by N. L. Holmes
Hani gazed at the youth affectionately. Then he said with a twinkle of mischief, to disarm the sudden tenderness he felt for Maya, “Even if we die at sea and there’s nothing to put in it?”
Maya’s eyes grew round. “But you said we were in no danger.”
Hani refrained from laughing. “Building a worthy tomb is a laudable ambition, Maya. Do not lose yourself in the external world to the extent that you neglect the place of your eternal rest. Start saving now. It takes a long time.”
⸎
The weary travelers arrived late in the afternoon. The servants of King Rib-addi led Hani and Maya and their staff to their rooms, as had become customary. Maya noted that the door-closure system was the same as at Simurru. Under the eyes of his colleagues, who clustered, tittering, in their doorway, Maya had the presence of mind to gesture to one of the slaves that he wanted the bolt string down. He swaggered into his room with no loss of dignity.
The next morning, Lord Hani called Maya to his quarters. “We’re due to meet with Rib-addi before lunch. I want no time wasted on this arbitration. We’ll listen to his side of the story, then we’ll pay a call on Yapakh-addi, who is in Ullaza, farther to the north. Then somehow, I’ll make a judgment, and we’ll be back to investigating our murders.”
CHAPTER 5
“It’s beginning to feel like home,” said Maya dryly as he and Lord Hani stood in Rib-addi’s luxurious salon. He stared around the room and pushed back his wig to swab his forehead, beaded with sweat in the sticky heat of autumn.
Hani chuckled in his habitual way—a kind of humorous bouncing of the belly with not much more noise than a series of quiet puffs. His little brown eyes, which had recently taken on a cogitative squint, were crinkled with amusement. “I agree. We’ve spent far too much time here. I hope Rib-addi and Yapakh-addi are both open to an accommodation and that we can go home soon.” He grinned. “To our real home, I mean.”
Maya threw back his head and laughed. And naturally, that was the moment when King Rib-addi entered, another man following in his wake. Maya’s face burned with embarrassment.
He would gladly have scuttled away out of sight, but the king tilted his face at him curiously. “Is the little secretary amused, Hani? Does he know how serious this meeting is? Do you know that, son?” The king shuffled to his chair and sank into it, no longer going through the obsequious pantomime of prostration.
The man at his side, seemingly forgotten, took it upon himself to make the introductions. “I am Prince Ili-rapikh, my lord. The king’s brother and vizier.”
Maya suspected that in the prince, he could see Rib-addi some ten years younger and in better health. Ili-rapikh was on the verge of old age but still spry and strong looking in a wiry way. He had a handsome, narrow face and grizzled beard and the same sly black eyes as his royal brother. They shifted back and forth from Hani to Maya, and one could fairly hear the thoughts buzz inside his head like those scarabs that flew, whirring, through the summer air.
“Honored, my lord,” murmured Hani with a friendly smile.
“Ah, Hani, Hani. So good to have you at my side. We must settle that unholy rascal Yapakh-addi before he bankrupts my kingdom,” Rib-addi cried, lifting his bony hands.
Hani bowed, and Maya, glad to hide his face for a moment, did the same. Then, without making eye contact with Rib-addi, he settled himself on the floor and prepared to write.
“My lord must understand,” Hani said amiably, as he seated himself, “I’m not exactly by your side. I must remain impartial, you know.”
“That’s fine.” A big wine stain disfigured the breast of Rib-addi’s expensive blue tunic, and his beard was strewn with crumbs. “You’re an honest man, and you’ll see soon enough that I’ve been wronged. Wronged, Hani. That misbegotten dog has wronged me.” His shirred lips trembled, but the blackcurrant eyes were shrewd.
“Explain the situation to me. What has he taken from you? Why? And how?”
Rib-addi shrank into his chair and heaved a defeated sigh. “For several years now, Yapakh-addi—may his balls wither and fall off—has been raiding my lands, stealing my vineyards and fields, taking cattle and horses. Horses, Hani. How can I defend Nimmureya’s lands without chariotry? And then he started taking people. First slaves. Then free men—farmers and craftsmen. He’s bankrupting me. I can hardly administer a kingdom without land or people, can I, now? What’s next, my friend? What’s next? The clothes off my back?”
It occurred to Maya that this Yapakh-addi would have to be pretty desperate to want Rib-addi’s clothes, luxurious though they might once have been. But he said nothing and wrote away.
Hani was silent, chewing his lip thoughtfully. At last he said, “And what is his motive, my lord?”
“He says I owe him silver. But I paid him back long ago. Long ago.”
“Do you have records of the debt and payments?”
Ili-rapikh interposed quickly, “Of course. You can see the books. We’ve recorded everything in detail.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about. If ma’at is on your side, then restitution will be made. ‘It is God who judges the righteous.’”
Hani smiled reassuringly, but Maya noticed that if. Hani was kindness personified; still, he was no man’s fool. The two Kebnites exchanged a glance—on Rib-addi’s part, smug. Ili-rapikh’s look was less easily deciphered.
Hani rose, and Maya hastily packed his scribal equipment and scrambled to his feet. The emissary said, “Then, I leave you, my lord king. Could the prince please lead me to the proper books?”
“I can,” said Ili-rapikh curtly.
The two Egyptians made their obeisance to the king and followed Ili-rapikh out. Not turning or saying a word, the prince led the way with a brisk step down the corridor. They arrived at the archives. Rows of shelves lined the room to the ceiling, containing both clay tablets and rolls of papyrus. Maya stared around with interest. However many iterus away from the Black Land he might find himself, this was his world. The atmosphere was familiar and beloved, the very smell of dry papyrus and earthy clay sweet in his nostrils. An ink-stained table stood in the middle of the room, with blocks of lampblack and a jar of reed pens ready, although no one seemed to be working there at the moment. Little wooden tags attached to the scrolls identified their contents, just like at home. Maya couldn’t help but smile, his shoulders relaxing.
Ili-rapikh crouched in front of a lower shelf and surveyed it for a moment. Finally, he withdrew a scroll from the stack, opened it partially, and gave it a glance. Then he rose and laid the scroll on the table. “Here you are, my lord.” He ran his finger down the columns and tapped the place. “Talents of gold borrowed and repayment noted. Grain fields. Vineyards. Various sorts of military equipment. It’s been years, as you see.”
“Why do you think Yapakh-addi has continued to prey on your brother, my prince? Is he not aware the debt has been paid?”
“You’ll have to ask Yapakh-addi that. He’s no better than a brigand, protected by his friend, your king.” Ili-rapikh’s lips were compressed. He seemed a little hostile, irritated perhaps, but Maya couldn’t have said whether the object of the vizier’s irritation was Yapakh-addi or Hani. “And permit me to say, my lord, that you people have treated the king of an important vassal state rather shabbily.”
“Ah? How so?” asked Hani in his mildest voice.
“My brother has written about these depredations for years, and no one has done anything about it until now. Why has it taken so long to respond, if I may ask?”
“I was only informed recently that Rib-addi had requested my arbitration, Ili-rapikh. I arrived as fast as I could.”
Maya noted that the two Kebnites’ titles had fallen away. Hani was exerting his authority in his quiet way.
The prince persisted, his thin face sharp and bitter. “But before that? Surely you aren’t the only Egyptian official in Kharu.”
“The Great Kingdom of Kemet is very large, my prince. Some vassal always has a request. It isn
’t always possible—or even desirable, hard-hearted though that may seem—to send an emissary. You see, Our Sun Neb-ma’at-ra believes in treating his subjects like adults. He believes that many problems are best solved by the participants themselves.” Hani smiled benevolently. “Has no effort been made to work this out with Yapakh-addi before now?”
Ili-rapikh’s face grew dark as he realized the accusation had been turned on him. “Of course. But he refuses to speak to my brother. He’s an arrogant son of a bitch, Hani, ruined by his honors at your court. I’ve seen this coming on since we were mere lads.”
Ah, thought Maya, remembering. Ili-rapikh was raised at our court, too, wasn’t he? I’m surprised he didn’t stick around and bask in the royal favor like so many others—including Yapakh-addi—since he is a younger son.
“Well, I’ll speak to the arrogant son of a bitch next, and then we’ll see what needs to be done to let truth reign. Thank you for your cooperation, my lord.” Hani shot the prince his full-strength smile, which could melt stone.
Ili-rapikh bowed stiffly. “I can accompany you to your quarters if you like. I assume you won’t be setting out for Ullaza this evening.”
“I thought we’d stay for a few days at least,” Hani agreed with his usual affability, and the prince led them to the chambers they had occupied several months before. His face rigid, Ili-rapikh bade them goodnight with a promise of a meal to come.
Once they were alone in Hani’s room, Maya said to his employer with a roll of the eyes, “He’s not very friendly, is he?”
“No,” Hani agreed, a thin smile curling his lips. “Not quite the enthusiastic admirer of Kemet his brother is, I think. I wonder how his experience of us has differed. They both seem to have grown up at our court, you’ll remember.”
“I did, yes,” said Maya, pleased with himself.
Their reflections were interrupted by the arrival of dinner, borne in the arms of two slaves. Ili-rapikh’s hostility didn’t go so far as to try to starve the Egyptians, Maya noticed gratefully. Both he and Hani were hearty eaters for their respective sizes. They sat down to substantial helpings of quail and fish. Cracked wheat, some sauce of soured milk, and pickled vegetables accompanied the dishes. In a big silver jug, a fine wine of the locale sparkled, still miraculously cool. Maya could see why Yapakh-addi had been quick to go after the vineyards.
“Where do you think the truth of this argument lies, my lord?” asked Maya with his mouth full of fish.
“I can’t say until I’ve heard Yapakh-addi’s side, Maya,” Hani cautioned him. “Before we set off for Ullaza, I thought it might be helpful to prowl around and see what we learn. Perhaps someone else has observed this exchange and has an opinion. A bookkeeper, for example. Or any of the royal tenants whose fields or vines were taken. And if I can get to Rib-addi alone, I’d like to know how far he trusts his brother. A vizier is supposed to carry out his king’s wishes, but Ili-rapikh doesn’t seem to share Rib-addi’s perspectives.”
⸎
Shortly before midday, Lord Hani returned from his day tramping about interviewing people. Alone. Maya looked up from the maxims he was copying out for his employer, more or less as a way to fill up the time. He’d gnawed on his hurt and shame all morning. He’s out doing important work for the case while I copy maxims, he’d thought more than once. Doesn’t he trust me?
But Hani didn’t seem to be angry when he threw open the door of their room and greeted Maya with a cheerful “Phew. Hot out there.” He took off his wig and mopped his shaven scalp with a forearm, his shirt folded over his shoulder.
Maya rose to greet him, but much as he wanted to carry on as if nothing were the matter, he couldn’t quite muster a smile.
“What’s the matter, son? You look distinctly unhappy,” said Hani, his grin melting into what appeared to be genuine concern.
I’m not going to say anything. It would just sound puerile. “Why didn’t you take me with you, my lord?” Maya burst out in spite of himself. “Or let me talk to some people while you talked to others? You could have been back twice as fast.”
Hani repositioned his wig then said with a shrug, “But you don’t speak the language. How could you have talked to anyone?”
The sheer reasonability of the statement was almost a provocation. Maya opened his mouth to make a riposte, but it died on his lips. He hung his head, lashed with shame. “You’re right, my lord.”
Hani gave him a long look, his crooked smile conveying understanding and perhaps pity. “You didn’t miss much. The weather is grueling.” Hani mopped his glistening chest with his shirt and threw the wet garment onto the bed.
Maya observed that the little amulet his employer wore around his neck was no longer there. “What happened to your amulet, Lord Hani?”
“I gave it away in Urusalim, Maya. Have you just now noticed?” Hani said with a grin.
Maya could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. The gentle rebukes were mounting up. He needed desperately to do Hani some remarkable service. But he couldn’t think what. The lack of the local language was, in fact, an enormous handicap. He realized that there was more than simply the emissary’s pleasant personality that made the locals appreciate Hani so.
“Did you find out anything new, my lord?” he asked, trying not to show how the comments had stung him.
“The vintners said Yapakh-addi’s men came in an armed band. At first, they were polite, told the workers that Yapakh-addi owned the vineyard now and that Rib-addi’s people should clear off. But when they refused, the men became abusive and finally drove them away with clubs and swords.”
“What a bastard!” Maya exclaimed.
“But notice, Maya, that they started out polite, as if they expected the vintners to clear out willingly. Doesn’t that seem strange?”
Maya stared at Hani, waiting for enlightenment. “I guess...”
“I think that Yapakh-addi’s men thought they were within their legal rights and expected the king’s men to know that, too. They were surprised by the resistance, although they were prepared for it.”
Maya cocked an eyebrow. “But does that mean that they were within their rights? Perhaps they simply hoped to brazen it out.”
“Too soon to know. But it’s something to think about.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. A servant appeared in the doorway, followed by slaves with an expansive luncheon. The two Egyptians fell silent while the plates were laid out. The servant watched, beaming, as his underlings spread the repast. Finally, he bowed and murmured something in his language. Maya couldn’t understand the words, but the tone and the melting-eyed look that accompanied them spoke eloquently of adoration. Maya’s nostrils flared in annoyance. Hani, on the other hand, suppressed a smile and answered with grave courtesy.
When they were once more alone, Hani spooned out a mound of cracked grain. “This whole affair is far from transparent, Maya. And far from honest, I suspect. Murky.”
“Another murky affair, then,” Maya commented, helping himself to some small fried balls of unidentified composition. Everything is a little murky here in Kharu.
“I’ve requested an audience with Rib-addi again this afternoon—alone.” Looking at Maya’s face, he added quickly, “Rib-addi alone, that is. Without Ili-rapikh. I’d like you to accompany me and take notes, as before.”
“Of course, my lord,” Maya said, hoping the depth of his relief wasn’t obvious.
They finished their lunch and stretched out for a siesta, Maya right there on Hani’s floor. Maya expected that his churning mind would keep him awake, but the humid heat overcame him, and he slept like the dead. When he awoke, he saw Hani standing by the window, staring fixedly out into the courtyard below.
Hani turned at the sound of Maya pulling himself to his feet. “You’re up? Come look at this.”
Maya drew to his side and followed Hani’s pointing finger. At first he saw nothing, but eventually, he spotted several rows of swallows perched on the projecting beams of the wall
across from their window. A rustle of soft twittering and much bobbing of scissored tails animated the little groups of travelers.
“Pretty,” Maya said, not knowing exactly what response was expected of him.
“They’re on their way to Kemet for the winter. Perhaps we’ll see these very birds again at home.”
“Nice.” Maya hoped he sounded more interested than he felt.
“Well, we’re expected by the king. I was assured he would be alone. Let’s freshen up and go.”
When they were ushered into Rib-addi’s salon, he was awaiting them, suppressing a yawn that bared the few gray teeth left to him. “Ah, Hani. Only the prospect of your company makes me willing to abandon the bed of midday.” He stretched out his hands, and Hani, bowing, took them in a filial gesture. He seated himself, and Maya prepared to write.
“My lord, let me ask you something a bit intimate.”
Rib-addi’s eyebrows rose in curiosity.
“How much do you trust your brother?”
Far from being shocked by such a question, the old king chuckled. “Not much, Hani. Not much. The brothers of kings are a very dangerous race.”
“Does he share your loyalty to the Two Lands?”
“Figured that out, did you? Not so much, Hani. No.”
“Is he your heir, my lord?” Hani pressed, his face a mask of goodwill.
Rib-addi cackled. “No, no. I have sons. I have old sons and young sons. Yes, a son older than you. Four sons.” He waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive movement that reminded Maya that the king had once been young and no doubt seductively good-looking—not a man who would lack for women to mother his sons. “Ili-rapikh’ll never be king. But he’s smart and ambitious. His energy needs to be harnessed. Yes, harnessed... for the good of the country, eh.”
Maya was both amused and disgusted by the spectacle of the two wily old brothers mutually devoted to outwitting one another for their own benefit. His flying pen recorded the king’s words.
“When I was here a month or so ago,” Hani continued, “you said that Abdi-ashirta was killed because he couldn’t pay off the Egyptians and the Mitannians. Can you elaborate on that?”