The North Wind Descends

by N. L. Holmes

  ⸎

  Hani was late arising the next day—it was delicious to lie in a proper bed with Nub-nefer at his side, snuggled into the bedclothes, and not on the deck of a boat. He could smell her animal warmth and the last threads of her fading perfume. There was something about a sleeping person—a child, a woman, perhaps even a man—that aroused his tenderness. All the facades were down, all the disagreeable tics forgotten, and nothing was left but the blamelessness of a pure ba. Perhaps this was how they would all be in the Field of Reeds when the parts of their soul were reunited and they became a blessed akh—an innocent, undefended perfection of themselves.

  Eventually, Hani forced his lazy carcass to get up. He was thinking now of staying the six days of the festival rather than rushing back to the capital. The king wouldn’t know how long the trip home had taken, and Hani was in no hurry for his audience. With the exception of his gold of honor ceremony, he hadn’t been summoned into the royal presence since the king first took the throne alone, ten years before. He’d hoped to escape the notice of Nefer-khepru-ra for another ten years at least.

  He padded groggily down to the kitchen and could see from the sun in the reed-shaded courtyard that morning was well up. Hani stretched and yawned and scratched his belly. Some stale flatbreads lay on the table, covered with a towel, and he laid one gingerly to toast on the round dome of the oven, which was already heating up for the day’s baking. He could hear the cook grinding grain in the court, so Hani poured himself a cup of milk and made his way to the garden, toast in hand. To his disappointment, it was still much too chilly to sit outside, so he stood in the doorway and watched Qenyt at her hunt, stalking with slow grace and freezing until the wary frogs lost their fear and went on about their task. Then her gray head darted out with the speed of a cobra, and her dagger-sharp beak snapped them up.

  “You’re a ruthless girl, you are,” he said and turned back toward the kitchen.

  “Who, Papa? Me?” Neferet appeared from the vestibule. She was already dressed, with a shawl knotted around her shoulders, and wide-awake. Her cheeks were flushed.

  “No, no, my duckling. Qenyt. Where have you been at this early hour?”

  “Oh, around. It isn’t that early, you know.” She hugged her father and hustled away with suspicious haste.

  What’s that rascal up to? He’d find out soon enough, he supposed—when a troop of sick orphans descended on the house, expecting lodging, or some mange-eaten dog was smuggled in, to the horror of Ta-miu and her kittens.

  ⸎

  That evening after dinner, when Nub-nefer and the girls had retreated to the garden pavilion, Hani sat alone at his ease in the salon, sipping the last of his beer. Mery-ra had dined with his lady friend and was no doubt gone for the night. But—to the extent that a big meal and a half pot of beer permitted him to do much of anything with application—the solitude gave Hani a chance to think about the appalling murder of the Babylonian emissary. It would have taken some strength to wield that heavy stool, so he couldn’t imagine that the reedy Zalaya was guilty. But Maya had said the commissioner’s body servant was a strapping fellow. There had to be many such stalwarts at the residence. Were they all, as Maya had wondered, protecting one of their own? The punishment would be so severe for a slave who dared to raise his hand against an eminent personage that that would certainly explain their terror. Hani needed very badly to talk this over with Ptah-mes, to see if he couldn’t be sent back to Kumidi before Burna-buriash lost his patience and declared war.

  He was drowsing in his low-backed chair when he heard the clearing of a throat from the door to the vestibule. “My lord,” said A’a apologetically. “Lord Ptah-mes is at the door, asking for you.”

  “Send him in, man.” Hani jumped up from his chair and hustled after the gatekeeper, not even bothering to put on his wig or shirt or sandals.

  Sure enough, the commissioner of northern vassals was standing in the dark vestibule with his usual cool elegance, one fist on his hip. He saw Hani and came forward, smiling. “Ah, my friend. Forgive this nocturnal visit. I have to go back to Azzati tomorrow, and there are a few things I wanted to talk to you about before I left.”

  “You’re always welcome, my lord. Come in and have a seat, I beg you. In fact, I need to talk to you as well. I was planning to come see you tomorrow, so this is fortuitous. I would have missed you.”

  Hani led the way into the salon, where a few lamps were still burning, and drew out the best chair for his guest.

  Sweeping his long skirts forward, Ptah-mes seated himself with his accustomed unconscious grace. “What did you need to talk to me about, Hani?”

  Hani filled in the high commissioner on the gruesome details of the murder and how his investigation had hit a dead end in the storeroom.

  Ptah-mes pursed his lips thoughtfully. “This case needs to be pursued, no doubt about it.”

  “And there’s something else, my lord.” Hani dropped his voice. “A Hittite emissary came to visit me. He seemed to know I was there. In fact, he seemed to know all about me.”

  “Quite. I directed him to you.”

  Hani raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  Ptah-mes smiled thinly. “Who better than you to deal with such a man? Tell the king what happened, and let him make a decision about where to go with this. I find in it a hopeful sign.” His smile broadened, and Hani realized his superior was indeed part of the Crocodiles, in sympathy if not in actuality.

  Hani said in a lower voice, “What should we make of their meddling with our vassals’ loyalty?”

  “What loyalty?” Ptah-mes asked in an acid tone. There followed a long space of silence. “Have you had your interview with the king yet, Hani?”

  “No, my lord.”

  The look on Ptah-mes’s face was so ambiguous, so studied and neutral, that Hani began to grow uneasy. He said jestingly—although the anxiety within him was real—“Have I been decommissioned?”

  “No, no,” Ptah-mes assured him. “Quite the contrary.” He stared Hani in the eye with his own intense black-eyed gaze, and something bitter twitched a corner of his mouth. “He’s going to offer you the position of high commissioner of foreign affairs in the north.”

  Hani’s mouth fell open. “Me, my lord? But aren’t you de facto high commissioner?”

  “I am, yes. But the king seems to think I’m distracted by my overall duties and can’t concentrate on the problem of the hapiru.”

  “He’s demoting you again.” Rage bubbled up in Hani’s breast, a liquid so cold it blistered. “You’re being punished for doing a good job.”

  Ptah-mes tipped his head in assent, as cool and gracious as if someone had just offered him a compliment.

  Hani’s face burned. He smashed a fist into his other palm. “Ma’at has been trampled on once more. How much longer will the gods hold back our punishment?” He no longer cared if the servants heard him. Perhaps, like the slaves of the commissioner of Kumidi, they viewed it as a duty to see and hear nothing.

  “Feel free to accept, Hani. When our time comes, the more good men we have in place, the better.”

  But Hani cried, “I can’t do it, my lord. It’s too dishonorable. To make me your superior? This is a mockery of us both.”

  Ptah-mes let out a sigh. “You’re perhaps the last honorable man in the government. Most of our colleagues would be only too happy to walk over my corpse in their eagerness for advancement.” He gave Hani a smile of genuine affection, devoid of sarcasm for once. “But don’t harm yourself to protect me, my friend. I’m past feeling any pain at insult.”

  Hani let out a gust of air, as if he could sweep away the evils of the world with his breath.

  “The decision is yours, of course, but certainly if you accept, you’ll be a good high commissioner. It will be an honor to serve under you.”

  The words, so sincerely spoken, were like a spear driven into Hani’s heart. “I’m... I’m stunned, Lord Ptah-mes. Why is the king suddenly honoring me again and again, when he
has shown me such hostility up to now? I almost feel it’s dangerous to let myself fall into the trap of gratitude toward him. Is he trying to buy me?”

  Ptah-mes sighed once more. “Who knows?” After a moment of silence, he said placidly, “We must stay calm. And resist.”

  Hani shook his head, helpless in his confusion. “What will happen if I refuse the position?”

  Ptah-mes shrugged.

  The two men fell silent again, Hani struggling mightily with the vile choice before him. “I’ll refuse,” he finally said.

  “As you wish, Hani. But I doubt that means I’ll be reinstated.”

  “Oh, my lord, how I wish this weren’t happening. It pains me to be a cause of misfortune for you like this.”

  “Think nothing of it, my friend.” Ptah-mes cleared his throat. “There’s... there’s one more thing I would like to bring up before I go.”

  “Anything, my lord.”

  Ptah-mes sat in silence, his hands clasped tensely in his lap, while Hani waited for him to speak. Curiosity had begun to rise in Hani like the first curls of smoke from a newly built fire.

  At last, Ptah-mes said uncomfortably, “This is a difficult subject to broach, Hani.” He drew in a deep breath and straightened in his chair as if preparing for battle. “I... I would like to ask your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

  Hani’s jaw dropped. He didn’t know what to say or even what to feel. This was the most unexpected, not to say absurd, proposal he’d ever heard. Dear gods, can he be joking? But Ptah-mes was not a man of levity. Hani gaped at his superior, hoping to read some sense into his words. Ptah-mes gazed at him gravely, a little diffidently. He was still an extremely handsome man, slim and strong looking, and in a costly wig, with his black eyebrows, his age was by no means apparent. Hani had a painful flash of memory of seeing him with his own thinning gray hair, but it seemed obscene to call that to mind.

  Hani finally managed to stammer, “You don’t need my permission, my lord.”

  “No, but I would never do it against your will. I would hate to see such a thing break apart our friendship”—Ptah-mes dropped his eyes a little shyly—“which I value. Now more than ever.”

  Hani waved his hands in a helpless gesture. “I’m stunned, my lord. Your status is so much above ours. I... I can’t imagine what would make you even consider her. You do mean Neferet, I assume? How have you even met her?”

  Ptah-mes emptied his lungs with a deep breath that spoke eloquently of how difficult the conversation was for him. “In fact, she approached me.”

  Once more, Hani gaped, dumbfounded. So that was why she’d asked about the whereabouts of Ptah-mes’s villa. “She asked you to marry her? Please forgive her temerity, my lord. She’s an impetuous girl—”

  “On the contrary, Hani. She had thought this out quite reflectively, I think.”

  Hani reeled in shock. “Oh, my lord, whatever it looks like, I can’t believe she’s after your property. She cares nothing for wealth.”

  Ptah-mes smiled, his dark eyes remaining untouched. Hani had watched him grow more and more bitter and sarcastic since his wife’s death until Hani wondered if his superior were capable of happiness anymore. He was by no stretch of the imagination able to picture the irrepressible eighteen-year-old Neferet yoked to such a man, even beyond the difference in class and age—Ptah-mes was Hani’s senior by three years.

  “Not at all. I’m acquainted with that sort of woman,” Ptah-mes assured him.

  That Hani could well believe. He tried not to sound insultingly resigned when he said, “If you’re both sure of this, then I can only give it my blessing. She’s said nothing to us.”

  “I’m afraid it will be even more difficult for her than for me, but... it will be a white marriage, my friend. Please don’t see any insult aimed at your daughter, but I just can’t... after Apeny, I...” Despite his self-control and casual expression, Ptah-mes’s voice shook a little and trailed off. He didn’t look Hani in the eye.

  “I understand, my lord,” said Hani. And he did, but it just confused him the more.

  “That’s what your daughter wanted. I swear I’m not imposing this on her.” Suddenly, Hani began to see what was going on, and Ptah-mes’s next words confirmed that suspicion. “I’ll be gone most of the time, of course, but she won’t be lonely. Her friend will live with her.”

  Hani’s cheeks blazed as embarrassment flooded him, washed over him, threatened to drown him in its burning waves. It seemed to him that Neferet was abusing his superior shamelessly. Hani dropped awkwardly to his knees and burst out in a voice of passionate apology, “Oh, my lord, after all my family owes you, I can’t believe that girl is exploiting you like this. Forgive us for treating you so disgracefully.” He pressed his forehead to the floor.

  But Ptah-mes drew Hani to his feet and gestured him to be seated once more. “Disgrace and I are old friends.” He said it caustically, but then his voice grew pleasant again. “And anyway, Hani, it’s mutually agreeable. She’ll stay in Akhet-aten; I’ll be in Azzati. From time to time, our paths will cross. I’ll see to her every material need. She’ll keep my would-be suitors at bay.” He smiled, and this time it was warmer. “I’m not going to suffer. She’s a charming young woman, and I admire her dedication to the sick.”

  Hani groaned and put a hand over his eyes as if to blot out this evidence of Neferet’s conniving.

  “I know it’s unexpected...” Ptah-mes murmured apologetically. His face had grown serious once more, as if he feared Hani would refuse his permission.

  But Hani was trying to calm down and see the bizarre union in a practical light. “As long as I don’t have to call you ‘son,’ my lord,” he said, forcing a crooked grin.

  Ptah-mes gave a bark of laughter. “Please don’t. You might try ‘inbred scum,’ as our friend Mahu calls me.” He rose.

  Hani threw back his head and laughed with him as he, too, got to his feet. “Never, Lord Ptah-mes. I wish you both well. You know that, don’t you? This all just caught me by surprise.”

  “I understand, my friend. This has been an evening of surprises for you, no doubt. I’m sorry to be the bearer of unsettling tidings—perhaps on both counts.”

  He clapped Hani on the shoulder, and Hani, filled with emotion, seized his hand and gave it a heartfelt squeeze of solidarity. “I greatly admire you, my lord.”

  “Save it for someone who is admirable, Hani.” Ptah-mes turned and made his way through the dark vestibule into the night.

  Hani stood there in the salon, staring after his friend’s retreating back, trying to make sense of the improbable realities that had descended on him all at once.

  CHAPTER 7

  Hani managed to avoid Nub-nefer until they were both alone in their bedroom that night. He cringed at the thought of having to explain Neferet’s latest original behavior to her mother. Nub-nefer sat at her cosmetics table by the light of a moringa oil lamp, combing out her long hair, which tumbled in a lustrous waterfall over her shoulders.

  Hani approached from behind her and kissed the sweet slope of her golden neck. “My dear, I have something to tell you.”

  She must have picked up on his reluctance, because her smile faded into anxiety. “It’s not one of the children, is it? Or the grandchildren?”

  Hani fidgeted uncomfortably. “It’s Neferet. But there’s nothing wrong with her. It’s that she’s... getting married.”

  Nub-nefer’s face flowered with joy and relief. She rose and faced her husband, holding out her arms. “Why that’s wonderful, Hani! I knew she would outgrow that obsession with Bener-ib.”

  Hani drew her to him. Still, he couldn’t muster much enthusiasm. If anything, this calculating match was worse than no husband. “She, er... she wants to marry Lord Ptah-mes.”

  Nub-nefer started to laugh, then her eyes grew wide. “You’re serious? He asked her to marry him?”

  “As I understand it, she asked him to marry her.”

  His wife pondered this uncomprehendingly. “An
d he agreed? They’re going to be married?”

  “Ptah-mes asked my blessing. Not because he needs it but because he didn’t want it to destroy our friendship if I were opposed.”

  Hani was taken aback by the excitement that flushed Nub-nefer’s face. Her big eyes opened even wider. “But that’s an unbelievably exalted match for the girl, my dearest. It’s more than any one of us could ever have dreamed of. He’s not so old—”

  “Older than me.”

  “But still extremely attractive.” She blushed when Hani crooked his mouth. “Not that I would have noticed,” she added hastily. “And, dear gods—so rich. So wellborn. I can hardly believe it.” She clasped her hands in ecstasy.

  So loathed by the king, Hani almost added but held himself back. “It’s to be a... a white marriage. He’ll be in Azzati, and she’ll be in Akhet-aten. With Bener-ib.”

  Nub-nefer’s mouth fell open. “What does that mean?” she managed to stammer. “Don’t most diplomats live separately from their families for long periods of time? You certainly did.”

  “I think it’s meant to be a permanent condition. He’s still grieving his wife; Neferet’s not interested in men.” Hani forced a wry smile and shook his head, tamping down the spark of anger. “She’s using him shamelessly.”

  Nub-nefer turned away and took a few lost steps. “She must have heard our conversation last night.” She turned back and put her arms around Hani as if begging for reassurance. “Oh, Hani...” She looked up at him with a spark of hope in her eyes. “Maybe she’s really fallen in love with him.”

  Hani snorted. “Much as I like and admire Ptah-mes, my dove, I find it hard to believe that a girl of Neferet’s temperament would fall head over heels in love with him after one meeting. He’s a rather chilly character.”

  “Sometimes young girls don’t think about that. They see a handsome face and beautiful manners, and all the rest falls away...”

  “That wouldn’t be Neferet.”

  “Perhaps she thinks she can bring him back his joy. You know how she likes to take care of people,” Nub-nefer persisted.