by N. L. Holmes
The porter returned after what seemed like a very long time and haughtily bade Hani enter. This time, they made him take off his sandals at the door. My clattering footsteps must have disturbed the royal nap last time I was here, Hani thought with a kind of nervous amusement. Within the great reception hall, an echoing silence reigned, despite the number of servants and functionaries crossing back and forth on bare feet, reflected in the shining gypsum floor. Hani craned his neck to take in the beauty of the place, impressed in spite of himself. Tall columns, like clusters of reed or pole bouquets with water lilies—a magical marsh—towered over him, disappearing into the haze of incense that clouded the ceiling, shot through with mote-spangled rays from the clerestories.
He was just distracting himself with admiration of the lifelike water birds painted on the walls when a majordomo appeared from out of the shadowed corridor and beckoned to Hani to follow. Hani could feel the sweat breaking out on his temples, and a cloud of frightened starlings rose inside him, fluttering wildly to get out. I must tell him no. I must tell him no, he repeated to himself, starting to understand the temptation there would be to yield to such power and magnificence and just accept what the king commanded.
Aigrette-bedecked Nubian guardsmen pulled back the tall gilded doors of the audience hall, and Hani was ushered ceremoniously into the king’s presence. Someone led him forward and urged him into a full prostration at the foot of the dais where Nefer-khepru-ra sat. As he rose, Hani was dimly aware of gilding and color and incense, of ostrich-plume flabella and the massed white garments of the Fan-Bearers and other courtiers and the watchful gaze of a hunting cheetah on a leash, but he had no more eyes for his surroundings. It was as if his world had shrunken to the line between the king of the Two Lands and himself.
“Hani,” said Nefer-khepru-ra in his silky, mesmerizing voice. “We see too little of you.”
“I am yours to command, My Sun.”
The king smiled, but his green-painted eyes were narrowed and considering. Beneath the blue crown, his pointed face looked gaunt despite the slack overhang of his belly above its jeweled sash.
He does look sick, Hani thought.
“We are inclined to reward those who are faithful to us. A man like you is valuable on many levels.” The king eyed Hani up and down, and Hani dropped his gaze, not so much out of respect as to keep the Lord of the Two Lands from reading his thoughts. “We are pleased to see you in the gold of one who has been useful to his king.”
Hani had a sudden memory of Ptah-mes reluctantly putting on the penknife the king had given him because one dared not seem ungrateful for the royal favor. Hani saw that it had been no mistake to wear his shebyu collars. “My lord’s favor is the breath of life,” he murmured.
“We had hoped to reward you with a promotion, a token of our esteem for a faithful servant, but there have been developments that make your presence on our borders yet more urgent.”
Hani listened, stunned, hope flickering to life. No promotion after all? He felt he had just awakened from a long and terrible nightmare. He could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t give him away, so he bowed.
“The king of Sangar has attacked Urusalim.”
Hani’s eyes flew wide open, and he could hardly keep from gaping. One shock after another! “Is he declaring war, My Sun?”
“We think not yet. He is upset by the assassination of his emissary, of course. This seems to be an expression of his displeasure. But we must proceed to find the killer and punish him, or Burna-buriash’s anger will become more destructive.”
“No doubt,” Hani murmured. He was beginning to see where this was leading—he was back on his case.
“This is your task, Hani. Identify the man, and bring him to justice. If he’s a hapir, we must strike them a damaging blow in reparation.”
“I accept, My Sun God. Consider me en route already.”
“That is all.” The king sat back languidly in his throne, and despite all the jewels and ceremonial splendor, he looked weary, too weary for a man who was only thirty-two.
Hani dropped into a deep bow, and he felt the majordomo’s hand on this elbow, guiding him as he backed from the royal presence. He heard the king say to one of his gathered courtiers, “You see how loyal he is.”
As Hani emerged from the palace into the blinding sunlight of a winter day, he slipped on his sandals once more then took off across the broad processional street toward the cluster of long, low mud-brick buildings that housed the Hall of Royal Correspondence. He drew a profound breath of relief, as if he hadn’t gotten any air since he’d arrived in the capital. His steps were downright jaunty as he entered the vizier’s office. He’d had no opportunity to report the mysterious visit of the Hittite emissary to the king in person, so he realized he needed to tell Ra-nefer. It wouldn’t do to be having secret meetings with semihostile powers on the sly.
The tubby little vizier received him promptly. His chair looked to be just a little too high for him so that only his toes touched the footstool and the heels of his sandals dangled a bit. “Here you are, Hani,” he said fretfully with something like a belch, which he stifled with a fist at his mouth. “What’s going on up there?”
“I’m sure you know about the murder, my lord. I’ve just been missioned back to continue the investigation.”
“Murder?” The vizier looked momentarily confused. “Ah, yes. The Babylonian. Burna-buriash has attacked one of our towns, you know. Hazurru, I think, or Urusalim.”
“I’m aware of that, my lord.” And I even know which city it was, Hani thought wryly. “But there’s something else I need to report to you. While I was in Kumidi, an emissary of the king of Kheta came to see me.”
“Kheta? But we have no diplomatic relations with them.” Ra-nefer looked ineffectually outraged, widening his little round eyes with their semicircular brows. “Why did he come to you and not to court?”
“I suppose because I was nearby. He wanted precisely to open diplomatic relations with us, to begin trading. Apparently, their king, Shuppiluliuma, is tired of the cost of conquest and wants to settle down to an alliance.” Hani watched Ra-nefer closely. He said slyly, “They’re allies with Sangar now. If Sangar turns on us, they make two against one.”
The vizier’s eyes grew even wider in alarm. “What must we do?”
“I’m sure Lord Ptah-mes could give you some advice, my lord. He has long years of experience with foreign relations in the north.”
But Ra-nefer made a dismissive poofing noise. “Ptah-mes, whatever his capabilities, is not in good odor at the moment, Hani. What do you suggest?”
“Why, to receive their emissaries. To make a treaty of alliance with them just in case Sangar goes to war against us.” That was a brilliant idea the gods gave me—to tie the treaty to Sangar, Hani thought modestly.
Ra-nefer continued to look uneasy, his fat little lips pursed. Under his bushy eyebrows, his eyes darted about as if seeking an escape. He clearly didn’t relish having to take this advice to the king, nor did Hani much want his own name attached to it. He still wasn’t sure whether he was on the good side or the bad of Nefer-khepru-ra.
Hani said blandly, “I’m sure our lord king will value the man who brings him a way to make peace. Maybe dissuade Sangar from escalating their grievance...”
“Very well. No harm in opening a discussion,” said Ra-nefer at last. He seemed visibly to be girding himself for the ordeal of advising his master. “Anything else, Hani?”
“Only the things I’ve told my lord about in my reports,” Hani said, wondering if the vizier had even read them.
“Very well, then. You may go.”
Hani bowed his way out. As he pulled the door shut behind him, he heard from within the office a prolonged fart. He suppressed his laughter with difficulty. He’s been waiting the whole interview for that. Even the high and mighty.
Once out of the Hall of Royal Correspondence, Hani set off for Aha’s. He was almost giddy with relief, and his steps were
light as he sought out his litter waiting in the street. He longed to exchange his impressions with Ptah-mes, but of course, Ptah-mes was no longer in the capital.
Hani hadn’t had to make the terrible choice after all, although it might lie somewhere in his future. He’d relieved himself of the burden of the secret meeting. And he’d been sent back to finish the investigation he’d begun. Not a bad day after all. He would arrange for sacrifices to the Hidden One and to the patron of scribes as soon as he got back to Waset.
Aha wasn’t home when Hani returned to his house. Hani instructed the steward that he wouldn’t be staying the night after all, and as soon as he’d stripped off the gold of honor, he set out for the embarcadero. He would have loved to be able to use Ptah-mes’s yacht, with its double crew that rowed all night, but he would be at home soon enough. And with what joy! Maya would no doubt be glad to set out once more for adventure too. Hani felt fifteen years younger than he had at the start of the day.
⸎
“Hani, my boy—you’re back sooner than we expected. How did your audience go?” Mery-ra came toddling out of the salon as soon as Hani set foot inside the exterior door and drew it shut behind him. The two men embraced.
“Well.” Hani grinned. “They’re reopening the case of the murder of the Babylonian and putting me back on it.”
“You’re mighty happy to be on the trail of a ruthless killer,” Mery-ra said, raising his eyebrows.
“And the worst of it is,” Hani continued cheerfully, “that the king of Sangar has invaded Urusalim.”
Mery-ra looked shocked.
“The king thinks it’s not intended as an act of war but just as a protest against our dropping the investigation. It saved me from a terrible fate, Father.”
The old man cocked his head in curiosity. “A terrible fate?”
“Ptah-mes had told me that the king was planning to make me high commissioner of foreign affairs in the north, but apparently, this came up and took precedence.” Hani felt quite fizzy with relief.
“High commissioner? But I thought you said Ptah-mes was still—”
“He was. He’s been deposed, and I was to be put in his place. It had to have been a calculated effort to drive us into rivalry with one another.” A simmering contempt hardened Hani’s voice.
“‘Great lakes become dry places; sandbanks turn into depths.’ You said it well, son. Presciently, in fact.”
Hani looked at his father in surprise. “You’ve read my aphorisms?”
“I’m having Khawy copy them for practice. I hope you don’t mind.”
Hani shook his head, chuckling. “Where is Nub-nefer?”
“Gone on her morning jaunt. How long is that brother of hers going to stay hidden away? Someone’s been feeding him all this time.”
“No doubt some fellow zealot who considers it an honor.” Hani handed his basket off to A’a, who was still standing in the outer doorway. “You can take this up for me, my friend.” To his father, he said in a low voice, “There’s something you can do for me, too, while I’m gone.”
“What’s that, son? Milk lions? Buy horses? Corner the market on onions? Speak the word, and your old father obeys.”
“Do you know a man named Amen-nefer? A Theban. He’s in the army.”
“I think I do,” Mery-ra said, scratching his chin. “A low-level officer of some sort. A ferocious fighter who was awarded the Golden Fly more than once.”
“One-eyed?”
“That’s him. Why?”
“He’s the commissioner at Kumidi now. He seems to have a mysterious past that intertwines with Pa-aten-em-heb’s.”
“Hmmm. I’ll look into him for you, if you want.”
“I would be grateful, noble Father.” Hani flashed his father a complicit grin.
The two of them made their way into the salon, where Hani knelt to greet his eldest daughter. Ta-miu, curled at Baket’s side, looked up with accusing golden eyes, disgruntled at this interruption of her sleep.
“How did your audience go, Papa?” Baket-iset asked.
“Very well, my swan. The king is letting me go back to the investigation that was left in midstream. In short, they could have left me up there and never called me back, and the results would have been the same.” He exchanged a knowing look with his father. “But I’m not complaining.”
“How long can you stay?”
“I’m afraid I have to leave right away. It was self-indulgence to come back down at all, but I wanted to see my girls.” He patted her arm.
Baket-iset stared up eagerly at Hani. “Did Neferet get to her new home all right, Papa?”
“I suppose. She collected her things and had left Aha’s by the time I got there.” He fell silent, reflecting, then asked quietly, “My love, what do you think of this marriage? It seems doomed to me.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Papa. If they never see one another...”
“But Ptah-mes gets nothing out of it. Neferet has Bener-ib and every material thing she could want, but what does he have? A stranger occupying his house.”
“I can’t see that it’s any more bizarre than the relationship he had with Lady Apeny. Maybe strangers in his house excite him,” said Mery-ra with a suggestive wag of the eyebrows.
Baket-iset was pensive. “He agreed to it, didn’t he? He doesn’t seem like a rash man to me. He must have thought it had some value to him.” After a moment, she added, “He could always get a concubine.”
“I defer to your wisdom, my swan. I guess I’m just shortsighted.” Hani sighed and squeezed Baket-iset’s shoulder. “Papa is always trying to make things right.”
“That’s what makes you a good diplomat, son,” Mery-ra said affectionately.
A sound of footsteps in the vestibule told Hani that Nub-nefer had returned. He rose and called out eagerly, “My dove, I’m back.”
⸎
The next morning, Hani was in the garden, watching his ducks, while Nub-nefer paid her daily visit to her brother. A crunch of footsteps on the gravel path made him look up, and A’a emerged from behind the bushes. The man cleared his throat. “My lord, a young lady and a young gentleman are here to see you.”
Hani rose in surprise. “Who are they?”
“They gave me names, but they said you wouldn’t know them. I... I can’t remember them any more.” A’a’s face fell in apology. “They’ve been here several times before, looking for you, but they didn’t want to leave a message. They’re in the salon now, my lord.”
“All right.” Hani shrugged, his eyes widening in curiosity. “Let’s go see who these persistent young people are.” He followed A’a to the porch, where the gatekeeper peeled off as Hani made his way into the vestibule. From within, he could hear a low murmur of voices. He moved to the doorway with a hospitable nod. “Welcome, my guests. What brings you here?”
The two visitors exchanged an uneasy glance. The woman was in her early thirties, tall, and extremely attractive in a voluminous wig and rich jewelry. There was a familiar fineness in her face. The man was perhaps ten years younger, and while beautiful in much the same way, he had a tentativeness about him that was a little less than manly. He seemed very much in the woman’s shadow.
Indeed, it was she who spoke for them in a frosty low-pitched voice heavy with the drawl of the upper class. “My name is Mut-em-wia. This is my brother Huy.”
“Welcome, my lady. My lord.” Hani smiled. “What can I do for you?”
“We are children of Lord Ptah-mes.”
Hani’s smile froze. Iyah. Trouble’s on its way. He managed to say calmly, “Your father is a man whom I am honored to call a friend, my lady.” He made a little bow, as much to hide his face while the horror of the situation passed across it as in respect.
Mut-em-wia advanced on him in a manner that was almost threatening, standing so close that Hani could smell her expensive jasmine-scented perfume. Her tone became hard. “I will mince no words, Hani. We’re here to tell you that you must make your daughter divorce o
ur father.”
Hani felt a flush of rebellion rising to his cheeks. He spoke gently but couldn’t hide the edge in his voice. “My lady, they’re both adults. There’s nothing I can do to stop them if they want to be married.”
“It’s a farce,” Mut-em-wia barked, tossing her beautifully coiffed head. “The girl is only after his property. You must call her off, I say.”
“And I say I have no voice in the matter. Am I to tell a magistrate of the Two Lands he can’t be married to my daughter? He can marry anyone he chooses.”
The youth spoke up at last, his arched black eyebrows, so like his father’s, wrinkled in distress. “But it isn’t fair. She’ll inherit everything, and we’ll be cut out.”
Yahya, thought Hani, enlightened all at once. He should have foreseen that—as he was almost sure Ptah-mes had. Of course they’re furious, the seven greedy children. He said in an icy voice, “After treating your father as shabbily as you all have for years, I marvel that you have the nerve to expect an inheritance.”
Lady Mut-em-wia swelled with anger, drawing herself up like a cobra ready to strike. Her black-painted eyes sparked. “Isn’t it rather out of place for you to admonish us—you whose daughter is a conniving little minx?”
Anger had Hani by the throat now. Stay calm, he warned himself, but he could feel a pulse ticking in his temples. “Have you ever even met her, my lady?”
Mut-em-wia’s bluster sagged for an instant, but she curled her shapely mouth scornfully. “No, and I never plan to. She’s nothing but a concubine. She’s far below Father socially. It’s a travesty.”
“She’s taking advantage of the fact that Father’s grieving,” said Huy. “She’s preying on him.”