to the rush of bodies running away from the scene in confusion and disarray. Simut was just behind me, a torch in one hand, his dagger in the other. We came to the edge of the arena. The shadows deepened into darkness.
‘Which way?’ said Simut.
I shook my head, staring into the obscurity, scanning the passages, which disappeared in several directions, listening for the faintest sound. And then-was I imagining it? — I could sense something, someone, poised, waiting in the silence, and then moving away into the dark distance. I waved to Simut, and gestured to him to abandon his torch. We made our way stealthily along a shadowy passageway, which opened out into an inner courtyard. Several doorways led off into dark chambers. But only one compelled me. From within I could see the faint flickering of lights. It was a holy sanctuary. We took one side each and approached. We listened. Silence. I nodded to Simut, and we raised our swords.
But suddenly, from behind us, came the noise of many feet pounding on the stones, and a troop of palace guards ran into the courtyard, barring the way into the sanctuary. The captain spoke urgently and forbiddingly in his own language. It was perfectly clear: we were not allowed to enter and desecrate the God’s shrine. I yelled into the captain’s face in frustration, and he bellowed back, and then before I knew what I was doing, I had raised my fist to strike him. Suddenly spears were pointing directly at my chest, and Simut was dragging my arms to my side, and pulling me away. And then the Crown Prince and his retinue were standing there, staring at me.
‘How dare you desecrate the shrine with your filthy foreign presence?’ he said, and whacked me hard across the face.
‘We were following the killer,’ I said, spitting away bloody phlegm.
He hit me again.
‘Don’t you dare address me. If I had my way you would be cut into more pieces than our dear friend the ambassador.’
And he nodded, and a couple of his men began to punch and kick me as hard as they could. Simut was powerless to help. After a while, the rain of blows ceased. I struggled to breathe. Blood trickled down my chin.
‘If I ever hear another word from you, I promise it will be your last. Your royal protection doesn’t work with me,’ sneered the Crown Prince, pushing his foot down onto the side of my face.
And then Simut and I were shoved back up the passageway by the Crown Prince’s retinue.
The ambassador’s head lay on the ground, staring in dismay at something far beyond the circle of men gathered around. The King was shouting at the Chief Steward, and Nakht stood in silence beside the Queen. As our little group approached, they looked up.
‘These foreigners were about to desecrate the shrine of the God,’ said the Crown Prince as he kicked us hard and sent us flying at his father’s feet. ‘You should arrest them, blind them, and send them to the work gangs. That is where foreign spies belong.’
As he said this he pointedly looked at the Queen. Nakht surveyed our battered state, and quickly intervened on our behalf.
‘I beg your pardon, my lord. My men were ignorant. But they are officers of the highest rank. Rahotep is known as the finest Seeker of Mysteries in all Egypt. His only motivation would be to apprehend the murderer. If you would permit, he may be able to help.’
The King looked me over briefly, then nodded. I wiped the blood from my face and took a better look at the decapitated head. The wound was accomplished with several powerful hacks from an axe-so I knew at once this was not the work of the Theban murderer. I reached out to Hattusa’s mouth. There was a shout of outrage from the Crown Prince, but I continued regardless, while the King spoke to him sharply. The jawbones were locking together-he had been dead a little while already. I slowly prised them open enough to insert my fingers into the clammy, cold mouth. I drew out a little scrap of folded papyrus. Without even opening it, I offered it to Nakht, but the Chief Steward snatched it away. He opened it, then, puzzled, he showed it to the King. And I watched carefully as the Crown Prince took it from his father, glanced at it, and returned it to me with a look that told me precisely nothing.
The Hittite King began to shout at me, and Nakht translated quickly.
‘He wants to know how you knew this was there, and what it means,’ he said. And from his look I knew he was also saying, ‘Please be extremely careful how you reply.’
‘I didn’t know what I would find. I was merely checking the condition of the jaws because that gives an indication of the time of death-’
Nakht interrupted: ‘This is not an Egyptian star at all, as you can see. In our hieroglyph a star has five points surrounding a small circle of light. This has eight arrows around a black centre. Perhaps it is a Hittite sign?’
‘Of course it is not. This is all nonsense,’ interrupted the Crown Prince. He shoved the papyrus aggressively at the Queen. ‘But perhaps you recognize this sign, my dear lady? Perhaps it is a Babylonian star. Your people are famous star-watchers, aren’t they?’
The Queen glanced at the sign.
‘This is not a sign from the zodiac of my people,’ she said clearly.
‘It is the sign of the Army of Chaos,’ I said.
Everyone stared at me, astonished.
‘The ambassador has been murdered as a punishment for his association with Egypt and with our mission,’ I continued. ‘I name Aziru as the suspect.’
The Crown Prince roared with fury, but Nakht followed up quickly: ‘Let us be clear. You have a murderer in this city, and he knows about our most private discussions. He is warning you, as well as us.’
The Chief Steward respectfully took the King aside, so that we could not hear the exchange that followed. The Crown Prince confronted Nakht and me.
‘You should leave now, before you, too, suffer the same fate,’ he said, so only we could hear him. Then he turned to join his father and uncle.
The Queen stood in silence, gazing at the ambassador’s head.
‘That sign. I have seen it. It is not Babylonian, but for us it represents Ishtar-the Queen of Love and War. But why is it here, like this?’ she said quietly to Nakht and me.
Nakht shook his head, deeply alarmed. I was desperate to ask her more, for this was compelling new information about the meaning of the sign. But the King and the Crown Prince were openly arguing now. What was going on, underneath the surface of these events? The Crown Prince was feeling betrayed: his father had exiled his mother, and why would he forgive that? No matter how useful the political argument for the union with the Babylonians might be, blood is blood. But had the Crown Prince ordered this murder? Was he an agent in Hattusa’s death? Or was Aziru acting on his own? It was hard to believe the Crown Prince knew nothing about the murder, for it served his purposes too well. Perhaps that was why he had been so cheerful during the festivities. I glanced at the Queen, who stood like a statue of melancholy among these angry, arguing Hittite men. I wondered how long she could really survive.
Suddenly the guards ran up, pushing two men, bowing in terror, into the presence of the King. I had seen them earlier; they were gatekeepers. They trembled like lambs before slaughter when they saw the head of Hattusa. The Chief Steward began to question them, and immediately they shook their heads, their hands raised to the God, protesting their innocence.
‘They claim all who came or went during the feast were permitted and authorized,’ translated Nakht.
‘Ask them if they saw a man carrying anything-a box or a bag,’ I said to him.
He translated quickly, but the gatekeepers only shook their heads.
‘Ask them if they saw a man, a Levantine, with red hair, about my height,’ I said.
Once more they pleaded their innocence, when suddenly, without warning, the Crown Prince stepped forward and simply thrust his sword into the chest of one of the two men. The man looked aghast and slowly collapsed to his knees. The Crown Prince pulled out his sword. The man clutched uselessly at the torrent of blood, as if to plug a leaking vessel, and then keeled over. The Crown Prince wiped his blade on the dead man’s clothes. The second man closed his eyes, and began gibbering and praying for mercy.
‘Each man must pay the penalty for failure to protect the King,’ said the Crown Prince, preparing to kill again. But the King stepped forward, and with his own sword he executed the second man, who died with a grievous howl that silenced everyone present.
