The Crocodile Makes No Sound

by N. L. Holmes

  “Papa, would you be terribly disappointed if I tried for a post as a military scribe?” Pa-kiki said, his cheerful face earnest. He’d brought Neferet back for the trilogy of holidays in Waset that commemorated the parade of the goddesses to and from Mut’s temple. Needless to say, there would be no celebrations, at least outwardly. But not even the Hall of Royal Correspondence had dared deprive its scribes of their days off.

  “Why would I be disappointed, son? Your grandfather and I both served as military scribes.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Aha always says...” Pa-kiki lowered his eyes and trailed off, perhaps realizing that Aha was at odds with the other scribes in the family on this matter.

  “What does he say?” Mery-ra demanded. “Out with it? That we’re inferior?”

  “Well, he says there are more opportunities for advancement working directly under the vizier, but frankly, Papa, it’s as boring as can be.”

  Hani clapped his son on the shoulder. “Not the dream job you expected, eh, son? Well, there’s nothing wrong with transferring to the army if there’s a post open. It’s often interesting, that’s for sure. You’ll travel. You may find yourself in dangerous situations.”

  Pa-kiki’s little brown eyes were alight. “That sounds more like it! All I do now is copy court cases for the archives. I suppose it’s important to somebody, but I’d rather be out there on the front lines!”

  Hani smiled. “It’s not always that interesting, though. You’ll do your share of copying documents there too.”

  “And who said you can’t advance? I think Aha’s real problem is that an army scribe might have to get his hands dirty now and then. You might have to mobilize and live in a camp and get a suntan.” Mery-ra grinned wickedly. “You might have to miss a few meals, and what you get are not always very good. Your brother likes his comforts.”

  Hani had to fight back a snort. Mery-ra had the boy figured out. But then he remembered Ptah-mes saying the vizier saw Pa-kiki’s enrollment in the ranks of the chancery as a sign of the family’s loyalty. How would he view his efforts to transfer? Nothing was simple anymore.

  “How do I go about looking?” Pa-kiki asked.

  “Let me sniff around. There’s a big garrison in Akhet-aten, but the main headquarters of the army are still here in Waset and in Men-nefer.” Mery-ra reached out and shook the boy’s shoulder. “Let old Grandfather work his magic, eh, my lad?”

  Before Pa-kiki could even express his gratitude, Neferet had appeared among them, rubbing her eyes. “Good morning, everybody. When are we going down to the farm?”

  “As soon as you’ve eaten, my duckling. And washed your face.”

  The girl settled herself on the floor beside her father’s stool. “Can I have some bread, please?”

  He’d just passed her the basket with chunks torn from a dryish pot-shaped loaf when A’a called from the door, “My lord, the diplomatic pouch has arrived.”

  “Ah,” Hani said, getting to his feet. “Let me look at these before we take off.” He made his way to the vestibule, where the doorkeeper presented him with a leather sack of clay tablets and a single folded papyrus. He brought them back into the salon and reseated himself, drawing a tablet from the bag. “Let’s see what’s new with Aziru’s children.”

  “You read his mail?” Neferet cried.

  “Yes, my dear.” He laid a warning finger to his lips. “King’s orders.” His eyes skittered over the impressed characters, and he said to Pa-kiki as he read, “You’ll need to learn foreign languages if you want to travel.” He laid down the tablet and selected the papyrus bundle. Then he noticed the seal. “Yahya. Something from the vizier. Well, I’d better not read this one.” He thought that this might finally be the summons Aziru was waiting for. The gods knew Hani was eager to have his house back as well.

  “I’ll take these up to him and be right down. I suppose they’re out of bed by now. It’s halfway through the morning.”

  Hani trudged up the stairs, humming a shapeless little tune. He hadn’t given much thought to the situation, as it was inevitable, but it had been uncomfortable to have strangers under his roof day and night for so many months. At the top of the steps, he called out, “Lord Aziru? I have your mail.”

  The landing was silent. Not a snore broke the quiet from any of the rooms. He went up to the roof and glanced around, but nobody was sleeping there—not at this time of year. He returned and knocked at the door where Aziru stayed. No one roused. Gingerly, he pushed it open. The room was empty, the bed made. If he’s not here, the others won’t be either. Strange.

  The Amurrites weren’t prisoners, he reminded himself. They were free to spend time in the city or even travel. But so far, with the exception of their hunting party, they had made it back every night, late though it sometimes was. Hani supposed he had a kind of responsibility to see that nothing happened to them, since they were royal guests even though they lodged with him.

  His tune silenced, he stumped back downstairs and called the housekeeper. “When was the last time you saw Lord Aziru and his men?”

  The woman looked anxious, wringing the towel. “I made the beds yesterday morning, my lord. They hadn’t been used this morning, so I didn’t do anything up there. Is something wrong?”

  “Did they say anything about traveling?” Maybe they found themselves some girls at the beer house, he thought. They’ve apparently only been gone a night.

  The woman shook her head. “Not to me, my lord. Maybe to A’a.”

  “Trouble, son?” asked Mery-ra from across the room.

  “I doubt it. Aziru’s not here, and usually, he lets someone know when they’ll be gone. But it’s no cause for worry.” He grinned. “I only hope they’re not hunting more ostriches, although those plumes were worth something.” What he really hoped was that they hadn’t fallen afoul of some of the violent malcontents who prowled the city by night. Aziru himself was the only one among them who seemed to speak much Egyptian.

  “I’m ready now, Papa. Can we go?” Neferet was bouncing around with her accustomed impatience.

  “Why don’t you all go? I’ll come down when I’ve found Aziru.”

  “Do you need a hand, Hani?” his father asked.

  Pa-kiki chimed in, “I’ll stay too. We can cover more territory.”

  Hani shot Mery-ra a look of mock surprise. “Father, you don’t want to be there when Sat-hut-haru presents you with a grandson?”

  “It won’t be my face she’s searching for while she’s screaming in pain,” Mery-ra said matter-of-factly.

  Pa-kiki looked appalled. “Screaming in pain?”

  Hani reminded him, “Childbirth is grim, son. Show your mother a little appreciation. ‘She had a heavy load in you, but she did not abandon you.’”

  Pa-kiki licked his lips, his eyes wide.

  “Of course,” his grandfather said, “you’ll see some screaming in pain in the army too.”

  But Hani said firmly, “I want one of you to go with Neferet. Choose between you who that will be.” He made for the door.

  “Pa-kiki will go with his sister,” Mery-ra decided unilaterally. “I’ll come with you.”

  They split up then, Hani and Mery-ra making for the gate while the children gathered their baggage and prepared to find a ferry.

  “Where are we heading?” Mery-ra asked once the two men were standing in the street.

  “I thought the beer house might be a place to start.” Hani stared around the empty lane. It was chilly still, and he wished he’d thought to bring a cloak.

  “It’s a little early in the morning, don’t you think?” Mery-ra said.

  “Not if they spent the night there. The place has rooms, I’m told.”

  They set off past the empty villas and crumbling mud-brick walls with their peeling whitewash. Every time Hani witnessed the ruin into which his beautiful City of the Scepter was falling, the sight was a spearpoint of pain through the heart. He saw his father shaking his head and suspected he was having a similar rea
ction.

  “You know,” Mery-ra said as they walked. “I’m going to sell your cattle and convert them into grain or bronze. It will be easier to take up to Pipi now that the weather is cooler.”

  “Good idea,” Hani replied, preoccupied.

  After a while, Mery-ra asked, “Why aren’t we taking the litter?”

  “Because I want to look around. Our friends could be anywhere.”

  The nearest beer house was fairly reputable, a chosen gathering place for visiting merchants or even royal functionaries en route from one town to another. From the outside, Hani couldn’t even tell if it were open at this matutinal hour. The gate to the courtyard was closed, but then he saw that only a reed mat hung in front of the door. The two men pushed in, blinded for a moment by the sudden lack of light. Nothing but the high barred windows and the rear door into the open kitchen court illuminated the room, which was heavy with smoke from the kitchen fires and the lingering fug of sweat and spilled beer.

  Hani cast his eyes around. He saw only a few people seated at the little low tables, eating—an older man, sitting by himself, and a pair of tall foreigners in short dark woolen tunics and ankle boots, their hairy legs stretched out before them. One of them was clean-shaven, and the other had a collar of beard around his jaw. Their hair was cut at shoulder length. Hani nudged his father to a corner seat, not so close the foreigners would notice but close enough to hear them.

  There’s something familiar about those clothes. He chose a stool facing the room so that he could see the staircase up to the bedchambers and also the front door. The darkness of the corner would make them inconspicuous.

  “Order beer and some bread,” he said to Mery-ra under his breath. He strained his ears toward the two men, who were speaking softly one to the other. He was unable to see them well, but they were strapping, rough-faced fellows. Soldiers, or I miss my mark. Hani couldn’t tell if they were carrying arms. There was no reason to think they had anything to do with Aziru, but they’d piqued his curiosity. One raised his voice in a growl of laughter, and Hani heard his words. Mitannians. I was right.

  “I don’t see your Amurrites,” murmured Mery-ra.

  “No, but those men of Naharin interest me. Kiya said two Mitannian mercenaries approached her with the blackmail threat.”

  A potbellied little man brought them their beer and set its stand between them.

  “You drink first,” Mery-ra said, “or we’ll crack heads lunging for the straws.”

  “No, go ahead, Father. I want to listen to these two fellows.” He found himself speaking in a near whisper.

  A flicker of movement in the stairwell drew his eye, and Aziru descended, knotting his belt, his brother and secretary behind him. Well, that was incredible luck, Hani thought. The first place we looked. Instead of hailing them, though, he kept his head averted. From the corner of his eye, he watched them make their way across the room and draw up stools with a screech around the little table where the Mitannians sat.

  “There are your friends,” Mery-ra pointed out—he, too, adopting a barely audible tone.

  “I saw. Keep your face down and act casual. They haven’t spotted us.”

  Aziru had his back to Hani, who couldn’t easily make out his words but detected the intonation of Amurrite. The bearded Mitannian replied in the same language. “What shall we tell him, my lord?”

  Aziru said something else, and the men nodded.

  “He’ll want it in writing, I expect,” said the Mitannian.

  Aziru laughed sarcastically, a sound Hani knew only too well. The Amurrite said audibly, “Not likely. We’ll do all that when I finally get back. I’m not sticking around here much longer, I’ll tell you. Once I’m gone, let the king do his worst.”

  “Pretty insulting, isn’t it?” the clean-shaven Mitannian snorted. “My lord is making a good choice.”

  They fell silent. Hani lowered his face over his bread, his thoughts darkening. What have I just heard?

  After a while, during which time Hani assumed the Amurrites were eating and drinking, he heard a clink of metal thrown down on the table, and Aziru and his followers made their way, without a word, to the staircase and disappeared from sight. The bearded Mitannian scraped the pieces of silver off into a bag and rose from the table. Followed by his fellow, he strode toward the curtained front door and departed, with never a glance at the two Egyptians bent over their breakfast. Hani gave them a bit more time, then he laid a little something on the table for their meal and beckoned his father to the exit.

  “What was that all about?” Mery-ra said once they were out in the sunlight of the street.

  “Some kind of transaction. Aziru seems on the point of leaving Kemet, audience or no. He said the king could do his worst afterward. He doesn’t seem afraid of the consequences.”

  Mery-ra shot his son a sharp glance. “Is he going over to the Hittites, do you think?”

  “It could be interpreted that way. I’d probably better let Lord Ptah-mes know.” Hani stared down the street as if he could see the foreigners retreating. “I’m just as interested in those Mitannians. If they’re Kiya’s mercenaries, they may be serving as intermediaries. Naharin is our ally, supposedly. No one would suspect them of working for the Hittites.”

  “If they’re the same people as Kiya’s blackmailers, weren’t they working for the queen? Surely she’s not in the pay of Kheta!”

  Hani shrugged. “Mercenaries work for whoever pays them. They have no other loyalties.” But admittedly, things seemed suddenly more complicated. “I need to talk to Keliya, if he’s still in the Two Lands. He probably knows all of his countrymen around here.”

  They strode along the half-deserted streets, where beggars lounged in the shadows. He stays with Mane when he’s here. The last man I want to see. Maybe Mane’ll be in Wasshukanni.

  Mane’s substantial Theban house wasn’t far from Hani’s own. Since he was almost always missioned to the Mitannian capital, he hadn’t bothered to build in Akhet-aten either.

  Hani and his father approached the gate identified on the lintel as Mane’s and knocked. The porter let them in and disappeared toward the house to notify his master. A moment later, Mane bloomed in the doorway, round and beaming, his arms extended. “My friend! What brings you here —and voluntarily, eh?” he burbled happily, giving Hani a knowing wink. “Ah, your father, right? Come in, gentlemen, come in.” He beckoned them up the path and into his vestibule. It was a richly appointed place. Mane was well recompensed not only by their own king but also by Tushratta, at whose court he’d served for years. Mane seemed sometimes more Mitannian in his loyalties than Egyptian, but in recent years, Hani could understand that only too well.

  “I’m actually here to talk to Keliya, if he hasn’t left yet,” Hani said. “I wasn’t sure how much of your business about seeing him off was true and how much was for the medjay trailing me.”

  Mane laughed. “He’s here, he’s here. Although, in fact, he will be leaving soon.” He called to a servant, “Go fetch Lord Keliya.” Mane bade Hani and Mery-ra take seats in his lofty salon. A middle-aged woman as round as her husband was sitting there. “Do you mind, my dear? Business.” She rose, smiling, and made her way elsewhere.

  “I’ve never met your wife,” said Hani.

  “You never come to see me,” Mane scolded him merrily. His eyes sharpened, and he lowered his voice. “Any movement on our little project?”

  “I need to bring you up-to-date. We may well have the solution in hand.”

  Mane’s eyes widened. “Well done, my friend. I had confidence in you.”

  “You can trust my son to get things done,” said Mery-ra proudly.

  Hani heard footsteps on the stairs, and Keliya appeared, his long face garlanded with a smile. “Hani! I hope this means good news!”

  The two men embraced, and Hani introduced Keliya to Mery-ra. The Mitannian emissary was nearly ten years Hani’s junior but looked older—a long, thin, stooped fellow with droopy eyebrows and a
retreating hairline, who had the air of having scarcely raised his nose from the scribal table in his life.

  “I think the news is good. My father is aware. Do you mind if he hears us?”

  “Not at all,” Keliya said.

  Hani proceeded to describe his idea to promote the queen and the way she and Ay had received the plan upon the recommendation of her physician. The two men hung on his words, nodding, hmming, and raising an occasional eyebrow.

  “Did she seem to like it? Was she willing to relent in her campaign against Kiya?” Mane asked eagerly.

  “I think she was interested. Whether she’ll relent, I couldn’t say. But I painted the direst of pictures if anything should happen to Tushratta’s daughter.”

  “Let’s hope she doesn’t realize how straitened things are for him at the moment,” Keliya said with a sigh. “But it sounds optimistic, doesn’t it?”

  “I think so,” Hani said. “Actually, Keliya, I had something else I wanted to ask you about. Do you know the two Mitannians who brought our girl’s blackmail message?”

  “I think I know who they are, yes. They were, as they told her, veterans of her father’s army turned sell swords. At some point in the past, they were bodyguards for that Abdi-ashirta, leader of the hapiru.”

  “So it was the same two men? I may have seen them this morning.” Hani found this identity troubling, although that could explain why Aziru had dealings with them. “Do you know if they’re still working for the queen?”

  “Hani, I never knew they were working for the queen,” said Keliya with a twisted smile, “or I could have saved you a lot of investigation.”

  What if they weren’t working for the queen? Hani thought suddenly. What if she sent the first message with Kha-em-sekhem, but someone else sent the second one through the mercenaries? What if someone else tried to have me killed? Then again, why complicate the affair unnecessarily? It was unlikely two people had wanted to ruin the hapless Mitannian princess... unless someone wanted to see the alliance with her father broken wide open. A chill ran up Hani’s back.