Egypt (18 page)

‘There is a lack of depth, there is little subtlety. I suspect it is blended,' I said.

Nakht looked alarmed by my candour, but Paser was very pleased.

‘You are right. It is a secondary wine. A merrymaking wine, at best. You have passed the first test. Now, try this.'

He poured from a different jug. This time I was astonished–this wine had remarkable melancholy depth and complexity–it married sorrow and beauty in its dark richness.

‘That is absolutely sublime,' I said, amazed. ‘Where is it from?'

Paser smiled.

‘It is also a native wine. But a rather special one! Come, you must be famished,' he said, ordering the servants to bring food on trays. Paser sat next to me as we ate.

‘Egyptian wines are of course excellent, especially those from the oases of Kharga and Dakhla. But those from Ugarit are the finest in the world, and of course the vines are also the oldest. And despite the constant state of conflict in this area, there is a large clientele in Memphis and Thebes who are willing to pay the highest prices for the wines' rarity, and delicate sophistication.'

‘Hence your thriving business,' I replied. ‘I suppose your cellar here is for your private use…'

‘It is really my library of wine, if I can put it like that. The main warehouse is by the docks,' he replied. ‘I must attend to my worldly business there tomorrow. I hope you will be comfortable, meanwhile, in the house.'

I decided to take my chance.

‘I would be most interested to visit your warehouses, before we depart. Would that be possible?'

Paser turned to Nakht, who considered, and then nodded.

‘I will work in my chamber tomorrow. So I can spare Rahotep for a short while in the morning,' Nakht said. ‘But now, we must attend to business. Please dismiss the servants, and make sure we are alone and not to be disturbed.'

When this was accomplished, Paser began to speak.

‘The royal envoy has asked me to deliver my report on the current state of affairs in this city, and in the kingdom. But in order to do this, I must digress. History is important, gentlemen…'

‘I am woefully ignorant of history—' I replied.

‘Please be brief,' interrupted Nakht, and Paser nodded.

‘We must step back a little to the reign of King Akhenaten. Back then, the King of Amurru was named Abdi-Ashirta. He was a notorious troublemaker, intent only upon creating calamity and friction with his neighbours. In particular, he coveted the territory of Byblos, to the south, and so he repeatedly attacked and antagonized the king of that territory, Rib-Hada, who was a loyal servant of Egypt. Rib-Hada wrote many pitiful letters of complaint to King Akhenaten, but answer came there none. Finally, Akhenaten, apparently concerned about any weakening of Egyptian authority in the area, summoned Abdi-Ashirta to court. He came, but whatever he said did not please Akhenaten, and he was imprisoned, and finally executed.'

‘And then everything returned to normal?' I asked.

‘Well. Byblos was loyally grateful for its peace, Rib-Hada stopped writing letters of complaint, and above all Egyptian authority was confirmed. Calm returned to the Levant. For a while…' said Paser.

‘But that's not the end of the story?' I said.

‘Unfortunately not,' replied Paser. ‘Conflict is the normal state of affairs in this part of the world. Abdi-Ashirta had a son. His name was Aziru. It turned out this son was an even more talented and committed troublemaker than his father. When he came of age, he picked up where his father had left off, and continued to gnaw off chunks of Byblos, taking control of various nearby towns, and the city of Sumur. His ambition was to extend the boundaries of Amurru up and down the coastline. Cue yet more letters from Rib-Hada to Egypt, containing dire warnings of peril and destruction, and pleas for arms and protection–none of which came. Then Aziru somehow engineered a palace coup in Byblos, and Rib-Hada was exiled from his own city, and finally assassinated by his own brother.'

‘And that was the end of Rib-Hada,' said Nakht, calmly. ‘But it was only the beginning of the inglorious career of Aziru of Amurru.'

‘I suppose if my father was executed, revenge would be on my mind,' I said.

Nakht frowned at me.

‘Conciliation and the proper respect of a vassal towards his king should have been on his mind,' he said tersely.

‘So what happened next?' I asked.

‘Akhenaten summoned Aziru to court. But this time, with a view to his own survival, he refused to come. Instead he sent a letter, saying he would only attend the King if his life was guaranteed,' said Paser.

‘Didn't want to end up like his father…' interjected Simut.

‘Sensible enough from his point of view,' I suggested.

Once again, Nakht looked annoyed.

‘Aziru was given assurances, and eventually he came to Egypt. He was detained for one year at the court,' said Paser.

‘And that is when I first met him,' said Nakht, quietly, as if playing an unexpected move in a game of
senet
.

‘And what was your impression of this infamous troublemaker?' I said.

‘Ambitious, mercurial, avaricious, intensely vain and, I perceived, entirely without human empathy. However, I was also struck by his strategic intelligence. He was brighter than his father. More astute, politically,' said Nakht.

‘Would I be right in thinking he was offered a deal he could not refuse?' I asked.

‘Aziru was allowed to return to Amurru on the condition that he remained loyal to Egypt, and reported back to us with intelligence on the Hittites and the movements of their divisions, their politics and so forth. In return he was allowed a certain leeway to conduct his expansionist policies, but only within agreed limits. In addition, he was offered funds to employ scouts and spies, as an inducement to loyalty. It seemed a good arrangement,' said Nakht.

He glanced at Paser.

‘I'm assuming from your look he's no longer doing as he was told,' I said.

Nakht nodded to Paser to continue the story.

‘First he began to take a small cut of all commodities passing through Ugarit on their way to Egypt. A kind of unofficial tax–which, given the scale of trade that passes through this city every day, was quickly a very significant amount. His strategy was obvious–he was enriching his own treasury, building up a kind of war chest. This alone was of concern to Egypt. We also had anxieties about his relationship with the Hittites. There were suggestions he was building a new alliance with our enemies. And then, recently, the reports stopped coming in. He vanished. We lost track of him completely,' said Paser.

The room was suddenly silent.

‘Amurru is the most important buffer state between Egypt and the Hittites, and that is why, strategically, we have made great efforts to influence what we could not overtly control. But our position here can no longer be considered secure. Recent intelligence suggests Aziru is in Hattusa. I suspect he is negotiating with our enemies. It is likely he has changed allegiance,' said Nakht carefully.

‘Because, after all, his enemy's enemy is his friend,' I suggested.

‘Exactly,' replied Nakht, glancing at me.

We all thought about the implications of this revelation.

‘So let me see if I understand. We are about to enter the capital of our enemies, with a highly secret proposal of marriage, on which the future of Egypt depends, and Aziru the traitor is perhaps there ahead of us, preparing his own warm welcome,' I said.

‘That appears to be so,' said Nakht.

Simut and I looked at each other. This was bad news indeed.

‘Shall I continue?' Paser asked Nakht.

‘Please do,' he answered.

Paser refilled our goblets.

‘I have unconfirmed reports of a series of unprovoked attacks on villages and towns well beyond the borders of Ugarit. These attacks are notable for their apparently random nature, and the extreme barbarity of their violence,' said Paser.

‘The Apiru,' I said.

Paser looked surprised.

‘You are right. It seems the Apiru, who were destroyed, root and branch, years ago, have recently re-formed, under a new leadership, and a new name,' conceded Paser.

Simut and I glanced at each other, remembering the captain's fear. Nakht looked discomfitted.

‘And what is their name now?' I asked.

‘The Army of Chaos,' he replied.

I stared into my goblet of wine.

‘What sort of army are we talking about here?' asked Simut.

‘We're talking about whole villages hacked to death. We're talking about torture, about children made to execute their parents, and blind their own siblings. We're talking about families burned alive in their homes. We're talking about young men dragged to pieces behind galloping horses… And as for what they do to young girls, I won't describe it,' said Paser.

We sat in silence, the food untouched before us.

‘That doesn't sound like unconfirmed reports to me. That sounds like eyewitness accounts,' I said.

‘Therefore we have not one but two areas of pressing concern,' continued Paser. ‘Firstly, Aziru's destabilizing presence and influence in the Hittite capital. And secondly, the threat of the Army of Chaos, for the security of the return journey. And in the long term, for the security of the region.'

‘But what if there is a connection between Aziru and the Army of Chaos?' I said. ‘You already told us he has a history of expansionist ambition. Wouldn't it be to Aziru's advantage to encourage these attacks, and then send in his own troops to offer “security” to the devastated towns, and so occupy them as if legitimately?'

Nakht and Paser exchanged glances.

‘That is indeed what we fear,' said Paser. ‘If you are right, then it would be the worst of all possible worlds.'

The morning sun shone down on the busy streets as Paser and I made our way to his warehouse near the docks. After the previous night's conversation, my thoughts were as dark as the day was glorious. I felt sure there was a connection between the Army of Chaos and the gang in Thebes. And yet how could a band of itinerant barbarians, who operated in the wastelands of the Levant, have any power or presence in such a faraway city? And if so, how was Aziru part of the mystery? Paser, however, seemed determined not to talk about such matters. Instead, he wanted to discuss wine.

‘There are three essential elements in wine–the power of the sun, the availability of good water, and the flavours of the earth–all of which combine magically within the grape itself. The properties unique to each vineyard will be intangibly present in the final character of the wine, together with the infinite varieties of time, weather, and so forth. Here in Ugarit we have gentle rains, and morning mists, to irrigate the vines. Some say the dews are the secret of the wine's flavour. Others say it is something to do with the evening shadows that are mysteriously gathered into the black of the grapes. But I say it is the soil itself; it is rich but light, with astonishing dry tones of minerals from the rocks and the underground waters. And the result? Wines that are romantic, with a voluptuous perfume, an indefinable sweetness, and a depth so strong and true…' He stopped suddenly in the street, threw open his arms and declaimed: ‘“Day long they pour the wine! Wine fit for kings! Wine sweet and abundant!”'

He smiled apologetically. ‘Lines from an old poem! Forgive me, I sound like a fool when I discuss wine…'

‘There's no finer subject,' I replied.

‘Except love, of course. Which is almost the same thing. But wine is better, because you can bottle it!'

He laughed again, and put his arm through mine, and we walked on.

‘Nakht is a great man, with a formidable intellect, but I can see he appreciates wine without really
loving
it. In fact, it has just come to me: he is like a lover whose hands are tied behind his back. He can see, but not touch. But I saw your face. You looked as if you were in a state of rapture! And that is the sign of a true devotee…' he said.

‘It was among the finest wines I have ever had the fortune to taste. But you, as a merchant, must have tasted some legendary ones…' I replied.

‘Yes, indeed. The Star of Horus on the Height of the Heaven must surely rank as the greatest, and the most ancient of our home-grown vintages.'

I had heard of it, but the cost of a jar was legendarily exorbitant. Only kings and nobles could afford such rarities.

‘And perhaps you have tried a Chassut Red?' I asked.

He smiled and clapped his hands.

‘Only once! They say the Chassuts are not ready to drink until they have aged a hundred years. And I can personally confirm that opinion. It is worth the wait!'

I was about to ask more, but the grand street, lined with shady shops where merchants invited passers-by to examine their wares, suddenly opened up to reveal a vast panorama: the harbour and market of Ugarit. Uncountable numbers of ships were moored at the long lines of the timber wharves; others negotiated their passage in and out of the densely crowded waters. Hundreds of sails fluttered and unfurled in the breeze. The harbour waters, tamed by the stone arms of the sea walls, glittered and shimmered in the clear morning light. Directly in front of us the great market spread out, occupying all of the vast open space before the docks.