House of Dreams (23 page)

With a sigh I abandoned my daydreams and turned to my duty with full concentration. One day I would see inside the harem. I was content.

9

TWO WEEKS LATER
I received a scroll from my family and a gift for my naming day. I unrolled the scroll and recognized Pa-ari’s usual firm, small script but the language puzzled me. Glancing to the end of the letter I saw that my father had dictated it, and I settled down to read it with a lump in my throat. “Greetings to you, my little Thu, on your naming day,” it said. “At dawn this morning Pa-ari and I went to the temple to offer thanks to Wepwawet for your continued good health and happiness. I trust that you have done the same. You will be pleased to know that your benefactor has kept his word. Our neighbour has died after a short illness, and five of his arouras have been deeded to me. The slave the Seer promised arrived three days ago. He is a surly Maxyes who has been herding Pharaoh’s cattle in the Delta since he came to Egypt as a prisoner of war and I do not think he is overjoyed to find himself in arid Aswat, but he is strong and a good worker. It seems that your Master indeed has the gift of Seeing. Your mother is well and sends her greetings also. Pa-ari has no more lessons and now works every day for the priests. I long to see you.” I laid the scroll aside, my eyes filling with unshed tears. They were the first direct words I had received from my father since we had said farewell on Hui’s barge and his calm, steady character suffused every line of the letter.

Glad that my family would be more secure, I turned to the gift. It was a small carving of my totem, Wepwawet, and as I ran my fingers over the smooth lines of the wolf-headed god I imagined the hours of patient work my father had put into it, sitting on the floor by the light of the tallow lamp, his big hands enfolding the wood, his knife moving slowly, carefully, his thoughts on his daughter so far away. Many coats of oil had been added to give the wood the soft patina I saw and felt. Wepwawet’s ears were pricked up, his beautiful long nose quested, but his eyes gazed into mine with calm omnipotence. He wore a short kilt, its pleats faultlessly represented. In one fist he clutched a spear, and in the other a sword. Across his chest, the hieroglyphs for “Opener of the Ways” had been delicately chiselled and I knew that Father must have taken the time to learn from Pa-ari how to carve the words. Perhaps Pa-ari had sat by him as he incised them into the wood, advising and cautioning.

The statue was a labour of selfless love I knew I did not deserve. Standing it on the table beside my couch I prostrated myself before it, saying the prayers I should have said to the god on my naming day and beseeching him for his protection for my family. I was chastened and ashamed. When I had finished I took up my palette and papyrus and wrote to my father, and for once the words came from my heart. Even though I was now completely proficient I was still supposed to dictate my letters to Ani for obvious reasons, but this time I defied Hui. He could read in my presence what I had written if he liked, I did not care, as long as he allowed the scroll to go south. I wanted to go with it. Not to abandon my life in this house, of course not, but to look once more into my mother’s dark, imperious eyes, to be enfolded in my father’s vigorous embrace, to sit with Pa-ari and hold his hand while the sun sank, red and peaceful, behind the pure, bare waves of the desert horizon. That longing lasted for the rest of the day.

Before long I had learned the knots that kept Hui’s inner room secure and had devised a few of my own. He liked them to be changed once a month. I thought his measures excessive seeing that a guard was also posted in the passage outside his larger office every night to prevent anyone entering but Hui or myself, but he ignored my protests.

I was soaking up knowledge rapidly but cautiously. I had no intention of poisoning myself as I took down one jar or phial after another for examination and record. Each day Hui would question me closely about the herbs and powders he had instructed me in the day before. If I made a mistake he would repeat the lesson all over again, but I seldom made mistakes. Kaha’s memory training stood me in good stead.

I also learned a far more sophisticated medicine than my mother could dream of. Painstakingly I drew the channels of the Metu in the body. I listed the symptoms of the presence of the Vehedu. I pondered the Ukhedu, the rot that could be male or female, that caused disease and pain by working its way through the Metu but that could be killed with the proper drops, salves, poultices and incantations. Before long I understood the remedies Hui dictated to me for the women of the harem or for his few private patients, and sometimes I felt confident enough to ask for clarification if I was puzzled by his prescriptions.

By the time New Year’s Day, the first day of the month of Thoth, came circling around again, I was standing beside Hui, ready to lift from the shelves whatever ingredient he requested as he wielded the stone pestle or reduced some liquid over an open flame on the marble tabletop that was always cold to the touch. As well as passing him what he needed, I was expected to keep a careful note of what he was doing, and weigh and record the amount of everything used.

Hui was sometimes away, exercising his gift as a Seer in the temples or at the street shrines, and then I was expected to fill the hours in Disenk’s company. But one day towards the end of Khoiak, when once again the river had turned most of Egypt into a vast brown lake and the air was cool, I was at last allowed to work alone. As I presented myself in the office, palette under my arm, and bowed, noticing with a sinking heart that Hui was muffled in the linen swathings that protected him from the sun and the contemptuous gaze of the populace, he pushed a sheaf of papyrus across the desk.

“While I am gone you can make up these prescriptions,” he said off-handedly. “Be very careful with the one for the Chief of the Medjay Mentmose. He has a bad case of intestinal worms, and the remedy I have devised for him includes powder of the dog button. You will have to grind the seeds yourself. Wear gloves, and wrap your mouth and nose in linen. Add no more than one tenth of a ro to the finished liquid.” As he spoke he raised a bandaged hand to push a stray lock of white hair back under his hood, and a flood of love and pity washed over me. Setting my palette on the desk I ran to him and pressed my cheek against his arm, then I looked up. The red eyes gleamed at me briefly from the shadow of the hood. The rest of his face was covered.

“You are more beautiful than many men who walk about free under the sun,” I blurted. For a moment he was motionless. He made a sound—whether a grunt of humour or a groan I could not tell because I could not see his features—and gently shaking me off he glided from the room. I turned to the knotted cord on the inner door, my hands trembling. “Thu, you are a clumsy child,” I reproved myself aloud as I fumbled with the knots. “You have made a fool of yourself.” The door swung open. I gathered up palette and papyrus and went into the heavy blackness.

From then on I took pleasure in the freedom of being alone amongst the strange odours and fragrances. I would light the lamps, close the door, and reach for the first component in Hui’s prescription with a lightness I had not felt since the times my mother had let me out of our house after the day’s chores were done and I had run barefoot for the riverbank. The whole household knew that the Master’s offices were forbidden to them when he was away. No one could get at me, even Disenk. Only Harshira had the right to approach, and that was only to the outer office. I was privileged. I was important. Best of all, I could indulge my delight in the weighing and measuring, the mixing and rendering and pouring, knowing that I had the power of life or death in my hands.

I had, however, forgotten Kenna. It was the sixth day of Tybi, and one of the new feasts of Amun instituted by Pharaoh. Hui had gone to the palace and as was the custom on any god’s festival, the servants were not required to work. The house was quiet. I had opened the inner office, a place that had already become my sanctuary, and was just lighting the lamps, when I heard the outer door close. My heart leaped. Hui had returned very early. Stepping confidently into the shaft of sunlight falling across the floor of the large office I came face to face with Kenna. He was carrying a twig broom, several rags and a jug of steaming hot water. He did not seem surprised to see me, nor did he greet me. His face set, lips pursed, he brushed by me and pushed the inner door wide. I whirled after him.

“What are you doing?” I snapped. He set the jug on the marble-topped table with insulting deliberation, dropped the rags on the floor, and turned slowly, the broom in both hands.

“I have come to clean, obviously,” he retorted coolly.

“You are not allowed in here unless the Master is also present.”

“I am. I can clean whenever the medicine room is open.” He waved at the door. “As you can see, it is open now. You undid the knots yourself. Therefore, I can clean.” His caustic tone infuriated me.

“You need not address me as though I was a child!” I said hotly. “I am busy today, making up prescriptions for the Master. I do not want to be disturbed. Go away!” He shrugged.

“I do not need your permission to perform my duties here. I will work around you, Highness.” The last word was heavy with sarcasm. I glared at him, fighting the instant burst of repugnance he always managed to conjure in me, and suddenly my mind was full of the occasional dreams I had of him that left me hot and restless. Kenna naked, Kenna cowering at my feet with the marks of my whip across his shoulders. Marching by him I hefted the water jar, carried it out, and set it on Hui’s desk. Going back I gathered up the rags and threw them after it. I blew out the lamps one by one. Leaning in, I grasped the edge of the door and began to close it. My face was very close to his.

“I have decided not to work today,” I said sweetly. “You will have to return at some time when Hui is here.” He smiled but his eyes remained cold.

“To hear his name coming out of your common little mouth is blasphemy,” he declared in a low voice. “You are arrogant, vain and selfish. Furthermore, you imagine yourself to be far more important than you really are. I shall of course go to Harshira, and tell him that your pettiness is disrupting the smooth running of this household. Then we shall see whose word carries the most weight.”

I did not move. The wood of the door bit into my fingers, so frenzied was my grip, and I squeezed all the harder, thinking furiously. I knew he was right. In this matter I had no authority, and I had been stupid to force such a confrontation. Hui would not bother himself with such a frivolous clash but Harshira would have me dragged into his awesome presence and give me a tongue-lashing. I hated to lose to this bitter, self-important man. I thrust my face even closer. “You are in love with Hui, aren’t you?” I hissed. “Madly and hopelessly, and you are insanely jealous of me because although you touch his body, wash and dress him, set out his food and fold down his sheets, you do not share his mind. I am the one who knows his thoughts. I am the one with whom he discusses his work.” It was cruel, cruel and completely unnecessary, but I was driven by my own unacknowledged jealousy. I wanted to possess Hui myself, to not only work with him in the delicious intimacy of the herb room but to do all those things for him that were Kenna’s domain. I watched the man’s nostrils flare, his eyes narrow in hatred, and knew I was right.

A dark exultation bloomed in me, loosened my fingers, oiled my spine, and I closed the gap between us. My mouth fastened itself onto his almost before I knew what I was doing. I could feel him go stiff with shock, his lips frozen beneath mine, then they fluttered and opened and for a moment a delirious pang of warmth shot through my stomach and down to my loins. But he twisted away, and as he did so he bit me hard. I cried out, stumbling back against the desk, both hands clapped against my throbbing mouth, and he grabbed up one of the cleaning rags and scraped it across his face. He was shaking.

“You evil little bitch,” he whispered. “So you think you share his work, do you? You have no idea what his work really is. As for his thoughts, do not delude yourself. They are deep and strange and far above anything a conceited whore like you could understand.” He strode towards me and I shrank back, believing that he was going to strike me, but he began to gather up the things he had brought. “I have served him longer than you have been alive,” he went on scornfully, “and I will still be here long after you have gone, for the seeds of your destruction are already sprouting within you, O child of Set. Put on fine linen. Paint your face and strut about. You will never be more than a crude little peasant, and no magic in Egypt can give your blood the invisible tincture of nobility.”

“Jealous!” I shouted at him, my lip already swelling, and he had the effrontery to smile again as he turned towards the door.

“No, Thu, my loathing for you is not jealousy,” he said over his shoulder as he went out. “I would not waste even such a base emotion as that on someone like you.” Then he was gone.

“It is jealousy! Of course it is!” I shrieked wildly at the closing door. “How dare you speak to me like that!” I was the Master’s assistant and he was nothing but a body servant, a drudge.