Sting of the Scorpion Read Free Page A

terror. Ramose found it hard to believe that the children could be frightened of a little cat, yet they played happily at the feet of the monster animal they called camel.
    “I have never heard of camels,” said Ramose.
    “It is from a far distant place where there are many such creatures,” Karoya explained. “Zeyd won the creature in a fight with the chief of an enemy tribe. The camel doesn’t need to drink like other animals. Zeyd believes that it stores water in the hump on its back. He wishes that he had more camels.”
    “I thought you said you didn’t speak their language.”
    “I don’t. Zeyd explained with his voice and his hands and pictures in the sand.”
    Ramose inspected his leg, which was bandaged in coarse cloth and squashed under a heavy stone. He lifted off the stone and unwrapped his leg.
    “The weight of the stone stopped the poison from spreading to other parts of your body,” Karoya explained.
    Large leaves were pressed into the area where he’d been stung. Ramose gently removed them.
    “These look like lotus leaves,” he said.
    “They are. They stop the pain. The leaves are very precious to desert people because they are hard to get. The lotus plant is very useful. There was some powdered lotus in the milk you drank as well.”
    Ramose’s lower leg was still swollen and there were two puncture marks in his calf.
    “The poison in desert scorpions is strong and you were stung twice. If the nomads had not appeared out of the desert,” Karoya said quietly, “I think you would have died.”

    The nomad women lit a small fire using dried palm fronds and dung just as Karoya did. Hapu helped Ramose to his feet and led him to the fire. There was the smell of roasting goat’s meat and baking bread. Ramose’s stomach growled. It had been weeks since he’d eaten properly.
    As soon as the sun dropped below the horizon, it got cold, colder than Ramose had ever known it to be in Egypt. He shivered, even though he was sitting as close as possible to the flames.
    Zeyd, the man he had seen earlier, said something to one of the women. She disappeared inside a tent and returned with warm clothes for the guests. Ramose gratefully pulled on a long, hairy garment similar to the other men’s—a dark, heavy coat that reached the ground. From the smell of it, Ramose guessed it was made of woven goat hair. He was getting used to the strong smell of goats already, and it was good to feel warm.
    They all sat around the fire and ate a meal of goat’s meat, bread and a vegetable that Ramose didn’t recognise. After that there were dates and warm milk. The nomads talked among themselves in their strange language. The children stared at Mery who was curled up in Karoya’s lap. They giggled as Hapu pulled faces and did little tricks for them.
    “I can’t believe they don’t want to know who we are,” Ramose said.
    “They think that is our business, not theirs,” said Karoya.
    “How do they know we’re not planning to steal their goats?” asked Hapu.
    “It doesn’t matter. It would be a shameful thing to turn away a traveller in the desert, even if he’s an enemy.”
    “We’re not their enemies though,” said Ramose.
    “Yes, we are,” said Karoya. “At least you two are. Egyptians are the enemies of all desert people. They kill them for no reason or enslave them. You especially are their enemy, Ramose.”
    “Would it make a difference if they knew who I was?”
    “No, even the pharaoh’s son would be welcome.”
    Ramose looked around at the nomads. The men were discussing their goats. The women were clearing away the remains of the meal and mending clothes and tents. The children were getting sleepy. The younger ones were already asleep in their mothers’ laps.
    “How can I thank Zeyd?” Ramose asked Karoya.
    “You don’t have to,” she replied. “He expects that you would do the same for him.”
    Like most Egyptians, Ramose had never met any barbarians before. He had never imagined