6

CHIEF ARCHITECT KHA AND HIS SONS were admitted to Huy’s suite shortly after sunset, and looking at the two younger men as they bowed to him Huy understood why the King had laughed when speaking of Kha’s family. Kha’s sons were identical twins, gazing solemnly at Huy out of almond-shaped grey eyes, each wide jaw cleft with the sign of a stubborn nature, each generous mouth with the same slightly upward quirk to the left side that would make them appear scornful to anyone who did not know them. But there was no hint of mockery in their expressions as they waited for their father to introduce them. Kha’s own blue eyes were merry.

“Great Seer Amunhotep, these are my children Hori and Suti. They have been anxious to meet you.” Both shaven heads were lowered again. They had both been painted with the same light grey tinge of colour on their eyelids, above heavy kohl.

“You are most welcome,” Huy said, making no attempt to hide his amusement. “Now, which of you is Hori and which Suti?”

“We are asked the same question almost every day, Seer Amunhotep,” one of them replied promptly. “I am Hori. He’s Suti. I am the more intelligent, of course. I draft the most original designs.” They looked at one another and laughed.

“So original that no one wants to see them actually built,” Suti retorted gaily. Huy noted that the modulation of his voice was very slightly higher than that of his brother. Suti raised his braceleted right arm and pointed at himself. “I have a small mole halfway down the side of my chest. Sometimes even our mother can’t tell us apart until I show it to her.”

“You mentioned two daughters on your estate outside Weset,” Huy said to Kha as Amunmose ushered them farther into the room. “Are they also twins?”

Kha shook his head. “Thank all the gods, no! These two provide problems enough!”

Paroi was waiting with wine jugs in both hands as Huy and his guests took their places and lifted the garlands before them on the low tables.

“This is not, strictly speaking, a feast,” Huy told them. “The noble Yey has not yet been buried. There are no perfumed cones and no entertainment. However, we may enjoy the fresh flowers.”

Both Hori and Suti were holding the garlands to their faces. “One of the advantages to living close to the perfume fields …” one began.

“… is the variety of lovely blooms in the Delta,” the other finished, quite naturally and without even glancing at his brother. “White lilies, creamy henna, pink tamarisk, even the yellow bak flowers that smell so sweet.” He set the wreath around his neck and looked across at Amunmose, who was setting out cups and finger bowls. “I don’t suppose …”

“… you have any bak pods hidden away?” Both sets of dark eyebrows were raised in anticipation.

“I’m sorry, honoured guests, but the season is still too early for them. My master enjoys them also.” The conversation became general as the wine filled the goblets and the food was served. Huy, having drunk a mouthful or two of date wine earlier, was surprised that he was mildly hungry for the lettuce and cucumber salad drenched in garlic and sesame oil and the ox liver with chickpeas that sent the aroma of majoram and coriander drifting through the air. He ate carefully, however, aware of the delicate state of his stomach, while Hori and Suti consumed everything offered to them politely but steadily.

“Your cook is excellent, Huy,” Kha remarked as Paroi began to clear away the debris and Amunmose stood by with a platter of honeyed figs.

Huy nodded. “He has certainly done well. Please tell him so, Amunmose.”

The steward rolled his eyes. “He’ll only look conceited and then begin to grumble about the restrictions of trying to work in a common kitchen, but I’ll give him the compliment anyway. I keep searching for someone cheerful to replace him.” He set down the figs and bustled away.

“Your chief steward has an unusual temperament,” Kha commented as the twins descended on the figs. “He is not at all in awe of you.”

“He’s an old friend. I’ve known him for many years.” He and Anhur, Huy thought fleetingly, in the days when I was still engaged in a fruitless struggle to understand the Book of Thoth and my own astonishing regeneration.

He and Kha watched the figs disappear, and two pairs of beringed hands dabble in the warm water of the finger bowls and reach for the squares of crisp white linen set ready for them. At once Paroi signalled and the tables were removed. “Let’s go out into the garden,” Huy said, getting up. “Amunmose has set a mat and cushions on the grass and lamps under the trees. Paroi will bring more wine.” Together they left the room and, accompanied by Perti and three other guards, walked the short distance to the welcoming lamplight.

“So this is where Perti ended up,” one of the twins observed, flinging himself down beside his brother. Huy tried to decide which one had spoken, but failed until the other chimed in.

“We thought he’d been disgraced.” This comment belonged to Suti. “One day he was drilling his favourite ten men on the practice ground and the next he and they were gone.” He turned to Huy. “We regularly liked to watch the various army divisions go through their paces when our own work was done. The Scribe of Recruits allowed us to stand with him on the dais. We competed with Perti at archery, too.”

“And he always beat us.” Hori held out his cup to Paroi, who had emerged from the darkness. “He recognizes us but won’t acknowledge us without your permission, Seer Amunhotep.”

“Then be good-mannered enough to stop talking about him as though he can’t hear you,” Kha put in testily. He had placed his cushion between the small of his back and the trunk of a tree. “Why must you both behave as though you are still children?”

“Because their work is difficult and requires their utmost concentration,” Huy said. All evening he had been quietly watching the silent, almost unconscious interplay between them. Their words were light, frivolous, but their thoughtful glances had missed no detail regarding the people around them, including himself. “They find relief in meaningless talk. Don’t be concerned on my account or Captain Perti’s, Kha. I have already taken their measure, as I’m sure Perti has. I’m ready to discuss the tasks the King has set us all.”

There was a moment of silence. The twins stared into their wine cups. Their father folded his long legs one over the other and smoothed his kilt across his thighs.

“All three of us will be returning to Weset,” he said. “It will be good to see my wife and daughters, but the duties assigned to us are heavy. The King intends to make the most ambitious changes to Amun’s temple at Ipet-isut that Egypt has ever seen.”

“I have already given orders that limestone from the mines at Tura must be routed south once the mines are repaired.” The voice was Suti’s. “I’ll be demolishing the late King’s sandstone court within the sacred precinct. It is not worthy of either Amun or our Pharaoh, who wants something there in white alabaster from Hatnub. I dislike designing for alabaster—it’s so friable. And the obelisk that’s been lying on its side unfinished for the last thirty-five years is a disgrace to the temple. It must be finished and erected.”

“We’re going to need Master of Works and Chief Sculptor Men, and his son Bek.” Hori drained his wine in one gulp and nonchalantly held his cup out to be refilled. “I’ve sent to Iunu, and both of them should be on their way to Weset by now. His Majesty has ordered me to draft a plan for a new Barque Shrine in Ipet-isut, and he has his royal eye on the southern Apt a mile or two south of Ipet-isut. I’ve seen the ruins of a small, unfinished limestone chapel there.”

“As your superior, I anticipate your designs, both of you. I assume that Men appointed his junior Masters of Works to see to the repairing and opening of the various mines.” Kha turned to Huy. “You are completely in the King’s confidence, therefore you are aware of his wish to build a new palace on the west bank directly opposite the temple of Ipet-isut.”

“I am aware of it, and I am horrified. The Regent has stated the reasons His Majesty gave, but they seem spurious to me. The dead will not be pleased.”

“Nevertheless, he has made up his mind. All three of us, Hori, Suti, and myself, will be designing it. It’s true that the existing palace will eventually become too cramped.” He sighed. “The design itself will take many months. In the meantime His Majesty will occupy the old palace. But before we begin our work at Weset we’ve been commanded to plan and erect a shrine to Nekhbet the vulture goddess at Nekheb, at the mouth of the desert valley where the eastern gold route begins. We must depict our King’s father Osiris Thothmes sitting with his son, and elsewhere the goddess herself with her protecting wings over Pharaoh.”

Why? Huy wondered immediately. Does Amunhotep feel that he needs the shield of the Lady of Flame because of his uncle? Has he always held Nekhbet in especial esteem? Did his father, and so by honouring the goddess with a new shrine, he is keeping his father’s spirit peaceful? In all the time I’ve known him, he’s never preferred one god over another, and indeed when he was a little boy he confessed to me that he found matters of religion boring. Well, I suppose that as long as he is keeping the Aten in its proper place I need not fret.

“I didn’t know that,” he said aloud.

The evening was over. Full night now permeated the garden, and lamps had begun to wink off within the palace. Kha rose to his feet and his sons scrambled up at once.

Suti yawned. “I was dozing. Thank you, Great Seer, for your hospitality. We shall be seeing much more of you as the King’s projects progress. We wish you safety on your journey.”

I suppose that every inhabitant of the palace knows that I am travelling with the Vizier, Huy thought, returning their bows and leading them back inside, where Amunmose waited to alert their escort. At least I don’t leave tomorrow. I need poppy, and a sound sleep.

Yey was entombed on the last day of Payni. The weather was slowly warming towards the stultifying heat of the harvest season, but the day of the funeral was mild, with a pleasant breeze. Huy, far back in the procession snaking slowly westward through the palm groves to the desert beyond, gave himself over to the delicate scents intermittently wafted to him. He had decided to attend the first day of the three-day rite out of respect for the man who had commanded such affection from the King and his mother, but he himself had not known Yey. The customary wails of the dozens of mourners in their blue sheaths trailing behind the coffin reminded him only that Yey’s family was wealthy enough to hire a small army of them. He reflected briefly on the power Yey and his survivors wielded. However, the sunlight was dazzling on the churned sand ahead, the white linen held over his head billowed gently in the moving airs, and with a mild pang of guilt that was immediately dissipated he gave himself over to the pleasure of the morning.

He and his entourage returned to the palace after sunset. The halls were unusually quiet. Every minister and nobleman had gone to accompany Yey on his last journey. Huy took the opportunity to dictate a letter to Thothhotep and Anhur, telling them that Nekheb would soon be full of workmen and introducing Kha and his sons, who had already left for Weset. Nekheb was not far south of Weset, on the east side of the river. Its twin town Nekhen sat on the western bank. He was tempted to dictate a formal request for a meeting with Yuya, but before he lay his vision of Tiye’s future before her father, there loomed the necessity of presenting it to the King. Better to wait, Huy thought as he stretched out on his mat under the shade in the deserted garden and gazed sleepily up through the thick leaves of the sycamore. Amunhotep will doubtless pout and protest. He will capitulate in the end, of course, but there’s no need to antagonize him by anticipating his surrender. I wonder if the Queen has already prepared him for the news?

ON THE FOURTH DAY, the palace began to fill again as the inhabitants came straggling back. Their mood was light, and Huy, listening to the loud chatter and frequent bursts of laughter, knew that their cheerfulness sprang from relief. Yey was dead, left behind in the darkness, but they had survived to pick up the commonplace threads of their everyday lives. No need to fret about Ma’at’s feather weighed against their hearts in the gloom of the Judgment Hall. Not yet.

As Huy emerged from his bedchamber on the fifth day, a message came from Vizier Ptahmose requesting that Huy be ready to leave Mennofer in two days, on the seventh of Epophi. Huy passed it on to Amunmose with instructions to pack his belongings. “You’ll accompany me, of course,” he told the steward, “along with Paneb, Ba-en-Ra, Tetiankh, and Perti and half my soldiers. I suppose Seneb will come also.”

“I heard him arguing with Tetiankh. Something about your opium.” Amunmose was frowning. “Seneb was trying to insist on taking charge of the portion of the shipment Tetiankh sets aside for your use during the year. The physician doesn’t want Tetiankh to dry it and grind it up. Tetiankh’s getting old, Huy, too old for the labour of a body servant. He needs nights of uninterrupted rest and less bending and lifting. Not to mention the effort of your daily massage.”

“Why do you tell me this now?” Huy retorted more sharply than he had intended. Indeed he had always taken Tetiankh’s quiet service for granted. “Is there some reason why Tetiankh can’t approach me himself?”

“He’s too proud. He’d rather work until he drops than admit that he needs help.”

“Well, speak to him. Find him an assistant. Gods, Amunmose, it’s your job to see to the welfare of my staff! Use the authority I’ve given you!”

Amunmose looked at him keenly. “I’m glad we’re going away. You need plenty of time sitting on the deck of your barge doing absolutely nothing. Except learning Akkadian, unfortunately. The scribe Minister May has assigned to you is waiting outside in the corridor with a bag full of bits of broken pots for you to practise on as though you are back at school.” His tone was scornful. “Also, Physician Seneb wants to know whether morning or evening will be a more convenient time for him to examine you. Also, the Queen demands your presence in His Majesty’s private apartments as soon as possible. She sent Maani-nekhtef here with the message. Huy, I need a scribe of my own!”

“Then hire one and deal with Seneb and May’s servant. Both of them will travel with me. We’ll need at least one other vessel besides mine. Get Paroi to see to it.”

Amunmose nodded curtly. He was already barking orders as he walked away.

With his guards before and behind Paneb and himself, Huy made his way to Amunhotep’s now familiar double doors, waiting while Captain Perti knocked and Chief Steward Nubti appeared and bowed, greeting him politely and ushering him inside. Before he bent in reverence, Huy noted that the room was unnaturally empty. He extended his arms, bowed from the waist, and moved towards the two at the far end. Mutemwia was sitting with her feet on a low stool, her yellow sheath falling softly across her legs and brushing the floor. A coronet of thin, twisted gold wires studded with artificial lotus buds sat on her brow above a carefully painted face, the lustrous eyelids glinting with specks of gold dust mixed into the kohl, the perfect little mouth gleaming with red antimony rather than the more common orange henna. Rings weighed down her thin fingers. A tiny silver likeness of the vulture goddess Mut, consort of Amun and Mutemwia’s totem, hung from one lobe. Huy, going to his knees, thought with a throb of distress that she had never looked more regal.

Amunhotep was standing beside her chair, feet apart and sturdy arms folded. A starched linen helmet of white and blue stripes brushed his shoulders. Its rim, surmounted by a small rearing cobra with its hood flared, cut across his forehead. The Lady of Dread, ready to spit venom at any who might wish him harm, Huy told himself as the King gave him permission to straighten. Why are they both arrayed with such powerful symbols of divine defence? Are they protecting themselves against me? Amunhotep strode towards Huy with a broad smile, however, and Huy’s nostrils filled with the scent of rosemary as he was embraced.

“I’m almost as tall as you are, Uncle Huy!” Amunhotep exclaimed. “And did you remember that my Anniversary of Appearing is almost upon us? You’ll have left with Ptahmose by then, but I expect you to open the shrine in your cabin and offer incense to Amun on my behalf. My father died on the fifteenth of Mesore. Thus I ascended to godhead. Leave us, Nubti.”

The steward bowed and went out, closing the door behind him. For the first time Huy noticed Mutemwia’s personal scribe Nefer-ka-Ra, sitting cross-legged on the floor a little apart from her. His ink pot was open, papyrus unrolled across the surface of his palette, and a brush was in his hand. At Huy’s motion Paneb sank down beside his fellow and began his own preparations. Amunhotep swung back to Mutemwia’s chair. She had not stirred, merely acknowledging Huy’s veneration with a brief nod, but their eyes had met. Huy looked quickly away.

“So, Uncle,” the King continued. “My Mother tells me that you have had a vision concerning me. She has refused to say anything about it, although I’ve begged and threatened her, but it seems that she relents today. Yey has gone to the Beautiful West and we mourn for him no longer. Speak!” His words were light, joking, but beneath them Huy sensed the young man’s apprehension. He was tense himself.

“Sit if you wish, Huy.” The voice was the Queen’s. She was watching Huy with composure, her hands clasped loosely in her lap.

Huy declined. “The vision concerns you,” he said to Amunhotep directly, “but the Seeing was for Yey’s granddaughter Tiye, at her request and with the permission of her father the noble Yuya.”

Amunhotep grimaced. “Poor Uncle Huy! What a burdensome task for you! I hope your vision showed you that evil goose of hers taking after her for a change. It slips its leash far too often and attacks anyone it pleases, including me, but my Mother won’t allow me to order it beheaded and stuffed for one of my feasts. I swear Tiye sets it against me on purpose. Now.” His expression became solemn. “Tell me how a Seeing for Yuya’s daughter can have anything to do with me.”

“I didn’t expect it to, Majesty. Indeed I anticipated a very simple, perhaps even frivolous glance into the girl’s future for which I needed no permission from you. However, the god showed me something momentous.”

The boy had begun to drum his fingers impatiently against the back of his mother’s chair. Mutemwia herself had not stirred. Her gaze remained fixed on Huy. He could not read the thoughts behind it. With an inward sigh, he went on.

“Atum desires that Tiye should become your wife,” he said deliberately. “I Saw her beside you at Ipet-isut, crowned and clad in gold, on the day your Mother relinquishes her authority as Regent and you become a divine Incarnation. She was wearing the vulture headdress of female royalty, and gold and lapis hung from her earlobes. Mut’s claws held shen signs. You yourself were holding the crook and the flail in protection and blessing over the crowd. No matter how strange this seems,” he pressed on as the King’s fingers were stilled and his spine stiffened, “the will of the god is clear. For your own sake and for the health of Egypt, you must sign a marriage contract with Yuya’s daughter.”

He had imagined a violent outburst from Amunhotep and had steeled himself for whatever reaction his words would cause, but he was unprepared for the silence that fell, in which his voice seemed loud and domineering before it died away. Mutemwia remained still. So did the King. Huy, watching him carefully, saw his eyes gradually narrow. Presently he folded his arms, but the silence continued. Huy saw that he was thinking furiously, his hennaed lips pursing and relaxing, looking at Huy with a slitted gaze but not seeing him. At last he exhaled noisily, stepped from behind his mother, and sat, waving Huy down at the same time. Huy obeyed, bemused. Obviously there would be no display of royal bluster. Amunhotep crossed one leg over the other and leaned towards Huy.

“My trust in you has never been tested before,” he said, “but now I am forced to examine all the years behind us to assure myself that your own honesty has always been genuinely selfless. Year after year my Mother the Queen placed me in your care. She trusted you enough to guide my education during the months I spent on your estate, plant in me a reverence for the laws of Ma’at, rebuke my arrogance, and correct my childish restlessness. I came to love you, but was that because you set out to conquer the affections of a boy who would one day be a King? Bind me in affection to serve your own ambition for the future?”

Huy listened to him appalled, wanting to refute such insanity at once, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Mutemwia raise one hand, a quick gesture Amunhotep did not see, and he kept quiet.

“My Mother the Queen warns me often that a pharaoh may trust no one, that in the end the Incarnation of the god can rely on no advice but that of the god,” Amunhotep continued huskily. His hennaed palms drew apart, an evidence of doubt. “This instruction from Atum, this glimpse of what must come, it could be a plot hatched out between you and Yuya to place both of you in positions of immense power.” Suddenly he buried his face in his hands. “How may I know the truth?” he groaned. “Today I realize that in fact I do trust no one, not even you, my Mother.”

Mutemwia made no move to touch him. However, she laid her arms along the arms of her chair and turned to look at him. “You need to trust no one and nothing but the accumulation of evidence, Amunhotep,” she said crisply. “Firstly, my spies confirm that Huy has visited Yuya’s house only once, and that was with us, to greet Yey before he died. Secondly, they confirm that Tiye caused a nuisance at Huy’s door in the night, that Huy had her escorted home immediately, that Yuya punished her but gave her permission to request a Seeing, and that Huy Scryed for her only once. His recovery took two days. If you paid more attention to the daily reports of both your ministers and our spies, you would know these things yourself instead of being content to hear them from me. You may thank the gods that I am to be trusted. As for Egypt’s Great Seer, why would he attempt to ingratiate himself with the Lady Tiye and her family when he already enjoys the esteem of a King?”

Amunhotep had lifted his head and was staring at her. She rapped him smartly but gently on the cheek with the back of her hand. “You are almost thirteen years old,” she chided him. “In three years’ time the Horus Throne and absolute power in Egypt will be entirely yours. Wake up! Listen to me, to Huy, to your ministers, with more than one ear tuned to the urgings of your friends who want you to spend your time careening in your chariot out on the desert. I think that I have been too lenient with you. Today the Seer has woken me. Do you intend to trust him or not?”

Huy saw no sign of resentment on the King’s face in spite of Mutemwia’s tongue-lashing. Instead he recognized an expression of serious consideration that returned him briefly and vividly to the halcyon years when he oversaw the tutoring of his royal charge during the months of the Inundation.

“I hear you, my Mother,” Amunhotep said.

He reached across and touched Huy’s wrist, a charmingly tentative action that filled Huy with warmth. This is the child I know, the kind-hearted boy I remember.

“Uncle Huy, I truly dislike Tiye. Are you sure it was her that you Saw? Why her, a commoner, and not my sister Iaret, who is fully royal and quite legitimately claims pre-eminence? Not that I like her either—she whines a great deal—but marriage to her would reinforce my seat on the Horus Throne.”

So Amunhotep still doubts his blood-uncle’s desire to relinquish any right to govern Egypt, Huy thought. Does Mutemwia? “It was definitely the Lady Tiye,” he replied, “and Majesty, the Atum did not see fit to acquaint me with the reasons for his choice. All I know is that, commoner or not, you are to make her Chief Wife.”

“You do realize that if I marry Tiye I’ll be giving her family precedence over every other noble in Egypt,” Amunhotep commented. “The title Yuya has inherited, Chief Rekhit, will be more than just an acknowledgement of gratitude to Yey and now to Yuya. Must I truly do this thing?” He rose and stood irresolute. “I suppose that Atum’s reasons will eventually become clear, and if I disobey the god I will certainly incur a punishment. May I consider the matter for a while, become used to it, before the Minister for Protocol draws up a contract?” His grin was rueful. “At least I won’t be expected to do my duty and consummate the union at once, and by then there will be concubines to compensate me. Are you sure of what you Saw, Uncle Huy? I am shocked by this astonishing turn my life must take.”

Huy also left his chair, and bowed. “Majesty, if you wish, I will See for you,” he offered. “You must have no qualms regarding such an important matter.”

The young man’s eyes were clouded as they met Huy’s. “If you have lied to me about Tiye’s Seeing, then you can just as easily fabricate a vision for me. Perhaps I should consult one of my astrologers. All they do so far is tell me which third of each day is lucky and which unlucky. They all promised me a very lucky beginning to this morning, but they did not say why.”

“It’s your privilege to command an answer from the oil in the Anubis bowl,” Huy replied. “In any event, make a sacrifice for clarity of mind to Atum, and to Amun also. I leave very soon for a tour of the Delta with Ptahmose, so your decision is required by the time I return. Forgive me for distressing you, Majesty, but believe that I have spoken the truth. Egypt will need you and Tiye together. Please dismiss me now.”

Amunhotep nodded. Thankfully, Huy backed out of the room, Nubti entered, and the doors were closed.

THE VIZIER’S FLOTILLA left Mennofer at dawn two days later. Five barges were strung out in the centre of a river whose level was slowly dropping towards the sullen current that would hopefully presage the annual Inundation. Huy’s two barges followed those of Ptahmose. To Huy’s relief, his nephew had decided to bring up the rear in his own vessel. “I can’t cram my staff in with yours, Uncle,” he had told Huy the day before, “and there’ll be no room on your barge for me, my scribe, or my guards. I refuse to share the common servants’ space. I usually make this annual inspection aboard the Vizier’s barge, but the Regent has requested that you sail with him instead.” His tone had made it clear that he resented giving place to Huy, who responded with a polite apology and a sense of liberation.

So Huy sat and talked with Ptahmose under the large awning set up on the deck of the Vizier’s boat while their scribes and body servants drank beer in the shade of the cabin and the rowers moved them slowly past the dusty, drooping palms lining the banks. Beyond the trees, the air was often thick with chaff from the scythes and billhooks of the reapers who moved across the golden fields, the crops falling before them. But soon the Delta harvest of blooms took the place of barley and wheat, wafting the mingled scents of narcissus, lilies, jasmine, the aromatic tang of heliotrope, and a dozen others, forcibly returning Huy to the days of his childhood when his father had toiled for his uncle in fields like these.

Vizier Ptahmose was a charming, approachable man and Huy was soon entirely at ease in his presence. He could speak as knowledgeably about Egypt’s attempts to grow and harvest frankincense as about the strengths and weaknesses of the governors who answered to him. “Her Majesty the Regent has asked me to acquaint you fully with the responsibilities of my position,” he told Huy. “Your nephew knows them well. In the past he has accompanied me on my tours of duty while he saw to his own task of military inspection. However, Her Majesty wishes you to form your own opinion regarding the forces patrolling Ta-Mehu before you hear any report from the Scribe of Recruits.” He had cast a humorous sidelong glance at Huy. “Her Majesty says that she commanded your nephew to take you into every fort, garrison, and encampment over which he has jurisdiction, but to make no comment to you whatsoever regarding the officers and men you meet, or their deployment. I believe that your nephew has not yet spoken of this to you?” The tactful words were partly a question.

“Amunhotep-Huy and I have little but our blood in common,” Huy replied heavily. “I love him as my brother Heby’s son and I remember the difficulties of his childhood. I wish him only good. Although we are not close, I do know that where his loyalty to Egypt and to the King is concerned, he is an honest man. He will tell me of the Regent’s injunction when he is ready to do so.”

“Her Majesty spends much time pondering the future of this country,” the Vizier responded with seeming irrelevance. “We will see many changes in the months to come.”

The city of Iunu, where Thothmes was Governor of the Heq-at sepat, was their first stop. Huy, Ptahmose, and Amunhotep-Huy disembarked in the brilliant red of a late sunset to be greeted respectfully by Thothmes’ elder son. Bowing first to the Vizier, the young man indicated the litters resting on the broad watersteps. “You are expected, noble ones,” he said. “A meal has been prepared for you.”

“Assistant Governor Huy,” Ptahmose responded with a smile. “Of course you know the Great Seer and his nephew, the Scribe of Recruits.”

Huy embraced his namesake with delight. “You look more like your father every day! I trust he is in good health? And Ishat?”

They chatted as they moved towards the litters resting above the wide public watersteps. The Vizier had a litter to himself, but Huy was forced to share one with Amunhotep-Huy, who refused to answer Huy’s attempts at light conversation as they set off, and looked so miserable that Huy reluctantly asked him if he was well.

“There is nothing wrong with my body, Uncle,” Amunhotep-Huy blurted as though he had been waiting for an opportunity to unburden himself. “But I am troubled in my mind.”

Startled, Huy looked across at him. In all the years Huy had known him, he had never once confided anything of importance. The litter’s curtains had remained tied back. The evening was still and hot. Red dust from the sandy street rose in thin clouds from the feet of the accompanying soldiers, and Huy could hear Paneb’s deep, measured tones and Perti’s lighter answers as they strode behind the bearers. Amunhotep-Huy leaned closer. Huy could smell his sweat mingled with the faint scent of sam flowers. He had time to wonder at his nephew’s choice of wild wormwood blooms for perfume before Amunhotep-Huy passed a tentative hand over his shaven skull. His brown shoulders were hunched.

“Yours are not the ears I would choose, but there’s no one else I can ask about this,” he went on huskily. “At least you have a reputation for keeping your counsel. I am the Scribe of Recruits. I am known for my forceful speech and strong decisions. By my own diligence and with help from my military tutor, Officer Irem, I won a position as a scribe in the palace, and then as an under steward. You didn’t know that, did you?” For a moment the usual caustic quality sharpened his speech, but Huy had merely begun to shake his head when Amunhotep-Huy plunged on. “Then Her Majesty the Regent became aware of the time I spent enjoying the company of the soldiers and was pleased to promote me yet again, to my present position as Scribe of Recruits. I am responsible for administering the army and navy and regulating the defence of the Delta. I enjoy my work. I do it well.”

He bit his lip and fell briefly silent, obviously struggling for words of anxiety that must surely, Huy thought, be foreign to him. Huy was entirely bemused by this uncharacteristic outburst. I could point out that every member of our family received a preferment when I was summoned to court, he thought. Your father became Mayor of Mennofer and Overseer of the Cattle of Amun, not to mention the added prestige of being appointed Overseer of the Two Granaries of Amun in the Sepats of Ta-Mehu. Your half-brother Ramose was made steward in the Mansion of the Aten at Iunu although he was only eleven at the time, a wise and crafty way for Mutemwia to ensure the loyalty of a future spy among the devotees of that god. Certainly Her Majesty fixed upon your talent, my cantankerous young relative, but her true incentive was to lure me into her service. Huy said none of these things. He waited for Amunhotep-Huy to compose himself. At last the handsome features so like those of his father were turned down to the fingers clasped tightly across the burly thighs.

“But now Her Majesty summons me and tells me that I am to accompany you—not that you are to accompany me—with Vizier Ptahmose as he holds his annual consultations,” Amunhotep-Huy continued, his voice uneven. “Everyone at court knows that you have her ear and that your influence over the King is absolute. I decided that perhaps you had petitioned His Majesty for the position of Vizier instead of Ptahmose. I thought nothing of it.”

No, of course you didn’t, Huy wanted to snap at him, his temper rising. “You do not know me at all if you think—” Huy began, but Amunhotep-Huy cut him short. Hot fingers closed over Huy’s wrist.

“That wasn’t it at all!” he said urgently. “I am to take you into every fort, every garrison, I am to make every officer in the Delta aware of you, I am even to travel with you east along the Horus Road, and I am not to say one single word regarding the deployments I have effected or the reasons why I have chosen to distribute the troops in the manner you will see! The gods know that I do not yet hate you, Uncle, in spite of our differences, but if my position as Scribe of Recruits is taken away from me and given to you, the Queen’s willing lapdog, I shall beg Set for vengeance!” His voice had risen and he had begun to shake.

Huy hushed him savagely, aware that the men surrounding them were now quiet. He pulled himself loose from his nephew’s clutch. “I have always known of your antipathy towards me,” he said, fighting the surge of anger that threatened to spill over into words that could never be withdrawn. “I have never understood it, unless its roots lie somewhere in your discontented childhood. You do me a terrible disservice if you truly believe that I would deliberately seek to undermine you. I have no desire whatsoever to take your title away. Think, Amunhotep-Huy! You have already been promoted three times. Have you no confidence in your ability? In the Regent’s wisdom? Your assumption is nothing but a fantasy.”

“I do not trust you!”

“You should. I came to you, seeking your advice regarding my need for a suitable captain. You agreed that no matter what hostility lay between us, a loyalty to the family came first. You remember?”

“Yes.”

“Her Majesty understands that allegiance. She will not force a choice on me between my duty to my family and my duty to Egypt, because she acknowledges my honesty. Where’s your courage and the faith you have in your own talents, nephew? Do you want me to See for you after all?”

“That is not necessary,” the other said stiffly. “I apologize for my loss of self-control.”

The bearers were slowing. Amunhotep-Huy was struggling to recover his composure as quickly as possible, and dismally Huy realized that in confessing his inmost fear to him and thus his vulnerability, his nephew would now hate him all the more.

His reunion with his two oldest friends and their remaining children was joyful, and Huy filed away the painful exchange with Amunhotep-Huy to the back of his consciousness as he embraced each one and allowed himself to be led into Thothmes’ reception hall. To his great pleasure another familiar figure rose from among the scattering of little gilded dining tables, goblet in hand, a cluster of blue faience cornflowers pinned behind one ear. “Nasha!” he called, and hurrying towards one another, they hugged fiercely. Thothmes’ older sister smelled of wine and Susinum, a blend of lilies, myrrh, and cinnamon in balanos oil, which Huy seldom encountered.

“You never write to me,” Nasha complained as they drew apart. “Here I am, bored and lonely, rattling around in the house next door, reduced to playing with my jewellery and dyeing my hair, while you share the exalted confidences of our young King and think yourself too good for us ordinary folk!” She raised herself on her toes and kissed his cheek. “You must eat beside the Vizier and then talk of serious things with him and Thothmes in the office, but afterwards we have planned to drink the rest of the night away on Thothmes’ raft. You remember the last time we did that, Huy? It was after the celebration of Thothmes’ marriage to Ishat. Father was dying. Those few days were a strange mixture of sadness and pleasure.”

A lump formed in Huy’s throat as he looked down into her painted face. The eyes were as sparkling and alive as ever, speaking to him of Nasha’s indomitable and optimistic nature, but her age had become increasingly evident in the sagging of her cheeks and the lines around her hennaed mouth.

“You should have married, dear one,” he said. “The gods know, you had suitors enough!”

She wrinkled her nose. “They all had something wrong with them. Besides, I have father’s house and estate. Why should I share the riches? We can talk later.”

Thothmes’ steward had approached and was waiting politely to show Huy to his table, and as Huy followed him one of Thothmes’ servant girls reached up and laid a wreath of quivering blooms around his neck.

The feast was a happy one, full of banter and good conversation. Even Amunhotep-Huy, sitting on Ishat’s left, became flushed with Thothmes’ wine and hummed to the music of the harp and drum as the sweet nehet figs in date syrup were offered and the warm night air made the lamp flames tremble in their alabaster cups.

Afterwards, Thothmes, Huy, Ptahmose, and Amunhotep-Huy, together with their scribes, gathered in the office, and Thothmes in his capacity as Governor gave the Vizier an overview of the business of the sepat: the quantity and estimated value of the various harvests still in progress, the legal disputes adjudicated, the advancement of building projects, any problems concerning the administration of both secular and religious institutions, and the overall mood of the populace in general. There were few areas of concern. Iunu was an ancient and wealthy city, its priests and nobles content, its commoners well fed, and the peasant farmers and retired soldiers coaxed abundant fruits and vegetables out of the fertile soil. Huy, watching his friend’s sensitive and intelligent face, found himself giving thanks to Atum for the warmth and intimacy that had been his since his childhood days at school here in the temple of Ra, when he and Thothmes had been drawn together, the peasant and the noble’s son, and Thothmes’ family had made him one of their own.

When Ptahmose and his attendants had returned to the barge, Huy dismissed Paneb, and arm in arm with Thothmes he walked to the watersteps, where torches blazed, illuminating a raft piled with cushions and rocking gently. Amunhotep-Huy had refused Thothmes’ invitation to join them. “You and the rest of my uncle’s friends will doubtless while away the hours in reminiscences, Governor Thothmes,” he had pointed out. “I thank you for your hospitality, but I think I’ll retire to my cot.”

“He is not a happy man, is he, Huy?” Thothmes had remarked as they watched the darkness gradually swallow up Amunhotep-Huy’s rigid spine. “How’s the rest of your family, by the way? Heby and Iupia? What’s your other nephew, Ramose, doing?”

A peace stole over Huy as he lowered himself onto the raft between Ishat and Nasha. Much as he loved Thothmes’ children, he was glad that none of them had joined the group. True to Amunhotep-Huy’s prediction, there were memories to share, but much of the talk centred around Huy’s daily life in the palace.

“Who would have thought that the awkward boy with the inarticulate passion for our sister Anuket was destined to advise the King himself,” Nasha commented at one point. “You must be incurring a flood of jealousy among His Majesty’s other counsellors.” Huy answered her lightly, examining himself as he spoke for any remaining vestige of the obsession for Thothmes’ manipulative younger sister that had almost destroyed him. He found nothing but a faint echo from the past, and gave himself up to the familiar pleasures of the present company.

Ptahmose’s advance through the sepats of the Delta followed much the same pattern as his visit to Iunu. In the centre of each district, whether city or town, he, Huy, and Amunhotep-Huy were feasted, the business of local government was discussed, and the following morning the barges would set off to negotiate whatever tributary of the river they must follow. During the idle hours Ptahmose gave Huy his personal assessment of the loyalty and efficiency of the various governors, his thoughts on the resolution of their difficulties, and a brief sketch of their family histories. Huy listened, noted, and formed his own opinions. He was aware of the Delta as never before—a vast, lush garden where fat livestock grazed, where the air, heavy with the humidity of the many rivulets and canals in spite of the time of year, carried the odours of a riotous fecundity to his delighted nostrils. Both Amun’s overseers and those of the King pastured their herds here, but Huy began to notice many small flocks of sheep and groups of fat swine occupying the grassy fields. Their guardians, wearing rough skirts and thick cloaks, stared at them impassively as the barges slipped by.

“Tribesmen from Rethennu,” Ptahmose told him. “I don’t suppose you would have encountered them at Hut-herib when your father worked in the perfume fields. They like to keep their animals grazing fairly close to the Horus Road. The governors of our northeastern sepats are endlessly settling quarrels that arise between our farmers and the slaves over the use of the land.” Any non-citizen or seasonal labourer from beyond Egypt’s borders was called a slave. It was a light, rather scornful word, and Ptahmose’s tone was condescending.

“I know it’s been the custom for hentis to let them in,” Huy said. “How many drive their herds into the Delta along the Horus Road?”

Ptahmose shrugged. “You must ask your nephew. My only concern is whether or not my governors are handling the situation.”

Huy was about to remind the Vizier that during a dark time in Egypt’s history those same tribesmen had managed to take control of the country without a drop of blood being shed and had ruled for more than two hundred years, but he closed his mouth again. Better to see for myself, to talk to the garrison commanders. The Queen will expect the information I glean to be in my report. Reluctantly he turned from the pleasant scenery slipping slowly by to May’s scribe, waiting patiently by his elbow. Huy’s lessons in Akkadian, the language of diplomacy, were progressing well. The meaning of the stark, thin symbols was much easier to learn than the tangle of hieroglyphs he had struggled with in school.

Once the Delta sepats were behind them, the barges were left in the care of Ptahmose’s captain and the litters were readied. The way led northeast along the Horus Road that began in the Khent-abt district and ran through the marshy Sea of Reeds, well-nigh impassable during the Inundation, towards the coast. It then curved east to disappear into Rethennu and the foreign terrain beyond. The garrisons set every few miles along it began at once. Huy expected to see a military presence between them, but there was none. The Road was choked with the flow of animals and their keepers leaving Egypt to return home before the Inundation drowned the rich fields they had enjoyed, and the Vizier’s entourage moved slowly in spite of the guards who walked ahead, calling a warning. Huy did not mind. There was time for a leisurely look at a swiftly changing topography, and the bearded herdsmen in their garish colours fascinated him. At each garrison, after the obeisances and a hospitable meal, he listened to the report given to Amunhotep-Huy. Paneb quietly noted it down. Huy had questions of his own regarding the policing of the Road. How were the foreigners controlled? Were daily records kept of their numbers coming and going? How often were the soldiers manning the garrisons rotated? The answers to the last question began to bother him. Many of the men were mercenaries, returning regularly to their native territories. These were places that paid tribute to Egypt or, more rarely, were governed directly by one of Pharaoh’s resident ministers.

“Every garrison is commanded by an Egyptian officer,” Amunhotep-Huy had responded testily to Huy’s query. “The men under them are entitled to a piece of Egyptian soil when they’re too old to fight. What better incentive is there to keep them loyal to us?”

Huy thought his attitude naive but consistent with his character. Harsh discipline and the promise of reward would be sufficient to maintain order in the garrisons. A more subtle lure leading to treason or revolt would not occur to him. Is our army full of mercenaries also? Huy wondered. And what of the navy? Ptahmose had struck out east before any inspection of the coastal forts had been made. He considered the state of Egypt’s eastern dependencies more important, probably quite rightly. Huy decided to travel the northernmost shore roads of the Delta by himself if necessary.

Ptahmose held meetings in Rethennu not only with the Governor and his assistant stationed there but also with the chieftains of the tribes whose members were permitted temporary entrance into the Delta. Collectively the Vizier called them the Habiri, but Huy heard how politely he gave each his title. He knew all their names and the names of their elder sons, those who would inherit both the control of the tribes and the yoke of Egyptian domination. Without exception they grumbled at the amount of cedar wood Egypt demanded, and to a lesser extent at the number of cattle included in the annual tax. Ptahmose dealt with them tactfully but firmly. There were no forts within Rethennu’s borders, but the Governor maintained a large contingent of Egyptian infantry. Huy approved. “What lies beyond this land?” he asked the Vizier as the three of them, Ptahmose, Amunhotep-Huy, and himself, walked towards the tents that had been set up for them.

“Zahi and Shinar,” he was told, “Apra, Amurru, and a few small collections of unimportant clans between the Amurru and the kingdom of Mitanni. We deal with the Amurru diplomatically. Her Majesty periodically sends soldiers to both the Amurru and the city state of Byblos to help discourage any plans of southward expansion that Mitanni might concoct. They provide a buffer between Mitanni and Rethennu. Are you confused yet, Great Seer?”

No, Huy was not confused. A rapidly growing map of Egypt’s strengths and weaknesses was being etched in his mind. It seemed to him that although Ptahmose was an excellent Vizier, his interest did not extend into conjecture beyond the limits of his responsibility.

Huy did not like Rethennu. Its mountains were clothed in the precious woods Egypt needed, but it was on the whole a bare, unlovely place, the ground sharp underfoot with gravel, the growth of fodder sparse on the foothills. He understood why so many slaves, non-citizens, chose to drive their livestock into the verdant little hayfields of Ta-Mehu. He was relieved when Ptahmose gave the order to retrace their journey along the Horus Road.

At the city of Per-Bastet, sited on the main eastern tributary of the Delta and home to the cat goddess Bast, they amicably parted company. It was necessary for Amunhotep-Huy to inspect the forts and army training centres as far as Swenet, far to the south, and the Vizier had to continue his own assessment of the middle and southern governorships. “I usually make my headquarters at Pe when I evaluate the annual state of the navy,” Amunhotep-Huy told Huy, “and I do it well before the Inundation. This year you’ll have to take my place. The noble Nebenkempt is our Naval Troop Commander. A good man and an able sailor. He captains the royal barge Kha-em-Ma’at when it’s needed. You also need to speak with Standard Bearer Hatmesha. He commands two hundred and fifty marines, but there’s no one who knows more about the history of the navy and its current state. Good luck, Uncle.”

His manner had been offhand and he would not meet Huy’s eye. Paneb was rapidly taking down the information in his neat hieratic script. Huy had wanted to ask his nephew to carry his greetings to the noble Amunnefer, his partner in the cultivation and harvest of the opium crops, and to visit Thothhotep and Anhur at their home in Nekheb, but thought better of it. He bade both men farewell, climbed aboard his barge with an inward sigh of relief, and began to read over the information Paneb had accumulated. May’s scribe had accompanied him in order to continue his lessons, but Huy hardly needed him anymore. Akkadian was a very logical language.