by N. L. Holmes
At last, the footsteps stopped somewhere above him. There came a scraping noise and the dull metallic sound of shovels coming out. Then came the quiet punctuation of digging—screech bam, screech bam. Ptah-mes gestured to Hani, and the men began to creep forward. Behind him, he could hear his bearers starting up the slope quietly.
With those shovels, the robbers are as good as armed, Hani thought uneasily, and we have no long-handled weapons.
All at once, Ptah-mes lunged forward, his battle-ax raised. Hani caught a terrifying glimpse of his face before Hani, too, fell upon the diggers in the paling darkness, swinging his club. He made contact with someone’s bent back that sent a shock wave up his arm. Cries broke out. The lanterns flashed on from all sides. A shadow started to run away, and Maya went hurtling through the air after him and dragged him to the ground. Mery-ra brought his staff down on the man, and he lay still.
But the element of surprise had worn off, and now the robbers were beginning to rally. They knew how to fight, swinging their shovels in an arc to keep their attackers at bay. Hani heard one of the men pant, “Run, run! I’ll hold them off.” And suddenly, the melee dissolved, and dark figures tore away, heading for the cliffs.
“After them!” Hani cried to his bearers.
They took off, scrambling after the others, knocking rocks and gravel in a shower down upon the lone defender, who jabbed and slashed with the blade of the shovel, grunting with effort. Clangs and clacks marked the contact with rods or clubs. Suddenly, something flew through the air. There was a thud and a cry, and the battle stopped dead.
Hani dropped his club, panting. “Is he down?” he called.
“I hit him with a rock! Did you see that, Hani?” Pipi’s proud voice came out of the darkness, which was already raveling under the rays from their lanterns.
“I’m glad someone thought of that,” Ptah-mes said dryly. He was winded, and his face was streaked with perspiration.
Hani bent to tie up their victim. The man was unconscious, but apart from some blood on his scalp, he didn’t seem badly hurt. Hani took from the robber’s own sack a length of rope and tied his wrists to his ankles behind him so he couldn’t even walk, let alone run away. Then he doused the robber with the contents of his water gourd, which brought the man abruptly to consciousness, spluttering and shaking his head. Dawn was starting to gain the eastern sky. Hani saw around them on the ground a pile of hempen sacks and the robbers’ abandoned tools.
By now, the litter bearers were returning triumphantly, each pair carrying between them a trussed-up prisoner hanging from the handle of a shovel.
“Is that all there is?” Ptah-mes called out.
One of the men replied, breathing heavily, “I think there was another, my lord, but he got away into the valley.”
He’ll tell his leader what happened, of course. Hani eyed the miscreants. They were young, strong, and well fed and had clearly demonstrated their fighting skills and coordination. “What company are you from?”
One of them began, “The Glory of—”
“Shut up, you idiot!” The shovel man snarled at Hani, “We’re not soldiers.”
“No, you’re cavalrymen, aren’t you? Runners and charioteers and scouts. This work is a little below your dignity, I should think—robbing tombs. And now you’ve been defeated in battle by a bunch of scribes. Nice story to tell your grandchildren. You should have stayed with your horses.”
The men were silent except for their heavy breathing. “We do what we’re told,” growled the spokesman.
“Tell me, Iby son of Ah-hotep-ra,” Hani said, taking a chance, “what did your leader promise you to make the fine young men of your company abandon all decency?”
The prisoner said nothing.
“Tell me, like a good obedient soldier, Iby. Who is he? What did he promise you?”
“We fight for the king and the good of the Two Lands, as always,” Iby cried defiantly.
Ptah-mes drew nearer and fixed the man with a cold-eyed stare. “Who is your protector? What was to be your reward for the heinous act of robbing a tomb? Did he promise you impalement? The gift of losing your nose and ears so that you can’t hear the songs of the Field of Reeds or breathe in the breath of life?”
Even in the pale half-light of earliest morning, Hani could see the man’s face blanch. “It was for the good of the kingdom,” he stammered. “He said it would help our foreign relations better than waging war.”
Ptah-mes and Hani exchanged a look. “Robbing someone’s tomb will help the kingdom?” Hani said. “I’m afraid I don’t follow his logic.”
“They were all enemies of the Aten. Who cared whether we starved their souls? With the treasure, he said we could do good for foreign relations.”
Ptah-mes’s face grew as sharp as a flint blade, his teeth bared, and Hani almost feared to see his superior fall upon the man and beat him to death.
Mery-ra, who had stepped to Hani’s side, said in a kindly voice, “Who is ‘he,’ son?”
“Lord Ay, the god’s father. He is our protector, and no one can touch him.”
Hani nearly jumped back, as if the man had sprouted flames. He’d both expected and not expected this. They found themselves swimming in dangerous waters—this pool of the Two Truths. “Who is the foreigner who is involved with your scheme?”
“I don’t know his name. Lord Ay said we should do what he told us.”
“Is he still directing you? Are you expected to do any more of this despicable business?”
The cavalryman looked reluctant to say more, but Ptah-mes, squatting at his side, pushed the blunt edge of his ax blade against Iby’s throat until his head lolled back. “Perhaps if I crush your larynx, you’ll find it easier to stay silent,” Ptah-mes growled in a barely controlled voice.
The man swallowed with difficulty and choked out, “Yes.”
Ptah-mes stood and walked away, as if he didn’t trust himself not to kill the cavalryman.
“If you take him in, Ay will probably have him released,” Mery-ra said under his breath. “We know who Mahu has been protecting now.” He and Hani moved downhill together in the direction of Maya, who stood dusting his hands as he gazed out over the courtyard of Apeny’s tomb.
Hani nodded. “And how he knew there would be an attempt tonight. But it puzzles me that he let us continue in our watch.”
“I guess he didn’t care if we caught the robbers, knowing that nothing would happen to them in the end. It confirmed his association with the great and powerful, which is what he lives for,”
Lord Ptah-mes said scornfully.
“Or perhaps he fully intended to have them put to death himself, to silence them.” Hani couldn’t keep the disgust out of his voice.
Maya turned to them, his face flushed with excitement. “That was quite a fight, Lord Hani. What a scene this will make in my Tales!”
Glad for the distraction from his dark thoughts, Hani threw back his head and laughed. “Get these men down to the River. It’ll take several trips, and I’d like to catch an early boat across to Waset. The sooner these birds are locked up, the better I’ll like it.”
“Who is going to lock them up, Hani?” said Lord Ptah-mes dryly. “The police? The army?”
“The army. But it will be the infantry. Menna’s company. And then I’m going to see the vizier.”
⸎
Hani and Maya sailed back down to the capital before the holidays were ended. Hani wanted to update the vizier on developments and ask how Aper-el wanted him to proceed—or whether he should proceed at all. And he needed to talk to Keliya to see if he was aware of Pirissi’s moonlight career as a tomb robber. Although perhaps it no longer matters; he’s gone home now.
After the glorious hustle-bustle of the Great Jubilee, Akhet-aten seemed deserted. Faded garlands still wreathed the neck of a king-headed lion here and there, where cleanup crews had overlooked them. The dusty streets were hotter than ever in this season of preparing for the Flood, and Hani’s shirt wa
s soaked by the time they’d trudged from the embarcadero to the Hall of Royal Correspondence.
They entered the reception hall of Aper-el’s offices and found it empty, their footsteps echoing on the gypsum floor. I guess they’re all still at home for the holidays, he thought. But something didn’t seem quite right. A scribe came striding through the room, oblivious to the newcomers’ presence. He had a mourning scarf around his head. Hani stared after him, his heart in his mouth, as the man entered a chancery hall and pulled the door shut behind him.
“What’s going on?” Hani murmured uneasily. Maya’s eyes had grown round as plates.
They followed the man and knocked on the door where he’d disappeared. Someone else, also marked as being in mourning, stuck a head out. Hani’s hair rose on the back of his neck.
“What do you want? We’re busy,” the man said brusquely.
“I am Hani son of Mery-ra. I have a report to give the vizier.”
“You’ll have to deliver it to the Field of Reeds, then. Lord Aper-el is among us no longer.” The scribe looked more annoyed than sorrowful that his superior had died.
Hani sucked in his breath in horror. “When? How?”
“A few days ago. The plague.” The man smiled bitterly as if to disarm his fear. “Lady Sekhmet doesn’t spare high rank. They say one of the king’s little daughters has died too.”
“Who has been named in his place?” This was a question Hani hardly dared ask.
“We don’t know yet.”
Hani drifted back through the reception room in a state of shock, his secretary in his wake, murmuring, “I can’t believe this.”
His protector was no more. Who would replace him? What would this mean for the investigation—and after? In the courtyard, he knelt and strewed his head with dust in a decent gesture of condolence, forcing himself to remember that Aper-el was a human being, no doubt with a family who would now be suffering and a soul in need of prayer. But selfishly, the thought kept floating back: My protector is gone.
Lord Ptah-mes had returned to the capital on his fast yacht, at last daring to leave his wife’s tomb now that the robbers had been apprehended. Perhaps he already knew about Aper-el and perhaps not. Hani and Maya crossed the court to the building occupied by the foreign service and made his way gratefully into the cool interior. The secretary at work in the reception room looked up from the floor with a haughty lift of the eyebrows. “May I help you?”
“Is Lord Ptah-mes in? It’s Hani to see him,” Hani said, trying to make his voice level and polite despite the turmoil that raged within.
The secretary got to his feet and disappeared into Ptah-mes’s office then returned a moment later. “He will receive you, my lord.” Maya took a seat in the corner of the reception hall, and Hani approached the high commissioner’s door.
Ptah-mes was sitting in his chair when Hani entered. He looked up with a vacant smile. “Hani.”
He, too, was wearing a mourning scarf. It had become a far too frequent occurrence.
“I see that you’ve heard about Aper-el, my lord,” Hani said. Fear fluttered in his belly but also anger at the injustice of things.
Ptah-mes’s mouth cracked in a humorless smile, and he replied, as if he could read Hani’s thoughts, “Yes. We’re unprotected now. Our heads are sticking up above the shield.”
“Mahu must be laughing.” Hani gave a sarcastic snort.
They sat in grim silence, then Ptah-mes said, “Here’s some good news for you, though. Your friend Mane is on his way back from Naharin—Tulubri and Pirissi must have reached Wasshukanni. Although...”
Hani felt a thrill of fear. “Although?”
“I fear Tushratta’s days on the throne are numbered. Mane sent a courier before he left. Things are unraveling fast. This Prince Artatama seems to have picked up support and, more to the point, gold enough to buy troops.”
Hani shook his head sorrowfully. “I’m glad Mane got out in time. But what will happen to Lady Kiya if her uncle takes the throne?”
Ptah-mes shrugged and raised his eyebrows. “I’d say she has been thrown into the fire as an offering.” He added, as if to soften his words, “Perhaps he’ll marry her to legitimate himself.”
“We’ll never know what Pirissi’s role was in all this,” Hani said reluctantly. He had to admit that regime change was messy business, and while he wished the Crocodiles success, he didn’t want to see such costly fratricidal strife overwhelming the Two Lands. Somehow, the chaos now swallowing up Naharin made that possibility real to him in a way it had not been before. He felt torn in two.
“Will I enjoy the pleasure of your company this evening, Hani, or are you planning to start back to Waset this afternoon?”
“I think I’ll wait, my lord. I’d like to talk to Keliya before I leave.”
Ptah-mes tipped his head. Then he said a little shyly, “Thank you, my friend, for all that you’ve done. I’m aware that it’s your job, but know that it means a lot to me that you saved Apeny from the indignity of having her grave goods stolen and our ka house violated.”
“It was the least I could try to do, my lord, and the gods were kind enough to grant us success.” Hani looked his superior in the eye warmly and saw Ptah-mes’s stiff face reflect some of that warmth. “I’m off to the Mitannian embassy, then.”
“Until this evening, Hani.”
⸎
At Lord Hani’s reappearance, Maya popped up from his seat on the floor where he was jotting notes on a potsherd. “Was he aware, my lord?”
“Yes. In fact, he said one of the king’s daughters has been stricken as well.”
They strode through the doorway and into the blinding glare of the court. Hani looked around then started out with purposeful strides toward the south.
“Where are we going, my lord?” Maya asked breathlessly as he scrambled to stay abreast of his father-in-law.
“First, to pick up Neferet to take her home for the holidays. Then, to see Keliya. There are some things he needs to know.”
They set out on the now-familiar route to the villa of Lord Pentju, and after they’d traversed the luxurious garden, the doorman admitted them to the vestibule. “Did you want to speak to Lord Pentju or Lady Djefat-nebty, my lord?” he asked Hani.
“Neither. I’m just here to pick up the lady’s two young apprentices.”
Hani and Maya waited for a long space of time in the cool silence of the vestibule. Maya’s thoughts were churning—there were so many questions yet to be answered, and the most pressing one was, Why? Ay’s involvement made that all the more puzzling—unless, of course, he had his eye on the throne of the Two Lands. The more Maya thought about it, the more likely that seemed.
At last, a clatter of sandals and the giggling conversation of adolescent girls broke the silence. Neferet came galloping in with Bener-ib in tow. Hani’s daughter rushed to him and threw herself on him joyously. “Papa! Guess what we did today?”
“Drained pus? Pulled out worms? I can’t think why else you’d be so cheerful,” Hani said with a grin.
Maya tried not to stare at Neferet’s head, shaved smooth. It gave her a kind of old-fashioned chic, like a woman from a very old tomb painting. She was wearing earrings too. Perhaps this new style consciousness was the result of Bener-ib’s influence. Or maybe it meant that Neferet was simply growing up—and doing it in her own eccentric way.
“No-o-o, Papa.” Her voice dropped. “We went with Lord Pentju to treat the crown prince, the Haru in the nest.”
“Is he sick?” Hani cried uneasily.
“Yes, but it wasn’t plague, Lord Pentju said. It was sweating fever.”
People can die of that too, Maya thought. What then? More chaos over the succession? Poor half-witted Prince Smenkh-ka-ra succeeding to the throne? “How is he now?”
“He’s recovering,” Bener-ib said in the first statement she’d ever volunteered, to Hani’s recollection.
“And do you know why?” Neferet demanded excitedly. “Lord Pent
ju gave him some of the medicine that Ibet and I made! Lady Djefat-nebty told him how good it was!”
Hani squeezed the girl proudly. “That’s wonderful. You two are really becoming first-rank sunets. I suppose the queen was there with... her son.”
“Yes, Papa. Her son,” Neferet said, exchanging an all-too-transparent knowing look with her father.
What’s that about? Maya wondered.
“She’s so beautiful, isn’t she?” Neferet added lightly, as if to cover for the understanding that she and her father had shared.
Hani said, with a clap of his hands, “Let’s get going, girls. I have another stop to make before we catch a ferry. You can wait outside the office.”
Maya could have sworn he was deliberately changing the subject.
Before they reached the battlemented white wall of the smaller Aten temple, Hani turned east, his little troop following, and then stopped at a featureless building on the outskirts of the clerical district. Within, a lone scribe in a long woolen tunic sat writing clay tablets at a table. He looked up at their entrance. “Ah, Lord Hani, if I’m not mistaken. Do you want to speak to Lord Keliya?”
“Yes, please. If he’s in.”
The secretary rose and disappeared into the ambassador’s private office. Hani and Maya stood looking at one another. The girls stared at them both, Neferet’s curiosity written clearly across her face.
“Ah, Hani, my friend. Maya. How good to see you.” Keliya emerged from the office and embraced Hani then led the two scribes inside. The girls drifted to a corner and took a seat. “Our men made it back safely with Lady Kiya, and Mane has been released. He should be home within the month.”
“So I’ve heard, Keliya. We just talked with Ptah-mes. He said...” Hani’s voice dropped discreetly. “He said things were looking bad for Tushratta.”
“Alas, that’s true. My whole mission expects to be recalled to make way for Artatama’s officials.” Keliya was putting on a bland face, but the lines in his forehead revealed how worried he was.
