Day 19 of month Khenti-khet in Shemu, season of the harvest
Nakhtmin left the House of Life as one of the last doctors and headed home. Nothing drew him to his crude hut in the paupers’ district, so he liked to work as long as possible. Today a patient gave him the generous present of a bale of fine linen. He’d trade it for copper. As soon as he’d saved enough, he could buy a better house. Maybe in the craftsmen’s district? Then his reputation might also spread, and he’d attract wealthier patients able to afford more valuable presents. Nakhtmin hadn’t imagined it would be so hard to start out as a physician.
When he was still a student from out of town, he’d been accommodated in the House of Life. His living expenses he’d covered with the remainder of his inheritance left to him by his late father. Only during the last months of his training, had he been allowed to treat the sick and receive some small presents, affording him to buy the ramshackle hut he had to call his home. He sighed. Still a long way to a carefree life.
He turned into the alley, where his dwelling stood. Tomorrow he’d have to give his statement before the Great Kenbet. Hori… What a streak of bad luck he’d had with Neferib. Nakhtmin didn’t remember much. He’d been too drunk. If only he could recall the events and exonerate his friend!
A hand fell on his shoulder. He spun around.
“You’re Nakhtmin, the doctor?” The man was dressed like a servant in a rich household.
“Yes,” Nakhtmin stammered. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“Follow me. My master needs your services.”
A patient, and a wealthy one too! Nakhtmin rejoiced. Maybe he’d work his way up faster than he’d thought. If he could help the man, he might get recommended. “Lead the way, I’m coming,” he replied.
The servant strode ahead as if he couldn’t leave the paupers’ quarters soon enough. He turned toward the riverbank, lined by stately mansions. In a public park, he stopped. “Wait here.”
Very strange. Why wasn’t he brought to the ailing person? Twigs snapped behind him. A robber? He scanned the area, parted the shrubs with his arms. That was ridiculous. Who’d want to rob him and with such effort? He turned toward the path and saw a man—the vizier of the Two Lands. Nakhtmin dropped to the ground in reverence.
“Get up, doctor. I’m pleased to see you followed my invitation.”
Nakhtmin rose. Nebit had aged visibly during the two moon cycles since the banquet. Losing his oldest son must have been a hard blow for him. “Can I help you somehow?” he asked. “Are you sick?”
The vizier waved dismissively. “No, I want to offer you a deal. Can’t be easy for a young doctor of humble roots to make his way in life.”
These words echoed Nakhtmin’s own considerations earlier but what could he give the mighty man in exchange for his support? Something smelled fishy. “N-no,” he admitted reluctantly.
“Tomorrow’s trial weighs heavy on my heart,” Nebit said. The sudden change of subject surprised Nakhtmin. The vizier continued, “Noble Sitamun and I are heartbroken over the loss of our beloved son. Can you envision the extent of our woe?”
“I don’t think so.” Nebit’s outburst seemed a little exaggerated but who was he to judge? People grieved in different ways.
“What if the scoundrel responsible will be acquitted?”
Nakhtmin took a step back. This scoundrel Nebit referred to was his friend, and he wished for a favorable verdict. But then, he had no idea what really happened. Hori might have committed an abominable crime. Sometimes he was filled with rage, and his temper flared quickly. Nakhtmin trusted in the justice of the royal court to find out the truth. What did the vizier want from him? Learn what he’d say tomorrow and in whose favor his statement might tip the scales? “I’m really sorry for your loss, believe me, but I don’t really know what happened. I…” Ashamed, he lowered his head. “I was very drunk and fell asleep on the table. When I woke, it was all over.”
“Hotep, the physician Weni and the innkeeper of the tavern saw how this Hori clobbered Neferib. My son, my poor son! He couldn’t defend himself.”
“If it is as you say, the Kenbet will certainly come to a just verdict,” Nakhtmin mumbled in a noncommittal way. This whole conversation made him uneasy.
“Oh!” Nebit bent over and picked up a handful of dust. As a symbol of his grief, he let it trickle over the hair of his wig. “Didn’t you see how Hori stood upright, while my son lay dead on the floor?”
“Sure, but…”
“Isn’t it reasonable to assume Hori attacked Neferib? Drunk he was and filled with scorn. I heard he quarreled with his father. One inconsiderate remark may have sufficed to set him off. They say he rioted, toppled tables. My son only wanted to restrain him.”
The vizier’s words evoked images before Nakhtmin’s eyes. Hori’s face distorted in disgust. Hori lunging at Neferib. “You’re probably right.”
A smile sneaked onto Nebit’s face. “I’d feel much better if I knew you’d confirm this chain of events in front of the judges tomorrow. Then noble Sitamun could sleep soundly tonight. I’d show my gratitude for your courtesy. With a few gold deben, you should be able to afford accommodations more suitable for your profession. I’m only asking you to embellish your statement a little, then ten gold deben will embellish your arm.”
Dizzy, Nakhtmin swayed. Such an incredible amount he wouldn’t be able to earn in three years of hard work. He’d be rid of all his worries in one fell swoop. The more he thought about it, the more likely Nebit’s version seemed. Hori had been angry. No way could he speak in Hori’s favor, and if the vizier already had three witnesses lined up, he couldn’t make it any worse. “Deal,” he heard himself say.
Nebit patted his shoulder. “Good man. Tomorrow evening the gold will be yours.”