The Twice Born (58 page)

“Health and physical strength, Majesty,” Huy blurted. The four other men in the cabin laughed. One of them had been standing with his hand protectively and, Huy thought, possessively on the back of the King’s chair. Now he stepped forward.

“Are you indeed the prophet and healer whose fame has come to His Majesty’s all-hearing ears?” he inquired. “You are Huy son of Hapu the peasant? How old are you? You look too callow to be a Seer. Why do you wear your hair so ridiculously long? Did you wash your hands this morning?”

“You know my name,” Huy retorted, stung, “but I am not at the same advantage. Who are you? Or do you imagine that I am so far below you in station that I am not privileged to hear it?”

“Peace,” the King said mildly. “Huy, this is Kenamun, the friend of my bosom, son of my wet nurse Amunemopet and thus my foster brother. He means no offence. He likes to stand between me and everyone else.” Such frankness surprised Huy. Amunhotep was smiling widely at him.

“But Majesty, no man may stand between you and the people,” Huy said, “just as no one stands between you and the gods. It is a law of Ma’at.”

“So the peasant is not as stupid as he seems,” Kenamun snapped.

Amunhotep held up a jewelled hand. “Be careful, my brother, or the mage might turn you into a toad,” he said with humour. “Huy has been well educated at the temple school at Iunu, under Ramose’s wise tutelage. I surprise you, Master Huy? Am I not Lord of all that passes under the beneficent rays of the Aten? Come closer.”

Huy did as he was told, watching Kenamun out of the corner of his eye. The man was jealous of anyone who might demonstrate a hold over the King, he decided.
Well, I have no wish to control Amunhotep. I just want to See for him and go home
. As he drew near, he could smell the King’s perfume, an odd mixture of rosemary and cassia, sweet and sharp, that made him want to sneeze. Unbidden, he went down and kissed first one royal foot and then the other. An angry murmur went up. Huy felt Pharaoh’s hand descend briefly on his head. “No no,” Amunhotep said quietly to his retinue. “This is an act of loving submission. Are you ready to See for me, Huy? Did you bring your Seeing bowl? Do you need oil or fire?”

“I only need to hold your hand as you have given me permission to do through your steward,” Huy replied. “Your Majesty understands that I may see nothing”—here Kenamun snorted—“or see disaster.”

“I do understand, and I want nothing but the truth from you,” Amunhotep answered. “You may take my hand.”

Huy sat on the reed mat surrounding the King’s chair and, reaching across, gently lifted the warm, gold-encrusted fingers. He closed his eyes.
Now, Anubis, here is the One, the god upon the Horus Throne, surely your kin, requesting your aid. Do not fail me, I beg you
. A fleeting vision of himself slinking humiliated from the cabin under Kenamun’s scornful laughter flew across his mind and was gone. It was succeeded immediately, not by the moment of vertigo he usually experienced at the beginning of a Seeing, but by a gathering darkness so dense it was like being underwater on a night without moon or stars. He was aware of the King’s hand resting in both of his, and it was as though both of them, King and Seer, had been transported back to the Nun, the place of primordial nothingness. Huy, straining to see through the utter blackness, began to be afraid.

But a single shaft of light began to pierce the gloom. As it grew brighter, Huy saw it strike a small patch of sand, the granules glittering. In the centre a stone formed, grey and smooth. Huy, his fear forgotten, was enthralled. Suddenly, with a rustle of wings, a phoenix fluttered down the shaft and came to rest on the stone. Each of its feathers gleamed in a rainbow of colours, iridescent greens, blues, reds, but before Huy could gasp at its beauty it began to shrink and harden and he found himself looking at a large scarab beetle that had rolled off the stone and was pushing its egg through the sand. The scarab paused, reared up, its shining carapace dulling and thickening to a pelt of dark fur, beady black eyes, and tiny paws, and an ichneumon bared its teeth lazily at him. Then, as quickly as the light had appeared, it vanished. Huy was alone again in the dark, clutching the King’s hand.

The voice came out of nowhere and yet surrounded him. Measured and clear, Huy knew instantly that he was not listening to Anubis’s low growl. “Am I the Bennu bird alighting on the Benben?” it said. “Some think so. Am I Khepri with the egg of a new creation? Some think so. Am I the divine ichneumon, killer of Apep the Great Snake? Some think so. And you, Huy son of Hapu, who do you think I am?”

Huy wanted to cower down, curl in on himself from the sheer terror of awe, but he found his own voice. “You are Atum, the Neb-er-djer, Lord to the Limit, the Universal God. You are the Great He-She. You created Yourself.”

“Well done.” The voice held a hint of laughter. “I have put my true names into your heart. Are you pleased with the gifts I have given you, mortal one? No, I believe that you are not. Nevertheless, in spite of your reluctance, you are already serving me and my purpose for Egypt. Tell my son Amunhotep the things I shall show you, and give him this warning: He must not depart from the balance of Ma’at I have established. Already he is tempted to do so.”
Or what?
Huy thought with foreboding.
What dreadful thing will happen?

He was gathering up his courage to ask the god, but with a speed that shocked him he found himself standing alone on a high cliff. Hot wind ruffled his hair. Below him the King’s army snaked along the Horus Road towards the east. Dust hung in the air above the marching men. The scene changed, but Huy remained on the cliff. Now there was the melee of battle far below him. Words filled his mind. The princes of Rethennu. This is Shemesh-Edom. Eighteen prisoners and sixteen horses for His Majesty. Now the host was crossing two mighty rivers, engaging the Tikhsi, capturing seven of their princes. The city of Niy opens its gates to Amunhotep. Now he is rescuing his troops garrisoned at Ikathi from revolt. Now he is turning for home, for Egypt, with the seven princes of Tikhsi hanging head down from the prow of
Kha-em-Ma’at
.

The great kaleidoscope ended as abruptly as a candle flame blown out, and Huy came to himself with a cry. He was sitting on the floor of a barge’s cabin, his whole body slick with sweat, his head throbbing so violently that he winced with every pang. He was hanging on to Amunhotep’s hand with both his own, grinding the fingers. As soon as he realized where he was, what had happened, he let go of the King. Amunhotep’s fingers were crushed white, but he did not rub at them. He laid both hands in his lap. Nothing was said. Huy continued to pant, his head now resting on his knees. After a while he felt something nudge him and, looking up, he saw Men holding out a cup.

“It is warm water with the ground beans of the carob tree,” the man said. “Very fortifying. Drink, Master.” Huy obeyed, thirstily draining the cup, hardly aware of the new taste of its contents.

“Men, set a stool for the Seer,” the King ordered. Gratefully Huy crawled up onto it and handed the empty cup to the steward. He had not missed the respectful address Men had given him. Master.
Well, I suppose I am
, Huy thought, his mind clearing. Strength was returning to his body more rapidly than usual. He presumed it must be the good effect of the carob beans and wondered if Ishat knew where to get some.

Amunhotep raised his black eyebrows. “Will you speak now, Master?”

Huy nodded. Keeping the visions of the god to himself, he related all that he had seen of Amunhotep’s campaign against the rebellion in Rethennu and beyond. Amunhotep listened intently.

“Seven princes of Tikhsi?” he pressed. He had begun to smile. “Hanging alive from my prow? The gods be praised! I shall sacrifice them in the presence of Amun and display their bodies on the walls of Weset. Perhaps I shall keep one to dangle at Napata in Kush, beside the Fourth Cataract—the southerners too are prone to rebellion.” He leaned down, eyes alight. “And what of booty, Huy? After this campaign I intend to move my court back to the palace at Mennofer, where I was raised. Shall I bring much wealth to my old home?”

Huy was in so much pain that his sight had become blurred. “Indeed so, Majesty. I was shown more than five hundred petty princes of Rethennu, two hundred and forty of their women, two hundred and ten horses, three hundred chariots, four hundred thousand deben-weight of copper, and gold vases and other gold vessels to the deben-weight of six thousand eight hundred and forty-four.”

“Such precision,” Kenamun exclaimed dubiously. “Are you telling us that the gods showed you not only the progress of the King’s triumphs but also the details of his spoils?”

Huy was in no mood to be tactful. He peered up at the supercilious face through eyes narrowed in agony. “Not the gods, but Atum himself. How dare you question the word of the Neb-er-djer? When my visions are proved to be true, you will do homage to Atum on your knees.” He returned his gaze to Amunhotep. “Majesty, I have a personal message for you. Atum says, ‘Tell my son Amunhotep the things I shall show you, and give him this warning: He must not depart from the balance of Ma’at I have established. Already he is tempted to do so.’ That is all.” Huy gripped his knees against the pounding of his head.

There was a moment of silence so deep that the murmured conversations of the men outside could be clearly heard. After a while Amunhotep cleared his throat. “I will ponder this warning if all the particulars of my campaign turn out to be true,” he said heavily. “If they do, then indeed we have a mighty prophet in our midst. Huy son of Hapu, what may your King bestow on you for your work this day?”

Huy raised a hand. “It is enough to have served you, Majesty, but I would be grateful for a supply of poppy powder. It is expensive, and every time I exercise my gift I suffer from headaches. The more vivid the vision, the greater the pain. Forgive me.”

“What for?” The King’s tone was gentle. “Men, prepare a dose of the poppy at once and give Huy a jar of whatever you have left. Send a runner back to Mennofer for more. Huy, I shall make sure that you are adequately supplied. Sit still until you feel better.” He was clearly elated with what Huy had seen, beginning a discussion with the assembled men of the tactics he proposed to employ at his first engagement against the princes of Shemesh-Edom, and Huy was grateful to be temporarily forgotten. Soon the steward handed him a tiny alabaster pot of milky liquid. Huy downed it quickly, fighting its bitter taste. Almost at once his headache eased and his limbs filled with a delicious lassitude.

“This is a very powerful mixture,” he said to Men as he gave him the empty pot.

Men nodded. “The poppy fruit from which this drug is extracted is imported from Keftiu. It is superior in strength and efficacy to the plants grown here in Egypt. The King will make sure that you have a constant supply.”

Huy rose unsteadily. At once all conversation ceased.

“You wish to be dismissed,” Amunhotep commented. He waved behind him. “My friends want to know whether or not they will survive my battles. They want you to See for them.”

“Majesty, I am very tired,” Huy excused himself, the prospect of inducing more visions too distasteful to contemplate. “By tomorrow I shall have recovered enough to attend these nobles.”

“By tomorrow I shall be driving my chariot along the Horus Road,” Amunhotep replied. “Go, then, most miraculous young peasant. I may need your services again in the future, so take care to remain healthy. Have you a guard? Good servants?”

“No, Majesty. I live modestly with one servant, my friend Ishat. I have no need of a guard.”

“We shall see.” Amunhotep gestured, a swift flick of his ringed fingers. “Make your obeisance.”

Huy did so, concentrating on keeping his legs steady. The poppy coursing through his veins was making him dizzy. Carefully he backed to the cabin door, bowed again, and plunged into the open air with an audible sigh of relief. Wesersatet escorted him onto the bank. He would have liked to do more than call out a final greeting to Anhur, but Thothmes was waiting for him beside the litter and, in truth, the cushions glimpsed beyond the damask curtains were too seductive. Huy climbed in and sank back on them gratefully. He felt Thothmes settle beside him. The litter was lifted.

“Well?” Thothmes pressed. “Was your vision acceptable to His Majesty? I’m presuming that you had one. Isn’t Kenamun a nasty, patronizing piece of Egyptian nobility? But did you like Miny?”

“Which one was he?” Huy muttered. “I only had dealings with Men and Kenamun.”

“Miny was the older man with the scar across his chest. He’s the King’s military instructor. He gave Amunhotep the massive bow that no one but the King is able to draw. The King is very proud of that fact.”

“I didn’t notice him. I did my job, that’s all. I was offered water but no beer or food, and now that both the pain in my head and my anxiety are abating, I’m hungry. I want to go home to Ishat and have something to eat, and then I want to sleep.”

“All right,” Thothmes agreed good-humouredly. “I can tell that you’re grumpy. I’ll send the litter for you both at sunset and we’ll dine on my deck, away from the stench of Hut-herib. Did the King promise you any wonderful gifts?”

Huy reached for his hand and clasped it tightly. “Forgive me, Thothmes, it has been a most demanding morning. I thank the gods I don’t have to endure the presence of royalty regularly!”

Ishat was sitting on a stool outside their door, waiting for him. She rose eagerly as the litter was lowered, but Huy did not fail to notice that her first glance went to Thothmes, who was holding back the curtain. They smiled at one another, Thothmes barked an order, and the litter moved off. Ishat took Huy’s arm and drew him into the house. “Did the Seeing go well?” she wanted to know. “What does the King look like? Was he kind? Does he have lovely jewels? How big is his barge?”

Looking into her sparkling eyes, Huy could not disappoint her. Although he longed to attack the bread, figs, and fresh salad she had set out on the table, he answered her questions patiently. “He gave me no gold,” he said, anticipating her final query, “but he has promised a constant supply of poppy for my head. You know how Seeing makes me ill. Now please, Ishat, let me eat!” Going to the table, he sat and bit into the bread. Ishat moved behind him. He felt her begin to undo his braid, and soon both her fingers and a comb were sliding through his hair. The effect was blessedly soothing.