House of Dreams

by Pauline Gedge

  “But what am I to do here, surrounded by fractious women and wailing infants?” I cried out. “I will not be reduced to the title of Royal Nurse, Amunnakht, I will not! Plead with the King for me, I pray!” He shook himself free of my grip.

  “I may advise the Mighty Bull, Lady Thu, but it is not my place to try and alter his decrees,” he replied kindly. “You have enjoyed his blessing for much longer than your predecessors. It is time to retire with as much grace as you can conjure.”

  “And do what?”

  He shrugged. “You are free to visit your friends within the harem. You may request permission to spend time in the house of the Seer or go about the city with the guards. You have your land to nurture. Many women find great satisfaction in such things.”

  “Well, I will not!” I spat at him, fear spawning this mounting rage. “I am not a sheep, Amunnakht, I am not a milk cow to go wherever I am led and stand meekly when I am tethered! I will die if I am imprisoned here!”

  “No, my Lady, you will not,” he rejoined calmly, undaunted by my outburst. “You will see to the care and later the education of your son. You will seek compensations in places other than Pharaoh’s bed. If you do not, you may find yourself banished to the Fayum.” My rage was snuffed out at his words and the fear rose up behind it like a cloud of black ashes.

  “For the sake of the gods, Amunnakht, speak to him for me, help me,” I whispered. “I can get him back if he will give me the chance. What woman can fascinate him the way I did? He will soon grow tired of the others, and then he will remember me.” Amunnakht bowed and walked to the doorway.

  “That may indeed happen,” he said, turning with one hand on the lintel, “and if it does I will be the first to bring you his summons. But until then you must learn patience and I warn you, Lady Thu, that Pharaoh has never reinstated a concubine who has borne a child. He regards such an act as a betrayal, for he fears his many sons. You knew that, though, didn’t you? I wish you continued good health.” Then he was gone, his shadow following him out into the bright day.

  I sank, trembling, into a chair. Disenk remained motionless by the table, watching me. Pentauru stirred in his reed basket. I saw a young girl go by outside, a cat draped across her arms, and presently a servant ran after her calling frantically. A naked child tottered past, thumb in his mouth. Three women paused briefly by my door and called to unseen friends before they wandered on.

  Suddenly my surroundings began to close in on me. The plaster walls of my cell leaned inward. The ceiling dipped drunkenly over my head. I felt the back of my chair become fluid and begin to encircle my chest and I could not breathe. Clenching my fists and squeezing my eyes shut I forced my lungs to expand. “Disenk!” I gasped. “Give me a drink!” I felt a cup nudge my stiff fingers, and without opening my eyes I took it and gulped at the bitter wine. The moment of mindless panic slowly dissolved, leaving a composure that was nevertheless still tainted with terror. “He cannot do this to me,” I muttered. “Hentmira will have her day and then Ramses will want me back. It must be so. Otherwise, Disenk,” I finished, looking up at her, “I shall kill myself.” Disenk made no reply, and I drained my cup in a brooding silence.

  It seemed to me, in the following weeks, that the Children’s Quarter was a happier place than the courtyard I had left. The women here were no longer competing with each other for Pharaoh’s favour, agonizing over what mode of dress or exotic style of facepaint might catch his eye on public occasions, or watching their friends and enemies alike for any sign of a threat. The gossip circulating had more to do with the progress of the barter and commerce in which most of the inmates were engaged than with who was sharing Pharaoh’s bed and the nature of her status measured by what gifts she had been given. The fountain and its wide basin served as a gathering point for innumerable Overseers, Stewards, Scribes and Surveyors consulting with their employers under the billowing white gauze canopies. There was no doubt that many of the women had become very rich in the pursuit of their business interests. They were far more approachable and friendly than my previous neighbours. There was, after all, no sexual jealousy to colour their relationships, but in my eyes they were still prisoners compensating for their incarceration, even as Amunnakht had advised me to do.

  Though I began to adjust to new routines I fiercely rejected my fate. I began to exercise regularly once more, usually watched by a crowd of curious children. I bathed, cossetted and played with Pentauru, taking much comfort from the feel of his plump, warm body. I entered into a voluminous correspondence with my Overseer in the Fayum and pored over every detail of the progress being made on my estate.

  Deep in my heart a flame of hope continued to burn. Pharaoh would get over his rancour. He would begin to miss me. Hentmira would eventually bore him and his thoughts would turn to the intimacy we had shared. All I had to do was wait.

  22

  BUT THE MONTHS of Mekhir and Phamenat came and went with no word from the palace. On my arouras the crops grew green and thick. My garden there was cleared and tamed. The house was repaired. Gods’ feasts marked the passage of time. Pentauru began to smile sunnily and drunkenly at me when I bent over him, and he was soon able to sit up without support. Every afternoon when the heat had started to abate, I took him onto the grass of the courtyard and laid him on a sheet, watching him kick and flail his sturdy limbs under the shade of my canopy and crow at the flowers I picked to dangle before his eyes and place in his fist. He was a placid child, easily pleased, and in spite of the chaos he had brought into my life I grew to love him.

  When Pharmuti arrived, I had to face the probability that I no longer occupied a place of affection in Pharaoh’s mind, indeed, it was likely that he did not think of me at all. Somehow I would have to save myself. I still believed that if I could just see him, create an opportunity to meet him face to face, his memories of me would return and with them his desire. In the precious hours of night silence I pondered my problem. It was no use trying to gain entrance to his bedchamber. The guards would turn me back. Nor could I walk through the main doors of the palace. Leaving the harem was easy, but the soldiers thronging the public reception area of the palace knew very well who had permission to approach the inner sanctuaries and who had not. I could perhaps linger by the watersteps and hope to catch Ramses coming or going, but again, he was protected by many servants and guards wherever he went and I did not imagine that I would be smilingly bowed into his presence. Nor could I spend hours by the water without attracting attention.

  Should I dictate a petition and have it placed in his hands? It was worth a try. But I did not want any harem scribe knowing the shame of my efforts. Accordingly I sent for papyrus, and on the exquisite palette Hui had given me so many months ago I wrote a carefully worded letter to my King, respectfully requesting an audience. As the black hieroglyphs took shape under my reed pen I missed my brother with a sudden jolt of homesickness. I could have dictated this missive to him. I could have discussed my plight with him, sure of his understanding and support even though I knew he had not approved of the course I had steered for my life ever since Hui had docked at Wepwawet’s temple watersteps. When I had finished I sealed the scroll and summoned a harem Herald to deliver it.

  My answer came within three days. Pharaoh was much occupied with state matters. He had no time to devote to the concerns of a concubine. He advised me to take any problem I might have to the Keeper of the Door. The message was delivered verbally and I found myself flushing with mortification as the callous words filled the air. So Ramses did not want to see me. Well I would give him no choice. There must be a way to avoid his guards and reach him in person. I would not admit defeat.

  In the end the solution was simple. Oiled and perfumed, painted and wigged, I wrapped myself once more in Disenk’s old woollen cloak and walked out of the courtyard, along the path in the opposite direction to the harem entrance, and through the gate into the servants’ compound. The guards stationed where the path opened out onto the dusty stretch of
ground before the cells barely glanced at me, a harem servant on an errand for her mistress, and unnoticed I turned right and then right again, through another gate and onto the paving that fronted the Ministers’ Offices. I had not been challenged, for although soldiers clustered to either side of the entrance, the avenue was busy with other servants coming and going.

  I had been this way once before, a long time ago when I had come to tell Amunnakht that I was ready to brave Pharaoh’s bed, and in spite of my nervousness I smiled to myself as I remembered how determined and yet anxious I had been then. My body may have softened under the harem’s insidious influence but my will was as indomitable as ever. I drew the hood of the cloak more closely around my face as I passed the Keeper’s office, careful not to risk a glance within. I heard his measured voice and presumed that he was dictating to his scribe.

  The path took a sharp angle, and all at once I was facing an even wider thoroughfare lined on my side with palm trees. On the other side a row of great columns reared, holding up the massive stone roof of Pharaoh’s office. Shadows moved beyond them and a fully armed soldier stood guard at each of their feet. As I hesitated, hidden by shrubbery, a scribe laden with scrolls hurried out and disappeared in the direction of the banqueting hall.

  Quickly I shed the cloak, folding it and laying it down at the foot of one of the palms. Smoothing my silver-plaited wig and pausing to slip on the sandals that I had carried for fear their white leather and gem-studded thongs would attract attention, I stepped boldly out. If Ramses was not attending to administrative business today I was doomed, but I prayed fervently as I approached the soldiers that he was following his usual daily routine and would be seated behind his desk, holding audience with his ministers. Deliberately I looked straight ahead, moving with a self-confidence I did not feel. One of the guards made as if to detain me. His spear wavered. Nonchalantly I smiled at him, spoke a greeting, and sailed between the columns and into the welcome coolness of the room beyond.

  It was full of men. Four scribes sat cross-legged on the floor, knee to knee, pens poised over their palettes. A white-clad minister leaned against the wall, arms folded, and another stood beside him. Two more flanked the desk, and before it, blocking my view, I recognized the imposing figure of the Overseer of the City, the Vizier To. The gossamer linen that hugged his body from armpits to ankles was hemmed and fringed in gold, and gold gripped his upper arms and encircled his shoulder-length wig. As I approached he was speaking earnestly, one hennaed palm extended.

  “… and he is at least proving to be honest, Majesty. I would not have recommended him otherwise. We must look elsewhere for the reasons. I suspect embezzlement of grain, not careless accounting, but I cannot be sure until …” His voice trailed away as he sensed that he no longer held the attention of the others. Turning, he saw me, and his action brought the King into view.

  Ramses was slumped loosely in his chair, his helmeted head resting against one hand. I could tell immediately by the glazed look in his kohled eyes and the set of his jaw that he was bored. His other hand was engaged in playing with the heavy pectoral resting on his chest. Somewhat uncertainly, the men bowed to me. Vizier To moved away from the desk and I came to a halt before Ramses, lowering myself into a deep obeisance.

  It was some time before I heard a strangled, “Rise!” and I came to my feet. His eyes were no longer glazed and he had stiffened, sitting forward. The look he gave me was furious. “I have already refused you an audience, Lady Thu,” he snapped. “How you managed to find your way in here without being accosted is beyond my comprehension and I will speak to the Captain of the Palace Guard about the laxness of his men. I am far too busy to hear your complaint. Take it to Amunnakht. Begone!” I stood my ground, heart pounding, and strove to meet his eyes, painfully aware of the ministers frozen on the periphery of my vision. I had assumed that the moment he saw me Ramses would dismiss all others from the room and angry or not, would hear me out. Then I could have freely had my say, wheedled and coaxed, pouted and cried, moved close to put my hands on him in the ways I knew he could not resist, but what could I do with such an audience? He could not soften in the presence of his ministers and I could not seduce him. As I searched his face I realized that he would not dismiss them because he needed their silent authority to buttress his, and to prevent me from making him appear at fault. Very well, I thought. I cannot shed my clothes and wrap myself around him, but I have nothing to lose by speaking my mind, and that I will do.

  “You did not come to see your son, Great Horus,” I said. “You did not come to visit me, the woman you professed to love. I hurt. I am sad, and lonely for you. You severed the link between us without warning and you refused to grant me a moment in your august presence. I am bereft.” He puffed out his hennaed lips.

  “If I went into the harem every time one of my concubines gave birth or desired my body I would be too busy to see to more important matters,” he replied testily. “You forget your place, Lady Thu. You are not a wife. Your rights are the limited prerogatives of a harem inmate. According to the clauses of the contract your father signed, I owe you shelter, food, clothing and such other creature comforts as you need. Nothing else. You have been treated with exemplary affection by your King and I fear it has gone to your head. I understand your distress, and therefore I will not have you disciplined. You are dismissed.”

  I stared at him reflectively. If I tried to goad him with the secrets of his bed in front of his nobles he would have me dragged away at once. I was finding it difficult to equate this brisk, impersonal man with the Pharaoh who had sat me on his knee and tickled me, fitted himself around my back and buried his hand in my hair as we fell asleep together, murmured feverish words of lust in my ear as the lamps guttered. You old hypocrite, I thought with distaste. How did it happen that I almost loved you? It is over. Everything is gone. I can see now that you will never take me back. I have already receded into the murky history of the harem, one star that streaked across your sky and then faded, unremarked.

  “I think that I have fulfilled the duties of a concubine with wholly laudable skill,” I retorted coolly, and was rewarded by the sudden flush that stained his cheeks. “After all, that was the other side of the bargain the contract represented, was it not, Mighty Bull? And you recognized the uniquely satisfying quality of my services by bestowing a title and a small estate on me.” Careful, I told myself. Do not go too far. “It is clear that Your Majesty wishes nothing more to do with me now that I have done you the supreme honour of producing a royal son,” I went on, “but I do feel that my achievement deserves greater acknowledgement than a golden bauble studded with moonstones. Don’t you?” He was sitting upright now, breathing heavily, his spine rigid, both clenched fists jammed against the surface of his desk.

  “I can have you whipped for that!” he shouted. “How dare you address me in this fashion? Who do you think you are?” I stepped right to the desk until I felt my thighs press against its edge.

  “I am your little scorpion, Ramses,” I said in a low voice. “Did you expect me to scuttle under the nearest rock when you tried to crush me? I have loved you, I have tended your wounds, I have shared your innermost thoughts. Now you kick me aside like so much rubbish. You know me, Pharaoh. How can I help but sting?”

  It was a good speech, I thought, and it was having its impact. The King’s mouth was pursed and he was glaring at me, but one hand had relaxed and was trembling slightly. I was not sure, in the moment before he responded, how much of what I had said was the true anguish of lost trust and affection and how much a calculated effort to force guilt upon him. I did not want to know. I waited tensely, my eyes locked with his, and in the end it was he who lowered his gaze.

  “What do you want?” he asked quietly. I leaned towards him.

  “I want to return to your bed,” I said urgently. “I want to be again the companion for whom you pine!”

  “That is not possible.” He folded his arms. “I no longer desire you in my bed. If yo
u love me as you say you do, then tend to my child. He is, after all, the proof that your King once chose you above all others in whom to plant his divine seed, and such a great honour should afford you much dignity among the other women.”

  “Dignity!” I rejoined indignantly. “There are dozens of harem women who have borne you sons and daughters! Such dignity is as common as dirt!”

  Behind me in the room there was a murmur of consternation. I bit my lip. In the heat of our argument I had forgotten the men listening avidly to my denunciations and so, I think, had Pharaoh. Bowing, I lifted my hands in the universal gesture of apology and supplication. “My King,” I pleaded softly, “forgive my angry words. They spring from an aching heart. If Your Majesty no longer requires my services as your concubine, then give me leave to retire to my estate in the Fayum. Let me go and see to my land and my crops, so that I may try to replace the satisfactions of your bed with the peaceful embrace of a less intoxicating lover.” He looked startled, then he frowned.

  “You would run away from your son? No!”

  “I could take him with me,” I said eagerly. “You would not need to worry about his education, Majesty. I would hire a tutor for him. And as for my fidelity to you, you could send as many guards with me as you wished, to make certain that I did not behave indecorously.” I clasped my hands. “You do not need me any more. I am of no use to anyone but my child. Let me go! The Fayum is not far. You could recall me at any time. Please, Majesty!”

  He looked at me speculatively for a long time, his expression closed, while I tried not to betray my deep agitation, then he pushed himself away from the desk and rose.

  “You are a prideful and bitter child, Thu,” he said at last, “and your fantasies are indeed those of the desert scorpion, venomous and unfathomable. You have stung me many times, and sometimes the pain was a delight, sometimes an adventure. But now you have been foolish enough to wield your barb in the presence of my ministers. That is unforgivable. Therefore you will be held to the terms of your contract with the Double Crown, and you may count yourself fortunate that I do not have you beaten and imprisoned for your supreme insolence. Your request is denied.” Suddenly I needed the desk to keep myself upright. I clung to it desperately.