The Crocodile Makes No Sound

by N. L. Holmes

  Pipi looked downright nervous. “Is it always like this? It’s still the middle of the day.”

  “Never seen anything like it. In the last few years, there’ve been riots even on ordinary days, though. People are deeply disturbed by the emptying out of the city and its wealth.”

  Suddenly, the friendly custom of loosened inhibitions didn’t seem like a good idea. Hani saw the quays ahead full of boats large and small, many of them loaded with partygoers, shouting and laughing drunkenly and clacking their clappers. He let out a nervous breath. “I just hope there are ferries.”

  They turned down the first boat that offered itself; the crewman soliciting their business could hardly stand up, he was so inebriated. Farther down the bobbing line of hulls was a large, sleek boat, beautifully painted in black and green, with a high, curved, papyrus-shaped stern. But it ended up being someone’s private yacht. They stared at it in longing and admiration. They’d just turned away when Hani heard a voice call his name. He spun and looked back at the deck of the boat. Lord Ptah-mes and a tall, slim woman were standing at the gunwales, waving.

  Hani returned eagerly to the water’s edge. “My lord!” he called. “Nice to see you.”

  “Are you going back to the capital?” Ptah-mes was wearing a linen wig cover that drew the locks of his wig behind his ears, and he looked rather unlike himself. He seemed genuinely happy to see Hani.

  “We are. My brother and his daughter are with us. We’re looking for a ferry with a sober crew.”

  “Our crew is sober. Come on and join us. We’re leaving as soon as they finish loading supplies.”

  “If you’re sure we won’t disturb you...”

  Lord Ptah-mes assured him they had plenty of room, and the four of them gratefully mounted the gangplank. Hani had some experience of noble yachts, although this one was uncommonly beautiful. He saw that Ptah-mes had exceptional if somewhat austere taste—he’d overseen the construction of Neb-ma’at-ra’s magnificent funeral temple, so that came as no surprise. The wide sail was still furled, but between the tall steering oars at the stern was a covered pavilion draped at the back and over the top with a richly patterned fabric from some island in the Great Green. Folding chairs with colorful cushions sat ready for use, with beer stands in position beside them. Otherwise, the vessel was painted in near monochrome with only discreet touches of other colors. A crew as large and businesslike as that of a merchant vessel hustled about, preparing to cast off.

  Hani smiled at his friend as he stepped down to the deck. At his side, Pipi gaped about, and the girls seemed awestruck. To Hani’s surprise, Ptah-mes embraced him, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth in an almost conspiratorial way. “Hani, permit me to introduce my wife, Lady Apeny.”

  “Your servant, my lady.” Hani folded in a reverence, a delighted grin upon his face. “My wife Nub-nefer is loud in your praises.”

  The woman smiled back. She resembled her husband to a striking degree—tall, slender, and aristocratic to the marrow. She had clearly been a beautiful woman in her youth and still was, in a faded way. Hani judged her to be a little older than Ptah-mes, but the fine thoroughbred bones of her face had held up well. “She is too kind. I adore your wife, Hani. Welcome to you and your family.”

  “My lord, my lady, permit me to introduce my brother Pa-ra-em-heb and his daughter Mut-nodjmet. They’ve been visiting from Men-nefer. And this is my own daughter Neferet, the one who’s studying medicine.”

  “Oh, how interesting,” Lady Apeny cried in the most perfect expression of genuine fascination. “And such a coincidence. I myself am continuing the journey to Men-nefer after my husband stops in the new capital. I would be delighted to offer you a ride for the rest of the way.”

  Pipi looked overwhelmed. He stammered, “Oh, with all my heart I accept, my lady. You’re too kind.”

  She laughed—a cool, musical laugh that somehow managed to sound both practiced and genuine. Hani remembered Nub-nefer’s description of Apeny cracking her whip over men and women alike as the weret khener of the Greatest Shrine.

  “Girls, I have something delightful to show you, but I ask you to play with it in the cabin down there and not on the deck, all right?” She led the two cousins toward the little cabin amidships while her husband, Pipi, and Hani climbed the tilting deck and took seats under the canopy.

  “What a completely unforeseen gift of the gods,” said Ptah-mes.

  A lurch and sudden bobbing of the stern told them the boat was free from the docks. Hani replied, “Indeed. We were a little uneasy with all the merrymakers around. I wasn’t sure we were going to find a boat suitable for the girls. We didn’t want to get on the first vessel we saw.”

  “No,” Ptah-mes agreed grimly. “There’s a very unpleasant atmosphere abroad today. I wonder if something isn’t going to happen.”

  The man at the steering oars leaned with all his weight to his left, and the boat began to slide out into the current.

  “I doubt if we’ll need the sail,” Ptah-mes said with the air of a host who doesn’t let too long a silence fall over his party.

  His wife made her way gracefully up the deck and took a seat in the vacant chair at Ptah-mes’s side. Hani was struck by the absence of response. There was no exchange of glances, no smile between them, no little gesture. They were a perfect-looking couple dressed in the most exquisite fashion—handsome, well-bred, genial hosts who showed no hostility toward one another. But they were completely alone, both of them. It made him sad. He wondered if the move to Akhet-aten had come between them to this extent, symbolic as it was of Ptah-mes’s compromise with the Aten.

  “I have a puppy in the cabin,” Lady Apeny said with a smile. “The girls were enchanted.”

  “It’s for our daughter’s children in Men-nefer,” Ptah-mes explained.

  “Ah,” said Hani. “Have you other children, my lady?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Seven altogether—one of them in Men-nefer, one in Nekhen. Now that I have more leisure, I visit them frequently.”

  She means, now that the Ipet-isut is shut and the cult of the Hidden One forbidden. Lady Apeny had managed to say it without bitterness, but Hani wondered what was in her heart and how much of it she blamed on her husband and men like him.

  They chatted emptily of one thing and another as the magnificent boat slid down the fast-moving current—past the green palm-tufted banks and open farmlands, the whitewashed villages and tasseled marshes. Hani could feel his tensions washing away with the growing iterus of distance between him and the City of the Scepter.

  At last, Lady Apeny rose and said apologetically, “Forgive me, gentlemen. I’m going to see about something for our dinner.” She made her way, swaying with the movement of the vessel, to the cabin amidships.

  A moment later, Mut-nodjmet appeared on the deck and called, “Papa, you’ve got to see this irresistible creature!” Her face was alight with happiness, and Pipi seemed beside himself with surprise. He popped up, saying, “My pardon, my lord,” and bumbled his way across the swaying deck to the cabin door.

  Once they were left alone, Ptah-mes said quietly to Hani, “How is it going, my friend?” They both continued to gaze, squinting, out over the River, which was sparkling with the long rays of evening sun.

  “Aziru’s brother wrote to tell him that ninety thousand Hittite soldiers are massed just outside our borders.”

  “They’re preparing to invade Naharin,” said Ptah-mes with a sigh. “I doubt if that number is accurate, but certainly, they plan to take Naharin.”

  “Pu-ba’alu claims that without Aziru’s brilliant strategy dictating their every move, they can’t resist. He begs to know if they’re expected to try to guard our other vassals.”

  Ptah-mes snorted. “No one’s going to attack our vassals. They’re going to go over to Kheta willingly, as soon as they see we’re not making a move to defend our borders. Tunip is already gone.”

  Hani made a noise of disgust. He reminded himself not to care.
After a moment, he said, “The sculptor Kha-em-sekhem was murdered.”

  Ptah-mes shot a penetrating sideways glance at Hani. “When?”

  “On New Year’s Day, my lord. And then someone fired an arrow at me from the Western Mountains as my family and I laid boats on my mother’s tomb.”

  Ptah-mes made a grim noise through his nose. “Be careful.”

  Hani said levelly, “I have a theory about who the blackmailer is.”

  “Oh? Do I want to know, even in my complete ignorance of the matter?”

  “I doubt it.” Hani hesitated and whispered, “I think it’s the queen.” He looked straight at his superior then, hoping to see a reaction of skepticism.

  But Ptah-mes’s expression was black. “Of course. It would be. You might as well stop your investigation while you’re still alive, Hani.”

  “I don’t know the Lady Nefert-iti. Would she do something like that?”

  “Naturally. Any royal woman would if she felt her position were threatened. It doesn’t mark her as particularly ruthless or ambitious. Although,” he added, “she is both. She’s her father’s daughter.”

  They settled once again into their contemplation of the banks sliding past as the great yacht leaped downriver. A few small fishing boats clustered in the shallows. Its sail spread, a sleek, sinister military vessel plowed upstream, casting a shadow across the twinkling water. Hani felt the icy fingers of fear squeezing his heart. He wanted desperately not to be involved in this affair.

  Finally, he said, “I had thought that if I could come up with some solution that would give her an even better outcome than disgracing the King’s Beloved Wife, and if I had someone the queen trusted present that idea to her, she might relent—out of self-interest.”

  “And what is that solution, Hani?”

  “I don’t know, my lord, any more than I know someone trusted by the queen who would consent to cross her desire in this way.”

  Ptah-mes drew a deep, weary breath. He seemed relieved when his wife appeared.

  “Gentlemen, I trust you’re hungry. The servants have prepared us a little cold supper.” She smiled graciously at Hani without a glance at her husband. “Your brother and the girls know. They’ll be up in a moment.”

  Apeny swept her long, gauzy skirts aside and seated herself with queenly grace.

  “Were you aware, my dear,” said Ptah-mes blandly, “that the older girl’s fiancé was just killed?”

  “What? Oh no! The poor child!” Apeny looked genuinely sorrowful. “At least she’ll have these few days of amusement with the puppy to help distract her.” She leaned toward Hani. “What happened to the unfortunate man?”

  “He met with an accident on the River, my lady.”

  “It was that fellow who did our studies for the funerary statues,” said her husband.

  “Oh, really?” She looked nonplussed but recovered quickly. “What a loss. He was so talented.”

  Hani thought, She’s too well bred to show what she thinks of marrying an artisan.

  Pipi and the girls were making their way up the deck, chattering. Hani saw, with a mixture of embarrassment and tenderness, that Neferet was imitating the puppy, her folded hands up as if begging, her tongue hanging. She cocked her head and widened her eyes in pleading at Pipi then turned that pose to her father as they approached.

  “Forgive my daughter,” Hani said to his hosts with a dry grin, but his eyes were pointedly on Neferet’s. “She feels the need to act out everything she sees.”

  “No, Papa,” she said with a magisterial air, crossing her legs and seating herself on the luxurious carpet beneath their feet. “Only adorable things like that puppy. He’s going to be a big hunting dog, but right now, he’s the sweetest little ball of fur!”

  “He’s only nine weeks old,” Mut-nodjmet added. “He licked my face with his little tongue.” It was the first time Hani had seen anything resembling happiness on that drab face since she’d arrived in Waset.

  His heart warmed with tenderness. All any of us want is to be loved. The incorrigibly unfaithful Kha-em-sekhem—wasn’t he always seeking someone who would love and approve him? Hani thought of Lord Ptah-mes and his wife, as cool as polite strangers to one another. But then he considered Ptah-mes’s courteously tempered longing for Hani’s—or probably anyone’s—company. He thought of Pipi’s reluctance to let his father and brother know about his debt, as if he might forfeit their love by having been so imprudent. Indeed, Hani thought of the queen and the Beloved Royal Wife conniving for the favor of their husband. What did either of them want except to be loved? It was fatal not to be.

  After supper, the girls returned to the puppy, and Lady Apeny went off to prepare sleeping places for the guests while the men sat on the stern deck in the cool of evening. The sun was sinking fast, as it did over the desert, inlaying the western sky with amethyst and coral and carnelian. An occasional constellation of lights was visible on the banks, where some village celebrated the Festival of Drunkenness. Faint music and laughter drifted over the current. Once, Hani heard the belching roar of hippopotamuses. The sailors had lit torches and thrust them into cressets on the long prow of the vessel, like shooting stars piercing the twilight. They were mirrored in the waters of the River. Hani found himself lulled by the movement of the boat and the gentle hiss and clap of water against the hull, the illusion of sailing the bark of Ra among the imperishable stars.

  He was almost certainly drifting toward sleep when Lady Apeny returned and said quietly, “Hani, I’m going to have the servants make your and your brother’s beds here on the deck, if you don’t mind. The girls will have more privacy in the cabin with the puppy. Lord Ptah-mes and I will be in a different room. Don’t worry.”

  Hani roused himself to see that Ptah-mes had already departed. Pipi was asleep in his chair, head lolling on his chest.

  “Thank you, my lady,” Hani whispered. He rose and roused Pipi, and the two of them stepped aside while the servants spread a thick stack of blankets and cushions for each of them.

  “We’ll travel all night, then?” Hani inquired, surprised.

  “Yes. It cuts the trip in half, obviously. Sleep well, gentlemen.”

  What luxury—a double crew and a torchlit passage devouring the iterus. He had to admit it didn’t seem altogether safe, but it was a transcendent experience nonetheless. Hani stared up at the sky and saw the boat’s glittering passage reflected overhead, a heavenly River of stars that draped the black body of Nut, the sky. They were alive. They sang—the souls of those who had joined Ra on his barque, sailing through the night, until dawn restored him to his sovereignty in the sky. What did the Atenists have to say about this majestic living darkness? How did they explain the absence of light? At last, he curled up under his blankets, and lullabied by Pipi’s snores, he slept.

  ⸎

  As predicted, they reached the Horizon of the Aten in half the time a normal fast boat required for the trip. Hani bade Pipi and Mut-nodjmet a misty-eyed goodbye as they continued to Men-nefer with Lady Apeny. Lord Ptah-mes headed directly home in his litter, while, despite Ptah-mes’s offer of hospitality, Hani and Neferet went to find some breakfast on their own. The city seemed remarkably alert on the morning after the Feast of Drunkenness, but from what Hani could see, that festival had scarcely been celebrated here, where the fun-loving Lady Hut-haru was under the ban. Hani remembered Kha-em-sekhem calling it a city of prune-faced mystics and smiled to himself.

  They bought bread and dates in the market and ate sitting on the ground in the shadow of one of the lion-bodied images of the king that now lined the processional road in the central part of town. We probably look like country hicks, Hani thought in amusement.

  Afterward, he walked his daughter south to the mansion of Lady Djefat-nebty and entered it with her. He didn’t want to leave her before he knew if the sunet expected her. But at the gatekeeper’s announcement, the lady herself appeared in a scarf and old dress, ready to work.

  “Neferet,” she sa
id as if stating the obvious. “We’re mixing potions today. Go find an apron.”

  “I leave her with you, my lady.” Hani bowed and was ready to withdraw, but Djefat-nebty stopped him with a word.

  “Lord Hani. Before you go, let me say something.” Her face was its usual stern mask, and he half feared she would say Neferet wasn’t suited for the role of a doctor and should leave. She approached him, as tall as he was, and said in her harsh-voiced bark, “Your daughter is a delight. At last, a girl who isn’t a conventional meek little mouse. She has character. We clash sometimes, but that’s good. She won’t always be a student, and she has to have opinions of her own.”

  Hani was amazed. His own recollections of his schooldays were that the master wanted unthinking obedience and a sealed mouth—a mouth used only to shout out the passages that had been assigned for memorization. But he was extremely pleased—proud of Neferet and happy that she had fallen into the hands of a teacher who was an unconventional thinker. “I’m honored by your praise for my daughter, my lady. I hope she continues to give you satisfaction.”

  Djefat-nebty drew down her long mouth as if to suppress a smile that threatened to expose her hidden niceness. She nodded brusquely and turned away, disappearing into the interior of the house.

  Still warmed with the pleasant glow of the doctor’s praise, Hani made his way back toward town and the working-class neighborhood where the shop of Djehuty-mes stood. He wasn’t sure what information the sculptor might have that could be of use, but he wanted at least to express his condolences for the loss of Djehuty-mes’s sometime son-in-law. A guilty little voice within whispered yet again that Hani himself might have been the remote cause of Kha-em-sekhem’s murder.

  He entered the courtyard, which was noisy and dust-whitened as ever, only to learn that the master was busy at the palace. But Djehuty-mes’s daughter met Hani at the door of their house. Her soft face was tear streaked, her eyes swollen and red, and she wore a mourning scarf around her locked hair. The two little boys hung on her skirts.