Pauline GedgeFred Lum/The Globe and Mail
With a succession of well-researched bestsellers, Pauline Gedge has established herself as the pre-eminent novelist writing about ancient Egypt. Her first book, in 1977, was Child of the Morning, a biographical saga about the controversial female pharaoh Hatshepsut. Gedge's newest trilogy is likewise set during Egypt's 18th Dynasty, but four generations later, at the pinnacle of its wealth and influence. A mesmerizing tale of ambition, fate and wisdom, The King's Man is the long-awaited final volume in the series of the same name.
Her protagonist, the enigmatic historical figure called Huy, was born a peasant in the northern village of Hut-herib, but thanks to his divine gifts and administrative skills, he has ascended as high as a commoner can. While The Twice Born dealt with Huy's youth and coming of age, and Seer of Egypt followed him as he learned the price of his new-found knowledge, this last book marks his triumphant rise as a political leader.
Unlike the other two volumes, The King's Man takes place fully on regal ground. Amunhotep III is 12, the same age as Huy had been when he died in an accident and was brought back to life with the gift of prophecy. A devoted mentor to the young pharaoh, the 50-year-old Huy is also the confidant of Amunhotep's mother and regent, the lovely and shrewd Queen Mutemwia. Having accepted his precognitive talents, he relies on opium - lots of it - for the headaches that result.
Huy has three goals: Guide Egypt to prosperity as Amunhotep's chief adviser; learn the final mysteries of the Book of Thoth, a sacred text; and avert the terrible future shown to him by the jackal-god Anubis in a vision. Whatever paths he chooses, he can't be seen to waver from them; the stability of the kingdom depends on it.
It takes time to adjust to this world's strangeness. Egypt is a place of amulets, face paint, astrologers, men becoming gods, and incense burned to reach the spirits of the dead. Travelling 3,300 years into the past should require some shifting of mindset, though, and once past the initial barriers, the reading becomes an intense and immersive experience. The plot unfolds in stately fashion, with Gedge's extensive knowledge of Egyptian culture on sumptuous display throughout.
Huy's immediate circle, full of male officials and servants, is nicely balanced by the presence of several strong women. The future Queen Tiye, the fierce matriarch who commanded Gedge's The Twelfth Transforming, is introduced as a girl with an "air of impudent confidence" who demands that Huy predict her future. The royals are as prone to foibles and quirks as everyone else, if not more so, but Gedge somehow makes them seem larger than life.
The prose style turns poetic when describing the contours and bounty of the land, as well as the passage of time. The lush greenness of the northern delta contrasts with the harsh desert of Weset, "suffused with the strong, blinding light of the south," the place where the royal family relocates halfway through. Huy's homesickness for his estate is palpable, and he fears losing himself in endless court rituals. (His constant self-reflection gets to be a little much, but it lends an intimate first-person feel to a third-person story.) The weight of responsibility rests heavily on him, even though he doesn't seem to age.
In this ancient country, where humanity mingles with the divine, one might have a beer to relax with friends one day and speak with gods the next. The scenes of mythological fantasy feel believable, given the context.
Although an epic story in itself, The King's Man is still only one third of the whole, and not the one to start with. Contemplative in its first half, more taut and dramatic in the second, it is a book to savour, a satisfying conclusion to an impressive and awe-inspiring trilogy.
Sarah Johnson, an academic librarian and readers' adviser, is an editor for the Historical Novel Society. She blogs at readingthepast.com.