“Xian-Li?”
“Yes?” she said, glancing up.
“I was talking to you just now. Didn’t you hear me?”
“Very sorry, husband,” she replied, offering a wan smile. “I was cloud-drifting.”
He laughed. “In England we call it wool-gathering.” His glance became serious. “Are you sure you’re well, my dear? You look pale.”
“A little tired, perhaps,” she allowed. She stood up, and the world seemed to spin; the ground shifted under her feet. Her vision dimmed and, suddenly dizzy and light-headed, she sat back down with a thump. “Oh!”
“Darling? Are you all right?”
She waved away his concern. “I stood up too fast,” she told him.
“Here, let me help you.” He put his hand beneath her arm.
She stood again, more slowly this time. “It is nothing.”
They walked across the sunny temple yard to the guesthouse to finish preparations for the short journey to meet the pharaoh’s barge at Oma. Anen was to be their guide and had gone to fetch a mule cart for them; the priest, as a member of the extended royal family, would travel in a horse-drawn chariot. They were to leave as soon as he returned.
“This is a very great honour,” Arthur was saying as they entered the small, spare house. His voice seemed to come to her from a very great distance. “I suppose it would be akin to meeting your emperor Qing-” He broke off abruptly, for his wife was leaning against the doorpost with her hand to her head.
“Darling! You are unwell.”
“I feel a little warm,” she confessed. “Maybe I was in the sun too long.” She patted his arm and went to wash in the basin on the tripod beside the bed. She bent over the basin, and in her reflection in the still water she saw a drawn, hollow mask looking back at her. Lowering her hands into the basin, she laved cool water onto her face and neck and felt instantly refreshed. “That is much better.”
She dried herself and wound her long, black hair into a coil and pinned it up for travel. She found the linen scarf she had been given to help keep the sun off her head and, thus prepared, sat down on the pallet that was her bed to await Anen’s arrival with the cart. Meanwhile, Arthur heard a clatter of hooves in the courtyard and went out to greet the priest, and on his return found his wife stretched out on the bed, her arm over her eyes.
“Xian-Li,” he said, “it is time to go.” He crossed the room and knelt beside the pallet. When she failed to respond, he gave her arm a gentle shake. “Xian-Li? Wake up, my dear.”
She came to with a start. “Oh, forgive me, I must have dozed off. I-” She struggled upright, only to sink back down once more.
He put the back of his hand to her forehead. “Darling, you’re burning up! You have a raging fever.”
“I was in the sun too long,” she insisted, pushing herself up. “I am well enough to travel.”
Arthur frowned doubtfully. “I think you should stay here and rest.”
She scoffed at the idea. “And miss meeting Pharaoh? It is nothing. It will soon pass. I can rest in the cart.”
Arthur helped her to her feet. He steadied her as she swayed. “Still light-headed?”
“A little,” she admitted. “But there-it is gone. I am better now. Let us go, and think no more about it.”
His wife strode briskly out into the sun-filled courtyard, drawing the scarf over her head. The priest Anen, holding the bridle of the lead chariot horse, called a greeting; a small two-person donkey cart stood waiting nearby, as well as a pack mule bearing simple provisions, and four other priests to accompany them. Xian-Li approached Anen and gave him a polite bow, then walked to the cart.
“My wife is determined to go,” Arthur explained, stepping close to his priestly friend.
The two men watched as the dark-haired young woman raised her foot to the step at the back of the cart; she gripped the handrails and made to swing herself up into the open end of the vehicle. But it seemed that either her hand or foot slipped, for the next thing they saw was Xian-Li falling backward onto the stone-paved yard. A quick-thinking brother priest saw what was happening and leapt forward to catch her and broke her fall, easing her to the ground.
Arthur and Anen rushed to her side.
“Xian-Li!” cried Arthur, kneeling by his stricken bride.
Her eyelids fluttered momentarily, and then she seemed to come to herself once more. “Arthur… oh! What has happened?”
“You fell,” said Arthur. “You must have fainted.”
“No,” she said, “I-” She broke off as a spasm passed through her body. “Oh…,” she gasped, and tried to sit up.
“Rest a moment,” Arthur told her. “We’ll get you back inside.” He signalled to the priests to help him, and they lifted her up and carried her back into the guesthouse and laid her on the pallet bed.
“I have sent Tihenk for the physician,” Anen said as he joined them. “He will come at once.”
Arthur thanked him, and Anen ordered his fellow priests to wait outside. “You must go soon or you will not be on time to meet Pharaoh. You dare not keep him waiting.”
“Another will go in my place,” countered Anen. “Pharaoh will understand.”
“Please, I will not have you stay here on our account,” Arthur protested. “The physician will look after her, and we will join you in a day or two when Xian-Li is feeling better.”
“Then, when she is well, we will travel together,” Anen replied. “Until then, I stay here with you.”
Seeing that no amount of persuasion would change the priest’s mind, Arthur thanked him and fetched his wife a drink of water; he dipped the end of her scarf in the basin and used the damp cloth to bathe her forehead. A few minutes later the physician arrived-a stocky senior priest with a smooth bald head and soft hands. Schooled in the healing arts since childhood, he possessed the easy manner of a competent, unflappable soul. He carried a simple woven grass bag on his shoulder and a small, three-legged stool. “I am Khepri,” he said. “I am here to help you.” Anen completed the introductions and, after a brief explanation, the fellow placed the stool next to his patient, sat down, and removed his bag.
Khepri sat for a moment, quietly, studying his patient, then clapped his hands and, raising his face, closed his eyes and uttered a prayer for Isis to attend him and aid in curing the ailment of the woman before him. Then, leaning forward, he placed his hand on Xian-Li’s forehead, nodding to himself. He turned to Arthur to inquire what she had eaten in the last day.
“Very little,” Arthur told him, then went on to list the few items he knew she had consumed. “Do you think it might be something she ate?”
“That is the most likely cause,” replied the physician. “Many people of foreign origin suffer so when sojourning in our land for the first time. There is nothing to worry about. It will pass.”
“Good,” said Arthur. “I am glad to hear it.” He glanced down at his wife, who lay with a hand over her eyes. “What can we do to make her more comfortable while we wait?”
“I will give her some water mixed with honey and the juice of plums,” Khepri told him. “Also, we will keep a damp cloth on her head and feet to draw the heat from the fire in her blood.”
The treatment sounded good to Arthur, so he gave his assent. Anen spoke a word to the doctor, who went to fetch the necessary items, and then said, “I will leave you in his care for a while. I must go and see Shoshenk on his way to meet Pharaoh.”
“I thank you for your care, my friend,” said Arthur. “But you do not have to do this.”
“It is done,” replied the priest.
He departed, and Khepri returned with the honey water and gave some to his patient. Xian-Li drank as much as she could, then said she would like to sleep. Arthur translated her words for the physician, who nodded, saying, “That is for the best.” He rose, taking up his stool. “I must go stay with a man with a broken arm. I will return when I have finished.”