13

HE WOKE WITH A SENSE OF DREAD and lay staring at the ceiling. His dreams had been muddy, unlike the lucid fantasies the poppy usually gave him in sleep, and his body felt heavy. He did not shout for Kenofer, who would be waiting for the summons outside the door. Instead he forced himself to review the Seeing he had performed for Prince Amunhotep. Now that he was no longer a participant in it, being buffeted from one shock to another, he was able to examine several details he had overlooked at the time. As he did so, his trepidation grew. There had been no Inundation for two years according to the man who had stood beside him, a sure sign that the gods were exacting a terrible punishment on Egypt and her King. The misery caused by just one season without the life-giving spate of water and silt had taught the country’s governors and High Priests to store grain against the famine that would ensue. Huy had been told that the King in his vision had closed the temples and denuded them of their gold and the contents of their silos as well, so that the inhabitants of Akhet-Aten would suffer no want. But what of the rest of Egypt’s citizens? Had the people been commanded to worship the Aten and no other? If so, it was no wonder that the gods, especially Egypt’s great saviour Amun, were offended and Ma’at herself wounded. Uneasily Huy remembered the Seeing in which Ma’at’s blood had spattered the ground between the two of them. Her pain had been his fault, the result of one act of weakness on his part. The King in this latest Seeing had committed many terrible sacrileges. Who was he?

“The goddess is not pleased.” Anubis’s distinctive voice came back to Huy. “She arrives today from Weset to find her husband-son displaying himself rudely like any commoner …” Perhaps Anubis was referring to the beautiful young woman clinging to his arm? Huy unconsciously began to count the number of white stars painted on the ceiling above him. Yes. Yes. That conclusion was logical, sane. There were few lines to mar the misshapen King’s face, and the giggling, scantily clad girls seemed very young. They were not behaving like palace servants. His daughters? So the strikingly lovely woman would be their mother and the King’s wife. Chief Wife? Goddess? No, not goddess. The ceremony at the Window of Appearances presented a semblance of formality, yet it was Tiye who stood on the King’s right and stared out over the crowd, her harsh features grim. On the King’s right. And it was Tiye who was wearing the great Empress’s crown with its disc and horns, Tiye who had turned and hissed something angrily into the man’s ear. If Tiye was “the goddess” arrived from Weset, was her husband Amunhotep still living? Was the peculiar man beside her one of her relatives? But no. Only a King could bestow the Gold of Favours, and besides, neither Ay nor Anen, her brothers, even remotely resembled this … this ugly thing. Cursed thing. The cursed thing. Huy’s body tensed under the sheet and he began to count the stars more quickly, desperate to keep at bay the conclusion his mind was inevitably forming.

“her husband-son …”

“the cursed thing …”

With a groan, Huy forced his eyes away from the ceiling and sat up, gripping his raised knees. Anubis had called the baby “the cursed thing your hand is holding.” Prince Amunhotep, Tiye’s son. Her husband also? Her future husband? If so, then what unimaginably terrible reason could have impelled her to break one of Egypt’s strictest laws? A Hawk-in-the-Nest might marry one of his sisters in order to legitimize his claim to godhead and therefore to kingship. The pure blood of godhead had always flowed through female royalty. But a Queen, indeed any female citizen, might on no account form a sexual relationship with a son, let alone marry one. To do so would upset the delicate balance of Ma’at and bring hardship and ruin to Egypt. Two years of drought …

Huy’s thoughts ran on. Why, Anubis? Why an act of such profanity on Tiye’s part? Can this vision be averted? The answer came to Huy at once, not from Anubis but from his own mind. What I saw will be the result of my own failure. It’s too late to go back, to prevent His Majesty from marrying Tiye, yet somehow I must make sure that this Seeing proves false. But how? Before his mind could put forward a logical answer, he shouted for Kenofer. “Poppy and a cup of milk,” he ordered as his body servant appeared. “No food. My stomach is on fire. And send Amunmose to me as soon as possible.”

Kenofer hesitated. “Master, Physician Seneb wants you to limit your intake of the poppy. It is damaging your stomach and destroying your appetite.”

“I know. Seneb refuses to understand that I rely completely on Atum’s protection against the more pernicious effects of the drug, and he will uphold me until he doesn’t need me anymore.”

“That may be so, but Master, you’re in your sixty-fifth year. Surely—”

Huy left the couch and stood. “Please hurry, Kenofer. The poppy will not kill me, and my welfare does not depend on Seneb. Make sure there’s hot water for my bath.”

Kenofer nodded reluctantly and went away. Huy began to pace the confines of his chamber. It seemed a long time before Chief Steward Amunmose knocked on the door and bustled in carrying a tray. Huy drained the cup of milk offered to him, and then swallowed the poppy.

“The water in the bathhouse has been kept hot for you.” Amunmose returned the empty cup and vial to the tray and peered at Huy. “You still look drained,” he remarked. “You do know that there’s a better way to take your opium, don’t you, Huy? Governor Amunnefer recommends it—straight from the harvest in its brown form.”

“I know. But I’m afraid of its strength, Amunmose. I cope reasonably well as matters are, and only prescribe the raw poppy to those for whom I See if their pain warrants it.” You also are being ravaged by the inroads of time, my dear steward, Huy said to him mutely. You were a voluble, cheerful young man, quick on your feet, always ready to share a joke. You’re still voluble and cheerful, but age is gradually leading you to the day when crossing from your chair to the door will be as huge an undertaking as a journey to Punt.

“Very well.” Amunmose set the tray down on the small ebony table to one side of the door and looked at Huy inquiringly. “Kenofer said that you wanted to see me.”

“Yes. I intend to leave Weset and move into the palace at Mennofer as soon as possible. As my chief steward, the organization of this is your responsibility. I want you with me in Mennofer, Amunmose, not Assistant Steward Paroi, who must stay here and see to my affairs while I’m gone. Talk to Chief Herald Ba-en-Ra. He must accompany me, of course, and provide other heralds. As his second-in-command, Sarenput can arrange the conveyance of messages to me from the administrative offices here. Trying to govern this country from the north will be a nuisance, but it can be done. After all, kings and administrators did so for hentis before me. I want my own cook also. Rakhaka will grumble, but he’s to have no choice.”

Amunmose’s kohled eyebrows rose. “Is this move to be permanent?”

“No. I’m convinced that the last portion of the Book of Thoth has been found in Ptah’s temple, and I must see it at once. We’ll stay in Mennofer until all of it has finally become clear to me.”

“That miserable nephew of yours told you about it, didn’t he?” Amunmose said. “I’ve heard that the restoration and additions he oversaw for Ptah are wonderful. How strange, that he of all people should be the one to place the Book’s final solution in your hands!”

“Strange indeed. Go about your business, Amunmose, and I must be bathed and present myself before Their Majesties. The prospect of my imminent departure does not sit well with either of them, particularly the Empress.” At least I am spared the necessity of reciting the events of Prince Amunhotep’s Seeing to them, Huy thought as he made his way down to the bathhouse. Atum himself wants that moment postponed, and I am profoundly grateful.

He had reached the confluence of several passages and was about to turn down the one leading to the heavily guarded royal wing of the palace when Chief Steward Ameni rose from a stool and swiftly approached him. Bowing, he indicated an open door through which a beam of strong sunlight lapped at Huy’s feet. “Her Majesty Queen Mutemwia asks that you briefly attend her before proceeding to the King’s apartments. She will not detain you for long, mer kat. Follow me.”

Captain Perti hesitated, Huy nodded at him, and surrounded by his soldiers Huy took the few steps out into the garden, squinting into the bright day. Not many residents of the palace were about. Ministers and lesser officials would be in their offices, beginning the duties of the day. The Minister of Foreign Correspondence, Vizier Amunhotep-Huy, Treasurer Sobekhmose, together with their assistants and scribes, would have concluded the daily affairs of the morning audience over which Huy himself usually presided and would be preparing their reports and recommendations for him. The ambassadors resident in Weset would be dictating the letters to their lords and chiefs that were clandestinely brought to Perti for reading and copying before being passed to the heralds. I’ll have to leave Perti behind if I want to retain control of all foreign communications, Huy thought as he threaded his way through intermittent shadows cast by the many varieties of trees dotted everywhere. That solves the problem of our control outside Egypt. But who can shoulder the many and complex duties inherent in the governorship of this country? The King makes broad policy; he cares little for the dozens of decisions required every day to carry it out.

Mutemwia was sitting on a mat at the base of a spreading sycamore, her attendants around her. Seeing him come, she gestured and the women scattered. Huy signalled to Perti and went on alone, bowing as he entered the welcome shade, and the Queen patted the grass beside her. She was not smiling. Huy folded near her feet and drew up his knees in a motion he recognized a moment later as self-defensive. His arms went around them.

“Neither Amunhotep nor Tiye understand why they must wait to hear the god’s prediction for the baby,” she said, “but I do. I remember your long struggle to untangle the mysteries of the Book, the frustration you lived with almost every day. The end of the task you took upon yourself all those years ago must come before all else. But I’m deeply troubled.” She laid a hand lightly on his arm. “I know you far better than either my son or his Empress. They saw your refusal to divulge the details of the Seeing as a simple obedience to the command of Atum, but I saw more. Shock and dismay, mer kat. Anubis showed you something terrible, didn’t he? Something even worse than the death of a royal heir. Since yesterday I have been imagining one future disaster after another.” Clasping her fingers together, she placed them in her lap. Her gaze, when it met Huy’s, was composed. “You told us that, unlike Prince Thothmes, this child will not die young. Did you lie?”

“No, dear Majesty. I neither lied nor distorted the truth.” He resisted the urge to shift his position, smooth down the braids lying against his collarbones, loosen the tiny stud holding the earring against his lobe, anything to lessen his growing tension.

Mutemwia leaned towards him. “Is he to be maimed in some way, then? Or perhaps you were distressed because he will not rule well when the Double Crown is placed on his head? Will there be an unsuccessful palace revolt against him? Will Egypt suffer under his hand? What? What? You and I are almost as close to one another as brother and sister, Huy. Can you not relieve me of this anxiety?”

Now Huy did move, swaying onto his knees and bending forward with head lowered in a gesture of submission so that she could not see his discomfiture. Her guesses were unpleasantly close to the truth. “Majesty, if I were allowed to unburden myself of this Seeing, I would have hurried to approach you before any other. You and I share a mutual respect and understanding in spite of the gulf of blood between us. But I dare not defy Anubis’s clear directive. Forgive me.”

She was silent for a while. With his face inches from the sweet-smelling grass, the idle conversation of her women drifted over him. A bird screeched angrily in the branches above and flew away with a rustle of dry leaves. The gold border of her sheath was a bright blur on the periphery of his vision. Presently she sighed.

“Given your honesty, there could be no other answer,” she said. “In the meantime, I must try to quell my gloomy conjectures and get on with my duties as best I may. Will you at least promise to come to me first when the god’s ban on your tongue is lifted?”

I could do so, Huy thought swiftly, but what if she forbids me to attempt to reverse this country’s grave destiny for fear that my action may endanger her surviving grandson? And what action are you planning anyway, mer kat? All your desire is bent on sailing to Mennofer, examining the scroll, solving the one puzzle that has obsessed you since your thirteenth year. Have you any idea how Egypt’s fate is to be averted? “The contents of the Seeing belong to His Majesty the Emperor first,” he said carefully. “He alone must weigh its importance. Believe me, Mutemwia, I would rather dissect its message with you than with Horus, indeed already I wish that I could call upon your insight and calm astuteness. However, I also must follow a diversion, and the vision must wait.”

“Very well.” She signalled that he might rise. Huy stood, taking the graceful hand extended to him and kissing it lightly. “Go and mollify Their Majesties before you embark for the north. I wish you success in the culmination of your quest. Send me scrolls of your progress, and may the soles of your feet be firm. I love you, dear friend.”

I love you also, Huy thought as he bowed and walked into the dazzling heat of mid-morning. There is no one whose advice I value more, but I have a growing suspicion that no advice will be able to save me from the solution Atum expects. I thank the gods that I need not ponder the matter for weeks to come.

To Huy’s surprise and relief, his interview with Amunhotep and Tiye did not take long. Both of them seemed to have accepted the necessity of his absence. Amunhotep, entirely sober, grudgingly agreed to attend the morning audiences and make decisions together with Chief Royal Treasurer Sobekhmose and Seal Bearer and Chief Scribe Nebmerut. “Everything will be sent on to you, though,” he said. “It’s a nuisance, Uncle, to tie up the majority of my heralds in running to the Delta and back, but there’s no choice. Why don’t you just ask that the scroll be brought to you here? I’ll provide an escort for it of as many soldiers as you like.”

“It may be in a very fragile condition, Majesty,” Huy replied. “Having it carried south, no matter how carefully, might irreparably damage it. Besides, I doubt if Ptah’s archivist will allow it to leave his care.” He spread his hands. “You own Egypt, Amunhotep,” he pressed. “All of it is yours under Ma’at. You’re entirely capable of taking the reins of government from my hands for a few months, even though—”

“Even though your hunting dogs and concubines will have to amuse themselves,” Tiye broke in firmly. “Huy has had no rest from the demands of government since you made him your mer kat. What emergency could possibly arise that can’t be dealt with by you and Huy’s advisers, my love? Anyway, when was the last time Huy made a personal request of you? Let him go.” Her kohled eyes met Huy’s then slid away.

You see this as an opportunity to sample the taste of real power, don’t you, my Empress? Amunhotep will quickly tire of morning audiences and long meetings with the ministers, but you will not.

“Well, what if you die of some accident or disease?” Amunhotep grumbled. “Then Tiye and I will never know the substance of the vision regarding my little Prince.”

“It resides with my scribe Paneb. If I die, you may immediately request it from him.”

“The gods will not allow you to die, mer kat. Not yet.” Tiye was leaning forward. “Now acquaint His Majesty with any current business in which you are engaged, then go with our blessing.”

The brief exchange was over. Huy, bowing himself out, felt a pang of possessiveness towards the many complex duties he was relinquishing into the Empress’s greedy hands, but the emotion was quickly submerged under a flood of anticipation. He was temporarily free.

HIS BARGE PULLED AWAY from his watersteps just before sunset, followed by the two vessels carrying his servants and belongings. He intended to sail downriver until he had rounded the bend that took a leisurely sweep eastward before the water returned to its northerly flow and the bustle and noise of the city was behind him. The month of Phamenoth was almost over. Egypt’s fields lay carpeted with newly sprouted green crops, its canals still largely full. The river below Huy flowed gently toward the north. Huy, leaning on the rail, watched the sky gradually darken and the stars appear. Nasha’s perfume drifted up to him. She was sitting on a stool by his side, stirring occasionally, hands folded in her lap. Huy had rightly assumed that she would want to travel as far as Thothmes’ home at Iunu. He was eager to see his old friend but did not regret the fact that he would be disembarking at Mennofer, a full day’s journey south of that city. Ramose had also begged to be included in the flotilla. He was returning to the Aten’s temple at Iunu, where he would perform his overt duties as a steward and prepare his customary private report for Queen Mutemwia. He and Nasha will be good company on the long journey, Huy reflected. They will prevent me from becoming too preoccupied with the task facing me. How good it is to be away from the demands of the court!

By the time Huy stood beside his litter on the palace’s water-steps at Mennofer and watched his barge continue north, the Inundation had begun. It was the middle of Pharmuthi. A full month had slid by since Weset had sunk below the horizon. His other boats were being tethered to the posts sunk at the foot of the steps. In a moment the ramps would be run out and servants and goods would begin to file along the edge of the guarded canal, across the vast concourse, and into the emptiness of the labyrinthine residence.

Huy had decided to occupy whatever quarters lay closest to the Temple of Ptah, in the southern palace apartments, so he could easily reach the temple without his litter. The Fine District of Pharaoh was surrounded by a high and sturdy wall and bisected north to south by another wall sealing off the palace from the ancient White Walls, the Citadel, and the large District of Ptah. Two canals met the outer main wall. The northern waterway ended at the edge of the stone forecourt leading to the palace’s main reception hall. The second, farther south, ended at the bisecting interior wall, and was intended to accommodate those privileged worshippers arriving by skiff. There was a gate and a short paved avenue leading directly under Ptah’s entrance pylon and into the wide outer court. All Huy had to do was walk to the head of the canal, go through the gate, and take the few steps to reach the towering pylon. He neither knew nor cared whose rooms were filling with the chaos of unloading under Amunmose’s sharp eye. They were larger than his previous apartment, with a garden between the outer doors of his reception room and the inner wall cutting through the precincts, and a massive cedar door that protected him from the reverential comings and goings along the god’s canal. Even though the King was not in residence, soldiers guarded every entrance and exit. The palace at Mennofer was ancient and sacred.

Quelling the urge to send a message to the temple immediately, Huy took Perti with him and escaped from the temporary chaos in the apartment to find the captain of the guards. He did not hurry. The huge building was blessedly quiet, the corridors dim, the air untainted by the scents of human occupation. No distasteful aroma of jasmine carrying its weight of unhappy memories, Huy thought, listening to the echoes of his and Perti’s sandalled feet against the walls they were passing. No need to thread my way through a constant press of servants and courtiers, acknowledging bows and greetings, my mind full of a dozen tasks to be accomplished before I can retreat to the cramped quarters that were assigned to me here. My full attention will go to the scroll. The baby Prince’s Seeing will be relegated to the verge of my consciousness. But his spurt of exhilaration was short-lived. He was midway along a wide, dusky passage when he thought he heard the sound of a faint scrabble behind him, and his nostrils filled with the acrid whiff of a wild animal. Gripping Perti’s arm, he came to an abrupt halt.

“There’s something following us,” he said. “Some kind of a dog. I caught its odour briefly. Listen.” He wanted to turn around, to see one of the greyhounds the King used for hunting emerge from the gloom at the far end, but he did not dare.

Perti was scanning their surroundings. Finally he shook his head. “I smell nothing, and if an animal was trailing us, we would have known about it sooner. I can walk back, Master, but I think it’s just the sheer emptiness of this place distorting the noise of our feet and our breathing.”

Huy did not answer him. They set off again at a brisker pace. Huy’s spine prickled. So even here, where I’ve come in obedience to the will of Atum, I am to be shadowed, he thought with an anger tinged in fear. He was very glad to emerge from the palace into bright sunlight and the tug of a hot wind.

Perti escorted him back to the apartment before leaving to order the necessary new duties for the soldiers now under his command, and closing the wide doors behind him with a moment of inner relief, Huy beckoned Amunmose. Much of the disorder had disappeared and the reception room was quiet.

“Rakhaka and his staff have gone to the kitchens to prepare a meal,” Amunmose said in answer to Huy’s question. “He’s grumbling about the distance he and the food must travel, but then he always finds something to complain about. Your couch is dressed and your chests unpacked. Amun and Khenti-kheti have been placed in their shrines. I’ve spread the servants out in the other apartments along this corridor. Kenofer’s gone to see that the nearest bathhouse is ready for you. I don’t know what happened to the wine jars, but I dare say someone will appear to tell me before long.” He grinned. “I’m going to enjoy being the only chief steward in residence, Huy. Do you need anything?”

“Yes. Find Paneb and Ba-en-Ra.” He went to the nearest chair and sat.

Amunmose sketched a bow. “I gave them separate quarters. Paneb already has a pile of papyrus from Weset for you to deal with.” He hurried away.

The doors to the little garden were open and guarded. Huy looked past the two broad-shouldered soldiers to the dazzle of sun-drenched growth beyond. The grass was yellowing. Amunmose must find a couple of men to water it each evening, Huy thought, but behind the thought was a sudden anxiety. A hyena could easily slip past my guards and come in if I don’t keep the doors shut. It could pad through the reception room, find my bedchamber, be squatting on my couch and waiting for me. He stirred. But no. Doors open or closed mean nothing to the creature Anubis controls and Imhotep caresses, the emissary whose message I’m unable to comprehend. He was glad when his scribe and his herald came purposefully towards him over the blue and white tiled floor.

He dictated a polite letter to the archivist of Ptah’s House of Life, warning him that he would be present to examine the scroll the following morning, and gave it to Ba-en-Ra to deliver at once. Then with a lighter heart he turned his attention to the number of scrolls Paneb had placed on the table beside him. Tomorrow I will see the end of a long and troubling journey, he told himself, listening to Paneb read while his excitement mounted. High Priest Ptahhotep is in residence at Weset. As one of Amunhotep’s Fanbearers he has little time to spare for his duties to Ptah here in Mennofer. A good thing—I have no desire to discharge what would have been a necessary obligation to acquaint him with my findings, seeing that the scroll belongs to his temple. Dealing with the archivist will be annoying enough.

He slept poorly that night, waking often on the unfamiliar couch to lie and listen to the deep silence of empty corridors and dark, untenanted rooms. He half expected to hear the scrabble of animal claws against the tiling of his floor before feeling the weight of a lean body settle beside his knees, but the shadows remained still. Each time he returned to consciousness the ache for more poppy woke with him, but he was used to this particular demand, a craving that had now become constant, and he was able to cocoon it within thoughts of the scroll. When he heard Kenofer cough and rustle as he rose from his pallet outside the door, Huy got up, wrapped himself in a sheet, and went to greet his bleary-eyed body servant. The sun had not yet risen.

Huy was tempted to order a larger dose of poppy than usual, but refrained from doing so for fear it would make him sluggish and blunt his faculties when the scroll was placed in his hands. I should not be allowing myself this extreme anticipation, he thought as later he made his way to the nearest bathhouse, where Kenofer waited. The only evidence I have that the last words of the Book of Thoth will unroll before me is the fact that Imhotep is rumoured to have served as High Priest in Ptah’s temple. I should be cautious, doubting, ready for disappointment. But he was unable to stem the flow of euphoria quickening his heartbeat.

Returning to the apartment, he forced himself to eat a small amount of bread and cheese, had Kenofer dress him in the sumptuous kilt, sandals, and jewellery he would have worn to any New Year’s celebration under the King’s gaze, and taking Perti and a small contingent of soldiers he walked across the garden and out through the gate, and turned left to where Ptah’s short canal lay glittering in the morning sunlight. He had declined Paneb’s offer to accompany him and had left his own scribe’s palette behind. “If the scroll is a part of the Book of Thoth, I won’t need the contents written down, thank you, Paneb,” he had said, “and if it isn’t, I have no interest in whatever it might contain.”

He did not open a conversation with Perti, who according to protocol had to wait for his master to speak first, but Perti seemed to sense his preoccupied mood and simply matched his stride as they accompanied the canal and were soon walking through the pylon and into the temple’s vast outer court. Here Huy paused. A flow of white-sheathed young women carrying sistra was emerging from the inner court and hurrying to where an untidy heap of sandals lay. Behind them came the three musicians who had joined the dancers in welcoming the god to the advent of a new day, and a priest stood just within the smaller court and watched them. A flood of chatter had broken out, but as the girls became aware of Huy and his escort it died away. One by one they slipped past Huy with bows and were gone. The priest was already striding towards him with a smile of welcome.

“Mer kat! I received your message and passed it on to our archivist, but there was little time to send a reply, and besides, we are all at your immediate service for as long as you are studying the scroll.” He halted and bowed. “I am Neb-Ra, Second Prophet of Ptah. My father was Second Prophet before me. I was little more than a child, but I remember your illustrious brother the noble Heby on his frequent visits to the temple during his years as Mennofer’s Mayor.” He had begun to shepherd Huy and the soldiers towards the entrance to the inner court. “If you will wait here, I will fetch Archivist Penbui, and also bring the servant I have assigned to see to your needs. Your personal guard is not really necessary—the temple guards are all well-seasoned men. But of course if you want them to attend you outside the House of Life, they will be cared for. No, do not remove your sandals. The doorway you see just this side of the inner court leads to the passage that will take you past the priests’ cells and on to the House of Life. Stand in the shadow—the morning is becoming hot.” With another bow, he disappeared.

Huy turned to Perti. “I don’t think there’s much to fear from the temple’s staff. All the same, I’d like familiar faces outside the House. I may be here all day, or you and I may be straggling back to the palace in a matter of moments.” His stomach gave a sudden lurch, and he could feel his heart throbbing against the soft linen of his shirt. Very soon, his mind whispered. Very soon …

The man who had already performed several deep bows before he came up to Huy was clad in a voluminous white gown. The brown leather sandals on his wide feet had obviously been mended several times. His only piece of jewellery appeared to be a tiny golden ankh earring no larger than the lobe where it rested. His scalp was shaved. Extending both naked arms, he gave Huy a final reverence, and lifted a face seamed with age but dominated by a pair of merry brown eyes.

“Keeper, I think I know you,” Huy said. “Have we met before?”

“No, mer kat, but my brother Khanun was Keeper of the House of Life at Thoth’s temple in Khmun. He spoke of you often when we met. He was pleased to receive your letters.”

“Of course. I became fond of him on the occasions when I was forced to read the portions of the Book stored at Khmun. He was very kind to an unhappy boy. I promised to impart the meaning of the Book to him, but as yet I have not solved the riddle. Is Khanun still alive?”

“Unfortunately not, noble one. If the scroll in my care belongs to the Book, perhaps you will tell me the meaning so that I can include it in my prayers to Khanun.”

They had approached the door, gone through it, and were walking side by side along the open-roofed passage, Perti and the soldiers behind. Suddenly, on a wave of nostalgia, Huy missed his old friend, Khenti-kheti’s priest Methen, and his little cell in the god’s modest precinct at Hut-herib. A grand new temple to Huy’s first totem was rising on the foundations of that original shrine. Huy had personally chosen the architects and stonemasons who were to bring his vision to life, and construction had begun four years ago. It was a tribute to the god’s priest as much as to Khenti-kheti himself, but Methen was dead, and most of Huy’s devotion to the project had died with him. I need you beside me now, Huy said silently to the man who had carried him home from the House of the Dead and been his protector and mentor from then on. You of all people deserve to be the first to receive Thoth’s wisdom. Nothing and no one can replace you.

“The scroll,” he said abruptly. “You’ve unrolled it, Keeper Penbui?”

“Of course.” A group of acolytes had appeared and were pressing themselves against the rough wall of the passage in order to let Huy and his entourage pass by. They managed to bow, and Huy nodded to them, remembering his days as a boy at Ra’s temple school. “As Chief Archivist I am expert at the handling and restoration of ancient papyrus.”

“So the scroll is indeed ancient? Is it in need of restoration?” The question was vital and in asking it Huy felt his throat go dry. The previous scrolls the Book comprised had been in perfect condition.

Penbui smiled across at him. “The papyrus has darkened with age but is not in the least brittle, mer kat. I was able to unroll it easily.”

A dozen more questions sprang to Huy’s mind. What of the hieroglyphs? Are they as ancient as the papyrus? Could you decipher any of them? How thick is the scroll? Instead he said, “Is it proven that Imhotep was once a High Priest of Ptah here in Mennofer?”

“But of course.” Penbui had come to a halt before the closed doors of a long stone building that seemed to stretch all the way back to the high wall sheltering and surrounding the whole precinct of the temple. “We treasure several of his works to do with the use of magic, and a couple of his original plans for his King’s monuments. You didn’t know this?”

“No. Tell me, Keeper, do any of the hieroglyphs on the scroll match Imhotep’s hand?”

“Perhaps,” Penbui replied cautiously. “I am not sure.” He pulled open one of the doors. “Let us go in, noble one. I have prepared a table and chair for you and set out the relic. Do you require the skills of a scribe? I see that you have not brought your own.”

“No, thank you, Keeper.”

Penbui looked at him curiously then stood aside, and Huy entered Ptah’s House of Life.

The smell surrounded him at once, the slightly musty scent emanating from the thousands of books stored in the row upon row of alcoves and mingling with the odour of dust, stone, and ink. Huy paused, inhaling it with pleasure. It spoke to him of the schoolroom, of the slow learning of a scribe’s discipline, of knowledge imbibed and mastery hard-won. The air was still, cool, and quiet. The only illumination came from thin shafts of sunlight slanting down through the clerestory windows a long way above his head. Not far into the great room stood a table which held a plain oil lamp and a bundle that caught at Huy’s breath. Beside it a piece of carpet lay ready for the scribe Huy knew he would not need. A smaller table a step away had been covered with a linen cloth, two jugs, and two clay cups. Penbui had also paused. As though we are paying homage to something sacred, Huy thought, his eyes on the larger table where the treasure waited for him. This moment is the culmination of all my years of struggle with the Book’s mysteries, enduring Anubis’s scoffing and, worst of all, carrying guilt and a sense of my own inadequacy day and night like a load of mud bricks I could not send tumbling to the ground.

At an unspoken word the two men walked forward and Huy rounded the table to stand looking down on his prize. “The other volumes were encased in soft white leather,” he said, his voice falling flat in the motionless atmosphere.

Penbui shook his head. “No white leather, mer kat, and no wax seal either. Just a cedar box, warped and cracked with age and lack of care. One of our artisans is making a new box for it, but of course if you determine that it is indeed a missing part of the Book of Thoth it must be honoured with a sheath of white bull’s hide. In that case I pray that the One will allow it to remain under Ptah’s protection.”

“I shall urge His Majesty to do so.” Huy drew up the chair and sat, a gesture of dismissal.

Penbui bowed. “The jugs contain water and wine. A servant will be outside the doors to bring you whatever you need.” He hesitated, and in spite of his tension Huy smiled inwardly. He had never met an archivist who did not hover over his charges like a goose with her goslings.

“I promise I will not bring either water or wine over to this desk,” he said, “and if I need to consult some other text you might have here, I will send for you. I have one request: a bowl of water, a dish of natron, and a fresh square of linen so that I may wash my hands should they become sweaty.”

Penbui flushed, then smiled broadly. “My apologies, Master, for being a fussy old man. Your servant will bring the things I have omitted. I was somewhat flustered at the prospect of your presence here.”

Huy smiled back and watched Penbui flit through the half door. It closed quietly.

My dear Keeper, I am probably older than you, Huy thought as the silence crept around him. I exist in a limbo of timelessness by virtue of Atum’s desire. Shall I be released now, today, with the meaning of the Book revealed clearly to me at last? He sat waiting, palms flat on the surface of the table to either side of the scroll, and presently the door opened to admit a laden servant who bowed to Huy and set water, natron, and two linen cloths beside the clay cups with the smooth precision of long practice. Bowing again, he left, and Huy was free to touch his prize at last.

As he held it gently in order to turn it, he was enveloped in a glorious yet slightly sour aroma he recognized at once. His ears filled with the whisper of leaves brushing against each other and he was a youth again, sitting under the branches of the sacred Ished Tree that grew at the centre of Ra’s temple, the first volume of the Book of Thoth lying under his terrified fingers. “Time …” the tangle of moving shadows sighed as his younger self sat with eyes fixed on the far wall, afraid to look down at what lay on the palette resting across his folded knees. “Time …” Huy shook himself, and hooking his fingers carefully under the lip of the papyrus, he drew the scroll open.

He had not seen the delicate, almost painfully beautiful script since he had read what had appeared to be the last volume of the Book just before his fifteenth Naming Day, but he recognized it at once and his heart gave a thud and began to pound in his ears. The language was archaic, but as before he was able to follow it with ease. This is real, he was thinking deliriously even as his gaze skimmed the characters. I was right, Methen. The Book lacked finality. Will it now reveal a practical application for its convoluted and obscure wisdom? Will I see it, perhaps even experience it, for myself? He wanted to unroll the scroll all the way in order to discover whether the equally familiar hand that had penned so many explanations for him in the past might have done so again. But he took a deep breath and returned to the beginning.

I Thoth, the Heart of Atum, now set down the Bridge of

which I am a part.

It is Ra who rests in Osiris; it is Osiris who rests in Ra.

Secret, mystery, it is Ra, it is Osiris.

Three gods are all the gods: Amun-Atum, Ra, Ptah, who

have no equal.

He whose name is hidden is Amun, whose countenance is

Ra and whose body is Ptah.

Amun-Atum, Ra, Ptah, Unity-Trinity. His image can never

be drawn, nothing can be

taught of him, for he is too mysterious for his secret to be

unveiled, too great and

too powerful to be approached … one would fall dead at

once if one dared to pronounce

his secret name …

He who began the becoming the first time. Amun-Atum

who became at the beginning,

whose mysterious emergence is unknown. No Neter had

come before him who could

reveal his form. His mother who made his name does not

exist. A father who could

say “I engendered him” does not exist. It was he who

hatched his own egg. Powerful,

mysterious of birth … God of gods, who came from

himself. All the divine entities

became after he commenced himself.

He who manifested himself as heart, he who manifested

himself as tongue, in the

likeness of Atum, is Ptah, the very ancient, who gave life

to all the Neteru.

The King is all Neteru, the divinities, the hypostases of

Atum which are

his limbs. The King becomes in becoming.

The soul of the master of heaven is born, and shall become.

Come then Ra in thy name of the living Khepri … illumine

the primordial darkness

that Iuf may live and renew itself.

Holding the papyrus firmly open, Huy glanced up for a moment. Thoth is indeed curving back to the beginning as the last scroll I read said he would. He is restating the contents of the first four scrolls, putting the difficulties into concepts that might be easier for a reader to understand. He wants to be understood because he is Atum’s heart, and the Lord of Ra’s Bau. So far I find no problems. Amun-Atum enunciates, he speaks from his heart. Ptah takes this vital word and materializes the Neteru, the great archetypes. And of course, as the High Priest of Ra at Iunu told me once, Ra himself is not the sun, not light, but penetrates the sun, and lights the primordial darkness so that Flesh may live and renew itself. What Flesh? And what darkness? Of the Nun or the twelve houses of night? How odd it is, and yet how right, that I should be sitting here at the end of my long search, considering matters that became familiar to me even before I left my school! His gaze returned to the scroll.

Horus who protects Osiris, who fashions him by whom he

himself was fashioned,

Who gives life to him by whom he himself was given life,

who perpetuates

the name of him by whom he himself was begotten.

The King is liberated from the humanity which is in his

members …

Horus receives him between his fingers, he purifies him in

the lake

of the jackal, he brushes the flesh of the royal double.

Oh arise! You have received your head, your bones are

reassembled, your members

Are rejoined to you. Shake off the dust!

I am Iuf, the soul of Ra. I have come here to see my body in

order to inspect

My image which is in the Duat.

Come then to us, thou whose Flesh sails, who is led towards

his own body …

The sky is for thy soul, the earth for thy body …

Illumine the primordial darkness so that the Flesh may live

and renew itself …

Thou art he who becomes, he who metamorphoses himself

towards

the east.

The soul of the Master of Heaven is born and shall become.

The King returns to the right hand of his father …

Akh is for heaven, kha is for earth …

Thou livest now, flesh, in the earth.

Again Huy paused. So Ra, the divine principle of light, becomes Iuf, flesh. At this point I think I’m losing my grasp of what I’m reading. Akh is spirit, my spirit. Kha is my body. I have the feeling that all I can do is allow my memory to absorb the words and try to understand them later. He read on.

To me belongs today and I know tomorrow.

Who is this?

Yesterday is Osiris and tomorrow is Ra.

O Isir! Thy mouth is opened for thee with the thigh of the

Eye of Hor …

with the hook of Upual … with this metal born of Set,

the adze of iron,

with which is opened the mouth of the divine entities.

My mouth is opened by Ptah with celestial iron

scissors …

I have come to you, Osiris. I am Thoth, my two hands

united to carry Ma’at.

Ma’at is in every place that is yours …

You rise with Ma’at, you live with Ma’at, you join your

limbs to Ma’at, you make

Ma’at rest on your head in order that she may take her seat

on your forehead.

You become young again in the sight of your daughter

Ma’at, you live from

the perfume of her dew.

Ma’at is worn like an amulet at your throat, she rests on

your chest, the

divine entities reward you with Ma’at, for they know her

wisdom …

Your right eye is Ma’at, your left eye is Ma’at …

Your flesh, your members, are Ma’at …

Your food is Ma’at, your drink is Ma’at …

The breaths of your nose are Ma’at …

You exist because Ma’at exists …

And vice versa.

There was a great deal more. The scroll was thick, and Huy was tempted to hold it open by placing the clay cups on it, but the fear of harming it kept him in his seat. He read steadily, so absorbed that he was unaware of the passing of time until at last he saw the words;

There, where everything ends, all begins eternally.

Nothing more was presented in that exquisite hand, but following a portion of blank papyrus Huy saw a scattering of words written in a way he recognized as identical to the clarifications that had been added to each of the Book’s scrolls he had seen. It’s you, Imhotep, I know this is you, and I wish I’d brought my palette with me because, although every word of the Book itself sinks perfectly into my memory, your additions fade with time, a proof that the author of the Book is indeed Atum, dictating to Thoth. Stretching until his spine cracked, he glanced out into the shadows of the extensive room. The thin rays of light illuminating the uppermost tiers of stored scrolls had gone and the small, high windows themselves showed only diffused patches of bronze sky. I’ve been sitting here all day, Huy thought with a shock. I’m neither hungry nor thirsty, and the dose of poppy I always take at noon still rests in Perti’s leather bag. Suddenly oppressed by a weight of fatigue, he looked down, concentrating on the commentary the great Imhotep had penned so many hentis ago.

The King is Ma’at on earth. He spans the gulf beween earth and the Beautiful West. His limbs are the hypostases of Atum and he is the living Ra as Iuf, Flesh, as Horus himself, one of the mighty three. The heb sed not only renews the King’s strength, it transmutes him. These words of Atum confirm it. It is the sacred heb sed that gives him the limbs of Atum and the Flesh of Ra. This is the way the King truly becomes a god.

Huy lifted his hands and the scroll rolled up with a tiny whisper. Heb sed, he breathed on an audible sigh of sheer tiredness. A day on which every King performs the rites of regeneration, ceremonies established hentis ago in the darkness of the deep past. We think of it simply as the replenishment of his vigour. We believe that every Hawk-in-the-Nest becomes divine when he ascends the Horus Throne. But what if that is not true? Was the heb sed designed by Atum to do so much more? Have I found the practical application of all I have puzzled over through the years? The Book tells of creation, the beginning of magic, the becoming that resulted in the formation of the Neteru, the growing multiplicity of everything living on the earth, the holiness of Ma’at whose precepts we are commanded to follow. But until now, until the words contained in this last precious chapter, the Book did not speak of the nature and sanctity of kingship. Is this the culmination of all that has gone before since Ra-Atum filled the void of the Nun with his becoming? Does the King truly emerge from the heb sed as a unique being? I can’t think about this anymore today.

He rose stiffly, walked to one of the double doors, opened it, and stepped outside. At once his men and the temple servant with them scrambled up to bow. A pleasant, warm gush of air embraced Huy. Half the sun had already disappeared into the mouth of Nut, and the light was slowly changing from hot bronze to a delicate pink. Huy addressed the servant. “Tell your master the archivist that I have finished with the scroll and that I shall want to consult with him tomorrow. He may replace it in its box now, and leave it there. You are dismissed.”

The man nodded and left. Huy beckoned Perti and together they began the short walk out of the temple grounds, along Ptah’s canal, and through Huy’s garden gate, the guard behind them. At the door to the apartment Huy released his men. “I’ll send for you tomorrow,” he told Perti. “The temple staff fed you, I hope.”

“They did, Master. They wanted to bring you food also, but I took it upon myself to forbid them.”

“Good. Go now.” I’m both thirsty and very hungry, Huy realized as he entered the apartment and Amunmose came sweeping towards him, but as yet I don’t crave poppy. How strange. “Get me hot food and a jug of beer,” he said as his steward came up to him. “I’ll eat and drink and then see to the dispatches in my room.”

Amunmose bustled away and Huy turned to Kenofer, hovering at the door to Huy’s bedchamber. All at once the full importance of the day burst upon him and he paused. I have done what no one else has done since the time of Imhotep, he marvelled without any sense of pride. Indeed I know that I am simply standing in the wake of a great man worshipped by many. What else might Atum require of me now that the Book is complete? A vision of Amunhotep’s latest son appeared in his mind’s eye, and firmly he thrust it away. “I’ve time for a massage before Rakhaka stops grumbling and cooks for me,” he said to his body servant. “I’ve been sitting all day.” Kenofer bowed briefly without speaking. He’s learned to be quiet at last. Huy smiled to himself as he entered the room and sought his chair. Kenofer knelt and began to remove his sandals.