Free The Twice Born by Pauline Gedge Page A

back to the cell. The adjoining space was somehow friendlier. Several long, low tables filled it, with equally long bolsters on which to sit. “The teachers have their own tables,” Harnakht explained, “and drink wine with their meal. So do the older boys. Sometimes we get beer, but you little ones always have milk. Occasionally the High Priest eats with us, and when he does the tables are covered in flowers. His presence is a great honour.” Huy could hear the murmur of conversation coming from somewhere beyond the farther wall, and the clatter of dishes and utensils. The slightly unpleasant odour of steaming fish wafted about him, with the stronger promise of something sweet. “Beyond the kitchens are the pens and coops for the animals that feed us and the priests,” Harnakht went on, “and beyond them, the plots where our vegetables are grown. We are not allowed to visit anywhere beyond that door”—he pointed to where the sounds of cooking industry were coming from—“but some of us do sneak into the kitchens at night when we can’t sleep for hunger.”
    The comment alarmed Huy. “Don’t we get enough to eat?” he asked.
    Harnakht smiled down at him indulgently. “Food is good and plentiful,” he replied, “but when you are my age and growing fast you sometimes need an extra mouthful or two. Besides, creeping around in the dark is fun.” Huy did not think so. “I will show you the archery butts and then you must amuse yourself.” Harnakht turned back to the schoolroom. “I have bow practice before the evening meal, and if we don’t hurry I’m going to be late. I don’t want a beating.”
    Huy wanted to know what other infractions might precipitate such a punishment. He had hoped that at this school, unlike the school at Hut-herib where he had heard that the pupils were regularly beaten, the forms of discipline might be different. He had never been beaten in his life. But Harnakht was already striding briskly towards the corridor.
    Before he reached the door to the inner court of the temple, he pushed open one on his right, set into the outer wall of the passage, and Huy found himself blinking in sunshine that had already acquired the soft pinkish glow of a sunset still some hours away. Harnakht headed straight for the solid mud barrier that encircled the whole temple complex but for the lake and entrance pylon, and led Huy through a wooden gate. A wide concourse opened out. Stables were ranked along one side. Huy could hear the horses whickering, and their warm, comforting smell filled the air. Several low buildings sat at the far end under a haphazard line of trees. Halfway across the dusty expanse, a series of straw-backed targets had been set up. A cluster of boys waited beside them, bows slung across their shoulders, quivers swinging in their hands, and a man had emerged from one of the buildings and was approaching them. Huy watched him with fascination. He had never seen a living soldier before. Clad in a plain leather helmet, with leather gloves on his hands and what looked like a leather apron covering his broad chest as far as his pleated kilt, he filled Huy’s mind with an image of his own toy soldiers. He was back in his garden, crouching in the grass from which the blue-helmeted King in his hand would presently spring to destroy the enemy rustling about in the bushes. The enemy often turned out to be Sharp-Claw, Ishat’s cat, but Huy, King Thothmes, and all his men would chase it anyway.
    The man was shouting sharply at the boys, who were scattering as they unslung their bows. Harnakht gave Huy an urgent tap. “Back through the gate and I’ll see you later,” he hissed. “I haven’t even collected my equipment yet.” He ran towards the instructor, his sandals kicking up tiny puffs of white dust, and Huy turned away. He would have liked to stay, to see the arrows buried in the targets but mostly to watch the man whose brown, muscular body held such confident authority.
    He