The Lost Scroll of the Physician

by Alisha Sevigny

  I am about to deliver what I am fairly sure is the correct incantation when the tall student walks over to us.

  “There is another dead rat in the ale vat, Sebau,” he calls out as if this is an everyday occurrence. Maybe it is; the temple has its own brewery and likely more than a few rats lurking in the deep and dark recesses underground.

  The scribe turns to him. “So fish it out.”

  “Reb tried to, but …” Paser pauses. His eyes are a rich brown, like the fertile soil of the riverbanks after the floods.

  “But?” the scribe prompts.

  “He fell in.”

  “The boy can swim, can’t he? A dead rat in the beer is one thing …”

  “It is only that he swallowed a large quantity of the brew while calling for help, and seems quite intoxicated, Sebau.”

  The scribe throws his hands up. “Imbeciles.” He storms off in the direction of the other boys, muttering to himself about them being no smarter than the rodents. Glancing around, I wonder if anyone will notice if I sneak off to Father’s old study. I’ve concluded this is the most logical place to begin my search. Then again Wujat had mentioned discretion.

  Paser looks at me and holds out a mug of the nutritious drink.

  “No, thank you.”

  He shrugs and takes a long guzzle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he finishes. My throat swallows involuntarily. “There was no rat, in case that changes your mind.” He holds out the drink again.

  I don’t mention that I’ve actually eaten rats for breakfast, and they are not so terrible when well cooked, but instead accept the beverage. It is cold and aside from the odd lump, very refreshing. I pass it back to Paser.

  “Reb just wanted a little extra refreshment, though he’ll be black and blue tomorrow for that stunt.”

  “Why did you tell Sebau?”

  “Better for Reb if he deals with it and not his uncle.”

  “His uncle?”

  He nods at High Priest Nebifu, at the outer edge of the concentric circles, still talking to Wujat, the pair deep in serious conversation.

  “He would be severely … punished for bringing shame to his family.”

  “Then why take the risk?”

  Paser looks at me. “You’ve never taken a risk before?”

  “I have.” This is an understatement.

  “Then you must know that sometimes people do things that contradict reason. Especially when it is hot. And when lessons are long and tedious. And when the beer tastes good.” He takes another long drink then offers the mug again. I shake my head.

  “It is nice to hear that my classmates take their studies so seriously.”

  “Reb takes it seriously enough.” He looks at me with a conceding grin. “Though he is perhaps a little impulsive.”

  “What of his father?” The scribe position is generally kept in families, passing from father to son.

  “Dead, as is mine.” So we have something else in common besides risk-taking. Queen Anat had said my parents lie in one of the mastabas. Suddenly, a tide of intense longing sucks at my spirit, a need to see them.

  “Do you know where Pharaoh’s physician and his wife rest?” I ask Paser abruptly. My father was highly regarded in the kingdom. Even the scribes-in-training would be aware of the place his remains lie. What is left of them.

  Paser’s eyes flicker over me. “Ah, yes, of course. You are the daughter of Ay, Chief …”

  “My name is Sesha.” I cut him off before he goes into the full pronouncement of his title.

  A few of the other boys have come back, the excitement from the beer-vat incident having calmed somewhat. Reb is among them, his ears bright red, most likely from being freshly boxed. A trickle of blood runs down the left one and drips from his lobe like a melting garnet earring. His tunic is soaked through.

  “It is a wonder they let your parents be buried with any ceremony at all,” he hiccups, ears and wet clothes seemingly giving him no concern.

  I whirl on him. “What do you mean?” My voice is sharp.

  “Your father —” Reb starts, rubbing at an older welt on his upper right arm. Perhaps a result of not knowing the proper incantation.

  “Was much respected,” Paser interrupts.

  Several sharp claps have the boys skittering back to their places. Sebau strides over, looking distinctly put out and dripping slightly. The smell of yeast is strong in the air.

  “Now, if everyone is feeling properly refreshed,” Sebau begins, “let us get back to our lessons. Daughter of Ay, take your place there.” He points to an empty reed mat. Obediently, I go and sit, clutching my precious tools. Included are some pieces of limestone with which to practise my scripts. Carefully, I remove the elegant reeds from their inlaid case.

  Paser leans over my shoulder and whistles softly. “Some beautiful supplies you have there.”

  “It was a gift.”

  Or a bribe. I am not sure which.

  “No talking!” Sebau smacks a long knobbed stick with wicked-looking flays at the end onto the ground, sending a spray of dust in the air. It appears a trip to Father’s study will not be happening in the next little while.

  Looking down at the shards of limestone, I am careful not to speak for the rest of class, as we practise inscribing the cursive hieratic script for what feels like eternity. While we work, I begin to formulate a plan. Wujat said the temple was searched but I don’t have much faith in illiterate guards. Especially ones who may have had something to do with my parents’ death. And my father wouldn’t leave something so valuable lying out in the open. There is a good chance the scroll is hidden somewhere in his old chambers … which would be Nebifu’s now. Reb’s uncle. I dart a look at the unfriendly boy, then at the strict Sebau. I need to figure out a way get into that study.

  Blinking, I look up from my tablet only as the light begins to fade. My fingers are cramped and blistered, having not been used in this manner for so long. Yet my heart has been somewhat soothed by the meditative act of drawing out the complex symbols, my focus so complete it momentarily forgot the things that trouble it. However, these quickly return as I pack up my tools with the other students. Most will not even look at me; those who do, do so in obvious derision. Paser being the exception.

  “You have a fair hand,” he says to me. “See you tomorrow.”

  So taken aback by his compliment, I say nothing, watching as he walks away with a few of the other boys, leaning over to sniff Reb. He says something and the others erupt into laughter.

  “Sesha.” I look up. Ky is there with Anubis. “We have come to walk you home.” His head has been closely shorn, most likely to rid him of the lice, especially as he is in close proximity to the royal children.

  My loneliness evaporates some.

  “Thank you, Brother,” I say, walking over to him and brushing my hand across his cropped head, feeling the soft prickling of his hair against my palm. “They did not take it all the way to the scalp?” To a trained eye the swelling is more apparent, skin taut against the skull.

  “It is the latest fashion for the older children at court,” he says, ducking out from under my hand.

  “Perhaps I should cut mine.” My fingertips brush back my own hair, which I have become rather attached to. I braided it this morning to keep it out of my way but a few strands have managed to escape.

  “You are a scribe, now,” Ky teases as we walk out of the temple, Anubis at our side. Ra is low on the horizon and the vendors of the marketplace have gone home for their suppers. “You no longer need to concern yourself with being fashionable.”

  I let out a half snort, looks having been the least of my concerns this past month. Battling constant filth, grit, and sand fleas had made up the bulk of my hygiene routine.

  “Were you able to find out anything about the scroll?” Ky asks.

  “No,” I admit. “The teachers watch us like the falcon watches her prey. Though it appears more was going on with Father than we know of.”

 
“Like what?” Ky asks, one hand on Anubis’s head.

  “I am not sure, exactly.” I think of Pharaoh and Wujat’s late-night conversation; even Ahmes and Reb had alluded to something, though both were vague. “But there is something in the way people speak his name.” With an inflection I cannot quite decipher. Casting a look at the emptying room, I lower my voice. “I plan to search his old chambers, perhaps the scroll is hidden there somewhere. What about you? Were you able to find anything out?”

  “Nothing of the scroll. I did learn where Mother and Father are being kept.” His voice is soft but it stops me mid-step.

  I swallow. “Me, too.”

  He looks up at me. “Will you go to see them?”

  “I wanted to wait for you.” We could go now, but neither of us mentions it. I wonder if our hesitation has something to do with the uncertainty of their fate. When we die our soul splits into two parts: the Ka, our unique life force, flies off to enjoy the afterlife, while the Ba, our individual personality, keeps watch over our families. Each night they return to the tomb to join back together, resting and recharging before doing it all again the next day. This is why we go to so much trouble to preserve the bodies. The Ba and Ka need the physical body, the Akh, to house the soul. If my parents’ remains are … unrecognizable, will the Ka and Ba be able to reunite or find their way home? And if not, will they vanish forever, unable to watch over us or reach paradise?

  “Tell me of your day,” I say to distract us both as we leave the temple. “What of the gossip at the palace?”

  He perks up. “Well, one of the lesser wives screamed at the cook for burning her food and said she was trying to poison her. And Merat was arguing with Queen Anat about something, a suitor she was finding most disagreeable. It seems he has a habit of spitting when he talks …” Ky chatters on about the minor trials and tribulations of palace life as we continue our walk; Anubis trotting at our left, Ra on our right, winking good night before disappearing below the horizon. Half of my mind pays attention to Ky while the other half, wanting to avoid further agonizing over the state of my parents’ souls, attempts to devise a way to sneak into Nebifu’s chambers undetected. Will I need to befriend the hideous Reb? I cannot just wish for the scroll to reveal itself without any real effort on my behalf. If my hunch is wrong and it is not there, I will have to systematically search the sprawling temple, which, along with the surrounding buildings and underground catacombs, is vast and ancient. And though I have been praying to the gods to aid me in my task, as I learned from my father, it is best if one does not leave everything entirely up to them.

  12

  BACK AT THE PALACE, I see Ky safely off with Tutan and return to the handmaidens’ chambers. Dinner has been served and I help myself to the leftover food at the table near the front of the room. It is mostly fruit and some dry bread but still a thousand times more delicious than anything I ate before returning to the palace.

  Bebi flits over to my side, head cocked, eyes bright. “One of the cooks was let go today. It is said she was trying to poison a wife of Pharaoh.”

  “What would be her reason for doing so?” I say, reminding myself to first chew, then swallow.

  “Who knows?” She shrugs. “Perhaps she was envious?”

  “The cook?” Despite it being a great honour to serve the pharaoh and his family, I can see how toiling for people who do not always appreciate their riches might be trying.

  “No, the wife.” Bebi grins. “The cook is young and quite beautiful.”

  “Which wife was it?” I ask, not having gleaned that particular detail from Ky.

  “Senseneb.”

  “Ah.” One of Pharaoh’s newer and younger queens, she is reputed to be quite vain, with a violent temper. I dimly recall talk of her and Queen Anat having some heated confrontations when the princess first moved into the palace. However, the Great Royal Wife is most respected and revered among the court, the public, and, of course, Pharaoh himself. Senseneb must have seen how it is and, apparently, not being entirely stupid, taken her frustrations out on someone else. It is fortunate the girl escaped with only the loss of her duties and nothing else. She must be a very good cook.

  “How was your day?” Bebi asks me, curious. “It is not most tedious in the temple for hours on end?”

  “No, it is quite wonderful. I learned four new glyphs today, intricate ones,” I say, and am shocked at the satisfaction in my voice. Guilt immediately overwhelms me at the less satisfactory progress I’ve made in my secret assignment. However, I suppose one gets one’s bearings before charting a course. At least tomorrow I have a specific goal: to get into Nebifu’s quarters. Unobserved.

  “Sesha,” a commanding voice says. I turn and face Merat.

  Her pretty face is still imposing and her arms are crossed over one another. She walks up to me, handmaidens bobbing deferentially at her approach.

  “Yes, Princess?” I bow, as does Bebi.

  She lowers her voice. “I wish to begin our lessons. Now.”

  Despite my exhaustion, I force myself to smile. “Of course, Princess. Do you have a specific location in mind for your schooling?”

  “My chambers.” She turns without waiting for my response and I follow her out of the room. I see Kewat look at me, eyes narrowed, and whisper something to the girl standing beside her, who clasps a hand to her mouth to keep a giggle from escaping.

  “You may walk beside me, Sesha,” the princess says as we leave the handmaidens’ quarters, and I obey, falling into step at her side.

  “How were your lessons today?”

  “I am behind with some of the glyphs,” I admit, while wondering at the princess’s interest. Is she meant to be keeping an eye on me for someone? I sense no deception in her demeanour but keep the conversation away from today’s failed search all the same.

  “I am sure it will come back to you,” she says. “I saw you there when I went to temple this morning to bring the gods offerings on little Tabira’s behalf.”

  “How is she doing?” I ask.

  “Better. Though when The Fever comes on she says it feels like her bones are breaking apart in her skin.”

  “It will return intermittently, then?”

  “That is what Ahmes says.”

  “There is a tea that may treat some of her symptoms.” I wonder if Ahmes is familiar with it. My mother used to make it for my father, who dispensed it freely to his patients. She often prepared his medicines, in addition to sought-after perfumes and creams for the court. “I can brew her some.”

  “Thank you,” she says, tone softening a shade. “And how are your classmates?”

  “Nothing I cannot bear,” I say, thinking of some of the unpleasant characters I have had to deal with of late.

  “They do not mind having a female in their midst?”

  “Some may,” I say. “Though one boy was civil at least.”

  “Yes, I saw you speaking with him. What is his name?”

  There is a subtle shift in her tone. I glance at her but she keeps looking straight ahead.

  “Paser.”

  “I thought so,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

  “Does Your Highness know him?”

  “We played together as children,” she says. “His grandfather was a high-ranking general who often held council with Father and Wujat.”

  “Would you like me to bring him a greeting?”

  “No.” Her tone is clipped. “That is not necessary.”

  I refrain from saying anything more on the subject as we arrive at her chambers. So it is not only me that piques her interest, but also a boy. I feel abashed at my mistrust, as well as a pang for the loss of my innocence, carried away on the wind, along with my parents’ ashes. Merat nods at the guard standing outside her door, who bows and moves aside to let us in.

  Her room, or rooms, rather, are resplendent. Gold glints from every surface in the setting sun. There is a large bed in the centre, a sprawling confection of fine linens embroidered in rich emerald a
nd azure hues, gauzy netting draped from the beams surrounding it. The windows are larger and lower than typical, also with netting, and face east to allow maximum viewing of the sunrise. She has her own private bath with large mirrors extending down one side of the room. There are some cushions in a pile by one of the windows. I notice she has assembled some bits of broken pottery called ostraca and some writing materials. A few scrolls lie scattered on the floor beside the cushions.

  “Where did you get these?” I ask, walking over. Unable to resist, I pick one up, feeling its lovely texture with my fingertips.

  “Do you like them?” she asks, avoiding my question.

  I unwind one of the long leather strings from around the scroll and unroll it. The sheet of papyrus crackles under my fingertips and the intoxicating scent of pulped reed permeates the air.

  “Yes,” is all I can manage.

  “Consider them your payment, then, for my lessons.” She waves a careless hand.

  Carefully, I roll up the document. “I cannot accept, Your Highness.” Though none appear to be the one I seek, they look to be sacred texts. “It is too much. Besides, a princess should not have to pay for her lessons.”

  “Do you not consider that a great irony?” she says. “That those who have the most receive all things for free, expected to pay for nothing?”

  Briefly, I wonder if she is testing me somehow. This is unusual thinking for a princess, for any member of nobility for that matter. Ashamedly, until I was forced to scratch out an existence for my brother and myself, the notion never occurred to me. Thanks to Father’s respected position, we enjoyed a most comfortable life before that night. And though I am blessed that my fortunes have again changed with the winds, this time I will not be so blind to the injustices I witnessed while trying to survive.

  “Where would you like to begin?” Pretending not to hear her question, I set the scroll down. “With your studies? Do you have any schooling at all?”

  “I did not pay much attention to my teachings,” she admits, “but I know some basic glyphs.”