The Crocodile Makes No Sound

by N. L. Holmes

  “Say, old friend, what happened to your face?” Mane asked.

  “The medjay shared a little hospitality with me.” Hani grinned ruefully. His cheek had only recently reached the point that grinning wasn’t a source of excruciating pain.

  Keliya looked anxious. “They aren’t after you about our girl, are they?”

  “Oh, no,” said Mery-ra. “That’s only one of the many nefarious deeds my son is up to.”

  “They wanted to know the whereabouts of my brother-in-law,” Hani explained.

  “Ah, yes.” Mane nodded. “I remember. Never found him, have they?”

  Hani shook his head. “And that’s why I was so reluctant to get involved with you two. I never knew when I was being followed.” Somewhere inside him, an idea was creating pressure, wanting to emerge. He changed subjects abruptly. “Keliya, is there any way to trace the movements of those mercenaries—see where they’ve been over the last year or two?”

  “Not unless they’re registered diplomats or merchants, and that seems unlikely.”

  Gloom had gathered over Hani like his own personal storm cloud. He’d thought he had everything figured out, but maybe Kiya wasn’t out of danger after all. Maybe he wasn’t out of danger.

  Hani and his father took their affectionate leave, and Hani promised to come again before Keliya departed for his homeland. Once out in the street, Hani said, “I think I need to report to Lord Ptah-mes what we overheard in the beer house. You don’t have to come unless you want to.”

  “If he’s in Waset, I’ll come.”

  “We’ll start here. I’m not sure whether he’s back for the holidays or not.”

  They turned toward the riverfront and continued south. The day was warming up pleasantly. A skylark spiraled overhead, pouring out its contagiously joyful song.

  “You don’t often see those fellows over the city,” observed Hani, his face upturned to receive the notes. “There must be a lot of overgrown patches now to attract them.”

  The doorkeeper informed the two men that Lord Ptah-mes was indeed home, and before long, the high commissioner came out to join them on the portico. “Do you mind talking outside? We can sit by the pool in the sun. I don’t think it will be too cold.”

  Hani and his father followed their host through the garden to a large pool surrounded by palms. At nearly midday, the winter sun had claimed much of the area. Ptah-mes led them to a pair of stone benches, where he took a seat on one, Hani and Mery-ra settling upon the other.

  “My lord, I went to the beer house in our neighborhood this morning”—he saw a slight smile draw out the corner of Ptah-mes’s mouth and added quickly—“looking for Aziru, who didn’t come home last night. He was indeed there. We ordered a beer and stayed inconspicuous while Aziru sat down at table with a pair of Mitannians, whom I believe to be mercenaries. Maybe the same ones who were Abdi-ashirta’s bodyguards several years ago.”

  “The ones Yanakh-amu paid to turn on him?”

  “I don’t think these men did. But their Egyptian fellows, who had been part of Yanakh-amu’s troops, were, in fact, the ones who assassinated Abdi-ashirta.”

  Ptah-mes nodded thoughtfully. “You believe these men have remained in the pay of Abdi-ashirta’s son, do you?”

  “I don’t know. They seemed to be bringing him a message from... from someone else.” Hani proceeded to repeat to his superior what he’d heard the men saying in Amurrite.

  Ptah-mes’s face grew increasingly serious as he listened.

  “The irony is, a summons from the king probably arrived this morning, just as Aziru is about to give up. As soon as he gets back, I’ll present it to him,” Hani finished. “And then he can legitimately be on his way.”

  “And what will his next action be, I wonder?” Ptah-mes’s mouth turned down bitterly. “Is he preparing to jump the fence? I wouldn’t be surprised if your mercenaries brought him word from the king of the Hittites.”

  “That was my own feeling, Lord Ptah-mes,” Hani said, “although I heard no mention of them in that conversation.”

  “Of course, it was almost impossible to hear anything,” Mery-ra added.

  “And if that’s so,” Hani said, “this adds a new wrinkle to the matter of the Beloved Royal Wife.”

  “I thought you had determined the queen was behind that,” said Ptah-mes, looking up sharply.

  “She was certainly behind the note Kha-em-sekhem was paid to leave. But was the second message the same person’s work or another’s? It seems the same two mercenaries may have presented themselves to Kiya with a demand for action on behalf of Naharin. Whether Kiya honored it or not, she would be ruined, and with her fall would come the inevitable rupture of the Mitannian treaty. Nobody would profit but the queen... or Kheta Land. Were our sell swords already in the pay of the Hittites?”

  Mery-ra let out a groan.

  “This Shuppiluliuma of theirs is smart, if he’s behind it.” Ptah-mes chewed his lip in thought.

  Hani nodded in reluctant admiration. “And well informed. He must have someone in the palace keeping him abreast of the Beloved Wife’s peccadilloes.”

  “Hittites are forbidden in the Two Kingdoms at the moment, but if people saw a Mitannian, he’d be the last person they’d suspect of agitating for the enemy of his homeland,” Ptah-mes murmured pensively.

  The men sat in silence, digesting the ramifications of this idea.

  “Find out who is paying these Mitannians and what Aziru is planning,” said Lord Ptah-mes finally.

  Hani grimaced. “That’s not going to be easy, my lord.”

  Ptah-mes gave him a strange twisted smile. “Nothing ever is.”

  ⸎

  Aziru and his men returned to Hani’s house shortly after lunch while Hani and his father were still sitting at table in the salon.

  “Ah, Lord Aziru,” Hani called. “The diplomatic pouch came in this morning.” He picked up the bag from the floor at his side and held it out to the Amurrite, forcing himself not to mention the letter from the vizier.

  Aziru snagged the sack with a polite tip of the head. He pawed around the contents then drew out the letter and passed it to his secretary. In a mumbling undertone, the fellow read it to his master in the Egyptian in which it was written. From the corner of his eye, Hani saw the Amurrite’s face light up, then Aziru threw back his head and hollered with a laugh of relief—or maybe irony.

  “Finally! Well, Hani, you won’t be sorry to know the king will receive me at last. I can get out of your hair. How long has it been? Nine months?”

  “You could have had a baby to show for all that waiting,” Mery-ra said amiably.

  Aziru chuckled, the happiest Hani had seen him for nearly that long. In Amurrite, he explained to his brother what the letter contained, and they both crowed in appreciation. Together, still smiling from ear to ear, the three men trooped up the stairs.

  Mery-ra said under his breath, “Now he can go home and switch allegiance to Kheta.”

  Hani shushed him with a glance up the staircase. I wonder how much truth I’d get from the king of A’amu if I asked him point-blank whether he intended to remain faithful to Kemet. Hani pondered whether he needed to remain accessible to the Amurrite contingent until they got back from the capital and made their final departure.

  “I got a letter from Pipi,” his father said after a while. “He’s coming down with the horse, then he’ll accompany me back to Men-nefer with the grain barges. Your guest bedrooms won’t go empty for long.”

  “Were you ever going to tell me this?” Hani shot him an accusing look. “What if Aziru hadn’t left?”

  “I’m telling you now. I just got the letter. And the girls are all at the farm anyway. He said Mut-nodjmet really wanted to see Sat-hut-haru’s baby.”

  “When are they coming?”

  “He didn’t mention, but I assumed not long after the letter left his hands.”

  As if on cue, there were voices in the vestibule.

  Mut mother of us all, Hani
thought. Say that isn’t Pipi!

  But it was Maya. The secretary’s loud, excited voice shouted, “It’s a boy! It’s a boy! Lord Hani! I have a son!”

  Hani and Mery-ra rushed into the vestibule to find Maya dancing up and down, with A’a chortling and waving his hands as if it were his own son who had been announced. Hani threw himself on Maya and picked him right up in a joyous hug, which Mery-ra joined from the outside.

  Realizing belatedly that his action might have been offensive, Hani set Maya back down, his face burning but wearing an inextinguishable grin. “And the mother’s doing well, I hope?”

  “Perfectly well, my lord, and enjoying her perfect, beautiful son! Lady Nub-nefer and Neferet have built her bower, so I pretty much had to leave anyway. I won’t get to see them again for fifteen days.”

  “We missed her,” Hani said reluctantly to Mery-ra. “We’ll have to wait till she’s out of seclusion now.”

  “I vote for a celebration with the happy father,” Mery-ra said.

  “And grandfather and great-grandfather,” Maya added magnanimously. He was beaming from ear to ear, still posturing back and forth as if he were dancing inside.

  Mery-ra charged to the kitchen, where Hani heard him ordering the servant girls, “A jar of that wine from Kharu!”

  “Does your mother know yet?” Hani asked.

  “No, but I’m going there next. It’s her first grandchild, of course.”

  “It’s a great day, my friend.” Hani had to admit that he’d been so overwhelmed by everything that was happening that he’d barely stopped to worry about Sat-hut-haru’s lying-in. She was young and healthy, but still, safe childbirth was never a given. Thank you, Bes. Thank you, Great One. Let them continue in good health.

  Mery-ra came toddling back in managing three cups of wine, two of which he extended, splashing, to the others. “To the mother and her son. And the father,” he offered, and the three men drank. “Are you still going to name him Amen-hotep?”

  “I am,” Maya said with big smile of pride and something close to defiance sparking in his eyes. “Let them try to stop me.”

  “I suppose Nub-nefer is having all the proper sacrifices of thanksgiving made,” Hani said, but then he realized the temple of Mut was no longer open. He turned to his father, confused. “What does one do now?”

  “I’ve seen offerings at the gate of the Ipet-isut. I think people are continuing to honor the gods even without a liturgy happening.” Mery-ra shrugged. “Maybe the Hidden One and his family will realize we haven’t rejected them, even if... some people have.”

  “Who could we ask?” Maya said. “One of the Prophets?”

  “Not the Third one,” Mery-ra cautioned. “I don’t want to see Amen-em-hut until everything has cleared up.”

  “I think we need to stay away from all of them,” Hani said uneasily, thinking of the medjay lurking on his traces. We’ll leave gifts at the gate like everyone else.”

  “Well,” Maya said, once he had finished his wine with a slurp. “I’m off to tell Mother the news. I’ll be back.” He handed the cup to Mery-ra and hitched up his kilt.

  They bade the new father a jovial goodbye, and he swaggered out through the garden.

  “Ammi take it,” said Hani, mostly to himself. “I want to go down to the farm and be with everyone. But I have to wait here until Aziru has departed.”

  “And until Pipi has arrived, which could be any day,” Mery-ra added.

  “Let me at least write a note to Nub-nefer and Sat-hut-haru. Maya can take it back with him and read it to them—from safely outside the bower, of course.”

  ⸎

  Later that afternoon, Maya burst once more into Lord Hani’s salon, his mood thunderous.

  “What’s wrong?” Hani cried, seemingly unnerved.

  His bitterness an icy knot in his stomach, Maya cried, “My mother is moving to Akhet-aten. She’s selling the workshop—the house where I grew up.”

  “I suppose it’s only good business,” Hani said reasonably. “Akhet-aten’s where her work is now.”

  Maya glared at the floor. This is unpardonable.

  “Why don’t you buy it and you and Sat-hut-haru and the little one move there? It must be bigger than where you are now. You could convert the workshop and put a garden in the courtyard—”

  “It’s the idea of it,” Maya broke in, aggrieved. “That’s where all my memories are. She’s... she’s throwing it away, as if it meant nothing to her.”

  “People don’t always have the luxury of living where they want, Maya. Look at the big exodus of bureaucrats when the capital moved—all these empty houses around us. Those people can’t have been happy to pick up roots like that—you know how Thebans are. But they couldn’t lose their jobs.”

  Maya pounced. “But you didn’t move, Lord Hani. It took a choice, an act of the will. It wasn’t all about gold.”

  Hani, evidently seeing he couldn’t win, shrugged helplessly. “Maybe the king won’t continue to patronize her if she’s too hard to get to.”

  “Then let her rent it out but not get rid of it. The little one won’t ever know his father’s house. He won’t share any memories with me.” Maya’s face was hot as a brazier, and he felt it wouldn’t take much to squeeze tears out of his eyes. Somehow, the excruciating timing of this betrayal had walloped him hard. His mother was cutting his past out from under him just as he prepared to hand it along to the future. He’d hardly slept all night after she’d hit him with the news, and he was barely in control of himself.

  “Why don’t you buy it?” Hani asked again.

  “She’s never going to find a buyer.” Maya continued to rage, stalking around, bristling with furious energy. “The whole city is emptied out, full of properties nobody wants. Why does she have to leave now, of all times? The little one will never get to see his grandmother. Doesn’t she even care?”

  Hani reached out and took Maya by the shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. “Why don’t you buy it?” he said for the third time. “Say what you will about her intentions; this would save the house and its memories. If you need help, we can do something for you.”

  Maya melted. He knew that Lord Hani had already stripped his country property of cattle and grain to pay his brother’s debts. He bit his lip, contrite. “I couldn’t ask that, my lord. Maybe I can put together enough, pay her a little at a time.”

  “I think that would be a wonderful, responsible thing to do.” Hani was smiling his warmest gap-toothed grin. “You can make that a comfortable house. With the workshop, it will be really substantial. The wall around the property is in great shape. And there are two courts, if I remember correctly. You can have a beautiful garden and a service court. For your chariot!”

  Maya froze, not quite knowing if he was being mocked. But Hani’s laugh was working its way up from his belly, and Maya burst into laughter himself. The two of them howled happily.

  “All right,” said Maya at last, his anger dispersed, all business now. “I’ll talk to Mother.”

  He started to go but turned back at the door, a niggling anxiety rising. “What if Sat-hut-haru doesn’t like the idea?”

  “Didn’t you say she loved the house?”

  That was true. “I’m off,” Maya resolved.

  He’d gotten no farther than the door when A’a came rushing in, excusing himself as he brushed past. Maya turned after him, miffed and prepared to snap at him, but he heard the porter cry to Hani in the salon, “My lord, your brother is here with two horses. What shall I do with them?”

  Maya’s eyes popped open wide. Two horses? Had the irresponsible Lord Pipi bought two horses instead of the one his brother was sacrificing to pay off?

  Hani went rushing out with A’a in his wake, and Maya peeled off after them. There at the gate stood Pipi and his daughter, holding the two horses awkwardly by their halters. Maya didn’t know which to look at first—Mut-nodjmet or the animals. The girl, whom he remembered from only a few months before as heavy and unatt
ractive, had lost weight, and now her extraordinary bosom was set on a worthy pedestal. Her small waist gave purpose to the swell of her, her neck looked longer, her face wasn’t so shapeless, and her features not so overwhelmed by fat cheeks. He could hardly absorb the transformation and had to close his mouth by an act of the will.

  Then there were the horses. Beasts of grandeur! He kept his distance—they were enormous, with their big barrels and hard feet. But the elegance of those heads! The eyes like ripe olives! Their russet coats with silky black legs! Suddenly, he could understand Pipi’s folly.

  Pipi held out his arms to Hani as if to forestall any comment, and the two brothers embraced. Hani took the girl in a fatherly hug—Maya tried not to imagine too hard what that must be like—and cried, “Pipi! Mut-nodjmet! By the Lady of Beauty, girl—she’s transfigured you! What... what happened?”

  “Grief, Uncle,” she said shyly. But her smile had found a sparkle of self-confidence, almost coquettishness, that had never set it alight before. She felt beautiful... and she had become beautiful.

  Perhaps if I felt tall... Maya thought wryly.

  “Pipi, what are these?” Lord Hani asked a little less enthusiastically. He extended a hand and petted the nose of one of the horses.

  “They’re horses, brother.”

  “In the plural.” Hani’s voice was carefully neutral.

  “I was afraid to tell you. It seemed so stupid to have bought one—what would you and Father think if you knew I had two of them? But by the seven-headed demons, Hani, one horse can’t pull a chariot.” Pipi held out his hands in a helpless gesture of reason.

  Hani pursed his lips and peeked under the two animals’ bellies. “They’re mares, Pipi. Mares don’t pull chariots.”

  Pipi looked dumbstruck. He exchanged a stare with Mut-nodjmet. “What do they do, then?”

  “They have foals,” said Hani.

  Pipi seemed to deflate. Still, he said gamely, “But that’s good, isn’t it?”