by N. L. Holmes
But they simultaneously urged him not to think of it.
“I’ve called the litter bearers,” Lady Apeny said. “That will be more discreet.”
“Are you so sure the temples are not under observation?” Ptah-mes asked his wife with a pointed look that belied his courteous tone.
“I know my way around, my dear.”
Hani couldn’t wait to get out of the freezing atmosphere of their dialogue. The litters were brought up, Apeny mounted one and Hani the other, and they departed, curtains drawn. Hani’s last glimpse of Ptah-mes revealed him standing as stiff as a statue in the garden path, his features frozen.
⸎
This was grossly imprudent, Hani thought uneasily as the litter swayed along. He felt rather as if he’d been trapped into an act of folly. Hani might easily have discharged his offering otherwise; he wondered if Lady Apeny was trying to prove something to her husband, perhaps. He peeked through the linen curtains of the litter and saw that they were passing the facade of the Ipet-isut, that majestic, superhumanly high wall that undulated like the waters of creation around a sacred space as vast as a city. He felt the hairs on his arms stand up. Even abandoned and locked, the Greatest of Shrines was alive with the power of the divine.
The litters passed the southern pylon and continued to the desert side of the enclosure, facing the Gem-pa-aten. Hani’s litter stopped, and the bearers set it down. He dismounted to find they’d drawn up beside a small service gate, probably used for emergencies. It had been barred and sealed, but the seals were broken, and the bar was propped against the wall.
Hani’s throat was tight, and droplets of sweat beaded his forehead despite the cool of the day.
“My lady, I’m not purified. I can’t enter the temple,” he whispered to his companion.
But she replied with perfect graciousness, “The whole precinct is deconsecrated, Hani, and the sacred images have been removed. I certainly wouldn’t take you somewhere you couldn’t respectfully go. Nub-nefer would never forgive me, would she?”
She knocked, and someone opened the door without showing himself. To Hani’s relief, they stepped into a courtyard. Before him stretched an enormous rectangular lake—the sacred lake that his wife had spoken of but which Hani had never expected to see. All around were small buildings—or buildings that appeared small against the immensity of their surroundings—clustered as in a miniature city. Magazines, perhaps, or workshops or offices. But behind them, dwarfing them, rose the divine mansion of Amen-Ra, towering walls and pylons of yellow stone rosy in the late-afternoon sun of winter, with the golden tips of multiple obelisks skewering the sky.
“You may lay down your offerings, Hani. May the Hidden One and the Great Mother grant your grandchild long years of life, prosperity, and health,” Apeny said quietly. Hani knelt and laid the basket and the jar on the sacred ground. On this very spot, the first dry earth had risen from the primal flood. He remained there, his nose to that earth, his hands over his eyes, overwhelmed by the holiness of it all and the magnificence and the vastness. Waves of power lapped him until he cringed under it. This great god would not be disrespected forever. Hani got to his feet, breathing hard.
Apeny said with gentle courtesy, “Are you all right? You look pale.”
“This was a great privilege, my lady,” he murmured.
She smiled with deep warmth, and they turned back toward the door. Three men stood there—two burly and older, one small and slim and about Hani’s age.
Hani widened his eyes in shock. “Amen-em-hut? This is where you are?”
His brother-in-law extended his arms, and the two of them embraced. The priest was beaming, looking considerably healthier and better fed than when Hani had last seen him. He turned to the other men. “Here’s Hani, my sister’s husband, whom I spoke of. He can be trusted.”
The taller of the two said in a deep voice, “I am Mai, First Prophet of the Hidden One.”
“And I am Si-mut, Second Prophet,” said the shorter man.
So, here are the silent crocodiles. They haven’t given up at all. “Honored, my lords,” said Hani with a bow. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t know that these men were gathered in the shuttered temple. But far from feeling fear, he rejoiced that their resistance to oppression was strong.
Mai said in his profound voice, “Your brother-in-law has told us of your courage, your aid to him. The Hidden One counts on such men to return him to the light, Hani.”
“I think the majority of the people of the Black Land are with you, Lord Mai. The king’s new religion offers nothing to anyone but himself.” Hani spoke more boldly than he’d ever dared.
The high priest smiled grimly. “I was appointed by the Osir Nefer-ma’at-ra. Much as he revered the King of the Gods, he’d already begun to look with mistrust at the power of the divine household. Our present ruler fears us mightily, and like anyone who is afraid, he has tried to kill us off. But the lord of the universe will not be contained. This king is not the living Haru but a man. His days will end. The gods will triumph.”
“May it be so, my lord. May my new grandson, at least, see the return of our old ways.”
Amen-em-hut took him by the arm and said quietly, eyeing Hani’s face with concern. “Is it true the police got hold of you, my brother?”
“They did. And they’ve been following me. I only had a respite today because of... circumstances. I was able to tell them honestly that I didn’t know where you were. Now I suppose I’ll have to lie.” He said it humorously, although it was a serious consideration.
“Ah, but I don’t live here,” said his brother-in-law with a matching crafty smile. “You can still speak the truth if they ask.”
The high priest said, “Hani, you shouldn’t leave the temple precinct until after twilight. In the meantime, let us talk.” He indicated one of the small buildings within the enclosure and led the way in his heavy tread, with Hani and the other priests and Lady Apeny trailing him. They entered what appeared to be a chancery, the walls lined with shelves of papyrus rolls, and took their seats cross-legged on the floor in a circle.
These men of great power and wealth were all dressed plainly, with no jewels or insignia of office. They could have walked the streets without anyone recognizing them at all. Mai was somewhere between Hani’s age and Mery-ra’s, a tall, stocky man with a jowly face, stubborn jaw, and thick nose. There was something generically middle-aged about his appearance—Hani felt he had no idea at all what the priest had looked like in his youth—but his narrow eyes were fierce and intelligent. This was not a man who was going to hold his tongue forever. Si-mut was softer, plump and scholarly looking, his bulbous eyes ringed with shadow. But his gaze, too, was penetrating, despite the frequent blinking. Hani had only ever seen them in procession, from afar. Beside them, Amen-em-hut, with his handsome, animated face, looked young and light. The high priests were men of substance in every sense, rooted in ages of tradition. They were scions of the greatest families of Kemet and had served at the highest levels in the government. They’d wielded power second only to the king’s.
Why did I ever think little Shu alone was keeping the fire alight? Hani realized a great weight had lifted itself from his heart.
Lord Mai began to speak, and the others fixed upon him attentively. “Hani, my friend. Your brother-in-law has sung your praises as a man of honesty and piety. He understands your need to keep a low profile, to maintain your credibility in the government. Many of ours have taken the same approach, and it’s valuable—perhaps more valuable, in the long run, than the role of those who are designated to speak out, to keep fanning the flames.” He nodded at Amen-em-hut then turned back to Hani. “I speak to you in frankness, trusting that you’re a man of discretion. I’m going to tell you some things that may offend you as a member of the king’s foreign service, but I beg you to consider them in the larger framework of things. The cosmic framework.”
Lord Mai seemed to await an acknowledgment from Hani, who tipped his head. Hi
s heart was pounding heavily as if in expectation of something dangerous—or something wonderful.
The First Prophet continued. “We hope to destabilize the administration, Hani. Both abroad and at home. You’ve no doubt noticed the dissatisfaction in Waset these days. If the entire kingdom were that outraged, the king wouldn’t last a fortnight. He has already dealt a death blow to the economy by shutting down the entire temple system, but that’s a slow-acting poison. We want to provoke something more immediate—something that will cost him the support of the army.”
“The Hittites,” said Hani under his breath. Suddenly, things made sense.
Lord Mai’s wide lips spread in a predatory smile. “I see you follow me. We have pushed the treaty with Naharin to a rupturing point—although, as you know, the king himself has let it languish until it’s a mere dead letter. We have agitated among the northern vassals to seek their alliances elsewhere.”
“Forgive me, my lord”—as a member of the foreign service, Hani felt he had to object—“but this seems very like treason against the Two Lands. Conspiring with a foreign government? Soliciting rebellion among the vassals?”
Si-mut spoke up, his voice hoarse and high-pitched. “We’re not conspiring, Hani. Ironically, our enemies of Kheta are more pious than the king of the Two Lands. They are devout worshipers of the sun and see in our Ra one more avatar of their own Ishtanu. They are enthusiastically in favor of the restoration of the rights of the Hidden One. But we have promised them nothing. At most, they want to become our ally, our trading partner—something that a new administration would favor. We imagine a world where the great powers are friends, not enemies. Is this disloyalty, do you think?” He blinked his myopic eyes like a great thoughtful owl.
“Still,” Hani said dubiously, “it’s easy enough to call for an end to the king. But who will replace him? The Great Queen, if she survives him? That’s no improvement. A half-witted brother? One of his daughters? She would be ruled by some man.”
“Yes, she would,” said Mai with a thin smile. Amen-em-hut, at his side, shot Hani a triumphant look. “And she would need a husband. Any prince who worships the sun and longs for the restoration of Amen-Ra would do, wouldn’t he?”
Hani stared at his lap, trying to absorb all this. Part of him was horrified. Does this mean what I think it means? They’re undermining everything I work for daily. How can this not be treason? Yet as Mai had said, it might be for the greater good of the kingdom. Part of Hani approved.
“Have you any questions?” Si-mut asked in his reedy owl voice.
Hani looked up, overwhelmed by a sudden urge to grin. “Do you have an agent in the household of the King’s Beloved Wife, by any chance?”
“We do,” Mai said. “The royal palaces are full of our people. As you might imagine, not many of the king’s intimates—even his own family—are really convinced by his new religion. They fear, as any right-minded person would, the consequences of turning our backs on the powers of heaven.”
“Will you persist in trying to ruin the princess Kiya, my lord?”
“Her homeland is collapsing without any help from us, and the king is doing nothing. Many people in the military are scandalized. Our work there is over.”
Hani thought for a moment. “Then, was it you who tried to kill me—or warn me away—in the City of the Dead?”
“Not at all, Hani. I swear by the ka of my mother.”
Hani filed that answer away for further reflection. “Who has really been writing those calls to arms with Amen-em-hut’s name on them?”
Lady Apeny smiled proudly. “I have. My secretaries have made copies that have been distributed as far north as Per-wedjyt in the marshes of the Great Green and south into Wawat.”
“But why use his name, my lady? The police are ready to punish him for something he didn’t even do.”
Lady Apeny looked regretful, but then her cool self-control returned. “No one would listen to a woman, Hani. And... out of respect for members of my family who might find it hard to accommodate such notoriety, I—we—decided a false name was wiser.”
“I wish it really was me.” Amen-em-hut looked quite exalted, his cheeks flaming. “But as you know, I had no way to write them or get them out. That will change now.”
“Your wife thinks you’re dead,” Hani said sadly, and Amen-em-hut’s face fell.
Mai said in his grave tones that would have made a divine pronouncement of the most banal remark, “We’re all paying a price, Hani, even those of us who seem to be acquiescing in evil. But if we’re victorious, it will have been worth it.”
Hani heaved a sigh, conflicted in spite of himself. “What is it you want of me, my lords... and lady? Why have you confided your actions to me in this way? What if I report you?”
“You won’t, any more than my husband would,” said Lady Apeny, “because you have a conscience. You’re caught between your oath to the king and what you know to be the real path of moral right.” Her cool expression softened, and she looked at him with pity. “It’s a hard place to be. I’ve seen it up close. And it’s harder by far if you think you are alone.”
“What we want is this,” said Si-mut. “A man we can trust in the Hall of Royal Correspondence—”
“Trust to do what?” Hani interrupted, uneasy. “Subvert our foreign policy?”
“What exactly is our foreign policy, Hani?” asked Mai pointedly.
Hani found he had no answer.
“You speak many languages and have an excellent rapport with foreign rulers. When the time comes, their support or blind eye may be the difference between success and failure. Until then, just do your job. If you can figure out what it is.”
Hani’s head felt so heavy he could hardly hold it up—it was packed dense with ideas that rattled and clamored, demanding to be examined. He needed desperately to reflect, to straighten out his raging thoughts. He looked at the faces of those around him—serious middle-aged people, not youthful fanatics but men and women with experience and power and wealth who had committed their lives to a cause that exacted a real sacrifice. All Aha’s talk about corruption and venality in the priesthood—he didn’t see it here.
Mai rose, and the others followed. Hani brushed off the seat of his kilt and let out a deep breath.
Lady Apeny said, “I’ll send you back to your home in my litter, Hani. I need to stay for a while.” She took his hands warmly. “I do hope you’ll consider our offer.”
“If all you require of me is to do my job and long for the restoration of the Hidden One in my heart, then consider me your servant, my lady, my lords.” Hani made a full court bow, with his hand to his mouth. Passing by the sacred lake that sparkled like a living thing under the dying sunlight, he exited by the same door through which he’d entered. Behind the glimmering golden tips of the obelisks, evening was sinking deep into a twilight the color of dry blood.
What a day this has been, he thought.
⸎
By the time the litter and its bearers had deposited Hani at his house, it was nearly fully dark. He drifted into the kitchen and asked the cook to make him a simple little something, regretting mightily the absence of the family. He was aching to talk to Nub-nefer or his father about the strange, thought-provoking events of the day. Nub-nefer wouldn’t leave Sat-hut-haru until her days of purification were over. He hoped his secret encounter with the priesthood wouldn’t embolden her to become active against the administration after he had worked so hard to convince her to stay silent—although she might be proud of him, thinking he’d finally committed himself to standing against the Aten and his solipsistic cult. But in fact, Hani didn’t know what had actually changed in his heart. Perhaps he’d foreseen with greater clarity the ultimate—the inevitable—triumph of the Hidden One.
And the attack in the streets. Why would Aziru have paid someone to kill me after all the months of hospitality I showed him? Is the vassal king that determined to keep his dickering with the Hittites secret? It wasn’t that much
of a secret that the northern principalities were on the verge of bolting. Shuppiluliuma was at their doorstep, and their suzerain, hundreds of iterus away, couldn’t be troubled to raise a finger. Jumping ship was probably evidence of Aziru’s good sense. The priests’ work on that front, encouraging Aziru and his men to defect, had been only too easy.
Hani settled down to a lonely meal. He spied Qenyt on the porch and hoped that she, at least, would join him, but she seemed bent on some hunt. He was draining the last of his beer when A’a coughed at the entrance to the vestibule.
“My lord, the high commissioner is at the door. Shall I let him in at this hour?”
“But of course!” cried Hani, rising hastily and straightening his clothes. He stuck his wig back on, wondering what could have brought Ptah-mes to his door so late.
The commissioner stood in the doorway, immaculate as ever, his impassive face giving no clue as to the gravity of his mission. Hani’s heart skipped a beat in anxiety. “My lord, be welcome. Can I offer you something to drink?”
“Later perhaps.” Ptah-mes smiled, but it was a strained effort. “You wouldn’t happen to know where my wife is, would you?”
“Ah,” Hani said, relieved. “Probably. She sent me home in one of the litters and said she’d be delayed at the temple. I, uh, I saw my brother-in-law there.”
Ptah-mes’s face darkened, but he asked lightly, “Should I be worried?”
“No, no. The other prophets were there too.”
“Don’t let her drag you into anything, Hani.”
“I’m an adult, my lord,” Hani said with a smile. His superior seemed brittle and on edge. Hani sensed he needed comforting, but Ptah-mes wasn’t a man one could throw an arm around and give a squeeze. Hani lowered his voice. “Your wife admires you very much, my lord. She sees you as a man of conscience.”
Ptah-mes stared at him, an eyebrow raised skeptically. “She said that?”
“She did.”
Ptah-mes looked unsettled. He was silent, as if pondering Hani’s words, then seemed to shake off his reflective mood and said in a brighter tone, “Since I was alone, I thought I’d come look at those horses of your brother. My men have torches. That should be enough light to get a basic view.”