House of Dreams

by Pauline Gedge

  Still, this was not yet the Delta. I was close to the heart of the city of On, far from the fringes of cultivation to east or west. I did not intend to go far, only to wear out my body a little so that I could sleep. I kept close to the river, treading easily through black shadows and the ashen light of the moon.

  I had come to an open stretch of sandbank and was about to turn back when I saw him. He was standing waist deep in the silvered water, arms raised, his head thrown back and that lustrous white hair cascading past his shoulders like iridescent foam. Here, bathed in the pale aura of his god, lost in adoration or tranced in Seeing, he was uniquely beautiful and I drew in my breath and paused. Quietly I began to retreat but a twig must have snapped under my tread for he swung about and called to me.

  “Are you spying, praying, or seeking adventure, my little peasant? How are you faring, flung in with my menials? Perhaps you are sneaking south to find Aswat again as a poorly trained horse will seek its stable.”

  I did not yet know him well enough to decide whether or not he was being spiteful. I could not discern his face in the gloom though his body was bathed in ghostly moonlight.

  “I came upon you accidentally, Master,” I said loudly. “I did not mean to spy.”

  “No?” His hands went to his hips, hidden under the slow swirl of the dark water. “But Kenna tells me that you are full of questions to your new-found friends. Could it be that my trust in you is misplaced?” This was so grossly unfair that I had no ready answer. I remained silent, and it came to me once more that he was conducting some sort of test. I resented it. “But Kenna is a man of violent prejudices where I am concerned,” he went on smoothly. “He does not like you at all.”

  “Well, I do not like him either!” I shouted back. “He should not judge me upon the evidence of one meeting!” He began to wade towards me. “It does not matter,” he commented. “Kenna is only a servant. His opinions do not interest me. Isn’t that so, Kenna?” I whirled about. Kenna was standing behind me, the Master’s clothes in his arms. His face was a mask as he met my eye.

  “That is so,” he agreed tonelessly.

  “Good.” Hui had left the water and was approaching us naked, and I thought with a jolt, why not? For Kenna and I are as nothing, little better than slaves, faceless and without importance. I should have lowered my gaze but I could not. I was mesmerized by the pallid, somehow tainted symmetry of the tight-muscled white belly, the high-rounded buttocks, and the thing that hung between Hui’s thick thighs. Embarrassed, intrigued, heated, angry, I could not, in my fourteenth year, recognize the dawning of my sexuality and it is only now, looking back with sadness, that I see the budding of a confused passion that was to colour the rest of my life. I was aware of the sudden tension in Kenna before he stepped around me and began to towel the moisture running like milk down Hui’s body. His movements were practised, gentle and impersonal, yet I clenched my teeth as I watched him. Hui watched me. He continued to do so as his servant draped him in linen, leaving only his head bare. When Kenna had finished, Hui dismissed him abruptly. He bowed and vanished promptly into the darkness.

  “Are you happy, Thu?” the Master enquired. “Are you regretting your decision to cast your lot with me?” He was looking at me, now, with solicitude. I shook my head. “Good,” he said thoughtfully. “Now, my obdurate little colt, we will sit here on the dead grass, under the dead trees, and I will tell you a bedtime story.” To my amazement he arranged himself on the earth, drew up his knees under the thick cloak, and signalled that I should join him. I did so. “I will tell you a story of the creation of all things,” he began. “And then you will be able to sleep, will you not? Here. Rest your head against me. In the beginning, Thu, in fact before there was a beginning, the Nun was the all. Chaos and turbulence. And with the Nun there was Huh, the unendingness, and Kuk, the darkness, and Amun, the air …” His voice had a hypnotic quality, deliberately calming and reassuring, but the power of the story kept me listening, at least for a while. He spoke of how Atum, child of the chaos that was Nun, created himself by an effort of the will, and how he brought light to disperse Kuk, the darkness. So sometimes the Atum was Ra-Atum, the phoenix ever new. He told me how Atum, being alone, copulated with his shadow and so begat the gods. Increasingly his tone wove in and out of the fantasies sleep was conjuring in my mind. I was dimly aware that I had slumped against him and his arm had gone around me. Then his voice became a monotonous song. I felt myself lifted, carried, placed on my pallet, the blanket pulled to my chin, and then the blessed oblivion of unconsciousness.

  5

  THE THOUGHT OF THOSE DAYS on the river still brings a lump to my throat, for I was still half a child and hopeful, and trusting in both gods and men. Just beyond On the Nile divided and became the three mighty tributaries and several smaller ones that emptied into the Great Green. Our barges took the north-eastern finger of the river, the Waters of Ra, and as I sat cross-legged on the deck I saw a slow miracle take place. Gradually the aridity and barrenness of summer gave way to the sweetness of spring. The air grew heavy with the scent of growing things. Papyrus thickets crowded the verdant shores, their dark green stems and delicate fronds weaving and whispering in the cool breeze. Everywhere there was fertility. Birds flocked and wheeled, piped and fluttered. White cranes and ibis stood motionless in the shallows, seemingly as bemused at the riotous lushness of the life around them as I was. And there was water everywhere; glinting half-glimpsed through dense trees, lying blue and still in full irrigation canals, rippling with the wash of tiny brown bodies bobbing up and down in the ponds. It was not surprising, I thought as I inhaled the distinctively sweet odour of what I came to know as the fruit orchards, stripped bare at this season, that the foreign tribesmen coveted such a paradise. The cattle that lifted their incurious heads and watched us glide by were somnolent and fat with health. The Waters of Ra became the Waters of Avaris. We passed the temple of the cat goddess Bast in the red glow of a perfect evening, and lit our fires amid a soft but constant susurration of insect song.

  On the afternoon of the following day the outskirts of the most beautiful city on earth came in sight. The mighty Osiris One, Ramses the Second, had built Pi-Ramses to the east of the ancient site of Avaris where the ramshackle hovels of the poor leaned drunkenly together around the temple of Set, Ramses’ totem, and greeted the traveller from On with dust, noise and filth. I had never seen distress like this. I wanted to avert my eyes, but before I could tear my gaze away a jumbled pile of stones took its place. I learned later that it was the remains of an even older town, its name lost in antiquity. A string of trading barges obscured my view, its crew and ours exchanging coarse insults as it was forced to tack towards the shore to make way for us. Indeed, the river had become thick with craft of all kinds, each bent on appropriating the few open stretches of water, and the air was full of shouted expletives. When the traffic eased, the ruins had gone, to be replaced by the great canal Ramses had built to surround his city-palace. Here we had to wait, for the junction was choked with craft, but after much yelling and swearing a path was cleared for us. We began to drift to the right.

  Now my dissatisfaction turned to awe. On our left was a vast and confusing collection of warehouses, workshops, granaries and storehouses, cacophonous with busy life. The canal had widened into a vast pool into which quays extended. Goods of every description were being loaded and unloaded. There were children everywhere, little naked half-wild beings who scampered like rats over the wares and called to each other in shrill voices.

  Beyond this, the city showed another character. Gardens and orchards surrounded the white houses of minor noblemen and officials, merchants and foreign traders. The polite peace of a modest affluence permeated them.

  After a while the pool narrowed again, and this time it was guarded by armed soldiers in light skiffs. Looking ahead I saw my Master’s captain answer a challenge. The skiffs drew aside and we slid through the small opening into the Lake of the Residence, Pharaoh’s private d
omain. There was not much to see. The southern wall of the palace was far too high to show anything of what was within, and it seemed to go on forever, finally curving away to be replaced by more impeccably groomed gardens. Here there were dazzlingly white marble watersteps against which several large craft rocked. Gold and silver glittered on their sides, their masts, their exquisitely damasked cabins, and each one flew the imperial colours of blue and white. They were Pharaoh’s own barges. Seeing the flag Hui’s vessel was flying, the guards thronging the watersteps saluted, and then we were past them and the sheltering wall came back to meet us.

  When it ended, more estates began, but these were different. I could not see the houses for the walls that enclosed them. Tree branches leaned over towards the water, and the tops of stiff palms spiked against the sky. The watersteps were all of marble, and where they ended there were wide paved courts in front of the pyloned and doubtless well-watched entrances. The people who really mattered in Egypt, the Viziers and Treasurers, the Butlers and Overseers, the High Priests and Hereditary Nobles, lived here. Those people know Pharaoh, I remember thinking as Hui’s barge nosed to the bank. I will see people who speak with the Horus of Gold himself.

  Servants had appeared, running across the paving to secure Hui’s barge and settle the ramp on the watersteps. Behind them a large man came slowly forth from the shadow of the entrance pylon and stood at the top of the steps. I should say glided forth, for he moved with a heavy yet graceful dignity. Everything about him was round, from his thick upper arms gripped by silver armbands to his substantial waist, to the cords of his calves. His bare skull shone. One pendant earring swung against his thick neck. His fleshy mouth was hennaed orange and the cold eyes that flickered rapidly over the mêlée developing on the watersteps were emphasized with kohl. He spoke one sharp word and my companions, who were pressing and jostling to be first on our ramp, fell back.

  Hui emerged from the cabin of his barge. As always when in public he was invisible beneath his white shroud. Striding the ramp and mounting the watersteps he received the big man’s short bow and together they walked across the paving, in under the small pylon, and were lost to sight. Kenna and a few of the servants from the house went next, and then there was a concerted rush from the second barge. I found myself swept along with the crowd, off the barge, onto the stone that was hot beneath my bare feet, and through the entrance. The friends of my voyage scattered, obviously glad to be home, and I was alone.

  I could hear the activity still going on behind me. The barges were being unloaded. But I stood in my grubby, now tattered sheath, feeling lost and out of place. Two paths ran out from where I stood. One went to the right, plunging under trees towards a wall glimpsed through the foliage. I presumed that it led to servants’ quarters, for the people had disappeared along it. The other went straight ahead. All around me trees, shrubs and palms were densely massed, obscuring my view. Flower beds were laid out neatly beside the walkway. I was tempted to follow the faces that I knew, to seek reassurance, but mutinously decided that, seeing no one had told me where to go, I should go where I pleased.

  I set off along the central path and soon came to an open area with seats and a fountain that splashed its water into a large circular basin. To left and right the path diverged and on both sides were thorn hedges. Rather timidly I peered over one to find myself looking at a fishpond. Lotus pads floated on its quiet surface and an old sycamore cast its shade on the verge. The other hedge completely enclosed a pool that must be used for swimming, for a small curtained hut had been built at one end and someone had left a linen tunic and an empty cup on its stone edge. Skirting the fountain I continued on. The path took me past a kiosk, a small shrine in which there was a stone offering table, hollowed at one end, and an exquisite statue of ibis-headed Thoth whose tiny black-painted eye stared back at me. I bowed to him as I passed.

  Then the trees thinned and I came to a gate before a wide, paved courtyard. The house was before me, its entrance pillars painted white and resplendently embellished with the likenesses of exotic birds and vines that curled up to meet the roof. I could see the rest of the sheltering wall now, running high and forbidding behind more trees to either side of the house and behind it. Set in the wall to the right was a double door that must also lead to a servants’ domain—kitchens and granaries probably, and perhaps stables, though I did not think that Hui would like to drive a chariot. Once more I hesitated. Should I march up to the entrance hall and announce my presence? I could dimly see a guard, or perhaps a doorkeeper, sitting on a stool beyond one of the pillars. For a moment I toyed with the idea of making my way home again and having done with all this ignominy. How could Hui have forgotten me, after our vital conversations? Well, they were vital to me anyway.

  I retraced my steps, enjoying the cool, dappled shade of the little forest, the green silence in which I moved. Arriving at the fountain I went through the thorn hedge to the pool and settled myself beside its clear depths. I was thirsty and afraid, but I made myself remember my prayer to Wepwawet and how it was answered. The thought consoled me. I could always walk into the markets of Pi-Ramses and hire myself out as a domestic servant. My mother had taught me the value of cleanliness. My services would go to one of the rich merchants whose homes I had admired, and he would have a son. I would be scrubbing the paving before his door and the son would emerge, darkly handsome, lonely. I would glance up and he would see, for the first time, my blue eyes. He would be intrigued, then obsessed. His father would rage, his mother cry, but a wedding contract would follow … So I dreamed, nervous and adrift, while the glinting water netted the sunlight and a curious cat came stalking out of the hedge to sit in the shade and watch me with its unblinking, myopic stare.

  A long time afterwards, when my fantasy had run its course and I knew I must do something, a man came hurrying from the other side of the clearing. I rose as he approached me red-faced and out of breath.

  “Are you Thu?” he panted. I nodded warily. “Oh, thank the gods!” he exclaimed. “Where have you been? I was sent to find you an hour ago. I thought you might be with the other servants so I’ve turned the compound upside down.” He glanced around the pool. “You are not supposed to be here unless on the Master’s business,” he reproved me mildly. “These gardens are for the family only. Follow me.”

  “Family?” I echoed as I trotted to catch up with him. “Hui has a family?”

  “Well of course he does,” the man replied irritably. “His mother and father are retired to their acres outside On. If you want to know more you must ask him yourself and take the consequences. Servants are never allowed to question their betters unless it has to do with their duties. He does not encourage gossip. You really are a provincial, aren’t you?”

  That closed my mouth, although I burned with questions. I had thought of the Master as a creature of lofty aloneness, self-sufficient, almost self-generating. But a family? Were they all monsters? The servant had taken a path that ran between the outer wall of the estate and the trees and we had to angle across the blinding expanse of the courtyard to reach the entrance. The doorkeeper on his stool did not acknowledge us.

  A short way in under the pillars a huge room opened out. It was dim and cool after the furnace of the outer court. Light poured down in brilliant shafts from several thin windows high under the ceiling. More white pillars were spaced across the gleaming, tiled floor. The furniture was sparse and elegant, a few cedar chairs inlaid with gold and ivory, low tables topped with blue and green faience work, but the walls were alive with scenes of feasting. I had no chance to examine them then. I padded after my escort, whose own sandals slapped busily as he strode. A group of men were clustered beside one of the pillars. Hui was one of them. I could not be sure that he saw me but if he did he made no sign. His hooded head turned and then turned back.

  At the far end of the hall and immediately to my left, beyond the wide double doors that stood open, a flight of stairs rose steeply. To my right were other rooms whos
e doors were firmly closed and between them a guard sat. Ahead was a passage running away to left and right and directly in front of me, twenty steps away, a square doorway led onto a terrace and more gardens before the wall loomed.

  But my attention was fixed at once on the man who was rising from behind a desk by the stairs. It was as though a small mountain had chosen to move, for it was the person I had seen above the watersteps. He had been impressive then. He was terrifying now. Unsmilingly he looked down on me, inspecting me from head to dusty toes with those impassive black eyes, then he folded his great arms across his barrel chest and sighed. The earring quivered gently against one pouched cheek. “Go,” he ordered the servant with me. The man bowed and disappeared along the passage. “So,” he went on resignedly. “You are Thu. You are also a nuisance. This is an efficiently run household, and you are no longer free to go where you please when you want. I have been instructed as to your status and handling by the Master, therefore do not complain about any order you may receive. If you have questions you will put them to me or to Disenk. You will not approach the Master under any circumstances unless he sends for you. Do you understand?” I nodded vigorously. His voice was a rumble of threatening power. “Good,” he continued. “Follow me.”

  He moved with surprising agility to the foot of the stairs and began to mount, his kilt swaying gently about his oddly delicate ankles. Meekly I did as I was told. He had not introduced himself. I supposed I was too much of a nonentity for him to bother. At the top of the stairs there was a dark passage flanked by many doors. He led me almost to the end before opening one of them and gesturing me inside. I blinked. The room was full of sunlight that cascaded through the large window ahead of me. There was a couch of wood, draped in fine linens and cushions. Beside it was a table on which stood an alabaster lamp. Two chairs were arranged haphazardly by the window. A huge feathered fan was propped against one wall. A pair of matching chests also hugged the wall, large, handsome things with bronze fittings. A woman stood in the middle of all this luxury. Slight and tiny, dressed in a spotless but plain sheath, her hair tied high with a red ribbon, she smiled at me and bowed to my companion. “Disenk, this is Thu,” he said brusquely. “You can begin by giving her a bath. Scrape off some of that Aswat muck and pluck her eyebrows.” He did not wait for an answer. The door closed firmly behind him.