Free The Eye of Horus by Carol Thurston Page B

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 brings 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