At this point in the writing of my memories, I was interrupted by a great commotion. A babble of voices and weeping and wailing, punctuated by sharp commands and footsteps, broke the silence of my afternoon rest. The noise went past towards the servants’ quarters and then Mahu the scribe appeared on the portico, looking agitated. He made a deep obeisance.
“What is it?” I asked. “I did not look for you yet.”
“Pardon, Majesty,” he said. “There was – there was some trouble at the alehouse.”
“Was there fighting?” I asked. “Was one of my servants hurt?”
“I fear so, Majesty,” he said, with an extremely unhappy expression. “But he will be seen to. Majesty should not …”
“Who is it?” I demanded to know. “Come on, out with it. I shall soon find out in any case.”
Mahu does not have the strength of will to oppose me, nor the guile to lie. “It is Bek, Majesty,” he said reluctantly.
“My dwarf? But how did he get into a fight? He does not drink to excess, and he is so small! Who would set upon a dwarf?” I was upset. Bek is a great favourite of mine and as I have written, he spies for me in the taverns.
“It was a … a group of ruffians,” reported Mahu. I could see that he did not want to tell me, but also he knew that I would find out the truth no matter how he resisted.
“Syrians? Nubians?”
“No, Majesty. Egyptians born.”
“Which tavern?”
“The Happy Hippo,” said Mahu.
“The tavern-keeper shall pay for this, “ I said grimly.
“Majesty,” said Mahu wretchedly, “they were extremely drunk. It was not possible to control them. They just …”
“Did they know him for my dwarf?” I asked, growing angrier by the minute. “Was this something other than mere drunken sport?”
“N-n-no, Majesty, they knew him not, but I t-told them. I go there often and I heard him screaming as I g-got there and I told them, I told them, the Pharaoh will be mightily displeased at this. I told them,” repeated Mahu. “The ringleader was a huge man, almost a giant, Majesty, and he had a huge sharp knife, with which he … but then I came upon them, and I told them, and he … desisted.”
Mahu’s eyes were miserable. I had the feeling that he was not telling me the entire truth. He stutters when he is upset. But then, it must have been a frightening sight. My little scribe has not much courage in the general run of things. Yet he bears a scar to prove that once he protected me at the risk of his own life. I do not forget that.
“They were drunk and seeking sport. Some people like to make fun of those who are … different. They … they called him a dog, and … and … I tried to help,” he said, huskily, “but there were four of them, and I …” He looked away. He knows I love the little man. “They almost killed him,” he whispered, “but just then I arrived, for I often go there, and I shouted at them that he was the Pharaoh’s jester, and they would be punished, and at length they let him go. I had him carried here in a chair.”
“Thank you, Mahu. I am grateful that you were there. Would you know them again?”
“Yes, Majesty, but they disappeared. I think they may have been sailors,” said Mahu. “I do not think they will be found.”
“I must go to him,” I said, setting aside my writing implements.
“Majesty, no! I have told them to fetch Your Majesty’s own physician. He will …”
“I will see him,” I insisted. I was beginning to fear for Yunit, who is already several moons gone with the child she carries. “What did they do to him?”
Mahu looked distraught.
“Tell me!”
“They … they broke his legs,” he told me.
“By Seth and all his devils …”
“And … and …”
“Out with it!”
“They s-sliced off both his ears.” Tears stood in the scribe’s eyes. He too was fond of Bek.
“By the foul breath of Seth!” I was so angry that I could hardly breathe. I stepped past Mahu, who was almost dancing in his distress and urgent desire to keep me from seeing Bek, but he knows better than to touch my person. I strode swiftly down the passage to the servants’ quarters.
In the small room that Bek shares with Yunit, the dwarf had been laid down on a table, the better to be seen by the physician. His face had been battered into a purple ruin, and there was much blood, which several female slaves had been attempting to staunch with linen rags. Both of his legs stood out at odd angles. The room stank; he had clearly fouled himself in terror. Yunit stood by his side, her small face pinched with distress, holding tightly on to his hand. He was whimpering like a puppy too soon taken from its mother.
“Where is the physician?” I raged. “Has he not been called?”
At this moment one of the palace physicians sidled in. It was the one who looks after women’s complaints, an oily-looking fellow whom I dislike.
“You!” I said, contemptuously. “Get you hence and call the Chief Physician immediately! And he should bring one used to battle wounds. It is an emergency! Tell them if they are not here straight away I’ll have their ears as well – and yours, you scurvy toad!”
He backed out and scuttled away much faster than he had come in.
I walked up to the table and took Bek’s other hand. It felt like a child’s in size but he gripped mine like a man. He turned his swollen eyes on me.
“Do not speak,” I said. “Ah, they are curs who did this! I shall have their hides!” And yet I knew that Mahu had spoken true. They would probably never be found.
Bek groaned. The tears rolled down Yunit’s face.
“You should sit down, my dear,” I told her. “It cannot be good …”
“I will stay with him,” she said firmly, sniffing. “Until he is eased.”
The Chief Physician, one Hapu, appeared quite promptly with a younger man I did not know so well in tow. “Pardon, pardon, Majesty,” said Hapu, who is portly and was out of breath with hurrying (no doubt he values his somewhat batlike ears), “we did not know it was an urgent matter. This is Minhotep, who is knowledgeable about wounds.”
The younger man, taller than Hapu by a head and built like a military man, made a deep obeisance. When he stood up, he looked me in the eyes. I liked his straight and fearless gaze.
“See to my slave,” I ordered. “He must have the best of care, do you hear me?”
“Of course, Majesty. Please to clear the room,” said Minhotep, in a decisive voice. He had slender fingers, I noticed, as he gently touched the skewed limbs. “Bring boiling water and plenty of linen bandages,” he ordered the fussing slaves. “And some pieces of straight wood, we must have splints. Ask the palace carpenters.”
The slaves trotted off to do his bidding.
“Can you give him something to ease the pain?” I asked anxiously.
“Yes, Majesty. I will mix a draught,” said Hapu.
The slaves