Sting of the Scorpion (5 page)

The woman led Karoya by the hand. It was almost dark now, but the old woman walked confidently through the trees as if it were broad daylight. Ramose and Hapu looked at each other, and then followed her.

“I thought she was blind,” whispered Hapu.

“She is, but she must know the oasis very well.”

The woman led them away from the pool and through the grove of trees to a rocky outcrop. There was a fireplace with a fire smouldering in it. A piece of dark material, similar to the nomads’ tents, hung from a rock overhang. It was held in place by stones. The woman must have slept behind this rough curtain. There were cooking pots and baskets. Tethered nearby were three goats.

“It looks like she’s lived here for a long time,” said Ramose.

The woman made them sit down. There was a cooking pot on the fire. Something was simmering inside it—something that smelled like meat cooking. Such delicious smells had seemed unimaginable half an hour ago. The woman made bread from flour. She gave them each a gourd bowl and filled them to the brim with the goat stew. They ate ravenously.

“It tastes wonderful,” said Hapu, gratefully.

While they were eating, the old woman made sweet cakes with honey and dates. They ate them, still hot, with fresh goats’ milk. It was a feast.

“I think this is all a mirage,” said Ramose, swallowing another cake. “Like the heat haze pools we saw out in the desert.”

“Yes, but we couldn’t get near them,” said Hapu, draining his bowl of milk. “This isn’t moving away.”

An angry miaow came from Karoya’s basket. Karoya leapt up to open it.

“I forgot about Mery!” she said, letting the cat out. “Poor Mery, you’re hungry too, aren’t you?”

Mery wailed miserably. The old woman jumped at the sound. Karoya put down her bowl of milk and let the cat drink. Mery purred. The old woman was puzzled by the sound. She cocked her ear to listen more closely.

“It’s a cat,” Karoya replied. “It’s my pet.”

The old woman had heard of cats, but thought they were imaginary beasts like griffins and camels. Ramose smiled to himself, remembering the camel. Karoya guided the woman’s hand so that it stroked Mery’s fur. The old woman’s grim little mouth broke into a smile.

“Warm,” she said. “Soft.”

Now that the friends had eaten their fill and were warmed by the fire, they began to relax. The old woman, speaking slowly in a half-forgotten language, told them her story.

They discovered that her name was Jenu. When she was a young girl, her father had been the chief of a nomad tribe, just like the one they had travelled with.

“One day we went to Kharga, an oasis so big it takes a week to walk from one end to the other,” she told them. “Egyptians were there, building their temples. They took away all the young people for slaves.” Jenu shook her head sorrowfully. “I lived for many years as a slave in the house of an Egyptian.”

When her eyesight started to fail, her master didn’t want to feed a blind slave. She was taken to the edge of the desert and left there; told to return to her tribe. Of course, she had no idea where her people would be. She wandered for many days and was close to death when a tribe of nomads came across her. It had been a bad year in the desert and the nomads had lost many of their goats. They could not take on another mouth to feed. Instead, they brought her to the oasis, gave her some food and left her there when they moved on. If the gods will it, you will survive, they had said.

“And the gods did will it,” said the old woman. “May they be praised forever.”

After the food ran out, Jenu had lived on dates and frogs. Then other nomads came to the oasis and each tribe gave her a little of what they had.

“I give them something in return,” said Jenu.

“What?” asked Ramose. “What do you have to give?”

She told them how, as her vision of the world had disappeared, she had discovered an inner vision was growing in its place.

“The gods, in their wisdom, have made me an oracle,” she said. “I can read people’s futures.”

Stories of the Oracle of the Oasis had spread among the nomads. Now, whenever they visited the oasis, they asked Jenu to look into their future.

Ramose and his friends sat wide-eyed listening to Jenu’s story, forgetting their exhaustion.

“Can you see everyone’s future?” asked Hapu.

Jenu shook her head. “Only those who the gods favour.” She reached out and found Ramose’s hand. “She will lift the mists on your future.”

The old woman wouldn’t say anything else and disappeared into her tent, telling them she was tired.

The following morning the friends awoke to find Jenu making breakfast. After they had eaten fresh bread, goats’ cheese and dried figs, they explored the oasis. It was quite small, perhaps a thousand cubits from one end to the other. Ramose remembered courtyards in the palace that were bigger.

As well as the tethered goats, Jenu had a small garden where she grew a patch of wheat, some herbs and onions. Other food, gifts from nomads, was stored in jars and baskets. Nomads had been there only two weeks earlier, so her stores were full.

Jenu had a list of things that she wanted her visitors to do for her. Her simple weaving loom had broken and she wanted them to mend it for her. She wanted someone to climb the trees and knock down fresh dates. The sharp-edged stone that she used for cutting had shattered and she needed a new one.

The oasis was a pleasant place. Karoya and Hapu spent the whole day helping the old woman. Mery skipped around, attacking tufts of grass and chasing birds, delighted that she was no longer squashed in her basket. Jenu was enjoying the company of her young guests. She no longer looked like a frightening old witch. Overnight she had transformed into a smiling grandmother.

Ramose busied himself around the oasis, but he wasn’t laughing and chattering like the others. He was thinking about what the old woman had said the night before. Could she really see into his future? If she could, did he want to know what she saw?

In the evening, after a filling meal of tasty goat stew, Karoya and Hapu sat around Jenu’s cooking fire as if they hadn’t a problem in the world. Jenu sat spinning goat hair into thread, twirling it with her fingers. Hapu told funny stories that made the old woman laugh. Karoya mended Jenu’s tattered tent cloth. Mery lay with her stomach towards the fire. Ramose sat to one side, poking at the fire. He knew that his problems weren’t over yet.

“Jenu, do you know how far it is to the river?” he asked.

The others fell silent.

“A long way,” said the old woman.

“How many days on foot?” Ramose asked.

“Many days,” replied the old woman.

Ramose could tell she was being unhelpful on purpose. He knew he had to ask her the question he had been avoiding. He poked at the embers of the fire, sending out sparks that singed Mery’s fur and made her leap up. The cat settled down again, this time in Jenu’s lap. Mery had grown fond of the old woman who gave her milk and meat.

“Jenu,” said Ramose at last. “Can you see my future?”

She beckoned Ramose. He got up and sat next to the old woman. She took his hand in hers. He could feel the calluses on her palms. Her long, claw-like fingernails scraped his skin. Her face changed. The smiling grandmother face disappeared and was replaced by a stern-faced mask. Jenu’s white unseeing eyes changed too. They lost their sightless look and Ramose felt as if she could see right into his soul. A single gust of wind arose out of the perfectly still night. A distant hyena chose that moment to howl.

“Some things I see. Others are unclear.”

“Tell me what you see.”

“You must give me something first. Something dear to you.”

Ramose reached for his bag. He only had one thing to give. He pulled out his heart scarab, stroked its cool surface and put the blue jewel in Jenu’s hand.

The old woman felt the stone with her crooked fingers and shook her head.

“Not this,” she said. “I have no need of this.”

“It’s the only valuable thing I have.”

“You have to give something that I need,” replied the old woman.

“You seem to have all you need. I have nothing else to give you.”

The old woman’s white eyes narrowed. “You have friendship.”

“If you want my friendship, you have it already,” said Ramose.

The old woman shook her head. “But you will leave and I will only have the memory of friendship.”

“Are you saying you want me to stay?” asked Ramose.

“Not you. You have a journey to finish. You have friends. I have no one.”

Ramose looked at Karoya and Hapu in alarm, finally understanding what the old woman wanted.

They were staring back at him wide-eyed.

“I can’t give you my friends,” said Ramose. “They aren’t mine to give.”

“The slave girl is yours to give, if you choose.”

“No,” Ramose cried, his voice rising in fear and anger. “I don’t own her. She’s free to go wherever she wishes.”

“Is she?”

Ramose knew that Karoya was actually the pharaoh’s property.

“She is useful to you now,” continued Jenu. “But if you find what you are seeking, then what will become of her?”

“I’ll take care of her.” Ramose snatched his hand away. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to know my future.”

“The choice is yours,” said Jenu.

“Why can’t you just tell him?” asked Hapu.

“It is the way of the oracle. She will not see clearly unless Ramose gives me something of his that I need.”

Mery stirred in the old woman’s lap. The cat stood up, turned around twice then settled down again.

“What about Mery?” asked Karoya.

“No, Karoya,” said Ramose. “Mery is yours. Jenu wants something of mine.”

Karoya turned to the old woman. “Would the cat be a suitable gift?” she asked. “She is a good friend.”

The old woman thought for a moment and then nodded.

“I don’t want to hear about my future,” said Ramose angrily. “I don’t believe in oracles. I know what I have to do. I don’t need an oracle to tell me.”

“The oracle’s knowledge is important,” said the old woman. “Without it you might fail.”

“I give Mery to you, Ramose,” said Karoya. Mery slept in the old woman’s lap, unaware that she was the centre of attention. “She is yours now.”

“No!”

“The gods have brought us here, Ramose,” said Hapu. “Perhaps it was for a reason. Listen to what Jenu has to say.”

“Let her tell your future instead,” Ramose said. “Or yours, Karoya.”

“No, Ramose,” said Karoya. “My future has been bound with yours since I chose to follow you and not go where the pharaoh sent me. Take Mery. I give her to you.”

Ramose looked from Karoya to the old woman.

“Are you sure, Karoya?”

“I’m sure.”

“Will you give the cat to me, Ramose?” asked the old woman.

Ramose nodded. “Yes.”

“The oracle accepts your gift,” said Jenu. She spoke as if the oracle was another person.

The old woman reached out for Ramose’s hand again. Ramose glared at the old woman, but placed his hand in hers.

“Ask the oracle what you want to know.”

There was so much he wanted to know, Ramose hardly knew where to begin. “Will I see my father again before he dies?”

“Yes.”

“Will I achieve my goal?”

“Yes.”

“Will I—”

“You can ask only one more question of the oracle.”

“Why didn’t you say that before?” snapped Ramose. “This isn’t a game.”

“The oracle doesn’t like to give up her knowledge.”

Ramose had so many questions. If he were to become the pharaoh, would he be happy? Would he be a good pharaoh? Would Vizier Wersu still want him dead? Ramose thought for a moment. He had to word his last question carefully.

“Does the oracle see anything in my future that I need to know?”

The old woman smiled a small, grim smile. “The oracle has a warning for you.”

“What is it?”

“The blue lotus can hide a bee in its petals.”

Ramose opened his mouth to say something. The old woman held up her hand to stop him.

“A perfect jewel will stay buried in the earth, yet the maid at the millstone holds it out in her hand.”

Jenu still held her hand in the air.

“Trust the crocodile and bow down before the frog.”

Ramose waited, expecting more. But the hard mask of the old woman’s face melted away and she changed back into a smiling grandmother again.

“Is that it?” Ramose cried.

Jenu nodded. “The oracle’s words are truth.” She looked limp and drained.

“But, they’re just riddles. What do they mean?”

“That’s for you to discover. The oracle has been generous. She doesn’t often say so much.”

Ramose felt cheated, as if the old woman had tricked him. He took his reed mat and unrolled it away from the others. He curled up in the smelly goat-hair coat that the nomads had given him. He didn’t want to speak to anybody.

The next day, Ramose woke with a sense of urgency. He had dreamt he’d seen his father walking in the palace gardens. In the dream Ramose had called out to him, but Pharaoh couldn’t hear him. Ramose had tried to get closer to him, but whichever way he turned there was a wall or a pond or a row of tall plants in his way. Ramose knew he had to leave the oasis. He had delayed for too long. “I’m walking to Thebes,” he told his friends. “I have to leave immediately.”