by N. L. Holmes
The two men embraced, then Aha bent and kissed his mother. Mery-ra was next in line, and at last, Aha leaned over his sister on her couch.
“What kind of animal do you want to be?” asked the relentless Neferet, hanging on his arm, almost before he could finish his greetings. “We’re all animals.”
“I’m a duck,” Hani informed his son with a grin. “Your mother is a cat.”
“Grandfather’s a goose, and Baket-iset is a crocodile, and I’m a horse, and—”
Aha radiated the smile of a man pleased with himself. “I’ll be a lion.”
Mery-ra and Hani exchanged mock-impressed glances. “The boy’s a lion,” said Aha’s grandfather, raising an eyebrow and nodding knowingly.
The boy’s an ass. He can never grasp when a bit of self-deprecating humor might be in order. Hani gave an interior sigh. “Thank you for dropping by, my son. Are you on your way somewhere?”
“No, heading home. I was at the chancery late.” Aha, unlike his father and grandfather at his age, was a scribe in the Hall of Royal Correspondence. He had shown no interest in going into the military’s civilian service. According to Aha, the chances for being noticed were higher under the nose of the vizier of the Upper Kingdom. And unlike Hani, he had no desire to learn foreign languages.
The boy’s putting on weight, thought Hani, eyeing Aha’s solid belly, across which the folds of his elegant shirt pulled taut. I guess he’s doing all right for himself. He loved his firstborn, but in recent years, Aha had begun to draw away from him, belittling the elder man’s career in subtle ways, and making it clear that if they were to discuss politics, they would be on opposing sides. He consorted with the young henchmen of the coregent, a fact that he never ceased to trumpet to his parents and siblings. In short, he had become an unpleasant person—a man on the make. Hani found it interesting that even the younger children had thought of Maya before they’d thought of their own brother in their game of choosing animals.
“How are Khentet-ka and the children, my son?” Nub-nefer asked Aha, rising and going to him then clinging to his hand.
“They’re well, Mother, and no doubt awaiting my return. I just wanted to see Father before he took off for A’amu. I can’t stay.”
“Come visit your mother while I’m gone, son. Surely you’ll have a little time for such a thing.”
“Yes, yes. ‘Support her as she supported you,’ and all that.” Aha smirked and gazed around languidly as if to an audience. He had picked up the mannerisms of the coregent.
Hani wasn’t sure if Aha even noticed how Nub-nefer dropped his hand and drew away from him, her nostrils whitening. Hani, too, flinched to hear his aphorism so sarcastically spoken in his son’s mouth. Had all his teachings decayed into nothing better than smart repartee? His last evening at home was not shaping up well. Once more, that sense of chaos bubbling under the mild surface of everyday life sent a tremor of unease through him.
“Well, everyone, I need to get home. Have a safe trip, Father. May the Aten shed his rays on you.” Oblivious, Aha beamed around him, tugged Neferet’s sidelock, and turned.
In a moment, the brightness of his white garments had melted into the darkness of the vestibule. No one said a word or moved until the outer door closed with a deep thump and the doorkeeper’s footsteps disappeared. Hani caught Nub-nefer’s eye and saw that her lips were pressed tightly together in an effort not to say something the children shouldn’t hear.
Mery-ra cleared his throat and said with amusement, “Do you suppose he dresses like that to go to work every day? Earrings, even. What next?”
Hani just smiled, hoping the pain in his heart was not visible, but Nub-nefer said sarcastically, “He must have forgotten his shebyu collar.”
“Does he really have one?” Pa-kiki cried, his eyes lighting up in excitement. He had not caught his mother’s tone.
“No, son,” said Hani gently. “Your mother means he was showing off for us. He wants us to be proud of him.”
“We are proud of him,” said Neferet loyally.
Mery-ra murmured, catching his son’s eye with a twinkle, “Of course. He’s a lion.”
Hani smiled, but his heart was heavy. And he couldn’t help but notice that his son had blessed him in the name of the Aten.
CHAPTER 3
Perhaps it was his age, but it seemed to Hani that the weeks of travel between Kemet and Kharu grew longer every time he made the trip. At least he had Maya’s company. Hani wondered why he had never permitted his young secretary to travel with him before. He wanted to think it was not because he felt any shame on Maya’s behalf. But Hani was almost painfully conscious that the youth was the only son of a widowed mother; he couldn’t bear it if any action of his deprived the good woman of her sole support in the world. Now he found that the young scribe was worth his small weight in gold as a traveling companion. The sheer delight Maya took in every new sight and taste and smell and sound kept Hani chuckling. It was true, as the children had observed, that Maya could be prickly, but he certainly kept his prickles out of sight these days. The misgivings that had darkened Hani’s last few weeks in Waset faded the farther from his homeland he passed.
Northward they sailed, the ship bounding like an eager gazelle across the glassy green waves. They had stayed within view of the coast of Fenkhu, anchoring at night. Now they were in the waters of the northern region of Kharu, with its rich little city-states, and he could see the misty white line frothed with dark that marked the eastern horizon, proclaiming the proximity of land. Their sail popped and bellied under the wind. Gulls, the white-headed and the black, swirled around them and clustered in their wake. Snuffing the fresh sea breeze, Hani rested his forearms on the wicker gunwales and stared up at the birds. One floated in midair just beyond his reach, managing to stay abreast of the moving ship as if attached by an invisible leash. It fixed its round white eye on the human with a bold, demanding stare, its wire-thin yellow legs trailing.
“I have no fish,” Hani told it.
“What’s that, my lord?” asked Maya at his side. It was difficult to hear even oneself with the rush of the water along the sides of the ship, the wind, the booming and clapping of the waves, the hissing of ropes, and the cries of sailors a constant background to every conversation.
Hani suspected he would continue shouting out his words even after they reached land. He laughed. “Talking to the gulls. Look, Maya—a pelican!” He pointed toward the coast. “See? It’s diving for fish.”
“Not waiting for you to give him some. A virtuous bird,” said the secretary, nodding. He couldn’t see over the wickerwork and had to peek between the withies if he wanted to look at the sea. The pelican disappeared, leaving only a spray of foam behind. A moment later, it reappeared on the surface of the water, its pouch bulging and bouncing with live contents. Maya screwed up his nose and cast a queasy sidelong glance at his employer.
Hani shrugged, grinning. “We have to find entertainment in humble places on board a ship,” he said. “We could match these birds to aphorisms.” He pointed to the floating gulls, who’d begun to screech and fight among themselves. “Do not enter into a crowd if you find it in an uproar and about to come to blows.”
Maya riposted, “Stay away from hostile people. Keep your heart quiet among fighters.”
“Very good, Maya!” Hani cried, amused. “You’ve memorized my maxims, I see.” My own son has not done so well, he thought less happily. Good thing Hani had altered the rebellious “son’s” name in his collection of aphorisms, or the two of them would be shamed. “Here’s one to put in the mouth of this bird: ‘Give him food from your house; do not slight his requests.’”
Maya hollered with laughter. He stared about, scratching his head, then said, “Food abounds for him who shares it.”
“I confess, my young friend, you’ve bested me! ‘Learn wisdom from the seagull, who gets what he wants.’”
“Is that a real saying?” Maya looked up at him dubiously. “I don’t remember
it.”
Laughing, Hani shook his head. “It’s a new one I just made up. What, have you memorized them all?”
Maya lowered his eyes modestly. “I used to practice writing them out when I was a student.”
Hani fell silent, his heart warmed with affection. Maya tried very hard—perhaps too hard—to please his employer, but gratitude was an attractive virtue. Hani glanced down surreptitiously at the little man, who was peering through the gunwales. He was a handsome young fellow, not as snub-nosed or bulbous browed as his kind sometimes were. Still, Hani imagined that life must be difficult in myriad ordinary ways for Maya in a world sized to people so much taller than he.
“My lord,” a voice boomed from behind Hani, and he turned. The captain of the vessel was making his way across the pitching deck toward him, his skirts flapping around his legs. “We’re within sight of our destination, Simurru. Shall I notify your men?”
“Please do, Captain.”
The seaman headed, swaying, for the cabin where the officer in charge of the royal escort was ensconced. Hani looked down at his secretary and lifted an eyebrow. “Well, Maya, here we are. I wonder what we’ll find.”
The two men stood staring out across the waves to where the line of land drew nearer and nearer. Now they could see a cluster of dun-colored cubes that marked the buildings of the port town. A watchtower rose by the opening of the harbor. Little by little, the ship glided toward its narrow mouth, where other vessels floated upon the water ever more thickly. On board the ship, sailors swarmed to bring down the sail and hustled to the benches, preparing to row to their berth. Through the harbor mouth the ship passed, surging forward unevenly like a sparrow in flight. The harbor stretched out, a long, narrowing, bifurcated shape, pronged deep into the land. Warships seemed to occupy one branch—Simurru, along with Ullaza, was the center of the northernmost Egyptian military garrison. Their own vessel slid toward the other passage, where commercial ships and fishing boats congregated like shore birds. The town closed about them, dusty and provincial. In the heat of early afternoon, it scarcely seemed inhabited except for longshoremen gathered on the paved quay, waiting for the stone anchors to drop.
Above them, on a low rise to the left, stood the walled citadel of Simurru, nearly encircled by its double port. The tower of the temple reared over it all.
At Hani’s side, the other official passengers stood, waiting to disembark—Pa-khuru, the young officer in charge of their escort, royal merchants, servants, secretaries of various specialties, and the small unit of infantrymen who accompanied Hani. How he would welcome saying goodbye to the heaving deck and cramped, spray-drenched cabin of the ship for more than a night and to walk once more upon solid land—even a foreign land—under the rays of the Lord Ra. Hani drew a deep breath, savoring the dry heat, dust, and smells of smoke and pungent brush that proclaimed him near, at last, to the earth. The inevitable gulls strutted along the quay, only to rise, squawking, at the crash of the gangplank as the crew heaved its end to shore.
“My lord,” said Pa-khuru, “we’ll accompany you to the commissioner’s palace, then I must join my superior officer at Urusalim. Forgive me.”
“Follow your orders, Pa-khuru,” Hani said graciously. “There will be plenty of soldiers here to protect us, I’m sure.” He wondered that there had not been a sufficient garrison to protect Abdi-ashirta. But perhaps in the chaos of a siege...
When the gangplank had been stabilized, the passengers began their descent, led by Hani and his secretary. The narrow boards bounced and echoed beneath the footsteps of the stream of men. Hani never disembarked without remembering the nightmarish moment six years before that had cost his eldest daughter her mobility. She had toppled head over heels from the deck and struck the gangplank crosswise on her back. Then, trying desperately to catch herself, she rolled down the barred boards, hit the quay, and dropped screaming into the water. Hani and a sailor threw themselves into the river after her, sparing Baket-iset the jaws of a crocodile. But the men had to bend and manhandle her to keep her afloat in the deep surging water until rude hands from the steep-sided quay dragged her back to land. She’d been broken badly on the stone edging, her spine damaged too severely for even the royal physicians to make her altogether whole again.
A burning in Hani’s nose warned him to drag his memories away. How did it happen? A little dancer, so graceful and surefooted. How did she slip? “Watch your footing, Maya,” Hani said automatically to the secretary at his rear.
⸎
The small governor’s palace of the town was as desolate as an empty house during this molten hour of the siesta. The chamberlain received them with expressionless formality, and the party trooped upstairs to the rooms assigned them, led by a skinny young eunuch who had been designated as Hani's servant.
“What’s your name, son?” Hani asked the youth in the language of A’amu after he had helped the Egyptian set out his chests and bags.
“Milk-addi, my lord. Is there anything you need?” the eunuch replied, his hands clasped obsequiously.
“Where is my secretary staying? I’ll have frequent need of his services, I think.”
“And that would be the... small person with the pen case?”
Hani nodded, concealing his amusement. “That would be the one.”
“He’s right next door, my lord.” Milk-addi indicated a room to his left. “Shall I call him for you?”
“Not yet. Let’s give him time to get unpacked.”
“Is there anything else, my lord? The commissioner wanted me to tell you that a house will be found for you and your party if you prefer, but he hopes you will be comfortable in the official residence for a few days.”
“Thank you, Milk-addi.” Hani slipped the boy a little pair of bronze earrings, the sort he carried for just such a purpose.
The eunuch’s chinless face brightened in gratitude. “My lord is too kind. And you speak very good Amurrite, too, if it’s not too bold of me to say so.”
“May the lord of the horizon protect you, son. I’m sure we’ll see you again.” Before the door closed, Hani added, “In fact, can you send me the commissioner when he wakes from his siesta?” The youth’s eyes widened, but Hani reassured him. “I outrank him. He’ll come.”
The young slave had scarcely made his grateful departure when Maya appeared in the doorway, hands on hips and face red and disgruntled. “That ball-less bastard. He doesn’t speak any Egyptian.”
“You mean Milk-addi?”
“You know his name?” Maya goggled. “I couldn’t get a word of sense out of him. They give us a servant who can’t even speak our language.”
“Well, these accommodations are only temporary anyway. We’re to be assigned our own house soon, if we want.” Hani pointed a thumb toward the stack of baggage. “Let’s find our writing things and get a kind of office set up. I’m eager to speak to the local commissioner about the death of Abdi-ashirta. The sooner we do our work, the sooner we can get back.”
The two men rifled around until they had found some rolls of papyrus in tubular leather cases. Maya had never removed his pen case from his shoulder the entire trip, determined to be recognizable as a scribe, Hani supposed. Milk-addi had given Hani a jug of water, and a few drops served to moisten Maya’s ink. The emissary and his scribe seated themselves on the floor, and Hani had just begun to dictate when a brusque knock sounded at the door. Immediately, without waiting for a reply, a man flung the panel open and swaggered into the room. He looked around then saw the scribes on the floor.
“Lord Hani?” he said, advancing without a reverence. “I’m Haya, the commissioner of Simurru. I’m known as the Priest.”
The Priest—Pa-hem-nedjer—was a big-shouldered, raw-boned man, perhaps Hani’s age or a little older, who had shed his formal shirt and wig in the humid heat. There was something coarse about his face, with its pendulous, reddened nose, pouchy eyes, and thick, down-curved lips. If he really was a priest, he had certainly let his hair grow. Its grizzle
d bristles covered his scalp to the depth of a thumb’s joint, except where age had thinned it over the low forehead, and his chest was a thicket of graying sprouts. Pa-hem-nedjer’s tone was ungracious, as if he blamed Hani for his double humiliation at the hands of Abdi-ashirta.
Perhaps he just can’t wait to get home. He’s been here for years. Aloud, Hani said, “Thank you for consenting to meet with me so soon, Lord Haya. May I offer you a stool?”
He crawled to his feet, and the two older men seated themselves. “My secretary will take notes, if that please you, my lord. We want to be sure our good god Neb-ma’at-ra gets an accurate picture of the situation.” He smiled disarmingly at the commissioner, who stared about him, as sullen as ever. Reporting to the royal investigator seemed to be an imposition.
“So, how did you encounter Abdi-ashirta?” Hani began smoothly. “When did you know he’d been killed?”
Pa-hem-nedjer sneered. “As soon as I saw the knife sticking out of his back. He was lying across his bed—my bed— covered in blood.”
“And when was this, my lord? Can you give me a sense of what was happening when you found him?” Hani asked.
The commissioner scrubbed his big nose between a thumb and forefinger. “Our troops had just broken into the palace after a skirmish at the gate. The city siege was only a token, actually. I suspect Abdi-ashirta wanted us to find him as we had before, with the old bastard dry-washing his hands and protesting that he had just warmed the sheets for us until we could get here.”
A chilly little trickle of distaste dripped in Hani’s gut—not for the foreigner Abdi-ashirta but for this countryman of his own, who was so damned unlikable.
“I suppose the victim has been buried by now, has he? Is the knife still around? I’d rather like to see it.”
“Of course he’s been buried.” Pa-hem-nedjer snorted. “It’s been weeks. Months.”
Hani smiled politely.