by N. L. Holmes
“I missed you, Maya,” Sat-hut-haru said after a while. Her voice was playful, curling over his skin like a cool hand. They walked on. Their soft footsteps on the packed earth were the only sound except for the crickets and an occasional exuberance of frogs. “How long will you stay before you and Papa have to go out again?”
“With the grace of the gods, we may not have to go again. Lord Hani wants to resign so he won’t have to go away, and I’ll stay here to work for him. We’ll make that son we dream about, my girl.” He gave her a suggestive pinch on the bottom, and she danced a little dance of eagerness. Maya was reminded how very young his wife was—how many children she could bear for him—and he thought he’d die of joy.
They fell silent, swinging their joined hands. Maya was more tired than he wanted to admit. All at once, he heard noises from a distance—voices yelling, something breaking. He held his breath in trepidation. I don’t like the sound of that. Lord Mery-ra was talking about angry gangs of unemployed temple personnel. They didn’t live far away, but he couldn’t tell which direction the voices came from. Much as he wanted to spend a quiet night with his bride in their own little house, he didn’t fancy having to fight off an angry mob to get there.
“My love, we’re going back to your parents’ place,” he said in a low voice and gave her hand a tug that made them both pivot.
“Why, Maya? What’s the matter?” Sat-hut-haru stared around, her wide eyes glittering in the moonlight like a frightened gazelle’s. A litter passed them, heading in the other direction, the bearers moving at a brisk clip and bodyguards jogging on all four corners.
“Maybe nothing, but I heard sounds like a mob.” Their steps grew quicker and quicker until Maya was practically skipping. No matter how ridiculous he might look, he wouldn’t be responsible for slowing Sat-hut-haru up. His heart was pounding with exertion and fear. How much more vulnerable he felt now that he had the safety of a loved one in his hand. The voices grew louder, roaring and angry. Repeated booms echoed through the still night. A gate being rammed. Dear gods! Has war broken out? He heard a crash of shattered pottery. Maya flinched and picked up the pace. Sat-hut-haru’s face was twisted with fear, but she was her father’s daughter, and her little feet pounded the street tirelessly and without complaint.
Behind them, the angry voices seemed to have turned a corner, growing suddenly louder. “We’re almost there,” Maya panted. Bes protect us, I hope A’a is still on duty—and awake. The gate was just ahead, the red doors black in the moonlight. They sank into the shadow of the portal, and he began to pound on the wood. “Open up! Yah! Open up in there! It’s Maya and Sat-hut-haru!”
The gate swung back precipitously, and the young couple hurled themselves inside, falling over one another in their haste. Hani and Mery-ra slammed the panels shut, and A’a heaved the bolt across just as the first stone struck.
CHAPTER 15
The five of them stood, staring wide-eyed at the gate as a rain of stones clattered against it. Voices yelled incoherently from the outside, and the sounds of shuffling and pounding bombarded the listeners.
“What’s going on, Papa? Why are they attacking us?” Sat-hut-haru cried in a wavering voice.
“They’re just angry people who have lost their jobs, my dear,” Hani assured her, his voice deep and comforting. But his glance shot around him as if his thoughts were churning.
Maya eyed the gate uneasily. The wood was bouncing under the blows. “What do they think you can do about it?”
Hani turned to his father. “Round up the servants, and tell them to bring everything heavy they can find—wagons, furniture, whatever. We’ll pile it against the gate. Tell Nub-nefer to lock herself and the girls into the bedroom. Send Pa-kiki down here.” To Maya, he said, “Either they know a servant of the king lives here, or they don’t know and are just venting their anger. Thank the gods you and Sati had the presence of mind to come back instead of returning home.” He took A’a by the shoulder. “Go get all the big sticks—grape stakes or whatever you find. And garden tools. We may need to fight.”
Maya marveled at his father-in-law, levelheaded and efficient under such conditions, giving orders as if he had been a real officer and not just a military scribe. Maya pushed Sat-hut-haru after her grandfather. “Go lock yourself in, my love.”
She ran down the path into the darkness, and an instant later, Pa-kiki appeared with Mery-ra at his heels. The lad had wrenched the leg off a piece of crude kitchen furniture and wielded it with the ferocity of a boy playing sword fight. “What’s happening, Papa? Here’s another arm.”
“I don’t know whether we’ll need it, son, but let’s be ready. There seems to be a mob of the unemployed outside, angry and probably drunk.”
“Those are priests out there?” the boy cried incredulously.
“No doubt your uncle Amen-em-hut is leading them,” Mery-ra said with a wry sideways look at his son.
Maya suppressed a giddy chuckle. He felt fizzy with excitement; fear was only a tingle in the soles of his feet. Suddenly, he heard rapid steps running up the path. Neferet appeared, her sidelock bouncing, naked as she was born, swinging a stool.
“Go inside, my love,” Hani said sternly even before she could open her mouth. “This is no place for little girls. If they break in, it won’t be pretty.”
“But I want to help you fight, Papa. Grandfather, make him let me.”
“Go!” Hani roared. Neferet threw down her stool, turned, and fled, her lip thrust out. They would all pay for her thwarted desire, but none of the children stood up to Hani when he finally grew angry. His anger was born of concern, Maya knew.
The servants began to arrive from the house and the garden. They’re a resolute-looking crew, Maya thought, armed with tools and stakes and torches. Iuty had a ladder, and someone else a big rock, probably the counterpoise from the shaduf. The gardener set up the ladder against the wall and mounted it, and two of the stable boys lugged the rock up behind him, puffing and grunting. It was hard to see in the flickering torchlight, but Maya heard the scrape of the rock as Iuty pushed it over the top of the wall. Then came a resounding whomp and screams and angry yells as the falling rock did its work.
“I hope that doesn’t make them madder,” Maya said, but he rather enjoyed the mental image of the rioters lying flat in the road.
The shouts and pounding increased in volume. Hani and Pa-kiki piled furniture, and Maya and A’a wheeled the carts and barrows in front of the doors, which had begun to vibrate dangerously with every blow.
All at once, silence descended, broken by the sound of running footsteps and shouting. “King’s men! Break it up, you toads, or else!”
Maya and the others, panting and blowing, clustered at the gate, waiting for what came next. The rioters yelled ugly taunts and insults toward the king, while the soldiers, with a deadly absence of words, began to club at them. Dull blows and cries of pain, the crack of staff against staff, a series of rapid whacking sounds that Maya could picture as someone being beaten to the ground unto the breakage of bones echoed through the wood—they seemed all the more horrible for being unseen.
At last, the noise of battle ended. Footsteps fled, and a breathless voice ordered, “Form up, men, and quick march back to the main street.” There was a knock. “You, inside there, it’s all clear.”
Lord Hani opened the peephole and called out his thanks to the officer. Maya could only see the flickering orange of a torch’s light through the opening. But to his astonishment, he heard the officer cry, “It’s you? Montu, my father! It’s you! Do you know me, my lord?”
Hani stammered uncertainly for an instant, then he laughed in happy disbelief. “That scar, the amulet... the wounded soldier! You lived! Sekhmet be praised! Come in, son, come in.” He started hauling back the furniture that reinforced the gate, and the others, still understanding nothing, joined in. They cleared the doors, and Lord Hani unbarred them and threw them open. He ran open-armed into the breach. “I can’t believe you surv
ived!”
“What’s he talking about?” Mery-ra whispered to Maya, who shrugged, although he was beginning to comprehend that this was Pa-wer’s guardsman. Hani and the soldier fell into each other’s arms, laughing and nearly in tears.
“I’ve wanted all these years to give you back your amulet and thank you, my lord, but I didn’t know who you were or where to find you,” the young man said, tugging something from around his neck. Even in the semidarkness, Maya could see a gnarly red bolt of scar tissue streaking across the fellow’s belly from beneath the waist of his kilt.
Hani took the amulet into his fist with a fierce smile and clapped the soldier on the shoulder. “My name is Hani son of Mery-ra, my boy. If the gods made me a part of your healing, may they be praised. I thought you were doomed for sure.”
“Me, too, Lord Hani. But the Lady Sekhmet answered your prayers, and here I am. I’m Menna son of Ibi-aw, at your service for the rest of my life.” The young man beamed at them all. He was a wiry bucktoothed brown fellow, smeared with dirt and blood and with a round wig that hung a little to one side, but unmistakably alive.
Hani ushered the officer inside the gate, glancing around. His voice dropped as he said, “Here’s something you can do for me. Can you remember any more about that day, Menna? Can you, by any chance, describe the men who attacked you? What made you say they were hapiru? I wanted to ask then, but you were half-unconscious.”
Menna stroked his chin in thought. “I figured they were hapiru because they said they were avenging the death of Abdi-ashirta, and I think that’s what I told you. In appearance, all I could really be sure of was that they were men of Kharu—big light-skinned sons of bitches, dressed in the commissioner’s uniform. One had a broken-looking nose. They pretended to be soldiers coming to report to Lord Pa-wer, then they drew knives and attacked. I tried to jump in front of him, but...” His face clenched up, no doubt in memory of the pain that had followed.
Hani’s face darkened with compassion. He shook the young officer’s hand earnestly. “You’ve been a great help, Menna. Can I invite you inside for a beer?”
Menna laughed. “Thank you, my lord, but I need to get back to my men. There may be some mopping up to do tonight. Though I’ll certainly come to visit now that I know where you live.”
Hani saw the soldier off and stood for a moment longer in the gate, watching Menna’s torch disappear into the dark street. He turned back to the others, grinning broadly. “You can put everything away, men. I think the danger is past. I’ll stay to guard the gate tonight, A’a. Go get some sleep.”
“I’ll stay with you,” said Mery-ra quickly. “I’d like to get an explanation, eh.”
“Me, too,” Maya volunteered, but Hani shook his head and urged him down the path toward the house. “Maya, you and Pa-kiki let the womenfolk out and tell them what happened, then all of you get on to bed. I think you and Sat-hut-haru need to stay here for the night. I’m sure she can’t wait to see that you’re all right. We’ll send a servant to check on your mother.”
Maya went reluctantly, feeling he was missing something by not staying on guard. But it was certainly true that he owed his wife a description of the fight. He had already begun to shape it a little in his mind. So, with few remonstrances, he let himself be urged.
⸎
Hani and Mery-ra settled themselves on two of the stools that still lay piled at the side of the gate. The old man stifled a yawn. Hani laughed affectionately. “You don’t have to do this, you know, Father. Just go on in to bed.”
“Not on your life, son. Tell me who that was and what I just saw.”
Hani turned to him in what had become the comforting darkness of a summer night—still, balmy, and pulsing with crickets. The city might have been deserted. Moonlight washed gently through the treetops, and Hani could see light from the clerestories of the house. “Believe it or not, that was the young soldier who was grievously wounded trying to defend Pa-wer from his assassins in Urusalim. Remember I told you I gave him my amulet of Serqet? It’s miraculous that he survived. And that he should show up here! The Hidden One works in strange ways.” He felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Lord Amen had caused his priests to riot in order to bring them to Hani’s gate so that Menna would come with his soldiers and call out and Hani would recognize him. “It seems it really was the hapiru who killed Pa-wer after all, not the assassins of Abdi-ashirta.”
“Just because they were men of Kharu?”
“I’m almost certain the fellow with the broken nose was Aziru’s brother Khai. And possibly the other brother was part of it as well. Aziru and Pu-ba’alu were in Temesheq, but there were more sons of Abdi-ashirta around to avenge him. They must have thought Pa-wer or his men had killed their father, not knowing about Yanakh-amu’s involvement.” He scratched his belly and stretched his shoulders. “So I guess they weren’t trying to keep me from Pa-wer after all.”
“You mean the Sun Barque still crosses the sky without you, my boy? People actually take actions that have nothing to do with you? I can’t believe it!” Mery-ra expostulated, laughter hiding under his voice.
Hani pretended to growl and grab at his father. They both began to chortle, giddy from the release of tension. This night might have ended very differently. Automatically, Hani fingered the amulet that hung once more around his neck. Nub-nefer would be very happy it had returned.
A long, companionable silence fell. Finally, Mery-ra said, “I never had a chance to tell you this, but our king has decided to hold another jubilee.”
“Already?” Hani said, surprised. “I thought they began in the thirtieth year of someone’s reign.”
“He seems to be continuing the pace started by Neb-ma’at-ra, of deeply regretted memory.” A juicy note of suppressed humor entered the old man’s voice, and Hani could picture him grinning and looking guilty. “Perhaps, with riots in the streets of Waset, he fears he may not make it to his thirtieth year.”
“Not if Amen-em-hut has his way, it seems.” Hani’s good humor frosted over. He had to convince his brother-in-law to toe the line, or he and Nub-nefer might end up having to adopt their nephew and nieces as orphans.
“Ironic, isn’t it? The mob attacked your house, assuming you were one of the king’s henchmen when you’re really more inclined to support the priests.” Mery-ra stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back against the wall.
“People aren’t always what they appear to be these days,” Hani said. “I guess you and I will need to show up, smiling, for the jubilee celebrations, whatever we think.”
Mery-ra’s wide-spaced teeth flashed in the moonlight as he turned a grinning face toward his son. “I’ll take any celebration anyone cares to offer me.”
Hani chuckled under his breath. “You know, you’re the best father I’ve ever had.”
“And you’re my very favorite firstborn.”
At the thought of firstborns, Hani’s joy dulled. What had Mery-ra given him that had bound them together so strongly which he’d failed to pass on to Aha? Hani’s father had been gone for months on end, too. But the times had been different. More innocent. Ma’at had been more evident, the right path easier to find.
“I think, Father—” Hani began, but the sound of a roughly drawn snort informed him that Mery-ra had drifted into sleep.
⸎
Hani stood with Mane outside the palace at Akhet-aten. Around them, a goodly number of the diplomatic corps waited, sweltering in the late-summer sun. The jubilee was beginning—the heb-sed, the Festival of the Bull’s Tail—which would renew the powers of the king. Normally, a ruler waited until old age had put those powers at risk, but now their twenty-five-year-old monarch had marshaled the wealth of the kingdom to amplify his royal puissance.
He does love a spectacle, thought Hani acerbically.
“How’re things with you, Hani?” Mane said, never turning his eyes from the lintel-less gate from whence the royal couple would eventually emerge.
“Well enough. Thank
you for that tidbit about the Mitannians in league against Kheta. It was helpful.”
“Glad to hear it.” Mane stretched on tiptoes, but he could still see nothing over the heads of those in front of him. “You know, it hasn’t worked. Naharin’s western vassals are falling one by one to the Hittites, starting with Nuhasshe, but now they’re moving south along the Arantu. Tunip, Qadesh—I’ve heard the king of Kheta has pushed as far as Amka. Temesheq will be next. That leaves our vassals in Fenkhu sealed off on the inland side.” He drew close to Hani and said softly at his ear, “King Tushratta is pretty unhappy with our noble leader. They have a mutual protection pact, but you can imagine how much help we’re sending.”
“I don’t have to imagine,” Hani said in a grim undertone. “I’ve recently come back from the north. We just threw the one loyal mayor, Rib-addi of Kebni, to the wolves. A sick old man who had been our friend for forty years.”
Mane exchanged a penetrating look with Hani and heaved a sigh, which gave the lie to his cheerful expression. His round cheeks were dangerously scarlet. He mopped his forehead with the back of his forearm. “I hope they start soon, or there are going to be people fainting in the crowd. I think I’m going home after the king sees me here cheering.”
Hani grunted agreement. The sooner he could get away, the better he liked it. Nub-nefer wouldn’t be parading with the chantresses of Amen-Ra this time. Usually, the priests of Amen dominated the ceremonies, but they were nowhere to be seen. They’d officially ceased to exist.
He had a bit of a shock when he looked up and saw a small figure pushing past the guards and entering the royal enclosure. For a moment, he thought it was Amen-em-hut, perhaps come to make trouble. But that was only the power of suggestion, he realized immediately. The person was too slight and too light-skinned. In fact, as soon as he got a better look, Hani recognized the latecomer as Lord Yanakh-amu. No doubt the Fan Bearers would play some part in the ceremonies.