The Twice Born by Pauline Gedge Page A

and I have permission to give you your meal on board. Would you like that?” Huy grabbed his hand, not knowing whether he wanted to laugh or cry. “Your mother and father and Aunt Heruben all send their love,” Ker went on, turning towards the inner court of the temple. “We miss you so much, but we are very proud of you.”
    Huy tugged him to a halt. “There’s a better way to the lake,” he said importantly. “We take it when we have our swimming lessons. Let me show you. Oh, Uncle Ker, I am so pleased to see you!”
    “You look fine in your youth lock,” Ker remarked as hand in hand they came out onto the parade ground and followed the left-hand path under the shadow of the wall. “I will tell your mother that she need not grieve for all your curls. She’ll be pleased that you wear the amulet she gave you.” Huy, overcome with a pang of sheer longing for her pretty face, could not reply.
    The barge was like an old friend, and running up its ramp Huy remembered the storms of panic that had assailed him on the journey upriver to Iunu. It seemed hentis ago. Now he had two homes, one here and one in the Delta. Mindful of Thothmes’ good manners and of his own position as a legitimate resident of the temple, he bowed to the helmsman and the sailors gathered in the shade the prow was casting over the deck, and waited for his uncle to indicate that he might sit on one of the cushions by the cabin. Ker’s eyebrows rose but he said nothing. The sailors greeted Huy good-naturedly. Ker gestured at the feast set out on the cloth and Huy collapsed beside it with a sigh of pure pleasure. The sun was warm, the barge was barely rocking on the sparkling surface of the lake, and if he took long enough over his meal his classmates would be arriving for their lesson and would see him being feted on this handsome vessel. Even the scornful Sennefer might be envious.
    “My crops are growing fast,” Ker said as he served Huy with slices of cold beef and a salad of crisp fresh lettuce, celery, and onion sprinkled with pungent slivers of garlic, “and so are the weeds. That little friend of yours, Ishat, pulls them out, but then she makes garlands of them. The wild flax and poppies and the daisies are too pretty to waste, she says. She sent something for you.” He opened the drawstring of the pouch at his waist and handed Huy a small stone.
    Huy rolled it to and fro on his palm, thrilled at how it flashed and glittered in the strong midday light. “Is it gold?” he asked, awed.
    Ker chuckled. “No. The flecks in it are called pyrite, but they are as pretty as gold, aren’t they? Ishat picked it up on the shore of the tributary. She thought you might like it.”
    Huy set it carefully on the deck. “I do,” he said fervently. “This is the second gift Ishat has given to me. As soon as I’m able I shall write and thank her. Even though she can’t read, she will be thrilled to receive a letter.”
    “And that moment will come sooner than any of us expected.” Ker poured beer into two cups and held one out to Huy. “The Overseer and your teacher are very impressed at your rapid progress. I was not wrong to send you here, Huy. Is there anything you lack? Anything you need?”
    Huy put his nose into his cup. The beer, thick and dark, smelled of musk, but its bitter taste was oddly agreeable. “Yes, there is, Uncle Ker. I would like a statue of Khenti-kheti to put on the table beside my cot. All the other boys have their totems with them.”
    Ker glanced at him shrewdly. “I expect they do. But why do you desire the god’s presence?”
    Huy licked the froth off his upper lip. “Because Khenti-kheti protects Hut-herib and I am from Hut-herib, therefore the god will protect me. I am his son.”
    “You are indeed,” Ker agreed. “Very well, Huy. If you will accord the god the proper reverence due to him and say the prayers each evening, I will bring him to you next time I pass through Iunu. If the priest at the shrine