The Twice Born (45 page)

His teacher was sorting through the basket of scrolls. He looked up once, then again, horrified, as Huy came forward. “Gods, boy, what have you been doing?” the man exclaimed. “Don’t tell me that Nakht allowed you to carouse at his house all night!”

“No indeed, Master,” Huy said smoothly. “I came back here then spent the time until dawn in the temple, praying about my future. I fell asleep. I have neither washed nor eaten. I am sorry.”

The man grunted. “There is no time to do either,” he said, but his glance was kindly. “Go and get your palette. We have only seven days left.” Seven days. Huy sketched a bow and obeyed.

He struggled through the long hours on willpower alone. Exhausted and empty of all but the pain of despair, he watched himself take dictation, compute equations for the architect, describe the deployment of troops during some battle the details of which he immediately forgot, and stand on the training ground at sunset loosing arrows into a target that seemed to be hovering on the edge of the world. Later, crawling between his sheets without bothering to remove his kilt, he plunged into the sodden sleep of extreme fatigue.

At dawn, in the few blessed moments between unconsciousness and full wakefulness, the previous day was a blank in his mind. But then awareness descended, making him cry out and leave the couch, standing rumpled and close to tears with the morning light fingering his naked back through the cell doorway and his statue of Khenti-kheti staring at him blankly from the still-shadowed interior. Grimly forcing himself not to weep, knowing that if he did so he would not be able to stop, he shed the soiled kilt and loincloth and walked to the bathhouse, scrubbing himself free of the faint scent of jasmine that he knew he would never again be able to inhale without pain, letting the cleansing natron lift the whore’s odour from the crevices of his body. Back in the cell, he dressed and braided his hair quickly. Nakht’s gift of the year before, the leather belt studded with turquoise, he buried at the bottom of his tiring chest. Unable to eat, he drank several cups of milk brought to him by a kitchen servant, then, taking up his palette, he went to his lessons.

For three days he strained to concentrate on nothing but his work, wrenching his mind back to the tasks at hand when it threatened to wander into fields that would unman him. On the evening of the third day he returned to his cell to find Thothmes waiting for him. Without a word Thothmes left the couch where he had been sitting and opened his arms, and with a sob of surrender Huy fell into them. He wept for a long time against Thothmes’ warm neck, and Thothmes said nothing, merely holding him tightly. When Huy was spent, he released himself, sat down, and wiped his face on a sheet. Thothmes sat opposite him. The two friends looked at each other. Finally Thothmes said, “I’m sorry, Huy. I knew Anuket was promised elsewhere. I should have warned you. But I was so sure that Father would open every door for you, give you a rich sinecure, give you Anuket, and we would all live in peace and happiness in Iunu.”

“He has turned his back on me because I could not heal your mother,” Huy said thickly. “He is punishing me. He does not understand.”

Thothmes’ eyebrows rose. “I didn’t think of that. But you’re wrong. Father knows that Anuket would end up being a thorn in your side. Your love for her would make you vulnerable to her stubborn self-will. She would ruin you. Besides, there is the matter of your future as a Seer. Father would never seek to incur the anger of the gods by diverting you from your destiny.”

“To the Duat with my destiny,” Huy retorted wearily. “Stop defending him, Thothmes. He has betrayed me. He could have offered me work even without Anuket. All these years of closeness and now he repudiates me as though I were a stranger, an anonymous petitioner refused a hearing in his office. He and my uncle Ker have a lot in common.”

“You’re right,” Thothmes said after a moment. “He has treated you ill. You should have heard Nasha yelling at him the morning after you came to dinner! That was when he told us you wouldn’t be back to our house anymore. I think it’s Nasha who’s in love with you.”

Huy passed a hand over his eyes. “Be quiet,” he said dully. “I must teach myself not to care about them anymore. I must begin my life anew.”

“But not without me!” Thothmes pressed. “Don’t drift away from me, Huy! No matter what happens to either of us, we must stay close to one another. Your vision said so!”

“Yes, it did. I love you, my brother. Without you my years here would have been dreary indeed. I will write to you from wherever I go and I will see you as often as I can. Thank you for letting me cry on your shoulder!” He managed a smile and Thothmes’ ready grin flashed back at him.

“Well, that’s settled. But I thought the High Priest had ordered you to stay here and work for him.”

Huy shook his head. “I will not stay here. I will not remain under his thumb. I will not have my every action weighed, and I am sick to death of the Book and being reverenced as though Egypt will collapse without me.”

“Where are you going?”

Huy shrugged. “I don’t know.” Sliding off the couch, he kissed Thothmes’ cheek. “I have to sleep now. These last days are long and full of hard work. Goodbye, my dear friend. May the soles of both our feet be always firm.”

The words of formal departure took Thothmes by surprise. Standing, he embraced Huy, made as if to speak, embraced him again, then left quickly, his head down. Huy listened to the slap of his sandals on the stone path fronting the cells until the sound faded and was lost in the hot stillness of the night. Exploring his heart, he found it wounded but stable. His soul, however, remained empty. He was glad of that emptiness. No emotion would lodge there. All feelings would fade as rapidly as they came. It was the only way, he knew, that he would be able to survive.

Early on the morning of the fourth day, before the sun was up, he wrote a letter to Methen, sealed it in wax without imprint, and, hurrying to the temple watersteps, found one of the heralds who routinely waited to take correspondence up and down the river. “Tell the priest Methen that Huy asks him to pay you,” he told the man. “If not, then find me when you return. But it will be all right, I think.” The herald took the scroll and laid it in his satchel, and Huy headed for the bathhouse. He had woken with his mind suddenly clear. He knew what he had to do. The decision was bitter for him. He could almost taste the bitterness of it, like crushed aloes in his mouth, but he would not swallow it. He would hold it on his tongue, feel it burn his throat, until he had learned a lesson even more important than the things his teachers were drumming into him: Trust no man, no man at all, apart from Thothmes. It was that simple, and that terrible.

It was a precept Huy was to hold to for the rest of his life.

14

 
HUY’S FORMAL EDUCATION
ended quietly on the tenth day of Paophi. As he stood before them in the classroom where he had spent so many happy and anxious hours over the previous twelve years, each tutor presented him with a scroll of proficiency, speaking of his intelligence, his diligence at his studies, and his readiness to face the world outside the comfortable womb of the school. Ramose the High Priest looked on with a smile. Huy, accepting the scrolls and the accolades with bows and murmured thanks, did not feel at all ready to say goodbye to the redolence of papyrus and ink. In a burst of regret, he knew that he would miss the ritual of unrolling his mat every morning, saying the prayer to Thoth, feeling the single thin ray of sunlight touch his folded knees at the same time each morning as he set his palette across them and lifted his face to the familiar form of his academics teacher, perched on his low stool. The combined voices of his schoolmates reciting the lessons, the odour of cooking that always began to waft into the room just before the noon meal and set the younger pupils wriggling impatiently, even the fitful drafts of incense-laden air that sometimes blew through the corridors behind Ra’s sanctuary, seemed all at once precious to him.

When the little ceremony was concluded and the teachers had filed out, Ramose approached him, laying a heavy hand on his head. “Be idle for two days, Huy. Pack up your belongings. I have had a cell prepared for you next to my quarters and have engaged a body servant for you. You may move into your new room whenever you are ready, but I expect to summon you and your palette to begin work in three days. At that time we will discuss both your duties and your remuneration.” He patted Huy and withdrew his hand. Huy had never seen him so jovial. “I suggest that you write to your family and acquaint them with the change in your fortunes—unless, of course, you have done so already.”

Numbly Huy shook his head, wanting to sweep his fingers across his skull where the High Priest had touched him. He felt vaguely ill. Ramose sketched a bow and left and Huy followed more slowly, his arms full of scrolls, walking uneasily towards the deserted courtyard and the empty cell he had shared with Thothmes for so long.

For a moment he stood in the doorway, looking inside. Thothmes’ cot had been stripped, but his own had been neatly made, his table with its burden of Khenti-kheti and his palette dusted, the floor swept. A sense of unreality enveloped him. After twelve years of predictability, time seemed to have speeded up, precipitating him from the security of a safely regulated life into a future looming like a void.

Stepping into the dimness of the room, he bent, dragged his chest out from under his cot, and, lifting the lid, tumbled into it the scrolls that guaranteed his freedom. Then he sat on the cot, at a loss. At once a vision of Anuket filled his mind—Anuket with her ebony hair and eyes and her black mouth under the late moon—and he banished it by a spasm of the will.
May the gods grant that I never see her again
, he thought savagely; but he did not want to think of the gods, not then. He sought other, gentler images: the sights and sounds of his fellow students, the friendly smell of horseflesh rising to him as he stood in the chariot, the flicker of lamplight on the ceiling as he and Thothmes lay in their cots and talked drowsily before sleep claimed them.
My whole life has been dissolved
, his thoughts ran on.
Everything has gone. I face a complete change in everything, everywhere I look. And still no word has come from Methen. O Atum, god whom I both love and detest, let it not be your desire for me that I must stay here, in a cell next door to the High Priest, under the gaze of those shrewd and judging eyes, forever!

For a long time he sat on in a mood of utter impotence, until hunger drove him out into the fire of an early afternoon and directed his feet towards the temple kitchens. He ate cold food, standing up beside one of the tables while the kitchen servants wove irritably around him, and when he had finished he returned to his cell and lay tensely on his cot, the sweat of Akhet oozing lightly from his pores. He did not know what to do.

But early the following morning a temple servant darkened his doorway and, bowing, handed him a scroll. “This has just arrived with a herald from Hut-herib,” the man said. “I also bring a message from the High Priest. Your new cell is scoured and ready for your occupation whenever you have packed your chest. Call for me later, Huy, and I will help you carry your things.” He bowed himself out. Huy, who had been preparing to go to the bathhouse, laid down his clean loincloth and kilt and broke the seal on the papyrus with shaking fingers. Methen’s even, careful characters sprang out at him. Backing to the couch, he slumped down.

Dearest Huy, I congratulate you most warmly on the completion of your studies. Doubtless the prospect of freedom is both exciting and daunting to you. I have considered your request most carefully, laying it before Khenti-kheti with an offering for clarity of mind. You do not tell me why you do not wish to remain at Iunu and work for Ramose. Such a position would guarantee much future advancement. I can offer you nothing but humble work, adequate rations, and a small mud-brick house of three rooms close to the temple. Think carefully. Ramose of course cannot coerce you to stay under his aegis, but do you really want to be an anonymous, poverty-stricken scribe in the service of a minor god? Hut-herib holds many unhappy memories for you. I have said nothing of this to your family, the members of which I see from time to time. Nevertheless, you would be welcome here. Give me your final answer. Your friend Methen, High Priest in the service of Khenti-kheti.

A rush of warm relief coursed through Huy. Clutching the scroll to his chest, he closed his eyes.
Anonymous, yes, dear Methen. Poverty-stricken? That will be hard, but I don’t care. No more feasts in nobles’ houses, no more boating parties and expensive gifts, no more dreams of self-importance. Humble work is what I need, far from Ramose and his plans for me, far from Nakht and his rejection. I deceive myself no longer. I have woken from twelve years of a fond and prideful illusion without foundation, and once again this peasant has his nose pressed to the dust. My answer to Methen will be my presence at the door of his quarters
.

Snatching up his clothes, Huy hurried to the bathhouse, finding a servant on the way and sending him to inquire whether the High Priest might receive him that morning. Then, scrubbed, oiled, and dressed, he returned to his cell, picked up Methen’s scroll, and waited. The permission he had requested came, and calmly Huy tied on his sandals and took the long walk to the area of the temple where the priests lived. Ramose’s imposing double doors stood open. The High Priest’s voice reached Huy as he slowed and asked the servant to announce him. The voice ceased, a scribe brushed past Huy, and Huy followed the servant into Ramose’s domain.

To his consternation not only Ramose rose to greet him, but a familiar figure lifted herself from a chair and came forward, wand in hand, the cowrie shells hanging from her belt, wrists, and ankles clacking as she moved. Her voluminous sheath was green, a colour Huy had never seen her wear before, its neck and hem bordered in black, a colour of strong protection for every magician. She did not smile. Halting before she reached him, she regarded him solemnly, her eyes clear and level in their nest of wrinkled skin. Ramose embraced him, and it came to Huy how often the High Priest felt the need to touch him, as though in doing so he might absorb something he needed or desired. The thought revolted Huy. Pulling himself roughly from the High Priest’s grasp, he managed a compensatory smile.

“So, young man, I did not expect to see you in my quarters so soon,” Ramose said. “Have you packed your chest already? Let me show you your new cell.”

Huy’s glance flew to Henenu’s. Her gaze had narrowed, and still she did not move.
She knows
, he thought with a pang of fear.
Why is she clad in green today? I forget what green signifies
. His own eyes must have betrayed him, falling to her sheath, for one corner of her hennaed mouth turned up briefly.

“Green means growth and regeneration, Huy,” she said. “It is a powerful colour. Are you well?”

With an inward sigh, Huy nodded. “Very well, thank you, Rekhet. I trust you are well also.” He turned his attention deliberately back to the High Priest. His heart had begun to race. “Master, I shall not be occupying that cell,” he said loudly. “My debt to you for your goodness to me and your care can never be repaid. I am aware that I owe you everything but my life, and I apologize to you from the bottom of my soul, but I cannot stay here and work for you. I have petitioned the High Priest Methen for a position as his scribe. I want to leave Iunu as soon as possible.”

Ramose looked puzzled. “Leave Iunu? Why? What are you saying?”

“I am saying that although your offer of employment is generous, I cannot accept it. I want to return to Hut-herib.”

“To that grubby little town? What for? Huy, your career will be over before it has had a chance to begin! I know how distressed Nakht has made you. I realize—”

Huy cut him short. “So you have heard about my humiliation. Yes, Master, Nakht has wounded me deeply—but it is more than that. I have spent twelve years in Ra’s temple, happy years, but tumultuous also. There has been the Ished Tree and the mystery of the Book, and I am tired. Deep inside me there is a desperate need for peace. I want to live quietly beside Methen.”

“If you are tired, then take the remaining months of the Inundation to recover,” Ramose argued. “Visit your family. Spend a few weeks with Methen. You sound like an old man, not a sixteen-year-old youth in the flower of vigour. I have worked you too hard lately.” He leaned close. “And what of your gift, Huy? We, Henenu and I, fully expect it to revive now that your schooling is over. You will need our help to control it, channel it, use it for—”

“For the greater good of Egypt?” Huy finished for him. “No, Master. I care nothing for the greater good of this country, not just now. Under the law you cannot impel me to stay here. I must go. With your blessing, I pray.” He handed Methen’s scroll to Ramose, who swung back to his desk and unrolled it immediately.

Huy and Henenu regarded one another in silence. Finally the Rekhet spoke. “I wear green today in honour of your growth and your regeneration, not mine. I woke this morning with the strong feeling that you had decided to reject Ramose’s offer. I looked for inauspicious omens and found none, therefore it is within the desire of Atum that you should leave us. Ramose will be bitter for a while.”

Huy felt obscurely annoyed at her complacent words. “I did not consider the desire of Atum when I wrote to my friend,” he replied shortly. “I have explained myself, Rekhet.”

She smiled faintly. “You are annoyed with me. In fact, everything about me and Ramose and these holy precincts is beginning to irritate you. It is a sign that you must move on. Yet do not think that you will escape your fate by burying yourself at Hut-herib. Atum is not chained to Iunu any more than Ra is.”

In truth Huy had formed the vague idea that in fleeing Iunu he might indeed leave Atum behind, hovering over the Ished Tree and the Book. He flushed. “Forgive me, Rekhet. My discontent is like an itchy rash spread over my body. All I want to do is scratch it.”

She laughed. “Not discontent,” she chided him. “It is the urgent need to run away that consumes you. Do not fret about it, Huy. Go to Methen. Seek the peace you require.”

The High Priest let the scroll roll up and handed it back to Huy, breathing heavily. “I do not approve, not at all. Methen is wise when he reminds you that at Hut-herib you will have no future, no opportunity to advance. Your education will be wasted.”

“I think not,” Henenu cut in. “Let him go, Ramose. In spite of what you think, there will be no obscurity for him anywhere Atum’s shadow falls.” Stepping forward at last, she laid her wand on the tiles and imprisoned Huy’s face between her warm, dry palms. “Write to us. Pray for us as we shall pray for you. One day your prayers will thunder in Atum’s ears and drown out the bleatings of us lesser folk.” She kissed his forehead and released him. “Or perhaps,” she added, “we shall be praying to you and not to Atum at all.” Picking up her wand, she shook herself, a curious, ungainly gesture, as though she were ridding herself of a spider clinging to the folds of her sheath.

Ramose looked bleak. “I am appalled at your ingratitude, Huy,” he snapped. “Nevertheless, Henenu seems to think that you must go, and I respect her heka. I will not provide you with transport of any kind. Perhaps a taste of true hardship will bring you running back to Iunu. The Inundation has reached half its height and begins to flow swiftly. You must either walk north or find a captain willing to hazard the flood.”

Huy bowed to him. “I have always held you in reverence, Greatest of Seers,” he said, giving Ramose one of his titles out of a sudden uprush of respect, almost of love, for this man who had ordered his life for so long. “I ask for nothing but your forgiveness and your blessing. If I ever unravel the riddle of the Book of Thoth, you will be the first to hear of it.” He knelt, able to be magnanimous now that this difficult interview was almost over. “Please bless me, High Priest.”