House of Dreams (39 page)

“I will. I am sorry. But tell me what has been happening at home. Do you have a new assistant? What have you done with my room?” He laughed.

“Nothing much so far. It has been reserved for guests. As for a new assistant, I have given no thought to the matter. Who could replace you, Thu?” I was secretly pleased. The niches I had carved in his house were still there, formed invisibly to my shape and empty. I asked him about Kaha and Nebnefer and Ani with wistfulness and he responded lightly, knowing my spurt of homesickness and doubtless not wanting to exacerbate it. Then he rose, gathering his swathings around him. I pulled at his hand.

“You are going? Oh, Master, stay a little longer. Walk the precincts with me. It has been weeks since I saw you!” He bent and kissed the top of my head.

“I would like to, Thu, but I have business to attend to in the palace. Pharaoh’s mother needs my care and I must have words with Chancellor Mersura before I go. Have you been sending letters to your family? Is there anything you need?” I folded my arms.

“Yes, I have dictated to them and no, I don’t need anything,” I said sullenly, disappointed that he had not come into the harem just to see me. Tears pricked behind my eyelids, an indication of just how tense I had become. He nodded, satisfied, and went to the door.

“Just because I have delayed in visiting you until you were more at home here does not mean that I have not thought of you often,” he said gently. “I will return soon, my dear.” He was gone, his linen rustling, his body briefly shutting out the light.

I had a moment of overwhelming loneliness and discouragement. What if I progressed no farther in Ramses’ favour? What if I was condemned to stay in this cell for the rest of my life? I would rather die than end my years like Hatia, drunk and ill, abandoned and forgotten by all. Fear swept me up in its dark wings and I laid my forehead on my knees.

Hunro’s tentative hand on my shoulder brought me to myself. She studied me for a while then said, “It is not forbidden to leave the harem if we ask Amunnakht for permission and take guards with us. Such privileges are not usually granted so soon, and you have not been here long, but if you are with me I will guarantee to the Keeper that you will not run away. We will take a litter, and go into the city. Yes?”

“Oh yes!” I exclaimed, half-laughing, half-crying. “Oh, Hunro, what a wonderful idea!” She bade me get dressed and wait. She was gone for a long time, during which Disenk clothed and painted me, but when she returned she had two burly Shardana guards with her.

“The Keeper has allowed this,” she said, “providing we return before sundown. The litter is waiting at the main gate. Are you ready?” Anticipation had edged out my fear. She reached for my hand and together we left the courtyard.

For several hours, in the close heat of the afternoon, our bearers carried us in a delightfully aimless manner through the maze of thoroughfares, crooked alleys, squares and markets of Pi-Ramses. We crossed vast avenues that led the eye to the pylons of temples and more modest paths thronged with barbarically clad foreigners, merchants and artisans, on their way to worship their own strange gods. With Disenk and Hunro’s servant walking beside us and our guards shouldering a way ahead we negotiated roads choked with braying donkeys and barefooted citizens, creaking carts laden with earthen jars, mud bricks or precariously balanced tiles of brilliant hue from the glazing works. We halted by the markets, watching the dusty stall-keepers cry their wares to the passers-by. We even found our way to the docks where boats of every description rocked on the rising, brown surface of the Waters of Avaris to be loaded and unloaded by the sweating fellahin.

Once we happened upon a quiet corner where apple and pomegranate trees clustered together around a tiny shrine and a solitary pair of lovers sat in their shade, oblivious to us and the world around them. But such oases were rare. The city pulsed with vibrant, noisy life, with the heady, mixed odours of animal dung and dust and the faint but ever-present fragrance of the thousands of fruit trees, most of them hidden behind the orchard walls but whose essence pervaded the air around them.

Hunro and I stopped several times and sent the servants to buy rough cakes and greasy pastries from the street vendors, eating them with relish and licking our fingers as we lurched on, the sights and sounds of Pi-Ramses jostling by us while the guards called hoarsely, “Make way! Make way for the House of Women!” and Disenk’s silver anklet with its little golden scarabs tinkled musically beside me, a sweet, delicate sound under the uproar around us.

We returned, exhausted and happy, to the haven of our cell just as Ra was westering. The harem was a peaceful sanctuary after the city’s raw bluster. We lay out on the grass in the reddening light, drinking beer and gossiping, and I was able at last to tell Hunro of my nights with the King, for they had lost their power to shame me.

15

THE FOLLOWING NIGHT
the royal summons came again and this time I did not try to control the King’s lust. I did not enjoy the experience but neither was I repulsed by it, and afterwards I purposely made no attempt to leave. I could not hold him with sexual tricks alone, I knew. It was necessary to begin to reveal a little of myself, to give him another facet of my character. He had seen the physician, the virgin, the controlling seductress and in this I had followed the dictates of my mentor Hui and Hunro, my friend. Now I would embark upon other waters, alone. I would of course continue to enlarge upon the personalities I had constructed, or rather, that I had found within myself and enlarged, but I needed to begin to worm my way into his heart and mind, not just his loins. Therefore when we had finished making love I wrapped myself in a sheet and, refusing refreshment, sat cross-legged on the massive royal couch and talked to Ramses.

At first we chatted of small things—the continued rise of the river that would ensure a plentiful flood and a good harvest, my day in the city with Hunro, the faience factories that were attached to the rear of the palace and that brought merchants from all over the world to trade for Egyptian glass. I commented on the number of foreigners in Pi-Ramses, and Pharaoh, who had been settled comfortably in his chair and was picking over the food before him, said, “Your father is a foreigner, is he not? Some sort of foreign minor noble with an estate in the south somewhere?” I laughed.

“Majesty, my father fought in your father’s wars and was rewarded with a veteran’s portion of land in Aswat. He is Libu.”

“Aswat?” Ramses echoed with a frown. His jewelled fingers paused, a sticky date halfway to his mouth. “Aswat? Where is that? Is it not a village buried on the edge of the desert somewhere?” Then his face cleared. “Wepwawet! Of course! But why would a nobleman, even a foreign one, require land? Had he none of his own?”

“None, Majesty.” I hesitated, then decided to take the plunge. “My father is a peasant who works his own veteran’s arouras. My mother is the village midwife.”

“Really? Really!” The date was returned to the dish. Ramses gestured impatiently and a servant came forward noiselessly with a bowl of scented water and a cloth. The King dabbled his fingers and then held them out to be wiped. “You are a peasant, Thu? How extraordinary. I do have a few common concubines but they are all dancers or singers, I think. How did you come to be under Hui’s care? But no.” He left the chair and came to sit on the couch with me. Its frame groaned under his weight. “Tell me how my peasants live, Thu. Tell me what it was like to grow up in a village. I must say,” he went on darkly, “that you do not resemble any coarse child of the earth that I have ever glimpsed. Still, I have many Libu administrators and servants in my employ and they are a handsome people. Have you sisters? Are they as striking to look at as you?”

So while he sipped intermittently at his wine and the night deepened I spoke of Aswat, of our modest home, of the mayor and his troublesome daughters, of the verges of the Nile where a dusty, half-naked child could find magic. I described the doughty, close-mouthed, pragmatic men who tilled their fields and worshipped their gods, made love to their wives and provided for their children. I spoke of Pa-ari, of my secret lessons, but I did not tell him of how Hui had come and how I had been prepared to trade my virginity for a chance to know my future. I touched on the villagers’ reverence for the past, their fervent and innocent belief that the Living God could make all things right in the land, but I did not belabour the point.

While I was telling my stories with as much animation as I could, he kept his eyes on my face, nodding and grunting, occasionally smiling, once putting out a hand to caress my cheek. Then all at once he seemed to become aware of the guttering lamps, the smothered yawn of one of the anonymous servants, and raising a hand he halted my flow of words. I made as if to get off the couch and collect my sheath and sandals but he prevented me. Pulling away the sheet that had covered me he lay down, waving me peremptorily to lie beside him, and arranged the linen over both of us. “Paibekamun, dowse the lamps!” he commanded, then he dragged me close to him, curling around me. “Sleep, little Thu, my little desert waif,” he murmured. “You are a wonder and a terror. There is no dishonesty in you, for you did not fear to reveal to me your baseborn origins. I am very pleased. Your skin still smells of saffron. I like that …” His voice died away and he began to breathe evenly. He had fallen asleep. Unbelievingly I realized that I was to stay for the night, that I would still be beside him in the morning. His body was warm and comforting. For a while I was uneasy in these still unfamiliar surroundings but gradually I succumbed to the animal contentment in which I lay and the dim room blurred and was gone. I slept.

The sounds of pipe and lute wafting muffled through the double doors woke me. At first I lay laxly in the dimness, thinking that Hui’s feast had been going on for a long time, but then full consciousness returned and I sat up. A sweet young voice began to sing words of worship and adoration, “Hail Divine Incarnation, rising as Ra in the East! Hail Immortal One whose breath is the source of Egypt’s life!” and I realized with a jolt of awe and excitement that I was hearing the Hymn of Praise, the ancient chant that had roused each King every dawn since the beginning of history. I looked about me, at the man still snoring gently by my side, at the quiet shadows lying across the great room, at the still faint grey light pushing through the high, narrow windows and beginning to reveal the shapes of the elegant furniture standing arrogant and mute, and I relished the moment.

The Hymn ended. There was whispering and rustling beyond, and after a pause the doors were flung open. Hastily I pulled the sheet over my breasts. A small procession entered, servants bearing food and drink, warm water and cloths, and behind them a harp player took up his station in the corner and began to pluck his instrument. I stroked the Pharaoh’s shoulder and kissed his ear. “It is morning, Majesty,” I said. “I trust you rested well.” He snorted, groaned, and his eyes flickered open. When he saw me there was surprise, but then he smiled quickly, broadly, like a delighted child, and pulling me down he blew into my neck before hoisting himself up and allowing his servant to wipe his face with the scented water.

“What a wonderful dream I had!” he exclaimed, watching expectantly as a tray was lowered onto his lap. “I was plunging into the Nile and it was good, cool and cleansing. You brought me a propitious omen, little scorpion, for such a dream means the absolution of all ills. Eat now. Eat!” I hesitated, but because I was ravenously hungry and thirsty, I decided to disregard the warnings I had been given. I began to tear at the fresh bread, washing it down with a draught of water. The servants had withdrawn to a polite distance, but when we had finished the meal they began to hover. Ramses eyed me mischievously. “I would like to make love to you again,” he whispered, “but these donkeys are waiting to carry me off to my bath. I am going into the temple in person this morning to perform the sacred duties I usually leave to my substitute.” He sighed loudly. “Now that the Amun-feast of Hapi is over Usermaarenakht will be returning to Thebes. He will of course wish to make sure that all is decently in order here before he goes. Usermaarenakht!” he said impatiently at my enquiring look. “The First Prophet of Amun! Gods, child, are all the denizens of Aswat as ignorant as you?” The thought of Amun’s High Priest seemed to have upset him so I remained silent. When he did not speak again, but signalled for the dishes to be removed and held out his feet so that his sandals could be slipped on, I left the couch and shrugged into my cloak. My actions caught his attention. “Where are you going?” he asked sharply. I bowed.

“To my quarters, Majesty.” He blinked rapidly several times and then that startlingly impish, merry smile beamed out.

“I like your company,” he announced. “Go away and bathe and I will send for you so that you can come into the temple with me. Hurry up!” I bowed again and did as I was told, speeding through the dawn-drowsy gardens and across the path dividing the harem from the palace, and so into my own courtyard. I debated whether or not to exercise and decided against it. I must be ready when the summons came.