Bird in a Snare

by N. L. Holmes

  “Only she can decide that, my children.” Mery-ra finished off his pot of beer with a noisy slurp through the straw.

  Hani turned to his eldest daughter, who watched them silently with her big kohl-edged eyes. “You’ve been rather quiet tonight, my flower. What do you think about Maya and Sat-hut-haru?”

  “I think he’s a wonderful man. She’d be lucky to have him. He probably has no idea of what a spoiled princess she is, though.”

  Her parents laughed. Ah, my dearest little girl, you are the oracle of the gods, Hani thought tenderly. Where did you get such wisdom at such a young age? “Then, it’s settled, is it? We leave them alone and see what develops, without encouraging or discouraging. Let the Lady Hut-haru guide her daughter’s heart.”

  “And the Lord Bes, his son’s,” finished Mery-ra with a pious air.

  Nub-nefer nodded reluctantly. Hani put a supporting arm around her shoulders and tipped her chin up to face him. “They’re both sensible. We have to trust them.”

  “Of course.” She rallied, always strong, and rose to her feet. “She hasn’t seen him for a year. This could be nothing more than a brief infatuation.” She moved about, starting to collect the dishes.

  “You have servants to take care of that,” said her husband with a smile. He, too, got to his feet and extended Mery-ra a hand to pull him up. “To bed, everyone. We do, as my noble father pointed out, have a long day ahead.”

  ⸎

  The day of the royal obsequies was fine—clear and mild, with a promise of real warmth despite the early spring season. Hani stood with the scribes and diplomats of the Hall of Royal Correspondence, ready to fall in behind the procession bound for the royal tomb. Maya had joined the lower-level scribes somewhere to his rear. Hani glanced around, and who should be positioned almost at his elbow but his old friend Mane, a face out of a more straightforward past. Hani had accompanied him and the princess Taduhepa from Naharin to her new home in Kemet. It seemed an eon ago.

  Mane’s face lit up as soon as he saw Hani. “Hani! What luck!” the older man said, managing to keep his booming voice quiet out of deference to the occasion. “I haven’t seen you in three years. What are you up to?”

  “I’m in Kharu these days. We must get together before we leave. Are you still assigned to Wasshukanni?”

  “On and off.” Someone shot the two men a reproachful glare, and Mane added in a whisper, “Come see me, eh, Hani. We can drink to old times, eh?”

  Mane’s look was meaningful, and Hani glanced around him uneasily. Unless he misunderstood his friend, “old times” had become a kind of code—an acknowledgment that everything had changed. That new times were upon them, for good or for ill. Hani forced a smile, trying to ignore the chill that tunneled up his back.

  In the distance, trumpets bleated a long melancholy call as of some bereft animal that found itself separated from the herd. Bereft, Hani thought. The Black Land is bereft of its shepherd. We are all fatherless orphans for this day. Yet the young king still lived...

  A moment later, the call sounded once more. Drums began a slow cadence. A murmur broke from the crowd around him, and Hani realized that the procession had begun to move. The royal family, in their carrying chairs, were borne past like statues of the gods. First in sight were the little widow Queen Tiyi and the old king’s two sons. Hani suppressed a shudder—Nub-nefer’s fears had infected him. Numerous daughters came next, followed by Neb-ma’at-ra’s even more numerous wives and concubines and the young king’s elegant wife and her little girls. Then the Fan Bearers—including Yanakh-amu and Yapakh-addi—and the lesser courtiers passed by.

  Next came the priests of the great temples, beginning with Amen-Ra. Hani saw his brother-in-law pacing gravely after the First and Second Prophets, kitted out in his full regalia, a leopard skin studded with golden stars over one shoulder. He carried the ram-headed standard of the god. A body of shaven-headed, long-kilted wab priests followed, and behind them, a chorus of chantresses intoned mournfully and shook their sistra to a slow-march beat. Nub-nefer walked among them, of course—in Hani’s eyes, the most beautiful of all the women. Her expression was profoundly sad and anxious. Hani wondered what she was thinking.

  Priests and priestesses of other deities followed, their standards held aloft. And then the two viziers, the royal chamberlains, and functionaries close to the late king poured into the procession. Hani milled with his neighbors until it should be the diplomats’ turn.

  Someone touched his elbow, and he turned to see Mery-ra at his side, his mourning scarf at a rakish angle over a round wig. Hani’s father grinned at him resignedly. Hani clapped him on the back and fell into step beside him, glad for his company. Somewhere in the crowd of scribes of the Hall of Royal Correspondence, Hani’s brother and son would also be preparing to fall into line. Within a few days, they would all find out whether they’d been retained in the king’s service.

  Cattle and sheep for sacrifice, whole fields of flowers in tall, elaborate pole bouquets, and a sampling of the fabulous furnishings that would accompany him to the Field of Reeds preceded the king. And at the end of the procession, Hani knew, the golden coffin of the Dazzling Sun Disk rode on its sledge, pulled by wab priests of his own royal cult and surrounded by mourning women.

  Hani had known no other ruler since he was three years old. He heaved a sigh, somber in the face of the death of a man not much older than he—but this death, in particular, was sobering, with all the uncertainties it cast upon the land like the penumbra of something cold. The image of the great shadow horns of the Gem-pa-aten goring the wall of Ipet-isut came unbidden into Hani’s memory.

  Normally, the royal coffin would be barged across the river to the place of burial against the Western Mountains. But this king had chosen to reside the final few years of his life on the west bank—as if his jubilee had been a dying and a rebirth—and there had lived as one already dwelling among the imperishable stars. He’d had himself depicted as Atum, the primal All; as Ptah the creator; as Amen-Ra; and as Ra-hor-akhty, the Sun God of the Horizons. The Aten.

  Suddenly, Hani understood a little of what was happening—Nefer-khepru-ra was deifying his father, who had been the Aten. Perhaps it isn’t so dangerous. Neb-ma’at-ra will be a benevolent deity.

  The procession made its slow way by foot along the riverbank, the people gathering like a flock of lapwings on either side of the road and even across the River—too far away to see anything but just wanting to pay their respects to a great king and beneficent god.

  As he trudged side by side with his father, Hani thought of the snug tomb that awaited them both and Nub-nefer and the children in their turn. It was still being painted, although he supposed that would slow down now that the work crews would be applying the final hasty touches to the eternal dwelling place of Neb-ma’at-ra. It was comforting to know that such a haven was ready to receive his loved ones when their own day of passage came and that their names were recorded on the walls unto redundancy and would never be forgotten. I’d better keep mine clean.

  ⸎

  As the crowds began to disperse, Hani spied Mane again and called out, “Come to dinner tonight, old friend. We can reminisce over a pot of beer.”

  Mane signaled assent with a wave of his hand as he was hustled off by the press of bodies.

  “Is that your friend from Naharin?” Mery-ra asked.

  “Yes. I haven’t seen him since we were there together three years ago, when Neb-ma’at-ra married the Mitannian princess. I’m curious to get his fix on things.” Perhaps Mane could make some sense of Rib-addi’s words about “paying off” the Mitannians.

  When the two men reached home, the doorkeeper informed Hani that Nub-nefer had just entered. She and Amen-em-hut were talking in low, excited voices in the vestibule. She looked up to see her husband and ran to embrace him.

  “You did beautifully, my dear.” He kissed her. To his brother-in-law, he added with a mischievous smirk, “You did well, too.”

  But Ame
n-em-hut seemed to be in no mood to respond to humor. He was back in civilian clothes, wigged and kilted, with a mourning scarf around his head—a small, handsome, neatly built man with great dark eyes and fine manly features—so perfectly a male version of Nub-nefer that despite Amen-em-hut’s being two years his sister’s senior, Mery-ra jestingly referred to the siblings as the divine twins Shu and Tefnut.

  Now, Amen-em-hut’s face was tense and anxious. His color wasn’t good. “Hello, Hani. Mery-ra. I’ll be going. I just brought Nub-nefer home.”

  “You look upset.” Hani squeezed Nub-nefer’s shoulders. “Did something happen?”

  “Other than the king’s death, you mean?” said the priest with a dry bark of laughter.

  Hani shrugged. “That’s sad but not upsetting, I’d say.”

  “I’d say it was upsetting,” Nub-nefer contradicted, her voice a little wild, “for those of us who serve the Hidden One.”

  Hani’s mouth tensed with irritation. “You two aren’t exchanging scare stories, are you?” He cast a gently accusatory glance at Amen-em-hut.

  Amen-em-hut’s face grew red. “I know you love birds, Hani, but you can’t just play the ostrich. It’s better to know what’s happening.”

  “What is happening?” Hani asked innocently. “As opposed to what might possibly happen in the future?”

  Mery-ra laid a warning hand on his arm, but Amen-em-hut wasn’t so much angry as worried, Hani saw. The priest’s mouth thinned, and his dark-fringed eyes were wide. “When what is already beginning to happen—namely, the war on Amen-Ra—comes to a head, I want my sister protected, Hani.”

  Hani said calmly and with finality, “I’ll protect her, my brother.”

  “How, when you’re gone all the time?” Amen-em-hut’s voice rose to a higher pitch.

  “Leave that to me.”

  “See to it, man.” The priest seemed to gather himself. After a last piercing stare into Hani’s eyes, Amen-em-hut nodded brusquely at Mery-ra and made his way to the door with his quick, nervous movements.

  Starting to feel that he’d perhaps reacted too strongly to his brother-in-law’s well-intentioned concerns, Hani moved after him. At the door, he said, “I hope you’re not offended, Amen-em-hut. But I beg you, don’t scare Nub-nefer. She’s all on edge already. None of this may come to pass, you know.”

  Amen-em-hut gave a smile, but it was a brittle one. “No offense taken, Hani. But I want her protected, understood? Good night, my friend.”

  Hani waved him goodbye then stood staring after him into the twilit garden. A turtledove murmured its mournful five-note song. Despite his protestations of calm, something queasy surged in Hani’s gut. Just as he turned back into the house, he heard Amen-em-hut exchanging greetings at the outer gate with someone. The booming voice told him it was Mane.

  “Nub-nefer, my dear,” Hani called inside. “My old friend Mane from Naharin is joining us for dinner. I just heard him arrive.”

  “You didn’t give me much warning,” she cried in distress, but it was only the concern of a hostess caught off balance. Her deeper fears had been pushed back, Hani saw gratefully. His wife hurried off to tell the cook there would be company.

  Hani decided to let the doorkeeper receive the guest, and he made his way back into the vestibule. The evening was downright chilly; they would eat inside rather than in the garden pavilion.

  “Are you joining us tonight, Father, or are you eating with your lady friend?” he asked Mery-ra, who was still standing, hands on hips, in the salon.

  “I’ll go to Meryet-amen’s house. Her nephew is a young friend of the new king. Perhaps I’ll learn something.”

  “Good. You don’t want to be an ostrich,” Hani said with a grin.

  His father chuckled and headed for the door. “Can I use your litter?”

  “My litter is yours, respected Father.” Hani made a little bow. “I just hope people won’t think it’s me making gallant visits to lovely widows.”

  He could hear his father’s cackle all the way through the darkening garden. At a certain point, the sonorous voice of Mane joined the laughter, and a moment later, the diplomat—an expansive, joyous little ball of suet—appeared in the doorway. A tall man in a rich woolen tunic, young but stooped, accompanied him.

  “Hani!” cried Mane exuberantly. “Thanks for the invitation. I took the liberty of inviting our old friend Keliya. Remember him?”

  The two Egyptians embraced, and Hani greeted Keliya in turn. The younger man was an emissary of Naharin, who had been part of the princess’s bridal party three years before. “How could I forget! Are you here for the funeral, Keliya?”

  “I am,” Keliya said, a smile lighting his homely face. “Tunip-ibri sends his regards, but he wasn’t part of the delegation. I think it’s getting a little hard for him to travel.”

  “Ah, old age. We’ll all be there soon,” boomed Mane, staring around. “I like your place, Hani. Was that your father I ran into in the garden? I felt like I was seeing you twenty years hence.”

  “Yes.” Hani laughed. “I invited him to join us, but he has a rendezvous with a lady.”

  Mane hooted, waggling his eyebrows, and elbowed Keliya in the meager ribs.

  At that moment, Nub-nefer entered. She gave no sign that the advent of yet another unexpected guest ruffled her calm but descended upon the two men, all smiles, with fresh flowers to lay around their necks. “Welcome, my lords, to our humble house.” She beamed. “My husband has spoken often of you both.”

  Hani noticed that she had changed clothes and put on a weshket collar of bright beads and a long formal wig. She was as cool and lovely as if she had spent the entire afternoon primping. His heart swelled with admiration.

  “I’ve fed the children, so you can talk all you like,” Nub-nefer said.

  “Perhaps Pa-kiki would like to meet a man of Naharin,” suggested Hani. “He was fascinated by my stories after I came back.”

  ⸎

  It was well after dark by the time they’d concluded their dinner. The cone of perfume was slumping into the stiff locks of Hani’s wig, and he’d grown a little sleepy from the food and drink. Whenever the conversation lagged, Nub-nefer kept it going seamlessly with her questions and comments.

  Finally, Hani said quietly to Keliya, “There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you, my friend. I was recently in A’amu, investigating the assassination of Abdi-ashirta, leader of the hapiru. Do you know him?”

  The Mitannian nodded lugubriously as he swallowed his beer. “Who doesn’t? His people have ravaged our cities as well as yours.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Who succeeds him, do you know?”

  “His son Aziru. But what I wanted to bring up is this. When I interviewed Rib-addi of Kebni about the brigand’s death, he said that Abdi-ashirta had been killed because he failed to pay off our people and yours.” Hani leaned closer to the Mitannian. “Do you know what he might have meant?”

  Mane shot Hani an interested glance. “You mean he was bribing someone to protect him, and when he could no longer pay, they left him to be killed?”

  Hani watched Keliya’s long face, hoping to see there some glimmer of understanding. But Keliya shrugged, his expression puzzled. “That’s what it sounds like. Did he mean the government or just some personage or other?”

  “I have no idea. And keeping Rib-addi on the topic of my choosing wasn’t easy.” Hani waited, staring at each of his colleagues in turn, but they seemed honestly uncomprehending. “You know of nothing in Naharin, Keliya? No pact with Abdi-ashirta?”

  “We’re your most faithful allies, Hani. I know of nothing, but if we were protecting him, it would be in agreement with your king. Our Tushratta viewed Neb-ma’at-ra as closer than a father. He would never have betrayed him.” The compassionate sincerity that made Keliya such a good friend and a good diplomat transfigured his droopy features.

  “I confess,” Hani said reluctantly, “I don’t understand our policy in the north completely. I’m trying to
implement it without really comprehending it.” He would not normally have said such a thing in the presence of a foreigner, but Keliya had become like a brother to him on their last mission together.

  Mane laughed richly. “Ah, the life of an emissary. No wonder all the little boys aspire to it.”

  A half-stifled yawn trembled on his wide-open mouth. “I’m not as young as I used to be, my friends. I think I’ll make my way home. Keliya, you know how to get there. If you want to stay awhile longer, just come on when you’re ready.”

  But the man of Naharin rose to his feet and stretched. “I’m tired, too, Mane. Don’t leave without me. Thank you, Hani, my lady”—he nodded at his host and hostess in turn—“for a wonderful evening. It’s too bad we never see one another anymore except on sad occasions like this one.”

  Hani embraced his two old friends one after the other, and they made their way into the dark garden. Mane’s thunderous voice rose in laughter then grew self-consciously hushed. A crunching of footsteps sounded in the gravel, and at a distance, the heavy outer gate closed, and the bolt shot across, thudding into its slot. Finally, the world settled into the sweet, pulsing silence of a spring night. Hani pulled the door shut and turned to accompany Nub-nefer to bed.

  ⸎

  Over the next few weeks, one after another of the cadres of government received their renewals of mission, with a few adjustments. Aper-el held onto his post as vizier of the Lower Kingdom, but a certain Tutu was appointed vizier of the Upper Kingdom. Hani didn’t know him, but Ptah-mes was eager to talk.

  “He’s some five years older than I, but a friend of the young king. I don’t know exactly where he stands on the... utility of the hapiru and their leader, but he must have known Aziru in our youth, as we all did. What he thought of him—what he thinks of him now—I couldn’t say.” He blew out a deep breath between his lips.