1

ON THE TWENTY-FIRST DAY OF MEKHIR, Huy’s barge, together with one he had borrowed from the Mayor, pulled away from his watersteps and turned south. The morning was sparkling, the breeze warm, the air full of the optimism of spring. Huy, with Amunmose beside him, stood at the deck rail and watched the small group of servants recede. He did not wave and neither did they. He did not know when he might return, and had told them so as he bade them take care of his home. There was no need to instruct Merenra; the staff would be disciplined and nurtured as always under his control.

The barges tied up for the night just north of Iunu. Huy had decided to take an escort of guards and visit Thothmes and Ishat before he realized that his plan was nothing more than a delaying tactic. Angry with himself, knowing that his reluctance to reach Mennofer was deeply anchored in the resentment towards his god that still sometimes came and went, he took a reed mat and a blanket and slept on the riverbank, close to the fire his servants had kindled. At dawn the next morning they set off again, passing Iunu’s gleaming watersteps and the forest of palm trees all but hiding the ancient White Walls, and by late that afternoon the barges were tacking towards the left bank and nosing into the canal that would take them to the palace. Uncomfortably, Huy, leaning on the deck rail, remembered the last time he had seen the encircling wall. He had been answering another King’s summons, had failed to defend Ma’at, and had slunk away in distress. Grimly, he turned his mind from that memory. The barge was slowing as a group of liveried soldiers approached, led by a figure Huy recognized. He waved. “Supreme Commander Wesersatet! It’s good to see you again! You look well!”

The soldiers halted on the stone edge of the canal and Wesersatet smiled. “It’s good to see you also, Great Seer. Thank the gods, I remain healthy. You are expected. The palace is full of the tension of waiting. The second barge is yours also?”

“Yes.”

“Then continue to the apron. Chief Herald Maani-nekhtef will direct you from there.” Bowing, he spoke a quick order and his men wheeled about, retreating to stand in the shade cast by the trees ranked against the high wall running from the palace to the river, east to west. It joined the one abutting the edge of the wide stone concourse leading to the great double doors of beaten copper, and hiding the whole of the Fine District of Pharaoh from the gaze of commoners.

Huy caught his captain’s eye, an order was shouted, and the sailors submerged the oars. Soon, too soon for Huy, his barge bumped gently against the wide stone concourse and his ramp was being run out. Huy crossed it alone, feeling naked without his scribe walking just behind him. An aging but still capable Tetiankh had dressed him in gold-bordered linen of the twelfth grade, combed perfumed oil through his long black hair, and braided it so that it brushed gently against his spine as he walked. His blue faience earrings in the likeness of Ra-Harakhti with the yellow chalcedony sun-disc on the god’s head swung from his lobes. Tiny pieces of jasper attached to his sandals glowed dully red. The Rekhet’s sa amulet hung on his chest together with the young Prince’s Naming Day gift to him, the heavy collar with its golden frogs and lizards. His face paint had been flawlessly applied. The amulet rings of protection graced his hands. No one watching him pass by, tall, handsome, his expression closed, could have imagined the turmoil within. As he neared the massive copper doors, the metal tinged faintly pink in the first intimation of dusk, another man he remembered stepped forward from his stool beside one of the colossal seated figures with their blue and white flags flanking the palace entrance, and bowed. Then he waited. So did Huy. It was some moments before Huy realized why.

“I am not a noble, Maani-nekhtef,” he said. “Don’t wait for me to speak.”

The man bowed again. “Your pardon, Great Seer. I am flattered that you have remembered my name. The King and the Regent are in the King’s quarters. My orders are to take no errands but keep watch for you here until your arrival and then to personally escort you to the royal apartments. Do you wish the company of your scribe?”

How tactful you are, Huy thought as he shook his head. You hide your surprise at my lack and make no verbal blunder. I had forgotten the extreme politeness of the courtier.

“Then be pleased to follow me,” the herald invited. One of the tall doors stood open. Huy followed his guide into the echoing vastness of the reception hall. A wave of longing for the poppy swept over him as he surveyed the deep blue of the lapis-tiled floor, the flecks of pyrite glinting like sparks as the lights from the many tall lamps reached them, the pillars marching into the distance where an empty dais and a golden baldachin spoke to Huy of audiences and formal banquets. He had not taken his midday dose for fear that Mutemwia would read his drugged state in the size of his pupils, but now, with a spasm of nausea, he regretted his decision. He had been using the poppy for so many years that only a very large quantity affected his thought or his speech. He was grateful that it still had the power to kill his pain and lull him to sleep.

They crossed the hall and entered the first of the wide corridors criss-crossing the complex, which were lined with ebony statues of the gods and symbols of every sepat. Huy remembered trying to find the totem of his district, the Am-khent. As before, he was soon lost in the maze of this city within a city. The passages were busy with hurrying servants all wearing the white and blue, and Huy and Maani-nekhtef often encountered groups of courtiers ambling along. At a sharp word from the herald they melted back against the walls to allow Huy to walk by. Once he heard a swift exchange of loud whispers as he slowed to negotiate a particularly crowded corner. “It is he! I know it is! Look at that hair! They say he’s still a virgin. I wonder how old he really is.”

“Hush. He’ll hear you. If he glances at you, don’t respond. They say he can put a spell on you just by looking into your eyes.”

Maani-nekhtef swung round. “I cannot put a spell on you, my Lady, but I can certainly recommend to the Queen that you be reprimanded for your rudeness. Get about your business!” Calmly he resumed his place in front of Huy and walked on. So the authority of a Chief Herald extends further than the safe delivering of documents and the calling of titles, Huy mused as he followed Maani-nekhtef. Is he a noble himself?

Huy had expected to be led out into the central garden space with its pools and many flower beds and shady trees, but the herald turned right into an area of the building Huy did not recognize. Guards stood along the walls of the quiet corridors. Great royal likenesses frozen in mid-stride or seated peacefully with hands on their kilted thighs punctuated the few closed doors Huy noticed. I will never learn to negotiate this maze, he thought. I’ll need a servant just to lead me about. At that moment the herald slowed. Directly ahead were double doors of what Huy knew was electrum, the beautiful blend of gold and silver favoured by every King and every noble who could afford to have it made into jewellery. Four soldiers were ranged across them. As Maani-nekhtef halted, they moved apart, saluted him, gave Huy a cursory assessment, and one of them pulled open one of the doors. It must be heavy, Huy thought again as his heart began to race. He’s leaning back and the muscles of his arm are taut.

The herald stepped beyond, murmured something, and returned. He bowed. “It has been an honour to serve you, Great Seer. I leave you in the care of Chief Royal Steward Nubti. Should you need the services of a herald, feel free to send for me. If you wish, I can appoint one for your use alone.”

“Thank you, Maani-nekhtef,” Huy replied. “I shall do so.” The man smiled and strode away, and Huy turned to see Nubti in the doorway.

At once the steward bowed. “Great Seer, you are very welcome,” he said in the deep voice Huy remembered so well. “Their Majesties are eager to see you.”

“Nubti.” Huy, following his hunched back, found himself in a wide hallway that opened out almost at once into a large, brightly lit room whose walls were covered in paintings of giant, anonymous kings wearing the Double Crown and sitting on the Horus Throne or aiming an arrow at a confusing mass of enemies or standing in a skiff surrounded by reeds, throwing stick in hand. He had no time to do more than briefly notice the pretty ebony-and-ivory-inlaid tables, the gilt chairs with their inviting cushions, the gleaming lampstands bearing alabaster lotuses and furled lily petals in whose depths the oil wicks glowed and flickered. At the far end, a shrine stood open. From its interior Amun’s benign face and tall double plumes seemed to exude an air of peace. Someone had laid a small bouquet of tiny white narcissus blooms across the god’s feet. Huy could smell them together with the heavier scents of lotus and henna flowers and the almost undetectable tang of spiced satke oil. Mutemwia’s perfume. Huy inhaled and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he saw Nubti’s oddly misshapen form gliding towards one of the wide doorways in the walls, but he had hardly reached it when he was forced to move aside. Amunhotep hurried past him towards Huy.

“You came!” he exclaimed. At once Huy went to his knees and then put his forehead on the floor. He could hear the patter of the King’s sandals slow and then stop. “You may rise,” the familiar voice commanded, and Huy scrambled up. Amunhotep was smiling at him. “Oh, Uncle Huy, it’s so very wonderful to have you here,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Huy’s eyebrows shot up. “You sent me a direct command, Majesty. Of course I obeyed as quickly as I was able. You’ve grown a great deal since I saw you last.” Indeed, the creature standing before him was almost unrecognizable. In the months since Huy had seen him, Amunhotep had become taller and more slender, as though the remains of childhood fat had been used to impel his growth. His face was thinner also, although his cheeks remained pleasantly rounded. He was at the awkward stage when girls as well as boys suddenly become all arms and gangly legs, chests slightly concave, heads too large. Why, he’s twelve, Huy thought with shock. He’s the same age I was when I came back to life in Hut-herib’s House of the Dead after being attacked at school in Iunu.

The boy’s large brown eyes rimmed in black kohl were watching him with humour. “You are assessing the changes in my body and adjusting to them. Before you ask, I am exceedingly healthy. Is Anhur with you? I long to see him.” He indicated one of the two chairs drawn up to one of the opulent tables. “Let us sit.” He flung himself down. “You are more than my Personal Scribe,” he went on as Nubti and a white-kilted servant with a blue ribbon tied around his shaved skull appeared out of nowhere and silently placed wine, cups, and a dish of almonds by the royal hand. The slim fingers waved once. Nubti poured the wine. “I will not forget that you are Egypt’s Great Seer. I will always invite you to sit in my presence, an honour no one else but my Majesty Mother has, because I love you and because I must never insult Atum by showing you the slightest indignity. You may also touch me sometimes.”

Huy took the other chair at once. Amunhotep pushed a cup towards him. Huy lifted it and drank. The King laughed at his expression as he swallowed. “Year two of my Osiris grandfather Amunhotep, high quality, three times good, from the Food of Egypt. Our best. Now, is Anhur hovering beyond the doors?”

“No, Majesty. I wish he was.” Briefly, Huy described Anhur’s illness and the steps he himself had taken on his soldier’s behalf.

Amunhotep grimaced. “I shall dictate a letter to him at once. It will be your first task as my scribe. So you are now without a captain of your guard or a scribe. I’m sorry.” Huy expected the boy to continue, to say that he knew exactly the replacements Huy needed, but he did not. “Have an almond,” he said after a short pause. “I wanted to command a great feast in your honour the day you arrived, but my Majesty Mother advised me to wait until you had been here for some weeks. She said you would be utterly lost for a while. So the three of us will eat together here in my private quarters tonight.”

Nubti appeared again and bowed. “Majesty, the Seer’s servants and goods have all been unloaded and taken to his apartments. If you wish, I can guide him there.”

“No.” The King took a last hurried gulp of wine and rose. “I’ll take him myself, but you must come so that you can meet his steward Merenra.” Huy would have liked to sit over the excellent vintage for much longer, but Amunhotep was frowning impatiently.

“Merenra has remained behind to administer my estate,” Huy told him as they approached the double doors. “I have promoted Amunmose instead.”

“I remember him.” Another servant was suddenly and silently present, pushing open one of the doors, and a soldier on the other side at once held it open. “He used to prattle on at greater length than I did in those days. Have the passages cleared!” he barked at the guards. As he and Huy fell in behind the soldiers, Amunhotep slid his arm through Huy’s. His perfume, rosemary, wafted into Huy’s nostrils. “My uncle Amunhotep is on his way back from Mitanni,” the King continued as the five of them set off. “I have sent a contingent of soldiers from the Division of Ra to meet him at the border. To escort him safely home.” Huy repressed an urge to glance at the smoothly painted face. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the hennaed mouth was faintly smiling. “I don’t remember him really. It will be good to welcome him back. Pa-shed is looking forward to serving him again.”

Huy filed both snippets of information away. The guards were already slowing after no more than two turns of the corridor. Ahead, a pair of tall cedar doors stood open. Two of Huy’s own soldiers were already standing guard outside. He greeted them and they returned his words with obvious relief at seeing him. As he stepped over the threshold, Amunmose came hurrying. At the sight of Huy’s companion, he fell to his knees and his forehead audibly bumped the tiles. Amunhotep told him to get up, which he did with alacrity, only then rubbing his forehead. Huy prayed that he would not speak first. The steward waited.

“I remember you very well, Amunmose,” the King told him. “You often brought me forbidden sweatmeats when I stayed in Huy’s guest room. Are you happy with the domain you will oversee?”

“Oh, Majesty, it’s wonderful. Wonderful! Master, there are more and bigger rooms than your house has at home, and several of them give out onto a huge lawn with trees and flowers and two ponds! On this side”—he pointed—“the apartment joins by a door to your servants’ quarters. There’s a door on the opposite wall beyond, but it won’t open.”

“It will open from the other side.” Amunhotep pulled his arm from Huy’s. “My Majesty Mother’s apartments are between yours and mine, Uncle Huy. If she wishes to speak with you, she will send a servant through. It is the same for me. I don’t spend much time in my quarters, though. I must continue my studies until my sixteenth Naming Day like every other Egyptian pupil, and as well as my lessons, I must give audience to any minister who needs to consult Mother and me. There are a lot of them, not to mention the ambassadors who come and go from barbaric foreign countries.” He turned to face Huy directly. “I must leave you here, but tonight you will be summoned to my rooms. I’ll send you an escort. After the three of us have eaten, I’ll dicate the letter to Anhur. Nubti, explain to Amunmose exactly where your quarters are, and how the stewards in the palace go about their duties. Stay here.”

Everyone bowed and Amunhotep left. Huy felt that the boy had taken his energy with him. He was all at once tired. A wave of homesickness for his house and Thothhotep’s light voice and Anhur’s lined face washed through him.

“Master, would you like to see the layout of this place, or would you rather sit quietly while the rest of your belongings are unpacked? Your sleeping room is ready for you now, and Tetiankh is there.”

Huy fought off his exhaustion. Nubti was waiting in the motionless patience of the good servant. “If Tetiankh is there, I’ll find it myself,” Huy replied. “Nubti, tell him everything he has to know.”

He wandered farther into the airy room with its white and blue tiles, its pretty red or yellow reed mats, its chairs and tables and lampstands, its cushions stuffed with goose down. The surface of one of the tables formed a sennet board, the figures inside the squares exquisitely painted on bone or ivory, the squares themselves formed of thin, criss-crossing strips of gold. Under the table was a drawer where, Huy surmised, the rods, spools, and sticks for the game were kept. The walls around him did not have much decoration on them. They were broken by rectangled doorways leading into other rooms and perhaps even to rooms beyond them, until there was a solid wall against which some noble lived. The layout was simple, pleasing, and easy to grasp.

Huy found his body servant folding linen in a large, dim room dominated by a capacious couch with its head pushed against the far wall. Over it on the ceiling the body of the goddess of the sky, Nut, was arched, surrounded by stars, the sun just about to disappear into her mouth. Pink light, the early light of sunset, dribbled down from the three clerestory windows cut high in the only wall clearly fronting the garden Amunmose had mentioned, and pooled weakly on the blue and white tiling of the floor. The table by the couch was gilded, and already held Huy’s night lamp. So was the chair resting against the right-hand wall, with two of his chests beside it. Tetiankh had already dressed the couch and placed Huy’s shrine with its likeness of Khenti-kheti against the last piece of free wall.

The air smelled faintly of vinegar and jasmine. The jasmine must be flowering outside, Huy thought. It had been years since he had worn that particular perfume, not since the disastrous evening at Nakht’s house when Nakht had refused him a position in his Governor’s office and Anuket had kissed him so deliberately and so coldly in the dark of her father’s garden. Huy hated this room at once, then silently reprimanded himself. You are tired and a stranger here. Besides, you know there won’t be much time for sleeping, don’t you?

“I need a small dose of poppy and an hour on the couch, Tetiankh,” he said, stepping reluctantly forward. “Go and find out from Royal Steward Nubti where the palace physicians keep their mortars and pestles and whatever else you’ll need. Later, you and I and Amunmose must discuss the safety of our belongings, how to keep everything secure, but for now just let me rest.” He stripped off his kilt, sandals, and jewellery, placed his headrest on the couch, and lay down, watching the glow from the two standing lamps in the room gradually seem to brighten as the daylight waned.

When Tetiankh returned, Huy drank then dozed, listening as the man set up Huy’s cosmetics table, opened a chest to retrieve a clean kilt, brought out a piece of jewellery with a soft clink. There was sanity in the gentle sounds, and relief from heartache in the drug. He came to himself with a start when a hand descended on his naked shoulder.

“Master, I let you sleep for two hours, but I dare not make you late for the King,” Tetiankh said. “A servant from the nearest bathhouse is here with hot water. I will refresh you.”

Later, in white kilt and shirt, a plain gold chain hanging with the sa around his neck and golden ankhs in his earlobes, his eyes kohled and his hair newly braided, he sat in his new reception room, now full of shadows, glad to be away from the aroma of jasmine and feeling wholly unreal.

A herald came for him not long afterwards, and by the time he had followed the man the short distance to the King’s dully gleaming electrum doors, he was familiar with the way. He entered the royal apartments to a blaze of cheerful lamplight and the pleasant trills of a plucked harp. Nubti flowed towards him, reverenced him, and led him to where Amunhotep and Mutemwia were waiting, three little dining tables laden with fresh flowers behind them.

Huy made his obeisance to them, and Mutemwia held out both silver-hung arms. Astounded, Huy found himself loosely embraced, enveloped in her perfume, the blue enamel flowers surrounding her coronet brushing the middle of his chest. His own arms went around her automatically. It was like holding a child. She stepped back, but only a little. “I have missed you a great deal, Seer Huy.” She smiled. “Many times during the worries of the past months I have needed your counsel and gone without. I hope you will be happy here. I will do everything I can to make it so.” The tiny hands laden with rings flew apart in an expansive gesture. The beautiful black eyes were full of warmth.

Huy bowed profoundly. “Majesty, you are generous and kind,” he replied. “Know that I will serve my King and you for as long as my love and devotion are needed.”

“Let us eat together, then.” Still smiling, she indicated the floor, and once she and Amunhotep had settled themselves behind their tables, he joined them.

At once the room sprang to life with a file of servants carrying trays that filled Huy’s nostrils with appetizing aromas. He suddenly realized that he was hungry. He was offered date, palm, grape, shedeh, or fig wine. The choice of delicious salads at that time of the year was large. Ox liver with parsley and onions, roast duck in a cumin and marjoram sauce, grilled fresh inet fish, its skin crisp with thyme and coriander, were all paraded before him. The meal ended with a small bowl of dried figs and currants in a date syrup. Huy, leaning back replete, realized that nothing he had eaten had been tasted, and then decided that it did not matter. Their Majesties would have their own tasters, and any meal shared with them was safe—unless one or both of them might want to poison him in the days ahead. He stirred uneasily, dismissing the ridiculous thought.

Amunhotep was talking about his chariot horses. Mutemwia was watching him, her rings glinting as she moved her wine cup slowly to and fro. Huy, glancing from one to the other, saw more than the physical likeness between them. Both carried their noble blood with a grace Amunhotep was just beginning to display, but now a subtle aura of easy confidence surrounded them, the mutual satisfaction of a task accomplished. Huy did not feel left out; indeed he had understood Mutemwia’s goal and the caution with which she had proceeded to accomplish it, and had complied without words. He came to himself with both pairs of large black eyes fixed on him inquiringly.

Amunhotep laughed. “Have you eaten too well, Uncle? What were you thinking?”

“I was remarking to myself on the many similarities between you and your Majesty Mother, and yes, I have eaten far too well. My physician will compel me to fast all day tomorrow.” The comment was a small test. Huy had not known that until the words left his mouth. Would Mutemwia tell him that the royal physicians would be caring for his health from now on? Or would she not care, seeing that her network of spies was incredibly efficient? Mutemwia said nothing.

The King rose and Huy followed. “I keep forgetting that I must not call you Uncle anymore now that my blood relative is returning,” Amunhotep said ruefully. “I’ll miss that freedom, but I’ll enjoy calling you Amunhotep. Now I want to dictate to Anhur, and afterwards my Mother wants to speak with you in her quarters.”

Mutemwia bowed to him then kissed his cheek. “Sleep well, my son.” Acknowledging Huy’s obeisance with the slight tilting of her head, she walked towards the door. At once a bevy of servants followed behind her. Huy recognized Nefer-ka-Ra, her scribe, in the group. The door was closed.

Amunhotep beckoned Nubti. “Go and find the Seer a palette and bring papyrus and ink as well.” He turned back to Huy as the steward floated away. “After you’ve taken down my letter, we’ll play a game or two of sennet. I still can’t go to my couch until the middle of the night. Neither can my Mother, and it’s always a struggle to leave my sheets in the morning. I do like those rare days when my presence isn’t needed to give audience or bless some god’s festival and I can go on snoring! Mother deals with the administrators and then tells me what she’s done. If I disapprove, I must tell her why and give her strong arguments or she overrides me. She’s making sure that when I reach my majority and have full control over Egypt, every official, both governmental and religious, owes me something and is utterly loyal to me. So many of them!” He cocked an eye at Huy. “You are exempt,” he added. “You are my scribe because I love you and you are Egypt’s Great Seer and I don’t like being here without you.”

“But my brother Heby and my nephews are not exempt.”

“Well, partially.” The King’s glance became shrewd. “They are your close kin, therefore I feel warmly towards them, and Heby has made an honest and competent Mayor for Mennofer. Ramose is still only eleven and cannot yet perform any duties as a steward in the Mansion of the Aten at Iunu, but his appointment lets everyone know that I intend to personally supervise the worship of that god.”

Huy looked at him curiously. Was Ramose’s elevation Mutemwia’s idea or Amunhotep’s? he wondered. Would I have been as astute at twelve years old? Or is Amunhotep so anxious to show me how capable to rule he’s becoming that he is taking his mother’s farsightedness for his own?

“I think the choice of your other nephew for Superior King’s Scribe of Recruits is very good, don’t you?” the King went on. “He’s a competent-enough scribe at twenty, but added to that is his reputation among the officers and men. He’s comfortable with them. He shares the soldiers’ rough jokes and speaks to the officers in the language of the barracks and the training ground. Ah! Here’s a palette for you.”

Huy was about to say that his nephew Amunhotep-Huy was a harsh, quick-tempered man, but Nubti was handing him a scribe’s tools and withdrawing.

“Tomorrow you can use your own palette. I’m ready to begin.”

Hastily, Huy went to the floor, murmured the usual prayer to Thoth, and picked up a brush. So it begins, he thought as the King began to pace. Am I still within your will, mighty Atum?

When the letter was finished, Amunhotep took it, beckoned to Nubti, and handed it over. “Take it to Nebmerut for sealing and then to Maani-nekhtef before you retire,” he ordered Nubti. “Now, Uncle, we will play sennet.”

No we won’t, Huy thought. If I don’t lay down the white cord delineating my boundaries now, this wonderful boy will take over my life completely. Placing the palette on one of the tables, he faced Amunhotep. “Majesty, I am fifty years old,” he said steadily. “If I am to serve you as I would like, I must keep my hours of rest intact as often as possible. This is my first evening here. I’m tired and just a little homesick, and I must speak with the Queen before I retire. Please dismiss me.”

An expression of sullenness flitted across the intelligent features. King and scribe stared at one another in a pregnant silence. Then Amunhotep dropped his gaze. “You’re right,” he admitted. “You reprimand my selfishness as gently as you used to do when I misbehaved in your house. I am corrected. Make your reverence, go to my Mother, then sleep without danger. The servants fall over one another, so be sure to ask for whatever you need. Until the morning, Amunhotep.”

Huy bowed, straightened, and smiled. The relief he felt did not show on his face. “Majesty, I will gladly be called by your powerful name when dealing with everyone but you and the Queen your Mother. I’ve been Uncle Huy to you for years, but now you are almost a man I would like you to call me just Huy.”

Amunhotep returned Huy’s smile. “I’d like that too. Your name holds many good memories for me.” He turned away.

Huy backed down the room then strode to the door. He is still irritated at my presumption to gainsay him, he thought as the soldier pushed it open and Huy walked through. Nevertheless, I cannot allow him to control me or he will begin to believe that if the Great Seer is biddable under his hand, then bending everyone else to his desires is permissible. I hope Menkhoper and his other tutors are still able to hold on to the invisible leash. Besides, if I always give in to him, I’ll be no use to him as an adviser. His respect for me will erode. In the passage he paused and one of the guards approached him.

“I am to escort you to Her Majesty’s apartments,” he said with a bow. “Her walls abut yours, Great Seer, so if I take you there today, you will need no help in the future.” Huy followed the wide, muscled back as the man took him not far past his own quarters and halted before another pair of electrum doors. Huy was too tired to scan the figures beaten into the metal except to notice that they wore feminine dress. Again there were guards and again a consultation with someone beyond. A young man in an ankle-length white sheath bordered in blue emerged, bowing several times.

“I am Ameni, Chief Steward of Her Majesty, Great Seer,” he said. “You are expected. Please enter.” Huy did so, wondering if Pa-shed, the steward who had served Mutemwia in his master’s absence, was even now preparing the Prince’s old quarters for his return.

Finding himself alone, he paused in the middle of the room and looked about. The Queen’s apartments were little different from those of her son. The evidence of opulence was everywhere, but softened by the influence of a woman. Or women, Huy mused, his gaze travelling his surroundings. Mut, Hathor, Sekhmet, Isis, Neith, all goddesses, graced the white-painted walls, making them bright with the vivid colours of jewelled belts and coronets. The lampstands flowed, the fine alabaster lamps themselves curved into flower buds, fruit, and bulbous seed pods. A shrine at the far end was closed, but the air held a faint whiff of incense smoke. Yellow reed mats covered the tiled floor. Several cushions were thrown about between the tables and intricately inlaid chairs.

All the apertures leading to other rooms showed darkness but one. A shaft of light came from it, mingling with the many lamps burning around Huy. As he stepped towards it, Mutemwia appeared, her diaphanous sleeping robe momentarily blurring its radiance. Her tiny feet were bare. She wore no adornment, and her hair fell in a gleaming shower to her shoulders. Watching her, Huy realized that she reminded him of someone, but he could not remember who that might be. He felt immediately at ease with her, this most powerful woman, even though she looked to be no more than a vulnerable girl. He bowed, smiling, and she waved him forward.

“This is like old times, isn’t it, Huy, when I used to wander about your house and garden at night, and we would often meet because you could not sleep and I was not tired.” She raised her chin at the nearest wall. “These are the rooms reserved for the Chief Royal Wife of the King. Neferatiri used them last, and as my son is still only twelve and will not be taking any wives for a while, I have sent Neferatiri back to the women’s quarters. As a dowager Queen she is entitled to wear the royal vulture on her head. I am perfectly happy to keep the gazelles’ heads. Sit down, my friend. It’s late and I will not hold you with silly chit-chat. Thank you, Ameni.” With a start Huy saw the steward at his elbow, placing beer and water on the table. “Are you hungry, Huy? Would you rather drink wine? No? Then you may go, Ameni. When the Seer leaves, summon Tekait.”

The man made no sound as he crossed the long floor and went out. Mutemwia poured water for them both. Huy drank thirstily, but the Queen’s cup remained full.

“The King and I have tasks for you,” she began, pulling a footstool towards herself with her naked toes and settling her feet on the cushion. “Firstly, I have prepared for you a list of High Priests and ministers in positions of responsibility at court. The King inherited some of them from his father. Some of them I myself have appointed. We want you to give audience to each of them. We need to know who will remain loyal to my son, who will work honestly and diligently, whom to trust. I have determined these qualities as best I can. You may See for them if requested, but if there is anything detrimental towards the Horus Throne in the visions, you must bring a record of them to me. You need not bother with my list tonight. Bring it to the Hall of Audience when the King sits. Maani-nekhtef will call out the names of those in attendance as they approach the Horus Throne. Nebmerut will note down their needs, and if necessary the King will see them in their several offices. Nebmerut, Beloved of the King, Royal Scribe and Seal Bearer,” she explained in answer to Huy’s raised eyebrows. “He will work under you or take your place if you are ill or absent. You will have much to do with him, so learn his character well.”

She paused to lean forward and lift her cup, and as she did so Huy was suddenly enveloped in a miasma of jasmine perfume. At once he was overcome by a confusion of emotions. Despair, desperation, rage, desire, deluged him as they had on the night when Anuket accosted him in her father’s garden. The aroma had seeped into his earlier sleep, and his rest, though deep, had been full of unwanted dreams.

“You don’t wear jasmine!” he blurted, half rising from his chair.

Mutemwia glanced at him sharply. “I have it sprinkled on my night robe occasionally. For some reason it helps me to sleep. What’s the matter?”

Huy sat down slowly. I’m so tired tonight, he thought resignedly. That’s unusual for me unless I’ve been Seeing. I want to be dismissed and drink my poppy in silence. The Queen was sipping her water, her eyes on him in speculation. Huy grimaced. “The smell of jasmine returns me to a time of great misery,” he replied. “Forgive me for startling you.”

“You didn’t startle me.” She put her cup back on the table. “But I must say that I have never seen the marks of exhaustion on your face before. I’ll be brief.”

She didn’t ask me what that time was, Huy’s thoughts ran on as she began to speak again. She probably doesn’t need to ask. She knows already.

“The King’s uncle will arrive in a few days,” she was saying. “He will be treated with every honour to which he is entitled as a Prince. The King is most eager to get to know him. I remember him well and of course you do also. You made a Seeing for him. He will doubtless send for you before long.” She met Huy’s eye. “If he asks for another Seeing, I must know. If he sends such a request, it may mean that he has secretly decided to make a bid for the throne, in which case I must have him very closely watched, and Neferatiri also. The Prince will need her blood and position. She seems content, but I leave nothing to chance.” She ran both hands through her hair, lifted it, and, letting it fall back into place, folded her arms. “Apart from the hour of audience, the King won’t require your presence tomorrow. It might be wise to go to the administrative offices and let the ministers begin to get to know you. You remember the wording of your summons?”

“Of course, Majesty.”

“Good. You must restrict the use of your gift to those I send to you. The common people have had you long enough!” Her smile was infectious. In spite of his fatigue he found himself smiling back. “Amunhotep loves you very much,” she went on. It was the first time Huy had heard her use her son’s name. “Before he gives audience tomorrow he wishes to confer two titles on you: smer and erpa-ha. He intends to elevate you to the ranks of the nobles. It’s something his father should have done, but of course Thothmes would have reduced your power if he could, not added to it. What do you think?”

Huy did not answer her at once, although he knew exactly what he would say. He tried to read the thoughts behind the black eyes, which often seemed full of an innocence that was, in fact, utterly misleading. Was this a challenge? A test? I deserve this, he told himself. I have served Egypt well and will serve her even better in the years to come. But I don’t want it. Have never wanted it.

Leaving his chair, he knelt before her, and taking her little foot in both his hands, he kissed it and set it gently down. “I am more than grateful for this honour, but I must refuse it. I can’t serve the King and you if I hold a title.”

“Why not?” There was no edge to the words, but Huy sensed the wariness beneath them.

“Because you have brought me here to be an adviser to His Majesty. You know that I love him and hold the greatest respect for you. You stand behind the throne as Regent. When the King reaches his majority, you will no longer have that power, although you will of course always have influence with him. My position as his adviser will not change. I must be seen to be above the politics of both the nobility and the priesthoods, to favour neither the servants of the King nor the servants of the gods. Only then can I be seen as incorruptible. The priests will not be able to accuse me of a bias towards my fellow nobles. The nobles will not see me as a contender against them for the positions and preferments available through His Majesty’s generosity. As Huy the peasant, I am completely impartial. As Huy the Seer, I am seen to serve only the King.”

She had been motionless while he was speaking, the gossamer linen that fell to her ankles stirring only with the rise and fall of her breast. Now she reached out her hands, lightly stroking down his hair and then taking both of his long braids and tugging them gently. “Get up. You are very wise, aren’t you, my Seer? I had not considered your argument, but it has validity. Very well. I shall explain it to the King.” She rose, went to another table, and returned holding a thick roll of papyrus, which she passed to him. Now standing, he took it reluctantly. “Not for tonight,” she said. “You are dismissed. And before I forget, you have our permission to hire anyone you like to be your new scribe and the captain of your guards. Choose well. The palace is not always a safe place.”

Bowing, Huy made his way to the door. Beyond it, Ameni acknowledged him and entered, closing it behind him. The passage was full of moving shadows between the torches on the walls, but Huy had no reason to share his fellow Egyptians’ fear of the night. Not anymore. He came to his own door without difficulty, bade the two guards a good night, and made his way to his bedchamber. Tetiankh was asleep across its entrance. Stepping over him, Huy had just enough energy to rid himself of kilt, loincloth, and jewellery before crawling onto his couch with a gusty sigh. On the table beside him was a stoppered vial. After picking it up and shaking it, Huy pulled out the stopper and drank his poppy. Almost at once his fatigue became a pleasant lassitude and he drifted easily into unconsciousness.

He dreamed that he was sitting in his garden at Hut-herib drinking wine with Ishat. Even in his sleep he knew that drinking wine was a good omen. It meant that he would open his mouth and speak important words. He turned his head to tell Ishat so, but the woman beside him was not Ishat. It was the Queen. Mutemwia was wearing the crown with the gazelles’ heads. There was no wine cup in her graceful hands. Instead, she was lifting a wreath of jasmine and ivy over his head. “I love you also, Huy,” she said. “I have loved you almost as long as you have loved me. But what can I do?” The garden suddenly darkened and the hennaed lips so close to his own became ebony in the uncertain light. “Kiss me, Huy,” she whispered, and it was Anuket wearing the crown, Anuket whose fingers pressed the wreath against his skin. Huy cried out softly, but he did not wake.