The Twice Born (20 page)

“In your case it is so,” she said brutally, “because you lay in the House of the Dead and many people attested to the lifelessness of your corpse. If the six invisible members that, together with the body, make up the person of Huy are gone, then what animates the thing I see is something that has no right to it and will give it up under my command. Then the body of Huy may be properly beautified and entombed. I have already been purified and the sign of Ma’at is on my tongue. I will begin.”

She began to chant in a high monotone, the rod with its unclean turtle pointing directly at Huy, who stood stiffly in the grip of an overwhelming sense of fatality. Occasionally she shook it at him and once she turned, pausing at north, south, east, and west to utter the same sentence four times. Huy watched and listened without emotion. At any moment he expected to feel something stirring within him, opening, preparing to reluctantly push itself out, leaving his body in a lifeless heap at the woman’s command, but he found no panic at the prospect; there was only numbness and the heavy fatigue that had begun to dog him days before.

She bent, and lifting the pot that sat by her left foot she removed its lid, keeping a firm hold on the rod as she did so. At once the stench of rotting faeces filled the shrine. She held it out to Huy, and the chant became a wheedling invitation: Come and eat, come and enjoy this delectable morsel I have prepared for you. Methen sneezed suddenly and Huy’s hands came up to cover his nose. The rod was jerked compellingly at him. Nothing inside him responded. Four times the invitation was extended, and still Huy felt no answering flutter in his body. The lid was replaced on the pot, much to his relief.

The woman sighed and began the ceremony again. But all at once the flow of words stopped. She shuddered, blinked, frowned, and leaned slowly forward, her gaze fixed on Huy’s face. Her eyes, under their thin, wrinkled lids, were clear and very blue. “Give me the dish, Methen,” she said. Huy turned. Methen was passing her a platter heaped with fronds of green onion and fat cloves of garlic, all smothered in the smooth gleam of honey. “Onions and honey are sweet to mankind but bitter to the dead,” she whispered. “Garlic repels the demons. Will you eat, Son of Hapu?”

Huy was far from hungry and the odour of faeces still hung about him, but he nodded, fully aware that no angry ghost would allow him to touch the food and no demon could abide the presence of garlic, let alone its taste. The woman still clutched the protecting rod firmly in her right hand. She extended the dish. Huy pulled an onion with a sliver of garlic clinging to it from the stickiness and crammed it into his mouth. As he did so, the full meaning of what he had just done burst upon him. The exhaustion vanished and he wanted to fall down with the weakness of relief.

Laying the rod across her feet, the woman held out her hands. “Come here,” she said, and Huy obeyed, stepping onto the sand and clasping her fingers. They were very warm and her grip was strong. It tightened suddenly, and once again her body trembled. “Pick up my rod!” she hissed. “Quickly! Keep holding it!” Huy did as he was told. She grasped it also and they stood joined by hands and rod. She stared at him, over him, behind him, with an intensity transmitted uncomfortably to him through her skin, and it came to him that she was afraid. “Anubis is at your shoulder,” she said thickly. “Thoth is beside him, and Selket has an arm around your neck. Her fingers rest so gently against your nose and mouth. Her rings glitter. The gods do not smile. They wait for me to understand.” She had begun to breathe rapidly. “I must understand. I must! Anubis is Lord of the Bau, yet he did not send his hosts of demons against you. He comes as the leader of the armed followers of Horus. Oh! He is holding up an image of Shai. Fate. Destiny. You have been blessed with a destiny as unique as that of the great Imhotep. Connected with Thoth somehow, yes, and even Selket is here in her benevolent guise. Her scorpions protect you. It is she who aids the birth of kings and gods, we know this. ‘She Who Causes One to Breathe.’ Of course! It was she who poured life back into your lifeless body at the command of Atum the Creator. But why? What fate awaits you, Son of Hapu? Are you truly blessed or truly damned? They do not answer me. They fade. They are gone.”

She slumped. Huy let go of the rod, which had become slippery in his grasp, and wiped his sweaty palm down his kilt. Try as he might, he had not felt the slightest touch of the goddess or sensed any presences around him, but there was no denying the reality of the Rekhet’s reaction to something neither he nor Methen could see. Though he was shaken, he wondered fleetingly whether her reputation rested more on her ability to act than on any genuine gift. For a moment they eyed one another, the old visionary and the young man, then she handed her rod peremptorily to Methen. “Bring us wine,” she ordered. Bending, she swept her fingers through the sand, obliterating the snake images, removed the strings of cowrie shells from her neck, chest, and waist, prostrated herself before the small statue of Khenti-kheti, who had watched the proceedings, it seemed to Huy, with an expression of patient exasperation on his face, and gestured for Huy to follow her into the outer court. Methen closed the door behind them.

The woman strode to a patch of shade under the wall. She and Huy sank to the stone floor together. She sighed. “You are a mystery, Huy,” she said, calling him by his name for the first time. “You are not possessed by any evil force. You died and yet you live. The bau of the gods has been sent to you, bestowed a mighty gift on you, but I do not know what it is or why. What is your Naming Day?”

“The ninth day of Paophi.”

“I will travel south to the temple of Khons so that I may consult the Book of the End of the Year. It predicts those who will live and who will die for any given year. You are twelve?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will see if you were supposed to die in your thirteenth year. I will dictate a letter to you when I find out.”

“There is such a book?” Huy was amazed.

The woman smiled. “There is, but its contents are only visible to people like myself. Do you believe such a thing?”

Huy hesitated. “I do not know. But I was dead and now I live, therefore nothing under the eye of Atum, whether I am able to see it or not, must be disbelieved.”

“A good answer.” She touched his arm. “My name is Henenu. I give it to very few because my task is to contend with demons and the hating dead, and a name has much heka, for good and for evil. I do not want the powers I conjure to control to turn and conquer me. Will you write to me sometimes, Huy? I am most interested in how your life will unfold. So is my master, the High Priest of Ra. He is a greater Seer than I.”

Huy was startled. “But the only commerce I have had with him was when I blundered into the presence of the Ished Tree and he punished me,” he blurted. “Why should he care how my life unfolds?”

She did not answer his question. “I am a sau as well as a Rekhet. I make charms and amulets. I am going to make you amulets that you must wear at all times. Do not worry,” she reassured him as she saw his dismay. “They will be rings for your fingers, not necklaces that might be cumbersome for a young man. I will not charge you for them. Ah! Here is Methen with the wine. We have earned it, have we not?” The priest set a tray on the ground before them and made as if to leave, but Henenu stopped him. “Drink with us,” she invited him. “I see honey cakes as well. Thank you, Methen.”

The wine was shedeh, cool and sweet. It slipped down Huy’s parched throat like the nectar of the gods themselves. As he tasted it, his mind filled with an image so sharp and brilliant that he cried out. Henenu went very still. “What is it, Huy?” she demanded.

He shook his head, too immersed for a moment in what his inner eye had revealed to him to speak. The Judgment Hall. The Ished Tree. Imhotep and a book, Anubis and …
I was there!
he thought in astonishment.
The scales were behind me. I was standing in the Paradise of Osiris, the scent of the flowers enveloped me, the river glinted. I was there! Oh gods, what was it Imhotep said to me? He gave me a choice, but I cannot hear it
.

Shakily he turned to meet the Rekhet’s keen scrutiny. “Did you see Ma’at?” he managed. “Was Ma’at beside me with Anubis and Thoth and Selket? Was she there?”
Oh please tell me she was
, he begged silently,
for if she was not then I am in a very different danger than the one this Seer envisioned. Without the presence of Ma’at there is chaos and insanity and the gods will not listen to the pleas of men
.

Henenu looked puzzled. “No, Ma’at was not there. But Anubis, Thoth, and Selket surrounded you with their benevolence, not their ill will. You have nothing to fear.”

Huy was not so sure. Now that he remembered where he had been while his body lay in Ra’s sacred lake, on the barge transporting it to Hut-herib, tumbled onto the slab in the House of the Dead, he knew he would not forget. Ma’at had been there, standing apart from Anubis in the shadows of the Hall, looking at him with—what? Warning? Pity? He groaned.

“Do you want to tell us, Huy?” Henenu pressed.

“Not now,” Huy muttered. “Perhaps later.” He glanced up. “I am very tired.”

“Of course you are.” She raised herself onto her knees and, placing her hands on his head, said, “My hand is on you. My seal is your protection.” Huy knew that the words belonged to a spell to protect a child. Hapzefa had sometimes intoned them over him when he was much younger but had long since discontinued the practice. A bolt of something hot streaked through his body at Henenu’s touch, and she took her hands away. “Go home,” she said gently. “Methen will go with you to tell your parents that all is well with you. Pray often and come to this shrine to give homage to the totem of your town. When you are ready, go back to school. I will be able to visit you there.”

Awkwardly Huy got to his feet and bowed to her. “Thank you, Rekhet, for your service to me. You have given me back my life.” He was careful not to use her name.

“No, Huy,” she reminded him softly. “I did not do that. May the soles of your feet always be firm. We will meet again.”

The sun stood at its zenith, hot and strong. Huy stepped out of the shade into its full glare, Methen beside him. The litter-bearers had gone. “This time we will walk,” Methen said gravely, a note of gladness in his voice, “and everyone seeing you will know that you are whole.”

Huy did not reply. He had begun to suspect that he was far from anything resembling a harmony of soul with body. Grimly he strode towards his father’s house through the dust-clouded air of noon.

6

 
HUY’S FATHER
did not apologize for his lack of faith. He listened expressionlessly to Methen’s words, nodded once, briefly embraced his son, and, bidding the priest farewell, strode away to the fields. Huy entered the house to the excited exclamations of his mother and Hapzefa’s smile, but it was Heby who brought home to him his full restoration. The child came tottering towards him, holding out his arms, and with a spurt of joy Huy picked him up and held him closely. “I must send word at once to Ker and Heruben,” Itu was saying. “Hapzefa, leave the laundry and put on your sandals. Tell them all is well with Huy and they must visit us as soon as possible. Huy, my darling, are you hungry? Thirsty? What can I bring you?”

Huy pulled his ear away from Heby’s chubby fingers. “I would like to sleep. I’m very tired.”

“Of course you are! Heby, come to me. We will leave your brother to rest, and then perhaps he will play with you in the garden. Oh, Huy!” Her eyes were shining. “All that nonsense about your death! Now our lives can be sensible again. Hapzefa, what are you waiting for?” The servant shrugged and lumbered off and Huy, after kissing his mother’s hot cheek, retreated to his room.

Lying on his couch, he closed his eyes, letting his whole body relax of its own accord. For the first time in weeks he felt calm and sane.
The gods will reveal their will for me when they are ready
, he thought comfortably.
I need not fret about it anymore. I can go back to school. I can walk with Thothmes by the sacred lake and we will recall Sennefer’s stupidity in a mood of superior pity for his crudeness. I miss my friend. It will be good to see him again
.

His aunt and uncle arrived that evening. Heruben greeted him with an awkward embarrassment born, Huy sensed, of the cowardice that had kept her away from him for so long. Ker showed a similar, less evident discomfiture. He hugged Huy briefly. “I’m sorry that I cannot escort you back to Iunu,” he said as they sat together in the warm grass while Heby chased a cloud of gnats hovering like flecks of red dust in the westering light. “I must tend my vats of jasmine and narcissus flowers, and a supply of sarson oil sits waiting for the henna leaves the peasants are busy gathering. My harvest time comes long before that of the grain farmer, as you know.” He did not look at Huy.

“You need not apologize, Uncle,” Huy said, hearing the excuse in Ker’s tone. “I am perfectly capable of making the journey back to school without your supervision. I might even walk there.”

Ker grunted. “You are almost a man. I keep forgetting until I see you again.” He shifted from one hip to the other, his gaze fixed on Heby, who was now shrieking in frustration as Hapzefa rushed to him and Itu’s face appeared around the edge of the door. “Last time I saw you was when I helped your father and the priest carry you into the House of the Dead,” he went on, still looking away. “If you ever want to talk to me about what happened to you, I am ready to listen without judgment.”

Yet you did judge me
, Huy thought sadly.
You abandoned me to the Sheseru, the arrow-troops of demons, for fear of your own contamination. You always seemed perfect to me, without faults, but I see now that you are like any other man. I am indeed growing up. Why were you not willing to listen to me before, when I desperately needed you?
He wanted to say all this, but he swallowed his resentment. Only his mother had not deserted him. His mother and Ishat, he remembered with surprise. Ishat too.

“There is nothing to discuss,” he lied. “I have no memory from the time I felt the blow of the throwing stick against my head. Anyway, I’m not ready to go back to school yet. Perhaps towards the end of Pharmuthi. That will still give me most of Shemu to catch up with my studies. I will write to the Overseer and tell him.”

Ker nodded but did not speak. They sat in silence while dusk crept slowly into the garden. Huy had sensed in his father an inner wariness that Ker obviously shared. He knew it would not change in either man, and it filled him with loneliness.

In spite of the welcome result of his exorcism he was restless, waking tense and suddenly alert in the night for no reason he could ascertain and finding himself unable to remain still for very long during the day. He took to wandering about the busy streets of Hut-herib, dodging laden donkeys, purposeful citizens, and groups of naked peasant children who flung handfuls of dusty earth and insults at him as a matter of course before returning to their games and whom he ignored. More and more, however, he found himself meandering along the edges of the water-filled ditches that divided the little fields from one another. The acres of wheat and barley, still green and supple, stirred in the pleasant airs of late spring. Aromatic daisies trembled on their margins, golden faces turned to the sun. Within the thickness of the crops the blue of wild flax and cornflowers, the red of tall poppies, the white splash of mayweed all testified to the farmers’ endless fight against the unwanted growth that threatened to overwhelm the less-hardy grain, but Huy liked to see the bright colours scattered here and there. Tiny clumps of wild narcissus gave off their fragrance under his feet. Sometimes there were wild water lilies eking out a precarious existence among the mats of clinging pondweed in the stagnant canals. Huy, pausing under the feathery branches of the willows lining the water, looked in vain for the strange blooms of Paradise filling his mind, and his nostrils sought their exotic perfume to no avail.

He had finally dragged out his palette and written a letter to the Overseer of the temple school, warning the man that he would be returning at the end of the month. On the day when he had found a merchant going south who had agreed to deliver it for him and had just walked back into his house to seek Hapzefa and a long drink of date juice, there was a sudden commotion at the other end of the passage. Huy swung around. Limned against the strong midday light was a figure he knew he recognized but could not place, shorter than a full-grown man, coming towards him out of the gloom. It laughed, and all at once Huy, with a glad heart, ran to meet it. “Thothmes! Thothmes! Is it really you? What are you doing here? Oh, how wonderful to see you!” The two friends embraced, and when Huy broke away he saw his mother and Hapzefa with Heby in hand hovering behind the youth. “Mother, this is my cellmate Thothmes from Iunu!” he said excitedly. “I can hardly believe it! May we go into the reception room?”

“Father and Nasha are right behind me,” Thothmes said. “I got off my litter and ran ahead, I was so eager to see you!”

Itu let out a strangled exclamation. “Your father? The Governor of Iunu? Here? But nothing is prepared, the house is not swept, we cannot receive—”

Thothmes turned and took her hand with the purposeful solemnity Huy remembered so well. “You are the esteemed mother of my dear friend. I and my family have been worried about him. My father cares nothing for the humble circumstances of Huy’s home. In Huy’s character he sees the care with which he has been raised. Nothing else matters to him. He is above such pettiness. He will be content with cheese and dates and barley beer.”

“We can do a little better than that,” Hapzefa muttered, but Itu was only slightly mollified.

“Hapzefa, find Ishat and send her into the fields. Hapu must come home at once. Huy, come into the garden with me. We must greet our guests, and then Hapzefa and I must prepare a meal.” Flushed and agitated, she started down the passage.

“I am sorry for this, Huy,” Thothmes whispered as together they followed her. “I should have sent a letter to warn you, but Father is here for a meeting with the governor of your sepat. I was in school, but I begged and pleaded to come this far so I could see you, and the girls wanted to see you as well. Father finally gave in. He is concerned about you, although he doesn’t show it.” Thothmes grimaced. “I must return to school afterwards. We have brought two barges.”

They emerged into the garden just as a small procession came wending its way from the communal path that ran past Hapu’s gate. Two soldiers strode up to Itu and saluted. Behind them two litters surrounded with servants were being lowered and other servants carrying several boxes brought up the rear. Itu had begun to pleat her sheath convulsively. Huy wanted to step past her, but good manners demanded that she welcome Thothmes’ family herself. He put a hand on her shoulder. “They are good people,” he murmured into her pink ear. “Thothmes spoke the truth. Don’t worry!” He felt her swallow, then the lean form of Iunu’s Governor appeared and walked forward smiling. Itu’s bare arms went out in the correct gesture of obeisance. She and Huy bowed.

“Welcome to this house, illustrious one,” Itu managed. “We are honoured by your presence. I am Itu.”

“And I am honoured to meet the mother of my son’s best friend,” Nakht replied gravely. “I beg your forgiveness for descending on you with no warning, Itu. My wife was horrified at the idea, but Thothmes insisted on this visit until I was compelled to either tie up his mouth with his own kilt or give in.” He smiled. “I gave in.” He snapped his fingers and the occupant of the other litter came hurrying up to him. Nasha grinned at Huy. Nakht indicated her. “My daughter Nasha.” The girl bowed, her ornaments tinkling. Nakht gestured to the servants. “My wife has sent gifts of food and wine for your storehouse as an apology,” he continued. “Enjoy them in good health.”

Itu was recovering. Thanking him profusely, she indicated the house and the little crowd followed her into the reception room. “Huy, you need to wash and change your kilt after your walk into the town,” she said. “Perhaps Thothmes would like to keep you company. When Hapzefa returns we will have wine. In the meantime, noble one, please sit. Or would you prefer to rest in the garden?”

“Your mother is very beautiful,” Thothmes commented as he and Huy retreated to the rear of the house, where the water was stored.

Huy was startled. “Is she? I don’t know. Oh, Thothmes, this is the best surprise in the world!”

The fire between house and kitchen was almost out, but the large covered pitchers were full of water. There was no sign of Hapzefa, and Huy did not want to waste time building up the fire and heating the water himself. Stripping, he took a cold wash, then he and Thothmes made their way to Huy’s room. Thothmes wriggled onto the couch at once, folding his arms and watching as Huy withdrew clean linen from his chest, dressed quickly, and pushed his feet into his best sandals.

The murmur of voices came to Huy faintly. He heard his mother laugh, and knew that the relaxed sound was a tribute to Nakht’s conversational skill. Taking the chair, he surveyed Thothmes’ expectant face.

“We have a few moments before your father appears,” Thothmes said. “I want to know everything, Huy. Strange rumours have been flying in Iunu. People who thrive on stupid gossip are even saying that the gods resurrected you from the dead.” He pursed his lips and gave Huy a dark glance. “I must say you look amazingly healthy. You’ve grown. But there is a certain strain about you … something different …” He shrugged. “It’s to be expected after the blow you took. I wasn’t strong enough to haul you out of the lake myself, you know. You sank right to the bottom and lay there. Sennefer and Samentuser had run away. I jumped into the water and screamed for help and a couple of passing priests came, but not right away.” His gaze went to the floor. “By the time we got you onto the stone verge, you were white and your lips were blue and your eyes were open. Your eyes were open!” Diffidence and pleading fled across his features and Huy’s heart sank.
Not you too!
he thought dismally.
Love me without dissimulation, Thothmes, for I am lonely and afraid and need your unstinting trust!

“I will tell you everything,” he said, “but you must swear to hold my words secret. You will be the first to hear the whole matter. Our friendship depends on your caution.”

Thothmes lifted the pectoral amulet lying on his chest. “I swear by Thoth whose name my beloved King carries,” he replied. “You are my friend forever, Huy. I will not betray you.”

So under Thothmes’ sober attention Huy recounted everything, from the moment when he felt himself falling into the deepest well on earth to the end of his encounter with the Rekhet, and as he spoke, the memories at last became not only vivid but seamless, no longer fragmented—with one exception. He could see Imhotep’s mouth moving but still was unable to recall the august man’s words. All he had was the anxious knowledge that a momentous choice had been presented to him and that he had made it. Thothmes listened, his already large brown eyes becoming even larger as they registered awe, astonishment, and occasionally bewilderment, but to his relief Huy saw no disbelief on his friend’s delicate face.

Huy fell silent. Thothmes stared at him for a long time, arms still folded, his whole body motionless, then he shook his head. “If I had not known you for so many years, I would call you insane,” he said huskily, “but you have not come under the special protection of the gods in that way. No, I believe you. It is the most wondrous story I have ever heard.” He grimaced. “And the most absurd. Are the gods playing a game with you? What do they want of you?”