Reb goes on. “She did not want your father squandering away her treasures to pay for his campaigns. She also thinks that caring for the people during famine is not her concern.” I want to kick Reb, but that would only bruise my already-aching feet.
Paser interrupts. “We hear you are to be married.”
Merat still looks stunned, but the thought of her impending marriage captures her attention, seeming to bring as much distress to her as mine does to me.
“Tonight.” Her tone is bleak. “Unless … maybe you and I can say we are to be married?” She looks up at Paser, eyes wide.
“We thought of that already,” says Reb. “Pepi thinks that will just make them kill us. It is why he told the chieftain he is marrying Sesha himself.”
“Pepi?” Merat blinks at us. “Who is Pepi?”
“The Hyksos spy and cousin to the chieftain,” Paser says.
“To your betrothed,” Reb adds, ever helpful.
Merat looks at me. “You are marrying a Hyksos spy named Pepi?”
I offer a weak smile. “Apparently we are going to share a wedding day.”
“We will be cousins?” Merat asks, uncertain.
“While that thought does not make me unhappy, I cannot accept this situation,” I say.
“What if it is the gods’ will?” Reb asks, then yawns. We have slept almost as poorly as we have eaten.
“It is not mine,” I say, as stubborn as Nefer, who must possess much of this quality to survive sandstorms and frequent desert treks. I turn to Merat. “I have an idea, but I will need your help.”
Her lips curve up in a delighted smile. “I am always happy to give it.”
After gathering the items we need, Merat brings them to me and I prepare the concoction.
Paser sniffs at the potion. “That smells like a body that was not properly preserved.”
We are in Merat’s hut. As a courtesy to his bride, the chieftain provided her with her own private, but small, quarters. The Hyksos are letting us rest in the company of our fellow jackal princess after our gruelling journey through the sands. Pepi did try to convince the chieftain that I need a few days to recover from our trek, but the oasis’s leader is insisting the ceremony will go on as planned.
Merat looks at the foul-smelling brew. “Can we not just fake our symptoms?”
“For them to postpone the wedding, we must appear seriously ill,” I say. “Paser and Reb will also recommend they isolate us to prevent it spreading.”
She sighs. “I do not enjoy expelling the contents of my stomach.”
“Nor do I,” I say, giving her shoulder a comforting pat. “But at least it is only temporary. Marriage is a more permanent condition.”
Merat writhes on the ground, clutching her stomach. “Ohhh,” she moans. “Maybe a wedding would not be so bad after all.”
I vomit in response.
The boys, leaving us with water and in misery, go to inform Pepi and the chieftain of our sudden and alarming illness — which I am already regretting. Dehydrated and lacking food, my body is not happy with the continued punishment.
Pepi sticks his head in the hut. “Sesha, are you well? Paser and Reb say you have taken ill.”
“Yes,” I say, and do not need to exaggerate my groan. “The princess and I are suffering from a terrible illness. It may be catching.”
Confusion crosses his face. “Both? I can see if you were sick on your own, but for you two to suffer so suddenly from the same thing … did you even take a meal together?”
Again, I am reminded that Pepi’s intelligence is not to be underestimated. His gaze falls on the small pot, and he walks over to sniff at the contents. He looks back at us, pale and sweating, and raises a brow.
“I will see you are taken to the pools until your condition improves. Your ‘brothers’ may attend you there.” He stops at the exit to the tent, looking back over his shoulder. “A bold move, Sesha. Perhaps, when you feel better, we can have our game of Senet at last. Something tells me I will find you a formidable opponent.”
22
“I NEED TO WASH,” I CROAK, standing on wobbling feet. Paser and Reb snore away under the shade of a large fig tree, its branches offering ample shade.
“I will join you.” Merat clutches at my arm. We make our way unsteadily down to the water’s edge, holding on to each other for support.
My clothes are dirty and disintegrating. I strip down before wading into the water. Merat does the same, and we float side by side, staring up at the sky.
“Do you remember that day I brought you a clean robe in the baths at the palace?” she asks.
“I remember well,” I say. “You were very kind to me.”
“It was mostly because I wanted you to teach me to read and write,” she says, honest as always. “Though I grew to like you for yourself, after only a short while in your company.”
“And I grew to like you as well,” I say, smiling up at the wisps of clouds floating by.
“Is it true what Reb says about my mother?”
I do not want to lie to my friend, even if the truth causes bad feelings between us. “Yes.”
Merat is silent for a moment. “I used to think I knew her well, and that she would do anything for me.”
“I am sure she would.” Queen Anat said that her family would be just fine despite potential famine. She must believe the gods are on her side. Maybe they are.
“Then why did she give me away?” Merat’s tone is bitter. “I know I must do my duty. But it is one thing to marry a noble that you half know, and quite another to be delivered into the hands of strangers who live in the desert.”
“Perhaps she felt you’d be safer with the Hyksos.” Again, I wonder why I defend the queen. But as someone who knows the pain of losing a mother, I do not want Merat to suffer. “They flourish in Avaris and the surrounding lands, growing in strength and wealth.” Whereas the last few dynasties at Thebes have floundered, weakened by famine and plagues. As scribes tasked with recording the glories of our civilization, we do not like to admit this, but facts are difficult to ignore. And should the Hyksos prove successful in assuming control of the whole land, it will serve the queen well to have a daughter on the other side. “Likely she did not know they lived in the desert,” I add. “She probably thought you’d be in the bustling city of Avaris.” A place we might still very well end up fleeing to. My stomach twists. One dune at a time.
“Perhaps,” Merat says, still sounding sad.
I change the direction of our conversation. “How are you feeling?”
“Not all that well,” she admits. “But at least I am no longer considering drowning myself in this lake.”
“The concoction is not lasting as long as I hoped,” I say, treading water. In a way, I am relieved — or at least my insides are — but there must be continued symptoms if the chieftain inquires after his bride’s well-being. Or checks on her himself.
A whistle comes from the shore and I look up to see Pepi, holding fresh linens aloft. “Clean garments,” he calls.
I raise a weak hand to indicate he leave them there. With a nod, he places the clothes on the ground and walks past Paser and Reb, who are still sleeping.
Merat treads water beside me. Colour is coming back into her cheeks. She is clean and water dots her brow; her dark hair is slicked back, her beautiful eyes inquisitive.
“So that is the Hyksos spy,” she remarks, eyes following Pepi. “He does not resemble his cousin much.” Though average height, Pepi does not compare in size to the chieftain, who is one of the largest men I have ever seen. “He seems kind enough.”
“I do not know if we can trust him,” I admit as Merat turns to face me. “There is more to him than what’s on the surface. Yet we would not have made it here without his guidance.”
“Then I have much to be grateful to him for.” Merat looks at me intently. “When your life is turned upside down, it is everything to have friends by your side.” Her gaze turns to the slumbering boys on the
beach.
“It is.” I agree with my whole heart.
“The spy, what is his name? Pepi? He must be fond of you.” Merat pulls her wet hair to the side. “Especially if he proposed after only a few days.”
“It is not like that.” I give my head a small shake. “He said the only way to keep Reb, Paser, and me safe is to say that I am his intended and that they are my brothers, and so also his family.”
“He is likely right. His cousin rules this clan and they respect and love him. No harm will come to you if you are part of his family. But …” Her eyes search mine. “This seems like a most elaborate ruse on his part, just to keep you safe.”
Though the water is cool, a flush spreads through my body. “We saved him. Perhaps he feels a sense of obligation. And the desert is a strange place.” I try to keep my voice light. “It can make friends out of enemies.”
“What about something more than friends?” She flutters her dark lashes.
“You tease me, Princess,” I say.
It is her turn to change the subject. “Tell me, whose idea was it to come after me?” She looks over to the riverbank.
“We made the decision together,” I say. “Reb was hesitant at first, but changed currents quickly enough.” If she’s disappointed by my response, she does not show it.
Two Hyksos women come into view and leave a small pile of food next to the clothes. They scurry off, not wanting to risk becoming ill. Though my stomach was just turned inside out, it rumbles at the sight of food.
“How are you feeling?” I ask as we make our way back to shore.
“A little better,” she admits. “If anyone checks on us again, I do not think complaints of a few stomach pains will be enough to keep the weddings from happening.”
“Then we are going to have to demonstrate more symptoms,” I say as our feet touch bottom. My stomach lets out a loud gurgle of protest.
“That looks most uncomfortable,” Reb says, peering at me.
“It feels most uncomfortable.” I scratch my arms, which are red and splotchy. Unable to bear doing any further damage to my insides, I conferred with Paser and we concluded that an angry rash should be enough to put off talk of immediate wedding ceremonies. It will also buy us some time to figure out our next plan of action now that we have found the princess.
“Sesha, my skin feels like it is on fire!” Merat says, scratching her neck. She is covered in small red bumps, as am I. We rubbed the sap from the fig tree over our bodies; it causes irritation upon contact.
“Try not to scratch,” Paser advises us.
I give him a dark look. “Many thanks, doctor.” My voice is as dry as the desert. “I would never have guessed that.”
“Easy for you to say,” Merat says to him, using the palm of her hand, rather than her nails, to rub vigorously at her skin. “You do not look like you were stung by a thousand scorpions.”
We hear a throat clear and we whirl around. Pepi stands there. His eyes widen as he takes in Merat’s and my matching red bumps and miserable faces.
“The sickness is worsening,” I say before he can speak. He rubs his chin with one hand, possibly to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“I see,” he says. “I will have to inform my cousin that there will indeed be no ceremony tonight. He thought you two might be exaggerating your condition, given the princess’s previous … reluctance to be wed. But I told him no one would go through such lengths to avoid joining such a great and noble family.”
I nod, wishing I could crawl out of my skin like a snake shedding its outer layer. “You should leave us now. The illness is very contagious.”
“What of your friends?” Pepi tilts his head at Reb and Paser. “Are you not worried for their well-being?”
“Ahh, yes,” I say. “They must leave as well. Will they be safe with you?”
“Safer than they are with you,” Pepi murmurs, looking at poor Merat, who is scratching her back against the tree like a frenzied, yet still graceful, giraffe. “We will put them to work,” Pepi adds. “They can attend to some of the minor physical ailments of the people.”
Reb perks up. “You have no physician?”
“We do,” Pepi says. “He went to Avaris for supplies. He is due back soon, but there are a few complaints that can be dealt with. And if you wish the tribe to adopt you, this is an opportunity to show your value.”
This has me looking up from a particularly irritating welt to glance at Paser and Reb. Is that what we want? We need to discuss things soon.
“You and Merat should rest, Sesha,” Pepi says. “Prayers to the gods that this terrible … illness will soon pass.”
“Yes.” I scratch my stomach. “Perhaps Paser and Reb can bring some salve back with them, if you have any.” Giving the four of us a chance to talk.
“Of course,” Pepi agrees. “I believe there is quite a selection. The physician is an avid brewer and collector of herbal remedies.”
“Thank you,” I say, meaning it. “And for the fresh clothes as well.”
“It is my pleasure,” he says. “Coming?” He looks at Paser and Reb, who follow him. Paser shrugs helplessly and I nod that we will be all right.
“Do not forget the salve,” I call after them, unable to resist scratching another bump on my arm. “And maybe bring something to bind our hands together?” Merat looks over at me like I am joking, but I know it will be the only way to stop us from raking our skin off.
23
MERAT AND I GO FOR ANOTHER SWIM, the water providing some relief from our itching skin. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the water and see a scrawny, sandblasted, blistered orphan. Perhaps I will not need to pretend I am Pepi’s betrothed. I cannot imagine who’d want me in my current state: half-starved, spotted, and supposedly contagious.
When Paser and Reb return with the salve, we fall upon it gratefully, coating ourselves liberally from top to bottom.
“How long until the symptoms fade?” Merat asks. Her face is shiny from the balm, which appears to be a combination of almond oil, honey, bee pollen, and propolis. It is quite fresh; there must be a thriving hive somewhere in the oasis, which explains the variety of plants and trees.
“In a few days.” I eye the strips Paser has faithfully brought us for bindings. “If we can manage not to infect our wounds, we should be fine.”
“Would you like me to tie your hands, Princess?” Paser asks, unable to keep the grin off his face.
She sighs. “I think my vanity is enough to keep me from scratching too much. I do not want scars pitting my skin.”
“Did you see any patients?” I ask Paser to distract myself from the itching. They tell us about a few cases, the most successful treatment of the day belonging to Reb, who pulled an infected tooth for one of the commanders in a showy spray of blood and saliva. It had been paining him for days, and the soldier was extremely grateful for the relief Reb’s deft work provided him.
“Did you tend to the commander at the training grounds?” I ask.
“No, we were in the main village section,” Paser says. “I get the feeling there is something over there they do not wish us to see. The path is guarded and the people are furtive, as if they are hiding something.”
“We are strangers in their midst,” Merat says. She takes some more of the nourishing balm and coats her dark strands of hair with it. “They do not trust us. If they are planning a military assault, they will not want us escaping and bringing their secrets back to Thebes.”
Reb snorts. “They do not need to worry about that. There is no way I am going back through the Red Land.”
Thankfully, the balm is beginning to work, and I am able at last to address the hippo in our midst. “You wish to stay, then?” I ask, stomach plummeting like a falcon. We will not be able to put off the marriages forever.
Reb looks down at the ground. I sigh. I cannot blame him for not wanting to go back into the desert so soon. Or at all.
“How was your own journey here
?” Paser asks Merat.
“We came most of the way by boat along the Nile,” she says. “The desert crossing was hot and uncomfortable, but we had several donkeys laden with supplies to bear the load.”
“We also tried taking the river,” Paser says, bringing to my mind arrows and crocodiles.
“It did not go all that well,” Reb adds, one hand going to the fading bruise on his forehead.
“My journey was fairly uneventful, though most of it felt like a bad dream,” Merat says, dark strands swinging as she shakes her head. “Being given so abruptly to the chieftain.” A shadow crosses her face. “What was your plan once you arrived here?”
“It was not well thought out,” I admit, looking at Paser.
“I have family in Avaris,” he tells Merat. “After finding you, we thought we might go to them for help, then disappear in the city crowds or catch a ship somewhere.”
“And how will we get to Avaris?” Reb asks.
“Pepi spoke of a caravan coming with the physician,” Paser says. “As Merat said, donkeys and supplies will ease the journey. Perhaps we can persuade those among them to take us.”
The princess and I share a look, knowing well that the odds of that happening are small. The boys might have a chance, but Merat and I are bound to the Hyksos, even if my commitment is only a ruse.
“We may need Pepi’s help if we want any hope of doing that,” I say at last. Our total dependence on the spy is not lost on me.
“Let us hold off until we are sure there are no other options,” Paser says. “I still do not fully trust him.”
Reb nods his agreement. “We should be on our way, before anyone feels we are spending too long in your company.”
“Reb is right.” Paser looks at us in apology. “They will not want us working on patients if there’s a chance of us spreading your ‘ailment.’ If all of us are thought infectious, it might be easier for them to decide what to do with us.”
“We are well,” I assure him, and Merat nods. Now that the itching has lessened somewhat, I feel very tired, not having slept well, or often, since I was back at the palace. Like my time on the streets, that seems like someone else’s life. I have had several in the course of my thirteen years.
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