problem, for they have no great river,’ replied Nakht.
‘And yet despite those disadvantages, they have conquered the empire of Mittani, absorbed its territory into their own, and subjugated the great cities of Carchemish and Ugarit, making them vassals,’ I said.
‘And that is what I find alarming,’ said Simut, removing his sandals and lowering his feet into a bowl of cool water with a sigh. ‘Because if a young, fairly primitive kingdom, with few resources, and no natural geographical advantages-not even a decent river to call its own-can destroy Mittani, and then seriously challenge Egypt itself for supremacy, what does that tell you about the way the future may turn out?’
Nakht nodded, absorbed by these words.
‘Egypt can no longer live on past glories. We must set the terms of the present, in order to conquer and possess the future.’ He broke the seal on his official trunk, and opened the lid. ‘So let us focus on our task at hand. It will certainly make all the difference to the future,’ he said, very carefully producing from his bag the official diplomatic tablets from the Queen herself, wrapped in fine linen. ‘These are the keys to that future,’ he said. And then he broke the seal on another, heavier trunk. ‘And these are the gifts which will sweeten the marriage proposal,’ he said. Inside was a collection of magnificent gold objects-plates, goblets and statuettes. ‘All men love gold. And they will do anything to possess it.’
He gazed at the objects, his face strangely lit.
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?
