Scepter of Flint

by N. L. Holmes

  “Weren’t the tombs guarded?” asked Mery-ra. “These were all recent burials, weren’t they?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Bebi-ankh answered in a voice growing dry and gritty. He licked his lips, and his wife dodged out of the room. “But the foreigner had apparently bribed the guards. They were nowhere to be seen the night we set to work.”

  The woman returned with a clay cup she offered to her husband, holding his head up to drink. He guzzled it down and leaned back on his headrest, his eyes glazed with pain.

  Hani went on relentlessly, “And the same arrangement had been made for the other two tombs?”

  “Yes. But we were just practicing, really. The plan was to rob Neb-ma’at-ra’s tomb once we had our technique down.”

  Dear gods. A royal tomb? Probably the same craftsmen worked on it; it’s only been seven years. “Can you name names for me, Bebi-ankh?”

  “Swear to me you’ll protect me.” The whites of his eyes glittered in trepidation.

  “I swear on my mother’s ka,” Hani replied solemnly. “I’ll take you away to safety this very day if you want. I have a litter outside, and no neighbor will see you.”

  “Don’t trust him,” whimpered his wife.

  But the artist said roughly, “Quiet, woman. This may be my only chance.”

  “He can’t walk,” she lamented.

  “Name me names,” Hani said.

  And the artist named names. Afterward, Hani called his bearers into the house, and with Bebi-ankh’s wife’s help, they loaded him into the litter.

  ⸎

  Nub-nefer’s eyes grew round with surprise as Hani and Mery-ra entered the garden with the litter behind them. A’a stood by with a torch as the bearers lifted the badly beaten and burned man from the interior. Bebi-ankh yelped in pain.

  “Hani, what is this?” she cried, clinging to his arm. “Who is this man?”

  “A witness to a crime,” Hani said blandly. And the victim of another crime. “He’s going to be with us for a while until I find out what Lord Ptah-mes wants me to do with him.”

  She looked at him in horror and confusion. “But Pipi and his family are here. Where are we going to put this fellow?”

  “Pipi’s here?” Hani cried. He shot his father an astonished look.

  Mery-ra shrugged innocently. “I told you he was moving back to Waset.”

  “Today? He came while we were in the Place of Truth?”

  “So it seems.” Mery-ra shrugged again.

  Nub-nefer added, “With Nedjem-ib and all the children.”

  Hani started to laugh because there was nothing else he could do. Once again, the gods had stirred his life like a pot of greens. He laughed until his eyes were full of tears.

  “Can’t they go to Pa-kiki and Mut-nodjmet’s house?” Mery-ra asked. “What about the farm?”

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” said Nub-nefer. “But we can hardly turn them out tonight. They may already be in bed. It was a very long trip, and they have all their baggage with them.”

  “Well, put this gentleman in the kitchen if there’s nowhere else. He’s ill and needs warmth. And his wife should be showing up soon.” The crazy reality of his predicament struck Hani so brutally that it just made him laugh inwardly again. He was as helpless before the divine sense of humor as a chick in the talons of an eagle.

  The four bearers carried Bebi-ankh into the kitchen and set him up next to the oven, which was still warm. Hani stayed to be sure the artist was fed. Then he returned to the salon, where he ran into Pipi in the ample flesh.

  His brother Pa-aten-em-heb—Pipi—was four years Hani’s junior and as lovable, feckless, and full of goodwill as he’d been as a pudgy, gap-toothed boy. He held out his arms to his elder brother, delighted. “Hani! Here we are!”

  “I see that.” Hani grinned as they embraced. “Have you found a job? Do you have a place lined up to stay?” It would have surprised him if Pipi had had so much foresight.

  Hani’s brother looked sheepish. “Not yet. I thought we could stay with you until—’’

  “Then you need to start looking for a house, because mine seems to be full of boarders.” Hani steeled himself to be firm. Pipi would act like a child forever unless one forced him to responsibility. He was forty-three years old—solidly into middle age—but still acted on every whim with no thought to the outcome.

  “All right, brother,” Pipi said docilely.

  “And I think we may have a job for you. Pa-kiki just left the foreign office, where he was a clerk. He’s gone off to be a scribe for the army. We had him inscribe you as his successor, if you want the post.”

  Pipi’s little brown eyes opened wide in delight. “That’s perfect!” He hugged Hani with all his heartfelt strength. “Thank you, Hani. You’re still looking out for your little brother!”

  Which probably needs to stop, Hani thought wryly. But old habits were hard to break. “You should shop around for a house in Akhet-aten if you’re going to work there every day.”

  Nub-nefer entered the salon, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “I see you’ve found Pipi,” she said, leaning toward Hani for a kiss. He put his arm around her warm copper shoulders and drew her closer. What other woman would put up with all the dangers and inconveniences I’ve brought down upon the household? She was pure gold, as her name proclaimed.

  “I’m going to have to go down to the capital for a few days, my love. I need to make a report to Lord Ptah-mes and get some directions,” Hani said. “Father and Pipi will take good care of you and Baket-iset in my absence.” He shot an amused glance at his brother, who nodded earnestly.

  Nub-nefer caught at Hani’s sleeve. “What about the man in the kitchen?”

  “Have a doctor come take a look at him. I don’t know what shape his leg is in, and those burns probably need tending.”

  “What on earth happened to him?” Nub-nefer asked, her brow wrinkled in compassion.

  “Mahu’s police questioned him.” He gave his wife a significant glance. She would remember what Mahu’s police had done to Hani as a mere “person of interest.”

  Her beautiful face grew hard. “Like master, like servant. What jurisdiction does Mahu have in the Place of Truth?”

  “That, my dove, is the great mystery. Apparently, the king has given him broad powers.”

  She made a noise of disgust. The name of the king never failed to elicit anger and contempt from her.

  Eager to avoid any further discussion of Bebi-ankh—especially in front of Pipi, who loved to hear the latest gossip and certainly couldn’t be trusted to keep it secret—Hani said again, “I’m heading to Akhet-aten in the morning. Maybe I’ll bring back Neferet. She must be off for the holidays. Pipi, do you want to come and talk to the chief scribe of the archives at the Hall of Royal Correspondence? He’ll tell you your duties.”

  “Sure, Hani. It will give us time to talk.”

  “Nub-nefer, my dear”—Hani turned to his wife—“if a strange woman and her children show up at the door, take them in. They’ll be the family of Bebi-ankh, the man in the kitchen.”

  “I won’t even ask what’s going on, my love,” she said, turning with a sigh of resignation. “They can sleep in the kitchen too.”

  CHAPTER 4

  WHILE MAYA AND PIPI waited in the reception hall, Hani was ushered into the office of the high commissioner of northern vassals. Lord Ptah-mes was sitting in his chair of office—immaculate, as always, in his expensive wig and gold collars of honor.

  His face cracked in a humorless smile. “Hani. Good to see you, my friend. I hope the news you have for me is better than the news I have for you.”

  Hani raised his eyebrows. Unease crept up his neck. What could that be? But he launched into his report. “Well, it seems that Mahu had beaten me to the scene, my lord. He has lied to and terrorized the innocent man who reported the case and tortured the one we knew was involved. Bebi-ankh claims he told Mahu nothing.”

  Ptah-mes lowered his eyes, his nostrils flaring in dis
gust. “But Mahu didn’t arrest him?”

  “Apparently not. I suppose Mahu’s hoping he’ll lead him to the others somehow.”

  Ptah-mes nodded. “Did the man talk to you, Hani?”

  “He did. I told him we would protect him from his fellows and from the medjay. He’s... he’s at my house with his whole family at the moment.”

  “You’re an unusual man,” said the commissioner with a softer smile. “I hope this won’t bring danger down on your family.”

  “He traveled in a litter, my lord. I can’t imagine anyone knew he left his house.” Hani dropped his eyes and then looked up again with a smoldering stare. “You should have seen the shape the poor fellow was in.”

  “And what about the so-called foreign diplomat?”

  “Well, Djau and Bebi-ankh both spoke of a tall, light-skinned foreigner who coordinated the robberies. He said something about his immunity.” Ptah-mes looked grim. “They were apparently working up to a royal tomb. One of the men took fright and ran away.”

  “Did anyone know where this foreign fellow was from?”

  Hani drew a deep breath and said reluctantly, “From the description, he sounded like a Mitannian.”

  Ptah-mes received this news in silence. His arched black eyebrows drew down in reflection. Finally, he said, “Tushratta and our king have been at loggerheads from the beginning, despite the deep friendship the Mitannian enjoyed with the Osir Neb-ma’at-ra. Would Tushratta do something like this? And why? What good does it do him to break the treaty irrevocably now, when he needs our help the most?”

  Hani shrugged, hopelessness weighing him down like a wet cloak. “It doesn’t seem like him, my lord. He’s always been very much our friend. Unless he’s seeking retribution for the humiliation of his daughter, who is being sent back to Mitanni.”

  “That’s pretty much a formal repudiation of the treaty anyway. Perhaps Tushratta feels he has nothing to lose.” Ptah-mes sighed. “I would have thought he had his hands full at home, between civil war and the advance of the Hittites.”

  As much as Hani liked Tushratta, who could be charming, he could imagine the king of Naharin making time for revenge. Some people were made compassionate by suffering, but the king seemed to have been bent toward rancor. He was a complex man. It would be difficult to say what he would and would not do.

  “My lord, how should I deal with this Bebi-ankh? He’s equally afraid of the foreigner and his coconspirators on the one side and Mahu’s henchmen on the other.”

  “Keep him for now—I mean, if he isn’t too much of a burden. We don’t want Mahu to get him.”

  Hani shook his head with a rueful laugh. “It wouldn’t be a burden except that my brother and his whole family are here too. He’s moving back to Waset.”

  “Ah, Pa-ra-em-heb? A delightful man.” Ptah-mes considered for a moment. “Have him stay at my house in Waset, if you like. There are just the two of us.”

  “Oh, my lord, that’s too kind of you,” Hani cried in relief. “He’ll be overjoyed. He was very fond of you.”

  Lord Ptah-mes gave a strained little smile as if he found it difficult to believe anyone was fond of him. He stood up, brushing the flawless pleats of his kilt and caftan, and Hani rose, too, out of respect. “You say this Bebi-ankh talked to you?” Ptah-mes asked, staring up out of the high window. “Did he give you names?”

  “He did. Seven members of the work crew were involved, plus a number of others who carried out the heavy labor. I suppose my next step is to arrest them.”

  “Yes. Have you contacted some officer to make use of his unit? I’ll write you a letter with the vizier’s seal.”

  Hani glanced at his superior in grim amusement. “I should warn you, my lord. These arrests will slow down progress on your tomb—that’s where the men were all working.”

  Ptah-mes raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips in a dry simulacrum of a smile. “Good thing no one is buried there, or I suspect I’d be the next victim of a robbery, eh?”

  Hani had to agree. He braced himself and asked, “You said you had some bad news for me, my lord?”

  Ptah-mes’s face grew grave, the lines between his nose and the corners of his mouth deepening. “There’s plague in the palace, Hani. Some foreigner seems to have brought it down from Djahy. I heard they had it running around up there, but Aper-el didn’t think it would be worth canceling the jubilee for all that.” He blew a disturbed breath out his nose. “This celebration was badly timed.”

  Fear ran up Hani’s backbone in a shivering wave. “My daughter is a sunet to the palace women,” he murmured.

  Lord Ptah-mes said in concern, “You’d better keep her home, my friend. Once one person gets it, the whole royal household is vulnerable. She might well find herself treating plague victims.”

  Hani nodded. Suddenly, the fate of the royal tombs seemed pale. His little girl was in danger. “I’m planning to take her home for the holidays, my lord. I’ll tell her teacher she won’t be coming back for a while.”

  “All of us who are able will leave the capital too. Of course, the government has to continue. And,” he added caustically, “the Great Jubilee of the Aten has to go on, no matter how many people drop dead.”

  Hani took his leave, crushed with anxiety for Neferet. And Aha—Hani’s firstborn—lived in Akhet-aten too. He was a lay administrator at the Great Temple of the Aten, but no one could be sure the plague wouldn’t spread out of the palace into the city at large.

  In the reception hall, Pipi and Maya were still sitting against the wall. They rose as Hani closed Ptah-mes’s door behind him. “Did you give him my greetings?” Pipi asked eagerly. He’d made Ptah-mes’s acquaintance several years before and had even spent days on his yacht.

  “I did. He said you were free to stay at his house in Waset since we have so many... boarders at ours.”

  Pipi’s little eyes lit up with childlike excitement. “Oh, Hani! His house must be magnificent if it’s anything like his yacht. What a privilege!”

  “It’s magnificent, all right.” Hani thought of the frigid courtesy between Ptah-mes and his wife, who held her husband in contempt for collaborating with the new king. He said more seriously, “Listen, there’s plague in the palace. We need to stay away from the capital as much as possible.”

  “But my new job...” Pipi cried in dismay.

  “We’ll find you something in Waset. The mayor may have a post. I’ll ask.”

  Hani struck off directly toward the southern part of the city, where Aha’s villa stood. Maya and Pipi, their faces tense and eyes wide, as if they feared the plague might spring out at them from behind any building, trailed him. Everything looked peaceful and prosperous, but the cloud of something terrible hung over those Hani loved. Even behind their whitewashed walls, they were no longer safe from the invisible demons of sickness.

  Lady Sekhmet, spare them, he prayed over and over as he stood at the gate, waiting for Aha’s porter to open it.

  “Lord Hani,” the man cried with pleasure when he had pulled back the door. “It’s been a while since you’ve honored us with your presence.”

  “Is your master home, my friend?” Hani could scarcely fix a smile on his face for the anxiety that gnawed at him.

  “He’s still at the temple, my lord. Lady Khentet-ka is at her mother’s with the children. Can I transmit a message?”

  “Please tell him that plague has begun in the palace. He would do well to get out of the city. Tell him to send his family to our farm or to her parents’. I’m taking Neferet home.”

  The gatekeeper’s eyes grew so horrified that Hani wondered if he would run away without even delivering his message.

  The three men set off next for the house of Lord Pentju and Lady Djefat-nebty, the royal physician and his wife, the sunet of the royal ladies. The way had never seemed so long to their magnificent estate at the edge of the city. The sun beat down with brilliance but no warmth. These were the shortest days of the year, when the mysteries of the struggle b
etween Haru and Sutesh—between order and chaos—were enacted.

  It’s going on around us now, Hani thought. The Apep serpent is sowing fear and sickness, squeezing us in his coils.

  Leaving his companions at the gate, Hani was admitted to the house. He didn’t know whether Djefat-nebty and his daughter were there or somewhere in the palace, bent over the demonic breath of a plague victim. But before long, he heard footsteps coming from within the house, and the tall, mannish figure of the sunet appeared in the doorway.

  “Lord Hani,” she greeted him with her usual cold expression, which he knew concealed a much warmer heart. “Are you here to take Neferet home for the holidays?”

  “My lady, forgive a father’s anxiety, but I’ve been told that plague has begun in the palace. Can you confirm that?”

  She stood silent, as if debating how honest to be, then said, “I can. One of the men of Djahy, here for the jubilee, seems to have brought it.”

  Hani took a deep breath that was less steady than he would have liked. “Then may I beg you to release my daughter from her duties for a while? We’re terribly concerned that tending the Royal Ornaments will expose her to the disease.”

  The sunet’s mouth drew down in disapproval. “But, Hani,” she said dryly, “it’s when people are sick that they need a doctor.”

  “Please, my lady. She’s only sixteen.” Hani felt a disproportionate desperation. He was ready to plead with the woman on bended knee—to weep if he had to.

  “Well, I certainly can’t stop you from taking her away. She’s your daughter after all. But I suggest you ask her what she wants to do.”

  Hani itched to retort, “Who cares what she wants? She’s a child. Her father can tell her what’s best for her.” But he said none of that. “Very well.” Perhaps he could convince Neferet to leave, although her mulishness was legendary in the family.

  Djefat-nebty disappeared into the depths of her house and shortly thereafter reappeared with Neferet in her wake. “Papa!” the girl cried with a broad smile, throwing herself on Hani with such energy that her braids lashed his chest. “Are you taking me home for the holidays?”