It was good to know that each day was his own. He swam in the temple’s canal and pool, lay under the trees, and drowsed in the hot afternoons. After Pabast had brought the lamp, he sat on the floor of the cell and played board games with himself, moving the pieces idly, until he was tired. He was happy. A burden had indeed been lifted from him, and for the first time in many months he felt no different from the other boys.
He threw himself into the six days of celebration that marked the Amun-feast of Hapi, standing with the crowd on the bank and chanting his thanks to the god of the river for a copious flood. With Anuket, Nasha, and Thothmes he tossed armfuls of blooms onto the surface of the water and watched them float north, an undulating carpet of multicoloured fragrance. Anuket had made special wreaths for the occasion, and garlands for the members of the family to wear through the feasting that followed at her father’s house. Standing on tiptoe, she looped the flowers gravely over Huy’s bent head. “For you there are blue water lilies and sycamore figs, with the yellow flowers of the bak tree to give aroma,” she told him, kissing him solemnly on the cheek. It was only later, sitting on the floor of Nakht’s reception hall with his back against the wall while the revelry swirled around him and the bak blooms filled his nostrils with sweetness, that Huy remembered how both sycamores and water lilies were sacred to Hathor, goddess of love and beauty.
Her feast day had fallen on the first day of Khoiak. It heralded a month overfull of rites and observances, when the whole country breathed a sigh of relief at the height of a flood that would ensure abundant crops. Huy had participated in them all, just like any other youth, he told himself fervently. Just like Thothmes and Samentuser and, yes, even Sennefer, wherever he is. For that is what I am—a youth on the verge of manhood. With that thought came a wave of unaccustomed homesickness for his parents’ modest home in Hut-herib and Ishat’s acerbic voice. He found himself wondering what she was doing. His brother Heby would be two years old now, a sturdy toddler perhaps as demanding and obnoxious as Huy himself had been. Did Hapzefa pray over him at night and sing him to sleep as she had often done for him? Was there any corner of the house where his, Huy’s, presence still lingered?
But riding on this deluge of self-pity came the recognition of its source—a powerful unwillingness to begin the next phase of his reading of the Book. He fought it with a sour fatalism, and on the fifth of Tybi, five days after the celebration of the coronation of Horus, when Ramose sent word that he must pack up his belongings and meet his escort on the temple’s watersteps, he was ready.
10
THE JOURNEY UPSTREAM to Khmun took six days. Huy travelled comfortably in one of the temple’s barges. He was not required to share the cabin with the guard and the servant who had been appointed to accompany him, and each evening he lay on the cot listening to the soft susurration of their conversation, feeling both guilty that he should be lying in sheltered luxury and envious of their freedom on the deck under the stars. He would have preferred a less formal vessel, and a blanket beside a fire on the bank at night, but Ramose had insisted on the security a full crew could provide. “And you must promise me that you will sleep in the cabin,” he had pressed Huy. “Your safety is vital. I shall question the barge’s captain on your return!” Huy kept his promise though it was hard, particularly as they first moored on the northern outskirts of Mennofer, Egypt’s ancient capital, and a dazzled Huy longed to explore both the city of the living on the east bank and the great city of the dead to the west, where pyramids pierced the red sky of evening above a jumbled plain of sand, rocks, and the tombs of the Osiris-ones. Mennofer itself was the gateway to the Delta. Its officials controlled all trade and other traffic on the river. It had a harbour, and its docks were crowded with craft of every description, its wharves piled with goods. The atmosphere was one of noisy superiority. Warships and weapons came out of the city’s workshops and Ptah the creator-god was its totem. Huy had thought Iunu impressive, but Mennofer took his breath away.
Once past the city, the river settled into a wide ribbon between quiet mud villages and moist, dark brown fields waiting for the crops to be seeded. The trees lining the brimming irrigation canals, having drunk their fill of the flood, were covered in gleaming green leaves, and the air retained a hint of humidity that was pleasant against hot skin. Huy spent the hours of daylight leaning against the deck rail, filling himself with an Egypt he had only imagined. Sometime on the fourth day out of Iunu he realized that, although beyond the sandbanks the surrounding countryside was lushly rich, the texture of the wind he was now inhaling had changed. Coming up from the south, it was dry and almost odourless, with the merest hint of the deserts over which it had come.
They passed the small town of Hebenu, and on the evening of the fifth day they anchored close to the entrance of the elevated canal that would lead them west into the heart of Khmun. Amunmose, Huy’s servant, pointed to the east bank where watersteps covered in sun-pink dust led up to many rutted tracks disappearing through the trees. “The workmen’s village of Hatnub lies beyond, to the north,” he told Huy. “Many barges dock here to load alabaster for royal projects. That beautiful stone, and also calcite, is quarried from the hills you can just see if you peer between the growth. Directly east are many ancient tombs, cut into the same rock. My family comes from Khmun,” he explained. “My father is cosmetician to the wife of one of the city’s minor administrators. I had no interest in his craft. I am apprenticed to one of the temple cooks at Iunu. The High Priest allowed me to serve you on this journey so that I could visit my relatives—when you do not need me, of course!”
Early the next morning they entered the canal, taking their place behind a stream of other craft carefully negotiating the narrow channel, and it seemed to Huy, at his usual place by the rail, that the city began at once. Paths already busy with laden donkeys and people on foot ran to either side of the waterway, and reed shacks and mud huts littered the ground. “It is three miles to the centre of the city,” Amunmose replied in answer to Huy’s question, “and another two to reach the branch of the Nile that runs all the way up to the oasis at Ta-she. The tributary is always full of craft, except during the flood of course. All the land around Khmun is very fertile, the crops very thick. It is a blessed place.” Huy looked eagerly ahead to where the horizon was blurred by what seemed to be a vast grove of trees. “Our palms are famous for their height and vigour,” Amunmose said proudly.
Slowly the city began to take shape, resolving into wide, palm-lined streets with gated walls, and the tall pylons of several temples rearing above the trees themselves, their outer courts still hidden at ground level. The canal bisected the city, running on to join the western tributary, but Huy’s barge veered towards the watersteps already choked with tethered craft, slipped into a berth, and the captain flung a rope to one of the men waiting to tie it to a pole. The ramp was run out. Amunmose heaved a sigh of satisfaction. “I will set your bags above the steps and go and find a litter. Please stay with your guard, Huy.” He disappeared through the crowd and Huy stood staring about, feeling vulnerable and assaulted by the bright, hot morning sun glaring up off the pavement, the babble of the colourful crowd swirling around him, and most particularly by the thin dogs lying panting in the shade by the steps or stretched negligently in the middle of many moving feet. Short-haired, the colour of sand, they were ignored by everyone and seemed entirely contented, but Huy eyed them warily.
He had begun to sweat by the time he caught sight of Amunmose beckoning him through the throng, and he picked up his worn leather bags and hurried to where a litter and four burly bearers waited. Once inside with Amunmose, feeling them being lifted, seeing the guard striding out beside him, Huy began to relax. The raucous crowd thinned out. A shrine came slowly into view, surrounded by sycamore fig trees and flower beds. A sweetly pungent whiff of acacia blossom filled the litter as it passed under the dappling shade of the tall bush, and almost at once a chariot clattered past them, the two horses sporting red plumes, t
he driver bent forward over the prow of the vehicle. Another dark beige dog was wandering across the road, tongue lolling. “I have seen the greyhounds of the wealthy,” Huy said, “and their hunting dogs. But what are these?”
Amunmose looked at him blankly then laughed. “They are desert dogs. They cannot be tamed, but their disposition is mild. They exist all through the south, as far as Swenet and the First Cataract. They come into the cities for offal and other scraps, but they prefer to live beyond the borders of the fields, out where there is only stone and sand. No one harms them and they in turn ignore us. They do not come into Iunu, it is too far north for them. I have missed them.”
Huy shivered, his mind suddenly filling with a vision of Imhotep’s fingers moving slowly along the hyena’s spine. “Are they sacred?”
“No. There is no punishment if you accidentally kill one, not like killing a hawk, for which you are executed. They resemble neither Set nor Anubis nor any of the lesser wolf-gods. They are really very amiable and keep to themselves.”
They had come to a crossroads and the bearers swung sharply left, onto a street lined with large squatting baboons, their pouched stone muzzles facing Huy as he craned to see them. “We have entered the avenue leading to the temple of Thoth,” Amunmose said. “His baboons face east so that they can help the sun to rise. In a moment you will see Thoth’s mighty pylon.”
Even as he spoke Huy saw it, a great square archway fronted by lawn and then a wide concourse, and beyond it the stark paving of the outer court. Amunmose called to the bearers and the litter was set down. Huy scrambled out and retrieved his belongings, the litter was dismissed, and together he, Amunmose, and the guard walked across the grass to the warm stone of the court, moving between the great arms of the pylon with its tall flags rippling in the stiff breeze.
This temple has a very different feel than Ra’s home, Huy thought immediately. It is grander, more solemn somehow. I cannot imagine the pupils at this temple school running across the concourse. His palms had begun to prickle, and feeling as though something had brushed the back of his neck he put up a hand to rub it. Heka, he thought again. It is heka. This temple is full of ancient magic, alive with it, and I am moving through it as though it were air. Neither Amunmose nor the guard seemed aware of any change around them.
Approaching the closed doors to the inner court, Amunmose held out his hand. “Give me the scroll for the High Priest,” he said to Huy. “The Master has instructed me to take it within. Me! An apprentice cook!” He shed his sandals and rapped sharply on the small, narrow door set into one of the great copper panels with the likeness of Thoth beaten into it. The door opened, there was a muttered query, and Amunmose vanished inside. Huy studied the god’s curved ibis beak. Thoth held a scribe’s palette in one hand and a brush in the other. His coppery, red-gold bird’s eyes shone benignly. Huy, momentarily dizzy with tension, closed his own.
It seemed to him that he stood there for a long time in the guard’s motionless shadow. The outer court behind them remained silent and empty, the air still. But at last the door swung back and Amunmose emerged, followed by a thin man of indeterminate age, his dark eyes kohled, his long white sheath belted with silver ankhs, and the lobe of one ear weighed down by the heavy silver image of a baboon standing bow-legged, its mouth open in a rictus that displayed both sharp, curved fangs. It was months since Huy had thought of the ivory monkey his uncle and aunt had given to him, but suddenly and fleetingly he was back in his parents’ garden at Hut-herib, a stone in his hand and the smashed remains of the hateful toy at his feet. The baboon swayed gently against the man’s brown neck as he leaned forward in greeting, an unveiled curiosity in his gaze.
“You are younger and taller than I had imagined from Ramose’s letters, Huy son of Hapu. Welcome to Thoth’s domain. I am his High Priest, Mentuhotep.” Some fading imprint of the distaste and fear of Huy’s brief memory must have shown on his face, for Mentuhotep smiled wryly. “I bear the name of the warrior god Montu, but I assure you that I am entirely peaceable,” he continued. Reaching back, he closed the door to the inner court. “Bring your bags and follow me. I have had a cell prepared for you with the priests. Amunmose, you are free to visit your family. I will send for you when Huy has finished his task here. You are also dismissed.” This was to the guard, but the man shook his head.
“I am commanded to accompany Huy wherever he goes and to stand outside his door at all times,” he said. “Forgive my impertinence, Master, but I must follow my orders.”
“My temple guards are perfectly capable of such a simple task,” Mentuhotep replied easily. “However, I will comply with Ramose’s desire. Let us leave the courtyard to the hot fingers of his god.”
Huy turned to Amunmose. “Thank you for your company,” he said, feeling small and rather vulnerable as Mentuhotep strode towards the open passage running between the outer wall and the inner court.
Amunmose grinned. “Take your time here, Huy, so that I may enjoy my mother’s leek soup to the full,” he whispered, and turned away.
The priests’ quarters were similar to those of Ra’s temple, a series of cells fronting the long, unroofed corridor that ended behind the sanctuary, where a grassless expanse led to the kitchens, the high surrounding wall, and the vegetable gardens and animal pens beyond. “Thoth’s sacred lake of purification lies on the other side of the complex,” Mentuhotep answered Huy’s diffident question as he paused before one of the anonymous cell doors and pushed it open. “You must go back along the avenue to the canal if you wish to swim, although I do not recommend it. Many of our less careful citizens toss their rubbish into it and it is not clean. The river is too far away for you to walk to. Do you like to swim?”
“Not particularly, Master,” Huy replied, “although I have taken instruction and I am safe in water.” He was regarding his new home. It was slightly smaller than the room he shared with Thothmes. A reed mat lay on the stone floor in front of a low, narrow couch. Beside the couch a wooden effigy of Thoth and an oil lamp stood on a plain table, and a desk rested against the opposite whitewashed wall with a square stool under it. There was an empty tiring chest, its lid raised. None of the sparse furniture bore any adornment, and the walls gleamed free of any paintings. Huy liked the atmosphere of quiet simplicity at once.
“The previous inhabitant completed his three-month rotation of service and went home,” Mentuhotep explained, “and I have not replaced him so that you might have this cell. If you have brought your personal totem with you, you may set it up beside Thoth. He will not mind. I will have bedding brought to you, and a pallet for your guard. Go anywhere you like, except for the sanctuary of course. The inner court is not closed to you. It appears that Thoth greatly favours you.” He hesitated, then said, “The second part of the Holy Book consists of only one scroll, as you probably know. You will study it in my office, and I will be available to you at any time for such discussion of it as you need. I have read the whole Book and have pondered its meaning over many years. Perhaps I may be of some help to you.” The man’s humility was overwhelming, making Huy feel naive and very much an imposter.
“I will need your help, Master,” he blurted. “It seems to me that the gods have chosen poorly if they desired an intelligent instrument to perform their will. I am nothing but a peasant from Hut-herib!”
“Oh, you are much more than that, Huy,” Mentuhotep murmured. “I know the burden that oppresses you. You have good mentors in Ramose and Methen and the Rekhet. Nevertheless, if you need a friend I am here.” Bowing to Huy for the first time, he left the cell, and this time the sacred baboon swinging from his ear seemed to be smiling.
The guard, who had been hovering behind them, blew out his breath. “You may turn out to be an offspring of Thoth himself, young Huy, but in the meantime you and I both have bellies to fill. I’m hungry. May we find out where the noon meal is being served?”
Huy laughed. “A good idea! I don’t want to eat with the priests. Let’s find the dining room
of the school. It can’t be far away.”
The area of the temple that encompassed the school was very similar to its counterpart at Iunu, and Huy found it with little trouble, entering the dining room where the meal was under way. Appetizing aromas mingled with the intermittent chatter of the hundred or so boys and young men seated at the long tables. Hovering in the doorway, Huy hesitated, looking for an empty space on one of the benches, and after a moment an older boy noticed him and came hurrying over, followed by a gradually spreading hush. Heads were turned in Huy’s direction, fingers were stilled. “You are Huy, guest of the Master?” the young man inquired. He seemed flustered, passing a palm quickly across his shaven scalp and then folding his beringed hands together over the enamelled amulet resting against his naked chest. “I am Ib. Today is my duty day. Come and sit beside me. Will your guard go and eat with the servants?” He led Huy through a sea of curious eyes to one of the tables, and at a low word one of the diners scrambled up, gave Huy a clumsy bow, and wriggled between two of his fellows on the opposite bench.
Awkward and embarrassed, Huy took his place, the guard stationed behind him. “I’m afraid that my guard must eat here,” he said, heartily wishing that he had chosen the priests’ company instead.
Ib nodded vigorously. “I will instruct a servant,” he said, and hurried away.
Huy forced himself to scan the dozens of eyes still fixed on him. “I bring greetings from my fellow students at Iunu,” he said into the silence. “Of course they would rather be here with me than slaving at their lessons, but since we are all under the authority of our teachers and must do as we are told, they are sitting over their scrolls and I am enjoying this beautiful city. Surely they will be forgiven for envying me!”
A ripple of laughter broke the tension of the moment. Talk broke out again and the boy next to Huy turned to him eagerly. “Is it true that you are some sort of wonderful Seer, and you have come to Khmun so that the Master may consult with you?” he asked. “Nothing official has been said about your visit, but you know how things are—one priest lets out a couple of words and suddenly the rumours are flying.” He tore a piece of barley bread in two. “My father is High Priest at the temple of Nekhbet at Nekheb. That is a very long way south from here, yet he has heard something of you.” He dipped his bread into the bowl of fragrant broth before him.
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