Pilot Who Knows the Waters, page 14
“What is it, my boy?” Hani asked under his breath.
“Ay has struck, my lord. Lord Mai and others of our leaders, including the former vizier Nakht-pa-aten, have been seized and... and executed summarily.”
Hani was speechless. He stared at Har-em-heb, who stood breathing hard with emotion. “When? Where?”
“Within the hour. They had all met at Mai’s house, and someone must have betrayed them. I was there, my lord, with the troops. It was agonizing. I managed not to swing my sword against the priests, but I couldn’t defend any of them either, or I, too, would have been cut down. I thought it was better that some of us survived.” Har-em-heb, usually so sure of himself, seemed to seek Hani’s approval of his action. An unaccustomed pallor drained the bronze of his cheeks. He was deeply disturbed by what he had seen. That was clear.
“You did the right thing. What happens now?”
“The resistance is ended. There won’t be any Hittite marriage. Lady Meryet-aten won’t take the throne. She wasn’t there, but her name was on the death list. They’ll find her.”
Hani fell silent. He heard footsteps running into the room and, glancing back, saw Maya approaching anxiously. “It’s not the children, son. I’ll tell you in just a minute.” To Har-em-heb, he said, “Was our Sun God aware of this, I wonder?”
The general fixed on him a gaze of ill-concealed disgust. “Her seal was on the orders, my lord.”
The orders to kill her own daughter. But probably no one had even read the command to her. She would have trusted her father’s assurance of its urgency.
Maya had picked up the gist of the conversation and was gawking. “The queen is dead, then?”
The general shook his head slowly. “No, but everyone else. I can’t stay—I just wanted you to be aware.”
Hani clapped him gratefully on the arms. “Thank you for letting me know. The Hittite emissary is in the salon as we speak. I must tell him.”
His heart heavy with reluctance, Hani made his way back into the lit salon, where the sounds of merrymaking trailed off at his grave reappearance. Nub-nefer’s face was frozen with dread. One by one, the others ceased talking and fixed their fearful eyes on Hani’s.
He cleared his throat nervously. How much to say?
“My dear ones,” he began, “that was our friend Har-em-heb here to tell us that... Lords Mai and Nakht-pa-aten have been put to death—”
A gasp of horror arose.
“Along with others who were gathered together.” Hani hoped to the gods his friend Mane hadn’t been among them.
“I was supposed to have attended that meeting!” Amen-em-hut gasped, his mouth hanging open in shock.
His wife clutched at him with a squeal of horror.
Everyone broke out with questions, but Hani, not wanting to try to face inquiries to which he had no replies, took Hattusha-ziti by the arm and conducted him into the empty vestibule, shutting the door behind them. “My lord, I apologize for leading you into this.”
The Hittite looked both unnerved and cynical. He had to know well how little appreciated his presence in the Two Lands would be at such a moment if Ay were to become aware of it—assuming that Ay didn’t know already. “I suppose that’s the end of my mission,” he said. “I must tell My Sun.”
“The queen still has supporters in the army and among many civilians.” Hani knew he must sound desperate to the point of unreality.
“I certainly can’t counsel my king to take such a bride of blood, Hani. I’m sorry. If Prince Zannanza had been married to your queen, he too, might have been dead.”
“This was a total surprise to me, Hattusha-ziti. Believe me.”
The emissary heaved a sigh. “I believe you. We had a civil war not too many years ago as well. Things can change suddenly.” He forced a smile that was strained but not hostile. “We tried, my friend. You and I wanted peace between our kingdoms, but the moment just wasn’t ripe. Perhaps we’ll live to see it yet.” He held out his hand, and Hani clasped it. “I think I’ll go on up to my room and prepare for our departure tomorrow. Your hospitality is deeply appreciated.”
Hani followed Hattusha-ziti back into the salon, where the Hittite bowed politely to the company, his face an expressionless mask, and disappeared up the stairwell. The guests all gaped at Hani, waiting for an explanation.
“That’s honestly all I know,” he said limply. “The queen’s name was on the list, but she wasn’t present, so she escaped.”
Lord Ptah-mes watched silently while the others clamored and speculated. His black eyes caught the lamplight for a moment and seemed to blaze. He was clearly thinking hard—perhaps wondering about the safety of his children, who were fervent resisters.
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The marriage alliance with Kheta was dead. Hani therefore embarked with a weary sense of wasting his time on the long return trip to Simurru, where Prince Zannanza awaited them. The Great King’s son wouldn’t be happy.
The Hittite emissary seemed preoccupied with the same thought. He was always pleasant, but the depth of his absorption was evident. They spoke little on the ship that took them to the land of A’amu, and Hani could well imagine how depressing it must be for Hattusha-ziti to contemplate the reception he was undoubtedly going to encounter.
Maya had decided to stay home—with his father-in-law’s blessing. Sat-hut-haru needed him. Some days, she seemed to be regaining her verve, but others, she appeared to be sliding back into tearful withdrawal. That, too, weighed on Hani. And with the political situation so tense, it seemed advisable to leave someone in addition to Mery-ra to watch over the women and children. In the back of his mind rankled the possibility that his father might have been trying to undermine his mission in Kheta. Who betrayed the meeting of Mai and the priests?
A seeming eternity had passed before the two diplomats stepped onto dry land at Simurru and set off toward the forests inland, where the princely tents were set up. Fall was in the air—just a hint of crispness in the mornings. The sky along the coast was veiled with a high haze, like a promise of returning rains. Yes, the Storm God’s season is approaching, Hani told himself, and it won’t be long before the ships abandon the waves until spring, but for now, the days could hardly be more pleasant.
Hani and Hattusha-ziti finally rejoined the encampment of Prince Zannanza on the skirt of the highlands overlooking the capital city of Aziru. The fine weather and the memory of Aziru of A’amu, who had been both an adversary and a house guest years ago, improved Hani’s mood. How could a man’s little problems outweigh the beauties the good gods have prepared for us? It seemed the caravan had turned into a hunting party, and Hani thought it a highly successful one at that, judging from the pelts stretched out to dry on lines. At least the prince, too, was in a good mood.
“Well, how does it look, Hattusha-ziti?” he asked when the two emissaries met with him. His face was flushed from the autumn spent outdoors, his eyes bright with expectation.
Hattusha-ziti shot Hani a quick glance and drew a deep breath. “My prince, the political situation in Mizri is dangerous. Civil war is already breaking out, from what I’ve seen, and many leaders of the party favorable to our alliance have been put to death. There is, in fact, another candidate for the throne, and he has powerful supporters. I fear I must tell your father that I cannot counsel him to go through with this marriage.”
Zannanza’s dark eyes grew opaque, and he turned away, his nostrils tense. Hani could almost perceive the cold radiating from him, like the smoke of an icy flame. “That’s not what the Great King wants to hear, Hattusha-ziti,” the prince said between his teeth.
“I must speak honestly, my lord.”
The chamberlain managed a neutral tone, but Hani realized he was nervous. Even this cool, experienced diplomat was reluctant to cross the volatile prince. For his part, Hani stood in silence, hoping his existence would go unnoticed—his could only be an inflammatory presence.
“I must speak honestly, too, cousin,” Zannanza said, his anger dangerously coiled. His back was still to them. “I will countermand your counsels. You have no right to take this from me.” He turned brusquely to face them. “My father wants this marriage, and he shall have it.”
He spun on his heel and stalked away between the tents, trailing his fury.
Hattusha-ziti’s face had grown crimson, but he was expressionless. Hani could only guess at the emotion that had brought the blood to the Hittite’s cheeks, because even Hani, breath suspended, wanted badly to slink away. He should never have witnessed the dressing down of a colleague.
After a painful moment during which neither of the men spoke, Hattusha-ziti said levelly, “I’m going directly to Hattusha. There’s no need for you to accompany me, Hani. I’ll be back with the king’s decision in two weeks or so.”
“As my lord desires,” Hani said with a respectful nod, thinking, I’d rather be anywhere than pent up with Zannanza in a bad mood. A slick of cold sweat was forming on his temples.
Hattusha-ziti turned abruptly and disappeared, and a brief time later, horses whickered and wheels rumbled as the Hittite’s chariot galloped out of camp. He was traveling at the speed of a messenger of the gods. He really might make it back in two weeks.
Hani drifted to his tent and sat heavily on the edge of the camp bed. He wished his father were with him. Hani needed to talk frankly to him and get some answers that could bring peace back to his heart as it fought off suspicions. In his enforced inactivity, he began to think yet again about Sati and her grief and the little grandson he would never hold in his arms. Embedded in the present moment of his incipient failure, the thought made him very heavy of heart.
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Amazingly, Hattusha-ziti returned in only a few weeks’ time, as promised, but he was drained looking, and his horses were blown. Hani suspected that Shuppiluliuma had met him somewhere closer than the capital. “The king is determined to go ahead with this marriage, and his desire is our law,” he told Hani.
Hani thought he detected an undercurrent of anger in the chamberlain, his smooth, diplomatic facade notwithstanding. Perhaps Hattusha-ziti was so tired he couldn’t perfectly control his face.
“Despite everything you told him?” Hani asked in surprise.
The Hittite nodded, his lips compressed. “We are to accompany the prince to Mizri with his escort. Our Sun himself will bid goodbye to his son at the border. We are to await the king’s arrival then depart immediately.”
He took his leave. At a discreet distance, his secretary awaited him, and after a few words together, the heavyset man bowed and headed off toward the royal encampment. Before Hani retreated to his compound, he saw the scribe standing at the flap of one of the courtiers’ tents.
The very next day, Zannanza announced that there would be a lion hunt. Apparently, he wanted to celebrate his victory over the forces of skepticism. His attitude toward Hattusha-ziti was cheerfully gloating, but the chamberlain maintained his dignity, imperturbable. Hani sighed. The more he saw of human nature, the less optimistic he felt. The next time the gods had had enough of men, Sekhmet might well consummate her destruction of the race with no reprieve.
Because Hani couldn’t easily avoid it, he was a part of the day’s hunt. He had no desire to turn the prince’s nearly frustrated ambitions upon himself and the Egyptian delegation by refusing, but neither had he any intention of casting a spear at some innocent wild beast. His presence would be merely symbolic. Hunting was for young people anyway.
Hattusha-ziti pleaded exhaustion after his journey and remained in the camp.
Someone had reported seeing a lion in the Barga Mountains, which rose behind the city, dark and wild, shaggy with the age-old cedars that were the envy of the world. Perhaps I’ll see some birds, he thought, resigned, as he hauled himself into a chariot with Pa-ra-mes-su. Once they had spotted their prey, the hunters would dismount and proceed on foot into the underbrush among the trees. At the head of their procession, massive dogs strained eagerly at their leashes, baying with excitement. One after another, the six chariots and numerous slaves on foot set out. Donkeys with empty pack saddles plodded along, prepared to bring back the carcasses of whatever game they killed, and Hani was relieved that some of his soldiers as well as a few Hittite troops accompanied the party—he didn’t feel altogether sure of the prince’s goodwill, and hunting accidents were easy enough to stage.
Zannanza and his people were in high spirits, laughing and bantering, excited by danger and the chance to prove their manhood. It was a fine day, with a light, pleasant breeze blowing off the sea, perfumed with cypress and savory aromatics, and a glorious sky as blue as faience. Even Hani felt his optimism returning. Who could hang on to their gloom under such conditions?
The road was hard packed by centuries of ox carts making their way to and from the great stands of cedar trees, and the men and vehicles made good progress across the coastal plain. After climbing gently and steadily since sunrise, by midmorning, they reached the edge of the black forest that lapped the hems of the mountains. The cedars spread above them like vast sunshades, the tallest trees Hani had ever seen, their lacy green crowns interlocked so that hardly any sunlight could enter. The trunks were of such enormity that several men at once couldn’t encircle them with their linked arms, and the branches were twisted and spread horizontally in tiers, leaving to each forest giant a territory that might have harbored twenty palm trees planted close together. The temperature dropped noticeably as they entered the penumbra of the forest.
Hani sucked in a deep breath of awe and pleasure, delighting in the resinous fragrance that poured into his lungs and the play of an occasional sunbeam. He was glad he had come after all. Birds twittered a welcome here and there in the branches, and he caught the flash of a yellow body through the feathery greenery. A serin, he told himself with pleasure. What a joyful little fellow!
He wasn’t surprised that the local gods themselves dwelt in these mountains—they were divinely beautiful.
At last, the party made camp in a clearing.
“There’s supposedly a lion around here,” Zannanza announced to the men. “We’ll send the dogs out, and if they find something, we close in on it on foot. Don’t bother with deer or anything small. We’re after the king of the forest!” He looked quite exalted, his cheeks bright with excitement.
Hani knew how potent the symbolism of striking down a wild animal was, how it foreshadowed the subjugation of Chaos by Ma’at, but it still pained him to think of such a majestic creature being killed for sport. However, he dutifully dismounted and picked up a spear from the pile thrown with a chord of clangs into the midst of the party. They were extra sturdy, with broad bronze points and crossbars—hunting spears meant to bring down something larger than a man. Some of the soldiers shouldered their bows in case a long-distance kill should be required.
Prince Zannanza led the huntsmen in a prayer to the god of the hunting bag and gave the order to send out the dogs. Their handlers immediately set off into the brush in all directions, almost running at the heels of the eager hounds. The other hunters stood about with feigned casualness as the beaters crashed through the brush, everyone tense—eager and fearful at the same time. As for Hani, his heart was pounding fast. He just hoped they found the lion before the lion found them.
Time passed. The baying of the dogs became fainter. The mosquitoes had descended on Hani, feasting on his sweat-salted skin, and he swatted absently, wishing something would happen to relieve the tension of expectation. Then from somewhere in the invisible green near-distance came a rough, panting, bellowing roar—more like a demon than a living creature. Immediately, the men snapped to attention, and the distant dogs began to bark hysterically. Zannanza and his young courtiers set off at a run, and Hani’s party flowed in after them.
Hani, who was one of the older hunters and certainly the most reluctant, let the others gain ground while he hung back. That roar set his neck atingle with an atavistic sense of peril. He prayed quietly for the lion to escape, even though he knew what kind of mood that would put the prince in.
Ahead, the dogs barked in a frenzy, then came a gnarr that seemed to rumble up from the earth itself. A dog screamed. Men shouted. Hani beat his way through the brush and rushed up to see a black-maned lion cornered against the bole of an enormous tree, his muzzle corrugated in a snarl. Wary, the lion growled and swiped at the animals with a mighty thorned paw if they came too near. But the armed men had begun to close in on him, and he didn’t know which way to turn. Prince Zannanza and several young courtiers approached him in a crouch, their spears drawn back. They yelled and whistled in the same wild furor as the animals, their long hair streaming like the manes of two-legged lions. The prince drew ahead of his men, and everyone seemed to understand that the kill should be his.
Suddenly, the lion rocked back and forth on his haunches. Hani had a terrible premonition of what was about to happen. Before he could even cry out a warning, the animal sprang with the force of the Inundation bursting over the rocks. He hurled his immense weight directly at the prince. Zannanza screamed as the lion bore him to the ground with a savage roar. They fell with a crash, the man writhing under the animal’s mass. The prince yelled in terror and tried to force the cat’s gaping jaws away from his face. Blood rose in scarlet lines where the great claws had raked his arms. His hands were red to the wrists. The men around him were stunned for a moment, afraid to stab at the animal for fear of hitting the prince. Slaves and dignitaries came running and stumbling over the undergrowth. Hani yelled hoarsely from the rear, “Do something!”
The lion rose to his feet for a moment, as if in triumph, one paw holding down the hapless hunter. He resettled his massive jaws around the head of his victim. All at once, an arrow sprouted from the beast’s chest, and he reared back, gnashing his teeth in pain. Zannanza lay like a rag at his feet. The men rushed at them and again brandished their spears. His heart hammering, Hani darted in and, grabbing the prince under the armpits, dragged him away from his attacker. Hani could feel the heat radiating from the lion, smell the foul breath of a carnivore on his face. He scuttled back with his burden in desperate haste until he tripped and fell backward. Terror washed over him like a salt wave.
