A horrible shout of pain snatched the words from my mouth. I clambered out of the irrigation ditch in an instant and rushed back toward the ruined house. I was so unnerved that I didn’t think to look back and see if Nava was following until she raced past me, both of us calling, “Amenophis! Amenophis! What’s wrong?”
We found him sitting with his back to one of the tumbledown walls, his right leg drawn up onto his left thigh. He was growling his way through more curses than I’d ever heard in my life, even from the sailors who’d wandered the streets of Akhmin. He stopped only when he became aware that Nava and I were standing over him.
“Look out,” he told us. “It might still be out in the open, so watch your step.”
“What—” I began. Then I saw the reddening wound on his foot. I fell to my knees for a closer look. There was only one mark, not the fearsome double track of a snakebite. “A scorpion,” I said, feeling the old dread rising in my throat. When my sister, Bit-Bit, was very young, I thought she’d been stung by a scorpion while in my care. One of the crueler gods must have enjoyed my terror, but a kinder one took that opportunity to bring Henenu, the scribe, into my life. It had all been a big mistake—Bit-Bit hadn’t been stung after all, just frightened into tears—but this time there was no doubt about what had happened to Amenophis.
“I got the fire started, and I was about to prepare the fish for cooking,” he said. He clenched his jaw for a moment, struggling against pain. “I’d put it over there”—he gestured at the other wall, where the tilapia lay in the shadow—“to keep it out of the sun. I think the creature must have its nest in that crack at the bottom. I didn’t even notice it was there until it scuttled over my feet. I jumped and …” He nodded to his wounded foot.
“What color was the scorpion?” I remembered the question Henenu had asked me years ago. The answer was vital: Brown scorpions didn’t have the power to kill humans, but white ones did.
“Brown.” He summoned up a wobbly smile. “Not very big, either. I shouldn’t be carrying on like this. You’ll think I’m a child.”
“Not many children know the kind of words you were using,” I replied dryly. “You should make a thanks-offering to the goddess Serket that you didn’t disturb one of her white scorpions. Until then, let me see what I can do for the pain.”
There wasn’t much to be done except pour cool water over Amenophis’s foot. Nava and I ran back and forth to the canal, carrying water in our cupped hands. Amenophis put on a brave face, saying that we were spoiling him, but I could see he was still suffering. When we ate our fish, he only picked at his portion. Later that day, when Nava managed to catch another, he left his share entirely untouched.
“I think I’d rather sleep than eat,” he said. “My father’s chief doctors all agree that sleep is the best healer.”
It’s bad now because it’s a fresh wound, I thought. It’ll be better tomorrow.
My comforting thoughts were shattered that night when Amenophis’s moans woke me up. He was biting on his knuckles, trying to mute the sounds of pain, but it wasn’t working. I knelt by his side and touched his forehead. It was hot.
He opened his eyes and looked up at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disturb your sleep.”
“Don’t worry about that. How bad is the pain?”
“It’s probably not that bad. I’m making a fuss over nothing.” He used brave words, but his voice rasped, and even by moon and starlight, I could see his chest rising and falling far faster than normal.
I fed more wood to the embers of our dying fire and examined his foot. The site of the scorpion’s sting looked swollen, though I couldn’t tell if it was also discolored or if the darker area was just dirt. I shivered as I remembered the words I’d read in one of the papyrus scrolls Henenu had had me copy, a physician’s account of dealing with wounds: When the flesh turns dark, if nothing further can be done to turn the infection, the darkness of death will follow.
Infection … I closed my eyes, trying to picture more of that unknown doctor’s words. Had he spoken of a remedy for such things? I couldn’t remember. My thoughts kept straying back to my home in Akhmin, and the face of my second mother, Mery, floated like a veil before me, obscuring my memories of the physician’s scroll.
She was in the kitchen, looking at a wound that one of our younger slaves had gotten while cutting meat. Thank the gods, this isn’t too bad. A little cleansing, a little honey, a strip of fresh linen, and you’ll be fine. And eat some honey, too, just to be sure you heal inside and out. I don’t think you’ll object to that, will you? Mery smiled kindly.
Honey! Sweet, wonderful honey. Its purifying, protecting, healing powers for treating all sorts of scrapes and cuts were used not just in our household but everywhere, from the humble homes of the poor to the palace of Pharaoh himself. I’d been so appalled at the possibility of Amenophis dying that the obvious cure had slipped from my frantic mind. Now I could reassure myself that his wound was still fresh enough for a good application of honey to help it heal and banish any demons of infection that might try to invade his body. All I had to do was find some.
All I had to do … As if it were that easy! The same cruel god who’d laughed at my panic over Bit-Bit so many years ago was probably holding his aching sides and weeping with mirth tonight. Where was I going to find honey? We were in the middle of nowhere, as far as I knew, far from any hope of help, far from any people, except—
I stood up and went to wake Nava. “Dear one, Amenophis needs you,” I said.
“What’s the matter?” Her voice trembled. “Is he dying?”
“No, the gods forbid it, but he does have a fever. Take this”—I tore off a small rag from the already ruined hem of my dress—“and soak it in the water and put it on his forehead. Be sure you take a little fire to light your way. I don’t want to come back and find out that you fell into the canal.”