Egypt

by Nick Drake

  ‘There is no need for alarm. These are Hittite soldiers. They were just doing their job, and we appeared unexpectedly. They will accompany us the rest of the way. Tell your men to stand down.’

  All the Hittite soldiers wore conical leather helmets with ear-flaps, and leather shoes with curled-up toes; and they carried spears, scimitars and hide-covered shields. Their black hair was worn long, and was as glossy and well-combed as a woman’s. And they were clean-shaven, too. Their sharp eyes flickered over us, curious and hostile. They quickly fell in before and behind our company, and we moved past a wooden watchtower, its guards regarding us carefully, and on through the endless, dark forest of the Hittite homeland, towards their capital.

  Finally, towards the evening of the following day, covered in dust, weathered by the harsh light and the buffeting wind of the high world we had traversed, we saw the dark green forests unexpectedly give way to open, rolling land bathed in sunlight; in the distance were the pale-yellow mud-brick towers and the tall city walls of Hattusa. It was built on long green hillsides, surrounding an impressive summit of rock that rose high above everything else in the landscape.

  As we came closer to the city, workmen carrying long, lightly coloured stripped timbers on their shoulders paused to watch us, and gangs of foreign labourers–just like those we had passed on the way–roped together, toiled in the fields. But something was wrong with them; they held on to each other, and seemed uncertain of the world around them. And then I realized: most of them had been blinded–even the children. They moved like lost, hopeless people, going about their interminable labour.

  ‘What has happened to them? Why are these people blinded?’ I asked.

  Hattusa was not impressed by my reaction. ‘To stop them fleeing for their homelands,’ he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘And what do they need sight for now? They can labour perfectly well without it.’

  And he turned his haughty face to the towers of Hattusa.

  ‘Welcome to my city,’ he said proudly.

  19

  Lions leapt out at us from the light stone of the city’s great gateway, set into the towering walls; these were not lions of terror and war, but of pride, magnanimity and courage. We clattered through the gate, past the guards of the watchtowers, through a long, dark, high triangular tunnel that led under the massive ramparts–and finally entered the capital of our arch-enemies.

  Once inside, we ascended a stone-paved, stepped ceremonial way that wound past small dark temples, low warehouses, and what seemed like sizeable underground grain siloes, beside extensive offices and elite dwellings. Hattusa pointed out the impressive engineering of the terraces and the viaducts that audaciously spanned the crevasses surrounding the citadel rock.

  ‘This is the Upper City. Here are all the offices on which the palace of the King depends.’ Hattusa nodded at the prominent acropolis above us, clearly separated from the rest of the city by its grand elevation, and by more encircling, protecting high stone walls.

  ‘If we have leisure I will be glad to give you a tour of the greatest of them, the Temple of the Storm God. That is a wonder you must see,’ he added, pointing at a vast building, its great walls covered with carvings and reliefs of lions and sphinxes fashioned from a dark-green stone the colour of deep water.

  ‘I would much appreciate the opportunity to admire it,’ answered Nakht.

  As we made our way up and up, groups of Hittite men in fine woollen robes stared at us. Some nodded respectfully to the ambassador, and exchanged earnest greetings of welcome; but most turned aside so as not to look upon us, and a few even spat ostentatiously on the ground as we passed.

  The ambassador showed us our accommodation, in a timber and mud-brick dwelling decorated with simple friezes.

  ‘These are your quarters. They are simple, in the Hittite fashion. But I hope you’ll be comfortable here. So, please rest, and wash, and refresh yourselves. Tonight there will be an official banquet, and then tomorrow morning, the King has granted us an audience. I hope it will be the first step in the successful resolution to our project. If you need anything at all, before then, I am at your service. The servants will assist you. Guards have been posted, but please be assured, they are there for your protection. You are not their prisoners. Meanwhile, I must return to my home, and then attend the King himself. I have been away for a long time. Perhaps my wife has finally noticed my absence!’

  We waited until the guards had closed the wooden doors to the outside world, and Simut had ordered his guards to take up their own positions; and then we set to talking.

  ‘Is this strange place really the capital of our great enemy? Compared with Thebes or Memphis, it seems primitive!’ said Simut.

  ‘The old city was sacked and almost destroyed by fire, before the reign of the present King’s father,’ said Nakht. ‘So this is a relatively new city, and from that perspective, it’s more impressive. All the same, I’d assume the Hittite King has been greatly preoccupied with his military campaigns, at the expense of any magnificent building projects. This is not what I expected at all. It’s all very interesting…’

  Simut raised his eyebrows at me, in mockery of Nakht’s high-handed tone.

  ‘This is a strange land in every way. And yet they seem to have created an empire to rival our own in just two or three generations. How have they done it? It would seem impossible,’ he said.

  ‘Do not be deceived. For all their foreign triumphs, the Hittite empire is young, unstable and underdeveloped. They are surrounded by domestic enemies to the north and west, and have therefore to fight wars and defend borders on several fronts simultaneously. They lack reliable supplies of grain sufficient to feed their population, and so they are dependent on the international market–and as you see, transportation from the ports is a serious problem, for they have no great river,’ replied Nakht.

  ‘And yet despite those disadvantages, they have conquered the empire of Mittani, absorbed its territory into their own, and subjugated the great cities of Carchemish and Ugarit, making them vassals,’ I said.

  ‘And that is what I find alarming,’ said Simut, removing his sandals and lowering his feet into a bowl of cool water with a sigh. ‘Because if a young, fairly primitive kingdom, with few resources, and no natural geographical advantages–not even a decent river to call its own–can destroy Mittani, and then seriously challenge Egypt itself for supremacy, what does that tell you about the way the future may turn out?’

  Nakht nodded, absorbed by these words.

  ‘Egypt can no longer live on past glories. We must set the terms of the present, in order to conquer and possess the future.’ He broke the seal on his official trunk, and opened the lid. ‘So let us focus on our task at hand. It will certainly make all the difference to the future,’ he said, very carefully producing from his bag the official diplomatic tablets from the Queen herself, wrapped in fine linen. ‘These are the keys to that future,’ he said. And then he broke the seal on another, heavier trunk. ‘And these are the gifts which will sweeten the marriage proposal,’ he said. Inside was a collection of magnificent gold objects–plates, goblets and statuettes. ‘All men love gold. And they will do anything to possess it.’

  He gazed at the objects, his face strangely lit.

  20

  That evening, as the sun was setting, casting long shadows everywhere, we were accompanied by the ambassador and twelve palace guards up through the densely built temple quarter, towards a stone viaduct spanning the rocky gorge that ran east to west between the Upper City and the royal citadel. As we crossed this, we paused to admire the panorama that spread before us to the south, east and west. The ambassador pointed out the sights.

  ‘There to your left is the sacred pool where our priests must wash before serving in the temples. As you can see, the temple city spreads south, with the great processionals leading away towards the Lion Gate in the south-west, the King’s Gate to the south-east, and the Sphinx Gate to the south.’


  I gazed beyond the walls and gate-towers that surrounded the city, to the landscape that stretched into the distance. A chilly breeze swept in from far across the high plateau and the forests, carrying scents of pine, thyme and rosemary, and the sounds of the far bells of many herds of goats, sheep and cattle being corralled in the last of the light. The sun’s low-angled rays picked out the details of the shacks of the town beyond the walls, and the dense orchards and woods that surrounded everything. I caught the bitter scent of woodsmoke drifting from domestic fires below, and winding upwards into the clear, pure air. Small birds, their tails fletched like arrows, dived and swooped over our heads, crying and wheeling in brilliantly choreographed flocks. And in the midst of this strange beauty, I felt a stab of memory–guilt at Khety’s murder, and guilt at the abandonment of my family, so far away. I thought of my wife taking all the responsibilities of the family, and sleeping alone, uncertain whether she would ever see me again. Can love communicate over great distance? I could only hope so.

  ‘The city gates are being closed for the night. The guards will bolt them now, and the officer of the gates will seal them personally. Night guards sleep in the gatehouses. The city is impregnable. And in the morning, sentries on the walls will scan the horizon. And only when they are satisfied that all is well will the gates be opened once more…’ said the ambassador.

  ‘So now we are locked inside the city of our great enemies!’ whispered Simut to me.

  ‘I know. We’re surrounded, and to be honest I am not sure what it is that prevents them from killing us all.’

  ‘We are here under the official protection of their King. That carries great weight,’ he replied.

  I kept my hand on my dagger, and remained close to Nakht. As we continued across the viaduct, I whispered to him: ‘What does Aziru look like?’

  ‘He is distinguished by his red hair. But if he is here in the city I don’t think he will be so careless as to show himself yet,’ he replied.

  We arrived at the gatehouse at the far end, set in high, thick stone walls, where a different set of royal guards waited for us, spears in hand. Their hair was long, and they wore striking tunics, decorated around the neck and the hems with repeating motifs in blue and red. Carved into the stone above the gate was a large double-headed eagle, its arrogant wings spread wide.

  ‘That’s the symbol of the Hittite army,’ said Simut quietly. I liked it far less than the brave, welcoming lions of the city’s gate.

  ‘And these are the notorious Golden Spearmen, the most elite palace guard,’ added Nakht. ‘Please keep your eyes open, gentlemen. It would be a pity for me to become the victim of an assassination, especially now, after we have come so far.’

  The interior of the palace was spectacularly lit by many torches that burned smokily. But a heavy gloom dominated. At the end of a long, high passageway, carved wooden doors were open; and through these we were ushered into a ceremonial hall, where a large crowd of Hittite nobles had gathered. They were all ostentatiously armed. As we entered, the roar of talk stopped, and all eyes turned on us. In silence, they watched Nakht as he worked his way slowly and respectfully along a line of waiting, hostile dignitaries, while Simut and I remained on either side of him as his loyal retinue. I glanced at the crowd, looking for a man with red hair.

  Nakht was invited to sit at a long wooden table, in a high-backed, carved wooden chair. The ambassador sat opposite, and around him the other chiefs ranged themselves: the Chief Steward, brother to the King, who preserved a haughty distance; then the Chief of the Royal Guards; the Chief of the Royal Table; the Chief of the Scribes; the Chief of the Bodyguards; and many others who were the elite of the Hittite world. At the head of the table on a dais was an imposing throne, but it was empty.

  ‘The Hittite King is not gracing us with his presence,’ I whispered to Simut.

  ‘No, nor any member of the royal family,’ he replied. ‘In any case, the atmosphere is not welcoming…’

  A hundred Hittite nobles and magnates stared at us coldly, in the flickering light of the torches. Nakht looked surrounded and outnumbered by the enemy at their dinner table; they were poised in silence, as if ready to pounce and eat him alive. But somehow he managed to seem calm, composed and unafraid.

  With a clap of his hands, the Chief Steward summoned the food for the banquet; servants entered from side doors, carrying platters of crudely roasted meats, breads, roasted vegetables and piles of richly coloured fruits. Instantly the atmosphere improved–I suppose the prospect of dinner improves the mood of even the most mortal of enemies. Behind each seated dignitary stood a food-taster, and suddenly I realized I would have to stand in as Nakht’s. I was starving, and the scents of the rich meats were wonderful. I sampled each dish quickly, my fear conflicting with my appetite. Once it was clear I–and all the other food-tasters–had survived, everyone set to feasting. Nakht began an earnest, awkward discussion with the Chief Steward, their heads nodding as they went through the rituals and motions of politeness. It seemed the banquet was going to plan.

  Until suddenly there was an unexpected blast from the trumpets, announcing the entrance of a dignitary who–judging from the aghast looks on the Hittite nobles’ faces–was clearly unexpected. A young man, richly attired, wearing an excess of gold chains around his neck, his long, straight black hair falling about his sharp features, entered. He was accompanied by a band of arrogant, noisy young nobles, who clearly scorned the older generation gathered in the great hall. At an urgent signal from the Chief Steward, everyone stood up, their chairs scraping on the flagstones, their heads bowed. The Prince, followed by his aggressive young companions, casually strode along the length of the banquet table, taking in the gathering and relishing the nobles’ discomfort. He reached the throne, stroked its arms, and leaned against it. But he did not sit in it. Instead, he nodded nonchalantly at his uncle, the Chief Steward at Hattusa, then at the Chief of the Bodyguards and the other chiefs. And finally he scrutinized Nakht, who had bowed his head respectfully. The hall was absolutely silent.

  ‘Remarkable. I return to find an Egyptian, the royal envoy of our great enemy no less, is dining at the high table of my father, the King. What on earth can he be doing here? Have the Egyptians conceded defeat? Have they come to beg for mercy?’ he said. His voice was ugly with sarcasm. His companions tittered. Hattusa mustered his dignity and bowed.

  ‘I present the Royal Envoy Nakht of Thebes, representing our Brother Ay, King of Egypt, to the Crown Prince Arnuwanda, son of the Sun of our Land.’

  Nakht bowed with great care, but the Crown Prince barely even nodded.

  ‘I was not aware of plans for your visit, Royal Envoy, otherwise I can assure you I would have insisted on being present to behold our enemy enter under the battlements of the city of my father.’

  Hattusa looked askance, and cleared his throat.

  ‘We were not aware of your presence in the city, sir. You were known to be away, at the wars, with your battalion. Otherwise, your royal presence would have been first in our thoughts.’

  The Crown Prince studied him, reaching out for a bunch of grapes, and began to stroll around, eating them slowly.

  ‘Welcome home, Ambassador. How did you fare in the famously treacherous court of the Egyptian King? And why have you invited this Egyptian to dinner? I would have preferred it if you had returned with his head only…’

  His friends laughed loudly. The ambassador glanced at the Chief Steward, in a silent plea for assistance.

  ‘The King himself has invited the Royal Envoy Nakht. There will be an audience tomorrow. No doubt he will insist upon your presence–now that you are known to be here,’ replied the Chief Steward.

  The Crown Prince seemed to respect his uncle’s authority. He nodded curtly, but continued to eat his grapes, one by one.

  ‘I will insist upon it myself. I am fascinated to hear the contents of the letters of the aged and infirm King Ay, who we hear is a very decrepit shadow of a man, fit only for his tomb.
Or perhaps the ambassador brings news that the Egyptian King is already dead, and so, in despair and weakness, the Royal Envoy has come to press for peace. Which we will never grant!’

  His companions cheered, and the crowd in the chamber set about laughing dutifully, as seemed necessary. In the silence that followed, Nakht had to respond.

  ‘Peace would be valuable to both our great empires,’ he replied carefully.

  But now some of the nobles were booing. The Crown Prince grasped his advantage.

  ‘Peace is a word spoken only by cowards, the vanquished and the weak! We are Hittites. We yearn for a war of such glory that it will bury all Egypt in its great calamity for thousands of years!’

  The young men, and others in the hall, shouted their agreement. Nakht seemed to be losing control of the situation.

  ‘Egypt has come to speak to our brother, the Sun, the King of the Hittites, whom we respect as our equal, in war and in peace. We have come to remind ourselves of our good relations. May all go well with him, and with us,’ he cried out, in the careful formulas of international diplomacy.

  The crowd laughed scornfully at this, and the Crown Prince made the most of it, turning to his audience, his eyebrows raised in scorn like a comic actor. Hattusa looked deeply embarrassed.

  ‘Good relations? Is it not wonderful to behold, nobles! Egypt has come crawling across the world to us! Indeed, may all go well with you, but you are no brother of ours,’ replied the Crown Prince in an ironic tone. ‘Until tomorrow, as a Hittite guest you shall be duly honoured. But as our enemy, know this: whatever golden words you pour into the ear of my father the King, the Hittites will never accept peace. We have conquered three empires in one generation. And we have hardly begun, for soon we will conquer Egypt, and your monuments will be as ruins, and all your carved names will be destroyed, and your glories will be dust. Your Gods will despair and abandon your temples and your lands, and we will trample you and smite you to death in your own palaces. So much for good relations!’