Ishat had run out onto the roof and was twirling round and round, arms outstretched, laughing. Her abandon lifted Huy’s heart.
At least I can do this for her. I hope it will prove to be sufficient compensation for my coldness
.
“You can hardly see it,” the mayor was saying, “but right where the passage seems to meet solid wall there is a stair going down to a narrow way under the deck and out into the bathhouse. Are you ready to go outside?” Huy nodded, called to Ishat, and they trooped back down the way they had come.
The bathhouse was small but well equipped. Its stone floor sloped inward to a hole for draining water away. Its walls were lined with benches on which one could lie to be shaved and oiled. A path led from the rear end of the house’s passage straight to the far wall, where the dome of a clay granary cast a bulging shadow on the gravelled ground. To the right lay the kitchen, a small mud-brick enclosure with a firepit and oven in front of it, with several servants’ cells alongside. Ishat entered it at once and came back grinning to Huy. “It already has everything—pots and flagons and spoons and knives. It’s as grand as the temple kitchen!”
Mery-neith folded his arms. “Well? Master, what do you think? Do you like it, or shall I seek some other place?”
The smile left Ishat’s face. She was looking at Huy anxiously, her eyes pleading. Huy shook his head, overcome. The house was perhaps a little less than half the size of Nakht’s home and the garden much smaller, but this estate was a gem, compact yet harmonious in its proportions. He stood listening for a moment to a silence broken only by birdsong. “I am overwhelmed by the King’s generosity,” he said at last. “This is perfect for the two of us. And I thank you also, Mery-neith, for the effort you have made on my behalf.”
“When the King speaks, one answers immediately,” the mayor replied. “So you will take the estate? Good. The deed will be in your hands within a few days. Meanwhile you can move in at once. Send me a message and I will meet you here with your servants. I am expecting your goods from the King at any time.”
Ishat threw her arms around Huy. “We will use some of the King’s gold to buy a boat,” she whispered, “and we will go fishing together, and drink wine on its deck and watch the sun set. It will be as though we are already in the Paradise of Osiris.”
Depression seized Huy.
I shall miss the noise of the street, and taking possession of this beautiful place will not mean as much to me as Ishat and I scraping together our few pitiful pieces of furniture and whitewashing our own walls. She will not have to go out and steal anything. I will not have to haul water through the town. I should be happy, as she is, but I know that moving here will not change my future or hers
. He released himself and nodded to the mayor. “We have few possessions. We will come here next week.”
But he and Ishat did not leave the street until the third week of Mekhir. Somehow there was always pressing work to be done, Methen was away visiting the High Priest of Ptah at Mennofer, so Huy could not close up their tiny house, and as usual he had forgotten that his brother Heby’s birthday fell on the twenty-first day of that month. Ishat had already decided that they would take only their personal belongings with them. “There is no reason to bring Soft-Nose in from the fields and hire a cart and exhaust ourselves loading this dreadful old stuff. Every day another curl of gilt peels off your couch. May we leave it all for the next poor tenant?”
Huy agreed reluctantly. His couch was a symbol of the decision he had made to leave Iunu and walk to Hut-herib, to work for Methen, to try to throw his fate to the winds. It did not matter that his fate could not be influenced by anything as ephemeral as the movement of air. He saw his couch, his tiny three rooms, his struggle to swallow his pride and simply learn to exist much as the priests who measured the rise and fall of the river regarded the stone markers set at intervals all along its banks; the increments shown were of vital importance to the country as a whole. Huy’s few shabby possessions meant as much to him. But to please Ishat he let it all go.
And besides
, he thought as he thrust his belongings into his two worn leather satchels,
where would we put such dilapidated things? Every room of the new house is filled with glorious furniture
.
So, on the twenty-third day of Mekhir, in the season of Peret, Huy and Ishat shouldered their bags, closed the door of their old home, said goodbye to Rahotep and the other denizens of the street, and walked away. The mayor had offered to send a litter for them, but Huy had refused. Rational or not, it had seemed imperative to him that he should leave his physical footprints in the dust of the town, making the journey as significant as the soul’s progression through the Judgment Hall. He half expected to meet with some mishap on the way, to be run over by a cart or fall into one of the canals, but the day was fine and warm, the long walk was completed without incident, and he and Ishat turned into their own garden shortly after noon.
Mery-neith was waiting for them together with a group of quiet, apprehensive-looking young men and women. After greeting Huy and Ishat, he beckoned each person forward in turn. “This is Seshemnefer, your gardener, and Khnit his wife, your cook. Kar, your gate guard and protector of your watersteps. Merenra, your chief, and so far your only, steward. He will need no training. He comes from my own household.”
Merenra bowed. “I am very pleased to be given the charge of your household, revered Master. It is a great honour for me.” Huy, looking into the grave dark eyes, decided that he would like this man and was relieved. Of all the household staff, the steward held the most responsible post.
“Ankhesenpepi, the cleaner of your house,” Mery-neith went on. “And lastly Tetiankh, your body servant, Master, and Iput, your body servant, Ishat. I have not procured a scribe for you, Master. Such a post must be filled by your choice alone.”
“Ishat is my scribe,” Huy told him. There was a polite murmur of surprise among the servants. “She alone I trust without reservation.” He turned to the assembly. “I welcome and thank you all. Merenra, you will please sort out the living arrangements and then meet with me in my office—if the King’s gifts are here, Mery-neith?”
“They are piled on the floor of the reception room. The granary has been filled. There is nothing more for me to do but wish you the blessing of the gods on your new home.” He clicked his fingers at his litter-bearers. Huy thanked him again for his trouble and watched him borne away, feeling like a child who has just been abandoned. Ishat had already disappeared inside.
Huy found her flinging open the chests that almost covered the tiles of the reception room. “Look, Huy!” she marvelled. “So much kohl, and all of it full of gold or silver dust! And can you smell the perfumes? This chest holds nothing but pieces of gold. You are rich!”
Iput was hovering. “If my mistress can find the bolts of linen the mayor said were included, I can begin to make her some very pretty sheaths,” the girl said. “I have brought sewing materials with me, and the mayor’s wife has made a gift to my mistress of a cosmetic table. It is upstairs.”
Ishat turned on one knee. “Iput—that is your name? Iput? Mine is Ishat. If you like, you can call me Ishat in private, as long as you remember to address me as Mistress when guests come to the house. Huy, look at these! Two tall lamp holders for the reception room! When you have unpacked your palette and papyrus, you must dictate a letter of thanks to the King!”
“That I will do myself,” Huy told her, but she had turned back to the growing assortment of exotic things. Ishat would need more writing practice before her script would be good enough for the eyes of the King’s scribe.
Merenra’s sharp voice rang through the house. It was answered by others, deferential and courteous. Order would appear out of this chaos, Huy reflected. Merenra would purchase a litter and hire bearers who would double as house guards. He would buy the skiff, or perhaps even a barge, that Ishat wanted so much. Every few months the King would send more gold and Merenra would lock it away in some small chest in the office, as Huy had seen Nakht’s steward do.
Thus are kings able to perform miracles of transformation with a wave of the hand. Every morning I will wake in that ornate couch upstairs to the aroma of hot bread and the voice of my body servant Tetiankh as he sets a tray beside me and goes to raise the window hanging, just as though I were staying in my room at Nakht’s house. Every evening Ishat and I will walk in the garden in the long twilight or sit on the watersteps and watch the river go hurrying by, just as Anuket would sometimes agree to do with me. The sweet, poisonous odour of my past is strong here. Is that why I am so sad?
He wandered along the passage and out into the glare of the gravelled space behind the house. Seshemnefer the gardener and his wife were hurrying towards one of the servants’ small cells, leather satchels very like Huy’s own slung over their shoulders. They were talking to one another, excitement in their voices, but Huy could not make out what they were saying.
I suppose all the servants are thrilled to be working in the home of the famous Seer
, he thought wryly.
They probably expect to see magic and hear the chanting of spells. They seem to have already accepted Ishat’s position as a female scribe, something most unusual. That’s a good sign. She needs much more practice, but it’s true that I trust her as I trust few others. I must tell Merenra to put that lion skin in the guest room. I don’t want to sleep with the lamplight glinting off those pointed teeth. I wonder what joke Thothmes will make about it when he comes to stay. The Rekhet can visit also, and Ramose. Heby—I would like to have Heby living with me for a while, but I dare say Father would not allow it. Oh, what is this weight of melancholy that fills me?
He re-entered the house to the sound of Ishat’s chatter and went and stood in his office. Dappled, muted sunlight filled the space. The leaves of the shrubbery rustled gently.
They sound like the leaves of the Ished Tree
, his thoughts ran on.
Atum, where am I going? Where are you taking me?
The answer came at once. Merenra entered and bowed, a scroll in his hand. “Your pardon, Master. I should have given this to your scribe, but she is busy at the moment. Shall I open it and read it to you? It was delivered by a herald who waits for your reply.” Huy nodded. The steward broke the seal and unrolled the papyrus. “‘To the Great Seer Huy son of Hapu, greetings. I propose to journey to Hut-herib in order that I may consult you regarding any events in my future the gods may be pleased to divulge. I will leave Mennofer upon hearing of your agreement from my herald. Long life and health to you. Dictated and signed by my own hand, Amunhotep, Vizier of Egypt.’” Merenra looked up. “That is all, Master. What may I tell the herald?”
Vizier of Egypt
, Huy thought, feeling a nervous sweat break out along his spine.
The King’s Deputy, and his namesake. The second most powerful man in the kingdom. Two days to Mennofer for the herald. Two days to Hut-herib for the Vizier
. He swallowed past a throat gone suddenly dry. “Tell the herald that I shall be pleased to See for the Vizier in five days’ time. And Merenra, you have five days to get this household running smoothly. The Vizier must not be insulted by lax service or poorly cooked food. Ask the gardener if he can procure fresh flowers from anywhere. Ask—”
Merenra held up a hand. “These matters need not concern you. Leave everything to me. Dismiss me so that I may speak to the herald.” Huy did so. Merenra went out just as Ishat came rushing in.
“There’s a liveried man outside and I saw Merenra go by the reception room with a scroll,” she blurted. “What is it, Huy? Is it bad news? Has the King changed his mind about us?”
“No. And it’s the sort of news I expected eventually, but not so soon. I am to See for the Vizier. This is how our life will be from now on, Ishat. Kar will keep the common people from passing through the gate unless we tell him otherwise. The King has imprisoned my gift as surely as this house imprisons my body.”
For once she did not argue with him, but her eyes lost their glow of exhilaration, and after a short hesitation she left the room.
Huy walked around the desk and slumped into the chair. Placing his arms on the desk, he stared at the distorted reflection of his fingers on its highly polished surface.
King’s man. Huy son of Hapu, you are now the King’s man, and your true destiny is about to be fulfilled
. He sat without moving for a long time.