The King's Man

PENGUIN CANADA

THE KING’S MAN

PAULINE GEDGE
is the award-winning and bestselling author of thirteen previous novels, ten of which are inspired by Egyptian history. Her first,
Child of the Morning
, won the Alberta Search-for-a-New-Novelist Competition. In France, her second novel,
The Eagle and the Raven
, received the Jean Boujassy award from the Société des Gens de Lettres, and
The Twelfth Transforming
, the second of her Egyptian novels, won the Writers Guild of Alberta Best Novel of the Year Award. Her books have sold more than 250,000 copies in Canada alone; worldwide, they have sold more than six million copies and have been translated into eighteen languages. Pauline Gedge lives in Alberta.

Also by Pauline Gedge

Child of the Morning

The Eagle and the Raven

Stargate

The Twelfth Transforming

Scroll of Saqqara

The Covenant

House of Dreams

House of Illusions

LORDS OF THE TWO LANDS

Volume One: The Hippopotamus Marsh

Volume Two: The Oasis

Volume Three: The Horus Road

THE KING’S MAN

Volume One: The Twice Born

Volume Two: Seer of Egypt

THE

KING’S

MAN

PAULINE

GEDGE

PENGUIN CANADA

Published by the Penguin Group

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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

First published 2011

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 (WEB)

Copyright © Pauline Gedge, 2011

Original map copyright © Bernard Ramanauskas, 2011

Revised map copyright © Crowle Art Group, 2011

Quotations from
Egyptian Mysteries: New Light on Ancient Spiritual Knowledge
by Lucie Lamy. Reprinted by kind permission of Thames & Hudson Ltd., London.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Publisher’s note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental
.

Manufactured in Canada.

LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION

Gedge, Pauline, 1945–

The king’s man / Pauline Gedge.

(The King’s man trilogy ; v. 3)

ISBN 978-0-14-317077-8

I. Title. II. Series: Gedge, Pauline, 1945– . King’s man trilogy ; v. 3.

PS8563.E33K56 2011   C813’.54   C2010-907621-4

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PART ONE

1

ON THE TWENTY-FIRST DAY OF MEKHIR
, Huy’s barge, together with one he had borrowed from the Mayor, pulled away from his watersteps and turned south. The morning was sparkling, the breeze warm, the air full of the optimism of spring. Huy, with Amunmose beside him, stood at the deck rail and watched the small group of servants recede. He did not wave and neither did they. He did not know when he might return, and had told them so as he bade them take care of his home. There was no need to instruct Merenra; the staff would be disciplined and nurtured as always under his control.

The barges tied up for the night just north of Iunu. Huy had decided to take an escort of guards and visit Thothmes and Ishat before he realized that his plan was nothing more than a delaying tactic. Angry with himself, knowing that his reluctance to reach Mennofer was deeply anchored in the resentment towards his god that still sometimes came and went, he took a reed mat and a blanket and slept on the riverbank, close to the fire his servants had kindled. At dawn the next morning they set off again, passing Iunu’s gleaming watersteps and the forest of palm trees all but hiding the ancient White Walls, and by late that afternoon the barges were tacking towards the left bank and nosing into the canal that would take them to the palace. Uncomfortably, Huy, leaning on the deck rail, remembered the last time he had seen the encircling wall. He had been answering another King’s summons, had failed to defend Ma’at, and had slunk away in distress. Grimly, he turned his mind from that memory. The barge was slowing as a group of liveried soldiers approached, led by a figure Huy recognized. He waved. “Supreme Commander Wesersatet! It’s good to see you again! You look well!”

The soldiers halted on the stone edge of the canal and Wesersatet smiled. “It’s good to see you also, Great Seer. Thank the gods, I remain healthy. You are expected. The palace is full of the tension of waiting. The second barge is yours also?”

“Yes.”

“Then continue to the apron. Chief Herald Maani-nekhtef will direct you from there.” Bowing, he spoke a quick order and his men wheeled about, retreating to stand in the shade cast by the trees ranked against the high wall running from the palace to the river, east to west. It joined the one abutting the edge of the wide stone concourse leading to the great double doors of beaten copper, and hiding the whole of the Fine District of Pharaoh from the gaze of commoners.

Huy caught his captain’s eye, an order was shouted, and the sailors submerged the oars. Soon, too soon for Huy, his barge bumped gently against the wide stone concourse and his ramp was being run out. Huy crossed it alone, feeling naked without his scribe walking just behind him. An aging but still capable Tetiankh had dressed him in gold-bordered linen of the twelfth grade, combed perfumed oil through his long black hair, and braided it so that it brushed gently against his spine as he walked. His blue faience earrings in the likeness of Ra-Harakhti with the yellow chalcedony sun-disc on the god’s head swung from his lobes. Tiny pieces of jasper attached to his sandals glowed dully red. The Rekhet’s sa amulet hung on his chest together with the young Prince’s Naming Day gift to him, the heavy collar with its golden frogs and lizards. His face paint had been flawlessly applied. The amulet rings of protection graced his hands. No one watching him pass by, tall, handsome, his expression closed, could have imagined the turmoil within. As he neared the massive copper doors, the metal tinged faintly pink in the first intimation of dusk, another man he remembered stepped forward from his stool beside one of the colossal seated figures with their blue and white flags flanking the palace entrance, and bowed. Then he waited. So did Huy. It was some moments before Huy realized why.

“I am not a noble, Maani-nekhtef,” he said. “Don’t wait for me to speak.”

The man bowed again. “Your pardon, Great Seer. I am flattered that you have remembered my name. The King and the Regent are in the King’s quarters. My orders are to take no errands but keep watch for you here until your arrival and then to personally escort you to the royal apartments. Do you wish the company of your scribe?”

How tactful you are
, Huy thought as he shook his head.
You hide your surprise at my lack and make no verbal blunder. I had forgotten the extreme politeness of the courtier
.

“Then be pleased to follow me,” the herald invited. One of the tall doors stood open. Huy followed his guide into the echoing vastness of the reception hall. A wave of longing for the poppy swept over him as he surveyed the deep blue of the lapis-tiled floor, the flecks of pyrite glinting like sparks as the lights from the many tall lamps reached them, the pillars marching into the distance where an empty dais and a golden baldachin spoke to Huy of audiences and formal banquets. He had not taken his midday dose for fear that Mutemwia would read his drugged state in the size of his pupils, but now, with a spasm of nausea, he regretted his decision. He had been using the poppy for so many years that only a very large quantity affected his thought or his speech. He was grateful that it still had the power to kill his pain and lull him to sleep.

They crossed the hall and entered the first of the wide corridors criss-crossing the complex, which were lined with ebony statues of the gods and symbols of every sepat. Huy remembered trying to find the totem of his district, the Am-khent. As before, he was soon lost in the maze of this city within a city. The passages were busy with hurrying servants all wearing the white and blue, and Huy and Maani-nekhtef often encountered groups of courtiers ambling along. At a sharp word from the herald they melted back against the walls to allow Huy to walk by. Once he heard a swift exchange of loud whispers as he slowed to negotiate a particularly crowded corner. “It is he! I know it is! Look at that hair! They say he’s still a virgin. I wonder how old he really is.”

“Hush. He’ll hear you. If he glances at you, don’t respond. They say he can put a spell on you just by looking into your eyes.”

Maani-nekhtef swung round. “I cannot put a spell on you, my Lady, but I can certainly recommend to the Queen that you be reprimanded for your rudeness. Get about your business!” Calmly he resumed his place in front of Huy and walked on.
So the authority of a Chief Herald extends further than the safe delivering of documents and the calling of titles
, Huy mused as he followed Maani-nekhtef.
Is he a noble himself?

Huy had expected to be led out into the central garden space with its pools and many flower beds and shady trees, but the herald turned right into an area of the building Huy did not recognize. Guards stood along the walls of the quiet corridors. Great royal likenesses frozen in mid-stride or seated peacefully with hands on their kilted thighs punctuated the few closed doors Huy noticed.
I will never learn to negotiate this maze
, he thought.
I’ll need a servant just to lead me about
. At that moment the herald slowed. Directly ahead were double doors of what Huy knew was electrum, the beautiful blend of gold and silver favoured by every King and every noble who could afford to have it made into jewellery. Four soldiers were ranged across them. As Maani-nekhtef halted, they moved apart, saluted him, gave Huy a cursory assessment, and one of them pulled open one of the doors.
It must be heavy
, Huy thought again as his heart began to race.
He’s leaning back and the muscles of his arm are taut
.