We found Aset thrashing about, trying to escape the flames that threatened to consume her. I dipped a goose feather into the pitcher of cloudy beer and let it drip between her parched lips, praying all the while that Re would sail faster to give ease to this child of his brother Amen. That thought soon gave birth to another.
“Her mother knows she is sick?” I asked Merit, who shrugged and refused to meet my eyes. “What of her father?”
“He comes both day and night, and makes offerings to Amen for her life.”
The afternoon passed into twilight and then darkness while I dripped beer, then willow tea and fruit juice down the girl’s throat. Merit finally agreed to rest on the pallet Pagosh placed on the floor while I continued to drag the wet cloth over Aset’s body, again and again, praying all the while that Thoth had guided my hand. For all rotted animal dung is not the same.
I lost all sense of time then, until I sensed another presence in the room and turned to find the priest standing behind me. “She will live?” he asked in a low voice.
“Only Thoth can know that,” I replied, wondering if he felt true fondness for his daughter or only concern for the means by which he might gain greater power. “If Osiris does not take her in the night, she will be better by morning. Now I battle the fever with the only weapon left to me, the water of life.”
How long Ramose remained I never knew, for he disappeared as silently as he had come. I glanced around to relieve the stiffness in my neck and back, and noticed the baskets filled with the little girl’s toys. One contained rag dolls and a wooden puppet with movable limbs, her only playmates if what Merit said was true.
“Please do not leave me!” she cried out suddenly, bringing Pagosh to his feet. “Oh, Tuli … please come back!”
“Who is this Tuli she calls for?” I asked him.
“A street dog who has become her shadow. He even sleeps on the foot of her couch. Yesterday he seemed to know she was sick and whined until I put him out.”
“Only come back and I promise never to leave you again, Tuli,” she cried again, “not even to go across the river with my lady mother.”
“Go find the dog and bring him here,” I instructed Pagosh.
A few minutes later he returned with a small dog straining at the leash, though in truth he looked more like a rat, from his half-chewed ears and dirty gray coat to his nearly hairless tail. Only his eyes distinguished him, one blue and the other amber. I motioned him up onto the couch, and put one of her hands to his back.
“He just appeared one day, a pup not fully grown,” Pagosh explained, “with his ribs sticking out and a great tear in his belly. Aset had me carry him to the physician-in-ordinary to my lord’s cattle and slaves, but he refused to treat the animal, so Aset cared for him herself, by pouring sour wine on the wound and feeding him scraps of meat. That night nothing would do but I must fix a pallet for him in here, so she could keep a lamp burning against the darkness—‘when all snakes bite and every lion leaves its lair.’ By morning she had named him what he is, she said—brave.” I thought the story a bit overblown, and I suppose he must have read it in my face. “If you doubt that one so young can know what it is to be brave sunu, it is because you do not know her.”
He returned to his place by the door and the drip of the water clock seemed to grow louder after that. I began to ponder how we measure time. Since day and night each are divided into twelve parts, the length of an hour varies with the season. But we are in the season of long days, when the hours of the night are shorter than at any other time of year, so why did they feel so long? I was still mulling that question when Osiris rose up on the other side of her couch, to stand with his arms crossed over his chest, crook in one hand, flail in the other.
“You cannot take her!” I protested.
“Why not?” The Lord of the Netherworld appeared unperturbed by my outburst.
“Because it would break poor Tuli’s brave heart.” My eyes fell on the lock of hair Merit had pulled back and tied with a strip of leather and a carnelian amulet—the knot in the girdle of Isis, talisman of her namesake and guardian. “Surely you would not deny the mother of your son, the mighty Horus who avenged your death!”
Like smoke, he curled in upon himself, mingling with the shadows in the corner of the room. That surprised me, too, for I was taught that Osiris takes when and where he pleases, without appeal. I continued to wet the cloth and drag it across her chest, until at last it seemed to me she felt a little cooler. After another hour or so her cheeks finally gave up their angry color. I knew then that I had chosen well, and let the cloth fall back into the bowl, drew a thin blanket up to her chest, and sat back to rest a bit.
When next I opened my eyes, the light of Re-Horakhte was streaming through the clerestory windows. I looked first to see if the girl still breathed, and found her watching me with eyes the color of the afternoon sky. Surely they are a gift from her father, I thought, though hers are a clearer blue, unsullied perhaps by all his eyes have seen. She lay still except for the hand stroking Tuli’s ear, and showed no fear at waking to find a stranger beside her couch. Even so, I stayed quiet so as not to alarm her, until I saw the hesitant beginnings of a smile. She seemed to be testing me, so I returned her gift in kind—and was rewarded with a smile of such joy that I was helpless to do anything but try to match it.
That was how Pagosh found us when he came to see how she fared. “Paga!” she whispered in a scratchy voice, raising her arms to him. He bent to hug her, but mumbled, “You are not to get up, little one, until the physician says you are healed.”
“He is a sunu?” she whispered, blue eyes suddenly too big for her face.
Pagosh nodded. “The one named Senakhtenre. Remember what Merit told you about the night you came into this world?”
Still she stared at me, causing me to wonder if she saw in me the physician who had refused to treat her dog. “My friends call me Tenre,” I offered, to calm her fears.
“Is that what you call him, Paga?” she whispered into his neck.
“It is an honor to be offered the friendship of such a man,” Pagosh replied, avoiding a direct answer.
“Then you can call me Aset, for that is what my friends call me. Isn’t it Tuli?” The dog wagged his tail, then licked her foot.
“Aset?” Merit rose from her pallet, then began laughing and crying at the same time when Pagosh handed the girl into her keeping. “I will fetch a cup of broth and some fruit,” he muttered, though I suspect he went to inform Ramose.
“You are squeezing me too tight, Mother,” Aset complained, “and those ropes have scratched my back.” Merit reached for a blanket and wrapped it around her.
“Put fresh padding on her couch,” I told Merit, then spoke to Aset. “Will you promise to drink all the juice and water Merit brings you?” She nodded. “And rest when you feel tired?” This time she was not so quick to agree. “Tuli is impatient for you to be well, so you can play with him. So am I.” At that, laughter sparkled in her eyes, all the reward I needed for sitting through the night with a sick child.
I handed a packet of dried sage to Merit to steep in hot water, to help soothe her throat. “You also can have all the fruit you want,” I told Aset. “Do you like watermelon?” She nodded, making her curls dance. “Then rest for now.” I pointed to the dog. “Him too.” I picked up my goatskin bag. “I will return tomorrow to see if you have followed my instructions.” By the time I reached the door her eyes were closed in pretend sleep.
DAY 13, SECOND MONTH OF HARVEST
I was down by the river, tending a man who had dislocated his shoulder while loading one of Pharaoh’s trading vessels, when I heard someone call my name.
“Tenre! Hallo.”
I was sure my ears deceived me. Then the crowd of soldiers and vendors parted, and I caught a glimpse of a familiar face. “Mena!” I shouted, and ran to him.
“You said this was where I would find you when I returned.” He clapped me on the back, pulling me into
the embrace of brothers, then made a show of drawing away to cast his eyes over me. “Let me see how you fared without me.”
Mena and I first found kinship in playing ghoulish pranks on the priests in the temple school. Later, it had been his unfailing optimism that sustained me through the lower grade of the priesthood, a requirement for entry to the Per Ankh and medical training. But once there, neither of us could stomach the decision not to treat, so we set out to test every prescription handed down from the time of the great Imhotep, and ended by bribing a slave in the Per Nefer to look the other way while we discovered for ourselves how the great vessels lay between the heart and lungs.
“Did you just arrive?” I asked, fearing that he had long since returned to Waset and now was about to embark again, without even seeking me out. I could see that he was much changed, more by his eyes than the white at his temples.
He pointed to where three bearded slaves coaxed a pair of skittish horses from the deck of a twin-masted ship. “With General Horemheb. Have you not heard that he comes to take the Princess Mutnodjme for his wife?”
“I beg most humbly that you will forgive my intolerable ignorance, Lord Merenptah.” I bowed my head to hide the grin I could not keep from my face. “Surely the messenger you sent ahead to announce your glorious coming must have been waylaid by pirates on the Great Green Sea. Otherwise, with or without the General who names himself Greatest of the Great and Most Powerful of the Powerful, every whore in this backwater of Pharaoh’s great empire would have been waiting to greet you.”
He burst out laughing, a sound I have sorely missed these past five years. ‘Thank the gods you are not changed, Tenre. Do you still spend your nights with your scrolls instead of a woman, or is it a wife that has turned your brown eyes so solemn?”
“Hardly,” I scoffed. “Most women I see are already big with child, but perhaps with you here my luck will change—unless you are the one who has settled into middle age.” I caught a glimpse of the boy he used to be before his face turned serious again.
“Not yet and not likely, though I confess I grow weary of seeing men spill their guts and brains for no good reason. I can still hear their moans in my sleep, and wake with the noxious odor of their rotting flesh in my nose. But if you are through twisting that poor fellow’s arm, let us go find a cool mug of beer.”
I nodded, anxious to hear where he had been and what he had learned, for we had made a pact the night before he sailed. He would learn all he could from the wounds men suffer in battle while I did the same from the ills of the men, women, and children who tend Amen’s fields. On his return, we would combine our newfound wisdom to rewrite the scrolls of the ancients.
“I swear I do not remember it being so infernally hot here,” he commented, as we settled in the garden of the Clay Jar, a tavern popular with soldiers and seamen. “But tell me how you earn enough to eat by treating women and children?”
“Everyone prospers since the young Pharaoh returned to the city of Amen.” I paused to wet my throat. “You remember Nofret, my widowed aunt? Well, it is our habit to take the evening meal in my garden, where she regales Khary, the man I have hired to cultivate my herb garden, and me with gossip. So I’ll wager I knew before you that your General would take the Princess for his wife. What I want to know is how you came to be with him.”
“I was sent to our garrison at Zarw, where my General prepared a campaign into Canaan. One day when he was practicing with his bow, the shaft of an arrow splintered as he released it, driving a thin sliver of wood into the soft underside of his arm. Horemheb is not one to take notice of such a small thing, so by the time I saw it the wound had gone putrid and looked as bad as it smelled. I poulticed it with moldy bread, mumbled a magic spell, and had him eat radishes sufficient to send ten men to the latrine. He believes I saved his life as well as his arm, and so must have me always at his side.”
I smiled, remembering how it has always been with us, but in the next instant his face changed from day to night. “The ambassadors of our onetime allies may have returned to court, Tenre, but they come without treaties or tribute because Tutankhamen has nothing to bargain with.” Word of the General’s failure to regain the territory lost by the Heretic Akhenaten had already filtered back to Waset, but Horemheb returned triumphant anyway because he brought long-owed tribute from the Canaanites and their Shasu brethren. “My General comes to acquire more than a royal princess,” Mena continued. “He needs more troops, and Ay will see that he gets them.” He sat back. “Once Horemheb chases the Hittites back to Hattusas, the throne will be his.”
I knew Mena too well to believe he spoke in jest. “Akhenaten taught the priests of Amen a lesson they mean never to forget,” I reminded him. “It will take a clever hand to tame a lion and crocodile at the same time.”
“Horemheb will pull their teeth. Power lies with the strong now, Tenre, not in the blood. Do not forget that the General rose through the ranks under the wily old Master of the Horse, who now sits on Tutankhamen’s right hand.”
“Ay sat beside Akhenaten as well,” I reminded him, “and look where he is!” That we spoke of the Beautiful One’s first husband was proof to me that the gods play games with our thoughts. “But since you mingle among the high-and-mighty, tell me what has happened to the Heretic’s Queen.”
“Mutnodjme’s royal sister? I have heard only that she lives somewhere in the land of the lotus, likely not far from here.”
“Then perhaps I can tell you something, though it must be as physician to physician.” With those words I bound his tongue and could trust him not to share the confidence. “She is Consort to a God’s Father named Ramose, keeper of Amen’s accounts, and has borne him a daughter.”
Shock and then chagrin crossed Mena’s bronze face, so he understood full well what an alliance between a powerful priest of Amen and a daughter of the Magnificent Amenho-tep could portend. “Like a cat, that one always lands on her feet.”
“Her claim to the throne is without equal,” I reminded him, “not only as the daughter of Osiris Amenhotep but because she once sat at Akhenaten’s side. Now she plays a new game of Jackals and Hounds, this time with the High Priest of Amen.”
“Did you hear that bit of gossip from your widowed aunt as well?”
“I attended the babe’s birth.”
“You?” Mena almost fell off his stool. “What do you take me for, a witless ox? No offense, Tenre, but the priest you describe would never allow one such as you anywhere near his woman, not when he could have a physician from the House of Life.”
“So I thought, too. But you know how it is. Birthing is for midwives. The exalted ones from the Per Ankh are not called until it is too late and so have little experience of a woman who labors. And no wish to acquire it.”
“How long ago was this?”
“On the very day her other daughter became Tutankhamen’s Queen.” I decided not to mention that I had gone to Ramose’s house again only the night before.
“Nearly four years.” He gave me a look to see if I pulled his leg. “For an ordinary physician, my friend, you seem to have acquired anything but an ordinary reputation.” Then, without warning, he sailed in a different direction. “I have learned that dried crystals of honey will save many a hacked limb, by taking up the fluid from a deep cut.”
That he remembered our youthful pact made my heart sing with joy. “I, too, have much to report. An ointment made from the blood of an ox mixed with fat from a black snake will stop a man’s hair from turning white. You should try it.”
Before I knew what he was about he had slapped my cheek in play. “How I have missed you,” he said.
“As I have missed you,” I admitted, warmed by his words.
He glanced up at the sky. “I must go learn where I am to lodge this night, and find a bath before I show myself at Pharaoh’s palace.”
It was my turn to gape. “You go to Tutankhamen’s House of Jubilation?”
“He is to accept the tribute Horemheb b
rings and reward him for his service. Also for taking his sister off his hands.” Mena sent me the ingenuous grin that once fooled even my father into believing him an innocent.
“If royal blood counts for so little,” I asked, “why does Horemheb wed a princess? Surely it is common knowledge that she has lain with every man in the Two Lands, except for you and me. Or perhaps I should speak only for myself.”
“I see your skill at finding the holes in an argument is still sharp as a razor,” he muttered as we got up to leave. “Once my General impregnates her it will no longer matter. Soon he must sail to Upper Nubia to inspect the garrisons that secure the territory above the Second Cataract, but until then they cruise on the royal barge.”
“You will go with him to Kush?”
“Not this time, and perhaps never again.” His face was hidden from me as we passed from the garden. “I find myself lying awake at night, wondering—should Anubis come for me tomorrow—what I leave behind to mark my existence, with no wife to mourn my absence nor any children to say my name.” He handed the tavern keeper a chit to cover our beer, and we went out into the hot, dusty street.
“It is the wisdom Imhotep left to those who have come after him that endures,” I reminded him. “But while you ponder which good woman to choose for your wife, it might clear your vision to spend an hour or two in the marshes … unless your throwing arm grows weak with age.”
“At our usual place,” he returned, taking the bait, “just as Re-Horakhte shows his face above the horizon?”
I nodded, but could not resist pricking him again. “Do not forget to eat some cabbage with your meat tonight, lest a throbbing head spoil your aim.”
“Not even a dancing girl will lie with me if I stink of cabbage. Better to chew almonds and kill two birds with one throw, remember?”
With that he started toward the river while I stood feasting my eyes on his familiar stride, letting the memory of other times and other taverns engulf my heart. Especially the night we set out to discover whether eating almonds would prevent the sore head that comes from too much wine and at the same time produce an erection to rival that of the god Min himself. Then I turned and made my way to the path to Amen’s temple.
The Eye of Horus Page 6
