by N. L. Holmes
Hani, his heart in a turmoil of suspicion, indicated that he’d heard all he needed to, and the two men took their leave, backing from Ptah-mes’s presence in a low bow.
Ptah-mes turned to Hani. “It sounds as if the rumors of Qidshu’s defection are true.”
“I thought Shuttatarna, the old king, was loyal to us. The Hittites actually captured him and his family at some point, did they not?” Hani was still trying to make sense of the situation.
“They did,” Ptah-mes said. “And after he died in captivity, they turned his son back over to rule Qidshu, as a gesture of their benevolent intentions.”
“And he continued as a loyal vassal of ours...”
“Until he didn’t. Technically, he still belongs to us, not to Kheta Land, but if he’s abetting the hapiru—”
“Who seem to be supported by the Hittites,” Hani interposed with a significant look at his superior.
Ptah-mes tipped his head in assent. “Then we may question his loyalty, may we not? Perhaps it’s time for a regime change in Qidshu. You might remind Aitakkama of that possibility when you see him.”
“I’ll do that, my lord.” Hani grinned. The two men clasped forearms, and Hani took his leave.
“Don’t hesitate to write if anything develops,” Ptah-mes called after him.
Hani found Maya—the other Maya—waiting in the reception hall, a scrap of papyrus on his knees, upon which he was writing busily. He bounded to his feet at Hani’s approach, a barely contained expression of wide-eyed curiosity on his face.
“Some very interesting information for our journey,” Hani said as they set off for the courtyard where their caravan was formed up. “Firsthand testimony that Qidshu’s up to no good.”
“The wretches,” Maya said with savage satisfaction. “Just as we suspected, eh, my lord?”
“Let’s just say I think Pa-aten-em-heb will have something to sink his teeth into when he comes with the army.”
That officer was standing in the shade of a covered oxcart, his arms crossed, gazing patiently out over the milling people and animals that awaited Hani’s return. Pa-aten-em-heb waved as the two scribes approached.
“We can leave anytime, if your men are ready,” Hani called.
Pa-aten-em-heb disappeared around the corner of the wagon, and Hani could hear him bellowing out orders. He rejoined Hani and Maya as they were mounting their litter. “Anything I should know about?” he asked pleasantly.
“Indeed,” Hani said with a significant lift of the eyebrow. “I’ll tell you when we’re on board the ship.”
The officer made a little bow of his head, and a moment later, he drove past them in his chariot, swallowing the litter in a cloud of pale dust.
Maya chuckled. “You should have seen us in Lord Ptah-mes’s chariot, my lord—that day we went to the police barracks, looking for you. It was quite an experience! There’s nobody like Lord Ptah-mes for freezing a person in their tracks with one haughty look.”
“I can well imagine it,” Hani said, amused. “You recounted it very effectively for the family afterward. Your tales are becoming quite polished, Maya. I think you may have a second career waiting for you: village storyteller!”
Maya’s smile grew fixed. He’s trying to figure out if I’m serious or not, Hani thought with affection.
“Do you think it’s inappropriate, Lord Hani?” the little man asked anxiously. “I had planned to write all our adventures down and thought I could test the effect on people. I don’t want to embarrass you in any way. If you think it’s unbecoming for a scribe...”
“Never, son. I admire your way with words. And Neferet’s pantomime added to the effect, I have to say. She does our friend Ptah-mes quite well—and Mahu.” The bastard. Mahu was the head of the royal police, with whom Hani had tangled with some frequency.
“No doubt,” Maya said tartly. “That girl’s not happy unless she’s the center of attention.”
Hani shook his head with a knowing smile. Maya was another one who didn’t care to be overshadowed. But the thought of Neferet reminded Hani of the news she’d revealed to them about the king’s health. Yet again, Hani’s throat constricted with foreboding. Dark times were surely ahead for the Two Lands.
⸎
Once they were at sea, the heat abated, and at times, the wind blew almost chilly. But the freshness was welcome. Hani drew in a huge breath, savoring the inimitable salty, slightly fishy smell of the waves. It cleared the nose with a satisfying tingle. What a mysterious thing all that water was—clear and aquamarine as untinted glass, growing darker and darker as it sank from the light but never still. It was as if it were alive, with its swirling mesh of foam like hair. He watched the gulls dipping and swooping and floating in the air just off the gunwales of the ship, their yellow eyes fixed on him, hopeful for a treat. Sometimes he held out a piece of bread to them, and one would snatch it greedily from his hand before its fellows attacked and tried to wrest it from him. Like Kemet and Kheta trying to snap up each other’s vassals, he thought in rueful amusement.
At his side, Pa-aten-em-heb and Maya stood. The officer, forearms resting on the wicker gunwales, was also watching the birds, but Maya, his arms crossed, had his back to them and was gazing pensively across the deck crowded with scribes and soldiers. A serious expression sat heavily upon his face. No doubt, he’s composing the most dramatic way to describe the voyage.
“Let me bring you up to date with what I learned before we left,” Hani said to the young officer. “The hapiru have showed up almost as far south as Urusalim. The king’s emissary said they were encamped along the Yardon River. Do you know the area at all?”
“I don’t, my lord—only the coast. That’s why it seemed important that I make this little reconnaissance.”
“In addition, Qidshu seems to be abetting the hapiru in attacking vassal cities. And worse still, Egyptian soldiers have been seen among the hapiru.”
Pa-aten-em-heb stared at Hani in disbelief. “How do these people know they were Egyptian soldiers?”
“They were dressed in their uniforms.”
The officer lowered his eyes, and Hani could see the muscles of his jaw clench. “Then one of the garrisons must have gone over. I wonder why.”
“I wonder whose,” Hani said quietly. The two men locked eyes.
“Lord Hani, I think we’re approaching the port,” Maya called out excitedly at Hani’s other elbow.
Hani, Maya, and the officer crossed to the landward side of the ship, where a multitude of the staff was hanging on the gunwales, staring and pointing. On the coast, misty with distance, stood the white cubes of a city. It was Beruta, their destination, the closest point of disembarkation for Temesheq, some fifty iterus inland.
“I’ve always been surprised so few of these cities up here are walled,” said Maya. “They seem to attack each other all the time.”
Pa-aten-em-eb smiled grimly. “We won’t let them build walls—that’s why. If they could keep each other out, they could keep us out too.”
Maya raised his eyebrows as if considering this reality.
“I’d like to move on to Temesheq as soon as we’re able to reprovision,” Hani said to Pa-aten-em-heb.
A niggle of anxiety gnawed at Hani. Things were more complicated up here than they’d seemed, the lines between the loyal and the self-serving more porous. He wasn’t sure the hapiru, a stateless collection of outcasts and outlaws, would be impressed with his shebyu collars.
The shoreline grew closer and sharper, forming into a ledge of white stone and dark-green trees. Several large jagged rocks thrust up from the harbor—monstrous fangs. The city itself clustered densely at the edge of the sea like crystals of salt, with a palace farther up the slope and the towers of several temples. On his last trip down the coast of Fenkhu, Hani had tried to tempt an assassination by mounting a solitary expedition to the marshes from Beruta—but he and Maya hadn’t ever actually reached them.
The recollection reawakened in him a childli
ke desire to see the marsh birds. “You know, Maya, we never got out to the River Natanu to see the birds.”
May rolled his eyes, no doubt remembering how close they’d come to death.
“You like birds?” asked Pa-aten-em-heb.
“I do.” A hot wave of embarrassment flushed Hani’s cheeks. He suspected that people always found this love of the avian race amusing.
“You should come see the birds on the lake at Pa-yom. There are flamingos. It’s quite a sight when they all take off at once.”
“Next time I’m in Hut-nen-nesut, I’ll be sure to get out there,” Hani assured him with genuine eagerness. He turned back to the shore, which was drawing rapidly closer. “Maya, let’s get our things ready. We’ll be disembarking soon.” He pulled back from the gunwales and led the way to the little curtained pavilion that was serving as a cabin for them, while the young officer set off in turn to organize his men.
“What are we doing here again, my lord?” Maya asked as they strapped down their wicker baskets and gathered the leather pouches that would keep documents dry.
Hani gave a snort. “I think our mission is evolving after what those two emissaries said the other day. We need to find out what Aitakkama of Qidshu is up to. And whose troops have defected to the hapiru. And when we find the turncoat, we’ll probably have to take him prisoner.”
⸎
It was several days’ journey through rough country before they reached Temesheq. The heat had increased with every step away from the coast, and except for the fields irrigated by the Abana River, it had the look of a high, arid place. One could still see the hazy purple mountains not far to the west. As they clopped through the narrow streets, Hani spotted a kite circling far overhead, its forked tail graceful, its pinions strong.
They were met at the palace by the king himself, Biryawaza, who prostrated himself before the emissary of the Great King of the Two Lands, murmuring protestations of his loyalty. Experience had made Hani a little skeptical of such elaborate displays.
Biryawaza was a tall, florid man, probably Hurrian in origin, with a wild head of graying curls—balding on the crown—and a beard to match. He was perhaps Hani’s age and well built although inclining to stoutness. His eyes were greenish brown, heavy lidded, and shrewd. This man is no fool, Hani warned himself. He’s had plenty of experience ingratiating himself with authorities while giving no more than he had to. Hani recalled that when he’d visited Temesheq some years before in search of Aziru, Biryawaza had absented himself.
“Welcome to my kingdom, which belongs loyally to Our Sun God,” the king said once he’d regained his feet. “I look forward to being of service. The favor of our king is the breath of life to my nostrils.”
“Excellent,” Hani replied with his most amiable smile. “We have much to discuss. I’m sure you have requests, as do I. Our cooperation is mutually beneficial.”
“That goes without saying, Lord Hani.” Biryawaza’s eyes flickered to the shebyu collars piled around Hani’s neck, and Hani thought, with satisfaction, that he’d done well to wear them after all.
“Can I have my servants show you to your lodgings? I hope they’ll meet with your approval. We are, after all, but a small country and poor, compared to the fabulous wealth of the Two Lands.”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine. Our military escort will garrison with your soldiers.”
Biryawaza called out to his majordomo to escort the honored visitors away. Hani glanced backward and saw him watching them with narrowed eyes and hands folded in subservience.
I just don’t trust him.
But the accommodations were, in fact, quite pleasant. The room was on the north side of the palace and cool even in the midday heat, its tall windows letting in plenty of breeze. Outside, a garden lazed in the sun, with high black cypresses and silver-green palms. The downside was that Maya seemed to be quartered in the same room.
Maya stared around him with a critical twist of the mouth. “I’m trying to decide what these digs say about our host,” he said, unhitching his writing case from his shoulder. “He wants to look impeccable, but there’s that little jab of inconvenience.”
“Well observed, my friend. Still, you must realize that Temesheq is but a small, poor country, compared to the fabulous wealth of the Two Lands.” Hani gave his secretary a crooked little smile, and Maya snorted.
“I have yet to meet one of these Northerners I’d trust to give me a shave.”
Hani threw back his head and laughed. “Anybody with the least smidgen of power has an agenda—and it’s probably not the same as ours. However, we’ve already learned something, and that is there may be a little truth to some of the complaints of Biryawaza’s neighbors. Our plan to have him contact all his subordinate kinglets may not be as sound as we’d hoped. I’ve suspected for a long time that he’s a bit too close to Aziru and his brigands. Pardon—former brigands, since our friend Aziru is now the king of a legitimate country.”
“Lord Ptah-mes will know what to do.”
“He will indeed. Let’s send him our first impressions.” Hani crossed his legs and sank to the floor, and Maya plopped down beside him. The secretary set out his ink blocks, wet them, and chewed the end on a fresh reed, and Hani said, “Ready to take dictation?”
CHAPTER 4
After several weeks of conferences with Biryawaza, Maya’s opinion had hardened. The mayor-king of Temesheq was a smooth, opportunistic man. He was probably a good administrator of his kingdom, Upi, which was thriving, but he was full of promises to his suzerain while managing few concrete actions. In private, Lord Hani had wondered aloud if it had been a good idea to move the regional commissariat from Temesheq to Kumidi. While the latter was, admittedly, not far away, the hovering presence of an Egyptian commissioner in his own city might have encouraged the king to more sincere obedience. And yet, so far, alas, we don’t have any real proof of his disloyalty—it’s more the impression we get, mixed with the complaints of his neighbors.
Lord Hani and the king—You’re nothing but a mayor—were sitting in a small but lavishly decorated room that was perhaps meant as a council chamber. Maya alone accompanied them, recording the conversation as accurately as possible because Hani very much suspected betrayal at some point and wanted everything on record.
“Lord Hani, I will, of course send word to my dependents that Our Sun God—life, health, and prosperity be his—wants supply depots for his army.” Biryawaza flashed Hani the cold smile of a crocodile as he straightened his sleeves.
Hani smiled back blandly. “Commander Pa-aten-em-heb would like to accompany your envoy to see the locales for himself, if that’s no inconvenience. He’ll know better than I what the army will need.”
Maya scribbled away, but he continued to shoot glances at Hani and the king.
“Of course, my lord.” Despite the gracious acquiescence, Biryawaza’s hardened mouth betrayed an almost invisible hitch of annoyance.
In fact, Maya found himself watching the man’s body language as closely as he was listening to his words—it seemed far more honest. Biryawaza had the build of a comfortably stout middle-aged man, but his forearms were corded and powerful when they emerged from his sleeves, and the undersides of his thick fingers were yellow with calluses. This fellow has seen more than his share of battle. I wonder whose side he was on.
“Before we leave you, I want to mention something that has troubled your neighbors, my lord. There are rumors that you’ve been less than aggressive toward the hapiru, from whom you’re expected to defend your region—”
“Nonsense.” Biryawaza was already expostulating before Hani could finish. “We’ve reduced their numbers substantially. Who told you that?”
“And that you’ve even sheltered them when they were pursued by neighbors’ forces,” Hani finished.
But the king was having none of it. “Let whoever told you that come and say it to my face. He dares not—because he’s lying.” He drew back in his chair, swelling in righteous indig
nation, but his greenish eyes were calculating.
This is bravado, but not out of fear. He’s sure it can never be proved.
“I only report what others have told me, Lord Biryawaza.” Hani smiled genially—no one could remain defensive before such a smile. “It’s for you to think about what might have led to such a perception and to regularize it. Of course, you want to stay in the good graces of the Sun God our master, in appearance as well as reality.” Hani rose to his feet, and Biryawaza had to follow perforce.
“Of course.” The mayor of Temesheq dipped his head in a respectful bow, but Maya asked himself if the complaisance were not a little overdone.
“We’ll meet again at least once before my party leaves. Give some consideration to any requests you would like to make,” Hani said and made as if to go.
This isn’t a groveling man. He doesn’t like being made to truckle. Maya laid aside his writing materials and rose from where he sat cross-legged on the floor. He waited, hands on hips, watching loftily, until Biryawaza had backed from the room—just to make it clear that he, Maya, wasn’t a mere lackey.
Once the mayor’s footsteps could be heard echoing far down the corridor, Maya said acidly, “Oh no, he’s never done anything wrong.”
Lord Hani laughed. “Pa-aten-em-heb is going to feel out the smaller states about their readiness to assist our army, so that leaves you and me some time to investigate our friend the king. I’d like to know if it was his men who were seen fighting alongside the hapiru. We certainly know that he and Aziru are friendly.”
“Does he have Egyptian troops?”
“A few.”
“Well, then,” Maya said with a sniff. “We can be sure they were his.”
But Hani tilted his head thoughtfully. “Let’s wait for the evidence before judging, my friend. There’s more than one disloyal vassal around here.”
The two men made their way from the council room onto the shady porch framed by two stone columns. A pair of Pa-aten-em-heb’s soldiers stood guard on either side, no doubt grateful to be posted in the cool. Beyond the shadows, the paved courtyard was radiating with heat. Maya visored his eyes with a hand and looked around, but Biryawaza had already disappeared from sight.