Seer of Egypt (62 page)

“I am.” Huy had not considered how insecure the news might have made his staff. Did they not trust him to look after them? “And as far as the royal gardeners are concerned, they would find themselves very fortunate if you chose to join their ranks. Move into the house with your wife and son, Anab. Merenra is staying. Kar is very old and will not want to leave his hut at my gate. I’ll make sure the place remains guarded. I don’t really want to part with any of you. Surely you knew that!”

Listening to Anhur’s laboured breathing that evening as he, Thothhotep, and Anhur sat over their meal, watching Thothhotep’s furtive, worried glances at the man she so obviously loved, made Huy decide to remove any choice from the captain of his guards. Anhur would never willingly abandon him. He had become like a father to Huy, protecting him and occasionally giving him the sharp edge of his tongue, as though Huy was still the apprehensive boy who had been his charge at Khmun. Losing Thothhotep as well was almost unthinkable, but it was up to him, Huy, to give them what they really needed. Emptying his wine cup, he beckoned to Amunmose, standing watchfully against the shadowed wall with his arms folded, a good distance away from Rakhaka. The under steward hurried forward.

“Do you need more wine opened, Master?” he inquired.

“No. No more wine. I’m pleased to tell you that Merenra has spoken highly of your competence, and therefore you are promoted to chief steward upon my move to Mennofer. You will also be my food taster. Merenra is staying here.” He felt Anhur’s wary gaze turn to him as Amunmose straightened then bowed lavishly several times.

“Master, I am greatly flattered!” he managed to say after a moment of speechlessness. “I did not think that Merenra would be so generous towards me! He often says—”

“I don’t care what he often says,” Huy cut in. “Perhaps he hates you. The work will be hard, and if there is ever poison in my food, you will die. There will be those who will try to bribe their way into my presence through you, my steward, or buy your influence with me, or even attempt to suborn your loyalty with gold or lies or threats. Do you really want to face all that?” He looked up into the man’s face. The cheerful, mobile features had become grave, the eyes sober.

“I still talk too much, but I have learned to say nothing while doing so,” Amunmose replied. “I am completely content, Master, and you know that you have had my loyalty since the time you remembered me and sent to Iunu for me. It has always been my privilege to serve you. Tell me, are there many beautiful women at court?”

Anhur laughed hoarsely. Rakhaka, a dim form in the deepening shadow between the lamps, cleared his throat.

“I have not forgotten you,” Huy called to him quietly. “You will come with me and prepare everything I eat, Rakhaka. Is that acceptable to you?”

“Yes, Master.” The answer came at once.

Huy dismissed them, and when they had gone, he sighed and turned to Thothhotep. “I want you to go and fetch your palette. I will dictate a letter to the Governor of your sepat in the south, the Nekhen. I will ask him to purchase a small house somewhere on the river close to Nekheb, or perhaps Esna, for you and Anhur. He needs the dryness and heat of the south for his lungs, Thothhotep. Both of you are dismissed from my service.” His voice broke. “I will make sure that you lack for nothing. Don’t say it, Anhur! Not now!” He held up a hand against the angry protests Anhur had begun to splutter. “Think about a capable officer to replace you. Thothhotep, come to my office.”

He scrambled to his feet and fled the room, leaving a stunned silence behind him. Making his way the short distance to the office, he lowered himself behind the desk feeling stupefied. It was some time before Thothhotep knocked and entered. She said nothing to him, merely going to the floor on her mat, placing her palette on her crossed legs, and whispering the scribe’s prayer to Thoth while she readied her ink and brushes. Then she waited, head down. “You’re pleased, aren’t you?” Huy asked her softly.

She nodded once. “He would have followed you into the Duat. He will be angry now, and feel betrayed, until he realizes how much it has cost you to let him go.”

“You also, my slender little reed,” Huy said thickly. “I shall miss you a great deal. Now take down the letter.”

On the twentieth day of Mekhir, Anhur and Thothhotep left for Nekheb. The Governor of the Nekhen sepat, like all Egypt’s governors, had been brisk and efficient in carrying out Huy’s request. Gold and a deed had been exchanged. Anhur, his eyes wet with the tears he stubbornly refused to shed, would not make any recommendations regarding his successor to Huy. “There is no one under my command capable of such leadership,” he had said. “I trust no one but myself to see to your safety, and I am no longer familiar with the officers quartered in Mennofer. The palace is guarded by men from the Division of Amun. You must make your own inquiries, Huy.”

He did not apologize, and Huy did not push him for a more definite answer. He and Thothhotep had at last signed a marriage contract in Huy’s presence. Huy had given them a feast and many gifts, but an atmosphere of sadness had pervaded Huy’s pretty reception room in spite of musicians, a troupe of local dancers, plenty of wine, and the noise of Anhur’s men and the rest of Huy’s servants, guests for the occasion. Now, in his attempt to remain calm, Huy enfolded both of them in a fierce embrace and dared not speak for fear of breaking down.

“Nekheb is a very long way from Mennofer, Huy,” Thothhotep said. She was openly crying. “Almost a thousand miles, and many days of travelling against the current. Don’t forget us. Write to us and I promise to reply. Perhaps one day the King will send you south on some errand, and then you will stay with us.”

Huy cradled her thin cheeks and kissed her, then he watched them walk along the ramp and up onto the deck of the boat he had bought for them, two of Anhur’s guards following. He had wanted to send them with a blessing—“May the soles of your feet always be firm, my dear ones”—but his throat was too dry. The oars were run out, the helmsman put both hands to the tiller, and the barge began its long journey.

Huy stood woodenly on his watersteps, longing for them both already.
How shall I replace them?
he wondered dismally.
What shall I do if the King has already chosen new servants for me? Shall I establish my independence at once by respectfully but firmly refusing to accept them? I must make every effort to keep the tone of my relationship with Amunhotep unchanged, remember that he is royal but try to forget the awesome power he now wields as King, love him as ever but not allow him to engulf me. I must begin my time as his Personal Scribe and adviser as I intend to go on. Will I still be able to rely on Mutemwia’s full support even though there are bound to be times when we disagree on matters of policy, particularly if Amunhotep prefers my advice to hers? Her authority as Regent will be almost as absolute as her son’s. Will its exercise change her?
Huy knew that such questions arose from a momentary feeling of defencelessness. They were futile and premature, and with an effort he dismissed them from his mind.

The vessel bearing away so many of his memories was at last lost to view. Turning, he walked slowly back towards his house.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I
wish to thank my researcher, Bernard Ramanauskas, for his work in collating the scattered material relating to the life of the Son of Hapu. In particular I appreciate the shape and coherence he has given to the profound ideologies of the Book of Thoth.

I have gratefully quoted from
Egyptian Mysteries: New Light on Ancient Spiritual Knowledge
by Lucie Lamy, translated from the French by Deborah Lawlor, and from
The Hermetica
by Timothy Freke and Peter Gandy, published by Judy Piatkus Ltd., London.