28
MERAT LOOKS AS STUNNED AS I FEEL. The chieftain is son to the most powerful man in the Nile Delta? Who is also Pepi’s uncle? Maybe Pharaoh and the queen did not do as poorly by their daughter as she feels. Rather than marry the princess off to one of the lesser nobles, they have engaged her to the son of the king at Avaris.
“What kind of regiment is it?” I ask, trying to take in the revelations of the chieftain’s and Pepi’s lineage, as well as the fact that Yanassi has encouraged those at Avaris to make secret war preparations.
“You will see soon.” Pepi’s smile is full of mystery. “But for now, I must go greet the caravan.”
His words snap us out of our dazed shock. The caravan.
“It is really arriving, then?” Merat says, hope in her voice.
“As we speak,” Pepi says. “The oasis is an important stop on our trading route with the Nubians. Fresh supplies and goods come through here regularly.” He looks at us, thoughtful. “Would you like to accompany me?”
We nod, eager to set eyes upon a possible method of escape at last. Some visual stimulation after days of nothing but sand and palm trees would not go amiss either. Following Pepi through one of the paths that cuts through the oasis, we walk around a roving group of ducks, and people going about their daily tasks. Everyone greets Pepi with respect, though they are much less formal than one would be in Thebes for a member of the royal family. The Hyksos people are friendly and good humoured, trading jokes and winks when they see us walking behind him.
I hear someone call my name. Amara approaches, the babe on her front in a cozy sling. Her husband, a fierce-looking warrior, walks beside her. We met him the other night when Merat came back with him to meet his offspring. Though he gave us several suspicious looks over his shoulder, he was tender and loving toward his woman and child, seemingly awed by the new life they’d created. Amara’s husband and Pepi greet each other and begin speaking, voices low. The two men seem to know each other well, yet I sense a slight tension between them, in the way they stand, the tilt of their heads, and the tone of their voices.
“How do you fare?” I ask Amara warmly.
“Very well, thanks to you.” She smiles.
“May I?” Merat says, with a quick nod at the baby. Amara brings out the sleeping babe. Her mouth is pursed in a small pucker; her brow is furrowed as if she is thinking about a complex problem; all that wild dark hair she was born with is gone, shaved clean so it will grow in evenly while remaining free of sand fleas and lice.
Merat coos over the baby, who awakes, blinks at us, and immediately begins to squawk. Hastily, we hand her back to her mother. She expertly manoeuvres the little one back into the sling and motions to her husband that they should be going.
“I did not know you were fond of babies,” I say to Merat. Pepi walks on ahead as we pass a few goats grazing on the grasses.
“I think they are very sweet,” she admits. “It is how they arrive that I am not overly fond of.”
“It is not always difficult.” Amara’s birth was fairly straightforward. “I attended many where all went well.”
“I neglect Taweret,” Merat admits, naming the goddess of childbirth and fertility. “I have ignored her since Nefertiri died. I was so angry with her.” She hesitates. “Perhaps she will take revenge for my disrespect when my own time comes.”
I touch her shoulder lightly. “If that time comes, I will be there as well.”
Chaos greets our ears as we reach a clearing. A large crowd is shouting as they help unload items from donkeys and give water and food to tired and thirsty travellers.
We inspect the caravan, looking for someone who might be bribed, or for a place to conceal ourselves on departure, but nothing readily makes itself known. My heart sinks like a heavy stone to the bottom of the Nile.
I scan for the healer, who the chieftain said was arriving with the supplies, and my attention is drawn to a great deal of fuss being made over several large baskets brought off the backs of many donkeys. I wonder if any are relatives of Nefer. Pepi strides toward the caravan to help. A few of the men cast furtive looks in our direction as they unpack.
“They do not wish us to see what they have,” Merat murmurs.
“If it is such a secret, why did Pepi bring us here?” I say.
“He probably thinks the more we know, the more bound to them we will be.”
And the less likely they will be to let us go.
“Sesha!” Pepi raises his hand and beckons us over. “Would you like to meet the healer?” We walk in his direction.
There. My eyes immediately pick the physician out of the group.
It is nothing obvious that gives him away. He is elderly, maybe in his forties. But he smiles at someone offering him a drink, showing teeth that are mostly accounted for and in good condition. He and Reb will get along well. A satchel, similar to the one the hyena made off with, hangs at his side, bulging. As we get closer, I see his fingernails are stained green, as mine will soon be, with the herbs and plants he prepares for medicines. There is also something indefinable about him, an air of authority and calm despite the commotion around him. I trust my instincts that this is a man who helps others.
“May I present Min,” Pepi says. Min raps his chest twice and nods. “Min, this is Sesha and Merat. Two daughters of Thebes who have come to be with us.”
“You look Egyptian,” Merat blurts out.
Min smiles, showing his impressive teeth. “My mother was Egyptian. My father was Hyksos,” he says. “I trained in one of the Houses of Life in Thebes years ago, when things were slightly less … delicate between our peoples.”
“Did you know my father?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
Min squints at me. “Who was your father?”
“Ay, Chief Physician to the pharaoh.”
Min looks surprised. “Yes, I know Ay. He is a talented and extremely capable healer. How does he fare?”
My throat is tight again. “He is no longer of this world.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” Min says sincerely. “May he know much happiness in the Field of Reeds.”
I nod.
“Sesha is a talented physician, like her father,” Merat says with a toss of her braids. “She is extremely competent and capable.”
“Is that so?” Min squints his eyes at me. “I cannot say I am surprised. Ay would have trained his offspring well.”
“Sesha will assist in the gardens,” Pepi says to the healer. “Please let her know if you need any help brewing your medicines and potions.”
“Would you mind bringing some of my things to my hut, then?” Min asks. Intrigued by the physician, I obey as he points at various bags and baskets. If I prove myself useful, Min might be persuaded to let me tend some patients. He might also be induced to tell me more about my father. Pepi goes to check on some of the other items that have arrived, while Merat and I grab what we can and follow the healer back to the village.
29
MERAT AND I REPORT TO PASER AND REB that the odds of leaving undiscovered with the caravan are slim. They take the news in stride; we expected as much. Reb even looks relieved at not having to go back into the desert so soon. We agree that we will have to devise another plan, and again I bring up the possibility of speaking with Pepi, which they still shake their heads at. Especially when they hear he is nephew to the king at Avaris.
Over the next few days, I ponder our escape as I work in the gardens. Situated not far from the lake, the plants and herbs growing here are thriving and extensive. I learn that this oasis has been in operation for hundreds of years and it flourishes. Paser and Reb come for various herbal remedies, sharing their assessments of patients and their diagnoses, consulting with Min on what he thinks best. They ask my opinion as well, which prevents too much sand from rubbing into the wound of not being allowed to heal. When Min is not listening, we continue to discuss and discard our extremely limited options in leaving the oasis. Merat and I try not to think too muc
h about weddings.
Also preventing much chafing is Min himself, who prepares his concoctions in his tidy hut by the gardens. This is where the seriously ill or hurt are kept. He instructs me on many herbal remedies, and I share the ones I know with him, though his knowledge is far greater than mine due to his age and experience. I am still gathering up my courage to ask him to tell me about my father.
Despite my original hope for an opportunity to assist Min, the population at the oasis is healthy, and there is little left over for me to do in terms of tending patients. Instead I am responsible mainly for the back-breaking work of watering, removing weeds, and keeping a vigilant eye out for small pests that come to feast on the plants in the garden.
Up with the sun today, I till the soil, obsessing about our prospects of escape. An idea has been brewing at the back of my mind, like one of Min’s many potions.
Pepi asked if there was anything that appeals to me aside from tending patients. More and more, I am coming to realize that there is another occupation that captures my interest: the very one held by Pepi himself.
That of a spy.
After all, I’ve done it before, when Pharaoh enlisted me to find the scroll. Spies can go places others cannot, make themselves invisible, gain access to private information, and use that information to influence others. My mind churns with the dirt. Perhaps if I can convince Pepi to train me, my friends and I might better devise a way to get to Avaris. With the knowledge I learn, whether about the city itself or about the higher powers who operate there, we will be more equipped to survive. Knowing what I do now of Pepi’s family, these are very likely the “interests” he represents, which he mentioned during our trek.
Speaking of family, did the chieftain know that his cousin was in a pit? Paser thought not, but what if he did?
Gripping my gardening tools, I think back to my conversations with the spy, trying to remember our desert talks. Like Merat said, it seems a fading dream, one enshrouded by delirious hunger and thirst and fear of pursuit by the queen. Closing my eyes, I slowly breathe in and out, bringing myself back to the sands.
“What of the chieftain Merat was given to? Do you think he knew where you were?”
“Perhaps.”
“Then why did he not free you?”
“I can think of many reasons. Bargaining for the princess’s hand would have kept him occupied … I could have been a casualty of the negotiation … Or maybe he believes that a spy who fails in his duties no longer has any value.”
If Pepi did think the chieftain knew he was in the pits, he might be angry with Yanassi for abandoning him and more inclined to help us. Maybe their camaraderie is all an act. Then again, Paser could be right that the chieftain was unaware of Pepi’s predicament. After all, why would he leave his cousin in a pit?
I spot Amara walking toward me, interrupting my thoughts. I raise a hand in greeting.
“How are you this day, Sesha?”
“How did you do this with a babe in your belly?” I straighten from my crouching position, placing my hands on my lower back. A small pile of weeds lies to my left. I’ve learned that it is Amara’s position I am filling, while she spends time with her baby.
“You sound like an old woman. Do not worry, you will become used to it.” She smiles, but I see her face is strained, brow furrowed, and my instincts have me looking down at the child.
“How is the little one?”
“She does not seem to want to eat or drink.”
“Min is away at the moment, but I can take a look.”
Sighing with relief, she takes the baby out of her wrappings, cooing and kissing her forehead, and then passes her to me. The baby feels warm, but that could be from being pressed against her mother’s body. She regards me sleepily, her eyes unable to focus. She does not appear all that ill, but the instincts of a mother are strong, and if the child will not eat or drink, this is a problem. “How many times a day do you change her linens?” I say, examining the tiny being in my hands.
“Not often these past few days. She is rarely soiled.” The furrow between Amara’s brow deepens.
“Does she show no interest in eating at all?”
“At times she seems frantic and starving, but then she fusses and stops after only a few moments.”
An idea occurs to me. “Show me how you feed her.” Amara does so, wincing, and the baby tries her best, but gives up after a few moments of frustrated struggle.
“Open wide, little one,” I say, sticking a finger into the baby’s mouth. She sucks automatically, but the pull is weak. Removing my finger, I peer into the tiny pink cavern, gently lifting the tongue. It is as I suspected. The thin band attaching the tongue to the mouth is too short, making it difficult for the child to feed properly.
“This is an ailment that I will treat.” I smile reassuringly at Amara. Ky had the same trouble with nursing and my father said he was able to fix the problem with a little snip.
I hurry back to the hut, looking for Min’s scissors, which I’ve been eyeing covetously. They lie, gleaming in the sunlight, on a shelf along with a few of the healer’s other tools. Though they are made of a dull yellow-gold metal, they are sharp to the touch. Hurrying back to Amara and her baby, I say a brief incantation before quickly snipping the little band. The baby cries and immediately Amara brings her to her chest, where she begins to suckle. Amara’s face contorts with pain as the milk first comes through, but then clears as the baby begins to take long, healthy swallows. The relief in the new mother’s face makes me smile again.
“Gods be praised, Sesha.”
“Feed her regularly. This will keep the tongue moving so it does not reattach.” Amara’s milk will also heal the baby’s mouth and keep it clean. A mother’s elixir is liquid magic and can treat everything from skin conditions to eye maladies. I parcel her out some honey, another wondrous elixir, to mix into her own drink and send her on her way, brushing off her profuse thanks. I hope Min does not mind; new mothers should have extra nourishment.
After she leaves, I clean and return the scissors to their home, pleased to have been of use. I am just putting the honey away when there is a shout in the distance. A young man runs toward Min’s hut, panting, his face pale despite his exertions. “Help! Where is the healer? There’s been an accident!”
“What’s happened?” I say, still holding the jar.
“The chieftain’s second-in-command is badly injured,” he says, panic all over his face. “We must find the healer.”
“I am a healer,” I say, my blood still dancing from helping Amara and her baby. “Take me to him.”
“You?” he says, in disbelief. “You are a young girl.”
“And?” I demand, hand on my hip, resisting the urge to stomp my foot. I do not think it will help my cause. “Does that automatically render me incompetent?”
The soldier starts to protest. “Let us go now,” I cut him off, striving for calm. “The time you spend arguing only delays your friend’s treatment.” The soldier balks at how I speak to him but turns and starts back in the direction he came. I learned from Father that talking in a commanding voice works wonders when people are rattled from injury or sudden illness.
I follow him with nothing but the honey in my hands and an incantation on my lips.
30
“WHAT IS THE NATURE OF THE INJURY?” I hurry to keep pace with the soldier’s long strides. We are nearing the restricted part of the oasis where the training takes place.
“A fall.” The soldier swallows.
A fall? “From a tree?” It seems unusual, but maybe the soldiers’ drills involve leaping from palms onto unsuspecting enemies.
“No,” he says shortly as we make our way into the clearing. “From one of those.”
I gape at the creatures before me. Beautiful four-legged animals with long manes, graceful necks, and swishing tails. They resemble Nefer but are taller, more majestic, lean and muscled, with coats of russet, black, and tan gleaming in the sun.
“What are they?” I say, marvelling at their beauty.
“Horses.” The soldier cannot keep the pride from his voice.
A cry of pain interrupts my admiration of the otherworldly animals. The men are attempting to move the fallen soldier. I hurry over, my reluctant escort leading the way.
“Back away, please,” I say in that same firm and controlled voice my father used. Surprisingly, it works, and they make space for me at the wounded man’s side.
My eyes widen at the sight of his leg. It is a gruesome break, the bone jutting this way, then that, like one of Set’s jagged bolts of light from the sky. The soldier is dazed and pale, his skin feels cold to the touch, and his breath comes quickly. I recognize him. It is Amara’s husband, Akin.
“This is an ailment with which I will contend,” I say in what I hope is a reassuring manner. I turn my gaze to the soldier who came to fetch Min. “You will need to hold him.” His lip curls at being told what to do by someone younger, but he doesn’t protest. “What is your name?”
“Sham,” he says.
“Sit astride his body at his waist but put no weight on him,” I say. “You —” I nod at another soldier, who murmurs encouragement to his fallen friend “— find me two long sticks and a shorter one. And you, there.” I look at the man beside him. “Is there anything on hand to drink?”
Both men nod and run off to complete their assigned tasks. Tearing a strip of linen from the bottom of my dress, I turn to Akin, who is starting to shiver, even though the air is warm. “Listen carefully to my words.” I put a hand on his clammy brow. “I am going to speak a powerful charm. All will be well.”
He manages a quick nod, eyes clenched tight. I shut my own eyes briefly, summoning Heka, the divine force and universal healing energy. Opening them, I begin to recite an incantation for healing, making my voice soothing and calm, murmuring the words over and over, easing the injured soldier’s mind and giving him something to focus on other than his pain. The break is below the knee, which is fortunate. A jagged end pokes out of the skin, but praises to Shai, there is not much blood.
The Desert Prince Page 12
