The Twice Born (59 page)

“It was difficult to disperse the crowd from the temple,” she said after a while. “The people did not want to go. They grumbled. They would have waited for you to come back if Methen hadn’t appeared and shouted at them. Some of them came here, to the house, after I returned. I did not feel safe, Huy. We must find a house that can be properly guarded.”

On impulse Huy reached for one of her hands, drew it forward, and kissed the callused palm. “I know. The last thing I desire is to put you in danger, but Ishat, we’re very poor. What can I do?”

She exhaled so gustily that her breath warmed his scalp. “Let’s see what happens when the King comes home victorious as you have predicted that he will. Perhaps his gratitude will extend beyond a ready supply of poppy.”

“Perhaps.” Huy bit into the last honeyed fig. “In the meantime I must go on healing the needy. Gods, Ishat, I’m eighteen years old and I’m living the life of the middle-aged! I have a longing to play.”

“At what?”

“I don’t know. Just play. Don’t braid my hair again. My head will stop aching sooner if it’s loose. Will you take the afternoon sleep?”

She laid the comb on the table. “Yes. And this evening we will dine with your friend and pretend that our life is as comfortable as his.”

Huy left the table. “I think he’s attracted to you, Ishat. How does it feel, to be desired by a nobleman?”

She gave him a sardonic look. “Is the lust of a nobleman somehow different from the lust of a farmer?”

“I said desire, not lust. Surely desire is less crude.”

“Ah! So that is the difference? Farmers lust but noblemen desire?” Then she laughed and, going up to him, hugged him warmly. “I like him very much, your old friend Thothmes. He treats me as an equal. No doubt he was raised to be kind to everyone. Sleep well, my dearest brother.”

She vanished into her room, leaving Huy to make his way thankfully to his own sagging couch. He had intended to examine the events of the morning, and thinking of Anhur made him smile, but the poppy had done its work well and he fell into a healing sleep with the King’s face fixed on his mind’s eye.

19

 
THOTHMES’ LITTER CAME
for them at dusk. Huy wore the same kilt he had discarded before the afternoon sleep, but after she woke Ishat laid out her two spare sheaths and the sandals Huy had got for her, fingered them uncertainly, stared at them, then uncharacteristically burst into tears. Huy had been braiding his hair. Hearing her sobs, he hurried into her room. He could not remember ever seeing her weep, and he stood helplessly just inside the doorway. “Ishat, whatever is wrong? Are you ill?”

She turned towards him, not trying to hide her ravaged face, and gestured at her cot. “I have never been anyone’s guest before!” she wailed. “Always I have done the serving. Now I go to sit on a nobleman’s barge and have his underlings attend to my needs, and they will be polite and dutiful—but I know what they will be thinking!”

Huy was genuinely puzzled. “Ishat, what are you talking about? You will be with a friend, someone you know. I’m glad that for once you’ll be treated as a guest.”

“But I will look like a servant, Huy! I have no pretty linen to wear, only my coarse old working sheaths! I have no jewellery, nothing for my hair. I do not even have my lobes pierced! They will know I am an imposter!”

Huy’s heart went out to her. Such a consideration had entirely escaped him. Going up to her, he tried to take her in his arms, but she pulled away from him, her body rigid. “Don’t try to comfort me!” she flared. “My place is standing behind you with the other retainers tonight as you eat and drink, seeing to your needs, filling your cup. Thothmes has only invited me to act as your equal out of kindness.”

“Not so. I know him as well as I know you. If Thothmes thought of you as a servant, he would not have treated you with familiarity or included you in his invitation to dine. As for his servants, what do they matter? You have never cared what people’s opinion of you might be.”

“But this is different!” She tugged at her tousled hair then held out her hands. “No oil to spare for my hair! No time to soften my hands even if I had any lotions! I cannot even pretend to be a noblewoman playing at humility!”

At last Huy understood. Ishat did not care what the servants thought of her, but she cared very much for Thothmes’ opinion. Her customary nerve had failed her. Huy thought for a moment then decided to be frank. “Thothmes has seen you exactly as you are,” he said severely. “He remarked to me on your beauty—just as you are, Ishat! Do you think you can increase his respect for you by trying to look like something you are not? We can spare some lamp oil for your hair. I have a little perfume left in my chest to add to it. Your sheaths are clean and we can wash your sandals. Hold up your head and be as gracious and proud as you know how before Thothmes’ servants.”

“It’s all right for you,” she said sulkily, already calmer. “You spent years being cared for by them, every time you stayed with Thothmes’ father and the rest of his family. Can’t you see that I’m afraid of looking like a fool?”

Now Huy laughed. “My dearest Ishat! One sharp word from you will put them in their place. Besides, what am I? Nothing but a peasant who learned the habits of the aristocracy through an accident of fate. Make up your mind to enjoy yourself. Savour the wine. Eat your fill. You deserve some pampering.”

For answer, she pulled one of the sheaths reluctantly towards her and shook it. “At least it fits me. Huy, will you do my hair?”

So while she sat quietly on a stool, Huy took a little oil in his palm, added a few precious drops of his jasmine perfume, and worked the mixture thoroughly into her thick black tresses until they lay tamed and gleaming below her shoulders. Then, slowly and carefully, for he had not done such a thing before, he added water to his kohl powder and outlined her eyes. The effect was startling. When she rose and turned to face him, clad only in her simple sheath, her arms and neck unadorned, her eyes huge and lustrous with kohl, she had a pure regality about her that gave Huy a pang of the unfamiliar. “You look like an ancient queen,” he said, and meant it.

She smiled. “Thank you, Huy. Now I shall sit outside so that all the commoners on the street can pay me homage.”

She had never ridden in a litter before, and exclaimed over the comfort of the cushions, the luxury of curtains to draw, the rhythmic movement of the bearers, with a wholly childlike enthusiasm that made Huy feel decidedly avuncular. Thothmes had moored his barge a short way to the south of the town in a sandy cove surrounded by palms. One of Nakht’s household guards stood at the foot of the ramp. Huy recognized him and greeted him cheerfully. He bowed first to Huy and then to a flustered Ishat, whose eyes were on the curve of gaily painted planking and the flag flying the colours of Nakht’s sepat above the gilded prow. Huy felt as though he was coming home.

Memories assailed him as he ushered Ishat up the ramp towards the men waiting on the deck. Anuket dancing for the drunken throng during a Hapi festival, wreaths of flowers to fling into the river held loosely in her graceful little hands. Nasha lolling under a canopy in the shade cast by the cabin, fanning herself and smiling lazily, a teasing word for her brother on her hennaed lips as he laid aside his throwing stick and reached for the beer. Nakht himself with his wife beside him, holding out a hand of greeting as Huy ran up the ramp towards them clutching his leather bag for an overnight river journey to see the newborn hippopotami in the marshes.
How much I have lost
, he thought with a wash of grief.
How cruel the past is, bringing to mind the memories that hurt and cannot be changed, the fruitless stumble into the agony of what-ifs, the awareness of time as a murderer, killing all hope, locking every door behind me as time carries me where I do not want to go
.

Thothmes bowed to Ishat and took her hand. “You look very beautiful this evening,” he said to her gravely. “This is my steward, Ptahhotep, my captain, Seneb, and my servant, Ibi. Ibi will be seeing to your needs tonight.” Ptahhotep and Seneb inclined their heads, but Ibi bowed low.
Thank you, Thothmes. You divined Ishat’s insecurity before I did
. Huy greeted all three men as the old acquaintances they were.

“We have all heard of your fame at Iunu, Master Huy,” Ptahhotep commented as the group moved towards the scattering of cushions and flower-strewn low tables set up between the cabin and the stern. “I congratulate you on the favour of the gods.”

Huy grinned at him ruefully. “Thank you, Ptahhotep, but sometimes the favour of the gods seems more like a punishment.”

“Or a judgment for past crimes,” Thothmes put in. “Ishat, sit here on my left. Huy, you are facing me. Seneb, you may get about your business.” The captain sketched a bow and strode back down the ramp. “The sailors will light a fire presently onshore and cook their soup and fish and probably get drunk,” Thothmes went on. “I intend to stay rocking in this cozy little bay for a few more days. Ishat, if Huy doesn’t need you, I’d like you to show me the town.”

Ibi was already bending over Ishat’s shoulder, a goblet in his hand. Ptahhotep had disappeared towards the prow. Ishat reached for the goblet. Her hand was trembling, but when she spoke her voice was even. “There’s not much to see, noble one. Just narrow streets and a few dusty shrines and the markets …” Ibi was bending over her again, balancing the wine jug in both hands and waiting for Ishat to lift her cup. Sensing him, she did so. She was breathing fast, and as soon as the cup was full she drank thirstily.

Thothmes suddenly took it from her, set it at her knee, and took both her hands in his. She tried to pull them away, but he held her fast. “Ishat,” he said softly, “I am insulted that you should address me with such formality. Did you not call me by my name when we laughed together in your house? Have I offended you since then? This small feast is to honour you as well as our friend Huy. I shall feel that I have failed in hospitality if you do not enjoy yourself.”

Huy watched in astonishment. In spite of his light words to Thothmes regarding Ishat, and to Ishat regarding Thothmes, he had thought little of their ease with one another. But now he sensed something almost tangible passing between them that shut him out.
Thothmes is falling in love with her
, he told himself, not sure whether to be outraged or amazed.
Oh gods, how full of irony is your will for us!

Ishat looked down at her lap. “I’m sorry, Thothmes,” she said with a meekness Huy had never seen in her before. “I am very nervous to be here on your barge. Of course I would like to show you the town, if Huy agrees. Some of the markets can be fun.”

“Good.” Thothmes released her.

Huy was sure that she would pick up her wine at once, but instead she placed her hands one on top of the other on her thigh. A brilliant smile lit her face. “But we must use your wonderful litter. Otherwise we will end up filthy and your sandals will be ruined.” Ptahhotep and Ibi were approaching carrying steaming trays loaded with food. Ishat carefully picked the flowers off her table and laid them on the carpeted deck beside her. She pointed to the dishes from which she wanted to eat while Ibi held the tray down to her, and once she had been served she began to eat. She had recovered her aplomb.

Evening slid into full night. On the beach the sailors’ fire sent orange sparks into the black velvet sky, fitfully illuminating the ragged semicircle of palms quivering in the warm breeze. The tables were removed, more cushions were brought, and Thothmes and Huy began to reminisce. Both were aware of Ishat, lying back on one elbow and listening to them. It seemed to Huy that, although Thothmes was speaking to him, he was playing to her, an audience of one, his gestures broader and more graceful than usual, his laughter more ready, his voice more animated.
Am I going to lose her?
Huy wondered as his mouth made words for his friend.
I will not allow her to be anyone else’s servant—but what if Thothmes has something greater in mind for her?
All at once he remembered what he had quite inadvertently seen of her future: Ishat in jewels and perfume, her face painted, an Ishat in the full power and beauty of maturity. “We,” she had said in the vision. “We were not expecting you today.”

“Wake up, Huy!” Thothmes was saying. “Didn’t you hear me? I said that at last I’d managed to bring down a duck with my throwing stick. You should have heard Nasha shriek! Unfortunately, the bird wasn’t even wounded, just knocked off balance, and after a minute or two lying in the reeds it recovered and flew away. You should be laughing!”

“I like to eat duck, but the thought of killing one is rather horrible.” The voice was Ishat’s, flowing out of the dimness just beyond the glow of the lamps Ptahhotep had lit.

Thothmes turned to her eagerly. “Is it? I feel that way also. I’ve never been much of a hunter, although I’ve accompanied the King a few times. He loves the sport and he’s very good at it. Ducks, lions, gazelles—he pulls on that enormous bow of his and his arrows can fly out of sight. I pity his enemies in Rethennu.”

Huy yawned and got up. “I have drunk too much of your good wine, Thothmes. And my encounter with the King was very taxing. I’d like to spend the whole night talking over old times, but I simply must seek my couch. Otherwise I shall fall asleep right here.”

Ishat’s face fell. She began to scramble to her feet.

“Huy, will you allow Ishat to stay aboard a little longer?” Thothmes asked. “You and I have rather rudely spent the evening dwelling on ourselves. I want to remedy our bad manners!”

“Of course she can remain with you if she wants to,” Huy said, trying to keep the reluctance out of his voice. He knew that it was selfish of him, but the thought of the two of them drawing closer to each other after he had gone, reclining face to face on the soft cushions, sharing a growing familiarity under the subtle influence of the gentle night breeze, made him afraid. “Would you like to stay on for a while, Ishat?” he said, without much hope.

She nodded and sank back. “Thank you, Huy, that would be wonderful.” She smiled. “I’m not tired. I want to go on being treated like a queen!”

“I’ll make sure she gets home safely,” Thothmes said. He rose and shouted an order to the men sprawled around the dying fire on the bank. Ptahhotep and Ibi carried the litter down the ramp. Thothmes embraced Huy. “We will have more time together before I must leave. Both of you must dine with me again tomorrow night. I have plenty of provisions.” He grinned ruefully. “I think Father hoped I would accompany the King into Rethennu, but I have no wish to be under the royal eye for too long. Sleep well, dear Huy. You triumphed today.”

Huy’s street was dark and deserted by the time he dismissed the litter. Even the beer house had closed. His home was cold and smelled unpleasantly of old lamp oil and stale fish. Suddenly he was exhausted. He felt depleted, as though some force had sucked the energy from his body, so that just removing his kilt and his sandals required an effort. Lying down on his couch, he pulled the blanket up over his shoulders. His sheets felt chilly against his skin. He drew up his knees for warmth and closed his eyes.
I’m lonely. That’s what’s wrong. I have missed Thothmes more than I knew. Seeing him again has opened a wound in me, and the suspicion that Ishat may leave me is rubbing natron salt into it
. He fell into unconsciousness with disagreeable speed, and his dreams were jumbled.