The Twice Born (57 page)

Thothmes’ grin reached from ear to jewelled ear. “As your friend and closest confidant, I have been delegated to bring you into the Presence, interpret your immortal words if necessary, and make sure that you are given the best of attention. Our Pharaoh has been very thorough in his investigation of you and your family since word of your healings and prognostications reached Weset. I may go with His Majesty into Rethennu if I want to, but I think I’d rather stay here for a few days and visit with you.” His gaze strayed to Ishat, who had been listening wide-eyed. “And with you, Ishat. You can tell me everything about Huy that he won’t tell me himself. My father’s barge is moored at Hut-herib’s miserably dirty watersteps.”

Huy saw their eyes meet. To his astonishment, a flush of red began to stain Ishat’s neck and creep up her cheeks. Thothmes’ smile slowly died; a speculative expression took its place. Ishat’s fingers went to her hair, fluttered undecidedly in the fronds of the fringe that cut across her forehead, then gripped one another in front of her. Her shoulders faced Huy before her head turned to him.

“Huy, you can’t stand before the King in that kilt,” she said. “Let me set out the gold-bordered one you have left, and find your cosmetics and jewellery.” Stumbling against the table, she fled into Huy’s sleeping room.

“I don’t believe it!” Huy laughed. “Your news has completely unsettled her. I never thought to see a disconcerted Ishat!” He glanced at his friend, but Thothmes’ eyes had followed Ishat. He was frowning.

It seemed to Huy that the faster he tried to be, the more malevolently his fingers obstructed him. Standing in his sleeping room while Thothmes and Ishat talked beyond the doorway, he fumbled with the kilt that knotted as he tried to tie it on. Twice he dropped the turquoise belt. A tendril of hair escaped from his braid and became hooked around the chain of his sa amulet as he was bending over to latch his sandals, and he was forced to take the braid apart and weave it again. He had given Anuket’s gift to the young whore, and the only earring he possessed was the ankh on the short gold chain. He had no bracelets.

Finally he sat on the edge of his couch and, with eyes closed, deliberately relaxed one muscle in his tense body after another, knowing that if he presented himself before the King in his agitated state his gift would desert him.
I did not even bother to paint my lids with kohl this morning
, he thought in despair.
I look like a peasant aping his betters with my scrubbed face and simple earring, expensive ring amulets on my fingers and around my neck and yet leather sandals so old and cracked that they no longer fit me properly
. He heard Ishat give a shout of laughter over Thothmes’ light voice.
They are easy with one another
, he thought in surprise, and at that he opened his eyes, stood up, and walked into the reception room. “Should I bring my palette?” he asked Thothmes, who shook his head.

“No need. Now we must be going. The King will have been washed and dressed, and he is not a patient man.”

Huy turned to Ishat. “Go to the temple and tell those waiting that I will not be taking petitions today. Then go to the kitchen and see what’s planned for an evening meal. You will eat with us later, Thothmes?”

“No. The two of you will eat with me, on my barge.” Thothmes waved Huy towards the doorway. “Oh, come on, Huy! Where’s the confident young man who graced Father’s feasts?”
Gone with Anuket and the rosy prospects of an old fantasy
, Huy thought, and followed his friend into the street.

A litter sat just outside, surrounded by a small crowd of Huy’s curious neighbours. The bearers were lounging against the wall. They came upright as Thothmes appeared, and the two guards stepped forward, spears canted towards the people, who stopped chattering and drew back. Thothmes lifted the curtain of the litter, motioned Huy inside, and settled himself on the cushions beside him, letting the curtain fall. Huy felt himself raised as the bearers took the strain. It was a familiar feeling, and in spite of his anxiety he smiled. “I haven’t been in a litter since I left Iunu,” he remarked. “I just assumed that we would walk.”

Thothmes shuddered. “And have you arrive before the One all dusty and sweaty? Not a good idea.” After a moment when they swayed along in silence, Thothmes went on, “Ishat has grown up quite beautiful, hasn’t she? There’s nothing crude about her features, no indication of her lowly roots. She looks like the daughter of some rural noble.”

“Yes, she does,” Huy agreed slowly. “I remember how shocked I was to see her for the first time after I returned home. It took me some moments to recognize her.”

There was another moment of quiet. Thothmes broke it. “She must have a suitor or two. Eager farmers’ or fishermen’s sons, perhaps.”

“Not as far as I know. Why do you ask?” Huy swivelled to face his friend. Thothmes was studying the folds of the curtain. Huy laughed. “You’re attracted to her? To Ishat? My sharp-tongued little witch?” He had been about to say “my
jealous
, sharp-tongued little witch,” but something taut in Thothmes’ body made him swallow the word.

“Well, she is gorgeous,” Thothmes replied defensively. “My father has started to throw eligible girls in my direction, the daughters of his noble friends, and some of them are very pretty, but they bore me. Their conversation is shallow and they’re too eager to please me. Father wants me married. He wants a grandson.”

“Ishat is no ordinary servant girl you can use to while away a pleasant afternoon,” Huy said more heatedly than he’d intended. Thothmes’ words had stirred up a wave of illogical possessiveness in him. “And don’t even think of offering her a position in Nakht’s house because she would embellish your father’s feasts. She’s my servant through her own choice. More than a servant, really. We’re friends.”

Thothmes held up his hands in mock defence. “All right, all right! No need to take my head off! My questions came from an idle interest. You must admit that a woman of the lower classes with her aristocratic looks is most rare. I’ll bet that somewhere in her ancestry there’s a nobleman and a pregnant serving girl.”

“I have no idea,” Huy responded stiffly. “Anyway, I pity the man who weds her. She always says exactly what she’s thinking. She can be infuriating.”

“So you have no plans to marry her?”

Huy met Thothmes’ eyes. They were kind. “I don’t know if I will ever stop loving Anuket,” he said heavily. “But even if I eventually recover from that malady, I’ve learned from painful experience that I can marry no one, Thothmes. I think I told you before. It’s something to do with my gift. The gods have withheld that pleasure from me.”

“Yes, you did tell me.” Thothmes grasped Huy’s hand. “Forgive my tactlessness, old friend. I had hoped that things had changed for you. And what of the Book of Thoth? Did you decipher it in the end? You never mention it in your letters.”

“No, I have not deciphered it,” Huy said sourly, “and I try not to think of it at all, but it comes to me in my sleep. I wish I was back at school, kicking a ball around with you and memorizing ridiculous aphorisms. The work I do is hard, Thothmes. It is wearing me out.”

Thothmes squeezed his hand and let it go. He did not reply.

When the bearers set down the litter and Huy got out, he found himself standing on a narrow sandy path that wandered away ahead of him to be lost in groves of fruit trees and thick shrubbery interspersed with tall palms. He could smell water and flowers, and he drew the odours deep into his lungs. Behind him the town lay just below the horizon in a haze of cooking smoke.
I have breathed the stench of hot lamp oil and stale beer and donkey offal for too long
, he thought fleetingly.
This is wonderful
. He turned, and the breath caught in his throat.

The royal barge,
Kha-em-Ma’at
, lay like some great gilded bird tethered to the bank of a sparkling tributary. Its wide deck was crowded with men, most of them young, leaning on a rail that glittered golden in the sunlight and watching Huy with obvious attention. The ramp leading across from the deck to the ground held four soldiers with swords drawn, dressed in blue and white kilts, the colours of royalty. The flag fluttering atop the gilded mast was also blue and white. More liveried soldiers lined the bank in front of the craft’s painted, curving side, their solemn eyes following Huy’s every move as he looked quickly for Thothmes’ support.

One of the soldiers stepped forward. He had begun to smile, and Huy, staring at him, smiled back and ran to him. “Anhur! Is it really you? I hardly recognized you under all that splendid embossed leather!”

The man bowed ostentatiously, still grinning, and, sheathing his sword, embraced Huy. “When the rumour went round about the marvellous young Seer living in the Delta, I suspected it was you,” he growled. “You’ve grown up very handsome, boy. And see!” He flung his arms wide. “Your prediction for me came true! I remember doubting it at the time, but here I am, a member of His Majesty’s Shock Troops, and going to war.” He put his mouth close to Huy’s ear. “I’m going to enjoy these battles,” he whispered. “You told me I would not be harmed, so I can concentrate on slaughtering our enemies without fear.”

“You were like a father to me during my time at the temple in Khmun,” Huy told him happily. “How were you able to leave the service of Ra at Iunu and become attached to the King’s most elite fighting force?”

“Ah, there’s a story,” Anhur began with relish, but a sharp word stopped him.

“Back to your post, soldier!”

Anhur immediately recovered his sword and strode back to his place, and Huy found himself facing a tall young man wearing a cloth-of-gold kilt. Gold chains hung in profusion on his wide chest and one encircled his brow over a short, wavy wig. A red jasper earring in the shape of a scarab swung from one lobe. His eyes were heavily kohled, his lips and palms hennaed. Huy, suddenly ashamed of his unpainted face and common ankh earring, gazed into a stern face and a pair of suspicious eyes. “Huy, son of Hapu of Hut-herib?” the authoritarian voice went on. Huy nodded. “I am Wesersatet, Commander-in-Chief of His Majesty’s forces. Follow me.” Now Huy noticed the golden supreme-commander’s arm bands gripping Wesersatet’s upper arms.

Meekly he followed the man up the ramp, between the motionless guards. As he stepped gingerly onto the deck, the quiet crowd of men made way. Huy felt their inquisitive eyes on him. He could smell them now, a mixture of exotic perfumes and expensive skin oils, and he thought briefly of his uncle Ker, who had surely supplied most of these young noblemen with both. With an effort he raised his head and looked boldly from one to another. None of them dropped his gaze. A few of them smiled at him. He wondered where Thothmes was.

As they approached the damask-hung cabin, a man came hurrying out of it and Wesersatet stood aside. Huy, who realized too late that he should have bowed to the Commander-in-Chief, was about to bow to the man approaching but checked himself in time. This was a servant, his head shaved, his blue and white ankle-length sheath bordered in gold thread, a short ceremonial staff of office in his hand. His eyes were kohled and his lips hennaed, but his palms were clean.
Not a nobleman, but an important person nonetheless
. Huy inclined his head.

“I am Men, chief steward to His Majesty. His Majesty is ready to receive you. When you enter, you must stop just inside the cabin and make a full obeisance. You must remain on the floor until His Majesty tells you to rise. At that time you may stand. You then bow with arms extended and keep your gaze fixed on your feet. Do not look at His Majesty until he tells you you may do so. Do you understand?”

Huy swallowed. “Yes.”

“And if His Majesty offers you beer or wine or a sweetmeat, you must bow both before and after accepting it. Make sure you do not touch the royal skin.”

Huy glanced up, startled. “But if I am to See for His Majesty, I must touch him! Otherwise I will receive no word from the gods!”

The listening group murmured. Men’s face twisted in distress. “Wait here,” he ordered. “I will acquaint His Majesty with this development. Really, someone should have told me this before!” He bustled into the cabin. His last comment had made him seem more human, and something of Huy’s extreme apprehension lifted.

When Men returned, he beckoned Huy forward. “His Majesty will graciously allow you to touch him. You may enter the cabin.”

Feeling as though he had been summoned by Harmose, the school’s Overseer, to receive a reprimand, Huy did as he was bid.

On the threshold he at once fell to his knees, then stretched himself full-length on the cedar floor of the small space. The wood smelled sweet. He had no idea exactly where the King was, but he had the impression that the cabin was occupied by several men, one of them seated, who had been speaking but had fallen silent when he went in. There was a pause. Then a voice said, “You may rise.” Huy scrambled up, bowed from the waist, extended his arms as he had been told, and watched the latticed squares of light and shadow from the cabin walls play across his feet. There was another, longer pause before the voice spoke again. “Lower your arms and look at me.” To his chagrin, Huy’s hands had been shaking. He let them fall and straightened, cautiously raising his eyes.

A young man sat cross-legged on a collapsible camp chair, his brawny arms folded, his gaze steady on Huy’s face. Huy stared back. He had not really known what manner of exotic creature he might see, but this ruddy, muscled creature obviously not much older than Huy himself, exuding an aura of vigorous health, took Huy aback. The King was not wearing a crown, merely a blue-and-white-striped starched linen helmet with a small golden uraeus, Wazt the Lady of Flame, rearing her flared cobra head above his brow, ready to spit poison at any who came near to harm him. His chest was naked but for a wide collar of gold and lapis tiles. His white kilt was very plain, as were his papyrus sandals. His thick fingers, however, were adorned with many rings and he sported an elaborate earring, a disc from which hung several elongated hands gripping ankhs. It took Huy a few moments to recognize the obscure symbol of the Aten, representing the rays of Ra on their way to strike the earth, where they become lions. His face paint had been immaculately applied. Huy, his trepidation fading, studied the brown, alert eyes, the broad, cleft chin, the curving cheeks flushed with colour. One corner of the orange-hennaed mouth lifted good-humouredly and the kohled eyes narrowed. “Well, Seer, what are you staring at?”