MY HAND SNATCHES ITSELF back as if it has met open flame. I look around to see if anyone is watching and notice Ahmes walking over.
“What is wrong?” he says.
I keep my face preternaturally calm. “Someone put something in my bag.”
He upends the satchel, and though I already know what is in there, it still churns my stomach to see the pink chunks of organ fall to the ground along with the medical supplies.
Ahmes’s mouth falls open. “Who did this?” he demands.
My eyes go to Reb but he is busy bandaging a wound and takes no notice of the scene. Besides, he returned my tools after the snake escapade, and, while not overly friendly this morning, he did give me a respectful nod. Perhaps one of the other students? Or someone with a more malevolent intent? Was this a harmless prank or a threat? I recall the feeling of being watched and feel a chill in spite of the humid day.
Just then a man cradling his arm walks up to Ahmes and me. He is pallid and sweating, emitting small gasps of pain.
“We will investigate this further later,” Ahmes says quietly, pushing the disgusting pile aside with his foot. “Right now your duty is to the patient in front of you.”
I gather myself, along with my instruments and the fallen supplies, flinging off any remaining matter, then turn to the man. His arm is badly broken. Casting my eyes around for a splint, I spot a pile of sticks lying under the tent and quickly go to fetch one, banishing the incident from my thoughts for now. I come back with two thin strips of wood. One to bind to the arm after straightening it, the other for the man to bite down on. I saw Father set broken bones many times and assisted him often.
“This is an ailment with which I will contend.” I smile reassuringly at the man and give him the shorter of the sticks to place between his teeth. “This may hurt a little.”
After countless wounds bathed in honey, bandages applied, limbs set, teeth examined, and incantations muttered, I rest my elbows on the mud bricks in a euphoric combination of exhaustion and delight.
Paser walks over, looking just as tired and just as happy. “A good day’s work?”
“Yes.” I grin up at him, my robes bloodied and vomit splattered. “You?”
“Excellent.”
The sun has set and most of the people have gone back to their homes. We pack up our things. I shake my bag out and give it a quick wipe with one of the bandages, making sure there are no lingering internal organs. The busyness of the day caused me to forget the earlier gruesome discovery, but my thoughts are pulled back to wondering who might do such a thing. Paser notices the frown cross my face.
“What is it?” he asks.
“Somehow the contents of the nobleman’s head from yesterday’s demonstration ended up in my bag,” I say, voice low. Or maybe it was his wife’s.
Paser’s eyes widen. “What?”
“See for yourself.” I motion back toward a dust-covered lump on the ground.
“Why would someone do such a thing?” he asks.
“Perhaps someone is trying to discourage me from my studies,” I say, thinking that is the most apt scenario. They will have to try a lot harder than that.
“Why?” Paser asks again.
“Maybe they do not think girls are meant to be doctors.”
Paser scoffs. “That is nonsense. What about the Chief Physician Merit-Ptah? And the great Peseshet oversaw an entire body of female physicians.”
“Still. There are many more examples of male doctors,” I point out.
“Quantity is not always better than quality.” He grins.
A laugh escapes. “A wise observation, Paser. You should inscribe that on a tomb somewhere, so it will be remembered.”
“Maybe I will.” He laughs along with me as Reb walks over.
“What is so funny?” he asks.
“Oh, nothing.” I wave my hand casually but watch his face closely. “Someone just thought it would be funny to line my satchel with brain matter.”
Reb visibly blanches. “Foul.”
I want to make sure. “Did you do it, Reb?” I examine his expression for any sign, but there is none.
“We were just trying to figure out why a person would do such a thing,” Paser says.
Reb hesitates.
“What?” My voice is as sharp as my scalpel. “Are you going to say it was because of my father?”
“It is a possibility,” he says, meeting my eye.
“And what gives you cause to think such thoughts?” I demand.
“I have often heard my uncle discuss your father with some of the other High Priests,” he informs me.
My eyes narrow. “What do they say?”
Reb glances around. “Perhaps we should talk about this somewhere else?”
I’m about to insist that here is as good a place as any, but Paser nods.
“He’s right. Let’s go.”
We walk along the dusty path leading back to the temple. Paser and Reb talk about the last few hours’ worth of work. I am silent. Reb has been nothing but antagonistic to me since my arrival. Can I even trust anything that comes from his mouth? His uncle, Nebifu, is also the Most High Priest and didn’t get along with Father. Then again, that may be a reason to listen to Reb. Maybe he knows something and will let it slip.
We reach the temple and bow to the on-duty priests minding the entrance, walking past the giant statues guarding the front. The public is only allowed access to the temple during the holy festivals. This is sacred space.
“This way,” Paser says, and I follow him, turning off one wing to reach a small room used for storing texts. I take a quick look around, but am sure this room would have been thoroughly searched, as well. The lights are dim, torches flickering. Pulling some reed mats into a circle, we sit, facing one another, shadows playing across our faces.
“So tell me, then,” I say. “What do you know?”
“Your father was not the man you think he was, Sesha.” Reb’s tone is acerbic.
“And who exactly do you think he was?” I ask.
He looks down at the floor and back up again. “A heretic.”
It is as if Reb has slapped me across the face. “No,” I whisper.
That is the worst thing you can call somebody.
“Many did not agree with the recent changes he made to our learning here at the temple. My uncle said he did not give the gods proper credit for his work in healing. He became proud, referring to facts and new knowledge, disregarding some spells and incantations.”
“My father was not a proud man,” I say through clenched teeth. I do not believe Reb for a second.
“His dismissal of the gods angered the priests,” Reb continues, “especially when Pharaoh remained unconcerned and instead brought him into the palace as a mark of honour. The priests were worried he would begin to hold sway over Pharaoh.”
Thus lessening their own power. “So the priests had him killed?” I say, mouth dry. And maybe planted the insignia ring to fool anyone who found it?
“I do not know,” Reb admits.
“Liar,” I say.
He holds up his hands. “I swear to the gods. I have no reason to lie.”
“What about your uncle?” My eyes narrow. “Don’t you want to protect him?”
“Why would I do that?” he says. “Why do you think I told you all this, anyway?” His hand goes to a mark on his cheek, not quite faded, and his next few words are said simply. “I hate him.”
“Why have you been so hostile?” I change the subject.
He shrugs. “I suppose some of my uncle’s prejudices rubbed off on me. And it bothers me.”
“What does?”
A wry look passes over his face. “That you show more talent as a physician than I ever will.”
I look at him in disbelief. Those are the last words I’d ever expect to come from his mouth.
“Well, now.” Paser smiles. “It only took you both the length of the Nile to get over yourselves.”
After washing m
y face, I look around through squinted eyes for a dry towel.
“Here you are.” One is thrust into my hands.
I blot my face and look up to see Kewat.
“Thanks to you,” I say, voice cautious. “Are you well?”
“I did your test.”
“And?”
“I am with child.”
I am unsure whether she wishes a congratulations or not. Bebi flutters over.
“Did you ask her?” she demands.
“Not yet,” Kewat says, eyeing me.
“Ask me what?” I say, getting the sense this conversation has happened before.
“Will you be my physician?” Kewat says.
“For the baby?” I ask in amazement.
“You have had much experience with your father. Everyone knows your skills as a midwife.”
“I am not fully trained,” I protest. “There are those more senior than me who would be a better choice …”
“I want you,” Kewat says, brown eyes flashing. “It will not serve if my father discovers I am pregnant so soon and has the chance to interfere.” She hesitates, then reaches her hands out and clasps mine between them. “Please, Sesha.”
I look helplessly at Bebi, who shrugs a small shoulder.
“Very well,” I say. “But if there are any complications, I am going to Ahmes.”
“Thank you.” Kewat emits a small glow and I wonder if it is the child already, lighting her from within. Lucky for her she does not seem to be suffering from any of the sickness that usually accompanies early pregnancy. My mother said she had thrown up her morning meal every day for nine full moons with both Ky and me.
Going to my bed, my eye is caught by the wooden box and I take out the scroll Merat gave me in thanks the other night. The few girls that notice pay no attention, not having much of an interest in something they are unable to do. Maybe I will start a small class to teach any who want to learn. Scanning the document, I marvel at the delicate papyrus. Never have I seen it pounded so thin. Almost translucent. It appears to be a journal of some sort, containing various incantations and prayers, many of which I am unable to read due to the sophisticated glyphs. The recordings of a high-ranking scribe.
A name at the bottom of the document captures my attention.
Qar.
Something clicks. That was the name of the priest who originally found the missing scroll. The one who died just after my parents. Wujat said his illness was most sudden. Though death comes swiftly here, it seems highly coincidental that both men who handled the scroll are now gone. I wonder how this particular document ended up in Merat’s possession? Perhaps some of his things came into the palace with Wujat?
“Sesha.” It is Bebi. She settles under her blanket and I put the papyrus aside. “Thank you for helping Kewat. It is most kind of you. Especially because of the way she treated you.”
“It is my duty,” I say. “There is an oath upon the physician.”
“Have you sworn your oaths yet?”
“Not yet,” I admit. “But that does not mean I do not abide by them.”
“Well” — Bebi yawns — “it is kind of you all the same.” She looks at me and sighs. “Kewat is my cousin. Not my favourite, but still family. It is a risk she takes, one I advised against, but she has never listened to anyone but herself.”
“You never mentioned she was your cousin,” I say.
“I wanted you to like me,” Bebi confides.
I smile. “I do not hold the character of people’s family members against them.”
“There are many who do.” Bebi yawns again sleepily. “Good night, Sesha.”
“Good night, Bebi.”
I lie there awake for a while, pondering her words. Perhaps one of the scribes holds my father against me. Maybe it was one of the priests who put the brains in my satchel. Logic suggests it was someone from the temple, someone who had access. It also could have been meant to frighten me from my quest. Though the only people who know of that are the ones who wish the scroll to be found almost as much as I do. Not that that is a reason to trust anyone at the palace. Sighing, I add another item to my ever-growing list of things to uncover and then feel myself surrender to sleep.
24
“WAKE UP!”
My eyes fly open and I sit up in alarm. “What is it? Has something happened?”
Ky stands over my bed. “It is Festival Eve!”
I groan and pull my blanket back over my head. “Please, Ky, just a few more moments of sleep.” The week has been filled with non-stop lessons and ceaseless hunting for the scroll, while trying to work out exactly what is going on. In addition to treating and diagnosing patients and teaching Merat to read, somehow I have been designated as unofficial physician to all of the handmaidens. Since I agreed to be Kewat’s doctor, the women have been coming to me with endless health questions.
“Come on!” The blanket is ripped off and one of my eyelids peels itself back to glare at my brother, who despite his recent setback, has been the picture of health this past week. I am not fooled though. I know the sickness is there, lurking, waiting for the moment we drop our guard to show itself. My exhaustion is replaced with newfound vigour. If Ky can manage to be this cheerful this early in the morning, so can I.
“All right, I am coming,” I say, sitting up and yawning.
The other handmaidens pat him on the head, murmuring their hellos as I get ready for temple. Accepting their attentions good-naturedly, he waits for me outside the room.
“Sesha, what is that remedy, again?” one of the older handmaidens inquires as she passes, itching at a large red patch on her arm.
“Grind up some grapes into a fine paste and mix them with honey or the juice of the aloe vera plant, adding a few drops of castor oil,” I recite. “Apply it to the skin and leave on overnight. That should relieve most of the irritation. And try not to scratch!”
“Thank you,” she singsongs, ruffling my hair, which I tie back for the day’s work. In my studies, and tending people who need help, it is easy to see the results of my actions. Not as satisfying is scouring the temple, eavesdropping on fellow priests and scribes, and avoiding Wujat and Pharaoh’s persistent inquiries into how my search is going.
I join Ky in the hall. “Hello, little brother.” Someone is excited for the festival. Lasting four moons, the Inundation is a time for great revelry and celebrating. At its beginning, the gods are beseeched if the Nile’s waters are too low or too high. Isis shines bright in the evening sky, heralding the oncoming floods, when her tears for her dead husband, Osiris, cover the land. We are now finishing the second month, which is marked by the festival. A month and half after my parents died. A half-moon’s worth of days at the palace and despite all my best efforts, the scroll remains unfound.
“You have been busy, Sister?” Ky asks.
“Some of us are not free to play all day, stuffing our faces with food and drink while finding new and wicked ways to entertain ourselves,” I say with mock seriousness.
He laughs and pats his stomach. “I have almost forgotten what it feels like to be hungry.” His smile fades slightly. “Almost.”
“You are safe now, Brother,” I say softly. Or for the moment at least. Despite the unfruitfulness of my search, the last week has lulled me into feeling secure, as well; the busy routines of my days and evenings a temporary gauze on the wound my parents’ death tore across my heart. And though I know the sensation of well-being is only a mirage, it is a constant struggle to resist the hypnotism of daily palace life. I cannot let myself be charmed and must remain vigilant in my search, on guard for predators. I know now how Apep must have felt. “What are your plans for the day?” I ask. Not being able to see him much as of late, I asked Ahmes if he might excuse Ky from his morning’s duties so we could break the fast together.
We sneak into the kitchens and Cook parcels us out some food. Taking it into the sunny courtyard we go sit by the pond. Merat often watches the fish in it swim, bright shapes darting b
ack and forth. She says it relaxes her. Ky watches them for a moment as I methodically massage my pomegranate to release its juices, my thumbs pushing firmly into the round fruit, feeling the burst of seeds under its skin.
“I have heard things of our father,” he finally says over the rhythmic crunching, shattering the tranquility of the morning.
I was wondering when he would, knowing how gossip spreads at the palace. It was always a matter of when and not if. I take a small bite of the pomegranate, spit out the rind and bring the fruit to my lips, tilting my head back so the sweet juice runs down my throat. “What have you heard?” Wiping my chin, I keep my voice as level as the stones that form the Great Pyramid.
“That he was a heretic.” Ky’s own voice cracks. “That he did not believe in the gods and their magic.”
“He was no such thing, Ky.” I take a breath and offer him the fruit to drink. “Father talked often of magic. He believed it connected everyone and everything. But he also believed in things like medicine, herbology, mathematics, astronomy, and logic. And that one did not diminish the other, but rather that they were entwined with another. Inseparable.”
Ky lets out a huge sigh and hands me back the fruit. “I know. But it still feels good to hear you say it.” He gives a wistful smile, his lips red from the juice of the pomegranate. “I just wanted to speak with someone about it.”
“You may always speak of them to me,” I say. “After all, that is how we remember them.”
And to an Egyptian, there is nothing more important than being remembered.
The temple is a sandstorm of frenetic activity. Junior scribes rush about, completing errands and chores. The more senior scribes and priests generally look harried and bark at anyone appearing idle.
“Tomorrow is our best chance,” I say in a low voice to Paser and Reb at the midday meal.
“When?” Paser asks.
“During the procession.” The priests will parade the statue of the god Amun through the streets with thousands of people jostling to catch a glimpse before it is taken into the temple. Hundreds of servants and junior scribes will wave palm fronds while people sing, cheer, and make merry. Other priests and scribes will be busy taking offerings and giving out vast quantities of food and drink to be consumed as people celebrate late into the night and right on through to the next day.
The Lost Scroll of the Physician Page 12