“It’s not that my men were defeated, Your Highness; it was only an incorrectly executed attempt to destabilize the Egyptian protectorates.”
“You were afraid of Ramses, weren’t you?”
“His forces were much larger than we’d imagined, and my mission had been to foment rebellion, not to confront the Egyptians.”
“Sometimes, Baduk, you have to be able to improvise.”
“I’m only a soldier, Your Highness, trained to obey my superiors.”
“Why did you hole up here instead of reporting to Hattusa?”
“I told you, I needed to gain perspective. And I have some good news: our allies in Amurru are ready to take up the cause again.”
“You’re dreaming, Baduk.”
“No, Prince. Give me a little more time, and I’ll show you.”
“You’re no longer the commander of the Hittite army. The emperor has named me to replace you.”
Baduk walked a few paces toward the massive fireplace where oak logs burned. “Congratulations, Uri-Teshoop. You’ll lead us to victory.”
“I have another message for you, Baduk.”
The former general warmed his hands by the fire, turning his back to the emperor’s son. “Yes, Your Highness?”
“You’re a coward.”
Unsheathing his sword, Uri-Teshoop plunged it into Baduk’s bulky torso.
The commandant stood petrified.
“A traitor as well as a coward,” Uri-Teshoop sneered. “He refused to acknowledge his wrongdoing and then attacked me. You’re my witness.”
The commandant bowed.
“Hoist the body on your shoulders, carry it down to the yard, and burn it without the funeral rites reserved for warriors. So perish defeated generals.”
As Baduk’s corpse burned with the garrison looking on, Uri-Teshoop personally greased the axles of his chariot with mutton fat. His war chariot, he mused. For, once he returned to the capital, he planned to advocate total war on Egypt.
THIRTY
A finer capital was nowhere to be found.
Uri-Teshoop admired it as he rode toward the central Anatolian plateau, where gorges and ravines cut through arid steppes. Hattusa was the heart of the Hittite empire. The climate was dramatic, with sweltering summers and frigid winters. The city sprawled up an uneven mountainside, requiring heroic efforts of its builders. At the top stood a citadel housing the imperial palace. To the untrained eye, Hattusa looked like a jumble of building blocks piled on rocky outcroppings. The surrounding peaks sheltered it from potential attackers. Within the city walls, the foundations were also made of stone, the walls of rough brick and wood.
Hattusa, proud and unbowed. Hattusa, fierce and untamed, where the name of Uri-Teshoop would soon win renown.
The five miles of ramparts, bristling with towers and battlements, were enough to warm a soldier’s heart. They snaked up the side of the plateau, overlooked dizzying gorges. Here man dominated nature, stealing the secret of its strength.
Passing the lower town’s two gates, then the upper town’s Lion’s Gate and King’s Gate, Uri-Teshoop headed for the ultimate point of entry, the Sphinx Gate leading to the citadel.
The lower town did have its own distinguishing feature, of course: the temple of the Storm God and the Sun Goddess, a complex of no fewer than twenty-one shrines of varying sizes. But Uri-Teshoop preferred the upper town and the palace. He liked to gaze out at the slopes studded haphazardly with government buildings and fine mansions.
Entering the city, the emperor’s son had broken the three ritual pieces of bread and poured wine on a huge stone slab, repeating the time-honored blessing: “May this rock be eternal.” Around it lay votive offerings of oil and honey.
The palace was set on an imposing rocky summit with three peaks. Stout walls with permanently manned watchtowers isolated the imperial dwelling from the rest of the capital and protected it from attack. Muwattali, cautious and wily, was mindful of the sudden reversals and desperate power struggles common in Hittite history. Disputes often ended in stabbing or poisoning, and it was the rare Great Chief who died a natural death. The Great Fortress, as the people dubbed it, was therefore designed with three blind sides. Visitors were screened at the single, closely guarded entrance.
Uri-Teshoop submitted to the regulation search. The men frisking him, like most other soldiers, were glad he’d been named to head the army. Young and valiant, the emperor’s son would be far more decisive than old Baduk had been.
Within the palace walls were several reservoirs, essential in summer. Stables, armory, and guardrooms opened onto a paved yard. The plan of the imperial quarters was in most regards similar to that of other Hittite dwellings, great or small, consisting of a square space in the center with rooms arranged around the four sides.
An officer saluted Uri-Teshoop and showed him into a hall with thick pillars where the emperor received visitors. Stone lions and sphinxes guarded the entrance, as well as the doorway to the adjacent archives storing the records of Hittite military victories. Here, in the empire’s invincible core, Uri-Teshoop felt utterly confident in his mission.
Two men entered the room. The first was the emperor Muwattali, a robust fifty, of medium height, with a barrel chest and stubby legs. Easily chilled, he was draped in a long mantle of red and black wool. His eyes were dark and alert.
The second was Hattusili, the emperor’s younger brother. Short and slight, his hair tied back, wearing a silver chain around his neck and a silver cuff at his left elbow, he was draped in a length of multicolored fabric that left his shoulders bare. He was the high priest of the Sun God, married to the lovely Puduhepa, the intelligent and influential daughter of a respected religious leader. Uri-Teshoop hated them both with a passion, but the emperor seemed to value their advice. In the eyes of the new commander, Hattusili was simply playing a waiting game.
Uri-Teshoop knelt before his father and kissed his hand.
“Did you catch up with General Baduk?”
“Yes, Father, in the fort at Mashat.”
“What did he have to say for himself?”
“He attacked me, so I killed him. The commander of the fort was my witness.”
Muwattali turned to his brother.
“Regrettable,” commented Hattusili, “but no one can bring that unfortunate general back to life. The gods were displeased with him, it would appear.”
Uri-Teshoop found it hard to conceal his surprise. For the first time, his uncle was taking his side!
“Wise words,” the emperor appraised. “The Hittite people dislike defeat.”
“I’m in favor of invading Amurru and Canaan at once,” ventured Uri-Teshoop, “then attacking Egypt.”
“The King’s Wall bars the way into the Delta,” objected Hattusili.
“It isn’t as impenetrable as it looks. The forts are too far apart. We’ll isolate them and capture them all in a single coordinated attack.”
“I find that overly optimistic, considering the Egyptian army’s recent performance.”
“But look at the enemies they were facing! When they meet up with us, it will be a different story.”
“Have you forgotten Ramses?”
The emperor’s question silenced his son.
“You’ll lead us to victory, Uri-Teshoop, but not without preparation. Launching an attack so far from our home base would be a mistake.”
“Then where will we start?”
“We’ll lure the Egyptian forces north once more.”
“Do you mean . . .”
“Yes, Kadesh. Kadesh will be the site of the great battle sealing Ramses’ defeat.”
“Why not take Egypt’s protectorates in the bargain?”
“I’ve studied our informants’ reports with care and drawn conclusions from Baduk’s fiasco. Ramses is a true warrior, much more dangerous than we ever supposed he would be. We must be thoroughly prepared when we meet him in battle.”
“We’ll waste too much time!”
; “No, my son. Our attack must be deadly and accurate.”
“Our army is years ahead of a bunch of Egyptian recruits and mercenaries! We’re already deadly, and my battle plans will show you how accurate I can be. I have it all figured out. Why delay? All I need to do is whip my troops into a frenzy, and I’m off!”
“I’m still in charge, Uri-Teshoop. You will act on my orders, and my orders alone. For now, go clean yourself up. I’m addressing the court in less than an hour.”
The emperor exited the reception room.
Uri-Teshoop stared defiantly at Hattusili.
“You’re the one who’s trying to undermine me.”
“I have nothing to do with the army.”
“Don’t make me laugh. Sometimes I wonder who’s really ruling here.”
“Show some respect for your father, Uri-Teshoop. Muwattali is the emperor. I serve him as best I can.”
“While waiting for him to die!”
“You’re going too far.”
“The court is seething with plots, and you’re behind most of them, Uncle. But believe me, you won’t win out in the end.”
“You misread me completely. Or perhaps a life of service is a concept beyond your comprehension.”
“You’re more ambitious than that, Hattusili.”
“Your mind is made up, I see.”
“Yes.”
“The emperor has made you his commander-in-chief, as well he should. You’re an excellent soldier and our troops trust you. But you’re a fool if you think you can go your own way.”
“You’re forgetting one essential fact, Hattusili. In this empire, the army is the law.”
“Do you know what most of our people value? Their house, their fields, their vineyards, their livestock . . .”
“You’re preaching peace?”
“No war has been declared, as far as I know.”
“Anyone speaking in favor of peace with Egypt might as well be a traitor.”
“I forbid you to twist my words.”
“Don’t stand in my way, Hattusili, or you’ll regret it.”
“Threat is the weapon of the weak, Uri-Teshoop.”
The emperor’s son reached a hand to the pommel of his sword. Hattusili gazed at him steadily.
“You dare to raise your sword against the brother of Muwattali?”
Uri-Teshoop gave a strangled cry of rage and stormed out of the huge, cold room.
THIRTY-ONE
Uri-Teshoop, Hattusili, Puduhepa, along with the high priests of the Storm God and the Sun Goddess, the head of imperial construction, the inspector of markets, and all the empire’s other dignitaries, were gathering to hear the emperor’s speech.
The failure of the campaign to destabilize Egypt’s protectorates had been troubling. Clearly, the blame lay with General Baduk—the late General Baduk—but what did it mean in terms of Muwattali’s foreign policy? The military establishment, roused by Uri-Teshoop, was pressing for a direct and rapid strike against Egypt. The merchants, whose financial power was considerable, were tired of having trade relations disrupted; they favored peace, however tentative. Hattusili had met with the trade delegation and advised the emperor not to dismiss their concerns. The caravans traversing Hatti paid hefty taxes to the government, an important source of revenue for military operations, considering that the average donkey carried more than a hundred pounds of trade goods, over a hundred fifty of textiles. The merchants had transformed towns and villages into thriving trade centers. They established an efficient economic system through the use of inventories, written orders, shipping contracts, discharge of debts, and specific legal regulations. If, for instance, a merchant was accused of murder, he could avoid trial and conviction by paying a sizable fine instead.
Military might and a thriving economy were the two mainstays of the emperor’s power. He needed them both to survive. Since Uri-Teshoop was becoming the military hero of the day, Hattusili positioned himself as the merchants’ special representative, leaving his well-connected wife, Puduhepa, to control the clergy.
Muwattali was too shrewd not to have noticed the intense clandestine rivalry pitting his son against his brother. Granting each of them a limited sphere of influence, he had acknowledged their ambition while keeping the upper hand, but for how long? Soon he would be forced to act.
Hattusili would not object to the conquest of Egypt, except for the fact that it was liable to promote Uri-Teshoop as a war hero and future emperor. He therefore needed to cultivate his relationships with the military establishment, undermining his nephew’s authority. For an emperor’s son, what could be more desirable than a glorious death on the battlefield? Hattusili recognized Muwattali’s skill as a leader and would have been content merely to serve him, had Uri-Teshoop not emerged as a threat to the empire’s stability.
Muwattali did not assume his son would show him respect or gratitude; Hittite culture placed no great emphasis on family ties. The legal code deemed incest an acceptable practice as long as it caused no harm to the parties involved. The penalties for rape were light and were waived if the least presumption of consent was found to exist. Thus, for a son to assassinate his father in a takeover attempt would hardly be considered an outrage.
Putting Uri-Teshoop in command of the army had been a master stroke; it would take the young man’s mind off eliminating his father, at least for the time being. Sooner or later, however, the danger would resurface. The challenge for Hattusili was to take advantage of the present situation and minimize his nephew’s ability to do harm.
A chill wind raced through the upper town, heralding an early winter. The dignitaries were shown into the reception room, heated for the occasion with braziers.
The atmosphere was heavy and tense. Muwattali disliked speeches and public appearances; he preferred to work behind the scenes, manipulating his subordinates one by one, without a cabinet to get in his way.
In the front row, Uri-Teshoop’s resplendent new armor contrasted with Hattusili’s unassuming dress. Puduhepa, his wife, shone with the dignity of a queen in her red gown. She was covered with jewels, including gold bracelets from Egypt.
Muwattali sat down on his throne, a crude stone seat without ornamentation. His rare appearances caused everyone to wonder how this insignificant-looking man could be the emperor of a proud and mighty nation; but the attentive observer would note the aggression in his eyes and body language, liable to flare into the most extreme violence. Muwattali was as quick as he was brutal; he could strike like a scorpion.
“The Storm God and Sun Goddess,” declared the emperor, “have placed this country, her capital and cities, in the care of none other than myself. I, the emperor, will protect Hatti, for power and the instruments of war have been placed in none other than my hands.”
With these time-honored phrases, Muwattali drove home the fact that he alone wielded power; that his son and brother, however influential they might become, owed him their unquestioning obedience. One false move and they would be mercilessly purged. The emperor’s decisions were without appeal.
“On the north, south, east, and west,” Muwattali continued, “the Anatolian plateau is ringed with mountains. Our borders are inviolable, yet our people refuse to remain confined by natural boundaries. My predecessors determined that Hittite territory should stretch from sea to sea. I now declare that it must expand to include the banks of the Nile.”
Muwattali rose. His speech was over.
His words were few. His people were now at war.
The party Uri-Teshoop threw to celebrate his new command was lavish and well attended. Commanders, chiefs of staff, and high-ranking officers discussed past exploits and future victories. The emperor’s son outlined his plans for the cavalry, including a host of new chariots.
The air was rife with the scent of war to come, brutal and intense.
Hattusili and his wife took their leave when a hundred slave girls appeared on the scene, an after-dinner treat Uri-Teshoop had arranged for his guests.
The girls had a choice, either of granting whatever favors were demanded of them that night, or of being flogged and shipped off to the salt mines that were one of Hatti’s greatest resources.
“Leaving so soon?” their nephew said in mock astonishment.
“We have a busy day tomorrow,” answered Puduhepa.
“Uncle Hattusili should relax more. There are sixteen-year-olds from Asia in this lot, proud little fillies. The trader promised exceptional performance. Go along home, Aunt Puduhepa, and let your husband have a good time for once.”
“Not all men are swine,” she said sharply. “In the future, spare us such invitations.”
Hattusili and Puduhepa returned to their own wing of the palace. Only a few woven carpets brightened the barren rooms. On the walls were hunting trophies and crossed lances.
Puduhepa, still keyed up, dismissed her maid and prepared for bed on her own.
“Uri-Teshoop is a dangerous madman,” she fumed.
“He’s still the emperor’s son.”
“But you’re his brother!”
“Most people see him as Muwattali’s designated successor.”
“Designated . . . the emperor wouldn’t make that mistake, would he?”
“It’s only a rumor at this stage.”
“Why not put a stop to it?”
“Because I’m not overly concerned.”
“How can you be so cool?”
“If you look at the facts, there’s no cause at all for alarm.”
“Would you be so good as to enlighten me?”
“Uri-Teshoop has landed exactly where he’s always hoped to be. He no longer has any need to plot against his father.”
“Don’t be a fool. The throne is what he’s after.”
“Obviously, Puduhepa, but is he capable of taking it?”
The priestess studied her husband attentively. Physically he was unremarkable, yet from the start his intelligence and foresight had attracted her. Hattusili had the makings of a great statesman.
“Uri-Teshoop is short-sighted,” he declared. “He doesn’t realize what an overwhelming task he’s facing. Commanding the Hittite army requires skills far beyond his scope.”
Ramses, Volume III Page 16