by N. L. Holmes
“Look at that vain fellow!” Hani laughed. “Showing off his manly iridescent green head and curly tail feather.”
Mery-ra gave a considering tip of the head. “They’re not so different from us, son. Think about all the pleats and furbelows and bunches that men are wearing these days. Not to mention earrings and gold armlets and wigs that could feed a poor family for a year.”
“True.” Hani thought of his eldest son, who had embraced the elaborate new fashions with zeal. “It’s mostly the young, though. Humans tend to sober up with age.”
Mery-ra reached over and punched his son on the arm. “Like you and me, eh? Not an earring between us.”
“Being unfashionable seems to be part of our patrimony, Father. Pipi’s no better. We’re disgraceful.”
“I’ll bet your friend Lord Ptah-mes was vain in his youth. Look at what a dandy he still is,” Mery-ra said with a chuckle.
Hani pursed his lips. “I’m not so sure. I think he’s too proud to be vain.”
“Oh? Are the two mutually exclusive?” Mery-ra asked with a lift of the eyebrows.
“The vain people I know are all signally lacking in self-confidence.” Hani thought of Aha. “No, I think Ptah-mes sees sartorial elegance as a duty—to his family, perhaps. To his class.”
Mery-ra eyed his son, considering. “That’s very observant, my boy. I do believe you’re right.”
“He knows exactly who he is.” Although he doesn’t like himself very much.
“How’s he doing up there at the ends of the world?” Mery-ra asked.
“I suppose I’ll find out soon. I miss his sardonic humor. I’m dealing directly with the vizier until they install a new high commissioner, and Ra-nefer struck me as a pretty colorless fellow.”
Mery-ra chuckled. “I could make a comment about the caliber of men Our Sun God tends to appoint to high office, but I won’t.”
Hani gave a snort of laughter. “Well done, Father. Somehow, you managed to do it without doing it. I wish our Neferet would learn such discretion.”
“Whew.” Mery-ra shook his head. “That was some story about the children in the quarry. Perhaps this happened under Neb-ma’at-ra, too, and we just weren’t aware of it. Perhaps it always happens.”
Hani made a noncommittal noise. He found himself thinking longingly of the premature demise Neferet seemed to predict for the king, but then he repented. Hani, you’re a ba-a-d person.
⸎
The day of their departure was upon them, and with perfect symbolism, it was Wepet-renpet, New Year’s Day. Maya would miss the celebrations with his family, but he found himself surprisingly eager for the journey. It had been several years since he’d visited the beautiful land of Djahy—or Kharu, he added with a silent chuckle. Maya joined Lord Hani at his gate, and the two men strode down to the quay with their mismatched strides, servants following with their baggage.
Maya breathed deeply of the baking air, rich with the earthy, slightly putrid smell of the River in flood. “It will be good to be abroad again, won’t it, my lord?”
“It will, I suppose,” Hani said, “although I must say I’ve rather enjoyed being back in Waset for the last few years.” He grinned down at Maya. “You can’t claim it’s been boring.”
Maya laughed, effervescent with the prospect of more adventures. “Never, in your company.”
At the water’s edge, they scouted out the military boat that was to convey their party up the River to a saltwater port. Their entourage—secretaries, translators, servants, and various specialists—were already aboard. Maya saw In-her-khau, his sometime nemesis, and slitted his eyes disdainfully as, in Hani’s wake, he approached the man.
Hani waved from the shore, and he and Maya clumped together up the resounding boards of the gangplank. A contingent of soldiers waiting on board was to accompany them as an escort. Maya adjusted the writing case over his shoulder and stepped on board with panache. I am the secretary of the Master of the King’s Stable. He’d treated himself to a nice expensive new wig in honor of his fresh borrowed glory.
The military vessel was sleek and low, with a broad sail—but on their northbound journey, that would be no use to them. Instead, the sailors knelt along the edge of the boat and extended their paddles into the water. Only thus could they outrun the surging current of the Inundation and maintain control of the boat. Lord Hani was busy greeting his staff, and Maya wandered off a bit. As he was gazing out over the River, he felt the jerk that told him the craft had been caught up in the stream, and away they flew. The white cubes of Waset slipped past along with the majestic pylons of the temples of Amen-Ra, soon to be swallowed up in the haze from the River. Hani had told him it was a good twelve days from Waset to the coast of the Great Green, but they would change to a seagoing ship at Peru-nefer, just north of Men-nefer.
Ah, it’s good to have the wind on my face again! Maya fingered the gold amulet of Bes that hung from his neck. His mother had given it to him—her own handiwork—just before his last trip north, and it had saved his life. Who could say what dangers he would face this time?
⸎
They put in to the port of Azzati and traveled the short distance to the city proper with a caravan bringing supplies to the outpost. Accompanied by their troop of soldiers, they could travel no faster than a man could walk, and they found themselves surrounded by a landscape that was both bleak and verdant. The bare yellow brush-dotted rock of the place had been farmed into green fields and trees wherever water could be brought from cisterns or wadis that would soon run deep with rainwater. By the time they reached the low-slung town center of Azzati, Hani and his companions were pallid with dust and itchy from sweat.
The unwalled Egyptian outpost was a jumble of unimpressive native-style houses and a splendid public building or residence in the style of Kemet, blindingly whitewashed. Here and there, palms tossed in the hot wind. Hani’s last trip to Azzati had been in the term of Lord Yanakh-amu. After Yanakh-amu’s death, the post of high commissioner of Djahy had stood vacant until Ptah-mes had been sent in his place. For Ptah-mes, it had been intended as a place of exile, but Hani suspected the administration of the northern vassal kingdoms had at least been improved as a result of his coming.
“Here we are, my friend,” he said to Maya, who—thanks to his diminutive size—had been able to share his litter. “It won’t be long until we find out what we’re doing here.”
Maya looked eager—and then looked as if he were trying not to look eager. “That will be nice, my lord. Did the vizier purposely leave you in the dark, do you think, or did he not even know why you were being sent?”
“I wish I could say. However, our friend Ptah-mes will soon enlighten us.”
They dismounted at the gate of the commissioner’s residence—a proper Egyptian gate—and presented themselves to the porter. “Hani son of Mery-ra, joining the commissioner’s staff as emissary,” Hani said, pushing back his wig and mopping his forehead.
“Lord Maya is expecting you, my lord. One moment, please.”
The man turned to go back inside the residence, but Hani, confused, called after him. “Maya, did you say? The commissioner isn’t Lord Ptah-mes?”
“His name is Maya, my lord.”
Hani and his secretary Maya exchanged a nonplussed look. Has Ptah-mes been dismissed between the time I received my orders from Ra-nefer and now?
“How long has this Maya been commissioner, my good man?” Hani persisted.
“Not long, my lord. Did you want to see him?”
“Of course, of course.” Hani was left staring at the man’s back as he clopped back to the doorway of the house. How strange...
Maya burst out, “What’s this, Lord Hani? Didn’t the vizier know there was a new commissioner? I thought Ra-nefer appointed him.”
“He did. I hope nothing has happened to our friend since we left Waset.”
Hani entered the building at the porter’s heels, fighting off a sense of trepidation. Maya trooped in after him. T
hey found themselves in the modest reception hall, with painted walls and high ceilings, which was refreshingly cool after the heat outside. Hani knew it well.
“One moment, my lord.” The servant disappeared through the interior door, leaving Hani and Maya staring at each other in the half-light from the clerestory.
What has happened? What does this mean for our mission?
The servant reappeared, and with a bow, he said, “The commissioner will receive you.”
Hani pushed open the heavy door and entered the commissioner’s office. The latter, standing on his dais, had his back to the light. His face was in shadow, but his slim silhouette was altogether familiar. It was unmistakably Ptah-mes.
Hani’s jaw dropped in surprise, and he cried out, “You’re Maya, my lord?”
“Ah, Hani. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you,” Ptah-mes said. Hani made a deep obeisance, and when he rose, he found the commissioner standing over him, smiling. Ptah-mes extended his hand, and the two men clasped forearms with real affection. “Yes, I’m Maya. The ‘pt’ in ‘Ptah’ is apparently too difficult for the locals to pronounce, so they call me Atakh-maya. Since Maya was my childhood nickname, I’ve decided to become him while up here. His life was happier than mine.”
Hani found it difficult to imagine that Ptah-mes was ever a child, let alone a child with a nickname. He shook his head and chuckled. “Well, that relieves me. I wasn’t sure who I was going to encounter. I thought perhaps you’d been transferred and this Maya fellow had replaced you.”
“No, no.” Ptah-mes gestured Hani to a stool, and he took his own chair once more. “Much to his chagrin, I’m sure, the king seems to need my services. I am, in fact, still carrying out the same duties as before—but at a lower grade and lower pay.”
Hani bit back a snort of disgust. What sort of ruler would treat his talented servant so shamelessly? He managed to say without inflection, “I wondered why no successor had been appointed as high commissioner. At least the vassals will have a competent intercessor.”
“Although incompetence is a sort of hallowed tradition in the north. Have you met any of the regional commissioners?”
Hani shook his head.
“No doubt you remember Hotep.” Ptah-mes laced together his fingers and rested his hands in his lap.
Hani rolled his eyes. Indeed, he did remember. A few years before, the lazy, unsoldierly commissioner of Ullaza had withdrawn all the garrison’s troops to furnish himself with an escort, leaving the king of Kebni at the mercy of his enemies.
“He’s still around. There’s also a fellow called Amen-nefer at Kumidi, just northwest of Temesheq—when he deigns to be there.”
“That name tells me something...” Hani said.
“You may have seen him at Waset or in the capital. He has one eye—hard to miss. Not a bad soldier but a wretch of a man, with a savage temper. His relationship with the natives could hardly be worse.”
Hani gave a disgusted psh sound. “Just the sort you want to represent your kingdom abroad.”
Ptah-mes sighed, a slight sarcastic smile on his lips.
Hani had to admit Ptah-mes looked well. Age refines him, where it coarsens most of us.
The commissioner seemed free of a certain tension that had marked him for years—the strain on his conscience. But there was a cold, dark, dangerous light in Ptah-mes’s black eyes. The light lines that stretched from the wings of his nose to the corners of his mouth had deepened and etched his handsome face with a look of profound cynicism. This man was thoroughly disenchanted with life. Hani wondered what it must be like for such a cultured person to live in this bleak, rustic outpost. Certainly, he showed none of the signs of a functionary gone to seed that one saw altogether too frequently in foreign missions—wigs abandoned, shirts of dubious cleanliness, manners forgotten. Many of them seemed to fall to drinking. But Ptah-mes was not a man to relax his personal discipline a tittle. He’ll always represent us at our best.
“The vizier gave me an assignment and said you could fill me in on it, my lord,” Hani said.
“Yes. Actually, there is more than one assignment. But the obvious one is this: the king has finally decided that the restlessness of the vassals has gone too far. There have been defections to Kheta. Constant warfare among the small kingdoms themselves.”
“Which Our Sun God has always encouraged. He’s said it keeps them weaker.”
“Indeed.” Ptah-mes sniffed. “Only now, the received wisdom has it that that weakness is an open invitation to our Hittite friends. They’ve completely taken over the western half of Naharin, you know, with Prince Shuttarna as a puppet ruler in the east. But the real power is Shuppiluliuma’s eldest son, Piyasshili, who is a sort of viceroy for his father at Karkemisa. That’s not far from our borders.”
Hani raised his eyebrows uneasily. “No indeed.”
“The loss of Qidshu in particular would be catastrophic for strategic reasons, especially now.” Ptah-mes lowered his eyes, but a thin, caustic smile made his feelings on the matter perfectly clear to Hani. “Nefer-khepru-ra’s going to send troops up here at last. There will be war.”
A thrill of relief mixed with reluctance raised the hairs on Hani’s neck. Part of him wanted to cry, “Finally!” But he’d been in the army. War meant men would die. “If only old Rib-addi had lived to see it,” he said, hoping things hadn’t been permitted to slide to the point at which a war would be unwinnable.
“I needn’t add that this is in large part a sop to the army, which has grown quite disenchanted with our foreign policy of neglect. They’re chafing for war, and so they’ll have one.”
“I’m not shocked at all to hear that, my lord.”
“And here’s where you come in,” Ptah-mes continued, leaning forward, his forearms across his knees. “Someone must be sure there will be provisions and water for our army on the march. It’s a very long way to Kharu, and the generals want no surprises. Thirst is an enemy that superior forces can’t overcome.”
“I see, my lord. Am I to negotiate with the local kings, then? Assure they’ll support us and not stab us in the back?”
Ptah-mes leaned back. “You understand me perfectly, my friend. I’ll send emissaries to Hazzuru and Urusalim. Akhshaf isn’t too far away either. But I need you to go inland, to Temesheq. Make sure the king there understands what we’re asking of him and that he will comply. And no matter what he says, there’s no guarantee of that. His neighbors are constantly accusing him of aggression and disloyalty, for whatever that’s worth. He, in turn, will presumably notify the kinglets who are beholden to him.” He looked faintly sly. “I may be able to get Hotep out and someone capable in as commissioner of Ullaza.”
Hani grinned. “If you could do nothing but that during your tenure, my lord, you would be worth your weight in gold.”
Ptah-mes laughed and got to his feet, which Hani imitated. The commissioner’s expression sobered. “There’s something else, Hani. We’ve been receiving wild-eyed reports from some of our vassals inland that the hapiru are back in action, and they seem to be in the hire of Kheta.”
“Aziru’s people? I don’t doubt that they are.”
“These are different ones. Equally social outcasts and brigands, but they have no connection that I can see with our friend the king of A’amu. It’s partly to counter them that Nefer-khepru-ra is sending troops. The hapiru have become very dangerous. They’re coming close to taking cities.”
“What can I do about them, my lord?” Hani asked.
“Talk to the kings up there. See if you can figure out what the city of Qidshu, for one, is up to. The town is absolutely critical to any movement of our troops inland through the pass from the coast. Their king seems to be wavering, although it’s hard to sift truth from fiction when the kinglets let a constant barrage of complaints loose against one of theirs. We need a man on the ground.”
Hani tipped his head in modest submission. “I’ll do my best, my lord.”
Ptah-mes’s cool
voice warmed. “Hani, my friend, my sources tell me that the king has recognized you with the gold of honor. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to celebrate with you.”
A hot flush of embarrassment lit Hani’s cheeks. This should be something I’m proud of, but instead, I feel I need to apologize. “I confess to a certain amount of suspicion, my lord. There must be some ulterior motive.”
“I don’t know. It seems normal to recognize a lifetime of important service.”
Which the king has pointedly denied you, Hani thought, pained. “I can’t see myself ever wearing the shebyu. I feel like it’s somehow dishonest.”
“There’s always some royal self-interest, of course. Fortunately, I received mine from the hand of the Osir Neb-ma’at-ra. It makes it less of an issue of conscience to wear them. Although it’s amazing how the conscience can be rocked to sleep.” He gave Hani a thin quirked smile.
Hani heaved a sigh. He still can’t forgive himself his collaboration.
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Ptah-mes sighed and clapped Hani on the shoulder. “Do you and your men have accommodations? I recommend you stay at the residence. I can’t vouch for the quality of the natives’ hospitality. And there’s still plague around up here.”
“At home, too, alas. I’ll walk warily and trust myself to the benevolence of the gods.” Hani fixed the commissioner with an amicable eye. “I accept your offer with gratitude.”
Ptah-mes gave him a shy twitch at the corner of his mouth, and with a bow, Hani took his leave.
As soon as the door had closed behind Hani, Maya popped up from the floor. “Do we have our orders, Lord Hani?” he asked eagerly.
“Both the public ones and the private ones. Oh, and, Maya, my boy—the commissioner Maya is none other than our friend, Lord Ptah-mes. That was his childhood nickname.”
Maya’s eyes popped. He looked around in stunned pride. “He’s a Maya too?”
“I think it’s a common enough sobriquet for people whose name ends in mes.” Hani clapped his secretary on the back. “But clearly, gentlemen of the best taste are inclined toward it.” He grinned down at Maya, who laughed delightedly and stuck out his chest in satisfaction.