‘Yes. But, of course, it is a very good deal,’ he replied. ‘Our interests match exactly, and she is a far more useful ally on the throne of Hatti than any of the Princes.’
‘But then neither of the older Princes would agree to return to Egypt with us, would they?’ I asked.
‘They would have no choice, if their father ordered it. And to sit on the throne of Egypt is no small thing,’ he replied.
‘I cannot imagine the Crown Prince acquiescing to that. No matter what his father said. And if I may speak personally, I would not relish the prospect of his presence in the Egyptian royal court,’ I offered.
‘I think we may be sure that the second eldest, Telepinu, is the most likely candidate,’ answered Nakht.
We walked on for a little.
‘What was all that about the oracle?’ I said quietly.
‘I understood her meaning,’ he replied.
‘You mean about the shadow?’
He nodded.
‘Have you seen that man again?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘But I find I cannot shake off the feeling that someone is watching us.’
He nodded.
‘I agree. We must take every precaution. Aziru is here biding his time. Things are going quite well. But we are not home yet.’
24
We heard them before we saw them; beating drums, rattling tambourines and clashing cymbals announced their approach, and the crowd responded jubilantly, yelling prayers and oaths in their strange language. Nakht, Simut and I waited with the Chief Steward to witness the return of the festival procession to the temple. The King and Queen finally appeared in their chariot. They were both wearing blue robes; the King carried a crook and a silver axe. Dignitaries and priests followed in a long procession through the crowded ways, followed by the entertainment-acrobats flipped over and over, jugglers competed to cast their balls in daringly complex patterns, dancers in bright costumes, accompanied by the wild drums and tambourines of the musicians, performed for the applause of the crowds. And above all of them towered the image of the God himself, carried on an ox-drawn carriage, its axles creaking with the massive weight of the burden; three times as tall as any man, his gold body was densely decorated with jewels, which dazzled in the late light. His appearance encouraged cries of awe, prayers and urgent petitions from the crowds.
The Crown Prince and his entourage were standing close to the temple gateway. I realized his expression had altered. He suddenly looked like a man who had received good news. Several times he glanced over at Nakht, and smiled.
‘The Crown Prince has changed his manner,’ I whispered to Nakht.
‘So I see,’ he replied. He was not cheered by the difference.
As the chariot of the King and Queen arrived at the temple entrance, I saw how the Queen cast a quick look at the Crown Prince, an attempt at respectful friendliness, and how he responded by simply turning away.
In the inner courtyard of the temple, tables and benches had been set out for a huge feast. The God was set up at the head of the main table as the guest of honour. The King raised a silver cup in the shape of a bull’s head, full of wine, to the God, loudly proclaiming what seemed to be his eternal health, and then he drank deeply. Everyone cheered.
‘The King is drinking to the God,’ explained the Chief Steward to Nakht, who nodded sagely.
Then a herald announced the feast, and suddenly everyone else rushed to find places to sit. The Chief Steward guided us towards one of the tables near the King’s. Servants delivered grilled and roasted meats from sacrificed animals on huge platters, and the King chose the best cuts, glistening with fat, to offer to the God. Then he picked out one of the loaves baked in many shapes of men and animals that had been set before him-this one in the shape of a bird-and broke it into pieces. Once this last rite was completed, the crowd knew they could really start to enjoy themselves, and they set to devouring the food as if they had not eaten for weeks.
Simut and I insisted we stand either side of Nakht while he ate.
‘I do not see Ambassador Hattusa,’ I said quietly to Nakht.
He nodded.
‘Is Ambassador Hattusa not joining us this evening? We were expecting him,’ he said to the Chief Steward, sitting opposite him.
‘I, too, have noticed his absence,’ he replied.
‘I trust he is not ill,’ said Nakht.
The Chief Steward wiped his lips, clicked his fingers, and a servant hurried over, listened to his instructions, and ran off. Nakht and the Chief Steward exchanged a small glance, but continued to converse about other subjects, with other members of the table. Simut and I whispered briefly behind Nakht’s back.
‘Why is he not here?’ he said.
‘I cannot imagine. This is an important event… I hope there has been no problem…’
After a good period of feasting and drinking, the convivial atmosphere was becoming noticeably raucous. The Crown Prince and his companions in particular were in a riotous mood. Several times I observed how the other guests glanced at them, and commented to each other on their crude behaviour. At one point, the King himself glared at his oldest son; but his look of admonition seemed not to concern the Crown Prince at all. In fact it was almost as if he welcomed it, and was vying with his father.
Suddenly, the King clapped his hands. The daylight was fading, and the evening shadows had begun to lengthen and gather. Servants lit torches around a performance area, and a troupe of dancers ran into the flickering light. They were dressed as leopards and hunters. The Crown Prince and his retinue ambled over, and the other nobles quickly made way to allow him the best view of the show. The dancers bowed low to the God, and then the King. The musicians struck up a strong beat, and the performance, which recreated the drama of a royal hunt, began. The hunters danced their pursuit of the leopards, which ran in wonderfully lifelike, fluid choreography; they evaded their hunters, and then they turned on them, standing on their hind legs with powerful stylized claws raised in magnificent retaliatory attack. The hunters withdrew, in awe of these magnificent creatures. Then archers drew imaginary bows, and fired arrows that split the imaginary hearts of several of the magnificent beasts, and they died and were carried off in glorious style.
The King observed the spectacle carefully, for he was represented in the dance as the chief hunter. One by one, the other hunters and leopards faded away, until only this central figure was left; he now began a complex dance with the last and most powerful of the leopards, the King jousting with his spear, the leopard curling around his attacks, while two younger dancers, representing loyal hunting dogs, tried to attack the leopard’s belly and back without success. For a moment, the leopard appeared to be succeeding, and the King dancer himself was suddenly on the defensive, at the mercy of the leopard, poised for the kill-the crowd gasped, and the real King looked deeply dismayed. The Crown Prince, I saw, shared a small smile with his men.
But then the dancer representing the King raised his spear high in the air, and held it very still in a posture of regal dominance and triumph. The leopard, succumbing at last, looked up at the hunter and his poised spear, facing the moment of its own death with dignity; and the crowd roared for the kill, waiting for the King himself, who had risen to his feet, to give the sign of his approval.
But at that moment, from out of the shadows, an object like an uneven, clumsy ball bounced and rolled at speed across the stone slabs of the courtyard, and came to rest before the King. For a moment no one understood. But I did. I had seen this before. The ball was a human head, decapitated, and still dripping with blood. The grave, dead face belonged to Hattusa, the Hittite ambassador.
The King’s guards instantly formed a protective shield around the King, their spears pointing into the gathering shadows.
‘Make them shut the gates,’ I shouted to Nakht.
I grabbed a lit torch from its stand, and ran in the direction from which the decapitated head had been thrown, through the sudden pandemonium of the crowd, paying no attention to the cries of horror and outrage, or
