The Egyptian by Mika Waltari

Posted by admin_akashic on Mar 4th, 2022 in Stories

There was much work for me, as the spears and clubs of the Habirus inflicted horrible wounds. I laboured in the light of the burning tents, and the cries of the wounded mingled with those of the women as they were dragged away by the soldiers, who cast lots for them to rejoice with them. I washed and stitched together gaping wounds, thrust entrails back into gashed bellies and replaced torn flaps of scalp hanging over eyes. To those whose death was certain I gave beer and narcotics that they might pass away in peace during the night.

I attended also some of the Habirus whose injuries had prevented flight, stitching and dressing their wounds. For what reason I did this, I hardly know unless it was that I thought Horemheb would get a better price for them when he sold them as slaves if I healed them first. But many of them cared nothing for my help and rather tore open their wounds afresh when they heard the crying of their children and the lamentations of their women when the Egyptians were rejoicing with them. They curled up their legs and drew their garments over their heads and bled to death.

I watched them and felt less proud of the victory than before for they were but poor desert folk, tempted by the cattle and grain of the valleys in their starvation. Therefore they came to plunder Syria, and they were gaunt and suffered often from eye diseases. Regardless of that, they were fierce and terrifying in war and left behind them a trail of burning villages and the cries and moans of men. Yet I could not but feel compassion when I saw their big, thick noses turn to white and then draw their ragged garments over their heads to die.

On the following day, I met Horemheb and begged him to set up a guarded camp where the soldiers who had been most gravely wounded could recover, since if they were taken straight to Jerusalem, they would be sure to perish on the way. Horemheb thanked me for my help, and said:

“I never thought there was such valour in you than yesterday when I saw you with my own eyes riding into the thick of battle on your raging donkey. But surely you didn’t know that in war the physician’s task does not begin until the battle is over. I have heard the men call you the Son of the Wild Ass, and if you wish it, I will one day take you into battle in my own chariot. Good fortune must surely attend you since you are still alive, though you carried neither spear nor even a club.”

He looked me sternly, and I could not say if he was mocking me.

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So I said, “I have indeed never seen war and therefore I wanted to see it as close as possible. But the war had nothing to say to me, and I think that if you permit, I will return to Zemar.”

He said, “You have saved many a soldier’s life with your skills and you have earned a badge like any officer who saves the lives of his men with his skill and courage.”

But I said, “Let it be! I have enough gold, and your badges are only dust under my feet.”

“You must be right,” Horemheb agreed, “but the gold earned in a battle means a lot to simple men like me. Now I have seen my men in battle and I know I can lead them, and Sekhmet, the Lion-headed, has been favourable to me so that I have achieved victory. Pictures of this victory will be carved in stone if I so wish. But this victory is mere dust under my feet for no great skill is needed to vanquish rustlers.”

“Your men praise your name and swear to follow wherever you lead them,” I said, to flatter him. “But how is it that you are not even wounded for I thought you would certainly die charging alone into the thick of the spears and arrows?”

“I have a skilled charioteer,” he said. “Furthermore, my falcon protects me, because I am still needed to perform great deeds. There is no special merit or courage in my actions since I know that the enemy’s spears and arrows and war clubs evade me. I drive as the first one because I am destined to spill a lot of blood, but after killing so many there is no special joy in spilling blood, and the cries of men crushed under the wheels of my chariot do not amuse me. When my troops are trained enough and do not fear death any more, I will let myself be carried in a chair behind them, like any sensible commander does, for a real commander does not engage in dirty bloody work that can be done by the cheapest of slaves, but he works with his heart and spends a lot of paper and dictates various important orders to his scribes; but this, Sinuhe, you do not understand, because it is not your profession, like I do not understand the profession of a physician, although I respect your skills. Therefore I am ashamed that I have stained my hands and face with rustlers’ blood, but there was no choice. Had I not driven in front of my men, they would have lost their courage and fallen on their knees and started wailing, for truth be told, these Egyptian soldiers who have not seen war in living memory, are even worse and cowardly scum than the Habirus. So I call them dung snouts, and they already take pride in that.”

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