Anhur had wasted no time in approaching Wesersatet regarding Huy’s nephew, and the Commander had cheerfully arranged for Amunhotep-Huy to be taken under the wing of one of his officers. A short letter from Heby let Huy know that a tutor had been engaged to fill the boy’s mornings, and in the afternoons he was escorted to the army’s barracks. “The tutor will be a drain upon my modest resources,” Heby had written, “and I will not approach Iupia’s father for assistance, seeing that Amunhotep-Huy is not her son. I know that, if I need to, I may ask you for help without shame, but I will not do so unless it becomes entirely necessary.” There’s that word again, Huy thought, his eyes leaving Heby’s neat professional hieratic script for a moment. Shame. Pushing the reflection away, he continued to read:
Amunhotep-Huy goes to the barracks after the sleep. Soldiers can be rough and crude, as you know, and Iupia and I were concerned that the boy might learn unacceptable language and behaviour, but he is in the care of a fine man who conducts his lessons in wrestling, target practice, and the care and maintenance of weapons well away from the army’s main billets. Amunhotep-Huy comes home bruised and filthy, but so far his complaints have been surprisingly few. Even his academic work is improving. Iupia continues in good health. I have included a bag of Mennofer’s famous pistachio nuts for you to enjoy. I love you. Your brother Heby, Chief Scribe in the temple of Ptah, by my own hand, this tenth day of the month of Thoth, year twenty-four of the King.
Huy laid the scroll on his desk with a word to Thothhotep, sitting cross-legged at his feet, to file it away in the niche reserved for family correspondence.
The river had begun to rise. Far away in the south, Isis was crying, and with her tears came an intensifying heat and an annoying eruption of fly and mosquito life. The month of Thoth also brought five gods’ feast days when no one worked and the celebrations of gratitude and relief at the prospect of yet another year of bounty continued. The flood of those seeking healing or counsel from Huy always dwindled to a trickle as the whole of Egypt gave itself over to the rites of worship. So he was surprised and alarmed to find a scroll without an identifying imprint waiting for him when he returned from his duty to Khenti-kheti’s shrine and a short visit with Methen. Thothhotep had been waiting for him in his office. She handed it to him.
“It was delivered by a man dressed in the coarse linen of a peasant,” she told him, “but his hands were soft and his body obviously shaved and oiled. His accent was refined. Kar would not let him through the gate and Merenra has of course joined his family to celebrate the Uaga Feast, so I was sent for. The man knew who I was. He was very polite but refused to give me his name. ‘You and your master will see me again,’ he said. ‘It is better that I remain anonymous to you both. No reply is expected to this message. Long life and health to you and the Great Seer.’ He went away along the river path.”
Instead of going to the floor with her palette, she continued to stand while a frowning Huy turned the papyrus cylinder over and over. He had been thirsty by the time he alighted from his litter in the shade of the house’s entrance pillars, but now he ignored the twin flagons of water and beer Ankhesenpepi had left for him on the desk.
“It may be from Prince Amunhotep in Mitanni,” she added.
Huy was about to rebuke her for the obvious curiosity in the words. Instead, he cracked the seal and went to perch on the edge of the desk. “Take the stool, Thothhotep,” he said. “It’s too hot to stand.” He unrolled the scroll as she obeyed. The characters that met his eye were uneven, some large, some awkwardly tiny. The lines of hieratic sloped down then up. The spelling was poor. Glancing to the end of the letter, he exclaimed in astonishment. “It is from the Princess Mutemwia, by her own hand! No wonder it resembles the scrawls of a young schoolboy. How many women apart from you and Ishat do you know who can even read, let alone write! I am impressed.” He began to read aloud.
To the Great Seer Huy, greetings. I believe that you will want to be made aware of the things of which I write. If not, I beseech you to at least keep your own counsel. Firstly, my friend is well and enjoying her visit in foreign lands. Secondly, the god Harmachis-Khepera-Ra-Temu has now been completely freed of his prison of sand. His Majesty has begun to build a temple dedicated to the god. He has set up a stela to honour the mighty Osiris-Kings Khufu and Khafra, whose bodies rest in their tombs behind the god. On the stela he has caused to be inscribed a peculiar likeness of a disc adorned with half of the royal uraeus, the cobra Lady of Flame of Lower Egypt. The vulture Lady of Dread of the south of Egypt is not there. The disc has arms ending in small hands holding ankhs. Thus this disc is bestowing life as “lord of what the Aten encircles.” I pray daily to Amun for your protection. My son does well. I will not forget how you and he reached out for one another. Princess Mutemwia by her very own hand, this fourteenth day of the month of Thoth, year twenty-four of the King.
Huy’s thirst had suddenly returned. Letting the scroll roll closed, he poured water for himself and Thothhotep, passed her a cup, and drank in large gulps.
For a long time both of them were silent. The room filled with the sound of the leaves beyond the window aperture rustling together as they were stirred by the breeze. An unintelligible blend of voices and the rattle of cutlery against metal drifting from the reception hall meant that the noon meal was about to be served. At last Thothhotep spoke. “The things the Princess says, the nameless servant who delivered the letter, the fact that she penned it herself—all of it points to secrecy, doesn’t it, Master?”
“Yes.” In spite of the water, Huy was still thirsty. “Do you understand why, Thothhotep?”
“About the friend in foreign lands I do. Prince Amunhotep has settled into his exile and is safe. As for the rest, I’m not sure.”
Huy regarded her thoughtfully. “When I first met you in the marketplace, you were proud and spoke your mind without fear,” he said with seeming irrelevancy. “Since then you have become more cautious, more circumspect. You accomplish your tasks with efficiency, but the outspokenness, the pride, are they still there, Thothhotep? Are you perhaps a little afraid of me, even after all these years in my employ? There is sometimes an awkwardness between us where, because of your position, there should be complete harmony. You know all my affairs. I am vulnerable before you, and never more so than today, with the contents of this letter waiting to be explained to you. I need you to understand it all. But you must either tell me what walls you off from me or make it clear that you want to proceed no further than scribing for my businesses and for the petitioners who dog my days.”
She had listened to him with an increasing agitation, her hands gripping each other, her features falling into an expression of deep distress. Jumping up from the stool, she began to pace, the empty cup clutched against her small white-clad breasts, until he had finished speaking. Then she halted in front of him. “A good scribe is self-effacing,” she burst out at once. “He takes the dictation. He remembers the contents of his master’s correspondence and must be ready to bring it to mind when asked to do so. He must copy and file. He must be tactful and sometimes invisible. All these things I have tried to be! And I have succeeded. But I am fully aware that I can never be to you what the Lady Ishat was. Friend, counsellor, confidante—these are far outside the limits of a scribe’s responsibilities. I did not want to be compared to her and found wanting! I did not want your private thoughts of me to be scornful. I do not want … do not need …” She faltered and her gaze dropped. “I do not want you to ever see me as Ishat’s poor imitation.”
Huy did not move. “That is the twisted pride preventing me from indeed seeing you as confidante and friend,” he said heavily. “That is the wall. I want more from you than a scribe’s diligence, Thothhotep. You’ve known from the start that this is no ordinary household. You are an intelligent woman. I desperately need that intelligence, all of it, at my disposal, even if sometimes it clashes with my own.” He slid off the desk. “Sometimes you must walk behind me. So did Ishat. But
at other times I want you next to me, I need to be able to unburden myself to you, I want to trust you to expand the concept you hold of your responsibilities to me. Would you like to tell me what you know about the contents of the Princess’s letter? Think hard about it before you say yes, for if you do, our relationship will change.”
“You are asking me to be one of your counsellors,” she said slowly, “but you are also asking me if I will take the risk of sharing knowledge with you that might become dangerous in the future.” Now she faced him squarely. “I have almost forgotten what danger is like. It has been many years since I washed my one sheath in the river every evening and put it on every morning so that I could sit in some marketplace and hope for a commission. But the peril you speak of has little to do with physical hazard. I saw your distress when you returned from your audience with the King.” She placed the cup on the desk with careful deliberation and folded her arms. “I asked you nothing. If you had wanted me to know what had happened, you would have told me. As your scribe, it was not my place to pry.” She smiled faintly. “And you are fortunate in your servants, Master. They do not gossip. When Anhur and I talk together, we do not discuss the state of your mind or heart.”
“I have never paused to compare your competency with Ishat’s,” Huy replied. “Your strengths are different. I did not try to engage another Ishat when I tested you in the marketplace. I was simply looking for a good scribe who could adapt to the moods and routines of this house. Now I need more from you, so I will ask you again: shall I keep this matter to myself?”
“No.” Gathering up the folds of her sheath, she regained the stool. “I keep the secrets of your visions. You must know by now that I am trustworthy. What is happening to the King?”
Huy considered her for a moment. Her body had relaxed and she met his eyes calmly. Her question had been shrewd. Quickly he told her of Amunhotep’s growing preference for the god of the sun in his various aspects, his open dislike for Amun’s priests, the warning Atum gave him through Huy himself a long time ago. He spoke honestly of his own great failure.
“I fear that the King is preparing to announce Prince Thothmes as his official heir, but that is only a small portion of what he can do,” he finished. “He can declare Ra as Egypt’s pre-eminent deity. He can impoverish Ipet-isut by deciding to tax Amun’s temple there. He can dismiss Amun’s priests in favour of his own choices. The temple to Ra as the god of the horizon personified in the great stone lion, the stela glorifying the Aten— these things are only the beginning.”
“He will increasingly give preference to the Delta, to Ta-Mehu? You believe that such a policy will eventually divide Egypt?”
Huy nodded. “Ma’at will become unbalanced. The Princess Mutemwia, as a wife of Thothmes and a great friend of his elder brother, is already very afraid. She herself has no influence. Her son Prince Amunhotep is not in direct line for the Horus Throne any more than Pharaoh’s second son Thothmes is. But Mutemwia obviously remembers the great storm of gold dust I Saw enveloping Amunhotep and me when I encountered her by accident in the palace and the little Prince’s fingers closed around my own. I think she believes that the Seeing has much to do with her child’s future inheritance. Thothmes’ son Amunemhat by his Chief Wife Neferatiri is still a baby, but if Thothmes inherits the Horus Throne, Amunemhat will be the Hawk-in-the-Nest. Mutemwia’s child will then be too close to godhead for comfort. The threat of his elimination becomes all too real.”
“And Prince Thothmes will make sure that Amunemhat is raised to venerate Ra over every other god. He will also seek to keep the rightful heir out of Egypt. Or have him assassinated,” Thothhotep added. She was about to speak again but hesitated. Huy prompted her gently. “It seems to me that the Princess Mutemwia is making you her accomplice,” she went on hurriedly, the colour of embarrassment flooding her cheeks. “She intends to keep you secretly informed on these matters, hoping that you may be able to avert disaster, or at least divert it in some way, with your gift.” She spread her hands. “How, I cannot imagine. Am I right, Master?”
The weight of her words, the outward expression of his own thoughts, settled around Huy’s heart. “I am afraid so,” he agreed. “Her trust is a great compliment, but it is also a great threat. There’s no need to send her any reply to this letter.” He touched it briefly. “All we can do is wait for matters at court to unfold. You do realize that if the King or Prince Thothmes discovers her correspondence to me and they are indeed plotting murder, she might very well be interrogated. I can imagine the questions now. ‘Highness, His Majesty and your husband Prince Thothmes are concerned for you. Are you ill, that you must write to the Seer so frequently?’ Or worse: ‘Highness, the King suspects the Seer of distrusting the holy dream sent to your husband by the god buried in the desert. I am instructed to read his letters to you so that the King may confound any blasphemy against the god or your husband they may contain.’ Either one of them, King or Prince, could ruin me.” He laughed without humour. “That prospect filled me with terror when I stood before Amunhotep. It made me weak. Now I face the same outcome because the Princess Mutemwia has decided to make me her accomplice. I wonder if Atum and Anubis are smiling.” Bending, he smoothed down Thothhotep’s cap of shining hair in a rush of protectiveness. “We understand one another now, don’t we, Thothhotep?” he said quietly.
Taking his hand, she kissed it respectfully and stood. “We do,” she answered. “I am grateful to be in your employ, Great Seer, but I am more thankful to be in your confidence.”
“Good! Then come on the river with me this evening. Its level is still low, but the water birds will be finding many juicy morsels in the mud. I like to watch them when I can. Anhur will of course accompany us.”
“Master, it is not necessary—”
Huy cut her off. “My reliance on Anhur may increase as the weeks pass,” he said brusquely. “As the captain of my bodyguard, I should perhaps tell him a little of what we have discussed today. He goes wherever I go, Thothhotep. It has nothing to do with you!” His grin took the sting out of his words.
She grimaced. “I have fallen into the habit of apologetic self-effacement and you are right, Master, it does not suit me, and I am sorry for it.” She picked up the Princess’s scroll. “I think I should keep this and any future correspondence from Mutemwia away from the office. The bottom of my tiring chest will do admirably.”
Huy did not protest. “You and Anhur should sign a marriage contract,” he said as she was walking to the door. “I would be generous if you did, and besides, that way I would have no fear of losing either of you!”
“Anhur has told me that he will never leave you,” she answered without turning around. “As for me, it would be very hard to train another scribe to take my place, and besides, the work here is always interesting!”
That’s the Thothhotep I encountered in Hut-herib’s ramshackle marketplace, he thought, the enforced grin fading from his face. I believe I am right to trust her now, and perhaps Anhur also, although his solution to every problem is always a practical one. This is one danger I must not share with either Thothmes or Ishat. Thothmes is incapable of dissembling. His duties take him to the palace too often, and the King is not a fool. And although Ishat would understand everything and keep her counsel from her husband, it would be unfair of me to ask her to do so. This is something Thothhotep and I will face together. We have made a promising beginning today. I feel less alone. He continued to stand leaning against his desk and frowning into the hot dimness of the room.
After the last meal of the day, Huy ordered out his boat and he, Anhur, and Thothhotep spent the long hours of sunset drifting slowly north on the current. The helmsman had little to do but keep the vessel away from the exposed shoals and sandbanks that would soon disappear under the flood water. Crested egrets and white ibis, their feathers tinged pink by the last slanting rays of soft light, stalked through the mud on slender legs half hidden by thick mats of reeds that stirred stiffly as the boat’s s
luggish wake reached them. Often Huy noticed field flowers or a carefully woven wreath that had been cast into the river as an offering to Hapi and had floated towards the Great Green only to be snared by the straggling growth invading the edge of the water. Fleetingly he was reminded of all the times when he had stood with Thothmes, Anuket, and the rest of Nakht’s family, one of the bouquets Anuket had so carefully crafted in his arms, the aroma of the blooms filling his nostrils as he waited to toss them into Hapi’s domain. I must not confide in Heby anymore either, his thoughts ran on, still occupied with the time spent in his office with his scribe. Those I love must be able to truthfully deny any knowledge of the letters if necessary. How much should I tell Anhur? Will I need to be guarded more closely? Should I begin to have Merenra or Tetiankh taste my food and drink? Would Amunhotep dare to murder a Seer? I wish you were still alive, Henenu, with your clicking cowrie shells and your wand and your brisk, cogent advice. I wear the amulets you made for me on my fingers and the sa you crafted for my protection around my neck, but will these things blunt the blade of a dagger or render a poison as harmless as milk? Did Mutemwia consider the danger to me and mine when she chose to make me her collaborator? Deliberately he turned his face to the dying sun, now spreading a pool of blood between the trunks of the trees on the western shore as Nut began to swallow it.
Seer of Egypt Page 37