The Twice Born (5 page)

His father gave him a large leather bag for his clothes and sandals and a smaller one for whatever personal items he did not need but wanted to take. Huy received them in silence. Hapzefa and his mother took charge of the larger one, filling it with loincloths and new kilts and shirts, a comb and a plain copper mirror, natron and linen cloths for washing himself, his drinking cup, a knife and a dish. Itu fretted continuously. Would there be someone to help him dress, wash his clothes, tie his sandals if he knotted the thongs—and what if he became ill? Would anyone notice or care? Surely the local school could give him an adequate education! Wisely Hapzefa did not respond to Itu’s panicked questions that had no answers, and Hapu, tired and filthy when he returned late from the fields, could only keep reassuring her that many boys had begun their careers at Iunu and had come to no harm, that Huy was healthy and resilient, and that Ker had promised not only to deliver Huy to the temple and see that he was safe but also to visit Iunu as often as possible during Huy’s first six months at the school. Itu was not mollified, but having voiced every worry several times she found their stings less painful and lapsed into a precarious quiet.

Huy put the sennet game and his paints into the bottom of his bag. He wondered if he would be allowed to paint on the temple walls. He had already mastered the writing of his name and had daubed it not only on his door but on every outside wall of the house. Into his cedar box went the scarab and his Nefer amulet. The other compartments remained empty and he wondered what precious trophies might fill them in the years to come. He left the hated monkey on the table by his cot. “It will be there to welcome me when I come home,” he told Itu mendaciously. “It might be stolen if I take it with me.” Hapzefa coughed discreetly and turned back to the packing.

His mother smiled. “How very thoughtful of you, Huy.” The smile broadened. “I will make sure that it comes to no harm.” Huy, catching her eye, wondered for the first time whether she had ever believed any of his lies.

Then, suddenly, too suddenly, Hapzefa was washing him for the last time, his mother had come into his room to kiss him good night for the last time, and he laid his head on his pillow for what he believed, with a cold shiver, to be his final sleep on his cot. “Ker will come for you in the morning,” Itu told him, “and he will take you right to the temple and talk to the priest in charge of your class. You are expected, Huy. Shall I leave a lamp with you?”

He nodded, numb with a dread he had not felt since the evening his father had broken the news to him that he really would be going away. He tried to remember the kind priest’s words but could not as he watched Itu’s dark hair fall over her brown shoulder, and inhaled the lilies of her perfume.
Save me, Mother!
he wanted to scream.
Tell me it was all a joke!

Itu went to his empty clothes chest, knelt, and, lifting the lid, brought up the monkey. “I think I had better start looking after this right away, don’t you, Huy?” she said gravely. “I will move it to my own chest, where it will be undisturbed. Until the morning, little one.” She left quietly and Huy was alone.

It was a great relief to know that the monkey was not lying in the chest, eyes open in the darkness, peering about for him. For a long time Huy lay gazing up at the sweet familiarity of the cracks across the ceiling, trying to stay awake, to make every remaining moment count, but before long his eyelids grew heavy and he slept.

2

 
HUY HAD IMAGINED
that the journey to Iunu would take many weeks. It had seemed to him that the walk to Khenti-kheti’s shrine from his home had gone on forever, and having been no farther afield than that, he could not envisage a greater distance. But Ker had told him that Iunu was a mere forty miles upstream, reachable in one day if necessary, although he would not tire his rowers by forcing them to fight the northward current when speed was not essential. “We will make a leisurely trip, Huy,” Ker had said as his barge pulled away from the dock at Hut-herib and the steersman fought to avoid the other craft jockeying for position in the crowded tributary. “Very soon we will strike the river itself. Later, towards evening, we will pull into some little bay and build a fire, fry some fish, and you can sleep in my cabin. That will be fun, won’t it?”

Huy, clinging tightly to the guardrail while the steersman shouted curses at his compatriots on all sides, could only nod. The noise was alarming. So was the rocking of the deck under his feet. His mind filled with the last sight of his parents, standing forlornly at the gate, his father holding a sack of seeds ready to go out to the fields, his mother swathed in her woollen cloak, for the pre-dawn air was cold. Their goodbyes had been quietly perfunctory. Ker had brought a litter so that Huy might ride to the water, but Huy, crawling up into it, was oblivious to his uncle’s kindly gesture. Craning his neck for a last look at all that was dearly familiar as the bearers began to move off, he spotted Ishat hovering by the orchard wall, arms folded, grinding one bare foot on top of the other. He did not wave. Neither did she. Waving was a cheerful gesture and, besides, it meant a parting, and he stubbornly refused to consider what was to come. Ishat continued to stand there awkwardly until he was out of sight.

Ker’s barge smelled of dressed wood mingled with the rather sour odour of the water lapping against its sides. At any other time Huy would have excitedly filled his nostrils with the novelty of it as his uncle took his hand and led him up the ramp and onto the cool planking of the deck, but today he was insensible to anything new. He followed Ker to the cabin, where his uncle’s belongings were already stowed neatly in one corner. Ker set Huy’s two leather bags beside his own. “When you are tired, you can come and sleep in here,” he told the boy. “It will be cool and quiet for you. But now, let’s stand by the rail and watch the town slide away behind us. Then we will eat. Yes?”

Huy could hardly breathe for the lump in his throat. Ker shouted a command to the rowers and the boat began to move. He talked gently to Huy, pointing out the various sorts of craft around them, what cargo they might be carrying, where they had come from, the meaning of the flags most of them were flying. “You see that one there?” He pointed to a sleek, gilded skiff with pennants of blue and white fixed fore and aft. “Blue and white are the imperial colours. Whoever is on that boat is here on the business of our King. Probably a herald. The craft is too small for goods.” He smiled down at Huy. “When I deliver perfumes to Weset I am allowed to display the blue and white.” He chatted on, trying to put Huy at ease, but Huy was not comforted. Full of that childish desperation which is always mingled with helplessness, he felt the dawn breeze lift his hair and the first rays of the rising sun strike his skin, and he began to cry.

Nevertheless a sort of security quickly grew up around him as hour by hour the rowers beat their way upstream. For the time being he was safe with a man who loved him, and isolated on a river whose banks still showed him the familiar lush vegetation he might find on his father’s acres. Between the palm trees to either side he could see sowers strewing seed onto the rich black soil as his father was doubtless doing, sacks slung around their necks, brown arms moving to and fro, followed by the inevitable flock of greedy gulls and pigeons wheeling in a graceful white rhythm behind them. Cows stood in the shallows, water dripping from their muzzles as they lifted their heads, curious as always to see what was going by. Yellow-crested ibises stalked through the papyrus swamps, and now and then in an iridescent blue flash a kingfisher dove between the feathery fronds of the sedge. In the heat of the afternoon Huy slept on the cushions of the cabin, lulled by the motion of the vessel he had at first found distressing, and Ker lay propped against the cabin wall under a canopy, drowsily sipping beer.

Although the river had retreated to the level it held for most of the year, the current was still running strongly, and before the sun lipped the western horizon Ker directed the helmsman to a tiny cove ringed with the tangled trunks and bright yellow button flowers of acacia trees. He sent Huy to gather wood for a fire while the helmsman set out his fishing line and the rowers waded into the water to wash off their sweat. Briefly Huy forgot the fate awaiting him at Iunu. Proudly he piled twigs and a few dry branches near the hollow in the sand Ker had made, and as his uncle laid and lit the fire he went and stood ankle-deep in the shallows, watching the rowers laugh and splash away their fatigue.

They all dined on perch fried in olive oil, sitting in the sand as the light turned red and gradually faded and the shadows under the jumbled acacia grew dense. Huy, full and content, pressed close to his uncle as night deepened, his eyes on the leap and crackle of the fire, his ears full of the rough accents of the sailors as they made jokes about things he did not understand and spoke to him teasingly but kindly. At last, worn out and yawning, he was carried back on board the boat, laid in the cabin, and bade to sleep well. Ker assured him that he himself would be just outside the door if he needed anything, but before his uncle had finished speaking Huy was asleep.

In the morning there was bread, goat’s cheese, and grapes that were beginning to wrinkle into sweet raisins, and once Huy had finished eating Ker told him to take some natron down to the water and give himself a good scrubbing. Huy was horrified. He had never washed himself, and as he stood naked and shivering on the deck, a bag of natron in one hand and a square of coarse linen in the other, the bleakness of his situation came rushing back. “I can’t!” he wailed. “Hapzefa always does it! I want Hapzefa! I’m cold and I want to go home!”

Ker scooped him up and hugged him. “I know, little one, I know,” he said soothingly. “One day you will thank me for putting you through this nasty ordeal, but now you must be clean and put on fresh linen so that you need not be ashamed when I present you to the Overseer of the temple school. You have been very brave so far,” he continued, moving towards the ramp. “Try to hold on to that courage. I and your aunt love you very much. We would never do anything to hurt you. This distress is temporary.” He had reached the edge of the water. Setting the boy down, he began to instruct him. “The other pupils will all be able to wash themselves,” he encouraged Huy. “First you must wet yourself all over, even your hair. Then take a little natron out of the bag, and cupping it in your hand, you must rub it all over you, your face, even on top of your head. Look, I will show you.” He pulled off his kilt, unwound his loincloth, and ran into the water. “See!” he called. “Wet all over!”

He held out his arms and unwillingly Huy waded after him. The water seemed warmer than the air. Huy could not swim and did not want to immerse himself completely, but under his uncle’s urging he took a deep breath and plunged beneath the surface, coming up to Ker’s clapping. “Now we go back to the shore and get the natron,” he ordered, and together they regained the sand. Huy found that he rather enjoyed the rough feel of the natron against his skin, and besides, the rubbing was heating him. He returned to the river with a new confidence to rinse off the salt, dried himself competently, and managed to tie his kilt around his waist without any assistance. Suddenly the boat erupted in a chorus of cheers and, startled, Huy realized that the sailors had been watching his efforts. He grinned, embarrassed but pleased. Ker produced a short stick of dried rush, peeled it, and crushed the end so it was splayed. Huy knew what it was for. Taking it, he brushed his teeth vigorously.

Ker handed him a tiny green faience bottle. “Civilized people perfume the mouth every morning. This is lemongrass in a base of ben oil. When you have cleaned your teeth, put one drop of it on your tongue. I will bring you more when I visit you.” This was a hopeful prospect.
I have learned to wash myself, dress myself, and clean my teeth, all in one morning
, Huy thought proudly, and with the surge of pride came a moment of self-assurance.
Perhaps school won’t be so bad after all
.

But his first sight of Iunu would have daunted any stranger to it, child or not. Long before Ker’s barge slowed and began to angle towards the east bank, three obelisks came into view, towering above the massive brick double walls that surrounded the inner city, and the roofs and upper pylons of the temples could also be glimpsed through a curtain of palm trees. Buildings of every description sprawled between the walls and the wide sweep of watersteps running the whole length of the environs, where the river could hardly be seen for the press of craft of every size moored to the dozens of posts protruding from the water. The watersteps themselves, gleaming in the mid-morning sun, were alive with a steady stream of people coming and going in between those sitting on the warm stone, eating or gossiping or simply enjoying the activity. Many paths led from the steps to one wide road that disappeared into the tightly packed jumble of houses in the direction of the wall. All the paths were thick with the flow of humanity.

Huy, standing on a box that raised him above the level of the guardrail, stared at the colourful scene in utter confusion as the rowers shipped their oars and the helmsman expertly guided the barge towards one narrow opening. “It’s time to put on your sandals,” Ker told him, and Huy obeyed, sitting on the deck and struggling to tie them as the barge swayed and rocked. One of the rowers lowered himself into the water and secured the vessel to a mooring post and four others ran out the ramp, turning to bring forward Ker’s litter that had been stowed against the cabin.

Ker took Huy’s hand. “It will be quieter and less crowded once we pass through the wall,” he said as together they gained the steps and waited while Huy’s bags were placed in the litter. “The buildings you see are mostly storehouses, the homes of the poor, and the stalls of merchants displaying their wares for the attention of pilgrims and visitors. The nobles and the rich of Iunu live well away from these watersteps. Their estates stretch to either side amongst sheltering trees and walled enclosures. Up you get!” Huy pulled himself over the edge of the litter and onto the cushions. It was obvious that the gods were not going to destroy the city so that he could go home.

It was indeed a relief to leave the noisy maelstrom of the watersteps behind. Huy had expected the centre of Iunu to resemble Hut-herib, a muddle of narrow, crooked streets jammed with donkeys, dogs, and people in no particular hurry to get anywhere, but Iunu was vast and ancient, its atmosphere one of solemn purpose and worshipful disposition, its air often hazed with the columns of incense pouring from the temples, its lordly thoroughfares thronged with white-clad priests, its markets thick with the servants of gods and nobles drifting from one laden stall to another in search of the perfect cut of beef, the freshest mint, the greenest cabbage. Huy, captured in spite of himself by yet another new experience, was thrilled to see the litter overtaken by a chariot that sped by in a swirl of dust. “The plumes on the horses are blue and white!” he said excitedly to Ker, who nodded.

“Iunu is an important religious and commercial centre,” he commented. “The man standing behind the charioteer is probably a royal herald or an Overseer of some kind. We are approaching the temple precincts, Huy. This is where you will be living.”

Huy leaned out. Ahead he could see the glint of sunlight on a canal, growing wider as the litter approached. The bearers swung right, walking now on grass, and soon were passing a large lake that had opened out from the canal. Resting on its blue water was the most magnificent boat Huy had ever seen. Its planking was gilded and sparked fire at him as he passed. Its cabin was also gilded. On its prow and on the flag fluttering atop its mast was a falcon head surmounted by the scarlet disc of the sun. “This is the temple of Ra and that is his boat,” Ker explained. “We must get out now, and walk.” The litter was lowered, and Huy looked about him with wonder.

Before the lake was a huge concourse of stone flags, already hot under his sandals. Dazzling to his eyes, it ran away to where a pylon reared up against the dense blue of the sky. To either side, tall columns cast foreshortened shadows over the paving, and Huy could see that many more of them marched out of sight, just within the solid wall that surrounded the precinct on three sides. A few people paced beneath the pylon, but on the whole the immense space was empty, baking in the heat the flagstones generated. Lawn dotted with several sycamores and the greyish feathers of tamarisks flanked both lake and approach, and groups of priests had gathered in the trees’ shade, the sound of their conversation falling dead before it could reach the man and his small companion.