Church of the Holy Wisdom and the great modern palace. But the House of the Kings was the oldest, the very first of the keystone buildings to be erected here at the heart of Troy when Hattusili’s ancestors had moved their capital from Old Hattusa on its central Anatolian upland. Now more than a thousand years old, the House remained lodged in the heart of the dynasty and the minds of the people, for it was here that the bones of Hatti kings were interred, more than fifty of them so far.
And here, in a chilly pavilion just before the main entrance to the House, Kassu found himself in a scene that astonished him even more. The great of New Hattusa had gathered under a single canvas awning, heavy with snow: he recognised Uhhaziti the crown prince, and Arnuwanda his cousin, the mayor Tiwatapara, the high priest Angulli, all sitting on wooden chairs in a shallow arc. At their centre, on an elevated platform and seated on a chair slightly grander than the rest, was Hastayar the Tawananna, widow of the King.
This arc of seats faced another chair, solitary, heaped with burned bones. These, Kassu knew immediately, were the cremated remains of King Hattusili the Sixteenth. But according to Hatti belief the King, though dead, had not left the mortal world. On a small table before the King’s chair was set out his final meal, a selection of loaves, a cup of wine. Servants were discreetly circling with trays, bringing the King’s final guests food and drink at this, his last banquet.
Behind the King two doors were open, leading into the recesses of the tomb. One way was lit, which led to the mausoleum of the kings, and here, soon, Hattusili would be laid to rest at last, with provisions for the journey, food and wine, and tools and a scrap of turf so that he could build himself a farm in the endless sun of the afterlife. The other way was dark, and Kassu knew it led to a symbolically empty tomb, the Tomb of Jesus and His Mother Mary — empty of their sacred bones, which had been purchased and taken away from Old Hattusa by unscrupulous, far-seeing Northlanders not long after the death of the carpenter-prophet. Some, however, remembered older gods than Jesus, and spoke of that gloomy way as a route to the Dark Earth, a bleaker afterlife than Jesus’, a plain of bones and rags and ash where you forgot who you were, forgot even the names of those who loved you.
All this Kassu saw in an instant, before he threw himself to the ground before the King’s chair. Not fast enough for Himuili, who, on the ground already, murmured, ‘A dozen lashes.’
‘Yes, sir.’
When they were ordered to rise, Hastayar faced Himuili. ‘Welcome, General. You may sit with us.’ She was a formidable woman, Kassu saw immediately, with a square face, flaring nostrils, and direct gaze — a soldier’s face, he would have said. She wore the grey clothes of mourning, with a cloak to match. So Himuili sat in the arc before the King, and accepted a cup of wine. Palla touched Kassu’s sleeve, and the two of them retreated to the back of the pavilion. Nobody served them food or wine.
Hastayar began, ‘I apologise for summoning you with such little notice, Himuili. Call it an impulse. We face a grave decision — and I would rather make that decision in the presence of the King, before Jesus embraces him. Are you comfortable, General? This custom of ours, of sitting out with the King, evolved in the days when the summers were warmer and the winters milder than today. Yet custom must be respected, especially at such times as these. If you need a heavier cloak-’
‘I’m fine, madam, thank you,’ Himuili said. ‘For one thing I’m a lot warmer than those Rus were before they left home.’
‘Yes, the great winter that seems to threaten us all. My husband wasn’t terribly impressed by it, you know. The winter, I mean.’ She eyed the bones critically. ‘ “It will pass, my dear. Weather always does.” That’s what he said, even the day he died. But that’s not what the Rus think, is it? Otherwise they wouldn’t have worn themselves out coming here — and more on the way, I hear.’
Angulli snorted and waved his cup for more of the King’s wine. ‘What do the Rus know?’
Himuili glanced back at Palla, who stepped forward and spoke. ‘Sir, with respect — they know rather a lot about winter. There is their direct experience of course. And as the weather has changed they have consulted sages, from Northland and elsewhere.’
Hastayar asked him, ‘And would they have agreed with my husband?’
Palla could not contradict the King. Instead he cast down his eyes.
Hastayar turned now to the Hazannu, the city mayor. ‘What of our city, Tiwatapara?’
He shrugged. ‘Madam, you know it as well as I do. You’ve seen the figures on the bread ration — we’re only just at midwinter, and we’ll be lucky if we don’t have starvation before the spring.
‘And the population reduction measures? Are they working?’
The man grimaced. ‘With difficulty. Of course we’re keeping refuge seekers out of the city; that’s not too hard, unless one of them has a relative inside. As for active reduction, we’re finding the most effective way is to target groups. Specific peoples. The Kaskans, for instance, and the Arzawans, and you’d be surprised how many there are here.’
‘Many of several generations’ descent,’ Arnuwanda put in now, anger in his voice. ‘I know some of them, or did. They think of themselves as Hatti, not Kaskans or whatever. They think of themselves as belonging to the city, and many of their families have been here since the time of their grandfathers’ grandfathers.’
Kassu was shocked to hear this. He had witnessed the expulsion of Kaskans. He had even taken part in some of it. He had had no idea it had all been an officially sanctioned, officially
Arnuwanda went on, ‘I’ve fought alongside them, for the King. And now we’ve kicked them out.’
The Tawananna eyed him. ‘Nephew, it is better to pick on a group the rest can identify and despise, rather than have us fight among ourselves.’
‘Though we’re doing that too,’ said the Hazannu reluctantly. ‘Well, people always do. There are religious tensions, followers of the older creeds and the banished gods — I mean the divine ancestors of Teshub Yahweh who have been declared apocryphal by the Church — their adherents are coming out and denouncing the Jesus followers, who in turn are calling for their opponents’ executions as heretics, and so on. And as soon as you get a rumour that somebody is hoarding so much as a crust of bread, a whole district collapses into a riot. Well, we just have to contain it all.’
Angulli mused, ‘And what of liberty? What of rights under our law?’
‘Liberty is for the summer,’ Hastayar said bleakly. She turned to Himuili. ‘General, what of the grain supplies?’
He nodded. ‘I have checked. Our only reliable source of grain the last few years has been Egypt, ever since the Turks occupied so much of Anatolia. But the route is precarious. If I had a map-’
‘Just tell us, man,’ Arnuwanda said.
‘Once the grain was brought across the sea to Ura, which is a port on the south coast of Anatolia, and then overland to New Hattusa and elsewhere. The pirates’ activities and the Turks’ raids made that too hazardous. Even the Carthaginians have been roaming our waters. So now it is brought overland to Ugarit, which is to the north of Judea, and then by sea the short crossing to Ura. It is a tenuous chain-’
‘And too easily broken,’ Hastayar said.
‘Yes, majesty. Also — the Carthaginians, again. They’re outbidding us for the Egyptian grain. Of course it’s safer for the Egyptian merchants to ship it overland through Africa to Carthage, than over the sea to us.’
‘The Carthaginians!’ Arnuwanda snapped. ‘To think it’s not long since we fought alongside those scum and the Muslims to keep the Mongols out of Egypt. Curse them to the Dark Earth!’
Himuili said frankly, ‘My feeling is that they seek to use the opportunity of these bleak winters to bring us down.’
‘Starving us out!’ Arnuwanda made an involuntary crossed-wrists sign, the sign of Jesus’ palm leaves. ‘What a foul way to wage war.’
The Tawananna said coldly, ‘The point is, gentlemen, we must look beyond these emergency measures and decide what to do next. By
