12

ON THE FIFTEENTH DAY OF PHAMENOTH, the third month in the season of Peret, Tiye gave birth to a healthy son. When her labour began, all work in the palace ground to a halt. The nobles and officials gathered outside her thick double doors, their servants laden with food and drink, cosmetics, stools, and board games to keep their masters fed and occupied. The corridors leading to the women’s apartments became choked and noisy as the hours passed. Huy, after inquiring of Chief Steward Userhet regarding the Empress’s progress and leaving one of his servants to keep him abreast of the news, intended to escape to the tiny apartment where he sometimes stayed if the pressure of his work became too urgent. He did not get far. A royal herald accosted him as he, Paneb, Kenofer, and Perti were hurrying away from the passage leading to the royal quarters.

“His Majesty asks that you join him in his private suite,” the man said, bowing. “He wishes you to be close by when the birth of his son is announced.”

For answer, Huy nodded and turned reluctantly towards Amunhotep’s rooms. They were almost adjacent to Tiye’s, and a few steps brought him to the wide double doors now standing open. Through them came a thin haze of incense smoke and the subdued murmur of several voices. The guards saluted Huy, and one of the King’s under stewards rose from his stool and reverenced him, hands on his linen-covered knees and back bent. Gesturing to Perti to remain outside, Huy entered the spacious area beyond. As soon as he was noticed, a silence fell. Huy briefly scanned the lowered heads. Ptahhotep, High Priest of Amun, Steward of Amun, Overseer of the Priests of Upper and Lower Egypt, was arrayed in full regalia, the leopard skin draped over one shoulder and secured to his waist by the thin links of a golden chain. Not only Fanbearer on the King’s Left Hand, he was soon to be appointed Mayor of Weset. Huy had amassed a comprehensive secret file on Ptahhotep. He liked the man, but that did not prevent him from listening carefully to the reports of his spies. Ptahhotep held a long censer and beside him an acolyte carried the box containing the pellets of frankincense.

Chief Treasurer Sobekhmose, son of the previous Treasurer Nakht-sobek, stood by the open doors to the King’s garden, an intermittent breeze stirring his immaculate linen, and with a spurt of pleasure Huy recognized his favourite nephew, Ramose, limned in the glare of sunlight beyond. Ramose, Treasury scribe and steward in the Mansion of the Aten at Iunu, Huy thought briefly, warmly. Twenty-five years old, and your half-brother thirty-four. You miss Heby as much as I do, don’t you? Does Amunhotep-Huy also honour his father’s memory? As if the unspoken words had conjured up the man, Huy’s travelling gaze met the unmistakable shape of his older nephew’s shaved skull, and paused. Even in an attitude of veneration, Amunhotep-Huy’s posture managed to convey the antipathy he had always felt towards his uncle. For the thousandth time Huy wondered why Mutemwia had insisted on making Amunhotep-Huy a Vizier, although it was true that Amunhotep-Huy was punctilious, even overly so, when conducting the land transactions that were a part of his responsibilities. Was it perhaps a matter of keeping a volatile personality close by while making sure to include him in the favours she bestowed on all the members of my family? Why make an enemy when you can create a loyal subject?

With a terse word, Huy released the company from their obeisance and moved farther into the crowd. Quiet conversations began again. Stepping into the respectful space surrounding the King and his mother, Huy bowed deeply. The Queen’s perfume, the combination of lotus, narcissus, and henna essences in satke oil she had worn through all the years he had known her, made him feel immediately comfortable, and he smiled at her while waiting for her to speak first, as was the custom. Mutemwia was now in her middle forties, but unlike the majority of women of her age, her body remained naturally slim and her gestures as artlessly graceful as ever. The henna dye with which she disguised her increasingly grey hair gave it a reddish-orange tinge, and her cosmetician now widened the sweep of kohl around her dark eyes to hide the spreading wrinkles, but she continued to choose the simple jewellery and unadorned linen sheaths she preferred. In spite of the encroachment of the years, Huy noted as both she and the King bade him stand upright, her intellect was as sharp as ever. Generally, she and the Empress both agreed with Huy’s decisions regarding foreign and domestic policy. Both took a keen interest in all aspects of the country’s affairs. But when they disagreed, their arguments could be loud and heated, although they knew perfectly well that ultimate authority rested with Huy.

Mutemwia returned Huy’s smile. “I have such faith in your prediction for this birth that I’ve sent Chief Herald Senu north to Prince Thothmes in Mennofer with the news that he will soon have a brother. Indeed, I suppose by the time he arrives, the baby will already be sleeping in his crib.” She snapped her fingers. “Ameni, bring the Seer a goblet of wine. We shall drink to the wisdom of Ma’at!”

Huy took the cup Mutemwia’s chief steward offered and raised it, drinking solemnly and catching the King’s eye over its rim.

Amunhotep grinned. “I thank all the gods for this son. If Tiye gave birth to yet another girl, we’d all be hiding from her rage. I’m waiting for word from Nubti that my new son has produced his first cry. Dear Uncle Huy, what reward can I possibly give to the man who already has everything?”

Briefly his arm went around Huy’s shoulders before he turned to give his attention to the Empress’s father, and he and Yuya began to discuss the latest addition to the royal stables. Huy lost interest. Mutemwia was softly joining Ptahhotep’s chant as a fresh billow of incense smoke hazed the room. Huy was about to sidle towards the open doors and escape when he felt a hand on his arm. His nephew Ramose, with Anen beside him, bowed.

“I haven’t seen you since my father’s funeral, Uncle,” Ramose began. “I’ve been busy in the Aten’s temple at Iunu. I wish the Queen would relieve me of that stewardship and move me closer to you and Anen at Ipu. The reports I send her have been boring and repetitive so far. But I thoroughly enjoy your letters.”

Huy reverenced Tiye’s younger brother, thinking as he did so how vital and alive these two friends were. Anen had inherited his father’s blue eyes and the reddish sheen to his hair along with the good looks the Empress lacked. He was also free of her quick temper.

“I trust you are well and your enterprises are prospering, mer kat,” Anen said politely, and Huy was free to answer.

“All is as it should be, Prince, and I’m sure that the district of Ipu flourishes under your hand. I saw your brother in the corridor outside the women’s quarters. He seemed preoccupied.”

“Ay’s wife is pregnant and unwell,” Anen told him. “She would request a Seeing from you, but she fears the result. Ay is worried.”

“My amiable half-brother will also become a father again next year,” Ramose put in dryly. “Naming his existing son Ay against the advice of the priests was a crude attempt to curry favour with your family, Anen. Honestly, Uncle, I’ve done my best to remain close to him. Father would have wanted it. But to my shame, I make most of my visits to his estate while he’s away on the tours of the Vizierate. I like Henut-nofret and I admire her loyalty to him.”

“You’re talking about me, Ramose.” Huy’s elder nephew had come up behind him, obliging Huy to step aside. Amunhotep-Huy carried with him a strong cloud of jasmine perfume. He bowed deeply to Anen. Huy’s head began to pound at once as he unwillingly inhaled an aroma he hated.

“We were speaking of your good fortune in anticipating the birth of another child,” Anen half lied. “You must be very pleased, Vizier.”

“I am, Prince,” Amunhotep-Huy agreed curtly, shooting a suspicious glance at his brother’s face. “My son Ay is already able to crawl, and shows a growing intelligence. His grandfather Nebenkempt, Commander of His Majesty’s Naval Troops, comes often to my house to play with him.”

Huy sighed inwardly. Nebenkempt was one of his close friends, and both men knew that it was only the Naval Commander’s rank and the King’s favour that prevented Amunhotep-Huy from treating his wife as roughly as he treated his servants.

“I hear that the King was so delighted with your work on the temple of Ptah at Mennofer, he allowed you to erect a statue of yourself next to his, within the sacred precincts,” Ramose said warmly and also, Huy reflected, with a moment of guilt.

Amunhotep-Huy’s chin rose. “Not only does my likeness stand beside His Majesty’s, but the meals set before that of His Majesty are placed respectfully at my feet by a we’eb priest when the divine force of royalty has taken its fill,” he said proudly. “Ptah’s worshippers give obeisance to the King as they gather in the outer court. They reverence me also.” And I deserve their veneration, his tone implied.

“An honour indeed.” Prince Anen nodded. “Apparently your glorification of Ptah’s holy house exceeded even the King’s expectations.” He turned to Ramose. “Let’s find Userhet and inquire how my sister is faring and then get something to eat. I’m very hungry.”

Immediately Huy and his older nephew bowed. Ramose hugged Huy and gave his brother a quick smile, and the two friends moved into the throng. Huy supposed that Amunhotep-Huy would swiftly melt away also, but glancing at him, Huy saw that he was frowning and chewing his lip.

“There’s something Ptah’s High Priest asked me to tell you, something he thought you’d find interesting,” he said. “He gave me the message months ago, and he said it wasn’t important enough to send with a herald. You and I meet so seldom that I completely forgot about it, but speaking of my statue has reminded me. My statue beside a divinity,” he went on proudly. “The power of our god and King enfolds my likeness and I share in his reflected glory. Oh, this is so annoying!”

Huy watched and listened, bemused. Amunhotep-Huy folded his arms. His sandalled foot began to tap. Huy was about to suggest that he might go away and consider the matter elsewhere when Amunhotep-Huy’s brow cleared and he rolled his eyes.

“Of course! Now I remember, and it’s no wonder I forgot—such an unimportant piece of information. During the temple’s restoration, the House of Life had to be emptied, and the archivists took the opportunity to inspect every scroll and update the records. Apparently an ancient scroll was found wedged behind the much larger one that listed every High Priest of Ptah since the temple was first built. Ptahmose wants you to travel to Mennofer and inspect it. He thinks it confirms Imhotep’s term as one of Ptah’s High Priests. Imhotep’s tenure there has always been suspected but never proved. I believe that’s all. Does it have a special meaning for you, Uncle? You’ve gone pale. Here. Drink your wine.”

Stupidly, Huy looked down at the cup he still held. His hand had begun to shake. In an uncharacteristic act of kindness Amunhotep-Huy folded his own hands around Huy’s and helped him lift the goblet to his mouth. Huy gulped thirstily at the violet liquid. His throat had gone dry.

“Thank you, my nephew,” he managed. “This news is indeed of great concern to me.”

“I can’t imagine why.” Deftly Amunhotep-Huy removed the wine from Huy’s trembling grasp. “You’re the only person with permission to sit down in His Majesty’s presence. Let me find you a stool.”

But Huy was already recovering. He shook his head and smiled into the other man’s face. “I’m fine now, and I must send word to Ptahmose at once. Take my fond greetings and congratulations to Henut-nofret regarding her latest pregnancy. I would like to visit both of you soon. Thank you again for your care of me, Amunhotep-Huy.”

Immediately the customary expression of smooth detachment fell like a mask over the man’s painted features. “The well-being of the mer kat is essential to us all,” he replied evenly. “Just send to me when you would like to grace our home.” He bowed perfunctorily and was soon lost to view in the crowded space.

Affection, pity, and annoyance warred briefly in Huy and then were swept away on a wave of sheer excitement. A hidden scroll had emerged from the darkness of uncounted hentis, a scroll regarding the man who was now worshipped as a god. Regarding? Is it too much to hope that the hieroglyphs on the ancient papyrus were painted by the great Imhotep himself? Are they even legible after so long? And, oh gods, are they the key to the puzzle of the Book of Thoth? The final entry I’ve always suspected to be missing?

Huy began to weave his way purposefully towards where the King now sat, Seal Bearer and Chief Scribe Nebmerut on the floor beside his chair, intending to ask Amunhotep’s consent to leave, but there was a sudden commotion by the doors and a path magically appeared for Chief Steward Nubti. Amunhotep sprang to his feet.

“Majesty, you have been blessed with a son,” Nubti announced. “The Empress begs for your company.”

Amunhotep gestured peremptorily to Huy and, without waiting for an answering bow, hurried through the doors and into the passage beyond. Tense with frustration, Huy followed. How many hentis had that scroll lain in dust and darkness before being pulled into the dimness of the temple’s House of Life?

The doors to Tiye’s apartments opened briefly and the King, his scribe Mahu, Mutemwia, and Chief Steward Nubti, together with Royal Seal Bearer Nebmerut, disappeared inside. Huy, bringing up the rear, caught a brief glimpse of Tiye’s mother, the Lady Thuyu, dishevelled and obviously preoccupied, performing her obeisance before the doors closed again. An expectant silence had fallen among the aristocrats and their various servants waiting outside. They drew away from Huy as he found a place by the wall. Coolly, Kenofer reached behind one of them, picked up his stool, and set it down for Huy, who sank onto it gratefully. He had no idea how long he would have to wait before as mer kat he would be commanded to inspect the little Prince and sign his name over Nebmerut’s seal, beside those of the hereditary lords required to attest to the royal arrival. Fortunately I won’t be asked to See for the baby at once, he thought, his eyes on Perti’s sturdy spine where the soldier had taken up his station in front of him. I have a day or two in which to compose myself. I have a strong inkling of what Anubis will show me, and how will I summon up the courage to approach Tiye and Amunhotep with the truth? After a while a subdued conversation resumed around Huy, but he did not hear it.

The sun was about to set and a gloom was creeping into the crowded corridor by the time the doors were again flung open and the aging but still imposing figure of Chief Herald Maaninekhtef appeared, flanked by Chief Harem Steward Userhet and Seal Bearer Nebmerut. “The Queen and Empress Tiye, beloved of Mut, divine wife of Amunhotep hek-Weset, Neb-Ma’at-Ra, Ka-nakht kha-em-Ma’at, Great of Strength, Smiter of the Vile Asiatics, has been delivered of a son.” Maani-nekhtef’s clear tones rolled over the weary throng. “Let Egypt rejoice! Let her citizens bring offerings of thanksgiving to mighty Amun, father of our King! Approach, noble ones, and recognize your Prince! Do homage to him, and set your illustrious names upon the scroll of legitimization!”

The men surged past him. Huy followed more slowly. As the pre-eminent power under Pharaoh, it was his right to be the first to acknowledge the baby and sign the scroll, but he walked through the spacious antechamber and into Tiye’s sleeping room reluctantly. The air was hazed and fragrant with the incense still wisping from the cup set at the feet of Bes, fat-bellied dwarf god of fertility and safe childbirth, who was grinning complacently through the smoke. The birthing stool had already been removed, and Tiye lay propped up on her couch, the baby in her arms, her women around her, and a beaming Amunhotep beside her. Huy bowed respectfully to her mother Thuyu, who gave him a frosty nod in response. Thuyu had never warmed to the man she saw as a usurper of her husband Yuya’s place at the King’s side. Long ago Huy had given up trying to win her over. Tiye’s body servant Heria had obviously just finished washing her mistress and was reaching for a comb on the littered bedside table. Anhirkawi, Tiye’s scribe, cross-legged on the mat by the couch, was opening his palette. Huy sensed relief in the purposeful activity around him.

Seeing him, Tiye waved him forward while the cream of Egypt’s nobility waited impatiently behind Commander-in-Chief Wesersatet’s unspoken warning. Huy knelt at Tiye’s elbow, and after kissing her hand he glanced at the boy. Red, wrinkled, and hairless, the tiny being was asleep. Bundled in spotless linen as he was, Huy could see little but his head.

“Don’t touch him, not yet,” Tiye said. “He already has the protection of onions dipped in honey tied around his waist, and as soon as you predicted a son for me I commissioned an amulet from a lector-sau at Amun’s temple to place on his wrist. I want you to See for him before the seventh day when the seven Hathors come to predict his fate. Their pronouncements will be unimportant, because you will See everything, Huy.” She winced as Heria found a knot in her tousled red hair, then smiled up at her husband. “I know you’re eager to send out the heralds. Give Egypt a few days of holiday in honour of your second Prince.”

Amunhotep bent and took her head, pressing it tightly against his gold-hung chest and then carefully smoothing his son’s tiny brow. “I adore you for this amazing accomplishment, my Tiye,” he exclaimed. “Rest now, and enjoy your triumph.” He strode away, pride and confidence in every step. The assembled mass knelt as he passed. The doors slammed shut.

Tiye waved Heria away. “Bring me a small dose of poppy,” she ordered. “I ache and I’m sore.” When the servant had gone, Tiye put her face close to Huy’s. “Last night Amunhotep dreamed that a serpent had slithered into his beer,” she murmured. “It’s a good omen, as you know. It means that his heart will overflow with happiness. But I dreamed that I was drinking beer, gulping it down with a terrible thirst that would not abate. Suffering will come upon me, Huy, terrible distress going on and on. You have the ear of the gods. How may I avert this thing?”

Huy thought quickly. “There’s no suffering as acute as the pains of childbirth, Majesty,” he said, matching her quiet tone, “and more often than not it increases in intensity and seems endless. Don’t fret over this dream. Suffering has already come upon you and continued for many hours. The meaning of the dream is true, and has been fulfilled, and is gone.”

Her expression cleared. “Of course. How wise you are! Now please, mer kat, after you set your name to Nebmerut’s scroll, have that ghastly statue of Bes removed. I didn’t want him here in the first place, but my ladies were insistent. I’ve endured his fat belly and the tongue hanging out of his grinning mouth for long enough. Let Hathor preside over our dancing and merrymaking instead, and drive away the evil spirits!” All at once she yawned. “As soon as the rest of them have done their duty, I shall take my poppy, hand over my miraculous Prince to his wet nurse, and sleep for a very long time.” Planting a kiss on his cheek, she dismissed him, and he rose gratefully to his feet and moved away from the couch.

His first look at the child had filled him with a sense of foreboding that stayed with him as he gave orders for Bes’s removal, gathered up his entourage, and sought the privacy of his litter. Full night had now fallen. The stars were clear in a velvety black sky and the air was pleasantly warm. Weset’s inhabitants were still wandering about the streets. The combined noise of their thousands followed Huy as he left the palace precincts and turned south towards his house, the litter-bearers carrying him through the city’s outskirts and beyond, to the guarded poppy fields. As usual his escort was challenged. As usual Perti answered curtly, and before long Huy was walking into the blessed familiarity of his vast reception hall. Paroi met him with a lamp and accompanied him to the communal room that lay between his bedchamber and Nasha’s apartment, offering him food and drink before leaving him to settle into the plain cedar armchair with its matching footstool he most preferred. He dismissed Paneb, and Kenofer took up his post within earshot by the door.

Nasha looked across at Huy and smiled. “You’re back early,” she commented. “So was I. Nebetta’s party bored me. She should restrict the use of her skills to her official profession as a singer in Isis’s temple. Catching up on the news is difficult when one must listen politely to yet another ode devoted to His Majesty’s glory and composed by the singer herself.” Swilling her wine, she drained it, licked her lips, and set the cup back on the table between them.

It had been several years since she had fingered her burgeoning girth, gazed with distaste at the faint spidering of broken veins across her cheeks, and regretfully decided to restrict the amount of wine she drank. Two cups at social gatherings and only one each evening when she was forced to stay at home were all she allowed herself. Huy, remembering Anuket’s disastrous addiction to wine, had admired Nasha’s self-discipline. Her waistline had slowly shrunk. The veins in her face had been replaced by a myriad of delicate laugh lines around her eyes and of smiles around her generous mouth. She was now sixty-six, and as full of acerbic wit as ever. She had never curbed her tongue when confronted by the babble of a fool, and expressed herself with such a consistently intuitive perception that Huy had come to rely on her as a trusted intimate. She had never reminded him of her sister Anuket, Huy’s great love, but often her walk and gestures brought Thothmes, her brother, to mind.

“Egypt has another Prince, Nasha.” Huy broke the small silence that had fallen. “The astrologer-lectors will decide whether this evening was a lucky third to the day and therefore auspicious for the baby or not. I think they’ll choose to call him Amunhotep after his father and grandfather.”

“His birth is no surprise,” Nasha commented. “You forecast it months ago. But it troubles you, Huy, and you won’t tell me why.” She shot him a shrewd glance. “You often find comfort in unburdening yourself of the weight of government, and I hold many of your secrets. This child has haunted you from the time he was conceived. There’s something dark in his future, isn’t there?”

“Yes.” Huy hooked one foot under the stool, pulled it towards him, and lifted both feet onto it. “Atum has not yet shown me exactly what it is, but in some way it concerns the fate of Egypt herself.” He watched the play of lamplight glide across the moonstones on the thongs of his sandals. “The less you know, dear Nasha, the safer you will be if Wesersatet comes to question you.”

“Huy!” She reached for her cup, remembered that it was empty, and crossed her arms over her breasts in an involuntary gesture of self-protection. “You make it sound as though you are contemplating something reckless that will bring danger to us here! You are mer kat! You can do anything without fear of retribution. Your word is law. You are not accountable for any deed other than blasphemy against the gods or the King.” Her grip on herself loosened. “Egypt is under the shelter of both, as long as her citizens honour the laws of Ma’at. I’ve known you almost all my life. There’s no one in this blessed country more honest than you, or less likely to violate Ma’at’s statutes. So what on earth are you talking about?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure.” He leaned back and signalled to Kenofer. “Find out from Paroi whether Rakhaka has stored any lotus petals steeped in red wine, and if he has, bring us enough for one cup each,” he ordered. His attention returned to Nasha. “Break your rule for once,” he said wryly. “The infusion of lotus will make us both very happy.”

Her kohled eyebrows rose. “Your permission is my excuse, mer kat, but pouring good wine down your throat is a waste.”

“The wine’s a waste, but the wine-soaked lotus petals are not. Added to my nightly dose of poppy, they might give me a sound sleep for once.”

Paroi, Huy’s under steward, had obviously been preparing for bed when Kenofer approached him. With freshly cleansed face and bare feet, he served them himself before padding back to his own quarters. Huy and Nasha sat on, talking with the ease of long aquaintance. Both avoided the subject of Egypt’s baby Prince. By the time Nasha stuck a finger into her goblet and tried to extract the limp and saturated lotus petals remaining, she was giggling at nothing. Huy, mildly stimulated, took it firmly from her. “If you suck them, they’ll be bitter,” he told her. “Go to bed, Nasha, and get a massage in the morning. You’ll need it.”

Obediently she gathered up the folds of her yellow sheath, kissed him on the cheek, and unsteadily made her way across the shadowed room. Her door opened and closed behind her. Huy was alone. Getting up, he retraced his steps through the house, and emerging into his garden he walked a short way across the grass. The sod was damp through the labour of his gardeners. The noise of the city had been reduced to a constant drone. If he listened carefully Huy could separate the various sources of the sound, but he had no interest in the daily life of Weset, or in its nightly pursuits either.

He lifted his face to the breeze and closed his eyes. It’s coming out of the west, Isis’s wind, flowing over the City of the Dead, stirring the growth on the banks of the river and finding me here in the safety of my own domain. Isis, faithful wife, loving mother, surely there is pity in your tender heart for me, for my young King, for the tiny scrap of irreplaceable life just born! In the deeper darkness of his high defensive wall a guard coughed briefly, and with a sigh Huy swung back into the house. There are six days left before the seven Hathors make their pronouncements, and I could be summoned to See for the child on any one of them. There is no time to hurry to Mennofer and return, but I simply must travel to Ptah’s temple as soon as possible. The answer to every riddle I’ve pondered lies there—I’m sure of it. I’ll See for the Prince, but I won’t speak of the vision. Not yet. Tiye won’t understand, but the King will. The Book of Thoth comes first.

The astrologers wasted no time in proclaiming that the boy should be called Amunhotep, and long before the six days were over Huy received an official summons from the King to look into the baby’s future. Amunhotep seldom issued orders to his mer kat anymore, so Huy knew that he must obey at once. Speaking briefly to Nasha, Amunmose, and Paroi, who were discussing household affairs, he took Paneb and Perti with a contingent of soldiers and was carried to the palace.

It was the seventeenth day of Phamenoth, the morning air hot and still. Everywhere along the river, Huy knew, the farmers and their peasants would be out in the fields inspecting the barley, precious flax, emmer, and hemp for signs of ripening. Later in the season the fat purple and green grapes would be plucked, the marshes of the Delta combed of the reeds and rushes that offered a hundred uses, the clover cut yet again to make semu. Huy, tense with apprehension, allowed his imagination to feed him with memories of great piles of the plant waiting to be bound for forage, the almost unbearable gusts of fragrance the acres of his uncle’s flowers exuded as he walked past them on his way to Hut-herib, the tang of crushed mint from his mother’s herb garden. Here in the south the odours of growing things were more ephemeral, quickly thinned and then dispersed by the desert winds. I’m homesick for my youth. I want to be waiting by the orchard hedge for Ishat to appear, with our house behind me and Father away at work among Ker’s glorious perfume blooms and Mother on her knees by the tiny pool, weeding her cabbages and melons and humming to herself.

His litter had emerged from the poppy fields and onto the public path that ran beside the river and into the city. Huy pulled the curtains more tightly closed. Perti began to call the usual warning: “Make way! Make way for the King’s mer kat!” Sounds drifted past Huy—snatches of conversation, the soft thud of a donkey’s hoofs on the sandy track, the laughter of a group of children running past. I’d give all my wealth to be somewhere else in another time, to be free, his thoughts ran on. Terror is looming in the nursery of the palace, invisible evil waiting for me to give it the power of form. I know it. After my moment of cowardice before the Horus Throne and the Osiris-one, our King’s father, Atum was merciful. There would be another chance to right the wrong I had done. Today that chance will at last be offered, and I am deathly afraid of the things the god will show me, in what dreadful manner I will be required to rectify both my weakness and the conceit in which I interpreted the vision of Tiye to suit my own vanity.

He heard his escort challenged, felt his bearers step onto more solid ground, and soon he was being set down. Perti opened his curtains and held out an arm for assistance. Huy glanced up at him as he left the litter and stood straight. You refused Wesersatet’s offer of promotion within the ranks of the royal Division of Amun for my sake. You are no longer the talented young soldier in whom I placed my safety, yet you still command my guards, and now you control the vast web of spies you and I placed throughout Egypt and beyond when I first became mer kat. I am as loyal to you as you are to me, and the King sleeps more peacefully because of you.

“Mer kat? Master?” Perti said quietly, and Huy came to himself.

“Let the bearers wait under the trees,” he said. “Bring all my escort with me, Perti. By now the palace guards understand that they may not be prevented from entering. Paneb, are you ready?” His scribe nodded, and surrounded by Perti and his soldiers they crossed the broad concourse and walked between the pillars into the cool spaciousness of Pharaoh’s reception hall. Few people were about, but their reserved conversations still echoed softly against the lofty star-spangled ceiling. They knelt in homage to Huy as he passed.

It took him and his men a long time to arrive at the tall guarded doors beyond which were the women’s quarters and the nurseries. Userhet rose from his stool and bowed. “His Majesty, the Empress, and Queen Mutemwia are waiting for you, mer kat. They are in the anteroom to Prince Amunhotep’s nursery, where there are refreshments for you. I am to assure you that His Highness fed well this morning and Royal Physician Seneb has pronounced him healthy.”

Huy nodded. “Let us in, then, and announce me.”

Userhet gestured at the guards, the heavy cedar doors swung open, and Huy and Paneb passed through. Huy did not particularly like small children or the harem. Its corridors were narrower than those in the main body of the palace. Many doorways fronted their lengths, the rooms beyond them each occupied by one of the King’s concubines or one of his foreign acquisitions. Huy was familiar with most of the foreign women. They had been acquired as part of various official agreements between the Horus Throne and its vassal states or those petty kingdoms greedy for gold, linen, and papyrus and wise enough not to challenge Egypt’s superior power. The alien princesses on the whole were arrogant and demanding, noisily claiming their royal rights over the King’s native women and threatening to send letters to their relatives complaining of their treatment in Egypt. Userhet occasionally consulted with Huy over some particularly delicate situation within the harem if it might endanger an advantageous treaty. Otherwise Huy stayed away from the shrieks of children and the nattering of the adult residents.

Leaving Perti and his guards outside the door, Huy waited to be admitted. Userhet knocked, and at once Nubti opened for Huy and Paneb. Beyond, in the rather cramped anteroom, Huy bowed respectfully from the waist, arms extended in worship. Paneb performed a full prostration.

“Rise, Scribe Paneb,” the King said immediately. He was smiling. So was Tiye, her eyes expectantly on Huy, her gold-ringed fingers wound about each other on her scarlet lap. She and the King were sitting close together, a table loaded with wine and sweetmeats in front of them. Amunhotep was cradling an ornate silver cup in both hands, a previous New Year’s gift from Yuya, Huy remembered, and by the slight glazing of his dark eyes as he slumped back in his chair Huy could see that he was drunk.

Your appetite for the grape is growing, my dear Emperor, Huy thought as he approached them. I can sympathize. By making me Egypt’s ruler, you’ve left yourself nothing to do but commune with Amun in his sanctuary on behalf of this country, flaunt our wealth and strength before ambassadors and foreign dignitaries, and pursue the delights of hunting and women, in both of which you excel. Your intelligence was obvious from the first day you arrived to stay with me on my estate outside Hut-herib. So was your wilfulness. I’m sad when I see the erosion of aptitude and self-discipline in you.

He glanced at Mutemwia. She was not smiling, and her glance as it met Huy’s was sombre. Her chair had been placed a little apart from the others. She was leaning slightly away from the chair’s back, her spine straight, knees together under the drape of white linen falling to the floor. Her bare arms rested along the gilded arms of her seat, but they were not relaxed. Your unflagging determination to see your son on the Horus Throne has brought you to this day, Mutemwia, Huy’s thoughts ran on. You decided that the vision that came upon me when he reached up and grasped my finger all those years ago was your turning point, a sign from the gods on which you built an entire destiny for your son and yourself. So did I. We grew as close as possible given my peasant blood, and I came to trust your knowledge and intuition. Instinct is warning you that this Seeing will be no happier than those I reluctantly gave to the rest of the King’s children, including the Hawk-in-the-Nest, Thothmes. You sense what I know and dread. The fate of Tiye’s little Prince will be more terrible than an early death.

“Please don’t ask us to leave the room,” the King joked, still smiling. “You like to conduct the Seeings in privacy, with your scribe beside you, but I beg you, my Uncle, let us stay! My son lies through there.” He waved towards the open doorway on Huy’s right. “Userhet will place his stool between us and the nursery, and I promise you we will not make a sound.”

Huy considered briefly. He knew that Amunhotep could make the request a command. He also knew that he himself would be obeyed if he insisted on being alone with the Prince. Amunhotep had not outgrown the early training towards compliance and respect for Huy first instilled in him. He loved and trusted his adopted uncle, and Huy loved him back. You’ve never been the problem, Emperor, he said silently. It’s the Empress who wishes to wrench the control of Egypt out of my hands.

“I’m honoured to be given the choice, Majesty,” he answered. “I shall perform the Seeing perfectly well if you wish to remain where you are. The work may be long or short, I don’t know, but I do ask for silence.”

The King gestured sharply, a servant opened the outer door and summoned Userhet, and Huy turned towards the inner room. As he did so, a wave of desperation swept over him. Poppy, he thought. Poppy poppy poppy. I hope Mutemwia has remembered that I’ll need it as soon as I’m finished.

Two women and an older man went to the floor and then rose as he and Paneb walked quietly towards the crib. Huy, in spite of the apprehension that was filling him, exclaimed in delight. “Royal Nurse Heqarneheh! It makes me happy to see you still occupying the position you held when the King was a child! You’ve aged well.”

“So have you, Great Seer.” The two men embraced briefly. “I have three sons and a noisy household of my own just outside Weset. The eldest will inherit the title of Royal Nurse when I retire and is already learning his future duties as my assistant.”

“Those in his care will be fortunate indeed if he’s anything like his father.” Huy moved regretfully away. “I would like to spend an evening reminiscing over all the months we spent together during the King’s stay at my house.”

“So would I. I remember how much he enjoyed fishing with you and Anhur. How is the captain of your guard?”

“He died. I miss him a great deal, but his replacement has many of his qualities. I must travel north soon, but when I return you will feast with me.”

The women had been watching the conversation nervously, and as Heqarneheh left the room they hurried to follow him. Userhet was already half blocking the doorway. At last Huy turned to the crib.

The baby had been so quiet Huy assumed that he was asleep, and he was shocked to bend over the crib and see two solemn eyes looking up at him between a tuft of brown hair and a swaddle of spotless linen. Most babies show excitement at the sudden appearance of an adult face above them. Their legs kick. Their arms wave. They gurgle and smile. But of course this royal offspring is too young to do more than stare up at me. He heard Paneb settle onto the floor beside him. The palette rattled softly as the scribe began to assemble his tools. Prince Amunhotep did not even blink at the sound. He continued to regard Huy impassively. Children of this age are incapable of displaying emotion, Huy thought, annoyed with himself. They sleep, they wake hungry and cry, they sleep again. I am imagining an indifference in this baby’s steady gaze. Carefully he reached in and loosened the swaddling. He felt a strange disgust as the baby moved in response to his action, a reluctance to touch the child, something he simply must do if he wanted to See for him. After a short struggle a pair of thin arms appeared, the hands impossibly tiny to Huy, the fingers delicate and beautiful. Those light brown eyes remained fixed on Huy’s face as Huy offered one of his own fingers, expecting the baby’s fist to curl around it, but with a barely heard mew Prince Amunhotep turned his head away sharply and his hands flailed. He knows, Huy thought in shock, but how can that be? How can he be afraid of me, this mindlessly animated piece of flesh? Gently but firmly Huy imprisoned the baby’s forearm, his thumb and index finger curling around it. At once the child became still.

“Are you ready, Paneb?” Huy asked, but it was not Paneb who answered.

“Paneb is ready, but clearly you are not,” the familiar voice remarked. Deep, rough to the point of hoarseness, its tones were redolent with animality. It was standing so close to Huy that he could smell its perfume, the sacred myrrh, mingling with the faint but pungent odour of its skin.

“Anubis,” he whispered. The jackal god smiled. Although he dared not turn to see the long furred snout, Huy had an instant image of sharp white fangs being bared in a semblance of mirth, and a pink tongue. A gust of kyphi incense invaded his nostrils.

“I have not had the pleasure of your company since you Saw for Tiye’s last disastrous effort to produce another boy for her husband,” Anubis said. “Poor Tiye! Empress of most of the world yet less fortunate than the servant woman with a dozen robust sons painting henna onto the soles of her feet.” The exotic timbre of his speech was rich with sarcasm. “But look, Great Seer! What is it that you are clutching? Could it be the insurance Amunhotep has prayed for?”

“He is a good King and Tiye a fine Queen,” Huy managed. “Do not make fun of their sorrow, Mouthpiece of Atum. I See for this child in obedience to them, but without hope. I love and pity them.” With a mixture of horror and a strange kind of relief Huy felt the god’s black hand come to rest on his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye he was able to glimpse the golden rings adorning each finger and a glitter of more gold from the thick bracelet encircling the sinewy wrist.

“I know you do,” Anubis said quietly. “Well actually, you love the King and Queen Mutemwia. Most of your pity, as well as your hidden anger, belongs to the Empress. She does not deserve it. You should be turning it upon yourself.” Huy’s shoulder was gripped in a sudden and painful pinch and then released. “Who knows how many healthy little princes might be causing havoc today in the women’s quarters if Amunhotep had not been persuaded to marry Tiye? You need not respond. Under your hand my beloved Egypt has prospered, and Atum is pleased. You are a talented mer kat.”

Huy had no intention of responding. He knew that there was worse to come. But Anubis fell silent. Huy could feel the god’s warm, feral breath on the back of his head. He waited.

Presently Anubis sighed. “You have been considering how the Empress’s reputation might be sullied, how the King might be persuaded to send her home to her illustrious parents and elevate one of his other wives in her place. But you already knew that you had done your work all too well. Amunhotep would not have given her a second look if you had not deliberately thrown them together at every opportunity. Now he is hers. Although his sexual appetite is becoming legendary, her fire in bed gives him more pleasure than any concubine and her frank, intelligent conversation still delights and intrigues him. He is alternately comfortable and stimulated in her presence, and she will make sure that she maintains her hold on him. In spite of your disastrous blunder in forcing them upon each other, she is a woman to admire. Besides, you fool, as long as she was pregnant with the promise of another Prince, did you imagine that any scheme of yours could pry them apart? Too late, Great Seer. Too late!” The throaty undercurrent of the god’s tone degenerated into a snarl. “This human spawn will bring Egypt to the very brink of destruction! See what you have done!” Suddenly Anubis was facing Huy, his furred lips contorted, the snarl becoming a fierce growl as he bent and thrust his black hands into the crib. Jerking the baby upward, he threw it at Huy. “Here! Take it!” he spat. “See what is coming, and tremble under the weight of your responsibility!”

Shocked and unprepared for the god’s actions, Huy let go of the Prince then managed to catch the bundle, stumbled, and would have fallen if Anubis had not seized him by one of the braids lying on his chest and pulled him upright. Huy looked down, expecting to see himself clutching the boy, but his arms were empty. He was standing in the middle of a wide paved road facing a high walkway that joined the building on his left to another on his right, at the rear of a restless crowd whose murmurs held an undercurrent of impatience. The stone flags under his feet were hot. So was the top of his head. Looking about, squinting against the glare of an unforgiving sun, he saw flags, mighty pylons, wide paved streets, the dazzling limestone walls of more buildings. Trees flourished everywhere, seeming at first to be lushly green, but as Huy tried to find something recognizable in all this magnificence he realized that the palms were drooping, their crowns thin, many of their leaves brown and brittle. It must be summer, perhaps the month of Mesore, because it’s obvious that the Inundation has not yet begun. But where am I?

He did not think that he had spoken aloud, but the man standing next to him answered. “Come up from Kush or Wawat, have you? Working under one of Pharaoh’s governors there? You must have been away from Egypt for a long time. This is Akhet-Aten, the City of the Horizon of the Aten, and that”—he pointed to a wide aperture high up on the walkway he and Huy were facing—“is the Window of Appearing. The King stops there every day as he walks between the Palace and his House with the Queen and their princesses, and lets the people see him. Often he throws down gold collars to his ministers and commanders.”

“Gold collars? You mean the Gold of Favours?”

“I suppose so.” The Gold of Favours was bestowed only rarely on those who had shown particular bravery in battle or had served the King in some exemplary way. “I wish he’d pray to Isis and beg her to cry,” the man continued, “but every petition now must be addressed to the Aten. The King has forbidden the worship of any other god.”

Confused, with a growing fear, Huy began to sweat. “What month is this? How long has it been since the last Inundation?”

The man gave him a pitying look. “The sun has obviously addled you. It’s the beginning of Paophi. Egypt should be a huge lake by now, but the flood hasn’t come. We used to dedicate nine days to Hapi the god of the river during Paophi and Athyr. Not anymore. No wonder Isis and Hapi are punishing us. It was the same last year. At least His Majesty makes sure that no one living in Akhet-Aten goes without food or beer.”

“What of the rest of Egypt? Without the water and the silt there can be no new crops, or silage for the cattle!”

The man shrugged. “Not my concern. When Pharaoh closed the temples throughout the country, he brought all the stored treasures and grains here. We’ll be fed, and eventually the flood will come again. You must have noticed the low level of the river, coming up from the south.”

Huy was speechless. The sweat of dismay as well as heat was now trickling down his spine and temples. Lifting the hem of the blue kilt in which he now found himself dressed, he wiped his face. As he did so, a roar went up from the throng. Huy followed their gaze. A group of people now filled the window. Several very young girls clad in transparent white linen and loaded with jewellery were whispering and giggling to each other, painted palms to their mouths. A very beautiful woman wearing a coned headdress and a white sheath of many small pleats with similarly pleated voluminous sleeves stood closely to the left of a man with the most curious deformities Huy had ever seen. His face was fine, even noble, with its sweep of straight nose, its almond-shaped eyes and long chin, but beneath the loose feminine sheath he wore Huy could see that his chest was shrunken, his belly low-slung and protuberant, and his thighs distressingly fat. He appeared to have a pair of female breasts, their prominent nipples ringed in orange henna. His head was covered by a blue bag wig. He sported a wide gold necklace, and his arms and fingers were heavy with gold.

Huy’s attention moved to the woman on his right. He studied her carefully, all at once alert. She was familiar to him. Her heavy eyelids glistened with dark green paint, and the black kohl surrounding her eyes and sweeping across both temples was equally thick. Her sheath and similarly pleated sleeves were bordered with silver sphinxes. The ringlets of a formal wig fell almost to her waist. Her jewellery was beyond price: electrum bracelets, rings of amethyst and lapis lazuli, and an ornate sphinx pectoral made entirely of purple gold from Mitanni. One of her wrinkled breasts was bare, obviously a nod to fashion, as one of the much younger woman’s high, painted breasts was also unselfconsciously revealed. But it was the older woman’s headdress that puzzled Huy. Ornate and weighty, its polished disc flashed in the strong light. The two horns of Hathor curved around the disc and its two tall golden plumes seemed to quiver in the burning air. “The Empress’s crown,” Huy muttered. “Then where is the Emperor? I know that face. I’ve seen it before. Deep lines to either side of a downturned mouth. Sharp, watchful eyes. Authority …”

The man leaning out of the window had begun to speak, his voice a light treble, like a woman’s. “People of the Holy City! Today is blessed in the history of Egypt. Today the Empress graces us with her august presence. Today also, as a mark yet again of my favour towards him, the noble Pentu receives the Gold of Favours from my hand. Pentu!” A man came swaggering to kneel beneath the window, his arms upraised to catch the shower of gold that would come. “This is the third time, is it not?” the man in the blue bag wig continued.

“It is indeed, Most Munificent One!”

“For your devotion to the Aten, for your sacrifices and prayers, I make you a Person of Gold!”

Huy watched aghast as the malformed figure began to strip himself of his jewellery and toss it down to the man below. Sacrifices and prayers? And the third time this Pentu has been given so rare and precious an award? What is happening here? The older woman in the long wig and Empress’s crown leaned towards the man next to her, grasping his arm and speaking rapidly into his ear, her face a mask of anger.

“The goddess is not pleased,” Huy’s companion remarked. “She arrives today from Weset to find her husband-son displaying himself rudely like any commoner, and debasing one of Egypt’s most hard-won honours. Amusing, is it not, Seer Huy? Titillating perhaps?”

The voice had become deeper. Huy swung round. Anubis’s black jackal’s eyes met his. The god’s muzzle was slightly open, and as Huy watched, a pink tongue emerged to moisten the furred lips.

“We are both clad in blue, the colour of mourning,” Anubis went on. “Now why is that? Why do I grieve, and wait for you to recognize your own anguish? Why have I been standing in Set’s temple, inhaling the smoke of the sacred kyphi that rises in Set’s sanctuary? To beg my brother, the god of chaos, to have mercy on Egypt, or to bury her under the sands of her deserts? No. I would have done so, but Atum wishes to wait and see what his chosen Seer will do with this final chance to avert the blasphemy of Akhet-Aten and its decadent inhabitants. Look at her, Huy! At last she knows what she has done! At last she prays for a pardon that the gods will not give her! Look at her!”

His rising voice boomed back at Huy, echoing against the pure lines of the buildings fronting the avenue, but the crowd was watching Pentu and his gold walk towards a chariot that waited for him, and the man framed by the wide window went on waving and smiling at the people below. The older woman had stepped back into shadow, and suddenly Huy saw her in his mind’s eye, standing beside this same man in a roofless temple where the sun beat down on them with relentless heat and a hot, greedy silence surrounded them. He knew the vision. Its details lay rolled up and neatly sealed in his office. It composed the second half of a Seeing he had performed years ago for Tiye.

Tiye. The older woman was Tiye. But who was the creature at her side?

“Who indeed?” Anubis hissed. “Perhaps if you had solved the meaning of the Book of Thoth, this future would be nothing more than the fragment of a fantasy blown through your mind and vanishing as you walk from your fine house to your waiting litter-bearers.” He stepped forward and placed both black palms against Huy’s cheeks. He had begun to weep. Glittering black tears slid down the fur of his face to splash on the pavement in front of Huy’s feet. “You have the power to make all this a lie,” he whispered. “Go north, Seer Huy—and hurry! Destiny is waiting for you in Ptah’s House of Life. Go now, and tell neither Amunhotep nor his wife what cursed thing your hand is holding until you return to Weset.”

The god’s face began to fade, became as transparent as thin linen, and Huy found himself staring at a blank wall through cool, dim air. At once his head began to pound. Turning to place both hands on the edge of the crib and steady himself, he realized that he was still holding the baby’s tiny forearm. With a grunt he let go, lost his balance, and slid to the floor. At once Paneb set down his palette and Userhet left his stool and came hurrying. Carefully both men lifted Huy and helped him take the few steps to where the steward had sat.

“Bring poppy quickly,” someone ordered. Huy sank onto the stool and bent over. One of his feet felt damp. Seeing a small grey stain on it, he touched it, and his finger came away wet.

“Anubis’s tears,” he croaked. A cup appeared and he grabbed it, draining the contents with a prayer of thanks to Atum for the creation of opium and passing it back. He closed his eyes. A silence fell. Huy could feel the tension of waiting all around him, but he did not move until his pain became a dull throb. Then he asked that Paroi be summoned, and aided by his scribe and his under steward he was able to rise and approach the King.

“Well, Uncle?” Amunhotep demanded sharply. “What have the gods decreed for my beautiful new son? Will there be another early death, or will he outlive Thothmes and ascend the Horus Throne? Just give us one or two words. Then you must rest, and come back tomorrow to tell us every detail.”

“Help me to kneel,” Huy half whispered to the men who were holding him upright. When he felt himself reach the floor, he forced his arms to extend with palms up in the attitude of reverence and supplication.

“No!” Tiye exclaimed. “Not again! I will not have it!”

Huy turned his palms down, a quick gesture of rebuttal. “Majesty, you need not fret. Before I can impart the result of the Seeing, I have been commanded to travel north to Mennofer. I may not tell you anything at all until I return. I am sorry.”

“Why Mennofer, Huy? Why does Anubis want you to go there? Can you at least tell us that much?” The voice was Mutemwia’s. Huy raised his face to her with difficulty. She was leaning forward almost double and looking straight into his eyes.

“I must find the end of the Book of Thoth and solve its mystery before you may hear the words of Anubis,” he blurted. “It lies in Ptah’s temple. I must keep my counsel until then.” Despair filled him as he tore his gaze from hers. Amunhotep was staring at him and frowning. Tiye’s cheeks had flooded with colour and she was tapping the arms of her chair with all ten furious fingers.

“How long will all that take you, mer kat?” she snapped. “Even if you leave immediately, it will take you a month to reach Mennofer. Did your vision show you exactly where the scroll or scrolls are? How long it will be before the final secret is revealed? We won’t see you for months. Months! Who will administer this country while you are gone? Will you take hundreds of officials and heralds with you?” Her tone was biting. “I respect the gods, but this is too much!”

You want to call both me and Anubis liars, but you don’t dare, Huy thought as she swept up a silver goblet, her hennaed hands shaking with rage.

“Peace, Tiye.” Amunhotep left his seat, and with both strong arms he pushed Paneb and Paroi aside and hauled Huy upright. “Go home and sleep, and come to me tomorrow so that we may discuss the tasks to be done while you are away.” He seemed to be sobering rapidly. “Most of them can be accomplished from Mennofer. Make use of the palace there if you wish. We will wait patiently for Atum’s word regarding our Prince. Thank you, my old friend.”

It was a gracious speech. Gratefully, Huy returned to the care of his men. Nothing further was said. Together they and Huy’s guards walked slowly back to the waiting litter and the blinding heat of afternoon. While the little cavalcade made its way to Huy’s estate, he lay still on his cushions, tensed against every jolt. Before Kenofer eased him onto his couch, he dictated his vision to Paneb, giving the scribe the usual instructions regarding its safekeeping. Paneb bowed himself out. Huy fell into a drugged sleep.