by N. L. Holmes
“That’s what I thought. What do we do now?”
“I wonder if we shouldn’t go on up to Qidshu as we planned. There’s the chance that this was perpetrated by the hapiru, after all.”
Maya was skeptical. “How would they have gotten into the palace?”
“You forget that members of our troops have fallen in with the brigands. Perhaps some of them are here. No one would think to challenge an Egyptian soldier who entered the garrison.”
“That’s true...”
“Anyway, it’s getting late, and it looks to me as if a storm were brewing. Let’s call off our interviews and enjoy our supper.”
⸎
No proper sunset graced the close of the evening. Instead, a creeping yellow-stained mist seemed to suck the light out of the sky, swept along by darker and darker indigo clouds from the west. The temperature dropped noticeably. And finally, just as Hani and Maya sat down to their meal together, the storm hit. Its first blast almost extinguished the lamps until Hani pulled the shutters closed. The panels rattled as if someone were trying to force their way in. Hani could hear the clatter of rain on the palm fronds in the garden below, and at the end, it became a steady hiss. From the crack of the shutters, a driblet of water leaked and made its way down the wall below, pooling on the plastered floor.
“Here come the autumn rains,” Hani said, exhilarated. Rain was such a novelty to a man of Waset that Hani always found himself as excited as a child to hear it. He wondered what the birds did in a rain like this. He hoped they could find themselves some shelter and not be knocked out of the air by the raindrops. “It’s easy to understand why their storm god is the main god of Djahy and Kharu.”
“The River from the sky,” Maya murmured.
Hani wondered if Maya knew that the phrase, admittedly felicitous, was part of the king’s hymn to the Aten.
They set to their supper, tasty and substantial as always—a little whiff of home. I wonder if the cook is as terrorized as the rest of the staff we’ve seen.
“I hope Pa-aten-em-heb isn’t traveling in this weather. Wasn’t he supposed to be here by now?” asked Maya between mouthfuls of bread.
“You’re right. But I suppose many things could have delayed him. There’s the man who can talk to the soldiers.” Hani eyed the table full of small dishes thoughtfully then reached out for a dried fig. He took a chewy bite out of it and, enjoying the pleasant crunch of the tiny seeds under his teeth, said around it, “We won’t head to Qidshu until I’ve had a chance to talk to him. He may be free to rejoin us for the rest of the mission.”
The two men were silent for a space of time, eating. Apparently unaware that Hani’s eye was on him, Maya grew increasingly long of face until he looked downright funereal. I wonder what’s bothering him. “Is everything all right, son? You seem down in the mouth.”
Maya forced a smile. “No, no. Everything is fine. How long do you think before we get letters from home?”
“It’s only been a couple of weeks. I guess if there’s anything newsworthy, they’ll let us know.” Hani was surprised Sat-hut-haru hadn’t yet told her husband that she was expecting their third child, but it wasn’t his part to leak the news, much as it might cheer up the little man.
CHAPTER 5
They were finishing off the meal with some perfumed local wine when a knock on the door made Hani rise. “Let me see who that is.”
He opened to find Zalaya standing apologetically before him. “Forgive me, my lord, but this officer said you would want to see him.” He stepped back.
In the hall, standing in a puddle of the rain that dripped from each hem and even from his thick, straight hair—from which he’d removed the wig—stood Pa-aten-em-heb.
“Ah, here you are! We were just talking about you!” Hani clapped the young officer on both arms and ushered him in. “My question has been answered—you did get caught in the storm.”
Pa-aten-em-heb laughed ruefully. “I should say so. It was a pretty miserable last few iterus. But then, we’ll be returning here in the fall, too, so we’d better get used to this.” He shed his drenched cloak with an embarrassed grin. “Sorry about the water on your floor.”
“I’m sure our good Zalaya will take care of it,” Hani said, beaming at the slave, who practically twitched in his eagerness to be elsewhere. Hani saw him cast a clandestine look at Maya.
“Yes, my lord. Right away.” Zalaya shot away.
Hani turned back to Pa-aten-em-heb. “You must have come straight here without even drying off.”
“I did. I wanted to let you know I was here, since we were later than expected. I won’t keep you—I see you’re at table.”
“I’d invite you to join us, but I can imagine you’d like to get into some dry clothes,” Hani said kindly. “After you’ve eaten, if you aren’t too tired, come back, and we’ll hear what you’ve found out. Otherwise, there’s always tomorrow.”
The officer bade the two scribes a pleasant meal and headed off into the corridor. As he departed, Zalaya reappeared with a scrubbing cloth and a basin. He crept over to the puddle and, kneeling, silently began to sop up the water. Hani watched him for a moment. Despite his headband, the slave shook his hair out of his eyes every few moments, and Hani began to realize it was more a tic than a necessity. The man was so tense he was almost fluttering.
At last, he finished and climbed to his feet, but before he could excuse himself, Hani said in a gentle voice, “Why did you lie to my secretary this afternoon, son?”
Zalaya’s black eyes flew wide, and his pale lunar face grew paler still until the dark roots of his beard were visible through the skin. He staggered back as if Hani had threatened him with a fist. “I... I saw nothing that night, I swear, my lord.”
“You’re still lying, aren’t you? Who are you afraid of, Zalaya? No one takes precedence over the king’s emissary. Did you see the man who killed Shulum-marduk?”
“No, my lord.” He gave a great jerk, and snot began to fountain from his nostrils, tears from his eyes. He swiped at his nose with the back of a trembling hand.
Hani watched him, his heart wrung with compassion for a fellow human who had been so reduced by fear. He’s young, but what kind of life does he have to look forward to? His master can do anything to him he wants. “Do you know who did it? Do you at least suspect who it was?”
“No! No! Forgive me, my lord, but I can’t tell you anything. I have a wife and children.”
So that’s the hold someone has over him.
“You don’t look old enough to have a wife and children,” Maya said harshly. “Are you lying again?”
“If you decide you want to tell us, Zalaya, let me know, and I’ll see to it that you and your family are taken to safety. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of.” Hani laid a fatherly hand on the slave’s shoulder. The youth was quivering like a leaf. He nodded spasmodically, and as soon as Hani removed his hand, Zalaya bowed himself out, basin in his arms.
As the man closed the door behind him, Maya whistled. “Iyi, there’s a man who is scared out of his skin.”
“Is this how our noble commissioner treats his slaves, brutalizing them into submission?” The idea depressed Hani. What self-respecting man of Kemet would even sink to being a slave owner?
“Is it one of them they’re all defending?” Maya asked in disgust.
⸎
Later that evening, the indefatigable Pa-aten-em-heb showed up again, clean and dry, his step as springy as if he hadn’t just had a grueling day’s march through the rain.
“Tell me how your visits to the vassal kings went, my friend,” Hani said as he ushered the young officer into the room.
Pa-aten-em-heb seated himself on the floor. “They seemed to be responsive. Even Biryawaza’s men toed the line nicely, although who knows what they would have said had we not been with them. I’m optimistic that the vassals will show up for us when the time comes. This is what they’ve been praying for, after all.”
“We’ve had a rat
her exciting week ourselves,” said Hani dryly. “An embassy of Babylonians en route to Akhet-aten was robbed, and then, when they sought refuge here that night, one of their number was murdered.”
The officer’s eyes grew wide. “Murdered? A diplomat?”
Hani nodded. “And their king won’t be happy about it.”
“Where did it happen? In the city itself?”
“Right in the commissioner’s residence. No one seems to have heard or seen anything.”
Pa-aten-em-heb gave a low whistle. “By all that’s holy! Under the nose of a magistrate of the Two Lands. That could be taken as an act of war.”
“We suspect the Hittites,” said Maya eagerly.
“Although I’m not sure they wouldn’t have done something subtler if they were out to break our alliance with Sangar.” Hani didn’t want to be closed to that scenario, but it did seem less than probable to him. He realized his views had been influenced by his meeting with Hattusha-ziti and admonished himself, Don’t be credulous, my boy. “In short, we’re still investigating, and so far, the clues are nonexistent. Maya and I spoke to some of the servants, who would be the most likely to have information. But they’re too terrorized to speak to us.”
Pa-aten-em-heb sniffed in disgust. “I don’t doubt it.”
“Perhaps you could talk to some of the guards. Whoever killed the man bashed him to pieces. It must have been a military weapon.”
“One of ours, do you think? Or a hapir? They have the most reason to want to see us attacked by Sangar along the eastern border.”
Hani made a moue of uncertainty. “Or one of ours who has gone over to the hapiru.”
“That would make a lot of sense.” Pa-aten-em-heb looked up at Hani intently. “Tomorrow, I’ll see what I can find out.”
As the officer was moving to the door, Hani laid a hand on his shoulder and asked in an undertone, “Have you met with the commissioner?”
Pa-aten-em-heb’s face grew dark. “No, my lord. I plan to avoid that honor.”
“Would he recognize you, do you think?”
“I’m not sure. He saw me only one time. I was assigned here and there, mostly in Waset, while he and my family were in Hut-nen-nesut.” The officer’s jaw was clenched with anger.
Hani wondered what Amen-nefer, a Theban, had been doing in the City of Haru. Did he have some office with the House of Royal Ornaments, the king’s harem?
Pa-aten-em-heb let himself out, and Hani and Maya were left staring at one another. Finally, Hani said reflectively, “We need to find the man with the motive. Who would have an interest in killing a Babylonian diplomat?”
⸎
The next morning, the commissioner hailed them in the courtyard. The rain had passed over, and a fresh, brilliant sky, like a bowl of blue frit, stretched overhead. The black cypress trees and the green fields below were sparkling, and the air had cooled down noticeably. Hani was newly aware of how high the town was, there in the foothills of forbidding mountains.
With Maya at his side, Hani was caught up in his own pleasant thoughts when Amen-nefer called, “Lord Hani!”
Hani looked up. The commissioner was striding toward them with the confident steps of a soldier. A smile brightened his too-handsome face. “My lord, you’ve been busy, I know, but I just wanted to ask how your investigation was going.”
“Well enough,” said Hani vaguely. “We don’t have any formal suspects yet, but our military officer is going to talk to some of the garrison. I trust that won’t be a problem.”
“Not at all. It seems to me that some of those renegade countrymen of ours may have entered, disguised as soldiers. You’re undoubtedly looking in the right direction.” He fell into step alongside them. “How is that slave working out? He isn’t especially bright—but then, what do you expect? I assigned him to you because he speaks good Egyptian.”
“He’s fine, my lord commissioner. Very obedient. He seems a little frightened.”
Amen-nefer nodded. “Ridiculously shy for an adult. I’m trying to give him some varied experiences to make him more confident. If he bothers you, just tell me. I’ll find someone else for you.”
Hani protested that Zalaya was perfectly adequate. He observed that Amen-nefer made no reference to the terrible bruise on the lad’s face. Perhaps he hadn’t even noticed it. The youth, after all, was just a native. The three men strode on toward the residence, Maya trailing a little.
“How did you like our storm last night?” Amen-nefer asked.
“Impressive. Glad I wasn’t out in it.”
“It’ll probably be the last for a while. It’s mostly winter when we receive our rain. Fall is just getting us in the mood.” His voice dropped. “Did your foreign visitor find you?”
“He did. Thank you for directing him to my quarters.”
“One of them wouldn’t ordinarily be welcome here, but since he was a diplomat... we don’t want to get a reputation, do we?”
Hani chuckled grimly.
“Well, this is where I peel off,” the commissioner said as they approached the palace. “We’re having a review of the troops this afternoon, if you’re interested.”
“That’s kind of you, Lord Amen-nefer. If we’re not occupied, we’ll gladly take you up on your invitation. Oh, there is something we could use, and that’s a stool or two. I had to seat our Babylonians on the bed.” Hani smiled.
“Of course, of course, my lord. There’s that worthless slave for you. He was supposed to furnish your apartment.”
Hani made a deprecating noise and turned toward the residence, while the commissioner headed for the barracks.
“I’ll see to it the man gets you something before the day is out,” Amen-nefer called over his shoulder as he disappeared through the gate.
Hani and Maya strode on into the vestibule and turned at the stairwell rather than heading into the reception hall. Hani’s crystalline mood was mildly tarnished. It always depressed him to hear someone disparage others. “Let’s see what progress Pa-aten-em-heb makes with the soldiers.”
“Do you want me to find Zalaya and see what he can do about stools? Who knows when Amen-nefer is going to be free,” Maya said.
“That’s a good idea. I wouldn’t mind sitting on something other than the floor for dinner tonight.”
“I’m off, then, Lord Hani. Shall we meet here before the review begins?” Maya asked brightly.
Hani nodded. “Excellent idea. I’ll see you then.”
⸎
As he descended the stairs, Maya saw slaves passing in and out of a corridor that opened unobtrusively under the steps. The ceiling was lower than elsewhere in the rather impressive building, and no effort had been made to decorate the walls, which were covered only in whitewash, much scuffed and peeling in places. This must be a service area. Perhaps Zalaya is here somewhere. He started tentatively down it, craning his head to try to see some human being. Ahead of him in the ill-lit distance, he perceived a man unbolting and entering a door. A moment later, the fellow emerged with a small table in each hand, kicked the door shut behind him, and set off in the opposite direction.
“Yahya! A storeroom!” Maya murmured triumphantly to himself. He picked up his pace and drew near to the door. The servant had left it unbolted, for which Maya gave hearty thanks. He’d had experiences with the bolting system of the doors in Kharu, which were well over his head. But now he had only to push the panel and enter. The room was clearly a depository, piled high with furniture and only dimly lit from a narrow slit of a window, perhaps to protect the contents from theft.
Maya waded out into the room, squeezing between tables and climbing over chairs. Some of them seemed new, while other pieces were wobbly and damaged. “Where are the damned stools?” he grumbled, barking his shin on some kind of stand. An upside-down table slid off under his weight and fell with a clatter. Ammit take it. He grunted and heaved it to one side. Below it lay a wreck of a stool, two legs off, and the others hanging in splinters. Even the leather-covered frame
was shattered. It must have fallen out a window, Maya thought with a grin, trying to imagine the scenario that could have brought a substantial stool to such ruin. He picked it up, careful not to get splinters in his hand, and heaved it to the edge of his path then wiped his hands on his hips. But suddenly, in the dim light, he saw brown streaks on his kilt.
He jerked back, staring at his hands: they were rusty looking. He sniffed them, and the odor of rancid meat rose, sickening, to his nose. “Blood!” he cried in a voice higher than normal. His heart had begun to pound. Maybe this is just a stool that was used in the kitchen. Stay calm. But even in the darkness, he could see that it was elaborately carved. The pierced-leather webbing of the seat was stamped with designs. A tuft of hair dangled from one of the sharp up-pointed corners. It was no kitchen stool; it was...
The murder weapon! He gasped. It must be.
But what do I do now? I can’t carry it away with me. Everyone would think I was trying to dispose of the evidence of my crime. Maya’s neck was crawling with fear. What if someone came in and found him there? What if the murderer himself came looking for the weapon?
Maya hurriedly stacked several pieces of furniture over the wrecked stool to conceal it, and panting wildly, he scrambled back over the tables and chairs to the door. After a quick, desperate look up and down the hall, he ran off back to the staircase and clattered up it, gasping, as if he were being propelled from behind.
“Mut, the mother of us all, protect us,” he babbled over and over.
He clutched at his amulet as if he were hanging onto a branch that could save him from falling. A wave of nausea shook him even at the memory of that smell. He passed a slave, who stared at him in surprise as he tore past. Did the fellow notice the blood? At last Maya reached Hani’s door.
He hammered on the panel. “Lord Hani! Lord Hani!” His voice was breaking with terror, and he felt he might begin to whimper at any moment as he remembered the Babylonians’ comments about the victim’s angry ghost.