House of Dreams (57 page)

In due time an official scroll arrived, announcing that my son should bear the name Pentauru. I did not know whether to laugh or be enraged, for Pentauru meant “excellent scribe” or “great writer.” It was not a name for a royal prince. Princes did not become scribes. But then I reminded myself that my baby’s royal blood was mingled with my own, that my mysterious grandmother had loved to tell stories, my brother was a respected scribe, and I myself had longed to unlock the wonderful door of written knowledge. A fascination with words ran in my family. Pentauru was sleeping in his basket beside my couch and I bent over him, stroking his smooth little cheek and calling his new name to him softly. By the time I became a queen he might indeed be a great scribe, and with my elevation he would become a prince as well.

Disenk had brought all my belongings into the children’s quarters including the cushion with its secret burden, and I often found my eyes drawn to it as I grew stronger. The Prince’s promise had acquired an added importance now that my arms were full of a new responsibility. My son must grow up to claim his proper birthright. Two futures were now inscribed on that piece of papyrus, and if it were mislaid I knew that the Prince would repudiate his word to me. I was no longer in any position to influence the King.

But in spite of everything I still hoped to recover his affections, and by the end of Mekhir I felt strong enough to move back to my own rooms. A message from my Overseer had come, telling me that the sowing had begun on my fertile arouras and was proceeding well.

A letter had also come from Pa-ari, full of love and concern, apologizing once again for being unable to answer my invitation and acquainting me with the fact that Isis, his wife, would give birth sometime in the season Shemu. I wanted to see him, to sit with him in the peace of the garden I had imagined as his and drink wine and reminisce. Perhaps another journey to Aswat could be arranged later, but for the present, I must work to re-establish myself at court.

Accordingly one day I summoned the Overseer of the Children’s Quarters and sent him to Amunnakht the Keeper of the Door with a request that I return to my previous place. Two hours later the Keeper himself stood in my doorway and bowed. I was delighted to see him.

“Greetings, Amunnakht!” I said. “It is a long time since we met. Come and see my son. He is beautiful, is he not?” The man returned my welcome with the grave dignity I remembered so well, and entering the dim cell he bent obligingly over the basket. Pentauru was awake and looked up at him drowsily, both tiny fists curled under his chin.

“He is indeed a fine boy,” the Keeper agreed, straightening, “and you are now as slim and youthful as ever, Lady Thu. My congratulations.” I indicated the table and Disenk hastily poured wine and passed a cup to him. He shook his head. I faced him resolutely. For all his quiet urbanity he was a formidable man whose word was law all through the harem.

“You know that I wish to return to my old quarters,” I began as confidently as I could. “I am fully recovered from the birth and ready to resume my former life. I do not find this cell congenial and there is no longer any need to keep me here.” Amunnakht spread his hennaed palms.

“I am sorry, Lady Thu, but that is not possible. Pharaoh has decreed that you must take up residence permanently in this block.” I stared at him, the heat draining from my body.

“But why? Is he punishing me for refusing his gift? He must know that I was hurt because he did not come to me in person! I longed to see him! Is that any reason for condemning me, Amunnakht?” I stepped forward. “But perhaps my old quarters are occupied and there are no other rooms ready for me at present. Is that it? Is it?” I was grasping for any shred of hope, but the Keeper shook his head.

“No, my Lady. Your old quarters are still empty, and so are the similar rooms on the other side of the courtyard. The Lord of All Life has spoken. You are to remain here.” I thought I caught a flicker of sympathy in his dark, carefully kohled eyes and I grabbed for his arm.

“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.