The Twice Born

by Pauline Gedge

  “We have all heard of your fame at Iunu, Master Huy,” Ptahhotep commented as the group moved towards the scattering of cushions and flower-strewn low tables set up between the cabin and the stern. “I congratulate you on the favour of the gods.”

  Huy grinned at him ruefully. “Thank you, Ptahhotep, but sometimes the favour of the gods seems more like a punishment.”

  “Or a judgment for past crimes,” Thothmes put in. “Ishat, sit here on my left. Huy, you are facing me. Seneb, you may get about your business.” The captain sketched a bow and strode back down the ramp. “The sailors will light a fire presently onshore and cook their soup and fish and probably get drunk,” Thothmes went on. “I intend to stay rocking in this cozy little bay for a few more days. Ishat, if Huy doesn’t need you, I’d like you to show me the town.”

  Ibi was already bending over Ishat’s shoulder, a goblet in his hand. Ptahhotep had disappeared towards the prow. Ishat reached for the goblet. Her hand was trembling, but when she spoke her voice was even. “There’s not much to see, noble one. Just narrow streets and a few dusty shrines and the markets …” Ibi was bending over her again, balancing the wine jug in both hands and waiting for Ishat to lift her cup. Sensing him, she did so. She was breathing fast, and as soon as the cup was full she drank thirstily.

  Thothmes suddenly took it from her, set it at her knee, and took both her hands in his. She tried to pull them away, but he held her fast. “Ishat,” he said softly, “I am insulted that you should address me with such formality. Did you not call me by my name when we laughed together in your house? Have I offended you since then? This small feast is to honour you as well as our friend Huy. I shall feel that I have failed in hospitality if you do not enjoy yourself.”

  Huy watched in astonishment. In spite of his light words to Thothmes regarding Ishat, and to Ishat regarding Thothmes, he had thought little of their ease with one another. But now he sensed something almost tangible passing between them that shut him out. Thothmes is falling in love with her, he told himself, not sure whether to be outraged or amazed. Oh gods, how full of irony is your will for us!

  Ishat looked down at her lap. “I’m sorry, Thothmes,” she said with a meekness Huy had never seen in her before. “I am very nervous to be here on your barge. Of course I would like to show you the town, if Huy agrees. Some of the markets can be fun.”

  “Good.” Thothmes released her.

  Huy was sure that she would pick up her wine at once, but instead she placed her hands one on top of the other on her thigh. A brilliant smile lit her face. “But we must use your wonderful litter. Otherwise we will end up filthy and your sandals will be ruined.” Ptahhotep and Ibi were approaching carrying steaming trays loaded with food. Ishat carefully picked the flowers off her table and laid them on the carpeted deck beside her. She pointed to the dishes from which she wanted to eat while Ibi held the tray down to her, and once she had been served she began to eat. She had recovered her aplomb.

  Evening slid into full night. On the beach the sailors’ fire sent orange sparks into the black velvet sky, fitfully illuminating the ragged semicircle of palms quivering in the warm breeze. The tables were removed, more cushions were brought, and Thothmes and Huy began to reminisce. Both were aware of Ishat, lying back on one elbow and listening to them. It seemed to Huy that, although Thothmes was speaking to him, he was playing to her, an audience of one, his gestures broader and more graceful than usual, his laughter more ready, his voice more animated. Am I going to lose her? Huy wondered as his mouth made words for his friend. I will not allow her to be anyone else’s servant—but what if Thothmes has something greater in mind for her? All at once he remembered what he had quite inadvertently seen of her future: Ishat in jewels and perfume, her face painted, an Ishat in the full power and beauty of maturity. “We,” she had said in the vision. “We were not expecting you today.”

  “Wake up, Huy!” Thothmes was saying. “Didn’t you hear me? I said that at last I’d managed to bring down a duck with my throwing stick. You should have heard Nasha shriek! Unfortunately, the bird wasn’t even wounded, just knocked off balance, and after a minute or two lying in the reeds it recovered and flew away. You should be laughing!”

  “I like to eat duck, but the thought of killing one is rather horrible.” The voice was Ishat’s, flowing out of the dimness just beyond the glow of the lamps Ptahhotep had lit.

  Thothmes turned to her eagerly. “Is it? I feel that way also. I’ve never been much of a hunter, although I’ve accompanied the King a few times. He loves the sport and he’s very good at it. Ducks, lions, gazelles—he pulls on that enormous bow of his and his arrows can fly out of sight. I pity his enemies in Rethennu.”

  Huy yawned and got up. “I have drunk too much of your good wine, Thothmes. And my encounter with the King was very taxing. I’d like to spend the whole night talking over old times, but I simply must seek my couch. Otherwise I shall fall asleep right here.”

  Ishat’s face fell. She began to scramble to her feet.

  “Huy, will you allow Ishat to stay aboard a little longer?” Thothmes asked. “You and I have rather rudely spent the evening dwelling on ourselves. I want to remedy our bad manners!”

  “Of course she can remain with you if she wants to,” Huy said, trying to keep the reluctance out of his voice. He knew that it was selfish of him, but the thought of the two of them drawing closer to each other after he had gone, reclining face to face on the soft cushions, sharing a growing familiarity under the subtle influence of the gentle night breeze, made him afraid. “Would you like to stay on for a while, Ishat?” he said, without much hope.

  She nodded and sank back. “Thank you, Huy, that would be wonderful.” She smiled. “I’m not tired. I want to go on being treated like a queen!”

  “I’ll make sure she gets home safely,” Thothmes said. He rose and shouted an order to the men sprawled around the dying fire on the bank. Ptahhotep and Ibi carried the litter down the ramp. Thothmes embraced Huy. “We will have more time together before I must leave. Both of you must dine with me again tomorrow night. I have plenty of provisions.” He grinned ruefully. “I think Father hoped I would accompany the King into Rethennu, but I have no wish to be under the royal eye for too long. Sleep well, dear Huy. You triumphed today.”

  Huy’s street was dark and deserted by the time he dismissed the litter. Even the beer house had closed. His home was cold and smelled unpleasantly of old lamp oil and stale fish. Suddenly he was exhausted. He felt depleted, as though some force had sucked the energy from his body, so that just removing his kilt and his sandals required an effort. Lying down on his couch, he pulled the blanket up over his shoulders. His sheets felt chilly against his skin. He drew up his knees for warmth and closed his eyes. I’m lonely. That’s what’s wrong. I have missed Thothmes more than I knew. Seeing him again has opened a wound in me, and the suspicion that Ishat may leave me is rubbing natron salt into it. He fell into unconsciousness with disagreeable speed, and his dreams were jumbled.

  In the morning he watched Ishat join Thothmes in the litter with a jealousy he fought successfully to control. Ishat had given him the list of petitioners she had made while Huy was with the King, and grimly he set out to alleviate as much of the suffering it represented as he could. He ate the noon meal with Methen, recounting the details of his audience with Amunhotep. In the afternoon, too agitated to rest, he continued to traverse the town, going from street to street, house to house, meeting each fever, each wound, each undiagnosable illness, with as much detached kindness as he could muster. His headache grew worse, it always grew worse as the day progressed, until in the end he turned for home and the blessed poppy Men had given him and his lumpy, welcoming couch.

  The pain had receded by the time he heard Ishat’s voice out on the street. She burst into the house. “Huy, are you here?” she called, coming to the doorway of his sleeping room where he was groggily trying to put on his sandals. “It’s almost sunset. Thothmes is keeping the litt
er outside until we’re ready to go.” Coming closer, she peered into his face. “Your head was bad today?”

  He nodded. “Yes, but the poppy has taken care of the worst of it. Have you had fun?”

  She knelt and began deftly to tie his sandals. “I have, but I felt guilty leaving you to cope on your own. Thothmes wants me to spend tomorrow with him again, but I won’t. You need me.”

  “I don’t want you to help me if you don’t want to.” Huy tried and failed to keep the petulance out of his voice.

  Ishat put her cheek against his calf, then rose. “It’s amusing, playing the part of a noblewoman, but I’m more comfortable being with you,” she said simply. “Do you need help putting on your kilt?”

  “No. I’m shaky but recovering. Another night on Thothmes’ barge is what I need. Can the three of us squash into the litter?”

  For the following five days Thothmes stayed moored outside Hut-herib. True to her word, Ishat worked beside Huy for two of those days, both of them dining each night on the barge. She lost her shyness very quickly, joining in the conversations that took place long into the sweet, hot nights, and Huy took a much-needed consolation from the closeness growing among the three of them. But during the remaining days of Thothmes’ stay she could not resist his urging to spend the daylight hours with him.

  On the afternoon before Thothmes was due to weigh anchor and row back south to Iunu, she returned to the house early. She had asked Huy to be there, and he was sitting tensely on a chair in the reception room when she came in. For once she did not greet him. Pouring herself some water, she drank long and thirstily before setting down her clay cup with an exaggerated deliberation that told Huy she had something serious on her mind. Suspecting what it was, he clenched his fists in his lap and waited. Pulling forward a stool, she sank onto it in front of him.

  “Thothmes has tried to give me many pretty gifts over the last week,” she began, her eyes roaming the room, avoiding Huy’s. “There is a market here in Hut-herib where the rich toss the baubles they no longer want. I had not seen it before we found it. I was tempted, but I refused to accept anything.”

  Huy did not ask why. Instead he said, “Go on.”

  “He has given me permission to tell you that he has fallen in love with me. He wants to ask you if he can take me back to Iunu with him.” Huy had known the words that she would speak, had heard them as ghostly echoes in his mind, but every syllable she uttered felt like the clamour of harsh music falling directly on his heart, making it falter.

  “I see,” he managed. “As what, Ishat? His servant? His concubine?”

  “No.” She began to cry, the tears falling soundlessly down her face. She did not try to wipe them away. “He will give me a little house of my own, and servants of my own. He will provide for all my needs if I will allow him to introduce me to his family so that they can get to know me. He says that his father is a fair and broad-minded man who will eventually accept me as … as his daughter-in-law.”

  A bubble of bleak laughter welled up in Huy and threatened to choke him. The muscles of his chest contracted so painfully that he was forced to stand. He could control his resentment no longer. It was not directed at her; like a noxious cloud it enveloped the memory of Nakht’s face on that terrible evening when he had begged for Anuket, begged for an acceptance that had been denied him but that was now being held out to Ishat, begged for a future, any future, under Nakht’s protection. He could not argue that Thothmes was profligate in his tastes, that he slept indiscriminately with many women, that he was flighty and unreliable. He had known Thothmes almost all his life. Thothmes was a happy, intelligent, warm man who did his best to live according to the laws of Ma’at. Do not punish Ishat for this, he told himself while his jaw clenched tight against the hateful things roiling in his mind. Why should she not grab at a chance to better herself?

  “What makes you think this is more than a brief infatuation on Thothmes’ part?” he said hoarsely. “Do you imagine that his love will last?”

  “We have immediately become friends. It’s as though we’ve known each other all our lives.” She started to sob and, picking up the hem of her sheath, scrubbed at her cheeks.

  “Then why are you weeping!” He folded his arms against the dreadful ache in his chest. “I trust I am a reasonable master. I release you. Go with him.” His tone was hard.

  Now her swollen gaze flew to him, eyes and nostrils flared, and the old, familiar Ishat flashed out at him. “I only require your permission out of politeness, Huy! Have you forgotten that it was my decision alone to leave my service in your parents’ home and tend you? Why so cruel?”

  “I’m sorry.” The apology cost him a great deal, but it seemed to ease the fluttering of his heart. “Will you go with him?”

  To his surprise she shook her head vigorously. Then, reaching out, she grasped a handful of his kilt so that he was forced to step towards her and she buried her face in the linen. Her forehead burned against his genitals.

  “No, Huy, I can’t go. I’ve told him so. I don’t love him. I love you, curse you. Curse you! I have loved you since we were children together. I know you do not care for me …”

  Genuinely distressed, he pulled her clutching fingers away from his kilt and squatted. “I do care for you, my Ishat. I love you dearly.”

  “But not that way. Not as a lover desires the beloved. Even so, I can’t leave you. Not yet. Not until all my hope is gone.”

  Releasing her fingers, he smoothed down her tousled hair and cupped her chin. “I cannot be selfish in this,” he said with more force than he felt. “Thothmes offers you an honourable opportunity to eventually become the wife of the governor of Iunu! My Ishat, a governor’s wife! Remember how I saw you in my vision.”

  “I remember.” She jerked her head back and sank onto the floor. “If he really loves me he will wait. He will write to me. I can read letters now. He will come and see me, take me on short trips to meet his family. And even then I may choose to stay with you. You are not my master in the usual sense, Huy. I am free to choose my own destiny.”

  Huy sat back down heavily. “None of us are that free. The gods decide the course of our lives before we are born. Or twice born.” The bitterness flowed out of him. “What I Saw for you will come to pass whether you think to choose another way or not. But for now I am selfishly glad that you will stay with me. I’d be very lonely without you.”

  “Selfish indeed,” she agreed more calmly. “And I am weak and foolish. Well. We had better prepare for our last night with Thothmes. I shall give him my decision.” But she continued to sit on the floor, head bowed. He watched her in a mood of helplessness and self-hate.

  That evening, after food and wine and light conversation, Huy excused himself and left the boat, walking a short way along the riverbank. When he regained the deck, the pair of them were sitting in silence. Ishat was staring down into her goblet. Thothmes’ expression was gloomy as Huy approached. “Ishat is very loyal to you,” Thothmes said heavily as Huy lowered himself onto a cushion. “Is her answer an honest one?”

  “Ishat is one of the most honest people I know,” Huy replied uncomfortably. “Her word is true. She is distressed at hurting you, and I am sorry to see you disappointed, Thothmes. You are both my friends. I don’t want either of you to suffer.” As I am suffering, he went on silently. Love is painful when it pours out of the soul towards the beloved and is not returned. It just goes on bleeding until the soul becomes sick with grief. Better for you not to know, Thothmes, that Ishat’s wound is open to me, and mine to Anuket still cannot be closed.

  “Then I must accept it for now,” Thothmes said. “Perhaps in time she will change her mind.”

  “Please don’t speak of me as though I were not here,” Ishat broke in. “Thothmes, I am deeply touched by your affection for me. Huy, I am yours for as long as you need me.” She drained her cup and stood. “It has been wonderful to live like an aristocrat for these few days, but it’s time to regain my station. Tha
nk you again, noble one. I look forward to reading your scrolls.” Both men got to their feet. Thothmes’ expression was strained as he embraced her. “May the soles of your feet be firm,” she said as she kissed his cheek, giving him the time-honoured blessing of the traveller. “Huy, I will wait for you on the bank.”

  Thothmes watched her walk along the ramp into the dimness beyond the reach of the barge’s lamps. He turned to Huy. “Regardless of what she says, I shall speak of her to Father at every opportunity. My feelings will not change, so remember that when you have other servants to take care of you and she is free to reconsider my proposal. Then I shall make a formal approach to her parents, who will doubtless fall over themselves with joy at seeing their daughter elevated to the nobility.”

  Huy looked at him curiously. “Do you see yourself as bestowing on her some great favour, then? Are you condescending to her, Thothmes?”

  “Gods, no! You should know me better than that! Have I ever condescended to you?”

  “No, but I had to ask. Well. I shall miss you very much. Write to me too.”

  “I always do.”

  Huy had one foot on the ramp before he found the courage to ask the question that had been souring in him all week. He glanced back. “Thothmes, how is Anuket? Is she well?”

  Thothmes looked grim. “She is well and happy, but her husband is not. I wish you could forget her, Huy. Be safe. It has been wonderful to see you again.” He vanished abruptly into the cabin and Huy went on down the ramp. I wish it too, he thought as he got onto the litter beside Ishat and the bearers lifted them. Sometimes it happens, but then a certain slant of sunlight, a certain scent, even someone’s casual word, will bring her back to me on a tide of memories. I see her in your face and your gestures, my dear Thothmes. He felt Ishat’s hand on his arm.