Egypt (25 page)

‘I have hope,' said Nakht, gazing into the distance where the Queen's carriage was disappearing. ‘Truly, may the Gods protect her.'

Hattusa nodded.

‘We have done all we can for now. I will accompany you to your quarters, to prepare for the Festival of Haste. And then I must go to my prayers in the sanctuary.'

‘No need,' said Nakht. ‘Stay here for your prayers. Our quarters are near by, and I have my guards with me.'

Hattusa nodded reluctantly.

‘Very well. But take every precaution. The Crown Prince has his allies in the city, and everyone will by now be aware of the nature of our business. We cannot be too careful. The Chief Steward has insisted he accompanies you personally to the Festival of Haste. He will call for you in good time. I will find you there. No doubt you will enjoy the entertainments. There are horse races, foot races, mock battles and the like…'

‘There is nothing I like better than a mock battle,' said Nakht, politely, and he bowed to Hattusa, who then hurried away into the crowds of the temple.

‘We find ourselves in a fascinating situation,' said Nakht quietly to Simut and me as we began the walk back down the countless stone steps of the way.

‘The Queen is very much in favour of our proposal, and in sympathy with our own Queen. She understands the value of peace between our empires, and she supports the King in his wish to conclude a treaty. But she finds herself in a difficult position. Both of the older Hittite Princes have their eyes on the succession, but they know that following the traditions of the land, when the King dies, the Queen will inherit his authority for the term of her life. And so she is afraid…'

‘Of assassination?' I said.

‘Exactly. She needs allies at home and abroad, in order to support her authority, and to protect herself in the event of the King's death. And she needs the Princes' powers to be curbed, as much as possible.'

‘So her help comes at a price?' I asked. ‘She will further our proposal if we commit to supporting her?'

‘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.'

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 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.'