Seer of Egypt

by Pauline Gedge

  Hearing the near-madness in his tones, he shut his mouth abruptly and rose. His legs were trembling. How many members of my staff will want to retire? he thought suddenly. Who will choose to age quietly here rather than enter the maelstrom of court life? How will I find new servants I can trust? The prospect sobered him at once. I shall miss my life here, miss it very much. My destiny is about to be fulfilled, but all at once I am afraid. A dose of poppy will take away the fear. He sighed and, picking up the roll of papyrus, went out.

  For several days after the Royal Herald’s surprising appearance at his door, he roamed the town and its environs. His litter-bearers took him to his parents’ house, still empty, the small, untended terrace of soil around the pond already becoming choked with clover and dock leaves, the unwatered grass yellowing. He stood in the tiny room where he had slept as a child, where his mother had tended him after his return from the House of the Dead, where Ishat had come creeping through the window to tease him and keep him company in defiance of her mother’s fear of him. Leaves from the acacia hedge had blown in to lie heaped in the corners. A spider’s web hung trembling from the ceiling. Neither Heby nor Heby’s two sons will have any use for the place, Huy reflected as he walked back out into the sunshine, and by Atum’s decree I will remain as barren as a woman with a diseased womb. I must send a message to Ker, tell him to place the family of one of his stewards here or even one of his field foremen. I can’t bear to think of the walls gradually falling into decay, the pond drying up, wild animals building their own peculiar nests in what was once a clean and happy home.

  He wandered through the narrow streets of Hut-herib itself, crossing the dikes made to raise those coming and going above the level of the flood water during the Inundation, inhaling the sour odour of the mud below. He was often recognized by citizens, who bowed to him and made way respectfully for him to pass. He was hardly aware of them. Here in the marketplace he had first seen Thothhotep, sitting muffled in linen, her palette by her hip, and had taken her for a man. The memory pained him. It reminded him that he had come here to seek a replacement for Ishat, that he had been struggling against an entirely unjustified jealousy and resentment towards Thothmes for wanting to take her away, that he had shrunk from being left alone. Quickly he made his way to Khenti-kheti’s shrine.

  Methen was in the outer court, bending to put on his sandals before leaving the precincts, when Huy’s shadow fell across him. His face broke into a smile as he straightened and threw his arms around Huy. “I’ve been hearing rumours,” he said as together they moved the short distance towards the two rooms of his cell. “My scribe met your under steward at the market. I presume that you gave your servants permission to speak of your summons to Mennofer?”

  “I did.” Huy stood aside for Methen to precede him. You are aging also, dear friend, he thought with a pang. You, Merenra, Anhur, even Ishat, all of you succumbing to the terrible ravages of time. He took the stool by the table. Methen peered into the jug on its surface before taking two cups from a shelf, pouring out beer, and settling into the chair. “My under steward Amunmose loves to talk,” Huy said. “I’ve been meandering around the town for the last couple of days, saying goodbye to the last fifty years of my life. I left this visit until the last. I didn’t want to say goodbye to you.”

  “But why should you?” Methen looked startled. “Mennofer’s only two days’ sailing away. We’ll certainly be back and forth.”

  Huy swallowed a mouthful of beer. “It’s more than the physical distance.” He licked his lips. “I sense that this parting from you and my estate and Hut-herib will be as sharp as the slash of a disembowelling knife in the House of the Dead.”

  Methen’s gaze narrowed. “Your intuition comes from the god, do you think? Your destiny is about to enter a new chapter, perhaps the final one, the culmination of every test, every trial you’ve endured, and you’re afraid?” He leaned over the table, pushing his cup aside. “Egypt is in your hands, Huy, don’t you realize that? Queen Mutemwia trusts you. Amunhotep loves you. This is what Atum in his ruthless wisdom had planned for you from the time you stood before Imhotep in the Beautiful West and agreed to read the Book of Thoth! This is why the god breathed life back into your lifeless corpse all those years ago! You and the Book and the King are all linked. Your fates will converge into the one moment Atum desires.”

  “His ruthless wisdom,” Huy repeated. “Yes, I do realize that I am being summoned to place my hand over the hand of the King on Egypt’s rudder. Is it any wonder that I am clinging to the familiar?” He gave the priest a twisted smile. “I have no idea who Amunhotep’s ministers are or what they do. I will have to learn, and everything will be strange.” Impulsively he reached across and took Methen’s hand. “Come with me,” he begged. “I’ll need my own priest, someone to approach the gods on my behalf, to advise me in spiritual matters, to be an incorruptible link with the past. You know everything about me. Be my guide, Methen!”

  The High Priest’s expression had become grave. “We are the closest of friends, Huy, but the time when you needed any advice but that of Anubis and the god is long gone. Atum is the only guide you need. I would not dare to stand between the god and you.” Placing his other hand over Huy’s, enfolding it in his warmth, he squeezed it and let it go. “Write to me as you used to do when you were a student at Iunu. I will always reply. Do you remember the day when you came to make an offering of some toy or other to Khenti-kheti because it was the anniversary of your Naming Day and you were about to be sent away to school?” Huy nodded. “I told you not to fear the unknown, that you would be privileged to acquire the great gift Thoth gave to us, the ability to read and write. Forgive me if I repeat that admonition. Approach the unknown as a challenge and your position in the King’s counsel as an honour. How innocent this anxiety of yours is! Now we will drink our beer and enjoy each other’s company as we always have.”

  He’s right, Huy thought as he shrugged before lifting his cup. He’s the only person to whom I could express this fear, the fear of a child, and know that he does not secretly despise me for it.

  “My litter-bearers have been trailing after me all day,” he said. “I must go. Embrace me, old friend. Pray for me often.”

  Once more Methen’s long arms went around him. “May the soles of your feet be firm, Huy son of Hapu,” he said, using the ancient blessing given before a journey. “I shall expect a letter from you as soon as you are settled into your new quarters.”

  On the following day he made the visit to Mery-neith, the Mayor of Hut-herib, that he had been deliberately putting off. It was Mery-neith, on the instructions of the Osiris-King Amunhotep the Second, the present ruler’s grandfather, who had arranged for Huy and Ishat to take over the estate. “I am giving the care of my parents’ house into the hands of my uncle Ker, who will install one of his workers there,” Huy told the man. “If you could make sure that the property is being kept up …”

  Mery-neith nodded vigorously. “Of course I will. I buy perfumes for my wife and daughters from your uncle, so the task will be easy. You do not wish to transfer the deed to your brother, or perhaps offer the house for sale? It does not return to the throne as khato. Your uncle gave it to your father. Now, what of your estate? It also belongs entirely to you.”

  “I can’t let either of them go just yet,” Huy admitted. “I’ll keep the estate for somewhere to stay when I return home.” Why, so it has become, he thought with surprise. My little jewel of an estate, the dingy, dusty town, the familiar demarcations of river and tributary, the odours and sounds of this part of the Delta—all of it has truly become my home. I have taken it comfortably for granted until now, when I must leave it.

  “Thank you, Mery-neith,” he finished. “I regret that we have seen so little of each other over the years.”

  Mery-neith bowed. “I also, Great One. May the gods preserve you in good health.”

  There was nothing left to do but speak politely of inconsequential matters for a while, r
eturn to the estate, and give Merenra the final command to empty the house.

  He approached his steward in private, giving Merenra the choice between going with him to Mennofer or staying to take care of the house and grounds. Relief flitted across the man’s face as Huy spoke. “I did not want to leave your employ, Master. If you had not given me the option of remaining here in my customary position, I would have followed you to the palace. But since you have decided to keep the estate, I will be happy to go on administrating it as always. I have enjoyed my charge since our first days together, but now my stomach often pains me and my back has weakened. I will let you know how much gold I will need to perform this lesser task. Thank you.”

  Huy wanted to grasp his shoulder, kiss the solemn face, tell Merenra how much he would be missed, but the man would have been offended by a show of such informality. Huy merely nodded in understanding. “Is Amunmose ready to be promoted to chief steward?” he wanted to know. “I assume I’ll need to engage another under steward and probably more servants.”

  “Amunmose has become fully capable of more responsibility,” Merenra replied. “He has learned to go about his work with his mouth closed more often than open. A stewardship within the confines of the palace will do him good. The pace of daily life there will be more brisk.”

  “I suppose it will.” Huy dismissed him and went in search of Anab. His gardener was setting out bedding plants. He straightened slowly as Huy approached, shifting the balance from his club foot with unconscious ease.

  “I know what you need to say to me, Master,” he began. “You gave me a garden to tend in spite of my lameness. You have allowed me to profit from the cornflower juices. But in the palace you will have no use for me. Will you please find me another master before you go?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Huy snapped, taken aback. “You either come with me or stay right where you are. I will not have you pottering about under someone else’s thumb! Which will it be?”

  Anab squinted at him cautiously. “I have heard that the King has prepared apartments for you. The Overseers of the Royal Gardens will certainly not want to be bothered with me. You will have no garden of your own anymore. May I indeed stay here? You are keeping the estate?”

  “I am.” Huy had not considered how insecure the news might have made his staff. Did they not trust him to look after them? “And as far as the royal gardeners are concerned, they would find themselves very fortunate if you chose to join their ranks. Move into the house with your wife and son, Anab. Merenra is staying. Kar is very old and will not want to leave his hut at my gate. I’ll make sure the place remains guarded. I don’t really want to part with any of you. Surely you knew that!”

  Listening to Anhur’s laboured breathing that evening as he, Thothhotep, and Anhur sat over their meal, watching Thothhotep’s furtive, worried glances at the man she so obviously loved, made Huy decide to remove any choice from the captain of his guards. Anhur would never willingly abandon him. He had become like a father to Huy, protecting him and occasionally giving him the sharp edge of his tongue, as though Huy was still the apprehensive boy who had been his charge at Khmun. Losing Thothhotep as well was almost unthinkable, but it was up to him, Huy, to give them what they really needed. Emptying his wine cup, he beckoned to Amunmose, standing watchfully against the shadowed wall with his arms folded, a good distance away from Rakhaka. The under steward hurried forward.

  “Do you need more wine opened, Master?” he inquired.

  “No. No more wine. I’m pleased to tell you that Merenra has spoken highly of your competence, and therefore you are promoted to chief steward upon my move to Mennofer. You will also be my food taster. Merenra is staying here.” He felt Anhur’s wary gaze turn to him as Amunmose straightened then bowed lavishly several times.

  “Master, I am greatly flattered!” he managed to say after a moment of speechlessness. “I did not think that Merenra would be so generous towards me! He often says—”

  “I don’t care what he often says,” Huy cut in. “Perhaps he hates you. The work will be hard, and if there is ever poison in my food, you will die. There will be those who will try to bribe their way into my presence through you, my steward, or buy your influence with me, or even attempt to suborn your loyalty with gold or lies or threats. Do you really want to face all that?” He looked up into the man’s face. The cheerful, mobile features had become grave, the eyes sober.

  “I still talk too much, but I have learned to say nothing while doing so,” Amunmose replied. “I am completely content, Master, and you know that you have had my loyalty since the time you remembered me and sent to Iunu for me. It has always been my privilege to serve you. Tell me, are there many beautiful women at court?”

  Anhur laughed hoarsely. Rakhaka, a dim form in the deepening shadow between the lamps, cleared his throat.

  “I have not forgotten you,” Huy called to him quietly. “You will come with me and prepare everything I eat, Rakhaka. Is that acceptable to you?”

  “Yes, Master.” The answer came at once.

  Huy dismissed them, and when they had gone, he sighed and turned to Thothhotep. “I want you to go and fetch your palette. I will dictate a letter to the Governor of your sepat in the south, the Nekhen. I will ask him to purchase a small house somewhere on the river close to Nekheb, or perhaps Esna, for you and Anhur. He needs the dryness and heat of the south for his lungs, Thothhotep. Both of you are dismissed from my service.” His voice broke. “I will make sure that you lack for nothing. Don’t say it, Anhur! Not now!” He held up a hand against the angry protests Anhur had begun to splutter. “Think about a capable officer to replace you. Thothhotep, come to my office.”

  He scrambled to his feet and fled the room, leaving a stunned silence behind him. Making his way the short distance to the office, he lowered himself behind the desk feeling stupefied. It was some time before Thothhotep knocked and entered. She said nothing to him, merely going to the floor on her mat, placing her palette on her crossed legs, and whispering the scribe’s prayer to Thoth while she readied her ink and brushes. Then she waited, head down. “You’re pleased, aren’t you?” Huy asked her softly.

  She nodded once. “He would have followed you into the Duat. He will be angry now, and feel betrayed, until he realizes how much it has cost you to let him go.”

  “You also, my slender little reed,” Huy said thickly. “I shall miss you a great deal. Now take down the letter.”

  On the twentieth day of Mekhir, Anhur and Thothhotep left for Nekheb. The Governor of the Nekhen sepat, like all Egypt’s governors, had been brisk and efficient in carrying out Huy’s request. Gold and a deed had been exchanged. Anhur, his eyes wet with the tears he stubbornly refused to shed, would not make any recommendations regarding his successor to Huy. “There is no one under my command capable of such leadership,” he had said. “I trust no one but myself to see to your safety, and I am no longer familiar with the officers quartered in Mennofer. The palace is guarded by men from the Division of Amun. You must make your own inquiries, Huy.”

  He did not apologize, and Huy did not push him for a more definite answer. He and Thothhotep had at last signed a marriage contract in Huy’s presence. Huy had given them a feast and many gifts, but an atmosphere of sadness had pervaded Huy’s pretty reception room in spite of musicians, a troupe of local dancers, plenty of wine, and the noise of Anhur’s men and the rest of Huy’s servants, guests for the occasion. Now, in his attempt to remain calm, Huy enfolded both of them in a fierce embrace and dared not speak for fear of breaking down.

  “Nekheb is a very long way from Mennofer, Huy,” Thothhotep said. She was openly crying. “Almost a thousand miles, and many days of travelling against the current. Don’t forget us. Write to us and I promise to reply. Perhaps one day the King will send you south on some errand, and then you will stay with us.”

  Huy cradled her thin cheeks and kissed her, then he watched them walk along the ramp and up onto the deck of the boat he had bought for
them, two of Anhur’s guards following. He had wanted to send them with a blessing—“May the soles of your feet always be firm, my dear ones”—but his throat was too dry. The oars were run out, the helmsman put both hands to the tiller, and the barge began its long journey.

  Huy stood woodenly on his watersteps, longing for them both already. How shall I replace them? he wondered dismally. What shall I do if the King has already chosen new servants for me? Shall I establish my independence at once by respectfully but firmly refusing to accept them? I must make every effort to keep the tone of my relationship with Amunhotep unchanged, remember that he is royal but try to forget the awesome power he now wields as King, love him as ever but not allow him to engulf me. I must begin my time as his Personal Scribe and adviser as I intend to go on. Will I still be able to rely on Mutemwia’s full support even though there are bound to be times when we disagree on matters of policy, particularly if Amunhotep prefers my advice to hers? Her authority as Regent will be almost as absolute as her son’s. Will its exercise change her? Huy knew that such questions arose from a momentary feeling of defencelessness. They were futile and premature, and with an effort he dismissed them from his mind.

  The vessel bearing away so many of his memories was at last lost to view. Turning, he walked slowly back towards his house.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I wish to thank my researcher, Bernard Ramanauskas, for his work in collating the scattered material relating to the life of the Son of Hapu. In particular I appreciate the shape and coherence he has given to the profound ideologies of the Book of Thoth.