by N. L. Holmes
He told Pa-kiki he would collect Neferet after her lessons again, and that evening, he appeared at the lady doctor’s door.
“Papa! You’re still here!” cried Neferet in delight.
Djefat-nebty raised an eyebrow at him. “Lord Hani. Come inside for a moment, won’t you?”
Hani’s stomach clenched in a mix of dread and hope. He followed her inside the vestibule, where she said to him under her breath, “I spoke to our lady the Great Queen.”
Hani’s heart began to gallop.
“She wants to see you tomorrow.”
“You explained the proposal to her, my lady?” he whispered.
“Yes. And I said it was from you. And she wanted to see you.” The doctor’s long mouth quirked in a wry smile.
“I can’t thank you enough, Lady Djefat-nebty.” Although, he thought, I would have preferred you to present it as your own idea. I can only hope my name will never come up with the king.
She gave a bark of laughter. “Whether you have cause to thank me depends on what she says, doesn’t it? Good evening, Hani.”
He rejoined Neferet, who capered at his side, regaling him with all the things she’d learned that day. There’d been no gravely ill patients, it seemed. He left her at Aha’s house and made his way back to Ptah-mes’s, eager to tell him that they’d passed the first test—that of securing the Great Queen’s interest. But Ptah-mes had sailed for Waset, he was told, so Hani dined alone in the garden and tried to prepare himself for his interview on the next day.
⸎
For the second time in his life, Hani walked between the lion-bodied images of the king that lined the northern part of the processional street. At his left, the long white wall of the palace compound was lit like a rosy cliff by the rising sun. Only his ungainly shadow bobbed along it. He thought of Neferet’s dung beetle and almost laughed. He was holding up his hands to his temples like beetle horns to see their effect on his silhouette when a palace official passed him, drawing away in horror at his eccentric behavior. Hani chuckled. He felt all fizzy with excitement, like a pot of beer that was close to blowing off its cap in the sun. Yet the queen could easily be angry. He might never walk out of the palace alive.
He presented himself at the first gate and traversed the long court to the second monumental pylon, where he noticed the red banners that signaled the king’s presence were mounted. He crossed the interminable court with the obelisks and, entering the dark shade of the colonnaded portico, gave his credentials at the door of the palace reception halls. There he found himself waiting for a long while in the richly colored splendor of the foyer. He noticed once more the utter silence of the place, where even the busy servants moved barefoot and soundless. At one point, a troupe of dancing girls in skimpy costumes of gauze and beads walked rapidly in a jingling line toward the interior of the palace, called, apparently, to some command performance.
Perhaps half the morning had elapsed before the majordomo approached to say, “The Great Queen will receive you, my lord.”
As before, the servant led Hani to the small audience chamber, and two Libyans in tattoos and plume-crested costumes pushed back the lofty gilded doors with a bow. Hani entered, folding in a court prostration. When he rose, he saw that the Great Queen, seated in majesty upon her throne of electrum, was not alone. A man Hani’s age or a little older sat in a less exalted chair below her dais. From his high cheekbones, square jaw, and wide, full lips with a slight overbite, Hani suspected that this was the queen’s father, Ay.
“Hani, we meet again,” said Nefert-iti the Beautiful One in her breathy voice.
“My lady does me too much honor.”
“My physician brought me a message from you, Hani. Have you decided at last to make yourself useful to your queen?”
“My lady, my sole hope is to be useful to the Two Kingdoms. To that extent, I am indeed in my lady’s service.”
The man at the queen’s side laughed. “Well said, like the diplomat you are.” He rose and took a step forward with a friendly expression on his face—a striking face that exuded charm. “I’m the God’s Father, Ay. My daughter and queen has asked me to be present to discuss the novel idea that you are apparently prepared to present.”
“I welcome my lord’s analysis. I’m certainly not a theologian, but it’s my understanding that one of the priests of the Aten has evaluated the plan.”
“That’s what Djefat-nebty said.” The queen unconsciously rubbed her protruding belly with a jeweled hand, and it was suddenly obvious to Hani that she, like Kiya, was in an advanced state of pregnancy.
Hani then described the idea he’d had of elevating the queen formally to a rank equal to that of the king, thus protecting her against any rivalry. She and Ay exchanged a look.
“What do you get out of this, Hani?” asked Ay in his pleasant way.
“Peace, my lord. Secure borders. Allies to help us repulse the Hittites, who are getting more and more aggressive. To break our alliances now by humiliating foreign princesses would be disastrous.”
“So, you’re still in her service?” the queen said with a slight cooling of tone.
“Not at all, my lady. I am in the service of Kemet alone. I see in the king’s own theology a way to end personal rivalries to your advantage and to work for the good of the kingdom.”
“Of course, the first motive for such an action would be the more perfect revelation of the Aten,” said Ay. There was a crafty edge to his smile. He looked like a fox inviting other foxes to collaborate. They might not all walk out of the den alive.
“Of course.”
Silence descended over the richly colored room—a busy, thought-pulsing silence as thick as the incense floating upward from the little braziers on either side of the queen’s throne. Nefert-iti shot a look sideways at her father from under her malachite-edged lids. He tipped his head ever so slightly.
“Leave us now, Hani,” said the queen, rising. “You’ve delivered your idea. It’s up to others to decide what to do with it.”
Hani bowed in silence and, still in a bow, backed from the room, forcing himself not to look up at that intoxicating body before him.
⸎
Hani arrived home in Waset to find a letter from Nub-nefer, which Pen-amen had written out for her. All was well. Anuia and her four children had joined Nub-nefer and the two girls, and the days were filled with activity and conversation. Of course, it wasn’t all happy. Anuia didn’t know that her husband was safely hidden in the City of the Scepter; she was increasingly sure he’d been killed. But she was determined to be brave. Baket-iset was enjoying the country air, and Ta-miu kept her company for the most part rather than wandering off into the fields as she usually did. Sat-hut-haru’s pregnancy was proceeding well. She was due to deliver in another month or so. But she was in good hands with all the female relatives around.
Hani already missed his family, but he knew they were safer in the country. He’d settled himself cross-legged on the floor in the salon to write a reply when he heard the opening of the door and voices in the vestibule.
“You home, son?” Mery-ra called. “How did it go?” He toddled in, his face eager. “You’re still alive. That’s a good sign.”
“The best.” Hani grinned. “I think it went well. They’re considering it.”
“They?”
“Lord Ay was with his daughter.”
“Oh, that one. They say he’s wormed his way into the king’s confidence and is using it to get his family’s toe in the door.”
“So much the better. Our plan is to Nefert-iti’s advantage.” Hani ranged his writing implements and crawled to his feet. “Though I’d say Ay’s family already had its toe in the door, wouldn’t you? Isn’t he the dowager queen Tiyi’s brother? And the king’s father-in-law? Wasn’t his aunt the mother of Neb-ma’at-ra?”
“You can never have too much toe in the door.”
“Of course,” Hani said, suddenly sobered, “even as she-king, she might still want to ruin K
iya. I hope I painted the consequences of that move as sufficiently laden with ill effects. Let’s hope no one tells her that Naharin is collapsing fast.”
“Are you going to let Mane know what’s happened?”
“Not until I’m sure the plan is going to be adopted. No point getting Kiya’s hopes up falsely.”
Hani and Mery-ra walked side by side through the salon. Mery-ra said, “I’m going on to the farm to start gathering the grain and animals for Pipi. I’d like to get up there and back as soon as possible. He hedged about furnishing me details, but I think his moneylender gave him a deadline.”
“Excellent plan, Father. I hope he’s trying to sell that accursed horse.”
“Ah,” said Mery-ra, brightening. “I may have a buyer. One of the officers I work with.”
“It’s not Ay, by any chance?” Hani suggested with a twinkle.
“No, no. No one you’re likely to know. A young fellow named Pa-aten-em-heb.”
“I hope this famous animal isn’t some spavined nag that no one will want.”
“Or that it doesn’t drown on the way back. I’ve engaged a barge for a round trip.”
Hani shook his head. “That Pipi. This is the last time I’m bailing him out. If some emergency arose all of a sudden, I wouldn’t be able to deal with it without selling the farm. I just hope the spring wheat harvest is good. It’s not right for a grown man to endanger his old father like this.”
Mery-ra made a deprecating noise. “He’s not endangering his old father. Most of the payback is yours, son. But he does need to grow up; no question.”
Hani stopped at the kitchen door, realizing he had walked there automatically without any real reason. Perhaps the talk of grain and cattle had led him there. He had turned back to the salon when he heard a knock at the front door. A’a’s footsteps clopped into the vestibule, then a faint exchange of voices came to Hani’s ear. He stopped, curious.
My lord,” said A’a from the inner door. “There’s a gentleman here to see you. He declined to give a name.”
A little flame of anxiety began to flicker in Hani’s breast. “I’ll come talk to him there for now, A’a. Thank you.”
Mery-ra raised an interested eyebrow from the kitchen door.
Hani proceeded, barefoot, into the vestibule, to find standing there a well-dressed heavyset man of middle age who looked vaguely familiar. “I’m the master of the house. May I help you?”
The man turned toward him a jowly face, cold of expression and devoid of charm. “My name is Mahu, chief of the king’s police at Akhet-aten. Is there some place we can talk in privacy?”
Fear tunneled up Hani’s back like an icy wave of the Inundation. “You’re a little far from your territory, aren’t you, Lord Mahu?” he said amiably. “Let’s go out into the garden.” He slipped into his sandals by the door and led the way down the gravel path, the policeman’s heavy tread crunching along behind him. The desire to bolt was almost overpowering. Hani entered the garden pavilion and turned to Mahu, still smiling. “Have a seat, won’t you?”
Mahu dropped into the chair with a thud, his meaty paws on the arm rests far from relaxed. His eyes were narrow and overhung by flesh and the tufty excrescence of eyebrow. He never took his gaze from Hani’s face.
“Now, what can I do for you?” Hani asked in his smoothest diplomatic voice.
“Where is your brother-in-law, Hani?”
“I wish I knew, my lord. The family thought you had him.” Hani’s heart was beating hard, but he’d settled into the calm, alert state of the negotiator.
Mahu snorted skeptically. “That might have been true months ago. Where is he now?”
“In all frankness, I haven’t seen him for a while.”
“But you have seen him? When?”
Hani decided a certain amount of honesty was in his best interest. “He’d hidden himself in my boat shed at the farm. I came upon him by accident. He then decided to move. I haven’t seen him since.”
Mahu cocked his head as if doubting the story. He said sarcastically, “You found him hiding, and you didn’t think to report it to the police, eh?”
“Tell me, Lord Mahu,” said Hani a little sharply. “What crime is he guilty of that I should turn him in to the police? Of believing in the god he has served all his life? Since when is piety a crime?”
Mahu’s eyes narrowed still further, and Hani could see the policeman was angered by his interlocutor’s logic. “I suspect, Hani, that you are well aware of the fact that the king wants this man for crimes against his majesty. Why was he hiding if he wasn’t guilty of something?”
“What crimes against his majesty, Mahu? Tell me what he’s done.”
“He has called for the assassination of the Lord of the Two Lands. The crime of regicide.”
Hani smiled caustically. “He’s guilty of words? Even my children have figured out that the more Papa talks big, the less he’s likely actually to do to them.”
As if he’d suddenly had enough, Mahu surged forward in his chair, his face disfigured by a snarl. “Don’t push your luck, my lord. This disrespect will not go unmarked. Words are often the first step toward actions, and we all know it. Preach regicide long enough, and someone is likely to put those words into practice. And then who’s guilty? The man who drew the sword? Or the man who told him to do it as well?”
“So regicide consists of wishing the king were dead. I suppose it constitutes theft to wish I had that gold bracelet of my neighbor’s.” Hani could feel a cold fury building in him. What kind of tyranny has my fair Black Land become, that one can no longer think or speak one’s mind? But he dared not lose his temper, because, justly or otherwise, Mahu had power and Hani had none. He forced himself to smile.
“I have ways of making you talk,” said the medjay chief in a low voice that resembled an animal’s growl.
“But I am talking,” said Hani. “I’m telling you everything I know. Which happens to be nothing.”
Mahu rose abruptly to his feet. “We’ll see. You’re under arrest. Follow me, please.”
Hani’s heart seemed to stop. So much for his little joust of words. Remembering the condition of Amen-em-hut when he’d returned from the medjays’ hospitality, Hani swallowed hard. “As you will. What is my crime?”
“You’re a person of interest, Lord Hani. We want to hear what you really have to say.”
Hani felt the blood draining from his face. He tipped his head in acquiescence. Mahu gestured him ahead of him, and Hani went docilely. Mahu pushed him in the back.
Say nothing. Say nothing, Hani cautioned himself. You’ll just make him angrier. There’s nothing legal in this. He’s just angry. He proceeded to the gate with as much nonchalance as he could manage.
His father was standing on the garden path, staring incredulously. “What’s going on here?” Mery-ra demanded.
“I’m under arrest,” Hani said levelly. “For knowing nothing.”
Mahu gave him a brutal shove through the open panels of the gate. Outside stood four armed policemen with a baboon on a leash. Two of them grabbed Hani immediately by the upper arms and forced him toward a donkey cart, which stood parked in the road.
“Get in,” ordered Mahu, his thin lips set in the downward crescent of a man who suspected he’d been mocked.
Hani obliged, setting his foot on the spoke of the wheel and preparing to haul himself up. The policemen pushed him in unceremoniously, skinning his shins and banging his knees on the floor. One of them bound his wrists behind him. His breath was coming in jerky bursts, anger and fear at war within him. You’re in for it now, my boy.
Mahu said roughly, “To the River.”
The last thing Hani saw before they pushed him facedown in the vehicle was Mery-ra standing in the gate, his mouth wide open in horror.
CHAPTER 10
Maya arrived at Lord Hani’s house around the middle of the morning, prepared for dictation. To his surprise, A’a told him Hani wasn’t home. The secretary was just debating wh
ether to leave or stay for a while and wait when Lord Mery-ra barreled through the front door in a cloud of dust and sweat.
“Ah, Maya, my boy. Something terrible has happened.” The old man’s face was grim and anguished, and a wave of fear rolled over Maya, lifting the hairs on his neck.
“What is it, my lord?” he cried.
“Hani has been arrested.”
Maya’s mouth flew open in shock. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know. A man came to the door this morning, without giving his name, and the two of them went out into the garden to talk. The next thing I knew, the fellow was strong-arming my son through the gate, and Hani cried out that he was being arrested.” Mery-ra’s mouth had grown hard as he spoke, his eyebrows knit in a bar of fierce determination.
“Bes protect us,” murmured Maya, his heart in shreds. “Is this about Kiya or about Amen-em-hut?”
“Only the gods know. I just went down to the chief of the Theban police’s garrison, but Hani wasn’t there. I had heard the bastard say as they left, ‘To the River.’” Mery-ra clenched his fists. “I’ll bet this was one of the king’s police from Akhet-aten.”
Maya’s legs felt suddenly weak, and he sank to a seat on the floor with a plop. He could hardly close his mouth, the shock sat upon him so strongly. “I can’t believe this.”
Mery-ra stalked up and down like a caged wild animal. “I don’t want to alarm Nub-nefer till we know what’s going on. Maybe we should grab a fast boat to the capital.”
“Should we... should we warn Lord Ptah-mes in case that’s what it’s about?” Maya looked up at him.
“Probably. You do that, son. You’re faster than I am. Even if he’s not there, tell his wife. She’s apparently the one who needs to know anyway. I’ll go put a boat on standby.”
Maya sprang to his feet and jogged out the door and away, his heart in his mouth. He felt as if he’d been smacked in the face—stunned, pained, and offended. Of all people, Lord Hani, the most conscientious man in the Black Land. Maya was gasping and panting by the time he reached the great urban estate of Lord Ptah-mes. Hani had pointed it out to him once, although Maya had never entered the majestic gateway. Ptah-mes and his ilk were as high above the lower-level aristocrats, like Hani, as Hani’s station was above Maya’s own. Waterfront property in Waset! Ptah-mes’s family must have been here before Amen-Ra became the god of the entire kingdom, back when grandees of Waset had made themselves kings.