The Twice Born (35 page)

Huy came to a halt. Vague whispers came to him, memories of things half heard and disregarded during his school lessons. Something about frogs. Frogs? He let out a peal of laughter and went to the door. “Please summon the High Priest,” he said to the supercilious face that confronted him, then closed the door again. The frog was the symbol of resurrection, but what could the renewal of life possibly have to do with the precise divisions stated in the scroll? Frogs represented life after the receding of the annual flood, the springing up of the new crops, new eggs in the nests along the canals, new hope for a bountiful harvest—not transformation. Not that! Yet all through the noon meal with the priests, the afternoon rest, the evening spent wandering the precinct, and finally lying sleepless on his couch, Huy could not rid himself of the conviction that frogs somehow held an explanation for the words being repeated over and over in his head.

The following morning he declined the servant’s offer to guide him to the High Priest’s quarters. He and Anhur found their way without difficulty. Mentuhotep was waiting for them, and after affably greeting the soldier he ushered Huy into the office where once again the casket sat waiting on his desk. “Well, Huy,” Mentuhotep said, “are you ready to read the words a second time?”

“Really, Master, I don’t need to,” Huy answered hesitantly. “I am able to recite the contents of the first three scrolls perfectly. This one was easy.”

“Easy to memorize perhaps.” The man’s glance was keen. “But have you already an understanding of the Book so far? Is the meaning of the first sayings clear to you?”

“Mostly. I believe that a full grasp of the sense of it will not be possible until the whole has been read.” He had been going to say “until I’ve read the whole” but did not want to sound boastful.

Mentuhotep nodded. “Will you recite to me what you have read so far?” It was a command, not a request.

Huy resisted the urge to put his hands behind his back like a pupil called upon in the schoolroom, and began: “‘The universe is nothing but consciousness, and in all its appearances reveals nothing but an evolution of consciousness, from its origin to its end, which is a return to its cause …’”

The High Priest’s eyes did not leave Huy’s face. When he had fallen silent, Mentuhotep nodded. “Do you know what ‘evolution’ means, Huy?”

“I think so, Master. It means a slow change towards something better.”

“Your schoolmasters have taught you well. And if Atum wills a form of becoming for himself, which is—what?”

“The First Duat. The place of metamorphosis.”

The High Priest’s half smile was one of satisfaction. “Good. Then are the becomings mentioned in the scroll you read yesterday metamorphoses, or evolutions, or something else?”

“I don’t know. They are called transformations. Are they different from both metamorphoses and evolutions?”

“That is for you to decide.” Mentuhotep came around the desk. “I know that you want the commentary, but not today. Obviously you do not need to read the scroll again, unless having it under your eyes and hands would help you deliberate? No? Then I shall take it away and leave you to think. You need not stay in here to do so, but choose quiet places in the precinct for your meditations.”

Huy put out a hand. “Master, since my reading yesterday I’ve been unable to purge the thought of … of frogs from my mind.” He could feel himself flush. “It sounds insane, but will you tell me if some demon of ignorance has found a way into my heart and is leading me astray?” Mortified, Huy could see that Mentuhotep was repressing a laugh.

“You are the Chosen One, Huy,” he said unexpectedly. “Your heart is pure. Enjoy your day, and if by tomorrow you are still hopping about on the bank of comprehension, we will talk together. No, I am not laughing at you,” he finished gravely. “I am simply delighted that all those who have taken your measure have spoken the truth. It is a good thing that your parents are such pagans. No erroneous conception of these holy things has corrupted you.”

He bowed and withdrew, leaving Huy still red-faced with shame for both his own ignorance, pure though it might be, and that of his father.
Well
, he thought bitterly,
I will lie here on the High Priest’s reed mat and think about frogs, and when my spine begins to ache I will go to the sacred lake with Anhur and think about them some more, and when I become hungry I will eat with the priests and think about grilled goose and radishes
. In spite of Mentuhotep’s words he felt like a fool.

He thought about frogs until his head began to throb—their colours, their sheen, their black, bulbous eyes, the way they moved, their throaty call, how cool and dry they felt in an upturned palm—and when he realized that nothing could be added and he had merely built a wall of frustration in his mind, he got up with an exclamation of sheer irritation, woke Anhur, who was dozing outside the door, and set off to find the school’s training ground.

It lay to the north of the temple, and unlike its counterpart at Iunu it was surrounded on all sides by tall, thick hedges of acacia. Anhur nodded his approval as they started across the churned expanse of earth towards the mud-brick cell beside the stables. “Being on the north, it gets only a little of the morning sun,” he commented, “and the acacia keeps a lot of the ground in shade. Mind you, Huy, most battles aren’t fought under such ideal conditions.”
How would you know?
Huy wanted to snap, but he held his peace.

Hearing the guard’s voice, a man had emerged from the cell and stood peering suspiciously at them as they approached, his gaze flicking from Huy to Anhur’s broad shoulders and ready weapons. He inclined his head slightly once, an invitation to speak, and Huy realized gladly that at least there was one person here who did not know who he was. He bowed politely. “I believe that I am addressing the Overseer of the Training Ground,” he said formally. “I am Huy son of Hapu of Ra’s temple school at Iunu, sent here by my teachers to study for a while. This is my guard Anhur.”

The man’s attention travelled to Huy’s palms and belt, seeking any trace of the henna with which the nobles painted their hands and the throwing sticks with which they hunted. Seeing neither, and obviously puzzled by the presence of a personal guard, he grunted. “I am the Overseer. What is your business with me, Huy son of Hapu?”

“I would like the use of a bow and arrows to keep up my target practice while I am here. If you need permission from the Overseer of the School, I can send a servant to procure it.”

“That won’t be necessary for the equipment,” the man replied shortly with another swift glance at the stolid Anhur. “But if you intend to hitch a chariot I’ll need the Overseer’s seal, and I can’t provide you with a wrestling partner.”

Huy wanted to shake the surliness out of him. “I wrestle with my guard. And if I wanted a chariot I would have no difficulty in quickly getting permission to use the best you have. Now show me the bows.”

The man’s eyes dropped. Without another word he led them into a large room beside his cell where the bows hung in rows, each one with its string wrapped in oiled hemp cloth.
I did not need to be so rude
, Huy thought regretfully as he entered the cool space.
This is nothing but thwarted conceit on my part because I am the Chosen One, and shouldn’t the Chosen One be omniscient?
It came to him also, as he walked the rows of weapons, that somewhere in the back of his mind he was hoping that physical exertion might shake loose the same sort of revelation that had come to him on the training ground at Iunu. “This one,” he said, pointing at one of the composite bows, “and I will take the barrel of arrows outside and try them all. I can set up the target myself.”

“As you wish.” The Overseer stalked away. Huy lifted down and unwrapped his bow, chose a set of leather gloves from the chest by the doorway, and Anhur heaved the barrel of arrows out into the dappled sunlight.

“I’ll be happy to wrestle with you, Huy,” he puffed, “but if I hurt you Ramose will have harsh words for me when we return home.”

Huy chuckled. “Probably for me too. Set up the target over there, Anhur, and find some shade. When I’m sufficiently sweaty we’ll wash and then eat.”

For an hour Huy drew and loosed, until the target began to blur, his arms ached, and his kilt became soaked in sweat. Finally he admitted defeat. The exercise had done him good, he knew, but the burst of inner knowledge he sought had been denied him. After cleaning the bow’s grip and rewrapping the string while Anhur saw to the target and the arrows, Huy tossed the gloves back in the box and together they re-entered the temple. In the priests’ bathhouse they stood side by side on the slabs, dousing each other with warm water and scrubbing the natron into skin and scalps. Huy, watching Anhur splash and grunt in appreciation, realized that a genuine affection for this blunt, phlegmatic man was growing in him and he would be sorry when the time came for them to part.

Anhur was not pleased when Huy decided to go into the school courtyards instead of taking to his couch. “You want to talk to that beefy young ox with the tongue of a shrewish woman?” he grumbled. “Trust me, Huy, that kind can carry a grudge right into the tomb. You’ll be wasting your breath. What is he to you, anyway?”

“He killed me,” Huy replied. “If we ever keep company again, Anhur, I’ll tell you about it, but today I must try to come to an understanding with him. It’s the way of Ma’at.”

“‘Hail Uamtutef, I have not eaten my heart,’” Anhur said.

“What’s that?”

Anhur rolled his eyes. “It’s one of the negative confessions from the Book of Coming Forth by Day. You’re supposed to learn them all in order to get past the gods that wait to condemn the guilty soul after you die. Don’t you know that? And you thought I was just an ignorant soldier!”

“No I didn’t, and I assure you I don’t eat my heart over Sennefer. I’m not angry with him. I don’t want him to be angry with me anymore.”

Anhur snorted. “Well, good luck,” he said derisively. “At least I’ll be able to defend you on a full stomach.”

Huy’s assumption that the Overseer’s quarters would be near the entrance to the first courtyard proved correct. A passing priest gave him directions that took him along the south side of the temple itself to where the unroofed passage ended at a junction behind the sanctuary. One arm led in a few steps to a door in the outer wall. The other petered out in a large grassed quadrangle bounded by cells on three sides and, abutting the sanctuary itself, a modest apartment. Here Huy knocked. After a while a servant responded, blinking drowsily at Huy as full sunlight drenched his face. “Yes?” he said sharply. “If you have a problem, could it not wait until after the sleep?”

Huy inwardly cursed himself. He had chosen the time of day so as not to encounter any of the other boys, but he had not considered the Overseer’s rest. “If your master is asleep I will not disturb him,” he said. “But if he is still awake I would like to speak with him for a moment. Please tell him that Huy son of Hapu is here.”

“Now you’re learning,” Anhur murmured as the man withdrew. “It does no harm to throw your weight about sometimes. The servants here seem very haughty to me. Not like the ones at home in Iunu. There they know their place.”

“I think that Pabast must still be learning his,” Huy returned wryly. “Besides, we’re punished if we’re unkind to them or make undue demands. Sometimes a servant rises in the world and becomes a master.”

Anhur’s caustic reply was lost as a man stepped out of the doorway and stood wrapping a sheet around his thick body. He too was squinting in the harsh midday light, but he managed a bow. “I had hoped to meet you at some point before you left us, Son of Hapu,” he said gravely. “I was sorry not to see you when you ate with my bevy of pupils. How may I help you?”

“I know I’ve chosen an inconvenient moment to disturb you, Master,” Huy apologized, “but my errand is a private one and I didn’t want it shared with a crowd. I seem to attract a lot of interest wherever I go.” The words were not meant to be immodest, but to Huy’s cringing ears they sounded so.

“That is understandable”—the Overseer nodded—“but regrettable. I believe your name is known in every schoolroom in the country, and there will be howls of disappointment if you disappear from Khmun without spending at least some time with my boys. Or with most of them.”

The glance meeting Huy’s was astute. Huy saw with relief that this man was aware of his history with Sennefer. Of course he was. Every good Overseer of Schools made it his business to know as much as possible about the students under his care.

“They mean you no harm,” he continued. “They simply need to hear the words that will shrink rumour down to the level of the mundane. Come inside, out of the sun.” He waited for Huy to precede him. Anhur took up a position outside.

The small reception room was blessedly cool and dim. Beyond it Huy could see into the even-smaller sleeping room and the edge of a rumpled cot. The servant had returned to his mattress at its foot and was snoring gently. Waiting until the Overseer had sunk onto the one chair available, Huy perched beside him on the stool. Behind them the wall was covered with orderly rows of niches, each neat hollow holding a scroll; and the table, which was the only other piece of furniture, held a lamp, a scribe’s palette, a collection of ink pots, a jug, and a cup.

“Gossip feeds on such rumours,” the Overseer said frankly, “and the more scanty the array of facts the wilder the conjecture becomes. We Overseers talk to one another by letter and once a year face to face, usually just before the Inundation, when the schools empty. So do the pupils from the various temples when they return to their homes. Your story ought to have belonged to the past by now, but unfortunately the notion that the gods have resurrected you from the dead to become a Seer has kept it fresh and exciting in the courtyards.” He folded his legs and twitched the sheet over his knees. “I do not ask you for the truth of it,” he went on. “A resurrection? Doubtful. The making of a Seer? Entirely likely, especially as you have come here at the bidding of your High Priest and to the delight of ours. Sennefer will say nothing, which only fans the flame of speculation, but I wish that before you return to Iunu you could speak in the schoolroom regarding why you are here.”