House of Dreams (43 page)

“It was an accident. His pet lion, Smam-khefti-f, clawed him. He has been carried to his bedchamber.”

By the time I rushed into my cell Disenk had my clothes ready and my box sitting on the couch. She dressed me quickly. There was no time for paint or jewellery. I set off for the palace in nothing but my sheath and a pair of old and well-worn sandals, my box clutched under my arm. I was surprised at my own concern for the King. I took the shortest route that led directly from the harem into the royal bedroom and the guard on the doors admitted me at once.

Paibekamun met me. The room seemed full of anxious, whispering people whom I scarcely noticed but for the Prince, dusty and scantily clad, who stood by his father. Ramses was lying on his couch, covered by a sheet through which blood was oozing in a spreading dark stain.

“Is it bad?” I asked the Butler in a low voice. I was suddenly afraid and wished that Hui were here to take charge, to take responsibility. I felt very much alone.

“We do not know,” the man replied quietly. “Pharaoh was reviewing his chariot troops with the lion beside him. It appears that the beast was stung on the nose by a bee, for he reared up and thrashed about. One of his paws raked Pharaoh’s leg.”

I approached the couch, signalling for a stool to be brought, and laid my box on the table. Ramses’ head rolled towards me. He was pale, and beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead under the cloth covering of custom.

“So, my little scorpion,” he wheezed. “Let us pray that you have come to soothe me today and not to sting. It seems that all my pets have barbs beneath their smiles.” The words came from the testiness of pain. I took a moment to sink onto the stool and take his hand. It was hot and clammy.

“I do not sting today, Majesty,” I smiled, “and I am sure that your lion intended you no harm either. May I inspect the wound?”

He managed a grin and the old sparkle briefly returned to his eyes. “How meek you are, Thu! How submissive! I know full well that you ask only out of politeness and in a moment you will rip off this sheet and poke into my leg with all the cold calculation of an embalmer. If you cause me discomfort you will pay for it at our next encounter between cleaner sheets than these!”

There was a movement on the other side of the couch and I glanced up. The Prince held my gaze. He still had a bow slung across his dirt-streaked shoulder and he was grasping it loosely with both hands. A single gold band had worked its way up his forearm and rested just below his elbow. These things were imprinted vividly upon my consciousness before I turned back to his father.

“You are incorrigible!” I scolded him. “And I am not one of your pets, Majesty. I am your physician. Hot water and virgin cloths!” I called to Paibekamun, and I rose and began to cautiously peel the sheet from the King’s body.

The lion’s claws had made two jagged, deep gashes in Ramses’ fleshy upper thigh. Worse still, the animal’s paw had been dirty. Dust and motes of unrecognizable refuse from the churned parade ground clung to it. After a close look I took out a phial and poured a few drops of the milky white poppy essence into a cup. “Majesty, I must wash and stitch you,” I explained to him as I raised his head and held the container to his mouth. “It will hurt. Drink the poppy please, to dull the pain.” He grimaced but did as he was told. The water had arrived, steaming in its bowl, and I was soon lost in my work as I arduously cleansed the mess and then settled down to pulling the edges of the rips closed. Ramses grunted occasionally but made no other sound. In spite of the poppy, the pain must have been excruciating but he bore it well and I was reminded that he had been a great soldier once, waging many battles with the foreigners to keep Egypt free. Indeed, it was as a soldier and strategist that he had felt most fulfilled. His campaign days were over, but he still had the inner discipline of the good fighting man.

I soon became completely absorbed in my work, oblivious of the comings and goings around me, but the unmoving presence of the Prince remained a shadow on the periphery of my mind. I began to sweat, and gentle, invisible hands wiped the moisture from my face.

At last I sat back with a sigh of satisfaction. Ramses would of course scar, but as I washed my bloody hands I knew that no further illness would result. Opening my box and taking out mortar and pestle I began to grind up a dressing. My back ached and my fingers shook. “Bring a large piece of fresh meat and linen strips,” I ordered again, then I bent over my patient. His pupils were dilated and he regarded me drowsily. “The worst is over, Ramses,” I said. “I am going to apply a mixture of ground rowan wood, byj soil and honey to the wound and over it I will tie a slab of meat to help you heal more quickly. Do you need more poppy?” He shook his head.

“Stay with me, Thu,” he murmured. “They can set up a cot for you. Did I tell you that you look like a child with your hair in your face and no paint on your eyes?” He chuckled weakly at my expression and his eyelids drooped closed. Someone reached past me to drop a soiled rag into the now sullied water and I realized with a start that it had been the Prince’s hand passing with such solicitude over my forehead and neck during my labours.

“Your work is impressive, Physician Thu,” he said with a slight smile. “We are very grateful. When you have finished, go and bathe and refresh yourself. I will wait with him until you return.” Ast-Amasareth’s poisonous words returned to me then and I wondered fleetingly whether he was here out of a genuine concern for his father’s welfare or a deliberate attempt to make himself seem the worried, loyal son. I had seen nothing of the other royal sons but passing glimpses at the feast and in the passages of the palace. They were but shadows to me, unreal figures of whom neither Hui nor his friends had spoken.

“Thank you, Highness,” I responded. “You are very kind.” I turned back at once to Pharaoh for the meat had arrived, borne with some dignity from the kitchens by Paibekamun himself, and I completed my tasks in a haze of relief.

Later, bathed and in a clean sheath, I went back to the palace and the Prince disappeared. Pharaoh still slept but his sleep was troubled by pain. He mumbled and tossed as I sat perched on the cot that had been provided, while outside the sun went down and night crept towards me. The servants brought me food and drink, which I refused, and lit the lamps. I dozed fitfully, waking occasionally to bend over the King and assure myself that all was well.

At some moment when full night smothered the palace, Ramses came to full consciousness. I was beside him at once, aware that the wound had leaked and his sheets were soiled. “Is that you, Thu?” he croaked. “My leg is stiff and fiery and I am very thirsty.”

“I do not want to remove the meat until next evening, Majesty,” I told him, pouring beer and helping him to sit up. “Drink now, and I will give you more poppy.”

“It has made my head ache,” he complained. “Where are my priests? The gods know that I do enough for the rascals! Where are they to say the spells?”

“I expect they are waiting for your summons,” I replied. “But Ramses, you do not have a disease. There is no demon to be cast out, therefore no need for any chanting.”

“Do not call me by my name,” he rebuked me mildly. “For I have no equal in Egypt.” He downed the beer in great gulps and I wiped his face when he had finished.

“Would you like to be washed, Majesty?” I enquired. “May the servants change your linen again?” Without waiting for his assent I signalled to them and stood at the King’s head while they made him more comfortable, working with the ease of good training and long practice. Then I gave him more poppy, resisting the urge to inspect his leg. He was feverish but that was to be expected. I could only pray that no Ukhedu had spread.

He slept again, or rather, fell into a drug-induced stupor, and I followed suit, waking with a start towards morning to find Prince Ramses sitting on the foot of my cot, watching me. “How is he?” the Prince asked conversationally as I struggled to rise. “My mother will visit him later, and Ast-Amasareth has been anxiously waiting for news. The temples were crowded all night with panicked courtiers praying for him.”

“But why?” I blurted, still stupid with sleep. “The clawing was nasty and the wound serious but not fatal.” The Prince shrugged.

“Because if he died now there would be much trouble, perhaps even bloodshed. Some of my brothers would make a bid for power with the temples behind them. Some would promise the army anything for the support of the generals. Only my father tries to placate both temple and palace.”

“But why placate?” I demanded. “He is King. He is God! Let him put the priests firmly in their place!” A soft laugh from the couch made us both swing round. Pharaoh was watching us from beneath swollen lids. His eyes were both wary and amused.

“The voice of injured innocence!” he said. “And how may your King put the servants of the gods in their places, dear Thu? Shall he waft them away with ostrich plumes? Shall he tap them into submission with the Crook or flick at them with the Flail? And what of the Scimitar? Ah, there is a possibility.” He was trying to sit up and the Prince went to his aid. “He could approach the kingdoms of the foreigners. He could say, ‘Send me men and arms to drive the priests of Egypt back to the confines of their temples and confiscate the land that belongs to the gods, and in return Egypt will reward you with her hearty thanks. Of course she cannot offer you more because her riches pass through one God’s hands and straight into the arms of other gods.’ And why?” He laughed again then groaned and clutched at his thigh. “Because my holy father Osiris Setnakht Glorified decreed that it should be so. He promised the gods land and gold if they would turn their faces to Egypt once more, if they would forgive her, if they would return her to her former might. Shall his son break the vow that was made, and bring down their wrath upon this country? We have had this out before.” He was becoming flushed and agitated.

“It was not I who spoke, but your Physician,” the Prince reminded him softly. “Yet her voice is the voice of many of your subjects, Father. The vow was made by my grandfather. If he knew that the yield of our gold mines in Nubia is falling, that trade with the countries of the Great Green is slowing down, that Thebes is growing as the centre of priestly power and influence and the High Priest of Amun lives in greater pomp than the Incarnation of the God, would he not absolve you of any guilt in moving to ruthlessly reduce that threat?”

“The priests are no threat to the Horus Throne,” Ramses interrupted testily. “They are rapacious and venal but they know that the people will not tolerate any danger to the true foundation of Egypt. What would you have me do? Call out the army and slaughter them? I do not trust the army. I do not trust anyone, even you, my mysterious son. Besides, the gods would have their revenge. Their servants are sacred.”

“There is discontent among the tomb workers,” the Prince said. “They no longer receive their rations regularly while the grain pours into Amun’s Theban storehouses.”

“Enough!” Ramses broke in loudly. “I do what I can. Did I not reopen the copper mines of Aathaka this year, and send officers to extract turquoise from Mafek? Have I not deployed thousands of mercenaries along the borders and set them to guarding the caravan routes? Do I not negotiate with Syria and Punt to bring wealth into Egypt?”

“Any gains we make go into the coffers of the gods!” his son retorted hotly and his father shouted, “Enough I said! Touch the gods and Egypt will fall! She will fall! I know the angry mutters of the malcontents who breathe treason behind their hands! They do not understand!”

I had been listening, bemused, to this increasingly incensed interchange but at the mention of treason I came to myself. It was the second time in so many days that the word had been spoken and a shudder of apprehension seized me. I went to Pharaoh. “Lie still, Majesty,” I said. “Do not thrash about. You will destroy all my good work. See, the dawn is coming. I hear the priests at the door, preparing to sing the Hymn of Praise. Calm yourself.” There was indeed movement beyond the double doors, and natural light was gradually seeping into the room, grey and dismal. We all fell silent while the stately music fell muffled on our ears, and when it ceased the doors were flung wide. The Prince got up.

“My soldiers require my attention today, Father, but I will return in the evening. Obey your Physician. I love you.” He smiled vaguely in my direction and strode away through the gaggle of servants who bowed as he passed. The lamps were extinguished. A harpist took up his position in the corner and began to play. A tray appeared. I took it and was placing it on the table when there was a further flurry outside and a small entourage swept in. The servants went to the floor like scythed wheat and I too knelt and pressed my face to the cold lapis tiles. Queen Ast, Lady of the Two Lands, approached the couch briskly.

“Rise, all of you,” she commanded. Her gaze passed uninterestedly over me and returned to her husband. Bending, she kissed his cheek. Once again I found myself marvelling at the exquisite delicacy of her face, the tiny perfection of her body, but this time I was able to discern something of her son’s beauty in her even features. “You worry me, Ramses,” she said. “I told you that you should have put that animal to death a long time ago. It was a pretty cub but it has become a formidable wild animal.”

“Smam-khefti-f would never deliberately hurt me,” Ramses bridled. “Even now I am sure he is regretting his loss of control. He was stung you know.” Ast’s expression revealed her supreme disbelief. She sighed pointedly.

“How is the wound?” she asked. “You! Physician, if that is what you are! Uncover it for me. I wish to see it.” I swallowed and bowed.

“Forgive me, Majesty,” I said, “but the dressing I have applied may not be disturbed until this evening.” Her nostrils dilated. She turned to her husband.

“Really, Ramses,” she said in a low voice, her words unintelligible to the servants but clear to me. “You must be losing your mind. Since when has a mere concubine been allowed to treat royalty? Are you so besotted?” Ramses rallied under this onslaught. Pain had grooved his pendulous cheeks and deepened the violet shadows under his bloodshot eyes but he spoke with an even authority.