Seer of Egypt (23 page)

“It was my privilege, Master,” she replied. “I hear Tetiankh coming along the corridor. I shall seek my own cot on the barge and be ready to be of service to you at the first meal tomorrow. May you dream of visiting Aabtu.” She smiled, bowed, and left, one of her thin new sheaths flowing back from that skinny yet strong little body. In spite of his pain, Huy felt his heart lighten. The head of Osiris was buried at Aabtu, and according to the priests who interpreted dreams, if one travelled there while asleep, one could be assured of a long life.

Tetiankh passed Huy the poppy and began the task of undressing and washing him. Huy drank, then submitted passively to his servant’s ministrations. By the time Tetiankh set fresh drinking water by the couch and doused the lamp, the thudding in Huy’s head had begun to abate under the influence of the drug. Curling up on his side, Huy set both hands under his cheek and closed his eyes.
“See to your house
.
” What do you mean, you mysterious jackal? My house is in order. I fulfill my obligations. I have given up Ishat. I shall continue to heal and scry as always. What more is required of me?
At once the hyena filled his mind’s eye, its teeth bared, its tongue glistening in the sunlight as it moved over those predatory fangs.
You gave me a tremor of unease even as I stood before Imhotep in the Beautiful West with the Judgment Hall behind me,
his thoughts ran on anxiously.
You appeared tame, but when the mighty architect and healer put his hand on you, stroked you, I felt afraid, or as fearful as it was possible to be in that glorious place. Why? How is the command of Anubis to see to my house connected with an unclean animal, a scavenger? Does it have something to do with the Book of Thoth? Perhaps so, for it has been many months since I allowed the words of those forty-two mysterious scrolls to stream through my mind. And tonight is not the time.

He stirred, but the poppy was singing its seductive song in his veins and slowly the pain was ebbing.
Nakht called her a poison to any man,
Huy suddenly remembered,
and in my vision Anubis described her thoughts as both lustful and self-indulgent. Anuket, lovely and delicate weaver of garlands, I shall see you tomorrow. Are you still quiet and graceful? Am I doomed to fall in love with you all over again? A poison to any man … And what was it Thothmes said about her … ?
Huy slipped into unconsciousness.

7

T
he following day passed uneventfully for all but the servants. Huy slept late and heavily, waking long after sunrise to make his way unsteadily to the bathhouse, where he submitted to Tetiankh’s ministrations in a mental fog caused, he knew, by the aftermath of the poppy. Washed, shaved, plucked, and oiled, he returned to his room to eat a light meal, then he lingered in the quiet space, reluctant to begin a time that he suspected would be fraught with tumultuous emotions. Tetiankh was hovering just outside the door, waiting for his master to leave so that he could make up the couch and clear away the dishes, and in the end Huy sighed, picked up his courage, and went in search of Thothmes.

But it was Nasha who accosted him as he was crossing the reception hall, her hair coming loose from the combs holding it carelessly back, her face unpainted, her arms and the arms of the accompanying servants full of spring blooms. More servants were setting out the low tables behind which the guests would sit, laying linen squares, spoons, and knives on their pretty inlaid surfaces. One man was placing musical instruments—a harp, two drums, and a lute—at the far end of the pillared floor. Another was moving from one lampstand to another, gingerly cleaning the delicate alabaster lamps before filling them with oil and new wicks. Their voices and laughter echoed against the high, starred ceiling.

“You look ghastly this morning, Huy,” Nasha greeted him. “You should go back to your couch. None of us will be sleeping tonight.”

“You look utterly unpresentable yourself,” Huy said.

She grimaced. “I sent Ptahhotep and his assistant to the storage hut behind the granaries to fetch more vases for the flowers an hour ago. I have no idea what has become of them. The gardeners haven’t finished making the welcome garlands for the necks of the guests, and there’s no sign of the dozens of perfumed cones I ordered. I’ll be lucky to get to the bathhouse before the festivities are due to begin.”

“So Anuket is not weaving the garlands?” Huy felt strange saying her name aloud, as though he had asked permission to go into the herb room and sit with her as he used to do.

Nasha blew a stray lock of hair away from her mouth. “She doesn’t do that anymore,” she said tersely. “Really, Huy, I get so few letters from her that I don’t know what she
does
do. Help me sort these out. Who has the pink lotuses?” She dropped her armful on the floor and Huy bent over them with her, gently pulling the tangled stems apart and unwillingly inhaling the mingled scents of the waxy orange lilies and the little yellow acacia, the powerful aroma of narcissus, mignonette, and jasmine threatening for a moment to unseat his reason.

“How is your father this morning? And where are Thothmes and Ishat?” he forced himself to ask, and at once the present reasserted itself.

Nasha tore a withered leaf from one of the lily stems and dropped it on the tiling. “Father is resting. I visited him earlier. He seems a little stronger than yesterday, but perhaps I only wish that to be true.” With a sharp gesture to the servants to continue the task, she straightened. “Thothmes waited for you, but then he took a skiff and went into the marshes. I believe that Ishat is being massaged in her room. If you want your new scribe, she’s sitting under a tree in the garden, talking to Paroi. You might as well stay with me, Huy. There’ll be nothing but chaos here until dusk.” She frowned down at the riot of quivering colours. “Should I remove the oleander flowers? They’re so poisonous, and I don’t want some drunken guest to drop one in his wine thinking it’s a lotus.”

Huy took her hand. “You have a capable steward in Ptahhotep. Let him see to these things. Order a couple of cups of beer and let’s find a quiet corner. There’s been no time to talk to one another, Nasha. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, and I’ve enjoyed every word of your letters.” The tress of black hair had crept over her mouth again. Giving up, she pulled out the combs. “All right. We can go into Father’s office and shut the door. Beer sounds good.”

They hid themselves away, drank their beer, and talked easily of the past they had shared. There was no melancholy for Huy in these reminiscences. His memories of the times he had spent with Nasha and Thothmes were mostly happy. Neither of them mentioned Anuket. Finally Nasha yawned. “I must look in on Father, have a word with Ptahhotep, and then sleep. I suggest that you spend the afternoon in your room, Huy. The contingent from Weset will be arriving soon. Unless you want to be caught, you’d better keep out of the way until you’re summoned to the feast.”

Huy was grateful for her tact in avoiding saying their names. Kissing her, he left the office and slipped along the passage and up the stairs. As he turned in at his own door, he heard Thothmes’ voice come floating faintly up from below, but he had no urge to meet his friend. There was still no sign or sound of Ishat. Pushing the pillows off the couch, Huy reached for the ebony neck rest on the table and, lying down, relaxed against it. Comfort spread slowly down his spine, and he slept.

He was woken with Tetiankh’s hand on his shoulder, and, dragging himself up from some dark dream, the details of which he immediately forgot, he sat up. Apart from the lamp on the table, the room was dim. A low rumble of voices rose from the direction of the reception hall, together with a faint drift of myrrh. “I’ve brought you water and dried figs, Master,” Tetiankh told him as he struggled to return to full consciousness. “The guests are beginning to arrive. The Noble Amunnefer and his wife the Lady Anuket have already been asking for you. Also Ishat begs you to visit her in her room as soon as you’re dressed. Hot water is ready, and if you will tell me what you wish to wear, I shall open your tiring chest.”

Anuket. How does she look? How does she sound?
Huy wanted to ask his servant, but he quelled the urge, emptying the water down his throat and coming to his feet. “Wash me, then, and oil and braid my hair,” he said hoarsely. “The kilt shot through with gold thread, I think, Tetiankh. The belt of gold links. The sandals decorated in green turquoise, and the earrings in the likeness of Ra-Harakhti, the ones of blue faience with the sun-disc of yellow chalcedony on the god’s head. They’re heavy, and the god’s talons brush my shoulders, but they’re opulent enough for this occasion. Kohl for my eyes, and brush my mouth with a little grease so that gold dust will adhere to my lips. Sprinkle some on my hair also.”

“You will be as handsome and glorious as a god yourself,” Tetiankh remarked, his hands already in the fragrant water.

Huy laughed shortly. “Thank you, but I simply want to make sure that I do not shame my Ishat. I can wash myself. Go and tell her that I shall be with her as soon as possible.”
I do want to be a credit to Ishat,
Huy thought, wringing out the cloth in the water and beginning to absently cleanse himself,
but I also want Anuket to see me as I am now, rich, famous, blessed by the King, as far from the poverty-stricken boy who adored her with such desperation as Weset is from my estate at Hut-herib. Atum, grant me this petty revenge and do not be angry with me,
he prayed briefly.
I have suffered much because of this love. Take it from me even as she looks at me with awe and desire.

Tetiankh clothed him carefully, then took a soft brush and, opening the small pot of gold dust he had packed with Huy’s jewellery, gently touched Huy’s mouth and shook it over his head. Glittering specks drifted down through the lamplight. “There is no point in perfuming you, Master,” Tetiankh concluded. “A wax cone full of myrrh will be tied onto your head as you enter the reception hall. I think you’re ready. Shall I announce you to Ishat?”

“No.” Huy strode to the door. “Bring your pallet in here and sleep by the couch please, Tetiankh. I may need you later.”

“As you wish.” Tetiankh lifted the water bowl and followed Huy through the door. “Enjoy the evening, Master. This is your hour as well as Ishat’s.”

Startled, Huy turned back, but his servant was already descending the narrow stairs leading directly to the bathhouse. Huy took the few steps to Ishat’s room and knocked. Her quiet voice bade him enter and he did so, closing the door behind him.

There was no sign of Iput. Ishat stood in the centre of the room, her arms at her sides, her sandalled feet together. Her perfume of myrrh, cassia, and henna flowers blew to meet Huy as he stepped forward. She did not move. She was wearing her favourite scarlet sheath, its graceful folds caught to her waist by a sumptuous belt of linked golden scarabs that gleamed with a purple sheen in the light of the two large lamps. Her hair fell loose and glistening to her shoulders, and Huy wondered for the first time why she had never considered shaving her head and wearing wigs now that he could have afforded to buy them for her. Still, no wig could match the smooth thickness of that living headdress, he thought, his gaze travelling her slowly. The one large jasper attached to the gold circlet she reserved for special occasions rested against her forehead. Its smaller companions nestled around her brow, all of them complementing the red of the sheath. Golden ankhs hung trembling from her earlobes, both with the same purple glow of her belt. Iput had painted her face faultlessly, the black kohl with its admixture of gold dust lifting her beauty into the realm of the exotic, her mouth tinted with red galena and slightly parted in anxiety as his eyes rested on her face. “Oh, Huy, please say something!” she begged as the silence lengthened. “I’m frightened!”

“I’m sorry. Your incredible loveliness gave me pause. You’ve never looked more queenly, dear Ishat, or more desirable. No woman tonight will be able to eclipse your flame.”

“I must make my new husband very proud of me, and I must eclipse his sister at any cost.” Her chin rose. “No, I don’t mean Nasha. I want to stand beside the one you love and have you silently acknowledge that I am the more beautiful. I’ll see it in your face. No one knows you as well as I do. I shouldn’t be afraid to walk into the reception hall, not after the titled men and women we’ve had visiting our house, but I am. Everyone down there will be judging me, the Noble Thothmes’ choice. ‘She looks good, but her blood is common, you know,’ they will be saying. ‘She’s a peasant. Her parents sent their apologies for the feast tonight. You can guess why.’ ”

“Yes, some of them will whisper those things,” Huy answered carefully, “but most of them will gossip about your beauty, your ability as a scribe, your previous position as the confidante of the Great Seer. Don’t forget that many of the women who will share a bow with you are illiterate, just like your parents and mine. It’s far more likely that you will make them jealous because their husbands will enjoy talking to an intelligent and educated woman. Pick up your balls, Ishat!” The coarse expression was familiar to every cattle farmer, and at that Ishat laughed.

“Gods, Huy, I’m going to miss you terribly. Please don’t wander too far from me tonight. I’ll have Thothmes’ arm, but I shall need the support of all the years behind us, you and me. You’ll sense when I’m about to panic or fall over my own tongue. You’ll save me.” She bit her red lip and held out her hands, palms up.

Huy stared at her for some moments. Then he said, “Ishat, it’s not too late to call off the marriage, even though the contract has been signed. You bring no property or goods to the arrangement. All you have to do is tell Thothmes that you’ve changed your mind, and then come home with me. Have you more doubts?”

“Not more. Only the same ones. But I know I’m doing what is best for me. Thothmes knows it too. Yet it is a very hard thing, saying goodbye to you and going to my husband’s bed tonight. He’s so good to me.” She gestured at the earrings, the belt, the thick carnelian-encrusted bracelets on her wrists. “These are made of purple gold. Nakht ordered them from the Kingdom of Mitanni, very far to the northeast, where the manufacture of such a thing is a secret. Only the gods know what this jewellery has cost the Governor. Also this.” She looked down at her hands, still held out in the ancient indication of pleading or submission. “The soles of my feet are hennaed also. Because legally I am already Thothmes’ wife with the signing of the papyrus. I am now the Lady Ishat, a noblewoman.”