The Lost Scroll of the Physician

by Alisha Sevigny

  “Give me an end!” I say and he passes me the thin cord. We pull the block with all our might, bodies straining until it reluctantly slides into place. Paser whips out the belt and wraps it around his waist again. I spot something else tucked into his skirt but there is no time for questions. We stand and run down the corridor, retracing our steps until at last we emerge from the bowels of the temple, winded and panting. Tucking the scroll inside my robe, I make an effort to stop gasping and stand up straight. Paser does the same, and as he does, floats something light and gauzy around my shoulders.

  “The scroll isn’t exactly entirely unnoticeable.” He puffs. “This will help conceal it.”

  “Where did you get it?” I finger the delicate fabric. There is no doubt that a garment this fine belonged to a queen.

  “It was hanging off one of the statues.”

  I shake out a sleepy scorpion, then wrap the shawl tightly over my shoulders, tying it in front of my body to cover the cylindrical outline of the scroll. We attempt to stroll leisurely back down the main halls, to where we can blend in with the rest of the scribes.

  “You, there!”

  A sharp voice freezes us in mid-step. Slowly, we turn. I paste on an innocent expression and pull the shawl tighter, hoping no one will notice its quality.

  Sebau strides over to us. “Why are you not with the others?” He eyes us suspiciously.

  “We went to get more incense for one of the other priests,” Paser says without hesitation.

  “Where is it?” Sebau demands, impatient as always.

  “Um, we are all out,” I say.

  “That cannot be!” Sebau looks panicked. “I myself supervised the ordering.” Muttering to himself he marches off, presumably in the direction of the incense stocks.

  We both slump in relief.

  “What do you think he will do when he sees there is plenty of incense left?” I ask Paser.

  “Think we are idiots for not looking in the right place,” Paser says, grinning.

  I let out a loud laugh, releasing nerves and tension. It echoes down the hall and two priests carrying baskets of offerings give us a disapproving look.

  My whole body is tingling, electrified at the thought that the scroll in my robes could actually be the one we’ve been searching for.

  “Come on, let’s go to the main chamber. Reb will be wondering if we made it without getting caught.”

  Still feeling giddy from our narrow escape, I nudge Paser with my elbow. “It is a good thing you did not have to use your defensive moves on Sebau. I have a feeling he would be most put out at our next class.”

  “I would be the one put out,” Paser laughs as we walk down the hall. “Cast out in the desert to shrivel like a grape left in the sun.”

  A thought occurs to me. “Where did you learn to fight?” I am curious about Paser’s background. Aside from mentioning that he, too, lost his parents, I realize I know little about him.

  “My mother’s father,” he says. “He was a soldier in the pharaoh’s army.” I recall Merat mentioning the general. Paser continues, “He thought I spent too much time studying and decided he would train me to defend myself. As he cared for me since I was six, I learned much.”

  “You did not want to follow in his footsteps?”

  “I wanted to be a scribe, like my father before me,” he says. “I have a love for the written word and it is my belief that more effective fighting can be done with scripts than weapons. Still, I did enjoy my training.” He mock flexes his muscles, which are remarkably well-developed considering his chosen profession. “And both have their benefits.”

  I laugh again as we enter the main chamber. The roar of the crowds is loud and the room is full of priests, scribes, and the royal family and their entourage, all looking very grand and regal.

  “How will we find Reb?” I ask.

  “Don’t worry,” says Paser. “He will find us.”

  We make our way toward the raised platform where Pharaoh is preparing to officially receive the statue before it is taken to the inner sanctuary. Priestesses from another temple chant and sing sacred hymns, rattling their sistrums. The statue will remain covered until that final moment when it is revealed to those fortunate enough to be present, who will behold its greatness. It is believed that the spirit of the gods dwells within their statues and within our pharaoh.

  Wujat and Nebifu walk the revered statue up to Pharaoh and Queen Anat, each firmly holding a side of the small silver table it rests upon.

  Merat catches my eye and I give her a brief nod to let her know that all is well. Her distraction will not be needed. I do not miss the flash of disappointment that crosses her face and lower my head to hide a smile.

  Pharaoh’s voice booms loud through the chamber. “The gods have blessed us and Kemut, this black and fertile land we live upon.” Relief spreads through my body; the harvest is expected to be bountiful then. Pharaoh holds up his hands in a wide gesture. “They are most pleased at their servants’ work.” He gives a respectful nod to the priests closest to the platform and places a hand over the beautifully embroidered shroud covering the statue. “Tonight we will celebrate their pleasure and take our own, rejoicing together as one.” He whips the shroud off the statue with a flourish as loud cheers erupt in the room. It is smaller than I imagined, especially after the treasures I just had at my fingertips, but no less impressive; polished gold and silver gleam in the sun’s rays shining though the temple. Those outside the temple walls hear the deafening hails and praises for the king and let out their own raucous cries, not needing to hear the exact words to recognize the sentiment.

  After several moments Queen Anat takes one end of the shroud that Pharaoh still holds, and they drape it gracefully back over the statue. She then steps forward and raises her arms high. “Bow before your king, Almighty Pharaoh, Lord of all the Lands, and the gods’ representative deity on earth! He, who maintains Ma’at, universal harmony, and direct interpreter of the gods’ will. Bow down before him!”

  Everyone in the room obliges, dropping to their knees, hands raised. The gong is sounded so those outside the temple for miles around know to do the same as we bask in the greatness of the gods. The gong is sounded again and we rise, chanting the sacred vowels. Bumps prickle my flesh at the sounds. Gongs and the intonation of certain vowels have magical powers, believed to promote strength and good health. Father used both often in his healing. He thought that the sounds resonated through our bodies and infiltrated organisms too small to even see, flushing out sickness and promoting wellness.

  The procession makes its final leg of the journey to the inner sanctuary. Wujat and Nebifu carry the covered statue, and Pharaoh and his family follow them down the platform. Two more High Priests make up the final members of the most privileged family of the lands. As the last of the entourage walks down the hallway, Nebifu, High Priest of the Temple, rather anticlimactically, takes the stage. He lifts his arms wide as Queen Anat did and though he lacks her sheer presence, his words are greeted with just as much reverence.

  “Let the festivities begin!”

  27

  “DID YOU GET IT?”

  Reb appears at our side. The party is under way. Drinks are overflowing and celebrants descend like locusts on the mouth-watering food being brought in. I suppose there is no need to be conservative with provisions now. The palace is full to the rooftops, playing host to elite guests from all over the land. A few of the younger scribes, the lowest level admitted to the party, are over in the corner. Some play games of Senet, and Hounds and Jackals. Others draw pictures of the sparsely clothed dancing girls, the lively trio across the way playing the lute, lyre, and zither, and the acrobats flying through the air — recording the festival for posterity. Tabira runs by pulling her wooden donkey and shrieking with laughter, her nurse chasing her.

  “Let’s go outside and talk.” The scroll presses against my ribcage and I fight the urge to rip it from my robes to examine it. The room is warm from all the peopl
e and I also do not want my sweat blurring the ink. We head to the large outdoor courtyard with the pool. The night air is fragrant with the perfumes of the flowers people wear around their necks.

  There is more music out here; contortionists manipulate their arms, legs, and spines into twisted shapes, defying the skeletal system. Singers hammer the drums as people gyrate, their bodies interpreters for the beat.

  “Over there.” Paser nods at a slightly less occupied corner of the courtyard and we walk. Parched, I grab a glass of something off a tray being carried by another scribe. He gives me a look like he has stepped in donkey dung.

  “My most humble thanks.” I raise my glass to him, unable to control my euphoria.

  “Do you have it?” Reb repeats.

  “Shh,” I say, taking a drink. “Ky!” I spot my brother with Tutan, the pair throwing a ball back and forth between them. He gives me a wave but does not come over. It must be a serious game of catch.

  I walk toward the garden, wanting the lush blooms and tall palms for their privacy. Ducking behind a large tree with a thick base, I finish the rest of my drink, which is overly sweet and warm. Paser and Reb join me. After making sure we are alone, I reach my hand underneath the shawl and into my robes, pulling out the papyrus with as much flourish as Pharaoh.

  “Do you think that is really it?” Paser asks, glancing around over his shoulders.

  “There is only one way to find out.” Ever so gently, I begin to unwind the scroll. “Wait.” I stop, my eagerness is making me careless. “Perhaps we should be doing this somewhere a little more … secure.”

  “Where do you suggest?” Reb is impatient.

  An idea comes to me. “What about Ahmes’s private quarters? He will be set up in the medical ward with some of the other doctors.” Inevitably, there are a lot of injuries at a celebration of this size. And it seems fitting that we open the scroll with some of my father’s things around us.

  “He’s probably wondering where we are,” Paser says. “The junior scribes are on shifts to help out in the infirmary.”

  “This is yet another disadvantage of being a scribe,” Reb grumbles. “We do not even get to fully enjoy the celebrations.”

  “The runts of the litter often get the least to eat and drink,” Paser says, grinning.

  “I told him we would do a later shift,” I say, tucking the scroll back into my robe.

  “Good thinking,” Paser says.

  I know how to get to my father’s old chambers from any spot in the palace and we make our way there now. People are becoming increasingly more festive and we have to dodge around some of the more zealous revellers.

  “Sesha.” We almost bump into Merat. “It seems you did not need my services after all.”

  “Your Highness was most gracious in her offer,” I say. Please let her be on her way. Please let her be on her way. I like Merat well, but she is the pharaoh’s daughter and I need some time with the scroll before he finds out we have it.

  “Where are you three going?” she asks, lifting an imperious eyebrow.

  “Um, um …” I stammer, trying to come up with a suitable foil, but the drink has slightly dimmed my thought processes. For the love of Isis!

  Reb is no better; not used to speaking with a princess, he stands there frozen, like a hyena caught in the light of a torch, mouth dementedly agape.

  “Ah, then. Intrigue.” She crosses her arms. “Lead on, I will accompany you.” With no choice, we resume our pace and she walks with us, at the front.

  “Has Your Highness been enjoying the festivities?” Paser moves beside her, as Reb and I follow close behind.

  “Not as much as some people.” She nods at a group of people dancing and laughing. “How can I, when my father is about to announce my fate, one that will send me away from my home forever?”

  “See, Reb?” I mutter under my breath. “Royal life is not all riches and parties.”

  “Does Your Highness mind sharing her announcement with us?” Paser asks.

  I have not said anything to Paser of Merat’s engagement, not wanting to betray the princess’s confidence, but also not wanting to shake his focus from our search.

  “It is not my announcement,” she says. “But I am to be married.” She gives him a sideways glance. “To a boorish Hyksos chieftain twice my age, as a gesture of goodwill.” I do not miss the desolation in her voice. “Did Sesha not tell you?”

  “No,” Paser says, looking back over his shoulder at me. “She did not.” Time enough to soothe Paser’s feelings later. We reach the wing leading to the physician’s chambers. Motioning for the others to stop, I peek my head around the corner. The way is clear.

  “So what is it we are doing?” Merat whispers as we scurry down the hall, furtive as palace mice.

  “Looking at something,” I murmur as we reach the door to the chamber. Cautiously, I push it open. There are a few torches burning low; they will not last long.

  Walking over to the long wooden counter, I pull the scroll from my robes and again, with extreme care, begin to unroll it. As it unfurls, I realize it is actually a scroll within a scroll. The inner one is much, much older than the outer papyrus. The hand of the faded papyrus is in the older style, and almost unreadable, though immaculate in its script.

  It bears the cartouche of the Great Imhotep.

  The newer scroll is a replica of the first, though the paper is much fresher and the hand is more familiar.

  My father’s.

  I quickly scan the document, and the medical language leaps out at me as do the case numbers of each ailment. Blinking, I bite my lip to keep from shouting out.

  The scrolls have been found at last.

  “Is it what you have been seeking, Sesha?” Paser asks as the torches flicker and sputter.

  “Yes.” I force myself to breathe.

  “And what is that?” Our heads whip around in unison as a bright glare shines in from the doorway, emblazoning Ahmes’s frame.

  28

  AHMES WALKS INTO THE ROOM.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “I came to get some more medicines,” he says. Coming closer, he shines his light on us. “More pertinently, what are your reasons for being in my chambers? And unauthorized, I might add.”

  Taking a deep breath, I decide to tell him. He must be the one to operate on Ky anyway. “We have found the scroll.”

  “The ancient medical papyrus?” Disbelief rings in his voice as he quickly approaches the workbench. The others move aside to make a space for him. Staring down at the ancient papyrus and its fresher brother, he examines it with care and veneration, careful not to touch the archaic script.

  “I do not believe it.” The excitement of a passionate scholar and physician is apparent. “Where did you find it?”

  I hesitate. Another thought has been occurring to me, one sparked by Paser’s question about why my father went to such lengths to hide the scroll: what was he doing in a room full of unimaginable treasures? There is no way he was involved in secreting them away.

  Is there?

  “They were in my quarters.” Merat flicks her hair over her shoulder. “Sesha has been teaching me to read and, unthinkingly, I took some documents from the temple to practise with. I did not realize the significance of this particular scroll.”

  Ahmes looks as though he does not believe her, but one does not contradict the princess.

  “Ahmes,” I urge, “now that we have the scroll, you can do the surgery on Ky.”

  “Sesha, you must give this to the pharaoh at once,” he counters.

  “No!” I half shout, then lower my voice. If there is a war to come, there will be chaos. If it’s critical to the campaign, there is no telling if I will ever see the scroll again once I let it go. “First you do the surgery, then I will give it to Pharaoh.” I send both him and Merat a desperate look, pleading with them to understand. “My brother is all I have left in this world. You must do the surgery. You must.”

  Ahmes l
ooks torn. He knows there may be retribution if Pharaoh and Wujat find out we have the scroll and did not tell them. “Sesha, I —”

  My body shudders violently, as if I have taken an infusion of castor oil. I open my mouth to protest when Merat speaks.

  “You will do the surgery, Ahmes,” she commands. “My father and Wujat have waited this long for the papyrus. Another day or two will not harm them any.”

  He nods slowly, reluctant but acquiescent. And for the second time in as many minutes, I am glad that one does not contradict the princess.

  Decision made, the details are dispatched with efficiency. Ahmes will do the surgery in two days’ time. Reb and Paser are to assist. Ahmes says I am not allowed because I will not be able to remain detached enough to be useful.

  “I will wait with you, Sesha,” Merat says, after I unsuccessfully try to change Ahmes’s mind. “We will not leave the room.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” I say as we reach the main courtyard. I must find Ky to tell him the news. Then I will meet Ahmes and the others back at the main infirmary to help with the sick and injured from the party.

  “Merat, there you are, my daughter.” Queen Anat descends on us, looking especially striking this evening. Her glittering eyes are boldly outlined in a most becoming shade of malachite, her lips and cheeks artfully stained with red ochre. Stylish henna covers her arms and hands.

  I bow low. “Your Majesty.”

  She inclines her head at me but speaks to Merat. “Your father is looking for you. He wishes to reveal the exalted news of your upcoming marriage.”

  Merat’s jaw tightens. “Sorry, Mother, I needed a bit of fresh air. Sesha was just keeping me company.”

  The queen turns and examines me. “Sesha, what a lovely scarf you have on.” She fingers the superior fabric. “Where in the heavens did you come across it?”

  “It, uh, was my mother’s,” I say.

  “It did not perish in the fire?” She lifts an eyebrow, an exact replica of her daughter.