The Crocodile Makes No Sound

by N. L. Holmes

  “Whenever you like. It’s something to look forward to.” Aziru occupied himself with his balls of herb-and-garlic-flavored pork for a moment. “I don’t suppose any mail has come for us?”

  “I haven’t had time to look, my lord,” Hani said, massaging the truth. He didn’t want to make it too obvious that he was reading their correspondence, although Aziru no doubt suspected as much.

  The king of A’amu nodded and lifted his cup to his lips. Hani turned to Nub-nefer, who shared his table. “My dear, I forgot to tell you. I know the husband of your weret khener.”

  “Lady Apeny? She’s such a grand lady, always so perfectly turned out. You can’t imagine how tight a rein she kept on that unruly bunch of chantresses, everyone thinking she’s better than everyone else. And the men! I can’t tell you! But Apeny cracked her whip, and they all jumped.” Nub-nefer smiled with affectionate recollection.

  “You liked her, then?”

  Her eyes sparkled. “I loved her. She was like a goddess to us all.”

  “She’s the wife of my friend Ptah-mes.”

  “Friend? Oh, Hani, they’re old nobility of the highest rank. He was mayor of Waset when he was only in his twenties, and First Prophet of the Hidden One—although not for long.” Nub-nefer gave him a disbelieving look, as if Hani were delusional for thinking such a person could be his friend.

  “I know. Ptah-mes grew up at the king’s table with the Osir Neb-ma’at-ra.”

  She stroked her husband’s face with proud eyes, melting toward him, then suddenly, her gaze sharpened into a fierce point. She said in a low voice, “Maybe they could help us find Amen-em-hut.”

  A ripple of unease ran up Hani’s spine. “I don’t know, my love. Ptah-mes is already compromised. He has to be very careful about what he’s seen doing...”

  Nub-nefer drew back, nodding desolately. “I suppose so.” She turned to her meal, her face downcast and her brows strained.

  Oh, my dearest, thought Hani in pain. We’ve got to find that man for your sake.

  A burst of wild laughter from where the young people all sat, heads together, made Hani look up.

  Baket-iset called, “Neferet’s telling us about her medical lessons, Papa.”

  “Medical lessons?” Aziru leaned toward Hani and raised an eyebrow.

  “She wants to be a sunet,” Hani explained. “She’s just apprenticed with the doctor of the Royal Ornaments.”

  “You have women doctors?” Aziru turned to his brother and translated.

  Amur-ba’alu leered. “I suddenly feel sick,” he said in his own language.

  “I believe they only treat women. More’s the pity,” Hani replied in the same tongue.

  He glanced back at the children and noticed Mut-nodjmet sitting rigidly, a fixed smile on her plump face. She looked thoroughly miserable, her eyes red and swollen. Pipi has spoken to her. Hani sighed.

  Pipi was watching his daughter too. Hani leaned around Nub-nefer’s back and tapped his brother on the arm. “How did she take the paternal talk?”

  Pipi’s usually merry little eyes were sad and strained. “It hurt her deeply, Hani. In her own mind, they were all but married. I’m not sure she won’t sneak off and try to find him.”

  “Not convinced, eh?”

  Pipi shook his head. He looked up at his big brother, desperation written on his face. “What am I going to do?”

  An alarm started trumpeting in Hani’s mind. He rose from his stool and tossed a sideways nod to indicate that Pipi should follow him. They withdrew to the empty vestibule, and Hani closed the inner door behind him. The hilarity in the salon faded away.

  “What is it, Pipi? You’re afraid to lose the bride price?”

  Pipi hung his head and said vaguely, “It certainly would have come in handy...”

  “Not good enough, man.” Hani’s voice grew rough and imperious like that of the officers he’d known in the army. “Why do you need silver?”

  “I... borrowed a lot and need to pay it back.”

  “Come on. Why did you borrow it?” They were big brother and little brother again, Hani unashamedly wielding the authority of the elder.

  Pipi heaved a resigned sigh and peeked up at Hani from under his eyebrows like a guilty, pudgy little boy. “I bought a horse.”

  Hani was caught speechless, winded, as if someone had sneaked up behind him and flipped him to the ground. A horse was an almost unimaginable luxury. Only the wealthiest nobility maintained a stable. The stud farms were a royal monopoly. He gaped at his brother.

  “I know,” Pipi cried as if to forestall him. “It’s crazy. I only wanted to drive it once, and then I was going to sell it. I got it at a good price and figured I could make a profit on it.”

  Hani finally managed to close his mouth. He wanted to turn Pipi over his knee and paddle him, but he forced himself to speak calmly. “If you got a cheap horse, it’s because there’s something wrong with it. Will the seller take it back if you say you don’t need it anymore?”

  Pipi shifted back and forth, evading his eyes.

  “Don’t tell me it was some kind of itinerant horse trader...”

  Pipi gave him a guilty look, his lip trembling.

  Ammit take the fellow, Hani thought, pitying him but angry at such stupidity. Pipi had never had the sense of a goose about finances. Hani forced himself to draw a calming breath. “Who did you borrow from? How much do you owe?”

  “Hani, I’ve always wanted to drive a horse,” Pipi cried defensively. “I know I can’t afford to keep it.”

  “Who did you borrow it from? How much do you owe?” Hani pressed relentlessly.

  “A merchant who changes silver and such.” He mumbled an exorbitant number of silver debens.

  “Lord of light! So much? Is that what you call a good price?” Hani thought that what Mut-nodjmet should really be looking sad about was the fact that her father was on the verge of bankrupting the family. “You’d better hope the king throws you the shebyu, the gold of honor, my friend. This is going to be difficult. I’ll talk to Father.”

  But Pipi lurched toward him in misery. “Don’t tell Father.”

  “No, I’m telling him. It’ll take both of us to raise that kind of wealth.” I’m not touching Baket-iset’s wheat, Hani swore to himself. He wanted to be angrier at his brother, but Pipi was as irresponsible as a child. Instead, he felt hopeless. The same two parents had raised them with identical values, but people made their own choices. He looked at Pipi’s face, sagging with shame and fear, and his anger melted. Hani stretched out his arms and enfolded his brother. They hugged, scarcely drawing a breath. He could feel Pipi’s chest quivering with suppressed tears and squeezed him tight.

  Suddenly, the inner door opened. The laughter and talk swelled, and Mery-ra appeared in the doorway, a squat silhouette. “What’s going on, you two? Another dance lesson?”

  “Come here a moment, Father.”

  Mery-ra closed the door behind him, and the voices were cut off once more. “What is it, son? Something wrong?”

  And Hani explained to him what they had to do.

  ⸎

  The next morning, the eve of the Wag Festival, Hani retreated to his kitchen, opened the diplomatic pouch, and pulled out several letters for Aziru. He carefully broke the clay envelopes and slipped out the enclosed tablets. They were written in the Amurrite language in a lacy spatter of tiny wedge-shaped characters that made him think of bird tracks in the wet sand, which were also used for the international diplomatic tongue, Akkadian. Hani knew them both well.

  The first letter was from Aziru’s queen. There were a few words about the weather and the projected harvest. Then she gave him news about the children. Hani had to laugh; some things were universal. At the end of the missive, she asked her husband to bring her some gold vessels and a parure of jewelry. Unless it was all code, there was nothing political in her communication that might interest the vizier.

  He turned to the next one, which was sealed by Aziru’s brother, Pu-ba�
��alu, and his son, Bet-ilu. The two of them were administering the kingdom of Amurru in the new king’s absence. Hani skimmed down to a line that grabbed his attention. The men of Kheta were tearing gobbets out of western Naharin. They had ninety thousand troops massed in Nuhasshe, which was a Hittite vassal state as of a year or so ago. The Egyptian holdings on the coast were almost completely encircled. They wanted to know what they should do and asked if the Great King of Mizri expected them to defend their fellow vassals. They’d fortified their border against neighboring Tunip, but without minute-by-minute orders from their king, Aziru, it was going to be touch and go.

  Hani looked up and expelled a whistle, the hair rising on his arms. Ninety thousand troops? That’s an enormous army. If this is at all accurate—and Pu-ba’alu may just be repeating word-of-mouth reports—the men of Kheta are up to something big.

  Ptah-mes and the vizier Aper-el would certainly be interested in this. Hani made a few notes to himself on a broken piece of pottery. Of course, it was also possible that the Amurrites were exaggerating in order to pressure Nefer-khepru-ra into letting Aziru go home, but that was up to Hani’s superiors to judge.

  Hani swept the broken envelopes into a jar to dissolve and reuse the slurry then stacked the letters in a basket to deliver to Aziru. He had just straightened up from the cook’s worktable when a knock on the frame of the door made him start. His first instinct was to be sure there was no evidence of his tampering visible should Aziru enter.

  “Sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Maya stood in the doorway, his pen case over his shoulder. “Sat-hut-haru came to spend time with her mother, and Lady Nub-nefer said you were in here. I didn’t know if you wanted me this morning or not.”

  “Oh, yes, Maya. Glad you’re here. We have a few things to do, so all the work will be out of the way for the feast days coming up. I promised to take Aziru and his men hunting day after tomorrow. I’ll need to borrow a chariot, I suppose.” Hani thought glumly of the horse standing in Pipi’s cowshed, eating up his income. It had come out the previous night that Hani’s brother had taken a demotion in order to remain in Men-nefer as part of the local government rather than follow Aper-el’s staff to Akhet-aten. Just thinking about his brother’s bad judgment was enough to give Hani a headache, although he supposed his own work situation was unorthodox enough.

  “Let’s see. Would you mind taking these up to our guest, my friend? I want to say hello to Sat-hut-haru.” Sending Maya on the errand would prevent Hani from having to answer any probing questions on the Amurrite’s part.

  Maya slid the basket over his arm and obligingly headed for the stairwell. Hani entered the salon, where the women of the family had gathered. “How is my little mother doing?” he said, opening his arms to his middle daughter. She was already six months pregnant, and against her slim young body, the mound of the developing baby was more than conspicuous.

  I hope she’s old enough for this, he thought anxiously. Women could die in childbirth; indeed, they often did. Stop there. Her mother bore five children and had no problems, even though she’s so tiny. He let himself smile confidently.

  Sat-hut-haru was beaming. She looked very much the young nebet per in her long voluminous wig. “Very well, Papa. I’m not sick in the mornings anymore. We had Khuit work a forecast for us. It’s going to be a boy!”

  “Khuit forecasts, does she?”

  “I told you she was a witch, Papa,” Neferet said with a touch of smugness, as if she’d been vindicated.

  “But, my dear”—her mother smiled—“that’s not witchcraft. In fact, anybody can predict the sex of a baby. Priests do things like that too.”

  “I don’t want to be a priest, Mama.” The girl looked sheepish. “Although I have to say, in Khuit’s defense, that doctors do put mouse bones around a woman’s neck if her baby has teething pains.”

  Hani laughed in spite of himself, and Neferet added stoutly, “But they know why they do it.”

  “No one begrudges you your apprenticeship with Djefat-nebty, my dear. In fact, she’s not asking us for anything, whereas we had to pay Khuit.” And that’s suddenly become an issue, alas. He had bade a fond mental farewell to his dreams of a yacht since last night’s decision to bail Pipi out of debt.

  “Have you thought of what to name the baby?” Baket-iset asked.

  Sat-hut-haru lit up. She gazed at her father like a sunbeam in summer. “We want to call him Amen-hotep.”

  Hani was so overcome by pride and tenderness that his nose sparked with tears. His oldest son had certainly never wanted to perpetuate Hani’s name among his children. But Hani had to say, “I’m touched, my love, but do you think that’s wise?”

  Neferet cried out, her hands on her hips, “Oh, Papa—not Pa-aten-hotep! Please!”

  Hani cringed. “Neferet, my love, please be a little more discreet,” he said softly. “We have foreign visitors in the house.”

  From across the room, Nub-nefer stared at him, a whole complex of terrors within her widened eyes.

  Hani glanced at Mut-nodjmet, who gazed silently at her cousin’s swelling belly with admiration and longing. Her small eyes were lined with kohl, but nothing could conceal their lack of sparkle. He felt great pity for her. She longed for marriage and children almost at any price.

  From the garden came voices, and suddenly, Mery-ra appeared in the doorway. “Sorry to break up the party, fair ladies—but, Hani, there’s a man at the gate to see you.”

  Hani excused himself and followed his father through the garden to where a scrawny adolescent stood, twisting his hands together and trying not to look too out of place. “How can I help you, son?” Hani asked.

  “My lord, I’m from the workshop of Djehuty-mes.”

  “Yes?” Hani wasn’t sure what this presaged.

  “He said to tell you that Kha-em-sekhem is dead. He thought you’d want to know, since your niece was in love with ’im.”

  “May the Lady of the West guide him and Osir accept him!” Hani cried, distraught. He stared at his father, whose broad face looked as dumbfounded as Hani felt. “When did this happen? What did he die of?” A strong young man like that...

  “We was working on Wepet-renpet, New Year’s Day, because we ’ave a lot to do for the king—life, prosperity, and health to ’im—and Kha-em-sekhem didn’t show up. The master was afraid ’e forgot it was a workday, so ’e went to ’is house to find ’im. And Kha-em-sekhem was dead.” The boy made a little apotropaic gesture with his fingers.

  “Any sign of what he died of?” Hani asked again.

  “Oh, yes, my lord. Somebody... somebody stabbed ’im. With a chisel. Must’ve been one of ’is.” The boy looked spooked at the thought of being killed with one’s own tool.

  Hani could imagine how overcome Djehuty-mes must be to lose this man who was not only an important member of his workshop but like a son to him as well. “Thank you, my lad. Tell your master he has our deepest condolences. I’ll come see him at some point soon. Do you know where the body is? Have they taken him to the Place of Purification yet?”

  “Not when I left, my lord. He’s at the master’s house.”

  “I’ll be there soon.”

  The boy took his leave, and Hani turned to his father somberly.

  Mery-ra said, “That’s Mut-nodjmet’s beau, isn’t it? She’s going to be grief-stricken. Who would want to kill a sculptor?”

  “There’s more to it than that, Father. You know I told Pipi the fellow was involved in something very dangerous?”

  Mery-ra nodded, his little eyes wide.

  Steps came crunching down the path, and Maya appeared. “Ah, here everyone is.”

  “Not everyone. Where’s Pipi? This concerns him more than anybody.” Hani could see his own anxiety mirrored on Maya’s face as the secretary became aware of the seriousness of the two men.

  “In the salon with the ladies. Shall I get him?”

  “Why don’t you?” Mery-ra said. “We need to break it to him before Mut-nodjmet
hears.”

  Maya looked confused, and Hani said in a low voice, “Her sweetheart has been found dead.”

  “The sculptor?” Maya cried, wide-eyed. “Does this have anything to do with...?”

  “Very likely.” Am I responsible for the poor man’s death? Hani asked himself, his gut churning. Did someone follow me, observe that he talked, and want to get him out of the way?

  Will I be next?

  Hani sent Maya back after Pipi, and a moment later, Pipi burst into the vestibule, his eyes round with concern. “What is it, brother? What’s happened?”

  “Kha-em-sekhem has been killed. A boy just came from the workshop to let us know.”

  Pipi appeared stunned, staring from Hani to his father. “Killed? An accident?”

  “Probably not an accident.” Hani sighed. “Let’s decide right now what we want to tell the rest of the family. I say he fell into the River drunk and was savaged by a hippopotamus. Does that meet with everyone’s satisfaction?”

  “Satisfaction doesn’t seem like the right reaction to such a tragedy,” said Mery-ra piously.

  Hani laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Pipi, why don’t you tell Mut-nodjmet? In a sense, this may make it easier to let go of him. I wish I could see the body before the servants of Lord Inpu get at it, but there’s no way we could get there in time. I don’t know how many long-haul ferries will even be running during the holidays.”

  The men trooped back into the salon, where the others looked up in uneasy curiosity.

  “Mut-nodjmet, my dove, come with me for a moment,” Pipi said somberly to his daughter, and the two of them exited.

  “What’s wrong, Hani?” Nub-nefer asked. These days, fear was always close under the surface of her eyes.

  “Her sweetheart was found dead. It was a tragic accident.”

  A collective gasp of horror and compassion met this news. From the kitchen, a shriek of anguish indicated that Pipi had told his daughter.