Scepter of Flint

by N. L. Holmes

  He heard a scuffling noise ahead of him, and suddenly, two men lurched back into the crowd, one of them looking blanched and unwell, leaning on his anxious companion’s arm. They forced their way through the throng, and Hani and Mane found themselves pressed forward into the front rank of the spectators.

  “We can breathe at last,” he said to Mane with a grin.

  The great processional way stretched off before him in either direction, the crowd of bureaucrats a bright white-and-black fringe bordering the tall, whitewashed walls of temple and palace and sparking with festive gold jewelry. Banners rippled lazily in the scant wind. The sun-scorched street had been swept and the dust held back by a sprinkling of water, but still, it reflected the glare until it was almost impossible to see without a visoring hand. Somewhere to Hani’s right, toward the palace, were the viziers and upper-level functionaries like his own superior, Lord Ptah-mes, high commissioner of northern foreign relations. To his left stood the lower-rank royal scribes and military scribes, including his sons and father.

  All at once, trumpets began to bray, chiming in one after the other in a joyous ascending chord. The crowd rustled and murmured excitedly. Around the north wall of the palace, the royal procession came into view, first several army units marching in step to the beat of drums and then the royal family. The king and queen were borne high in their golden carrying chairs on the shoulders of stalwarts decked in plumes and leopard skins. Nefer-khepru-ra gazed straight ahead of him, a slight smile on his lips, and so did the beautiful Nefert-iti Nefer-nefru-aten. They were a splendid couple, Hani had to admit—and things had reached such a pass in his soul that even that admission was painful. But they were young and good-looking, although the king had begun to grow fat like his father. Decked with jewels, their crossed arms bearing the crook and flail of kingship, they sparkled like the pair of gods they were. Behind them, the royal daughters were borne aloft, pretty girls with shaved heads and the lock of childhood, several of them already adolescent. The crown prince—the Haru in the nest—who was only two, was carried in his nurse’s arms, and other members of the dynasty—the queen mother and more of her children—followed. Clouds of flower petals and bits of fine gold leaf fountained into the air as they passed, tossed by enthusiastic naked children with baskets. The crowd roared its approval, and many spectators lunged forward to collect the falling gold, but soldiers stationed every few cubits held them back with lowered spears.

  “Our king does love a spectacle,” Mane shouted at Hani, grinning broadly.

  Two magnificently dressed servants waved dyed-ostrich-plume flabella at either side of the king and queen, and behind the royal carrying chairs marched the king’s special friends, the Fan Bearers, each with a single plume on a golden handle. If real public servants were rewarded as they should be, Ptah-mes would be among them, thought Hani bitterly. But in fact, his superior had been stripped of his high offices and even of his status of royal friend because he had dared to stand up to the young king when Nefer-khepru-ra had been his father’s coregent.

  And now the viziers were passing. Lord Aper-el, Hani’s higher superior, with his chiseled pale northern face, and his southern counterpart, Lord Nakht-pa-aten, whom Hani knew but slightly. The higher echelon of bureaucrats was peeling off from the crowd to join the procession, and Ptah-mes was in there somewhere—Hani thought he saw his head rising taller than the others at the far edge of the group. Before long, Hani and Mane took their places in line.

  The cadence of the drums pounded in his viscera as he began to walk. I can’t wait till this is over, Hani thought glumly.

  ⸎

  Five days after the opening ceremony of the Great Jubilee, Hani reached Waset, where he defiantly maintained his residence.

  “Well, my love? How did it go?” Nub-nefer asked her husband as they embraced.

  “Spectacular, as always,” he said, bending to smell the perfume rising from her warm natural hair. “I don’t know how he has time to do anything but parade around.”

  She sneered and gave a snort. Nub-nefer was violently opposed to Nefer-khepru-ra, who was the sworn enemy of the Hidden One, Amen-Ra. The king had cost her family their positions as hereditary priests. “There are no longer any festivals of the gods to preside over. What else has he to do?” She looked up at Hani wistfully. “Do you have to go back?”

  “Not until the end of the jubilee, really. I want to see the tribute the vassals have brought. It might tell us something about the state of their loyalty. But that won’t be for a month or more.”

  She sighed. “I wish you had nothing to do with that man. And notice I say man.”

  Man, not god. If the king refused to celebrate the feast of Ipet and receive a divine ka from the hand of Amen-Ra... for Nub-nefer, he was just a mortal like any other. Hani scratched his head dubiously. He wasn’t sure what he thought about the king’s divinity. It had never passed through his mind to question the late king’s claims that he was Haru and Atum and Amen and even the Aten. But Nefer-khepru-ra had crossed an irrevocable line in that regard. Hani was no longer sure how to address him.

  Eventually, Nub-nefer drew back from Hani’s arms. “Where are the others?”

  “They must be lingering outside. They were right on my heels.”

  Sure enough, he heard voices and laughter in the vestibule, and in a moment, his father, Mery-ra, burst in, followed by Maya and—guffawing and taunting each other—his second son, Pa-kiki, and his youngest girl, Neferet. The children were currently living in Akhet-aten with their elder brother, Aha, but they came home for every holiday long enough for them to make the trip and back.

  Nub-nefer opened her arms to embrace the youngsters, beaming with love. Pa-kiki hugged his mother, and Neferet threw herself on Nub-nefer with her usual bruising enthusiasm.

  “How are your lessons going?” Nub-nefer asked, running her fingers through Neferet’s bangs. The sixteen-year-old was studying medicine with the woman physician of the royal harem.

  “It’s so-o-o interesting, Mama!” the girl cried. “We set a broken leg before I left. That’s what I like—the hands-on sort of thing. Not all the testing for evil spirits or what angry ancestor is causing a disease.”

  “You should be a military doctor,” Mery-ra declared. “Nobody has to figure out where that hole in a soldier’s middle came from.”

  “I can’t imagine a sunet would be welcome on the battlefield, Father,” Nub-nefer said dryly. “Aren’t military doctors all men?”

  “I think they are, but if you ask me, a woman would be more than welcomed by wounded soldiers.”

  “Not my daughter,” Nub-nefer said firmly.

  “Speaking of the military, tell your mother your good news, Pa-kiki,” Hani said, smiling.

  “I got a post with the army right here in Waset!” the boy cried.

  Hani thought of him as a boy even though he was twenty-one and married with a small child. Pa-kiki’s cousin and wife, Mut-nodjmet, had borne him a son only the year before. Pa-kiki had been working in the Hall of Royal Correspondence, but he’d hankered for the more exciting life of a military scribe, as had his father and grandfather at that age.

  “That’s wonderful, my dear.” His mother hugged him again proudly. “It will be so nice to have you back in the city. You can start a real household now.”

  “If I may point out, I had something to do with that post. I claimed right of succession when I retired, and since Hani didn’t want the spot, I inscribed Pa-kiki for it.” Mery-ra crossed his arms smugly over his broad chest.

  “I’m grateful, Grandfather,” Pa-kiki assured him with exuberant sincerity. “Mut-nodjmet is happy to have me back in Waset. Where are the girls?” He looked around hopefully.

  “Yes, where are they?” Maya echoed. His wife, Hani’s daughter Sat-hut-haru, was among those missing.

  “They’ve gone to Sat-hut-haru’s. They didn’t expect you back this early,” Nub-nefer said.

  “Then I’m off, everyone,” Maya said, turning on his
heel. “Pa-kiki, I can send Mut-nodjmet back.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Hani’s son decided. “We’ll probably go straight home from there. Mother, we’ll see you tomorrow.” The two young men strode off together toward the door, Maya’s short steps pattering to catch up to Pa-kiki’s. In a moment, their clatter faded into the garden.

  Nub-nefer smiled at her husband with fond warmth. “They’re grown-up and have their own families now.”

  “Not me,” Neferet said, throwing her arms around her mother.

  “It won’t be long, my duckling,” Hani told her affectionately. “You’ll meet a nice young man and set up housekeeping like Sat-hut-haru, and before long, you’ll have children too. Won’t that be wonderful?”

  But Neferet’s face fell, and she began to rock uneasily, like a guilty child. She took on that stubborn look she got, with her eyes shifting to the side. “Does everybody have to get married and have children?”

  What a strange question, Hani thought, a little taken aback. He could see from Nub-nefer’s wide eyes that she, too, was shocked.

  “No one has to, but most people want to,” he said, caressing his daughter’s face. “‘It is proper to make people. Happy the man whose people are plenty.’ It’s a joy to have a family.”

  “Who will tend your tomb when you’re gone, my love? No, you have to marry and have children,” Nub-nefer said in a tone that allowed no disagreement on the subject.

  But Neferet looked skeptical, her lip stuck out. She was clearly fighting down an argument. Hani took in his daughter, really looking at her for the first time in a long while. At sixteen, she was a blocky, broad-shouldered girl who took after his side of the family—not classically pretty, with her square face and gap-toothed grin, but so full of life and heart and self-confidence that no one noticed. Her little brown eyes were always sparkling. To him, she was as attractive as Sat-hut-haru, who had inherited her mother’s beauty and softly feminine figure.

  Have we not presented her with an example of happy family life? he wondered, pained.

  “Let’s talk about that later,” Neferet said brightly. “I want to see Baket-iset.” She left her baggage on the floor of the vestibule and darted into the salon to greet her oldest sister, who lay on her couch. Baket-iset had been paralyzed in a horrible accident at the age of fifteen, toppling from the deck of a boat and breaking her back on the quay.

  If I’d never had children, I would never have known that strong and beautiful soul who happens to be my daughter. Hani was always moved by the thought of Baket-iset. The fact was he couldn’t imagine life without Nub-nefer and the children.

  As the two of them stood face-to-face, Nub-nefer shot him a disturbed and puzzled look. Then she said with a sigh, “I’ll see about dinner.” She turned and made her way through the salon, casting a bewildered glance at Neferet as she passed.

  Across the room, Hani heard his youngest regaling her sister with extravagant tales of life in the capital. He remembered how she used to act out everything Maya gave her to read and perform the secretary’s stories of his travels, to the delight of the audience. She’d grown up a little, but there was still an effervescence about her that brightened everyone’s day.

  Never change, little duckling, he thought tenderly.

  Later, the family had only just sat down to dinner when A’a, the old gatekeeper, appeared at the door of the salon, an apologetic look on his face. “There’s a messenger from Lord Ptah-mes here to see you, my lord.”

  Hani felt a twinge of uneasiness. What message could be so urgent that it has to be delivered at night? And how did it reach me so fast? Ptah-mes must have sent the messenger by his fast boat as soon as Hani had left the capital.

  “Show him in,” he said, rising from his seat and making his way into the vestibule.

  A’a swung open the outer door, and Ptah-mes’s pompous little secretary appeared in the doorway. “Lord Hani,” he said with a slight bow. He comported himself like Hani’s social equal, and perhaps he was, despite being a secretary. “I have an important message from Lord Ptah-mes. He bids you report to his office in the capital as soon as possible. He has a... discreet assignment for you to perform.”

  “Ah?” Hani murmured, reluctant. “Can’t I sleep here tonight and then come? I just arrived this afternoon.”

  But the secretary looked scandalized. “No, no. He needs you as soon as possible. He said to make use of his yacht, which is docked at the quay.”

  Hani blew out a weary breath. Ammit take it. “All right. Let me tell my wife and pack a few things.”

  Soon, the two men were clopping down the quay toward Ptah-mes’s magnificent boat, which Hani had already had the pleasure of boarding several times. It rocked at the water’s edge, long and sleek and painted black and green with a papyrus-shaped stern. Ptah-mes kept a double crew on board so that he could travel even by night. Such nocturnal voyages seemed dangerous to a lethal degree, considering the murderous wildlife that inhabited the River, but Ptah-mes was from one of the oldest aristocratic families of Waset and was no doubt used to getting what he wanted at a snap of the fingers.

  One of his haughty looks, and the hippopotamuses probably slink away in fear, Hani thought in amusement. Yet he had grown extremely fond of his superior; they’d come to be friends despite the difference in social class. And he knew that Ptah-mes carried a heavy burden of torment that even his wealth couldn’t ease.

  Hani made his way up the gangplank in the wake of Ptah-mes’s secretary, following his pompous little buttocks as he churned up the slope. Maya would follow next day. Hani had left a message with Nub-nefer to summon him downriver, but there was no reason the boy couldn’t enjoy one evening at home with his wife first. They had two small children, whom Maya missed inordinately on their long sojourns in the capital. There’s one who is happy enough to make a family for himself, Hani thought—which reopened the mystery of Neferet’s reluctance. He wondered if seeing too much childbirth among the royal ladies at too young an age had frightened her. But surely lots of adolescent girls are at hand for the parturition of their mothers and sisters...

  Around him, the sailors were lighting their torches and hanging them low on either side of the prow. The lights of villages began to twinkle along the silhouetted banks of the River, which was enameled carnelian by the reflected setting of the winter sun. It was getting chilly, and Hani soon retreated to the cabin. In a few days, he would find out what urgent mission awaited him in Akhet-aten.

  ⸎

  The swift yacht made a scant three days’ journey of a trip that usually took at least five. Hani arrived at the capital in midmorning and set out without delay for the Hall of Royal Correspondence. It was embedded in the royal precinct between the state apartments and the central palace, two of several royal residences that rose like whitewashed fortresses among the huddle of low, mud-brick buildings around them. The banners and bouquets that had decorated the opening procession of the jubilee were still in place. The celebrations would go on for months.

  He presented himself at the reception room of the high commissioner of northern vassals’ office, where the sour-faced subordinate who guarded the private offices passed him through without delay. As the door opened, Lord Ptah-mes, seated on a stool within, looked up, and his face brightened. To Hani’s surprise, Aper-el, the vizier of the Lower Kingdom, sat enthroned in the high commissioner’s usual chair. Hani made a deep court bow, hand to his mouth, as respectfully as possible. Aper-el had been mildly hostile to him ever since Hani had stood up against a ridiculous assignment abroad.

  “Ah, Hani. Here you are in the flesh,” said the vizier in his nasal voice. “We were just discussing you.”

  A ripple of unease lifted the hairs on Hani’s neck. Ptah-mes’s handsome face grew utterly expressionless. Hani had no idea whether the discussion had been positive or negative.

  “Ptah-mes will go into detail with you, but the substance of what he recalled you for is this: a series of tombs have been robbed over the l
ast few days, and Our Sun, the Lord of the Two Lands—life, prosperity, and health to him—is eager to put an end to it. After all, the country is full of foreign diplomats, and we don’t want to create a scandal.”

  Hani, still respectfully standing, nodded, confused. “Isn’t this an assignment for the medjay, my lord? I’m not sure where I come in.”

  Aper-el and Ptah-mes exchanged a dark look, and the vizier said in a lower voice, “We have reason to believe one of the perpetrators may be a foreigner. Perhaps even a diplomat. Hence, the involvement of the foreign service.”

  “Needless to say,” Ptah-mes added, his eyes shifting sideways toward Aper-el, “the greatest discretion will be required. You’re one of our most experienced men.”

  Hani was stunned. Foreign diplomats robbing tombs? What an appalling incident that could provoke!

  “How do we know foreigners are involved, my lord?” he asked.

  Aper-el shook his head. “Ptah-mes will give you further details.” He rose, martial in bearing, as befitted a former general, then he turned and withdrew to the inner office. Hani and Ptah-mes dropped into a bow.

  After the vizier had departed, Ptah-mes caught Hani’s eye and, holding a finger to his lips, gestured for to him to follow. They strode out the door of the reception hall and across the courtyard before Ptah-mes said in an undertone, “I’m calling my litters. I’d rather discuss this at home.”

  Following him through the court, Hani noticed his superior’s fashionable wig, which must have cost a fortune. Ptah-mes was always turned out in unwrinkled perfection.

  At the street, the high commissioner hailed his litter bearers, and they brought the two vehicles up to the edge of the court. Ptah-mes got into one and Hani the other. Hani’s superior ordered, “Home.”

  Hani felt the bearers take off at a trot. Before too much uncomfortably jostled time had elapsed, the litters drew up within Lord Ptah-mes’s garden, and the men emerged. Across the vestibule’s polished gypsum floors, painted with scenes of reeds and birds, Ptah-mes led him into the salon. There he seated himself and urged Hani to do the same. The two men sat looking at one another wordlessly. Hani was saddened to see how tired Ptah-mes appeared, his eye sockets smudged with brown.