by N. L. Holmes
“Excellent idea. In fact, why don’t I appoint you and Maya to look into that while I start across the River? You can catch up to me in the Place of Truth if you have time.”
Mery-ra agreed cheerfully. “I welcome a chance to see my old colleagues again.”
He and Maya peeled off in the street heading for the quays and turned south toward the barracks. Although a huge contingent was now stationed in Akhet-aten, the main body of the army still resided at Waset and Men-nefer. For his part, Hani continued to the River, where he quickly found a ferry, and before much time had elapsed, he stepped out onto the bank of the Place of Silence.
A strong, dry wind was blowing into his face, the swirling dust stinging his eyes and making it hard to see. He had to struggle up the slope toward the Place of Truth and then down again, his feet slipping in the roll of gravel and small stones as he lurched along, almost blinded. He entered the gate of the walled village gratefully, and suddenly, the wind was cut off by the clustered houses. What a desolate place this is. The “truth” is harsh. Hani rubbed his eyes with his fists to clear them and felt grit on his knuckles.
He trudged through the arid streets, following the directions Bebi-ankh’s wife had given him, and came to a gate with peeling paint and a few desiccated weeds trailing in the dirt around it. Hani knocked. A moment later, a naked little girl of about ten opened the panel and stood there in the crack, staring at him suspiciously. Her face and hands were grubby, and her sidelock half-unplaited. Hani gave her a friendly smile. “Hello, my girl. Are your parents home?”
She said nothing but turned and pattered off through a small yard into the house. The door was open, and only a rolled-up mat hung raggedly over the opening. The whole place reeked of poverty, despite the government-issue housing. Hani thought sadly—once again—that it was no wonder the man had been tempted by the promise of riches.
After a brief space of time, a thin, dark woman emerged from the house and marched up to the gate. “Who are you?” she demanded. “Why are you here?”
“May I speak to your husband, mistress?” Hani asked disingenuously.
She shot him a hostile look. “He’s not here. Why do you want him?”
Hani said in a voice so low that no neighbor could overhear, “He’s in danger. His companions will think he has betrayed them on the one hand, and the medjay are hunting him on the other. I can protect him.”
Her eyes grew wide with fear, and she made to slam the gate, but Hani forced his way inside. “You need to talk to me.”
“Who are you?” she cried shrilly, backing away.
“I’m a royal investigator,” he said, still speaking in a quiet, gentle voice such as one might use with a panicked animal, “but I have no interest in apprehending your husband. I only want to find the man who was paying him. There are things Heqa-nakht alone can tell me.”
“Why should I believe you?” she snarled.
“My protection—the vizier’s protection—is your husband’s only hope. If he cooperates, he will be set free and be able to resume his work. If he doesn’t, the medjay will track him down and torture him then impale him. Which would you prefer?”
She stared into space, her brows contracted, and Hani could almost see the thoughts galloping around in her head. At last, she grumbled, “Wait here.”
The woman darted into the house, and Hani heard her shout, “Stay here, you brats, and don’t budge until I come back. If anybody goes outside, I’ll beat the shit out of them, do you hear me?”
She returned directly, breathless, tugging a threadbare shawl over her shoulders. Without a word, she gestured to Hani to follow her. They passed at a swift clip through the narrow streets of the workmen’s village and out the north gate, where the wind hit them like a slap across the face. Hani, protecting his eyes with a hand, saw the woman draw her shawl over her nose and lean into the wind. She looked as if she might blow away. Nonetheless, her thin legs, the skirts flapping about them, propelled her up the rocky slope with the energy of a mule. Her homemade straw sandals were worn slick on the bottom, but she mounted the path at such a speed that Hani was hard put to keep up with her.
At last, they came to the mouth of a deep ravine that Hani recognized, with a shock, as the Great Place, where the kings of the Theban dynasty were buried. Where is she taking me? he thought uneasily. It crossed his mind that she might be leading him into a trap. Even though it was broad daylight, no one would hear a cry for help in this abandoned valley.
Eventually, she stopped in the shelter of a large fall of rocks and turned to Hani. “You stay here, facing the opening of the valley,” the woman said roughly. “Don’t turn around till I come back.”
“Now I have to trust you,” Hani said with a smile that he hoped looked more reassured than he felt.
She gave a mocking snort and took off into the valley, yelling in her shrill voice, “Turn around, or I won’t come back.”
“I guess she’ll beat the shit out of me too,” Hani said to himself, more to hear a human voice in this bleak and silent place of the dead than for any other reason. He settled himself on a low rock with his back to the wind and, squinting against the sun, stared into the stark ocher landscape. Not a living thing met his gaze. Only the swirling dust gave movement to what might have been a scene from the underworld.
After what seemed like an inordinately long time, Hani heard footsteps crunching over the gravel behind him. “Is that you, mistress?” he called out, hoping his voice didn’t betray how uneasy he felt. He could only too easily picture some desperado sweeping down on him unseen, a club or dagger raised.
“It’s me,” she said over the wind. “You can turn around now.”
He obeyed. Before him stood the woman and, at her side, a little squat man with broad shoulders and bulging, muscular arms and thin, bowed legs. His physique proclaimed him a stonecutter.
Heqa-nakht stood staring at Hani in a suspicious, considering way. “My wife tells me you’re offering me protection. How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“I’ve been sitting out here with my back turned. You could have killed me easily,” Hani said with a friendly smile. “You’ll have to trust me as I trusted you.”
The man drew closer. “Who are you?”
“My name is Hani son of Mery-ra. I’m the man who brought the soldiers to the worksite and arrested your fellows.”
Heqa-nakht drew back a few paces. “That’s not much of a recommendation,” he said sarcastically.
“Had they remained in my protection, they would be back to work by now. Unfortunately, the medjay took them away from me. They’re being tortured as we speak.” Hani took a step forward. “Mahu wants a wholesale slaughter—a lot of little fry who will make him look good before the king. All I’m interested in is finding the man who is behind these robberies.”
“Who cares what he wants? No one would be able to find me anyway.”
“Don’t think he won’t,” Hani said. “The police have dogs and baboons. They’ll find you, all right, before you make it over the border. Talk to me now while you can still get out.”
The artisan shot an edgy glance at his wife, who stood scowling at his side. While her face was broad and bony, she had extraordinary almond-shaped eyes.
“All right,” Heqa-nakht finally said. “What do you want to know?”
“You were the first of the workmen this mysterious foreigner approached, right? What did he say to you?”
“He just promised us riches. He said it would be dangerous but worth our while. Things have been pretty lean since the royal tombs moved out of this valley. How are we supposed to stay alive on three noble tombs a year?”
“Did he say anything about what he expected to get out of it?” Hani asked. “Was he just into it for gold, or was he trying to embarrass the king or make this place look unsafe or what?”
Heqa-nakht raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. “He said something about putting the rightful man on the throne. I don’t know why he’d car
e who was on the throne. He doesn’t even live here.”
“Do you know where he was from?”
“Naharin. I used to work with a man from Naharin, and a lying bugger he was too. I shoulda known this fellow wasn’t on the level.” Heqa-nakht snorted cynically.
Hani raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that? Did he cheat you?”
“Not yet. But all those Mitannians are the same. We take the risks, and the chief gets the treasure.”
Hani had the feeling that all this was more about the man’s prejudices than about anything that could serve as a clue. “Can you give me some description that would help me identify him? Did he have any companions who might have called him by name?”
Heqa-nakht described the mysterious foreigner in pretty much the same terms as everyone else had, citing the mole on the lip and the light-colored eyes as distinctive.
“What color was his hair?” Hani asked.
“Darkish, like most people’s. Not black but darkish brown.”
That could be almost anyone in the world, Hani thought with a sigh. “No companions? No name?”
Heqa-nakht said caustically, “No. He was alone. He never said, ‘I, so-and-so, want you to break into a tomb for me.’”
“You’re going to have to be more helpful than this to earn your pardon,” said Hani, beginning to tire of the stonecutter’s snideness. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”
The man looked uneasily at his wife. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know. He did say once that because of his backers, he had immunity and would protect us. Frankly, I think it was a lot of ass shit.”
“Backers?” Hani pressed, beginning to feel that sparkle in his gut that told him he might be onto something.
“Yes. He didn’t say who they were, but they were clearly someone important, right? That was when he said that bit about putting the right man back on the throne. He said we’d be doing something good for the kingdom.” Heqa-nakht gave a bark of laughter. “Just sweet talking us, if you ask me.”
Hani considered this. Heqa-nakht was getting restless, starting to look around him as if fearful. His wife shot him a worried glance.
“How did the rest of that conversation go, friend? Be honest, and rack your memory. This could be what saves you.”
The stonecutter spread his hands helplessly. “What more can I say? This was when he first met with me to ask me to gather a team I thought could help him. He introduced himself as someone who represented powerful people who wanted to see ma’at restored in the kingdom by putting the right man on the throne and said that, by helping, we could do a lot of good—that he could protect us because of who he worked for. Then I asked him what sort of workmen he wanted, and he told me painters and stonecutters. That’s all I know—I swear by my mother’s ka.”
Hani smiled at him pleasantly. “I think you’ve been helpful, Heqa-nakht. I suggest you and your family disappear fast, because one of your colleagues is almost surely going to blame you for getting him into this, and the medjay will come for you.”
“Yes, my lord,” the man said, lapsing into politeness for the first time. “Turn around again, if it please you.”
⸎
Maya and Lord Mery-ra entered the army compound south of the city, the flint-headed arrow unobtrusively under the old scribe’s arm. In the distance, still farther upstream, Maya saw the ghostly walls of the Ipet-isut, abandoned now by its dishonored god, shimmering in the wind-troubled sun of early spring. As the power of the priesthood goes down, the power of the army rises, Maya thought gloomily. Nefer-khepru-ra seems to think he can count on their loyalty. Considering men like Pa-aten-em-heb, he wondered if the king were not leaning on a rotten stick.
“We should find our friend in his office down this way, if he isn’t out on maneuvers.” Mery-ra led the way across a vast open court with a well and a pool for watering horses. The buildings that surrounded the court were plain, low, and serviceable with watchtowers at the outer corner. Officers and scribes passed them in one direction or another, including a fast courier jogging toward the general headquarters. Maya kept up gamely with Mery-ra’s pace—for an old man, Hani’s father could cover ground.
They entered the headquarters, where the dark and cool enfolded them. A row of scribes sat on the floor, writing busily by the light of the clerestories. Maya’s eyes widened to see Pa-kiki among them. He reminded himself that the lad worked there now.
Pa-kiki looked up at their footsteps then brightened, crying aloud, “Grandfather! Maya! What brings you here?”
“Just checking up on you, my boy, to be sure you haven’t disgraced the family name,” said Mery-ra with a big grin.
Pa-kiki looked appalled then laughed as he realized it was a joke. “Do you want to talk to Lord Pa-aten-em-heb, then?”
“We do, son.”
Pa-kiki set aside his writing implements and sprang nimbly to his feet. He disappeared through one of the numerous doors in the wall behind the scribes, and in a moment, the young officer appeared. He strode quickly forward to meet them, a delighted expression on his handsome face.
“Lord Mery-ra. Maya, isn’t it? What can I do for you?”
Mery-ra produced the arrow. “Can you tell us anything about this?”
Pa-aten-em-heb pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. “Let’s step into my office.” He led the way inside a room little bigger than a cubicle, lit by a high window, and stood carefully in the square of sunlight, examining the arrow—its gray goose fletching, its broad squared-off head, the bloody bindings. Then he looked up, curious. “Where did you get this?”
“It was used to kill a man who reported tomb robberies. I was hoping you could tell us who might use such a weapon. I suspect it isn’t something just anyone would have access to.”
“No. Only a soldier—and not every soldier at that. It’s not a long-range weapon, not something the infantry would typically use. I’d say it probably belonged to cavalrymen. You’d be fighting at close or medium range, and you would want to be sure of your kill. A slim point can penetrate armor, but you can never be sure you’ll hit a vital organ. With this, even a strike in a limb somewhere would bleed a man out pretty quickly.”
Maya and Mery-ra exchanged grim looks. Djau hadn’t stood a chance against such an arrow.
“In this case, a man was killed as he climbed up from the workmen’s weekly camp near the Great Place to the site of their labors. How close would his murderer have had to be?” Mery-ra asked.
“There’s plenty of cover up there for an ambush at relatively close range. He wouldn’t have had to be so close that you could see him standing right in front of you, but he wouldn’t have been at the tops of the cliffs either.”
Mery-ra sank into a pensive silence. Maya wasn’t sure this interview was doing anything but confusing him.
“I can also tell you this. Every unit fletches its arrows differently, so if you give me a little time, I can narrow your suspects down to a handful,” Pa-aten-em-heb said.
“That sounds promising.” Mery-ra grinned broadly. “Thank you for your help, my friend.” He clapped Pa-aten-em-heb on the shoulder. “That’s worth some dinner one of these evenings, I should think.”
“Sounds very attractive,” said Pa-aten-em-heb with a laugh. “The two Mut-nodjmets can meet.”
Mery-ra’s voice dropped. “How is my grandson working out?”
“He’s a fine secretary and a pleasure to work with, my lord.” The officer smiled.
Mery-ra drew himself up, proud. They made their goodbyes and left the office, waving to Pa-kiki as they passed. As soon as the two men were out in the courtyard once more, Maya said under his breath, “Is the queen’s father behind this, do you think? He’s head of the cavalry.”
“True, although it could just as easily be some archer the foreigner has suborned.”
“How many Egyptian soldiers would work for a Mitannian? They were our enemy until a generation or so ago, and a lot of us still don’t trust them.”
Maya would have put himself in that category if he hadn’t met the amiable Keliya.
“Let’s see what Hani has learned. It may shed some light on this business,” Mery-ra said. “Although, I remind you that gold can overcome a great many patriotic scruples.”
They tramped up the street in a mismatched thudding of footsteps. Maya thought, What we need to find out is who ordered this assassination and why. Why was Djau still a threat to anyone?
⸎
By the time Hani returned from the west bank, the others had come back and were sitting in the salon, chatting with Baket-iset. Hani greeted them and flopped down on his stool, fanning his face with a hand. “It’s getting warmer every day.”
“It’s almost harvest season,” Mery-ra said. “What do you expect?”
“Well, let’s debrief one another.” Hani turned to his daughter. “Pardon us, my love, while we talk business. If you have any insights, please tell us.” He looked at his father and Maya once more. “Here’s what I found. It isn’t a lot. I talked with Heqa-nakht, the only one of the grave robbers who’s still at liberty and the one who conscripted the others. He couldn’t add much to what Bebi-ankh had told us except to say that the foreigner claimed to be working for someone important who could give him immunity. He claimed that his agenda had to do with putting the right man on the throne. And he claimed that by helping him, the workers would be performing a service for the kingdom.”
“By robbing tombs?” Maya looked skeptical.
But Mery-ra shot his son a piercing stare. “That sounds like something your Crocodiles would say, Hani. You don’t think...?”
“That this has been engineered by the former priests of the Hidden One?” Hani was disturbed by his father’s words because the same thought had passed through his own mind. “They’re ruthless in their way, but I don’t know if they’d commit the sacrilege of robbing a tomb. And why would they do that? They can’t lack for gold. They’re all from old, rich families.”
“And why would they use a Mitannian as their agent?” Maya said, puzzled.