Day 21 of month Khenti-khet in Shemu, season of the harvest
Inpu held Nakhtmin back. “Not so fast. Today you’ll treat the patients in the yard.”
Puzzled, Nakhtmin thought it wasn’t his turn to serve the poor, but he simply shrugged. “As you wish.” Maybe one of his colleagues had fallen sick.
The head of the House of Life gestured his regret. “You’ve made powerful enemies. I’ve been instructed to only let you work in the yard from now on.”
“What? But…how am I supposed to make a living?” Nakhtmin was flabbergasted. Usually, two doctors of the House of Life took care of the ailing poor—always different ones to guarantee everyone had to take on this unprofitable assignment in regular intervals. The meager gifts offered by these patients could barely feed a doctor, not to mention saving a little something. Nakhtmin caught a glimpse of Imhotepankh strolling past. The aged head of doctors looked rather complacent. Then everything fell into place. Shepses had always been the old man’s favorite. Nebit’s son had obviously passed on his father’s chagrin over Nakhtmin withdrawing his false testimony.
He grimaced in disgust. How stupid of him to believe he could get away with such a thing unscathed. People who bribed witnesses certainly had no qualms when it came to asserting themselves. All right, Nebit had his revenge, and Nakhtmin would be able to deal with it. The punishment couldn’t last forever.
He found it hard to concentrate on his work though. Today’s colleague in the yard kept darting him curious glances but avoided him. Likely word had gotten around that he’d fallen from grace. The other doctors, usually keen to chat, evaded him as if he carried a contagious disease.
Damn Hori! Why did his friend have to mess with the vizier? By now he regretted not having told the requested lie. He could be ten deben richer and pick a beautiful house. Instead he’d have to go home to the bleak neighborhood, where his hut stood, for much longer.
With an awkward smile, his last patient of the day put a bunch of dried dates in his hand. Nakhtmin thanked him. At least he wouldn’t have to go to bed hungry. Then he headed home.
It was dark inside his hut, so he didn’t see the three men awaiting him before it was too late. Two held him, while the third battered him without mercy. A fist hit his nose. The piercing pain made Nakhtmin’s eyes water. He yelled for help, but nobody came. The area teemed with scoundrels; people were used to it. Nakhtmin struggled free from the hands gripping him and pulled his arms up to protect his face. Bad mistake. A punch to his stomach winded him. He doubled over and sank to the ground, where kicking feet lashed out at him. A particularly hard one to his side made him scream in pain. Did they mean to beat him to death? Then please hurry up!
After another blow, his tormentor hissed in Nakhtmin’s ear, “Remember what happens to those who defy the vizier. Don’t you dare file charges for this or the other matter.”
Nebit’s henchmen, Nakhtmin thought. The vizier really hated thoroughly.
Finally the men let go of him and disappeared out the door. They didn’t even bother to close it after them. Groaning, Nakhtmin remained on the floor and explored the various sources of pain. No ribs seemed broken. At least something. In the last light of day he saw the dates scattered and trampled on the floor. No matter, he didn’t feel hungry anymore.