, weighing my worth to read the Book Atum had dictated to him before the Nun was created. Was he, the giver of writing to Egypt, the mighty Remembrancer of Time and Eternity, jealous of me? The idea had not occurred to him before. He assumed that his earlier conversation with Ishat had prompted thoughts of resentment, but now they seemed logical, for was not he, with his gift of divining the future, not in some small way himself like a god, abrogating Thoth’s prerogatives even if it was by the command of Atum? Uneasily, he pushed such sacrilege away and, taking his stool, nodded to Anhur, who stood guard at the head of the line.

  “Who’s first, and what is his request?” he said reluctantly.

  The flood continued to recede with its usual speed, and every farmer followed the ebbing water, strewing seeds onto the glistening rich silt and trampling them deep beneath the replenished soil. Seshemnefer disappeared for days at a time, to be replaced by a strange man named Anab, who limped about the estate dragging a club foot. Huy watched him doubtfully until it became obvious that the palms loved him, rapidly shooting out soft new green fronds that seemed to uncurl into full gl
ory as the man passed them, and the young vegetables and flowers in the garden forced themselves into the sunlight long before those on the neighbouring estates.

  Then, at noon on the fifteenth day of the month, three barges glittering with gold-woven ribbons tied to their masts and fluttering from their deck rails tacked to Huy’s watersteps. Sailors jumped into the water to moor them. One ramp was run out to rest on the watersteps; the other two sat on the dense foliage of the riverbank. Soldiers in full armour, brass-studded leather breastplates, and leather helmets, with gazelle-hide shields and tall spears, swords at their belts, filed onto the watersteps. Huy, standing on the path with a nervous Ishat, saw a host of servants, led by Thothmes’ chief steward, Ptahhotep, emerge from one of the other barges and approach him. The servants fanned out between Huy and the soldiers, but Ptahhotep came on, his long steward’s gown swirling white against his trim ankles, his oiled, shaved skull gleaming in the sun. As he neared Ishat, the butt of his gold-tipped ceremonial Staff of Office hit the ground with a soft thud and he bowed low, his painted features solemn. “I, Ptahhotep, Chief Steward of the household of Thothmes, Lord of Iunu, greet you, Lady Ishat, and pledge to you my loyal service. I and the household of my Master are yours to command. Your servants offer you their obedience.”

  He snapped his fingers, and one by one the servants came and knelt before Ishat, putting their foreheads to the gravel and holding out their arms to touch her feet in the age-old gesture of supreme homage. Ishat watched them impassively, but Huy saw her rapid breathing out of the corner of his eye. Her fingers brushed his own and he knew that, although she longed to grasp his hand, she was aware that she must show no weakness to these people. Her dignity, her superiority, must be established. It did not matter that Ptahhotep had seen her fallibility on other occasions. He would become her adviser and confidant, her buffer between herself and Thothmes’ staff whenever necessary, but his task would be easier if Ishat was seen to be at ease in her position.

  When the last servant had regained his feet, she inclined her head to Ptahhotep. “Thank you, Steward,” she said, her voice only a trifle unsteady. “I will do my best to be a good mistress, firm but fair. As for you,” and here she smiled, “I’m happy to see you again. Dismiss the servants to their duties.”

  Once more Ptahhotep clicked his ringed fingers, and the servants relaxed and dispersed, some back to the barge and some to the house. Huy saw Ibi, Thothmes’ body servant, hurry between the motionless soldiers and along the ramp to the closed door of the cabin. At his knock, it opened and Thothmes himself stood there, resplendent in gold-tissued kilt, a white and gold striped helmet brushing brown shoulders covered in gold chains that disappeared under an enormous armful of flowers. Extricating an arm, he waved at Ishat and Huy, his face breaking into lines of sheer glee.

  “A glorious day!” he called as he strode along the ramp and through the lines of motionless soldiers, his scribe Paroi trotting behind, clutching his palette. Huy noticed that Thothmes’ sandals also glistened with gold, their thongs studded with pieces of red jasper. “Ishat, my dearest sister, you are lovelier than the blooms I bring you! Huy, you look very well!” He came up to them smiling, his black-kohled eyes crinkling, his hennaed mouth wide with delight. Bowing shortly, he presented the flowers to Ishat. “Isn’t it wonderful that every ceremony is accompanied by flowers?” he went on. “Especially at this time of the year. Paroi, the scroll.”

  His scribe opened the pouch at his belt. Ishat was burying her face in the huge bouquet.

  “White acacia, cornflowers from the fields, pink oleander, Hathor’s blue water lilies,” she said. “But what is this?” There were two long, thick green stems each holding one stiff, trumpet-like white petal.

  “They are lilies Egypt cannot grow,” Thothmes told her. “I sent for them in pots from Keftiu on the swiftest ship Pharaoh would lend me. See, Ishat! Every flower I have chosen has meaning: white acacia for your honesty, wild cornflowers for your untamed and forthright nature, pink oleander for the poison that lies in every woman’s tongue and can both cow and titillate the man who loves her, Hathor’s lilies for your great beauty, and of course these exotic blooms from Keftiu, because you yourself are so rare.”

  She looked up at him, almost in tears. “Thothmes, I don’t know what to say! Thank you for this … this …”

  “Homage?” he finished for her gently. “I love you, Ishat. Now, here is the scroll Huy signed as your guardian. I must take one to your father also, in person. This is your last chance to refuse marriage with me. Will you be my wife or remain here with Huy?” He held the papyrus close in both hands, ready to tear it across, both kohled eyebrows raised, sunlight glinting on the many gold bracelets he wore.

  Carefully, Ishat passed the bouquet to Iput behind her and shook her head. “I do not change my mind,” she replied, and at the words Huy felt her fingers jerk spasmodically against his own, hanging limply by his side. “I am honoured to live with you as your wife, Lord.”

  “Good.” Thothmes returned the scroll to Paroi. “There are copies for you and Ishat’s father to sign and keep,” he said to Huy. “Now let’s get out of the sun and seal our reunion with a cup of wine and all the news.” Huy expected him to walk to the house with Ishat, but he slid his arm through Huy’s. “I miss you so much,” he went on as they turned towards the shade of the pillars together. “Each evening I want to gossip with you about the happenings of the day, the way we used to in our cell at the school. I want to play sennet with you, swim with you, share jokes. I have been discovering that an Assistant Governor can have few friends, Huy. They come to me for judgments, for favours, they try to bribe me, or they belong to the nobility as I do but my authority puts a barrier between us. My father warned me of these things when I began to work with him. I’m lonely for your trust. I don’t suppose you would consider moving back to Iunu?” he finished hopefully.

  Huy glanced into the thin, handsome face as the shadow of the house fell across them both. You will never change, my dear friend, he thought with a lump in his throat. You and I knew instinctively from the moment we met that our kas fitted together like a child’s puzzle. In spite of the blow from Sennefer’s throwing stick that catapulted me into the lake and thus into the strange creature I became, in spite of Nakht’s rejection of me, in spite of your passion for my own Ishat that has threatened to end our closeness, the gulf between your blood and mine that could have severed us from each other, we are still more than brothers.

  “I have thought about it from time to time,” he answered slowly. “I shall be lonely here in my turn, without you or Ishat. But Thothmes, there are memories waiting for me in Iunu that I cannot face. Not just of Anuket, although that is painful enough. The Ished Tree in the temple, High Priest Ramose and his benign attempt to keep me close to him, the judgments of the Rekhet, though I love and respect her …” He spread out his hands. “These things would thrust me back into a boyhood I have struggled to escape. Besides, I don’t want to appear ungrateful to the King by seeming unsatisfied with his generosity.”

  Thothmes nodded. “Even when you become more independent, when your land and the incense caravans and the poppy fields bring you your own gold, Amunhotep would perhaps still see a move on your part as a gesture of discontentment. Well, my favourite Seer, I am having a new house built for Ishat and me, right on the river, and there is a large guest room just for you. Come to us as often as you can.”

  They had entered the reception hall, where Huy’s and most of Thothmes’ staff stood ranged about the walls. Thothhotep hovered a little apart, her palette hugged to her breast and her eyes wary. “Who is that?” Thothmes whispered.

  Huy waved her forward. “This is my new scribe, Thothhotep. Thothhotep, do reverence to the Assistant Governor of the Heq-at sepat.”

  Thothmes smiled at the girl’s obeisance and lowered himself behind his table with a groan. Ishat and Huy followed suit and the servants sprang to life. Merenra came bearing wine with a little more than his
usual dignity, and Amunmose, flushed with excitement, followed him, a tray of sweetmeats balanced tensely across his arms. Thothmes’ steward watched them critically.

  “You are very fortunate to be welcomed into this household, Thothhotep,” Thothmes remarked as Merenra filled his cup with shedeh-wine. “A Seer’s life is filled with many secrets, his own and others’. You will ultimately know more about the citizens of this country than Pharaoh himself.”

  “They are all safe with me, noble one,” Thothhotep answered easily but with a swift glance in Ishat’s direction. “My Mistress has been a very efficient teacher.”

  “Will you hire your own scribe when we are settled, Ishat?” Thothmes had turned to her as she sat staring into her wine.

  She sighed. “I don’t think so. Training one has been quite annoying enough. With your permission, Thothmes, I’ll use Paroi.” She smiled wickedly across at him. “If I need to write a really private letter, I’ll do it myself!”

  That evening, after a long and riotous feast during which Thothmes, obviously jubilant, kept Huy, Ishat, and the senior servants laughing with his tales of adventure and misadventure as his father’s assistant, Ishat retired to her room and Huy and Thothmes wandered out into the moonlit garden. The air was cool, and full of the odours of wet earth and new growth. Tetiankh and Thothmes’ body servant Ibi set mats and a lamp on the damp grass. Huy waved away Merenra and more wine but indicated that the jug of water should be left. The servants retired. A moving shadow on the edge of the garden told Huy that Anhur and probably Thothmes’ captain had mounted guard. Thothmes sank down, then lay with one cheek propped in his palm facing Huy, who still sat upright.