The Lost Scroll of the Physician

by Alisha Sevigny

  “No … I … I found it here, in my father’s, I mean, Ahmes’s quarters. It was … uh … a gift for my mother to mark their fifteenth year together. Father must have accepted it from one of the nobles, in return for his services.”

  “Ah,” she says, dismissing it and me. “Come, Merat, you have kept your father long enough.”

  They float off, leaving me flushed and shaky.

  “Sesha!”

  “Ky! There you are. I have been looking for you.” Anubis barks in greeting and I scratch his head. “Where is Tutan?”

  “His father is making some kind of announcement. He said I did not have to go with him.” Ky seems happy to be momentarily relieved of his duties.

  “Most magnanimous of him.” I smile. “I have wonderful news.” Glancing around to ensure no one is listening, I lower my voice. “We have found the scroll.”

  “The one Father was working on?” A myriad of emotions crosses his face.

  “Yes! And that is not all. Ahmes is going to perform the surgery on you in two days’ time!”

  Ky’s hand goes to Anubis. “Oh.”

  “Is that all you can say? This is wonderful news!”

  Ky shrugs. “I … am not sure I want it.”

  “What?” I am stunned. “Ky, what are you saying? This may save your life.”

  “If it is the gods’ will that I have this sickness, then so be it.” He gnaws on his lower lip.

  Seeing the fear in his eyes, my voice softens. “Ky, all will be well. Ahmes is going to study the document pertaining to your case. It was written by the Great Imhotep himself. And I will be there, for every drop of water to fall from the water clock.”

  “Where did you find the scroll?” Ky asks, changing the subject.

  “In the temple. In a room —” I cut myself off. Ky is still young and may accidentally reveal to Tutan the location of the secret room. Before that happens I want to figure out what Father was doing in a room full of treasure that no one else seems to know about. I know there must be a good explanation, but others may not give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “What?” Ky demands. “You do not wish to tell me?”

  “It’s not that,” I say. “You are just very close with Tutan and …”

  “And you do not trust me,” he says, anger erupting in his voice. “I am not a child, Sesha!”

  “I know … Ky!” I call after him, but he has already spun around and is stalking off, leaving me very much alone despite the merriment carrying on around me.

  29

  DISTRESSED AT MY QUARREL with Ky, I head to the infirmary, which at the moment resembles Pharaoh’s zoo, full of creatures in all shapes and sizes emitting a variety of squawks, grunts, and cries. Ahmes is organizing the patients into different areas. Those with digestive issues from overindulging or other minor complaints are to go to one corner. Those who have taken too much blue lotus flower go in another. Anyone suffering from any type of wound or accidental injury, perhaps from attempting an acrobatic stunt better left to the professionals, goes to another area.

  Reb is examining the tooth of a man who bit into a plum pit too vigorously. He seems to prefer working with teeth. Distractedly, I wonder if he will choose that as his specialization? After our oaths are taken, we will spend another year specializing in a particular area of the body. I have not yet thought about what I will focus on, but I am drawn to surgery like my father before me.

  Paser does not acknowledge my presence after I return from my confrontation with Ky. Guilt stabs me in the gut, as if I, too, like some of the patients, have overindulged in rich foods. Is Ky right about my inability to trust people? Though it is not as if I do not have good reason. Unable to ignore inner nigglings of self-reproach, I let out a sigh. I suppose this means there are two to whom I must apologize tonight.

  Looking for an excuse to approach my friend, I wonder how best to address the matter. Directly, like Paser himself, I expect. Spotting a jug of water, I pick it up and carry it over to where he is tending the blue-lotus takers. Most of his patients are just lying around looking dreamy and he sends the ones who seem all right on their way. Used to induce a state of higher consciousness, the flower’s main effects are sedative, but those who take too much, combined with an excess of alcohol, are at risk of dehydration, especially after a long day in the hot sun.

  He nods his thanks, holding a cup out, and I pour the water into it. “I am sorry,” I say.

  “For what?” he says, passing the drink to one of the patients.

  “For not telling you that Merat is to be married.”

  “I am not mad at you, Sesha,” he says.

  “You’re not?”

  “You used your judgment and did not think it relevant to tell me.” His calm tone contrasts with Ky’s angry one, but I am struck by the similarity of their sentiments.

  My eyes lock with his dark ones. “Her father has promised her to a Hyksos chief as a diversionary tactic, to placate the Kings of the North, with whom he thinks we might be going to war. It is why he and Wujat need the scroll so desperately. In the event that war does occur, they want to be prepared.”

  “So Pharaoh is offering his daughter as a token of peace?”

  “That is what daughters are for!” one of the large noblemen pipes up, before dropping back into snores.

  I throw a cup of water in his face, rousing him as he splutters and coughs. “You are fine. Go find somewhere else to sleep where you will not drain our time and resources unnecessarily.”

  Too woozy to protest much, he lumbers to his feet and stumbles off, alternating between grumbling at his poor treatment and giggling at who knows what. I pray he does not have any daughters.

  “Let us forget this matter,” Paser says, handing a cool cloth to one of his patients. “It is only my pride that has been slighted, and I understand your reasons.” He gives me an acknowledging smile and for a fleeting second I wonder if there is another reason why I did not say anything of Merat’s engagement. “Where did you put the scrolls?” he asks, lowering his voice, and I push down jumbled feelings, like overflowing laundry into a woven basket, mentally placing the lid on top. And a large stone on top of that. Now is not the time.

  “I left them in Ahmes’s quarters. He will study them over the next few days before performing the surgery.” That is, if Ky will let him. I must figure out a way to convince my brother that this is his best option.

  “I still cannot believe that your father was transcribing a scroll written by the Great Imhotep himself!” Paser’s hushed voice is full of awe.

  “I know.” It confounds my mind to even think of the priceless document wrapped in the luxurious shawl, sitting behind the chest of surgical instruments.

  Reb walks over. “Sesha, there is someone here asking for you.”

  I look up to see Kewat standing there. Her face is ashen. Quickly, I walk over.

  “What is the matter?” I ask. Her face grimaces with pain.

  “Something is wrong. I … I have some bleeding,” she says, looking fearful.

  “How much?” Immediately, I take her arm and look for a semi-quiet spot where I can have her lay down. Bleeding heavily in pregnancy is never a good sign, though a little here and there is common. But it is still very early and the highest chance of losing the baby is during the first three moons.

  Spotting an empty mat, I help her to recline and do a brief examination. The blood seems to have stopped for now.

  “You must rest and do very little work. Perhaps it is time you let your mistress know your situation.” I push a piece of dark hair back from her pale brow. “And what of the father? Should I send for him?”

  “No,” Kewat says, her dark eyes wide. “He does not know yet.”

  “All right. Wait here. I will get you something to ease the cramping.” Standing, I look for Ahmes, who is by the table full of medicines, barking out orders and directing people here and there.

  “Ahmes,” I say. “Do we have any cinnamon bark?”

&
nbsp; “Yes, in the amber bottle just there.”

  “Thank you.” I grab the bottle and turn to go back to Kewat.

  “Did you manage to find your brother?” Ahmes calls after me.

  “Yes.” I turn, forcing a smile to my face. “He was excited by the news of our discovery.” Though not so much about an upcoming operation.

  “I must say, Sesha, you have found an incredible treasure.” Ahmes looks at me with respect. “Your father would be proud of you. In addition to your skills as a fine physician.”

  “Thank you, Ahmes,” I say, bowing to him, touched at his words. Threading my way back through the moaning masses I think of the incredible treasure my father had been hiding. Does anyone else know about the artifacts in the secret room? And if not, what had he meant by not revealing its secrets? I need to find out more. Pharaoh and Wujat will want to know where the scroll came from, and I do not want my father’s memory further tainted with rumours that he might be a thief.

  Exhausted after my shift, I return to the main areas where the party is still in full swing. Some are taking a temporary reprieve from making merry and are slumbering wherever a free spot can be found. I make my way to the inner room where the royal family is holding court.

  There are some loud shouts and a large man with a thunderous expression storms past.

  “May Ammit the Devourer take your souls!” he yells, waving a burly arm. Barely managing to avoid being knocked over by the massive foreign dignitary, I wait for some semblance of calm to return to the room — the man’s abrupt and profanity-filled exit has caused quite a commotion.

  I slip into the room as unobtrusively as possible, looking around for Ky, hoping to spot him curled up with Tutan somewhere.

  “Leave my sight at once!” Pharaoh points and shouts at Merat, whose expression blazes with defiant fury. She runs from the room, head held high, but I see the unshed tears on her face, being familiar with them myself. Queen Anat casts an indecipherable look at her husband and follows. I look for something to hide behind, but am exposed.

  “Sesha!” Pharaoh says, heat still in his voice. “What is it you want? Have you come to tell me you have found the scroll?” he demands.

  “I am very close, Your Highness.” I drop my eyes low, hoping he will not see the truth in them.

  “Good.” He takes a drink from his golden goblet. “Because it appears we need it now, more than ever.”

  “Why is that, My King?” I hazard, looking around for Wujat, but he, like Ky, is nowhere to be seen.

  “My daughter has rejected the Hyksos chief’s proposal.” Pharaoh rubs a hand over bleary eyes. “To his face, no less.” He takes another gulp of his wine and lowers his voice, the drink loosening his tongue but not his discretion. “And once the people realize that there is no food there will be much civil unrest.”

  “No … food?” I falter, looking around at the copious amounts of it. “But I thought you proclaimed the harvest will be plentiful this year?”

  Pharaoh’s face is bleak. “I have exhausted our current supplies for the festival celebrations, in a final attempt to beseech the gods. Let us pray they have mercy on us. Wujat is confirming, but it appears the water levels are not where they should be. Unless the rains come we will be dealing with famine and — once the Hyksos sense any weakness — war.” He looks at me. “I may not be able to control the weather, that is up to the gods, but I will do whatever is in my power to mitigate the costs of battle. The scroll will do that, Sesha. I need it. At once.”

  The griping is back in my guts. For the love of Isis. I had hoped for more time.

  30

  “THE SURGERY WILL HAVE to be tonight,” I say to Paser as the sun rises in the east, Ra ready to make another trip over the black land. I wonder what the gods think, witness to our human lives and problems. Do we entertain them? Or do they pity us?

  “You must let Ahmes know,” Paser says.

  And there is the small matter of finding my brother, as well.

  “He is exhausted and will need his wits about him for the surgery. I will let him rest and finish transcribing the rest of the document myself,” I say. “And I need you to do something for me.”

  “What is it?”

  “You must try to find out if any of the other priests know of the hidden room, without giving anything away.”

  “Why would you think I am capable of that?”

  “Because I have faith in you,” I say. “It might be the reason my father was killed.” Despite the threats of drought and war, I, like Pharaoh, can do little about those things and must focus on what I can do. On what I can learn. Disorder looms on the horizon and I must find out what I can before it breaks loose. Maybe my father was protecting the ancient artifacts? Robbery has always been rife in the tombs. And many times it is because certain people were bribed to look the other way. Or help out. Who knows best how and what to steal than the people who put the objects there in the first place?

  Something else occurs to me. “There was a scribe named Qar,” I say. “See if you can find out what illness he suffered from. Quietly.”

  “I will do what you ask,” Paser says finally. “You can trust me, you know.”

  “I know,” I say, clasping his hand in thanks. “Thank you, my friend.”

  I walk quickly down the halls, feeling as if I have taken some blue lotus flower myself. Having slept little, an air of unreality settles around my shoulders like an invisible version of the exquisite shawl I wore earlier. And despite all I have discovered, I go now to finish what my father started. Transcribing the scroll.

  Most of the palace lies in slumber and I reach the physician’s quarters with no concerns. Closing the door behind me, I go to the spot where we hid the priceless artifact and carefully remove it, hoping Ahmes has had adequate time to study. It will have to be enough. The bright sun lights my father’s old chambers, illuminating the scrolls as I unroll them, both precious for different reasons.

  It is my first time alone with the ancient document, and my breath is taken at its beauty, but also at its significance. Opening my palette, I select a brush and continue transcribing where my father left off. Finishing a sentence here, a description there, copying what I can from the original, I do not stop for food or water. My hand steadily dips my reed into the black and red paints, fine hairs soaking up the pigment, then transferring it to my father’s papyrus.

  The morning passes quickly as I block everything else out and write, write, using all my knowledge and skill, everything I have learned. The front of the scroll lists almost fifty cases of injuries, dislocations, tumours, fractures, and other types of fascinating wounds. Each case details the examination of the patient, and their diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment. I am amazed at how comprehensive the manual is. The knowledge it contains is extraordinary; I can see why Father wanted to protect it, the reason for all the secrecy. He wanted to safeguard it, not only because it is a treasure for our time and those to come, but because the information in it can save lives otherwise doomed. Anyone who has the scroll has a powerful weapon, not only over their enemies, but over death itself. It is no wonder that some of the priests felt threatened.

  Aside from a few spells on the reverse side, the scroll is entirely rational, methodical, and scientific in its findings. Father was right. Practical medicine and magic can coexist. The spells have an important place in healing. If nothing can medically be done for a patient, then perhaps they will take comfort or find strength in the words and incantations a doctor or priest can offer.

  The word brain catches my eye. This is what Father must have been referring to. Excitedly, I read about the cranial structures and the surface of the organ. Cerebrospinal fluid. That must be what is causing the pressure in Ky’s head! The scroll also mentions the pulsations of the organ and —

  “Sesha.”

  I look up and blink burning eyes at my brother.

  “I wish to consult you on the surgery.”

  I blink again, praising every god who
has ever existed. So he is still considering it. “Whatever your questions, I will do my best to answer.”

  “I had the most vivid dream.” Biting the end of my brush, I nod at him to continue. Dreams are sacred and prophetic, a message from the gods. Ky takes a deep breath. “There were two of me, standing on each side of the Nile, blindfolded. I told Tutan and he asked the potion-woman, Nebet, to interpret it.”

  Ah, so Nebet is not only a sorcerer in terms of enhancing appearances.

  “She said there is a big decision I must make, and the choice lies with me,” Ky says softly. “But I feel like I am being pulled in opposite directions.” He looks down. “If the rumours are true, our father was shunned for choosing medicine over the will of the gods. It may even be the reason for his death.”

  There are so many things that I want to say to him, all crowding to leave my mouth at the same time. No words are able to break through, leaving me silent.

  “Do I trust that the gods know what is best for me and leave my fate to them?” he continues, anguish in his voice. “Or do I take things into my own hands, like our father did, and possibly suffer the same consequences?”

  “Ky.” One gasping thought finally emerges. “Father believed we should use all the tools at our disposal to save a life. We have these tools now.” I gesture at the scroll, forcing myself to speak calmly, not wanting to pressure him unduly but needing him to understand. “The gods would not have aided us in our quest if they did not want you to be saved.” He nods slowly, weighing my words, and so I press on. “And Nebet is right; the only thing that matters right now is what you think. Not the opinions of others.” I give him a crooked smile, a little tremulous. “Though I hope you will take your sister’s into account.”

  His brown eyes look up at me, wide in his small face. “Do you really think I will live?”

  “It is your best chance.” The words are out before I even consider them. “Your only chance.”

  He takes a deep breath and inclines his head. “Then, as my father’s son, let me trust in medicine as he did. I will have the operation.”