Egypt

20

That evening, as the sun was setting, casting long shadows everywhere, we were accompanied by the ambassador and twelve palace guards up through the densely built temple quarter, towards a stone viaduct spanning the rocky gorge that ran east to west between the Upper City and the royal citadel. As we crossed this, we paused to admire the panorama that spread before us to the south, east and west. The ambassador pointed out the sights.

‘There to your left is the sacred pool where our priests must wash before serving in the temples. As you can see, the temple city spreads south, with the great processionals leading away towards the Lion Gate in the south-west, the King’s Gate to the south-east, and the Sphinx Gate to the south.’

I gazed beyond the walls and gate-towers that surrounded the city, to the landscape that stretched into the distance. A chilly breeze swept in from far across the high plateau and the forests, carrying scents of pine, thyme and rosemary, and the sounds of the far bells of many herds of goats, sheep and cattle being corralled in the last of the light. The sun’s low-angled rays picked out the details of the shacks of the town beyond the walls, and the dense orchards and woods that surrounded everything. I caught the bitter scent of woodsmoke drifting from domestic fires below, and winding upwards into the clear, pure air. Small birds, their tails fletched like arrows, dived and swooped over our heads, crying and wheeling in brilliantly choreographed flocks. And in the midst of this strange beauty, I felt a stab of memory-guilt at Khety’s murder, and guilt at the abandonment of my family, so far away. I thought of my wife taking all the responsibilities of the family, and sleeping alone, uncertain whether she would ever see me again. Can love communicate over great distance? I could only hope so.

‘The city gates are being closed for the night. The guards will bolt them now, and the officer of the gates will seal them personally. Night guards sleep in the gatehouses. The city is impregnable. And in the morning, sentries on the walls will scan the horizon. And only when they are satisfied that all is well will the gates be opened once more…’ said the ambassador.

‘So now we are locked inside the city of our great enemies!’ whispered Simut to me.

‘I know. We’re surrounded, and to be honest I am not sure what it is that prevents them from killing us all.’

‘We are here under the official protection of their King. That carries great weight,’ he replied.

I kept my hand on my dagger, and remained close to Nakht. As we continued across the viaduct, I whispered to him: ‘What does Aziru look like?’

‘He is distinguished by his red hair. But if he is here in the city I don’t think he will be so careless as to show himself yet,’ he replied.

We arrived at the gatehouse at the far end, set in high, thick stone walls, where a different set of royal guards waited for us, spears in hand. Their hair was long, and they wore striking tunics, decorated around the neck and the hems with repeating motifs in blue and red. Carved into the stone above the gate was a large double-headed eagle, its arrogant wings spread wide.

‘That’s the symbol of the Hittite army,’ said Simut quietly. I liked it far less than the brave, welcoming lions of the city’s gate.

‘And these are the notorious Golden Spearmen, the most elite palace guard,’ added Nakht. ‘Please keep your eyes open, gentlemen. It would be a pity for me to become the victim of an assassination, especially now, after we have come so far.’

The interior of the palace was spectacularly lit by many torches that burned smokily. But a heavy gloom dominated. At the end of a long, high passageway, carved wooden doors were open; and through these we were ushered into a ceremonial hall, where a large crowd of Hittite nobles had gathered. They were all ostentatiously armed. As we entered, the roar of talk stopped, and all eyes turned on us. In silence, they watched Nakht as he worked his way slowly and respectfully along a line of waiting, hostile dignitaries, while Simut and I remained on either side of him as his loyal retinue. I glanced at the crowd, looking for a man with red hair.

Nakht was invited to sit at a long wooden table, in a high-backed, carved wooden chair. The ambassador sat opposite, and around him the other chiefs ranged themselves: the Chief Steward, brother to the King, who preserved a haughty distance; then the Chief of the Royal Guards; the Chief of the Royal Table; the Chief of the Scribes; the Chief of the Bodyguards; and many others who were the elite of the Hittite world. At the head of the table on a dais was an imposing throne, but it was empty.

‘The Hittite King is not gracing us with his presence,’ I whispered to Simut.

‘No, nor any member of the royal family,’ he replied. ‘In any case, the atmosphere is not welcoming…’

A hundred Hittite nobles and magnates stared at us coldly, in the flickering light of the torches. Nakht looked surrounded and outnumbered by the enemy at their dinner table; they were poised in silence, as if ready to pounce and eat him alive. But somehow he managed to seem calm, composed and unafraid.

With a clap of his hands, the Chief Steward summoned the food for the banquet; servants entered from side doors, carrying platters of crudely roasted meats, breads, roasted vegetables and piles of richly coloured fruits. Instantly the atmosphere improved-I suppose the prospect of dinner improves the mood of even the most mortal of enemies. Behind each seated dignitary stood a food-taster, and suddenly I realized I would have to stand in as Nakht’s. I was starving, and the scents of the rich meats were wonderful. I sampled each dish quickly, my fear conflicting with my appetite. Once it was clear I-and all the other food-tasters-had survived, everyone set to feasting. Nakht began an earnest, awkward discussion with the Chief Steward, their heads nodding as they went through the rituals and motions of politeness. It seemed the banquet was going to plan.

Until suddenly there was an unexpected blast from the trumpets, announcing the entrance of a dignitary who-judging from the aghast looks on the Hittite nobles’ faces-was clearly unexpected. A young man, richly attired, wearing an excess of gold chains around his neck, his long, straight black hair falling about his sharp features, entered. He was accompanied by a band of arrogant, noisy young nobles, who clearly scorned the older generation gathered in the great hall. At an urgent signal from the Chief Steward, everyone stood up, their chairs scraping on the flagstones, their heads bowed. The Prince, followed by his aggressive young companions, casually strode along the length of the banquet table, taking in the gathering and relishing the nobles’ discomfort. He reached the throne, stroked its arms, and leaned against it. But he did not sit in it. Instead, he nodded nonchalantly at his uncle, the Chief Steward at Hattusa, then at the Chief of the Bodyguards and the other chiefs. And finally he scrutinized Nakht, who had bowed his head respectfully. The hall was absolutely silent.

‘Remarkable. I return to find an Egyptian, the royal envoy of our great enemy no less, is dining at the high table of my father, the King. What on earth can he be doing here? Have the Egyptians conceded defeat? Have they come to beg for mercy?’ he said. His voice was ugly with sarcasm. His companions tittered. Hattusa mustered his dignity and bowed.

‘I present the Royal Envoy Nakht of Thebes, representing our Brother Ay, King of Egypt, to the Crown Prince Arnuwanda, son of the Sun of our Land.’

Nakht bowed with great care, but the Crown Prince barely even nodded.

‘I was not aware of plans for your visit, Royal Envoy, otherwise I can assure you I would have insisted on being present to behold our enemy enter under the battlements of the city of my father.’

Hattusa looked askance, and cleared his throat.

‘We were not aware of your presence in the city, sir. You were known to be away, at the wars, with your battalion. Otherwise, your royal presence would have been first in our thoughts.’

The Crown Prince studied him, reaching out for a bunch of grapes, and began to stroll around, eating them slowly.

‘Welcome home, Ambassador. How did you fare in the famously treacherous court of the Egyptian King? And why have you invited this Egyptian to dinner? I would have preferred it if you had returned with his head only…’

His friends laughed loudly. The ambassador glanced at the Chief Steward, in a silent plea for assistance.

‘The King himself has invited the Royal Envoy Nakht. There will be an audience tomorrow. No doubt he will insist upon your presence-now that you are known to be here,’ replied the Chief Steward.

The Crown Prince seemed to respect his uncle’s authority. He nodded curtly, but continued to eat his grapes, one by one.

‘I will insist upon it myself. I am fascinated to hear the contents of the letters of the aged and infirm King Ay, who we hear is a very decrepit shadow of a man, fit only for his tomb. Or perhaps the ambassador brings news that the Egyptian King is already dead, and so, in despair and weakness, the Royal Envoy has come to press for peace. Which we will never grant!’

His companions cheered, and the crowd in the chamber set about laughing dutifully, as seemed necessary. In the silence that followed, Nakht had to respond.

‘Peace would be valuable to both our great empires,’ he replied carefully.

But now some of the nobles were booing. The Crown Prince grasped his advantage.

‘Peace is a word spoken only by cowards, the vanquished and the weak! We are Hittites. We yearn for a war of such glory that it will bury all Egypt in its great calamity for thousands of years!’

The young men, and others in the hall, shouted their agreement. Nakht seemed to be losing control of the situation.

‘Egypt has come to speak to our brother, the Sun, the King of the Hittites, whom we respect as our equal, in war and in peace. We have come to remind ourselves of our good relations. May all go well with him, and with us,’ he cried out, in the careful formulas of international diplomacy.

The crowd laughed scornfully at this, and the Crown Prince made the most of it, turning to his audience, his eyebrows raised in scorn like a comic actor. Hattusa looked deeply embarrassed.

‘Good relations? Is it not wonderful to behold, nobles! Egypt has come crawling across the world to us! Indeed, may all go well with you, but you are no brother of ours,’ replied the Crown Prince in an ironic tone. ‘Until tomorrow, as a Hittite guest you shall be duly honoured. But as our enemy, know this: whatever golden words you pour into the ear of my father the King, the Hittites will never accept peace. We have conquered three empires in one generation. And we have hardly begun, for soon we will conquer Egypt, and your monuments will be as ruins, and all your carved names will be destroyed, and your glories will be dust. Your Gods will despair and abandon your temples and your lands, and we will trample you and smite you to death in your own palaces. So much for good relations!’

The young men now gathered around Nakht and roared their approval directly into his face. It was astoundingly disrespectful. Nakht met this hostility with implacable diplomatic manners.

‘We hear the words of the Prince of the Hittites, and remember them well. We bring good wishes and gifts of gold from our great King. We bring respect for the glories of the Hittites. We bring the wisdom of honour to our discussions. We remember your father’s great work in creating the treaties that once bound us in amity, and may do so again, to our mutual advantage.’

The Crown Prince gazed back at Nakht, his lip curled in contempt. Then he turned to the Chief Steward.

‘Uncle, I would speak with you later, perhaps once you have concluded this-feast of cowards.’

His uncle nodded, and the Crown Prince, ignoring Nakht, walked swiftly out of the chamber, followed by his retinue of aggressive young nobles. The delicate atmosphere of the occasion had been shattered. Nakht did not resume his seat.

The Chief Steward spoke quickly, seeking to redress the harm that had been done.

‘On behalf of our King, may I express our honour at your presence. The Crown Prince seems not to have been informed of your arrival. He is therefore dismayed, and unprepared. Hence his speech…’

‘We are honoured by his royal presence. Nevertheless we note his words carefully,’ said Nakht precisely.

‘His words were hasty,’ offered the Chief Steward.

‘His words were extremely insulting to the King of Egypt,’ replied Nakht uncompromisingly.

I noticed the Chief of the Royal Guards looked at some of his colleagues at this moment, as if silently dissenting from this attempt at diplomatic reconciliation. It seemed clear now that any offer Nakht might make of a peaceful resolution to the wars would be met with huge internal political hostility. I wondered whether Hattusa and Nakht had anticipated this.

‘We will retire now. Tomorrow is an important day,’ said Nakht.

There was a flurry of activity, everyone stood up, and suddenly we were following Nakht out of the chamber. Simut’s guards fell into position. Weapons were poised; at any moment they might be used. I quickly surveyed the hostile crowd. And then I sensed something that made me look up: I glimpsed a man staring at Nakht, through the crowds, from the far side of the chamber. His face bore the features and the colouring of a Levantine. He wore a conical hat. I was struck by the intensity of his gaze. As I stared at him, he noticed me, too-but then a crowd of Hittite nobles walked between us, and we passed through the doors and into the passageway, and into the shadows of the palace, and he was gone.

I mentioned the man later to Nakht, as we prepared to take our first night of rest in the city.

‘Give me an exact description,’ demanded Nakht.

I did so. Nakht listened very carefully.

‘I’m sure he was not a Hittite,’ I added.

A little furrow of worry appeared on Nakht’s brow.

‘Did you also see him?’ he asked Simut, who shook his head.

‘I did not. But I saw a great deal I did not like or trust. The Crown Prince was open in his threats.’

‘We are in the heart of our enemy’s land. Many here will have fought against Egypt, or lost brothers and fathers in the wars. Many will hold a deeply entrenched hatred of us, their mortal enemy,’ said Nakht. ‘It is to be expected.’ But he suddenly seemed uncertain, as if the events of the evening had shaken his confidence. He turned to me quietly: ‘Keep an eye out for that man, and tell me if you notice him again. We can’t be too careful. Tomorrow is our only chance to persuade the King of our proposal, and I have no doubt if Aziru is here he will be working behind the scenes to destroy any chance of a peaceful settlement between the two empires. As we saw tonight, even within the Hittite royal family, there is great internal dissent…’

‘How many princes are there in the royal family?’ I asked, to restore us to the solid ground of facts.

‘Five. There is Arnuwanda, who we met tonight: he is heir to the throne. Then there is Telepinu, who has been instated by his father as Viceroy of Aleppo, and made Priest of Kizzuwanta, which is an extremely important position; and Piyassili, who is now Viceroy of Carchemish; then Zannanza, and finally Mursilis, who is still underage,’ he said.

‘So the Hittite King has been as lucky with his sons as the Queen has been unlucky in her own offspring,’ I said. ‘How strange that the destiny of empires comes down to the fruit of a woman’s womb.’

Nakht nodded.

‘Indeed. But there is another dimension to the Hittites’ own problems of succession: having loyally provided him with five sons, the Queen Henti has recently been banished by the King, and in her place he has married the daughter of the King of Babylon. Her name is Tawananna.’

‘So I assume she isn’t very popular with the sons…’ I suggested.

‘It makes for an additional complexity in the political situation between the father and the sons, and perhaps what we witnessed tonight is testimony to that tension-something which we must take advantage of. Families are so strange and unaccountable, one sometimes wonders why people actually have them…’ he added. I saw he was only half-joking.

‘All families are complicated. But royal families are surely the most complex of all-for they squabble over power and gold and revenge, not just over who has the last bowl of soup…’ I suggested.

‘No matter how poor a man may be, if he has family he is rich,’ Nakht quoted the old proverb back at me. ‘As you know.’

Then he lay down on his couch, and prepared himself to sleep, as if nothing were the matter, as if he were not carrying such a great weight of responsibility upon his narrow shoulders.

‘How can you just sleep like that, when you know tomorrow you hold the destiny of our land in your hands?’ I said, in amazement.

‘No great task was ever undertaken without a good night’s sleep. Wars are lost through weariness and won after a good night of rest. I have prepared as thoroughly as possible. Nothing has been left to chance. I know what I have to do. Lying here awake all night worrying, and waking up tomorrow, before dawn, with red eyes and nothing in my brain will hardly help our cause. So if you don’t mind, please would you provide me with the silence necessary to allow me to get some rest? Good night.’

And he closed his eyes firmly. Simut and I tiptoed around him, and went outside to check his guards were in position for the night watch. We could trust no one here but ourselves, and as the Crown Prince’s behaviour had confirmed, we were unwelcome guests for many of the Hittites. We knew at any moment we might be attacked. Outside the entrance to the building, Hittite guards had also been posted. They stared at us, and our own Egyptian guards, with antipathy.

I glanced up at the night sky, full of stars, and a new moon’s crescent, which had slipped into the corner of the vast heavens.

‘Well, here we are,’ I said to Simut.

He nodded. ‘And I’m already looking forward to going home. This place gives me the creeps.’

‘Me, too. For some reason I keep thinking of snakes.’

He laughed.

‘It’s a palace. All palaces are full of ambitious men, women and children who’d eat each other alive for advancement. They’re all supposed to be the elite, but they clamber over each other, and behave with a viciousness and cruelty that would shock a dumb animal. That Crown Prince is a nasty piece of work. He’s no friend of ours.’

‘He’d love to see our Egyptian heads impaled on the city walls,’ I replied. And I thought about the strange Levantine I had seen, and his twisted face.

Simut decided to stay up with his guards for some of the night watch, so I returned to our chamber. Nakht was already breathing lightly, like a child. I gazed at his elegant head resting on its sleeping stand, and at the fine, delicate features of his face. I couldn’t tell if he was truly asleep or not. This journey had made me realize I did not know this man, my old friend, as well as I thought. We had been close for so many years. But even now, I never could be quite sure what was happening behind those hazel, hawk-like eyes, now closed in sleep. His face was a mask of calmness.

I sniffed the flask of water, to check it for poisons. It seemed fine and clear, so I drank a draught. It didn’t kill me at once, anyway. And I soon fell asleep, into a deep dream of high places, and drifting mists, and my family calling to me from very far away…