by N. L. Holmes
“Oh, poor Mut-nodjmet,” Baket-iset murmured, her voice higher than normal.
It occurred to Hani that she had more than a passing acquaintance with tragic accidents. Feeling guilty, he wished he’d thought of another scenario.
“What happened, Papa?” asked Pa-kiki.
“He, uh, fell into the River while drunk and was apparently killed by a hippopotamus.”
Loud sobs poured out of the kitchen.
“Perhaps I should go to her,” said Nub-nefer, popping up from her stool and staring anxiously at her husband.
Hani suspected, by the way her face had gone gray, that she was thinking of Amen-em-hut and his empty boat. He nodded, and she lurched away. Hani, you clumsy fool, he told himself. Couldn’t you have thought of some other way for him to die?
⸎
It was the first time Maya had been home in Kemet for the Wag Festival in two years. He had forgotten the solemn joy of the prayers to Osir and the trip across the River, malachite waters twinkling with the little white boats let loose by the thousands upon its current. This time was marked by his first trip to Lord Hani’s family tomb to lay around the door the little papyrus boats Neferet and Mut-nodjmet had made—facing west, in hope of the family dead’s resurrection into the beautiful Duat. The door of the house of eternity was now closed and barred, the repairs to the damage wrought by Aha in a misguided fit of ambition had been completed, and the artists had withdrawn their scaffolding.
All around them, Lord Hani’s neighbors and colleagues were making the same journey with their families. Like Hani and his clan, everyone was decked not only with joyous wreaths of flowers but also with the white headband of mourning. Hani exchanged waves with a former priest who lived down the block from him. Maya saw a secretary he recognized from the Hall of Correspondence tottering over the rock-strewn trail to the cliffside tombs of the affluent, his arms full of little boats probably made by his grandchildren. But the numbers were nowhere near as great as Maya remembered from his youth. No doubt some people had come back from Akhet-aten to visit their ancestral burial spot, but not everyone would have been able to—or dared to. Maybe they were no longer sure what place Osir and the kingdom of the dead played in the religion of the Aten. How did darkness figure into the cult of the light? Maya was sure he didn’t know.
Now that he had fulfilled his obligation to Sat-hut-haru’s family, he would take a detour to his father’s tomb. As the party made their way back toward the crossroads of the western paths, Maya saw Lord Hani’s eldest son, accompanied by his two little children, trudging toward them from the River, heads down. Maya’s joy tarnished. That arrogant twit Aha—he was already fat, as if he were some rich old scribe who made more grain than he could eat. According to Lord Hani, Aha had a lay post at the Great Temple of the Aten.
“It’s Aha!” Neferet cried joyfully and rushed ahead to greet him. She jumped on her brother and clung to him then bent to hug her little nephew and niece, who seemed ecstatic to see her after a few days’ absence.
“Aha, son! I’m so glad we crossed paths,” Lord Hani said, sounding genuinely happy. He and Lady Nub-nefer took turns embracing their firstborn, then Hani picked up the younger boy and his wifetook the little girl by the hand. Everyone exchanged embraces with the only family member who had chosen to move to the Horizon of the Aten. Everyone except Maya. The bastard Aha completely ignored him, as if Maya were a servant who had come along to carry the boats. Maya forced himself to smile like everybody else, but a slow fire of offense was smoldering within.
“Uncle Pipi. Mut-nodjmet. I didn’t know you were here. Where’s the rest of the family?” He always acted like he was bestowing some enormous blessing on a person by acknowledging him.
Here’s one of the family right in front of you, you turd, Maya thought grimly.
Lord Pipi tried to act like his usual joking self, but he was clearly still saddened for his daughter. “Oh, I had some business down here, and I, er, brought Mut-nodjmet with me. Nedjem-ib stayed home with the younger ones.”
“And look at my little sister! Somebody’s having a baby!”
“Somebody’s having a baby!” Ooh. Who could that be? Not Pa-kiki.
“Isn’t it exciting! The little cousins will be almost the same age,” Sat-hut-haru effused in her sweet way, sticking out her belly proudly, oblivious to her husband’s resentment. “How is Khentet-ka? Neferet said she was having some problems.”
The bastard wouldn’t think to congratulate the father.
“Oh, better,” Aha said airily. “But she didn’t feel like climbing all over the rocks.” He looked down at the papyrus boats in his hands as if he couldn’t imagine how they had gotten there. “You know how it is, though. The children wouldn’t miss it.”
Maya noticed Lord Hani glancing at him and then at Aha, his wide mouth stretched into an expression that might have been disgust. Maya hoped he wouldn’t make an issue of Aha’s snub. That would smack a little too much of forcing two quarreling children to kiss and make up. As far as Maya was concerned, Aha had made it clear he, Maya, was only a nominal member of his family. Once an artisan, always an artisan.
Finally, the ordeal was over. Maya and Sat-hut-haru peeled off toward the middle-class shrines of the dead that sprinkled the sloping land between the River and the cliffs, and the rest of the family headed for the grand tomb of Lady Nub-nefer’s family.
“I hope Uncle Amen-em-hut is all right,” Sat-hut-haru murmured as Maya helped her navigate the cherty rock-strewn west bank. The sun was high by now and cast their stubby shadows before them at their feet. Maya chose not to dwell on how much shorter his was. “I know Mama is afraid he’s one of the dead she’s here to pray for.”
“I’d be surprised if he weren’t in hiding someplace, my sweet. Perhaps he’s even fled the country.”
“He would have told Aunt Anuia, Maya. He wouldn’t have abandoned his family without a word like that.”
They came to the small pyramid-roofed shrine that topped Maya’s father’s grave. It was neatly whitewashed and had several pole bouquets of fresh flowers leaning against it. Mother was always careful about that. She’d had someone paint on it a nice scene of Osir and his father’s coffin, face-to-face. Maya couldn’t remember if his father, a dwarf, had had such a tall coffin or if that were the artist’s invention—Maya had only been a toddler when he died. He saw the little boats Mother and his aunts and nieces had left, and he knelt and added his own.
“Give me yours, dearest. I’ll lay it for you so you don’t have to kneel.” How sweet it was to have a wife at his side for this familial duty! Gods, she’s adorable, with those flowers all around her head. I did pretty well, didn’t I, Father? Meet your grandson. “Do you still want to catch up to the others at your mother’s family tomb, or would you rather go on back?”
“No, let’s join them. Auntie needs all the support she can get.”
They picked their way northwest toward the cliffs. In the distance, Maya saw the cluster of white-clad figures surrounding the opening of Lord Amen-em-hut’s splendid house of eternity, already in the purple shadow of the Mountains of the West.
When they arrived at the tomb entry, Lady Anuia and her children, including the ridiculously handsome Pen-amen and his wife, were there. Everyone was weepy eyed and sad. Despite the wreaths, the gathering had more the air of a funeral than one of joyous hope. Lord Hani looked up and smiled at Maya, but his little brown eyes were dark circled, full of sorrow. They approached him, and he put a fatherly arm around Sat-hut-haru.
“Have we had any news?” Maya whispered.
Hani shook his head.
Maya heard Lady Anuia say to her sister-in-law in a wavering voice, “It’s been more than a month, Nub-nefer. If he were alive, he’d have gotten word to me somehow.”
That’s all anyone can talk about. The poor sod’s probably long gone.
They hugged all around, and this great priestly family wasn’t too good to embrace a working-class boy. Then Lord Hani’s
party split off and headed back toward the River, while Amen-em-hut’s remained to stew in their grief for a while.
Maya guided Sat-hut-haru with a hand on her hip as they navigated the uneven terrain. Lord Hani walked beside her with an arm around his wife, Lord Mery-ra toddled along on the other side with Lord Pipi at his elbow, and Pa-kiki, Mut-nodjmet, and Neferet strode on ahead. The would-be doctor was chattering away and waving her hands, but Maya couldn’t hear the topic of her monologue.
All of a sudden, a fluttering hiss sped over his head, like a bird flying low. Ahead of them, just at the heels of the three adolescents, an arrow sprang from the ground with a thunk, swaying back and forth, a deadly flower. Maya froze, his heart in his mouth. He could hardly register what had just happened.
Hani whipped around, staring wild-eyed at the cliffs behind them, and cried, “Run, everyone! Toward the River!”
They fled in a disorderly rout, poor Sat-hut-haru stumbling awkwardly, Maya at her side, trying to steady her, although he was no fleet-footed gazelle himself. He could see other people staring at them as they lurched past.
“What happened?” his wife cried, her breathless voice shrill with fear.
“An arrow,” Maya panted. “Someone shot right into us from above, up on the cliffs.”
They trailed to a stop well out of range from the cliff tops. Gasping for air, everyone stared one at the other, uncomprehending and terrified.
“What was that?” Nub-nefer clung to her husband’s arm.
Lord Hani tried to make light of it. “Someone must have been at target practice in the desert. How stupid, on a day when crowds would be at the tombs of their ancestors.” His eyes were still a little wild despite his calm words, Maya observed.
Lord Mery-ra, who had bent over, his hands on his knees, trying to recover his breath, rose and shot his son a penetrating stare. Pipi looked confused and frightened. No one said anything for a long space of time. Maya heard no sound in this realm of the Lover of Silence except a dry rustle of wind and the gradually relenting hammering of his heart.
“Let’s get back,” Hani said finally.
“The servants will have lunch ready,” Lady Nub-nefer murmured, almost sounding normal. “Are you all right, Sat-hut-haru, my love?”
“Maybe this means the baby will be a fast runner,” Neferet offered. Everyone made the effort to laugh.
But Maya remembered that Kha-em-sekhem had just been murdered and wondered if Lord Hani didn’t have a target on his broad back as well.
⸎
Hani had tried to shake off the sense of terrible danger that dogged him. He’d laughed and chattered during lunch in an effort to lay to rest the anxieties of his family, but his own were more tenacious. He saw with pain that Nub-nefer’s hand trembled as she served around the platter of stuffed dates. Mery-ra and Maya kept staring at him with eyes that suspected too much, but of course, his father was better than anyone at lightening the atmosphere.
“Oh, son, I’ve found chariots for your hunting party,” the old man said after the festal prayers had been concluded. “Meryet-amen still has one that belonged to her late husband, who was a chariot officer. And her nephew has one too. He said he’d be happy to drive.”
“Well done, Father. I know Aziru can drive as well. But there’s still one too many of us for the two vehicles.”
“Her nephew said he’d be happy to take the guests out for you—I told him you weren’t a particularly keen huntsman. Seems his family has a property with really good game. They’ve actually stocked some ostriches out there. He says it’s a guaranteed bag.” Mery-ra grinned, but his look was meaningful. “I’m sure you have other things to do than run around in the desert. And he, young court buck, loves nothing better than killing animals. He was all excited at the thought.”
“Your lady friend has earned my deepest gratitude, noble father,” Hani said. The idea of finding himself all but alone in the open desert with a pair of foreigners who didn’t know the terrain seemed especially frightening. Hunting accidents were easy to arrange. Whoever the blackmailer was, he wanted to rid himself of the only two others who knew something was going on. Hani had to get to the bottom of that strange business, not only for Lady Kiya’s sake but also for his own. “I’ll send one of the servants over to coordinate with him.”
After lunch, Pipi and Pa-kiki settled down to a game of senet, while the younger girls gathered around Baket-iset’s couch for a round of gossip. His daughters had been very good about trying to distract Mut-nodjmet from her sorrow, Hani thought gratefully. Since they’d given the serving girls the day off, Nub-nefer and Sat-hut-haru busied themselves with clearing the tables. Seizing the moment, Hani, Maya, and Mery-ra withdrew to the garden pavilion, where they sat staring at one another like three conspirators, no doubt all thinking the same thing.
“I don’t like this, son,” said Hani’s father. “Whoever’s nose you’ve gotten up is ruthless. What exactly was that Kha-em-sekhem involved in? Is this some underworld gang you’re mixed up with?”
“Worse than that,” Hani said. “It seems to have something to do with international politics.” He wanted to spare his father the knowledge of this case that might be dangerous even for him, but perhaps the old man needed to know what was hanging over their heads, the better to defend himself. “You remember I said our sculptor was involved in something with a capital punishment attached to it?”
Mery-ra nodded avidly. He loved to know the dark secrets of the court, but Hani was confident he would never speak of them to anyone. His father had been a military scribe for forty years, and Hani had reason to think he’d been in on more than one state secret. He wondered if Mery-ra might not even have served occasionally as a spy. If Maya knew, there was no reason Mery-ra shouldn’t.
Hani leaned toward his father and said in a quiet voice, “Kha-em-sekhem had an affair with the Beloved Wife.”
Mery-ra’s little eyes grew round as plums.
“But let me start at the beginning.” Hani told his father how someone had suggested to the sculptor—through an intermediary—that he compromise the royal wife and then leave a blackmail note, which that person would provide. He recounted the history of the two Mitannian veterans and their mysterious master and their demand for an intervention with the king on behalf of Naharin. He pointed out the discrepancies between Kha-em-sekhem’s and Kiya’s versions of events. “I suspect she’s afraid she’s pregnant by this man and wants to recast the whole story to make that an impossibility.”
Mery-ra whistled. “She’s trapped, isn’t she? Either she’s put away for fostering the interests of a foreign power, or she’s punished for cuckolding the king. How did you get sucked into this mess, my boy?”
“Mane brought me a message saying she wanted to see me. I guess she still thinks of me as a sort of father figure.” Despite the heat of the afternoon, Hani felt a cold chill pass up his back like a draft. “I don’t think there’s anything I can do for her. Now that Kha-em-sekhem’s dead, I have nowhere to look for clues. And the only way to free her from her dilemma is to obliterate the blackmailer before he can tell anyone.”
“You need to find an assassin,” Maya said, pounding a fist into his palm like some ruthless little street thug.
“But I don’t know who my target is.” Hani shrugged helplessly. “Although he apparently knows I’m involved. I’m afraid he’s giving me credit for being closer to identifying him than the reality justifies.”
“You need to find a bodyguard before you find an assassin,” Mery-ra said, his tufty eyebrows quirked in concern. “Think of motives, son. Who would want to push the Greatly Beloved Wife for a Mitannian intervention?”
“Someone who is nonetheless willing to sacrifice a Mitannian princess and bring the treaty down around her ears. It doesn’t make sense at all.”
Maya said eagerly, “Maybe that’s their point—to bring Kiya down. Who would be her enemy?”
Hani emitted a caustic noise. “I’m sure anyone with the king’s
favor has a million enemies. The court’s a snake pit.”
He stared desolately out across the garden pool, where a small troop of ducks splashed and dabbled. Suddenly, two of them began to peck at one another, and before long, they were in a full-blown battle, beating their wings and trying to push each other under the water, squawking and bludgeoning the adversary with their comic blunt bills while the others paddled hastily out of reach.
The men began to laugh wildly because of the tension that they were holding in. “By the Lord Montu, even the duck pond is a snake pit!” hooted Mery-ra. “I think it’s time for Lady Hut-haru to slay us all and start over.”
“You always say that two days before the Feast of Drunkenness, Father,” Hani said with a grin. The feast actually celebrated the salvation of mankind from the goddess’s wrath by getting her drunk.
He picked up a pebble from the ground and threw it into the midst of the squabbling birds. The splash was as effective as slapping a hysterical person. The two ducks broke apart as suddenly as they had begun—perhaps having forgotten the reason for their brawl—and cruised away, ruffling their feathers and emitting outraged quacks that trailed off into a simmering stream of self-justifications.
“I’ve heard of cockfights, but I didn’t know drakes were so scrappy,” Maya admitted. He had seen the magnificent spurred cocks Tushratta had sent with his daughter to the late king.
“Oh, these warriors weren’t even drakes. They were two females. Maybe they were fighting for the attention of a male.” Hani flashed Maya a sly look. “You’re newly married, my boy, but this is a message: beware the wrath of the ladies.”
The three men laughed knowingly, then sobriety began to descend upon Hani once more. “I need to talk to Lady Kiya again, but I’m sure her visitors are observed, and I don’t want to be seen coming and going too frequently.”
“If she’s so closely watched—and any wife of the king would be—how is it this horny sculptor was able to have his way with her?” Mery-ra asked cynically. “Sounds strange to me that they’d leave her alone with a man long enough to get into something.”