The Twice Born (27 page)

“Anuket—”

She cut him off with a wave. “I shall try to embrace all that is good. I have never felt lust, but if I ever do I shall not allow it to engulf me. Even if I feel it!”

And did you feel it just now and repudiate it, Anuket
, Huy wondered,
or did you sense my own, and this talk of your name is a subtle warning? Are you indeed capable of such mature thought?

Filled with a sad amusement, he gently kissed the top of her head. “To me you will always be water, dearest sister,” he reassured her. “Have we not said we are friends?” She nodded once and was about to speak again. Huy turned on his heel and left her before the words of love hovering on his tongue could come rushing out to change her regard for him forever.

The whole family attended the temple ceremonies together on the second day of the holiday, Anuket presenting her wreath with innocent confidence while the incense rose in many grey columns and the holy dancers wove their time-honoured steps before the god’s sanctuary. Later there was a feast in Nakht’s garden for his many guests and governmental acquaintances. Huy, his belly full of fine food and a cup of date wine in his hand, moved with an aimless contentment through the torchlit, animated crowd. Everything in Nakht’s house gave him a sense of warm security and peace, and if it had not been for the pulse of disquiet his encounter with Anuket had caused he would have been entirely happy. Scanning the company of bejewelled and painted groups that formed, scattered, and reformed, he sometimes caught sight of her, thin white linen fluttering in the night breeze, her tiny face upturned to whoever had her attention, the melting oil from the festive cone tied on her head oozing slowly over her collarbone to gather between her breasts under the secrecy of her sheath. The expensive odour of frankincense was everywhere, kneaded into the wax of the head ornaments, so that watching Anuket through a miasma of the scent most often smelled in temples brought her words forcibly to Huy’s mind. He could not decide whether she was deliberately avoiding him or not, for each time he tried to approach her she seemed to slip away, only to reappear with someone else. Eventually he saw her mother signal her and she vanished obediently into the house.

Huy found Thothmes at his elbow. “I am bored and sweaty,” Thothmes said. “Let’s go for a swim. Father won’t mind. I’ve done my duty and greeted every dignitary. Quickly, before Nasha wants to join us.”

Huy downed the rest of his wine and together they slipped away from the noise and light, walking through the shrubbery until the path ended at Nakht’s guarded watersteps, looming grey in the moonlight. Farther along the river road, where reeds gave way to a tiny bay, they removed their jewellery, kilts, and loincloths and waded into the dark water. Pulling into midstream, Huy turned and looked back. Beyond Thothmes’ bobbing head the city lay exposed, its cloak of people and moving craft stilled, its lordly bulk flowing along the edge of the river to be lost in the dimness of the night. Lights winked from the roofs of the temples, and here and there clusters of torchlight glowed from the estates bordering the water, where other wealthy worshippers were celebrating, but their revelry could not be heard. Iunu brooded quietly, its dirt and clamour hidden, its beautiful stone buildings a jumble against a star-strewn sky. “I love it here,” Huy said aloud, suddenly moved, and beside him Thothmes came up panting.

“So do I,” he gasped. “I’m glad I will never have to live anywhere else. I’m getting cold, Huy. Shall we have a fire on the bank? I’ll get father’s soldiers on the watersteps to start it for us. The guests will be leaving soon, so it had better be out of sight of the barges and the litters. We certainly don’t need any more swimming lessons, do we? Race me back!” He swirled away, lithe as an eel, and was standing on the grass when Huy left the water.

One of the guards obligingly made a fire and for a long time they sat side by side, arms folded on their bare knees, gazing silently and contentedly into the flames, until the last flurry of departing guests had died away and dawn was a lessening of darkness in the east. Thothmes yawned. “It has been a good festival, but now I could sleep for a whole day if we didn’t have to return to school in two days. Tomorrow afternoon Nasha wants us to take a skiff into the marshes. It will be pleasant, I think, and you can keep your word to her and tell her how you came to be a Seer. She won’t care, of course. To her you’re just another brother to be teased and petted.” His tone was joking. Huy did not answer. His thoughts had returned to Anuket.

The three of them went on the river the following afternoon. Nasha was obviously suffering from an excess of wine the night before. She had a canopy erected on the small craft, and while the servant poled them slowly through the tall, rustling reeds she half sat, half reclined under its shade, her complexion pale. “I couldn’t even have my eyes kohled this morning,” she complained. “They were too sore. Mother made me swallow castor oil. Oh, why must I like wine so much!”

“Liking it is not the problem, Nasha,” Thothmes retorted gleefully. “Drinking too much of it is.”

“I drank no more than you did, Huy. Yes, I was watching you watching Anuket. Is it love that keeps you sober?” She laughed, then winced as a large white egret broke cover beside the skiff and flapped clumsily over them. A single white feather floated down and Huy caught it and handed it to her. He had not believed her capable of such perception and the knowledge dismayed him. He did not want his feeling for Anuket made light of by her frivolous tongue.

“Neither wine nor beer has any effect on me anymore,” he said, as though he had not heard her question, and proceeded to recite to her the tale that ought to have become rote by now but would always fill him with wonder and horror.

She stroked the feather as she listened, her eyes often closing. When he had finished, she thanked him for his confidence and remarked that anything she needed from the Street of the Basket Sellers would be procured for her by a servant. “At least until you are proved to be a fraud,” she taunted him kindly. “Believing such a story strains the bounds of my credulity, Huy. It is one thing for a king to become a god—that is Ma’at. But for a boy from Hut-herib to become a Seer? That would surely be something far beyond the boundaries of Ma’at’s power. I will agree that you have suffered a terrible accident, and because you ask it of me I will stay out of the Street of the Basket Sellers. And speaking of baskets, Thothmes, open ours and let us eat. Or rather, you can eat and I shall have a mouthful of wine.” She sat up. “They do say that a little wine the next day will cure the pain of the previous night’s excesses.”

“Father believes in the truth of Huy’s transformation, Nasha,” Thothmes said stoutly as he lifted the lid of the basket and drew out its contents. “You know nothing about it. You’re rude.” He unstoppered the flagon, poured her some wine, and passed it to her.

Her nose disappeared under the lip of the cup, and when she emerged she licked her lips. “I know that Father will think twice before giving Anuket to a man who can, or says he can, predict the future,” she came back at him shrewdly. “It’s no use looking so uncomfortable, Huy. I may have been lamentably drunk last night, but I’m not stupid. Everyone has seen your growing attachment to my little sister, including Father. He quite loves you. So do I. But betroth Anuket to a Seer? Besides, aren’t Seers supposed to remain virgin or lose their powers?” The wine had obviously revived her. She grinned at Huy. “You have four more years at school. You’re twelve now. Will you still believe in your gift when you are sixteen and Anuket is seventeen and you are desperate to marry her?”

“Shut your mouth, Nasha!” Thothmes shouted at her. “Why must you be deliberately cruel?”

But Huy had gone cold and still. “It’s all right, Thothmes,” he said calmly. “Nasha is angry. Why are you angry, Nasha? You know as well as I do that Anuket is far beyond my grasp. My blood is common. No matter how well paid I become as a scribe, I will never be able to give her what she has been raised to expect. It is quite true that I am in love with her. I am not ashamed of it. I have not spoken of my feelings to her.” His shoulders lifted in a moment of pain. “I probably never will. I do not know if what you say regarding the chastity of Seers is true. I will ask of those I trust. Surely I deserve your sympathy, not this barely concealed maliciousness.”

The rancour slowly left her face as he spoke. She looked down into her cup. “You’re right, Huy. I’m sorry. I have no idea why your words made me angry.” She smiled wryly. “Perhaps it was an anger prompted by fear. Mother says that women betray their fear with anger.”

“Why would you fear me?”

“Not you, but the havoc you inadvertently could create in this family. Forgive me. I just want us all to be happy.”

There was a long silence. Huy, watching Thothmes out of the corner of his eye, tried to read his expression. Thothmes had defended him against Nasha’s unkind words with an immediate anger. Obviously Huy’s preoccupation with Anuket was no news to Thothmes. Huy had shrunk from bringing up the subject with him. He did not want to hear the truth Nasha had just so pitilessly stated come from Thothmes’ mouth, and so far Thothmes had ventured no opinion. Perhaps he was afraid to do so for fear of endangering their friendship. The awning of the canopy flapped rhythmically in the wind. The reeds around them brushed stiffly against each other. Finally Thothmes gave an audible sigh.

“There’s a word for women like you, Nasha,” he said heavily. “The sooner Father finds a husband for you, the better. Drink your wine, and with luck you will fall asleep.” He held out a piece of bread and a chunk of cheese to Huy. “Would you like some beer with that, Huy? It is our own brew.”

Huy took the food. Thothmes’ eyes begged him to remain calm, to let it all go. He nodded. “As a mighty Seer I predict that we will eat and drink and you, Thothmes, will lose a throwing stick in the marsh as usual, and we will all fall asleep as we are being poled home,” he said solemnly. Nasha burst out laughing and the moment of dislocation passed.

Huy had glumly expected that his relationship with Nasha would be changed because of her outburst, but to his relief she reverted to her usual teasing self in the evening, mocking him gently during the meal and hugging him before she sailed off to her own quarters. Nakht disappeared into his office, his wife into the garden, and Huy, Anuket, and Thothmes sat on after the servants had cleared away the debris, the three of them on cushions on the floor of the dimly lit room. Not much was said. Huy watched the play of lamplight and shadow on Anuket’s features as she cuddled one of the cats that stalked through the house like royalty, the sight both a joy and a torment to him, and Thothmes seemed sunk in a sombre thought of his own. At last he sighed. “Back to school tomorrow. Sometimes I grow tired of the same routine, day after day. At least I know that I will always have you to relieve my boredom, Huy.”

So Thothmes had been thinking over Nasha’s outburst of the afternoon and Huy’s prediction for him, Huy realized. A pall of melancholy settled over him. He reached out to touch the cat’s soft fur, but the animal hissed at him, swiped one sharp claw across his hand, and ran away.

Anuket smiled. “She is pregnant and therefore unpredictable. For some reason she has attached herself to me.” She rose. “The scratch is bleeding. I will bring an ointment.”

Huy watched the blood well up in a thin line and trickle down his wrist.

“Anuket was being tactful,” Thothmes observed. “That animal craves affection from everyone—except you, obviously! You’re the first person she has attacked.”

Huy did not respond. He knew why the cat had fled at the prospect of his caress. All cats could sense the unseen presence of demons, ghosts, or a spiritual aberration within a human ka, and this feline was no different. The knowledge brought an end to his enjoyment of the holiday. The Book of Thoth lay in its dark niche, waiting for him, and he was afraid.

Anuket returned with a small bowl, and sinking cross-legged beside Huy, she took his hand gently and laid it on her knee. Blood immediately began to stain her pale linen, but she ignored it. “Our physician has made a treatment of mouldy bread, ground rowan wood, and honey,” she explained. “It will prevent the exudation of any ukhedu.” Carefully she wiped the wound with a damp cloth, dipped her forefinger in the bowl, and spread its contents over the back of Huy’s hand. Huy closed his eyes, delirious at the warmth of her knee and the stroke of her finger. “I will put the remainder in a vial so that you can reapply the medicine each time you dry your hands,” she said, rising again. “I apologize on behalf of my pet, Huy.”

“It was nothing,” Huy responded offhandedly. “I have suffered worse on the training ground. But thank you for your concern, Anuket. I shall follow your directions.” With a flash of resentment against the emotion that had turned him into a tongue-tied idiot, he got up and faced her. A head taller than she, he had the pleasure of seeing her chin tilt upward so that she could meet his eyes. “This is my last night in your house for some time, and I must take full advantage of the room I always think of as mine. Sleep well, water-lady.”

Her smile broke out and, rising on tiptoe, she kissed him on the cheek. “To you also. We will eat together in the morning before the litter takes you back to the temple.”

“Water-lady?” Huy heard Thothmes say as he crossed through the shadows to the passage beyond. “You have told him about your naming, Anuket?”

Huy longed to hear her reply, but he was no eavesdropper. Forcing his feet into the passage, he made his way to his room, where a servant had kept the lamp trimmed while he waited to bring Huy hot water. Later, washed and lying between fine linen sheets, Huy re-created the dressing of his scratch in his mind, and realized for the first time that Anuket had made a quiet but excessive fuss over something so slight as to be worth no more than a passing comment.

In the morning she gave him a delicate blue faience vial fashioned to represent the closed bud of a lotus. “I kept my kohl powder in it,” she told him breathlessly, “but the physician washed it out thoroughly before adding your ointment. When it is empty you can use it for anything—incense granules to burn before the god of your town, perhaps, or your favourite perfume, or even a little oil for your hair.”