Egypt

21

We were made to wait, and we were not alone. In the stifling antechamber a crowd of petitioners, bureaucrats, army officers, rich merchants, magnates and vassal rulers had come to pay their respects and to report on their territories. Every time a new person and his retinue appeared, everyone looked up to see whether they should rise, out of respect, or remain seated, out of pride. When we had entered, we had been assessed and then deliberately slighted. No one had stood up. The ambassador was embarrassed, but Nakht refused to allow the slight to offend him, nor the greater one of the long wait-even when the morning sun approached its zenith, and the air crackled with the day’s heat and the whir of crickets, and we had been waiting on the King for many hours, and had seen almost all others pass before us into his presence.

‘This is nothing,’ he said. ‘Sometimes envoys and ambassadors are made to wait for days, even weeks, for a royal audience. And as for messengers, most of them are lucky if they only have to wait a year for a reply to carry home.’

And he returned to his private contemplations. But suddenly, when I had begun to think we would indeed have to wait a year ourselves, the doors of the antechamber creaked open, and we were summoned.

The palace guards escorted us in a grim silence through several colonnaded courts, each larger and more impressive than the preceding one, and then up a wide flight of stairs to a higher floor, which opened into a vast terrace containing a spacious courtyard surrounded by a large, elegant colonnade. We were shown to bowls of clean water, and then our hands and feet were scrupulously washed by royal attendants. The pungent scent of branches of burning herbs haunted the air. Finally, we were led to magnificent doors, carved with the royal symbol of the lion and covered in gold leaf. There was absolute silence. Hattusa nodded to a royal herald, who knocked three times with his ceremonial mace on the door, and we were admitted.

We found ourselves in a beautiful shaded hall. Open arches along three sides gently admitted light and a warm breeze. Countless pillars, of great elegance, held up the high ceiling. At the far end of this hall, a group of men stood in the shade. The ambassador formally led us towards them; some I knew from last night, including the Crown Prince, who once again affected barely to acknowledge Nakht, and his uncle, the Chief Steward, who was politely respectful. Others were introduced: Hazannu, Mayor of the City; Zida, Chief Minister, and several other political advisers who formed the royal cabinet; but there was still no sign of the King. Simut’s guards carried our trunk of gold treasure, and laid it down before the royal throne.

We stood awaiting His Majesty in a line, in uncomfortable silence; until at last the royal herald grandly announced his imminent appearance, and suddenly, through a double doorway that must have led further into the private royal apartments, he appeared, as if in a great hurry, giving an impression of imperative, impatient energy. Everyone quickly got down on their knees, and bowed low.

When we were eventually permitted to rise, I found myself glancing cautiously at a man of no great height, but solidly built, scrupulously and unostentatiously dressed, with an air of barely subdued temper mixed with melancholy, and bluegrey eyes of penetrating, alarming astuteness. He sat down and gazed balefully and contemptuously at the company, drumming his ringed fingers on the arms of his throne. Suddenly, he barked something in his own language. One of the servants, quivering with fear, came forward and bowed before him. The King shouted a command, and then the servant bowed once more, turned, walked quickly to the far end of the chamber, and, without hesitating, threw himself off the edge into the void below.

‘I command every living creature in this world, and I command death. Remember that,’ said the Hittite King, in badly accented Egyptian, directly to Nakht.

Then he nodded brusquely to Hattusa, who began to deliver a speech in Hittite. I understood nothing, but I could see the King was affecting not to listen-or at least not to give away any response at all. Hattusa then invited Nakht to come forward. I confess that, for the first time, I am sure I saw my friend’s hands shaking with nerves. But when he spoke, his voice was calm and clear. And he spoke in Akkadian, the old, formal, otherwise unused language of all international diplomacy, as if it were his native tongue. Hattusa translated sentence by sentence into the Hittite tongue, and the King listened carefully, all the time refusing to respect or honour Nakht by looking at him. The other ministers and officials also listened, their eyes to the floor, each one carefully not giving away any response. Finally, Nakht bowed, and opened the trunk to reveal the gifts of gold. The Hittite King affected not even to glance at the contents. Instead, he sat forward impatiently, and spoke rapidly in Hittite. Hattusa in turn translated for Nakht, directly into Egyptian.

‘He commands us to speak in Egyptian and Hittite. He says it is better. Let brother speak to brother in his own true tongue.’

Nakht bowed. ‘We are graced by the King’s wisdom.’

Hattusa translated that, too, and the King waved away Nakht’s praise, and began a long, authoritative speech, starting assertively and ending by shouting. The ambassador took a deep breath, and translated the tirade formally, and evenly. This bellicose manner was for show, and underneath it something subtler was taking place.

‘The King, Son of the Sun, sends his best wishes back to his dear sister, the Queen of Egypt. He thanks her for her small gifts. He thanks her for her concern for his health, which, as you can see, is perfect. He wishes the same for her. Life, prosperity and health to the King and Queen of Egypt! He thanks the Queen for her surprising proposal. But he asks how she thinks it possible that a Hittite prince could possibly be spared to supply the desperate needs of the Egyptian throne. And why the King, the Son of the Sun, should send one of his own sons as a hostage to the court of Egypt? You will not make him King!’

The King and his courtiers watched carefully as Hattusa spoke, gauging Nakht’s response. Nakht nodded as if he expected this, and quickly replied, showing the King the tablet on which the Queen’s message had been inscribed, and daring to address the King more directly.

‘My lord, Son of the Sun, here are the private words the Queen of Egypt sends to you through me, her loyal and unworthy servant: “If we had a son of the great King Tutankhamun, we would not come to you asking for one of your princes. I will be solitary. I will be alone. I seek one of your princes to become King, and a husband. I have come to you, and to no other land.”’

Nakht offered the tablet, but the King refused to take it. Nakht continued, speaking directly: ‘We would honour our glorious alliance with guarantees of the Prince’s security. This, the Queen vows. She begs instead your indulgence to consider the advantages for both our great empires of a more brotherly and loving friendship.’

He paused, and the ambassador translated fluently. The Crown Prince quickly interrupted.

‘No, no, no, Royal Envoy of the Egyptians. We are not so foolish. My brothers are viceroys in Aleppo and Carchemish, we control those territories, and from there we will conquer all the lands of Egypt…’

But the King brusquely gestured to him to be silent. The Crown Prince scowled but retreated.

Nakht continued: ‘In the spirit of the brotherly respect that holds firm between great equals, let us consider the truth of things. The wars between us are no longer beneficial to either of our lands. The only beneficiaries of the conflict are the lesser states that lie between us. Can either of us trust their loyalty? Never. They lie and cheat like thieves in order to win their advantage, and to stir up enmity between each other, and between the great brothers. It costs both Egypt and Hatti many divisions to maintain order among such chaos. But a treaty of peace would bring those territories under the feet of the Queen of Egypt, and the feet of the great King of the Hittites.’

Some of the ministers conferred among themselves briefly. But the Crown Prince was looking thunderous now.

He rose and shouted: ‘You speak words of peace, but Egypt has repeatedly launched unprovoked attacks against Hittite allies and subject cities. You attacked Qadesh! You did evil to the Hittites…’ he cried.

‘Yes, sire. And then Hatti violated the treaty and attacked us in turn. You besieged Carchemish! What is the purpose of this aggression? If this were the relationship between two brothers, would we not call it wasteful of love, and wasteful of trust?’ responded Nakht, with a new tone of authority.

The King was listening carefully now. Nakht pushed home his argument.

‘War between Hatti and Egypt is a costly and wasteful business. We are proud empires. And yet why must each of us commit so much to gain so little? Only peace reaps the profit of time. Why should there not be a glorious and respectful peace between our brotherly lands? Why should we not join forces, as brothers, to quell the foolish disturbances, and the anarchic forces of chaos, that trouble us both in the lands that lie between us? Let it be known before all here: I speak of Amurru, and its so-called King Aziru, and the band of vile malcontents he has allowed, with great contempt for both our empires, to ravage the lands that should offer up in tribute the best of their bounty-of grain, of timbers, of wines and oils-to us. Why are these things squandered amongst criminals, when we could share them together, in celebration?’

This radical speech caused a ripple of whispered discussion among the advisers, and even the King shifted on his throne. The Crown Prince approached Nakht. I thought he was going to strike him.

‘Aziru, who was once the subject of Egypt, is now a loyal ally of the Hittite King, and a loyal enemy of Egypt. You clearly do not know this,’ he said.

Nakht stared back at him.

‘I am Royal Envoy to All the Foreign Lands. I know very well the tricks of Aziru, here in this great city. Let all present know, I speak the truth. I stand by my words. Aziru is a serpent. He will strike and poison any who trust him.’

‘My royal Father, we have heard enough! Let us take this man, this envoy, to the place of execution, and let us show the world our contempt for our enemies!’ shouted the Crown Prince in reply.

The King gazed at both Nakht and the Crown Prince. But then, to my intense relief, he motioned Nakht to continue. The Crown Prince was apoplectic, but silenced by the authority of his father.

‘Egypt respects Hatti. The King is a great warrior, a hero-king, and a God. His glory is known everywhere. He has conquered empires and great cities. Let him now consider an even greater victory: that of a peaceful alliance, of mutual benefit, bringing forth a new age of order and triumph. Let diplomacy and love achieve more than force of arms ever could! Let us conclude a new treaty. Let our two empires be joined in marriage,’ cried Nakht, with a rhetorical theatricality I had never suspected might lie within his character.

Silence dominated the great hall. Nakht had spoken brilliantly, and I could see some of the Hittite courtiers were engaged by his proposal. The King studied him, and then spoke, with Hattusa translating.

‘We have heard the words of our sister, the Queen of Egypt. We will give them consideration. Remain in our city, under our protection, until we call for you again.’

Nakht and Hattusa bowed low, and then the King hurried back into the private royal apartments as swiftly as he had come, followed by servants carrying the trunks full of gold. Some of his ministers stared at us with open antagonism-as did the Crown Prince. Others gave nothing away. We backed out of the pillared hall, bowing as we went. We could hear the furious argument that broke out between the Hittites who remained behind even before the great doors closed.