Seer of Egypt

by Pauline Gedge

  “Saved her?” he croaked in horror. “Saved Egypt? Most Holy Arbiter of the Scales, Upholder of the Divine Balance of Creation, forgive me! Tell me how I may heal you! Undo the harm that I have done!”

  “It is too late.” In spite of the blood continuing to flow between her fingers, the goddess’s tones were calm and even. “A doom has been set in motion upon this blessed country because of you, and you will be punished, but Atum in his mercy will give you another chance in your future to avert complete disaster. He does not wish to destroy his tool. Not yet. Now, Son of Falsehood, you may see what is in store for this estimable young man. I shall not come to you again until your heart is placed on the scales of the Judgment Hall. Take care lest it prove heavier than my feather!”

  Huy, overcome with shame, bent his head, intending to kiss the bloodied feet. Instead, he found himself peering at two masculine feet encased in gold-thonged sandals, though a puddle of blood remained on the floor near where his head had rested.

  “Have you changed the fate of the Hawk-in-the-Nest by your cowardice, or have you merely postponed it?” a new voice growled, and with a feeling of wary relief Huy looked up into Anubis’s beady jackal’s eyes. Anubis grinned, a brief lifting of the long lips to reveal two rows of sharp white teeth. “We have become partners in the mastery of Time, have we not, Son of Hapu? Or have we? Can a human partner a god? Do you ever think about that, arrogant one? Perhaps the Book of Thoth has the answer. But you seldom think about that anymore either, do you? Let us proceed.”

  Huy was suddenly standing in long, dry grass, sunlight sparkling on the water of a broad river where several small reed boats of a design he did not recognize were moored. A cold wind buffeted him. He was sweating lightly, and by the taste in his mouth he knew he had just taken a mouthful of beer from the clay cup he held. His feet felt strange and, looking down, he saw that he was wearing purple coverings of rough wool on them. Above them, a tasselled skirt of the same colour and texture fell from his waist, and his chest was hidden under a yellow shirt of thick linen. Gold bracelets tinkled on his arm as he reached up to touch the woollen cap on his head. He did not think his long hair curious until a reverential voice just behind him said, “A letter has come for you, Highness. The King commanded me to bring it to you at once. We have not heard from Egypt for a long time, and the King is impatient to know its contents, though of course he hid his eagerness well.”

  “Artatama has been kind and generous to me while managing to maintain good relations with my brother,” Huy heard himself say. “Read it to me, Ka-set, and then let’s get out of this chilly air.”

  A scribe came into view, head bent over the scroll whose seal he was examining. “There is no insignia pressed into the wax,” he said. “There is only one man of any importance in Egypt who does not identify himself on his correspondence, and we have not heard from him since your exile began nearly twelve years ago.” The fragments of wax crumbled away. Ka-set unrolled the papyrus. “It is indeed from the Great Seer,” he remarked.

  Huy felt his heartbeat quicken with anticipation. This news must be momentous. He nodded brusquely to the scribe.

  “It’s written in formal Egyptian hieroglyphs, not in the language of diplomacy,” Ka-set told him. “Good. To read Akkadian in the palace at home is one thing, but pronouncing it in a foreign land just makes me sad.”

  “The news, Ka-set!” Huy tossed the dregs of his beer into the grass and at once a servant appeared, took the cup from him, and retired.

  “Yes.” Ka-set had begun to smile. “‘To His Highness Prince Amunhotep, respectful greetings. I trust that you are well. I have not deemed it safe to write to you before, but know that your brother King Thothmes Menkheperura is now an Osiris-one and the Hawk-in-the-Nest Amunhotep will be crowned Pharaoh. You will already be aware of the early death of your brother’s designated heir Amunemhat, son of the Queen and Great Wife Neferatiri. Amunhotep, son of Second Wife Mutemwia, is twelve years old. He and I are good friends, and he will make a fine King. If Your Highness wishes to return to Egypt, he may now do so. Amunhotep is sending many rich gifts to King Artatama in gratitude for his care of you and his discretion in keeping your presence in his land a secret. Life, Health, Prosperity to you, Prince. I am your obedient servant Huy son of Hapu, Seer. Written this third day of Thoth in the season Akhet by my own hand.’” Ka-set let the scroll roll up.

  There was a silence between them until Huy said, “He makes it clear that I am no longer a contender for the Horus Throne and must not consider myself anything more than the new King’s uncle.” He sighed, his eyes on the white-capped waves some distance from where he stood. “So be it. At least my father’s and brother’s madness in trying to usurp Amun and put the Aten in his place has run its course, and a weakened Ma’at may find her strength again. If the Seer and this young Amunhotep are close, the Seer will make sure the cosmic and earthly balance is restored. Ka-set, let’s go home.”

  “I heard but did not understand.” The voice did not belong to the scribe, and Huy, anxious to remove the woollen slippers from his feet because suddenly the day had become very hot, bent down. The blue and white tiling of a spotless floor met his gaze. No grass, no puddle of divine blood, and his feet were shod in thin reed sandals. Disoriented, head throbbing, he straightened. The Prince had withdrawn his hands and was watching him, a question in his grave eyes. Rising, he brought the vial of poppy to Huy, who downed it at once. Its taste no longer made him grimace.

  “You said, ‘Ka-set, let’s go home.’” Amunhotep resumed his seat. “Ka-set is the name of my scribe. Huy, what did you See? I am ready.”

  Huy drained the golden cup of water sitting on the table beside him. “Prince, you are to leave Egypt until your brother dies,” he half whispered. He was very tired. “I became you, standing beside a mighty river. I do not know where you were. Your scribe read a letter to you from me, telling you that it was safe to return to Egypt.”

  “Leave Egypt?” Amunhotep frowned and sat back. “Exile had occurred to me, but where should I go? We do much trade with the islands of Keftiu and Alashia. I would not be safe in either place. Yet beyond the Great Green the tribes and petty kingdoms are barbarous, their rulers not to be trusted. Would Agum the Third of Babylon harbour me, perhaps? Or whoever is ruling the Kheta from Hattusas? I do not know.”

  “In my vision you mentioned a name. Artatama. Is it familiar to you, Highness?”

  The Prince’s brow cleared slowly as he thought. “Artatama, King of Mitanni. You have not heard of the Mitanni, Huy? They live west of one of the two rivers that divide and harbour the Bend of Naharin between them. They produce a few things for which we trade. The Osiris-ones Thothmes the First and Thothmes the Third conquered them and they became a vassal state, ruling themselves as they see fit but paying an annual indemnity to Egypt. It is a satisfactory arrangement for them as well as for us.”

  Huy vaguely remembered Mitanni. Ishat had mentioned it briefly when he was admiring the jewellery Thothmes had given her.

  “Is there much trade?” he asked hesitantly.

  Amunhotep shook his head. “Not much so far. A few aristocratic Mitanni families have been allowed to settle in Egypt. So you saw me in exile there? How long will it be before I may return?”

  “Twelve years. Your brother will indeed become King, but he will be dead in twelve years.”

  “Good!” It was the first time Huy had seen malice cloud the Prince’s features.

  Huy got up with difficulty and bowed carefully so that his heart would not speed up and increase the throbbing in his head. “Highness, if there is nothing more, I would like to leave the palace. If you need me, I am of course at your disposal. You know where my estate lies. And once again, I am so very sorry for my lack of courage today. Be assured that Atum will punish me. May the soles of your august feet be firm on your journey to this Mitanni.”

  Amunhotep gave him a curious look. “Thank you, Huy. You may go. Send in Pa-shed. The soldier who brought you to me
will escort you to your skiff.”

  Huy backed politely to the door with the sense that more ought to have been said, that this parting was unfinished, but his pain was too great for him to really care. Outside the double doors, he waved the steward within, gestured to the guard, and set off behind him unsteadily. The poppy had begun to take effect.

  They passed the row of ministers’ offices. The rooms to right and left became larger and more luxuriously furnished. Huy recognized them as though he had first seen them hentis ago. He felt dazed, dislocated from the self who had earlier walked this passage with anxious anticipation. The guard strode on. At last, just before Huy thought they should be nearing the reception hall, his guide halted and stepped to the side, putting out a warning hand to Huy to do the same. Huy obeyed. A group of young women was coming towards them, filling the sombre space with chatter and laughter, their thin linens billowing in the drafts blowing from the open doors to either side, their painted faces full of animation. They swept past Huy without a glance. Then the guard stretched out his arms and bowed. In the moment before Huy followed suit, he saw a face he thought he recognized, haughty and lined with age, the heavily kohled eyes and downturned mouth framed by a short black wig. Fighting through the drug-induced fog, he tried to bring a name to mind as a pair of wrinkled feet shod in carnelian-studded sandals came to rest under his gaze. He lifted his head. “Greetings, Seer Huy,” the man said. “I trust that you are well.”

  “Royal Nurse Heqareshu,” Huy answered with an inner spurt of relief. “You honour me. I continue in good health.” But you do not, he thought. There is more than the ravages of time eating away at your ka as well as your body.

  Heqareshu smiled coldly. “That may be so, but you do not look well today,” he remarked. His black-ringed eyes had not strayed from Huy’s. “I remember both the pain and the poppy shadowing your features after you had Seen for me. You have been with His Majesty, I know. Were you asked to See for Prince Thothmes?”

  Huy stared at him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a young woman approaching slowly, a baby in her arms.

  Heqareshu stepped closer to Huy. “Well? Were you?” he said rapidly, glancing behind him. “Or have you been with Prince Amunhotep?”

  “His Highness requested a Seeing, yes,” Huy replied cautiously, his stomach tightening as though the Nurse’s sudden unease had communicated itself to him.

  The thin, arrogant mouth pursed. “Which Prince? Tell me! I am still the Overseer of Royal Nurses. I want to know. I must know!” A hand laden with gold descended on Huy’s arm. Heqareshu’s breath smelled of mint.

  “Prince Amunhotep,” Huy said as the woman cradling the baby came up to them and halted.

  “You Saw for him? Good!” she exclaimed. “He was hoping to meet you. So was I.”

  “This is the Princess Mutemwia,” Heqareshu told Huy.

  He had removed his grasp, but Huy could still feel the strength of his fingers on his skin. Going to his knees, he reverenced the Princess.

  “Oh, please stand!” she ordered. “I would not have Egypt’s Great Seer collapsed on the tiles before me. I’m on my way to Amunhotep’s quarters now. I can tell him that at last you are more than a legend to me.”

  “The Princess and her brother-in-law are close friends,” Heqareshu put in. He turned to Mutemwia. “Perhaps he will tell you what vision the Seer gave him.”

  What are you trying to convey to me so urgently? Huy wondered.

  Mutemwia nodded. She was tiny and dainty, making Huy feel clumsy. Her hair, almost as long as his own, was tied back in one thick braid. Golden earrings in the likeness of Mut the vulture goddess, consort of Amun, trembled against her neck as she gestured. Her sheath was unadorned but for a belt of silver links. A small vulture of gold and lapis rested just above the swell of her little breasts, held by a thin gold chain. Her arms and hands were bare. She knows herself, Huy thought. She is not suited to the masses of jewellery other women love. She is too small. Her eyes are her greatest adornment, like the huge dark eyes of gazelles, and there is something of a gazelle about her, an inner shyness or reserve beneath the dignity of royalty.

  “I expect he will. And this”—she held out the half-naked baby—“this is my son Amunhotep. He is only three weeks younger than Amunemhat, Chief Wife Neferatiri’s son, also by our husband Prince Thothmes.”

  “Amunemhat is not as healthy as your child, Princess,” Heqareshu remarked.

  Mutemwia laughed. “Everyone knows that you favour my brother-in-law over my husband, and me over the Chief Wife. Thothmes thinks it’s funny. He does not take offence even though he received far more slaps from you when he was little than Amunhotep did.”

  Huy glanced at the baby to find his black eyes fixed solemnly on Huy’s own face. Suddenly a wide, toothless smile split the chubby cheeks and two fat arms flailed the air. Huy responded to the innocent delight in the movements. Reaching out, he allowed the diminutive fingers to find and curl about one of his own. At once he found himself and little Amunhotep standing in a rain of gold dust so thick that he could barely see the baby’s face. He could hear him chuckling, a sound of pleasure. As the gold cascaded through a ray of sunlight, it burst into a brief, brilliant shower of glittering specks before sifting to lie against Huy’s feet. The baby was soon covered in it, as though he lay under a blanket of cloth of gold. He let Huy’s finger go and began to bat at the dust, making eddies that swirled and danced between them. Then the gold was gone, the baby had begun to wriggle against his mother’s breast, and Heqareshu was crooking one imperious finger at the girls who had congregated farther along the passage and were watching.

  “One of you useless geese go and find wet nurse Senay! The Prince is hungry!”

  “I will remember you in my prayers to holy Mut, Great Seer,” Mutemwia said quietly, handing the baby to Heqareshu. “And when I make my next pilgrimage to her temple within the bounds of Ipet-isut, I shall offer her a gift so that she may ease your suffering. You saw something when my son grasped your fingers, didn’t you? May I know whether …” She paused, her hands clenching and unclenching. “May I … Will my baby grow to be healthy and strong?”

  Heqareshu was already walking away. Huy felt as though he was about to collapse with the renewal of pain. He swayed. At once Mutemwia rapped out an order to the guard, who caught Huy and lowered him carefully to the tiles. “Go and fetch a litter and three more soldiers,” she told the man. “I will stay here until you return.” Huy had slumped against the wall and closed his eyes. The slap-slap of the guard’s sandals as he went away slowly faded. Huy felt her palm pressed lightly on his forehead. “You should stay here in the palace until tomorrow,” she said, and Huy realized by the nearness of her voice that she was either squatting or kneeling beside him. “My physician is very good. There are many quiet rooms where you will not be disturbed. Soldiers from Prince Amunhotep’s Division of Amun patrol these corridors.”

  “Highness, you are very kind, but I would like to lie in the cabin of my own barge,” Huy answered, hearing the uncontrollable slurring of his words. Forcing his eyes open, he saw her worried face distorted by the dance of black and white patterns belonging to the worst of his headaches. “Your son … You need not fret about him, I think. He and I were enveloped in a storm of gold. He was laughing, playing with it. We were both so happy.” He felt the nausea begin to roil in his belly and he closed both his mouth and his eyes. There was a moment of silence. He felt her rise.

  “Thank you, Son of Hapu,” she said. “I am glad that his destiny will be linked with yours.” Huy was too wretched to be surprised at her astuteness. The knowledge merely seeped into his consciousness to be lost under the hot deluge of his agony. She did not speak again.

  Later, he heard the soldiers coming along the passage, heard the litter being set down, heard her instruct the men to accompany him right to his barge, then he was lifted gently onto soft cushions. He was able to keep the sickness inside him until the bearers stepped outside. He felt the
heat of the sun strike the litter’s curtains. Pushing them back, he leaned out and vomited on the stone of the concourse.

  11

  Huy remembered little of the journey home. He lay curled up on his travelling cot inside the barge’s cabin, forehead to knees, trying not to move for the stab of pain it would bring. He knew that they were sailing north with the sluggish current of a river nearing its lowest level, but the strong summer wind always blew south, forcing the sailors to reef the sail and get out the oars. The motion of the boat lulled him into periods of an uneasy sleep where the throbbing of his head pursued him, bringing with it nonsensical, fragmented dreams. He was vaguely aware of someone lifting him gently and placing a vial against his lips. He drank the poppy and slept, waking when the boards beneath him became still and the familiar voices of his sailors echoed across the dusk. They had tied up somewhere just north of Iunu, he surmised dully. Footsteps approached the cabin. He felt himself surveyed but was too tired to open his eyes. “We can’t give him any more poppy,” Tetiankh said. “It would kill him.”

  “I’d like to help you to wash him, though,” Thothhotep replied. “Is there clean linen for the cot? He’s drenched in sweat.”

  “I think so.” There was a pause. Huy wanted to tell them to leave him alone but could only grunt. “If we both try to lift him, we’ll cause him distress,” Tetiankh went on.