by N. L. Holmes
CHAPTER 6
As it turned out, Hani’s only little act of defiance was to return straight to Waset rather than to the capital, so they stopped at Akhet-aten only long enough for his staff to disembark. He would have liked to have seen Ptah-mes—perhaps vent his frustration on someone who would understand only too well—but he wanted to see his family even more. Hani hoped Maya’s letter to Sati had reached her and that marital crisis had been averted.
When they arrived at his gate, weary and dirty from their journey, and A’a had opened to them joyfully, Maya made as if to peel off to his own home, but A’a said, “Mistress of the house Sat-hut-haru is here, Lord Maya.”
Hani and Maya exchanged a glance. It wasn’t unusual for Sati to spend time with her mother when their respective husbands were gone, but Hani felt a little uneasy. Maya, on the other hand, brightened with eagerness.
“Nub-nefer!” Hani called as he entered the vestibule. Although the early winter day was mild, the sun was still unconquerably strong, and it took him a moment to regain his sight in the semidarkness. He kicked off his sandals and reveled in the cool smoothness of the plaster floor.
Nub-nefer appeared joyfully in the interior doorway, as slim and beautiful as a figure in a wall painting, for all her forty-nine years. “Hani, my love! You’re back! Maya!” She took Hani into her arms and, her head against his chest, murmured, “We didn’t know when to expect you. We got the message saying you were leaving sooner than expected.”
“It was sudden, my dove, or I would have given you more warning.” Hani buried his nose in her wig, breathing in her fragrance of bergamot and lilies.
Suddenly a whirlwind of excitement blew into the room. It was Neferet, pelting toward her father to throw herself in his arms. “Papa! Maya! Bener-ib and I are here for the holidays!”
“What holiday is it now, my duckling? I begin to think you never work!” But he embraced her joyously and scrubbed her short-shaved scalp with his knuckles. Over her head, he smiled at Bener-ib, who stood shyly in the doorway.
“Sokar, Papa, the end of the first season of the year.”
“That’s a rather somber one. I wish I could be here with you to mourn the Lord Osir, but I need to leave again for the capital almost immediately.”
“I’m practicing already for the sacred mourning rites. I’m going to dance. Bener-ib will have to tear her hair, because I don’t have any.” Neferet pulled away and began to posture more or less like a dancer, rocking backward and clutching her head, swooping forward as if bending over a coffin, one foot in the air. Hani watched her, his heart filled with tender amusement. Neferet, for all her enthusiasm, was an appalling dancer who couldn’t hear the beat of the music any more than Hani could.
“Is there still going to be a procession?” he asked his wife dubiously.
“Unofficially,” she said, putting an arm around Neferet as much to curb her as out of love. “It’s going to be celebrated neighborhood by neighborhood.”
“Pretty sparse crowd left around here, I fear,” Hani said. “They may need me to punch up the dancing a little.” He, too, began to rock and wave his arms and opened his mouth in a wail of keening.
Neferet shook her head and laughed. “The howls of grief will be real if you dance like that, Papa. Better leave it to us youngsters.”
Nub-nefer turned at last to Maya, who stood with a pursed mouth of disapproval, or perhaps impatience, at Hani’s side. “Sat-hut-haru is in the salon, Maya. I think she... she’d be more than happy to see you.”
Maya slung down his basket and rushed off to the salon, murmuring, “Excuse me, everyone,” while Hani and Nub-nefer stood locked together.
She said in a low voice, “Sati was very unhappy—for a long time, I think. She said they had quarreled and that Maya was refusing to talk to her. And then when he didn’t write from abroad, she was brokenhearted. She feared that their marriage was over.”
Hani gave a rueful snort. “That’s exactly what he said to me. She did receive his letter, didn’t she?”
Nub-nefer nodded. “She was happy to the point of tears. She’s having their baby in another month, you know.”
Hani nodded, his heart appeased. From within, they heard a loud burst of sobs, masculine and feminine, and he smiled down into Nub-nefer’s deep-brown gaze. “Were we ever like that? Did we kiss and make up?”
“It’s always sweeter afterward, my love—that’s my recollection.” She smiled up at him from her large kohl-painted eyes, and they were wells of tenderness.
Hani forced himself to break away. “I haven’t said hello to the other girls and to Father yet. Do you think it’s too soon to go in there with our pair of turtledoves?”
She laughed and took his hand in her small one, freshly hennaed and perfectly groomed. If I didn’t know better, I would swear she’s not the same woman I saw butchering a hog, Hani said to himself with a smile. His heart was full to bursting. The idea of any of his dear family coming to harm was unendurable. He thought of Ptah-mes, that paragon of self-control, and how he had fallen completely apart when his wife died. I would too, he thought, choking.
Within the salon, next to Baket-iset’s couch, Maya and Sat-hut-haru sat, their arms around one another. Hani saw tears in both their eyes. He bent over his daughter and kissed her. “How is my little mother?”
She proudly displayed her swelling belly. “Another month, Papa. I’m so glad you’re home.” She turned to Maya and said coyly, “I’m so glad you’re home, my lion.”
Lion, eh? The word for lion was mai, so it was a rather clever nickname. The pun sounded more like Maya’s wit than that of Hani’s daughter.
Maya caught Hani’s eye and blushed to the roots of his hair, his happiness unconcealable.
Hani winked then knelt beside Baket-iset’s couch. “And how is my favorite eldest daughter?” he asked, caressing her face.
“Splendid, Papa. I just witnessed the most beautiful thing—two people humble enough to make up.”
Sati and her husband exchanged a melting look. Hani caught his wife’s eye, and the two of them laughed. “It takes a real lion,” Hani agreed. He looked around him, suddenly realizing a beloved face was missing. “Where’s Father? At his lady friend’s house?”
“He’s in the garden. I’m surprised he didn’t come to the gate when A’a opened to you,” said Nub-nefer.
Hani left his family and drifted out onto the porch. The garden was sparse at this season, the arbor naked of its grapevine. Hani could see a flash of white clothing in the dining pavilion. “Father?” he called.
Mery-ra was seated in the one good chair, his head against the wall and his feet stretched out before him, eyes closed and mouth hanging open. He jerked upright as Hani approached.
“Sleeping, were you? Up late last night at Meryet-amen’s?”
“Ah, Hani, my son! You’re back!” Mery-ra hauled himself to his feet, and the two men embraced. “How are things in the north?”
Hani’s delight chilled. “Riddled with conflicting orders, as usual. First we were feeling out the loyalty of Qidshu and the other mayors in preparation for an apparent punitive mission against the hapiru—led by none other than your friend Pa-aten-em-heb.”
“Well, well. Then Pa-kiki was there?”
“He was. Happy as a heron in the marshes.” Hani chuckled then continued with less amusement, “We were pulled from that assignment to investigate the murder of a Babylonian diplomat right in the commissioner’s palace at Kumidi.”
Mery-ra’s bushy eyebrows rose in horror. “A diplomat? In the palace? Oh, that’s not good at all.”
“To say the least. And it was a brutal murder. He was beaten to death with a stool.”
Mery-ra glanced back at the chair he’d just vacated and edged away from it as if he feared it might turn on him. “Any suspects?”
“We found the stool hidden in a palace storeroom, but we didn’t have time to pursue it further than that before I was recalled. My guess is it was one of the palac
e staff. Perhaps he was a plant on behalf of some force hostile to our alliance with Sangar.”
“And that means Kheta, eh?”
Hani grew thoughtful. His father had participated in many state secrets during his career as a military scribe, so Hani felt he dared tell him. He said in a low voice, “An emissary of Kheta came to see me in Kumidi.”
Mery-ra’s little brown eyes opened wide.
“He seemed to have sought me out in particular,” Hani said.
“His horse must have needed grooming,” Hani’s father said with a naughty grin.
“According to him, the Hittites don’t want to be our enemy. They want to be friends and trading partners.”
Mery-ra whistled. “And why did he seek you out, son? Has talk of your beauty reached even that distant kingdom?”
Hani’s voice dropped even lower. “Someone must have given him my name. I wonder if it was the Crocodiles.”
“You mean those ex-priests of Amen who are trying to pull down the government? Oh, son, stay away from them. We all admire them, but their friendship is the kiss of death.”
Hani said reflectively, “I consider myself one of them.” It was the first time he’d really admitted that to himself in so many words.
Mery-ra cocked an eyebrow at his son. “What makes you think this Hittite wasn’t lying? He wouldn’t be likely to say to you, ‘We plan to strip you of your vassals and devour you alive.’”
“My gut, Father. You always tell me to listen to my gut when judging people. My gut told me he was at least basically truthful.”
Mery-ra reached out and patted his son’s belly. “I hope the little man knows what he’s talking about in there.”
Hani laughed. “But it makes sense for them, doesn’t it? Their king has been on a years-long campaign of conquest, but that can’t go on forever. They need resources, and how else to get them but by trade with allies?”
“I can see that. But this may not be received with much enthusiasm by our government.”
“Probably not. I still don’t know the vizier of the Lower Kingdom well enough to predict his reaction. Ptah-mes says he’s an idiot.”
Mery-ra brightened. “Speaking of Ptah-mes, he’s in Waset. I saw him the other day, galloping along in his chariot, heading, I think, to that palace near the Ipet-isut where our new coregent has taken up residence.”
Nub-nefer emerged from behind the bushes with two cups in her hands. “Already talking politics? Don’t you think the man needs a little time to wash off and rest, Father?”
She handed each of them a cup, and Hani sniffed it. Rich and fruity as a day in late summer. “This is that wonderful stuff from Kebni, isn’t it? Thank you, my dove.” She put her arm around his waist, and Hani took a deep draft from his cup. “Tastes as good as it smells.” He wiped his mouth with the back of a hand and offered the vessel to his wife, who drew in a ladylike sip and passed it back to him.
“Don’t I get any too?” Neferet stuck her head under her father’s arm and made her irresistible pleading eyes.
“Go easy, my girl.” Mery-ra chuckled. “I don’t want to see you lose your inhibitions any worse than you have. How did you sneak up so quietly on us, anyway?”
“Why don’t we go inside so Baket-iset can be included in the conversation?” Nub-nefer suggested.
Hani and Mery-ra followed her into the salon, Neferet prancing at their heels and Bener-ib trailing after like her shadow. Inside it was pleasantly warmer after the chill of descending evening in the garden. The lit lamps made a cozy little circle of light against the darkness.
Baket-iset lay there immobile, a smile on her lips. She followed her parents and grandfather with her eyes as they approached. “How did your mission go, Papa?”
Hani and the others seated themselves by the girl’s couch. “Cut off short by my summons home, I’m afraid. I don’t know if anyone else is being sent up there to conclude it.”
“Hani, my love, you never said in your letter why you were being recalled.” Nub-nefer laid a hand on his arm.
“I’m afraid I don’t know.” The same queasy unease he’d felt upon receiving the command swept over him again. “The king has demanded my presence.”
Nub-nefer and Mery-ra exchanged a worried look.
“Normally, I’d say that meant nothing good, but since he has fallen in love with you, perhaps he’s going to honor you again,” said Mery-ra with forced joviality.
“I haven’t a clue. I’ll have to start off for the capital in the next few days, though, so I guess I’ll find out.”
“Be sure to visit Aha.” Nub-nefer’s smile was crisp with ill-concealed anxiety. Nobody in Hani’s household trusted the king’s benevolence. She rose. “Why don’t I see to starting dinner? You’ll want to get to bed at a decent hour if you’re traveling tomorrow.”
“Of course, my dove.” Hani kissed her hand, savoring that scent that was all hers—that scent that filled his dreams when he was abroad for long months.
She made her way, with gracefully swaying hips, to the kitchen, and Hani and his father were left staring at one another. Neferet and Bener-ib talked with quiet animation to one another in a far corner of the room. At last, Hani turned to his eldest daughter. “Baket, my swan, I need your insight. I met with a man of Kheta while I was in the north. He wants me to take Nefer-khepru-ra a message from his king, protesting peace and brotherhood. They want to open trade with us.”
“Why, that’s wonderful, Papa.”
“Yes, but can I trust him? Can I trust them? They seem to be involved in all sorts of nefarious things up there on the border.”
Baket-iset pondered for a moment. “What did the man look like, Papa?”
Hani ransacked his memory. “About my age. Tall, lean, easy in his movements. Frank looking. Good eye contact.”
“He believed what he was saying, I think. That doesn’t mean it was true.”
“You mean his king could be using him?” Hani thought bitterly of all the times he’d been used—that his own honesty had been an unwitting cover for something shady.
“I have no idea, but it could be.”
“Thank you, my swan.” Did she feel Hattusha-ziti was being used by his ruler, or was that just a generalized possibility? I’m asking too much of her gift. It’s not me who has to take that decision anyway. I just need to make it known to the king. He’d decided to bypass Ra-nefer.
Just then, Nub-nefer appeared in the doorway from the kitchen. “Dinner is ready. The girls are going to set up the tables.”
“Shall I call Khawy?” Mery-ra asked, heaving himself to his feet.
“I’ve already sent word, Father. He’s on his way.” Nub-nefer directed the servants where to set up everything, and before long, Hani was enjoying his first home-cooked meal in months among the people he loved best.
“Tomorrow morning before I leave, I need to talk to Ptah-mes,” Hani said around a mouthful of stewed leeks.
“How’s he doing, son? Not too cast down by his exile?”
“No. Not at all. Just made more cynical. How he’s holding up inside after Apeny’s death, I couldn’t say. I had the feeling that something had gone out of him for good.”
Nub-nefer said, her brows buckled in compassion, “He’s still grieving. It’s only been two years, poor man.”
“Well,” said Mery-ra, whose ear was to the door of every bit of gossip in the City of the Scepter, “I can tell you there are plenty of wellborn ladies of all ages who’d like to help him forget his sorrows. He’s an extremely eligible catch.”
Hani heaved a sigh. “They may find themselves disappointed. He doesn’t have the air of a man who will ever touch another woman.”
“Poor man,” Nub-nefer repeated.
The adults fell silent. The three young people kept their heads down and ate. At one point, Neferet looked up and caught her father’s eye then dropped her gaze quickly.
“How are you doing with your lessons, Khawy?” Hani asked kindly, hoping to set the boy at
ease.
“Lord Mery-ra could tell you better than I, my lord. But I feel I’m making progress. I know a lot of symbols by heart,” the boy said modestly. Khawy, an orphan, had come to them when his uncle, the chief draftsman in the Place of Truth, had been murdered. His one dream was to become literate and to be able to follow in his uncle’s footsteps.
“He’s doing very well indeed. He has an artist’s eye. I must show you the pictures he’s done for my Book of Going Forth.” Mery-ra beamed at him.
Hani smiled proudly at the boy. Khawy was seventeen now, a sturdy youngster with a dark shadow of beard already upon his chin. It wouldn’t be long before he was circumcised and shaved off his sidelock of childhood. We did the right thing by bringing him home and training him, Hani thought.
After dinner, Maya—feeling restored to grace, no doubt—entertained the family with a highly colored account of the Traveler’s adventures in Djahy. Hani watched how animated the little secretary became under the admiring eyes of Sat-hut-haru and the others. Before long, Neferet, reasserting herself as the center of attention, popped up and started acting out Maya’s tale with her usual exuberance. Her pantomime of the obsequious king of Temesheq was especially hilarious. Then she took on the vizier, looking befuddled, and finally Lord Ptah-mes, gazing haughtily down her nose and flicking dust off her invisible immaculate sleeve. The family was rocking with hilarity, although Hani felt a pang of guilt. He didn’t consider his admired friend a man to mock, even in good nature.
It was late when the party broke up and everyone headed off to their respective bedrooms. As Hani, stretching, prepared to escort Nub-nefer up the stairs by the light of a little moringa-oil lamp, Neferet called out, “Papa, where does your friend Lord Ptah-mes live?”
“In Waset? He has an enormous villa in the southern part of the city, not far from the Ipet-isut. Why, my duckling?”
“Oh, just curious.” And she disappeared into the darkness.