The North Wind Descends

by N. L. Holmes

  Lord Hani led the way back toward their residence in the palace, his broad back casting a shadow that sheltered the secretary from the sun. Maya found himself imitating his father-in-law’s rolling gait, adding a bit of his own swagger, but then he forced himself to stop—it was a little too much like a parade of ducks.

  They hadn’t gone far when a soldier came running up and sank breathlessly to his knee before Hani. “My lord,” he panted. “An urgent message from the high commissioner, Lord Maya.” He held out a packet of papyrus tied with a sealed cord, which Hani accepted.

  It took Maya a moment to remember who Lord Maya was, and by that time, Hani was folding up the letter. He turned to Maya and said grimly, “Ptah-mes says he’s been recalled to Kemet for an audience with the king. Meanwhile, there’s been a murder of a Babylonian diplomat at Kumidi, and he wants us to investigate in his absence.”

  “Phew,” whistled Maya, partly horrified and partly exhilarated at the prospect of an investigation. “Someone killed a foreign diplomat? What’s the world coming to?”

  To the messenger, Hani said, “Thank you, son. I guess there’s no point in sending a reply if the high commissioner has left for home.” He slipped a faience ring from his finger and pressed it into the youth’s hand.

  The soldier rose and slapped his chest with a fist in a salute of grateful acknowledgment. As he jogged away, Hani exchanged a serious look with Maya. “Burna-buriash, the king of Sangar, is an irascible old curmudgeon. He may start a war.”

  Maya widened his eyes. “What’s he going to say when he sees our troops coming up here to the eastern border? Will he believe we’re aiming at the hapiru?”

  “You know, my friend, I’m almost as uneasy about the fact that Ptah-mes has been summoned to an audience. He hasn’t been back for two years. Why now all of a sudden?” Hani seemed pensive, his thickety brows knotted. Then he brightened and flashed Maya one of his conspiratorial grins, baring the gap between his front teeth. “This may be the adventure you wanted. Come on, son. It’s away to Kumidi.”

  He set off at a brisk clip toward their lodgings, and Maya trotted alongside, his writing case bobbing against his shoulder. War with Sangar? But no one could blame the Babylonians, really. By all the gods, who could have done such a thing? Diplomats are sacrosanct. “Could it have been some brigand who killed the man, my lord? One of the hapiru perhaps?”

  “We’ll find out, Maya.” After a minute, Lord Hani added, “Here’s the murder I’ve been expecting.”

  “Expecting?” Maya was nonplussed. To him, this was the most unforeseen turn of events he could have imagined.

  Hani said darkly, “You’ve never noticed how violent deaths spring up wherever I set my feet? I’m beginning to think I’m responsible in some way.”

  “Oh no, my lord!” cried Maya earnestly. “It’s just that you’re sent to investigate them.”

  Hani chuckled, and Maya realized with a burn of embarrassment that his father-in-law had been teasing. They regained their corridor in the royal residence, and Hani banged on the door where his staff was holed up. The frizzy-haired lower secretary, In-her-khau, opened to them, and when he saw it was his master, he bowed low.

  But Hani wasted no time in polite exchanges. “We’re heading to Kumidi immediately. Pack up everything and get down to the courtyard.”

  “Yes, my lord.” In-her-khau cast a quick glance at Maya, who stood with his arms crossed and his chin lifted. Maya took pains to seem frosty toward In-her-khau, who was his inferior at work if not by birth.

  Then he and Hani stalked back to the bedchamber assigned to them. Hani began pulling clothes out of the press and stuffing them into his traveling basket. “I need a valet.”

  Maya secretly thought that was a terrible idea. If there were anyone more intimate with a man than his secretary, it was his valet. “I could do that for you, my lord,” he offered.

  “It’s all done, but thank you, friend. Now, pack yourself up, and we’re off to Kumidi.”

  ⸎

  It was a hard two days’ journey northwest through the mountains to the town of the regional commissioner. Kumidi sat at the eastern edge of a broad, fertile valley, well up on the swelling foothills of the range Hani and his party had just crossed. The temperature seemed more pleasant than it had been the last few days, or perhaps the sight of their goal gave the travelers hope.

  I’m getting too old for this, Hani told himself, wiping his face with his forearm, although many diplomats were older than he. He thought of his friend, Mane, who had to be close to sixty, still tramping back and forth to distant Wasshukanni. Or the unfortunate Babylonian emissary, whatever his age, making the two-month-long slog to Akhet-aten from Bab-ilum. The fatal slog.

  What’s this business all about? Are the hapiru trying to stir up trouble between us and an ally? Hani had heard that the king of Kheta Land was supposed to marry one of King Burna-buriash’s daughters. He gave a snort. He and our king will be brothers-in-law. Perhaps the king of Sangar is planning on switching his alliance to Kheta.

  “What is it, my lord?” Maya said at the sound.

  “Just thinking about our murder and how damaging it may be to our relationship with Sangar. And about who might find that profitable.”

  “I’ll bet it’s the Hittites again. They seem to have a finger in every pot.” Maya looked truculent, ready to take on the men of Kheta single-handed.

  “That guess is as good as any other until we have some facts.” Hani sighed and twitched aside the curtain of the litter. He had to blink in the glaring sun of late afternoon, which was low enough to hit him right in the eyes and blind him momentarily.

  He looked out across the valley to the tall forested mountains silhouetted on the other side. Halfway there, the glinting ribbon of a river ran, and to the south of that a bright spot that might have been a lake. Closer up, in the fertile agricultural lands, a date grove waved its fronds lazily, like a group of tousle-haired prostitutes beckoning from a street corner. Hani thought he could make out a small blur of white ahead, shimmering like water.

  “I think Kumidi’s come into view. Look there.” Hani pointed.

  Maya craned his neck out the side of the litter to see. “Not a moment too soon. I’m exhausted,” he said crossly.

  “Ah, but think of our colleagues and the soldiers who are walking. Our lot could certainly be worse.” In more than one sense. Since Pa-aten-em-heb had still been off in Qeden when Hani and his party had left Temesheq precipitously, they’d brought with them only a few soldiers as an escort. If emissaries were being waylaid in the region, Hani was glad not to have become one of the victims.

  The rest of the tedious afternoon passed to the clop of donkeys’ hooves and the soporific swaying of their vehicle. It was evening when they finally entered Kumidi and wound through the town to the commissioner’s palace.

  Here at last was a fortified place with strong crenellated walls, like a proper Egyptian fortress. Spearmen stood at attention as the little cavalcade passed through the gate. I like that, Hani thought. Someone’s keeping discipline.

  He’d sent a runner ahead in advance of their arrival, and now the commissioner himself came out onto the porch of his residence to greet them, in a formal but military-looking short kilt and shirt with full pleated sleeves. He was properly wigged and shaven, his eye painted—because he had only one. The other was a seared and sunken pit, scarred over as if it had been cauterized. It was hard not to stare at it.

  “Welcome, my lord. The emissary of our king—life, prosperity, and health to him—is always welcome,” said Amen-nefer in a brassy voice that had no doubt served him well for leading his troops into combat. He bowed with proper respect and offered his hand.

  Hani smiled and took the proffered grasp, which was firm and manly. “I thank you, Lord Commissioner. Despite many years in the area, I’ve never had the pleasure of visiting your city. The regional capital used to be in Temesheq.”

  “Yes. It seemed like a good idea to remove t
he seat of power from Biryawaza’s clutches.” He gave Hani a knowing smile. “Fortunately, the mayor of Kumidi is a harmless fellow who’s no threat to anyone. Rather simple, like so many of the natives.”

  That comment raised a little shiver of distaste along Hani’s nape. For him, the “natives” were anything but simple. Ptah-mes had said Amen-nefer was on bad terms with the locals, and Hani believed it. Nothing was quite as toxic as being patronizing.

  “Allow me to show you to your quarters. I assume the soldiers will be garrisoned in the barracks,” said the commissioner in a jovial voice.

  “More troops will be coming. They were on an assignment when we left.”

  Amen-nefer tipped his head in acknowledgment. “They’ll be welcome. Many of my men have been here six years. They’ll be eager for news from home.” He led the way with a brisk, martial gait through the palace and up the stairs to a pleasant room. “Lord Hani, I trust your accommodations are acceptable. Your secretary and the others will be quartered up and down this hall. It’s our most luxurious area—I used to sleep down here myself. Just abandoned it for the Babylonians. They wanted to stay together.”

  Hani assured him it was perfect. “I would like to meet with you this evening, my lord, about the unfortunate recent events.”

  “To be sure. Join me for dinner, and we can talk at table.”

  Hani said firmly, “I would like my secretary to be present, if you don’t object. It’s important the vizier has an accurate picture of the facts as we know them.”

  “Very well. I’ll see to it you have some servants,” Amen-nefer said in a pleasant tone, and with another bow, he took his leave.

  Hani stared after him as he disappeared down the hall, trying to make up his mind. The man was friendly and polite, much more sincerely respectful than King Biryawaza. He obviously ran a disciplined garrison. And he was handsome, despite the loss of his eye. Muscular in build and passably tall, he had a face that was almost a caricature of manly good looks, with a cleft chin—just a little too prognathous—and a full-lipped, deeply bowed mouth.

  Am I letting myself be influenced by the story Pa-aten-em-heb told me? His behavior has certainly been impeccable. He’s not the only Egyptian who looks down on the vassals as if they’re some sort of savages.

  “What do you think, my lord?” asked Maya once the two of them were alone. “Can you picture him mauling Pa-aten-em-heb’s sister?”

  “Not readily. But then, I haven’t refused his courtship,” Hani said with a wink. “Let’s take him at face value for now. I don’t know when they’ll call us for dinner, so we ought to bathe and make ourselves presentable, I suppose.”

  A timid knock on the door interrupted him, and Hani opened it. A round-eyed young Kumidian in a simple tunic presented himself with a bow. “My Lord Hani, I’ve been assigned to your person. Please tell me what I can do for you,” he said in fluent Egyptian.

  “What’s your name, son?” Hani asked him kindly. The youth seemed very nervous.

  “Zalaya, my lord. Thank you for asking.” He bowed again. He was a meek-looking, moon-faced lad. His cheek was disfigured by a big angry purple bruise.

  Hani and Maya exchanged a glance. “What happened to your face, Zalaya?” asked Hani.

  The servant—probably a slave—all but writhed in discomfort. “I, uh, fell, Lord Hani.”

  Hani heaved out a deep sigh. No, he was struck. But that’s the lot of slaves up here. It’s not for me to reform local customs.

  “I’d like a bath and a shave and some oil to rub on afterward. And then my secretary after me. We’ll both need clean clothes. He can show you our baggage.”

  Zalaya bowed and followed Maya out in search of their baskets and chests. Hani eyed his narrow back thoughtfully. As Hani stood in the doorway, two men came around the corner, chattering in loud, animated voices, waving their hands, and exuding frustration. They were speaking Akkadian. When they saw Hani before them, the older man stopped and almost shouted, in that language, “Are you the emissary who is here to put right the murder of our colleague?”

  “I am indeed the king of the Two Lands’ messenger. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

  “I am Shindi-shugab, emissary of the Great King of Karduniash.”

  “And I, Akhu-tsabu,” said the younger of the two.

  “Hani son of Mery-ra at your disposal, my lords.” Hani smiled benevolently.

  The two Babylonians seemed to calm down a bit. Shindi-shugab said in his gravelly voice, “This situation is intolerable, Lord Hani. We had all the safe conducts international custom requires. We should have been untouchable.”

  “And we had a military escort,” Akhu-tsabu pointed out. “We’re carrying gifts for your king.”

  “Here, come into my room. Tell me what happened.” Hani stepped back, and the two men passed inside.

  Shindi-shugab was a portly man at the older end of middle age. His polished bald head contrasted with the density of a long, square-trimmed beard, and his eyes were popping with outrage. His younger companion, black haired, was small and downright fat. Red faced, he glistened with sweat in the heat. He looked as if he might cry with distress.

  Hani gestured to the two men to seat themselves on the bed, and he folded his legs and sat down on the multicolored carpet before them. “All I know is that your colleague was killed. You’ll help us all by telling me as many details as you can.”

  At that moment, Maya swung open the door and burst in, saying, “Everything is ready for your bath, my lord. Shall I tell Zalaya—oh, excuse me. Excuse me, gentlemen.” He backed up and was darting out the door, but Hani called out to stop him.

  “Come on in, my friend. I want you to take notes.”

  Maya closed the door carefully and sat down. He pulled off his writing case and dripped a bit of water from his flask onto the cake of ink. Then he folded his legs and sat behind Hani, spreading a sheet of papyrus across his knees, and looked up expectantly.

  “Now, my lords, please start at the beginning and tell me all you know.”

  “We had been on the road for a very long time,” began Shindi-shugab. “We were approaching Kumidi by way of the trade route. Our caravan, in fact, was led by traders, because they wanted to take advantage of our armed guard. They were afraid of these people you call the hapiru, you know. We’ve had more than one caravan robbed, and your king has done nothing about it.” His eyes bugged again, and his face grew scarlet with indignation.

  His fellow chimed in, “We were coming up the valley from the south, not far outside the city, when a howling horde of savages fell upon us. They slew right and left and seized our pack donkeys laden with goods, despite the soldiers. It was shocking! Shocking!”

  “Lord Hani, I want to reiterate: we had diplomatic credentials and a letter from King Burna-buriash, asking all local governments to permit our passage. It is simply outrageous that we should be treated thus.”

  “And the worst was yet to come,” Akhu-tsabu cried in a quivering voice. “We sought refuge with your commissioner—who, I must say, was gracious enough—but notwithstanding that, when we went to waken our colleague Shulum-marduk the next morning, he was dead! Murdered, my lord!”

  Dear gods, Hani thought, apprehension chilling him. Right in the palace? That certainly doesn’t look good for us. “How did he die? Are you sure he was murdered?”

  “He’d been beaten savagely,” Shindi-shugab yelled, his voice breaking. “Beaten, right in his room.” He slammed his fist into the other palm.

  Hani’s heart sank. “Did you hear anything, my lords? Preceding your discovery, I mean? Did this happen the evening before or in the night, do you think? Could you tell?”

  Akhu-tsabu said in a tremulous voice, “We saw him at dinner. After that, nothing. We all went to our rooms, a little tipsy, and while Shindi-shugab and I were on this side of the hall, Shulum-marduk was on the other side, and there was an antechamber between his bedroom and the corridor. So I don’t think we would have heard anything, c
ertainly not so as to be wakened from sleep.” He mopped his forehead with his sleeve, hands shaking. Hani was concerned lest he topple over dead himself.

  Shindi-shugab growled, “How safe do you think we feel now, Lord Hani? If a murderer can sneak into the very palace of your commissioner, is anyone safe?” Before Hani could speak, Shindi-shugab’s voice rose irately. “And that’s not the worst of it. The insult to our king is unpardonable. First we’re attacked and robbed, and then that very next night, one of us is killed. Your commissioner is not providing us with security. Has he no respect for the Great King of Karduniash?”

  “We’ve written to our king, and assuming that no one kills our courier, Lord Burna-buriash will decide what to do,” Akhu-tsabu chimed in. “He may recall us, or he may instruct us to lodge a complaint directly with your king Nibkhurirya.”

  “You lost all your gifts, you say?” Hani wasn’t sure what comfort he could offer the Babylonians.

  “Not all. And the choice seems very arbitrary in retrospect. If I were a highwayman, I would have been more thorough.” Shindi-shugab shot his compatriot a suspicious look, and Akhu-tsabu nodded feverishly.

  Hani realized that time had passed—through the window, the garden was bathed in the luminous darkness of twilight, and the lampless room had grown shadowed. “Gentlemen, I beg you to forgive me. We have an appointment with the commissioner very soon, and we’ve yet to clean off from our journey.” He got to his feet, and the two Babylonians rose likewise.

  “I hope you, at least, will address this outrage seriously,” Shindi-shugab said, automatically slicking back his scalp as if in memory of the days when he had hair.

  “I assure you I’ll take this case very seriously and pursue it to the end,” Hani said earnestly. “Stay in touch with me in the meantime, my lords. We greatly esteem your king and the friendship of your nation, and I hope this terrible event won’t come between us.”