Egypt (15 page)

The two guards exchanged glances.

I quickly slipped past them before they could say anything more. Once on solid ground, I jogged quickly away into the shadows. On the far side of the high mud-brick walls that surrounded the docks, I could hear the late-night noises of the boisterous taverns and brothels of the town. Lamps were still burning in a few of the ships' cabins up and down the wharves; night guards were stationed at the main–and only–entrance gate. Mosquitoes buzzed constantly in my ear. I slapped them away. Waving, and munching on my garlic, I loped silently over to the long, low storage depots, which cast strange shadows in the moonlight. Keeping within them, I moved from entry to entry–but they were all locked; the seal on each one was freshly made, bearing the marks of the owner. I hesitated, unwilling to leave traces of myself, but unable to control my curiosity.

The seal broke under my hands, I swiftly untied the cords and opened the doors. Inside all was dark and still. I could just make out mounds of materials, under protective sheets. These would be embargoed goods–gold, ivory, ebony or alabaster–which Egypt trades for the things it needs–silver, copper, cedar, lapis lazuli, unguents, horses and so on–from the northern lands. They would be awaiting recording, taxation and permissions before passing into or out of Egypt. I went quickly through the piles, but there was nothing but rough-hewn blocks of alabaster there. No sign of anything less legal.

Even if I worked all night, it would be impossible to search every warehouse. Away from the ship, the irritation in my limbs had calmed, but I felt reluctant to return at once. My mind was still buzzing, and I knew I would not sleep. So I continued down the wharf, away from the gatehouse. It was now so quiet I could hear the occasional catfish flopping in the river, and the far, brief cry of a hunted animal out on the marshes. I walked as far as the northern end of the docks, only to find my way blocked by a high wall. I could see no entrance gate, or doorway. I followed the course of the wall to the very edge of the dock, where it met the river. It then continued out on to the water, supported by wooden foundations set in the river mud. I looked around for something to stand on, so that I could see over the top of the wall. I found a large, empty storage jar, and with some effort managed to roll it into position next to the wall in relative silence. I climbed on top and found I could just reach the parapet with my fingertips. I was not as fit as I used to be, and I struggled to pull myself up, using my feet to push and scramble for support.

A pair of soldiers on watch were standing right below me. I saw a large open enclosure; here were more storehouses, all dark and shut, but in one there was an open door to what looked like offices and dormitories. A military ship was moored at the jetty. By the light of the moon, a small team of soldiers was unloading long boxes made of crude wooden planks, two men to each one. They looked like crude coffins. The soldiers carried no standards, and so I could not tell which division they belonged to. The two soldiers beneath me walked away along the dock, watching the process carefully. They seemed to be in charge. They had their backs to the moon, their faces were only shadows. When one of them turned to speak to the other, for a moment I caught a glimpse of his profile. But as he turned, I ducked down quickly, for he would have stared straight at me–and I would have been picked out clearly by the moonlight.

I walked back quickly to the ship, wondering exactly what I had seen on the far side of that wall.

I could not sleep for what remained of that night. The half-moon hung low in the sky like a white ship's hull in an ocean of stars. At last the air was fresh and cool. The incessant irritation of the mosquitoes had finally died away. Before dawn, our ship departed and sailed silently down the river, until Bubastis and its miseries disappeared behind us. I stood at the prow of the ship facing into the darkness, gazing at the glory of the late stars; and suddenly, inexplicably, my spirits lifted.

Everyone rose early. Just before dawn, Simut called me to a meeting in Nakht's cabin. As soon as I entered, I knew he had kept his promise and said nothing about our little adventure, for Nakht greeted me calmly. I nodded respectfully to Ambassador Hattusa. His two bodyguards stood behind him, as always, loyal as shadows.

‘The ambassador and I have concluded we will take the land route north, rather than the sea route along the coast. There are no ports or natural harbours to put in along the southerly stretches of the coast of Canaan; also, the danger of storms and tides, and of pirates, is too great to risk. The Way of Horus, however, is always busy, and we will not stand out among the merchants, caravans of goods and people, and military convoys. All along the route the way stations and Egyptian garrisons will provide us with security, accommodation and food each night,' said Nakht.

Simut and I nodded. It was much the best plan.

‘We need to accomplish this part of our journey as quickly as possible, so as to arrive in the port city of Ugarit in the Kingdom of Amurru within twenty days. As you will know, Ugarit is loyal to neither Egypt nor Hatti, so we must take great care. But we have a good contact in the city, a merchant of Egyptian birth, who will provide secure accommodation. The ambassador also has his own connections in the city, and will be accommodated by them. From Ugarit a ship will be commissioned to carry us to the south coast of Hatti. From there we will proceed overland towards the Hittite capital of Hattusa.'

The ambassador assented with a brief nod of his proud head, and took up where Nakht left off: ‘Security for Egyptian travellers becomes far less reliable in the far north, of course, but it is written in our laws that safety must be guaranteed by towns and districts to merchants, envoys and their entourages–on pain of punishment by law. However, we must also consider the other danger ahead of us: the chance of random attacks by bandits, who could rob us of the precious gold you carry as a royal gift for my lord, the Hittite King. I cannot be responsible for such eventualities,' he said.

‘My men have been trained to respond to them with force,' replied Simut.

‘And what of General Horemheb?' asked Hattusa. ‘I am well aware of the threat he poses as we travel through the regions of the wars.'

‘He is unaware of us,' replied Nakht quickly. ‘I have excellent, up to date intelligence.'

‘I hope your intelligence is reliable,' replied the ambassador. ‘It would be highly damaging if the letters from your Queen were to fall into the wrong hands.'

Nakht nodded.

‘Such an eventuality has been considered, and all possible precautions have been taken against it,' he said.

There followed a moment of tense silence.

‘You and your guards will be under my command when we enter Hittite territory,' said Hattusa imperiously.

Simut glanced at Nakht, who nodded discreetly.

‘Yes, my lord,' he replied. I could tell he wasn't happy about that.

It was still dark when we finally disembarked from the ship at Avaris, the easternmost town on the border of Egypt and the unknown. Once upon a time this had been a great port; but it had fallen into near-dereliction as the docks of Memphis grew in stature and importance. In recent years, however, Horemheb had made it once again a key port for the military, and for this reason we had avoided it for as long as possible, and would leave it immediately.

Even though it was not yet light, the place was alive with activity. The ruins of the old citadel had been turned into vast storage areas and warehouses. Teams of builders and labourers were already working in the cool, moonlit hours of late darkness on a vast new structure of offices and accommodation for the army. Battalions of infantry soldiers were housed in camps, and there were rows of stables for the horses of the elite chariotry. Caravans of merchants and goods from the north waited impatiently to board their ships home with relief and delight; while, travelling in the other direction, hundreds of other merchants on business outside Egypt were just beginning their great journeys. Everyone's breath plumed in the sweet, cold air. Men yawned widely, rubbed their hands together, and beat their arms against their sides to keep warm as they took refreshments of bread and beer, or bought final necessities at the stalls doing excellent trade all along the open square that marked the start of the Way of Horus. Everyone was taking advantage of these cold early hours, before the heat of the day made progress too uncomfortable. It was a strange sight to see so many carriages and wagons setting off in the moonlight, alongside a few lone riders–commercial, or perhaps military, messengers–on fresh horses setting off swiftly on their private business north.

Our team set off–Nakht, Simut and myself on horseback. Like any other affluent merchant, Ambassador Hattusa travelled in a shaded palanquin. Chariots carried our necessities, guarded by Simut's men, who jogged easily alongside as if they undertook such exertions every day, their shields over their shoulders, their weapons in their hands, like the other teams of commercial bodyguards. Quickly, the chaos and activity of Avaris disappeared behind us, and all around the green cultivation lay in shadows and vast silence. The stars soon began to fade and the sky was just beginning to change from black to blue when, suddenly, the cultivation all around us ended, and the desert began. As dawn broke, and Ra rose above the horizon, returning light and life to the world, I saw rolling into the distance the famous Way of Horus, its red earth trodden down into a hard, wide, reliable surface by the feet of the countless men and soldiers who had marched it since the long-ago days of the King Tuthmosis I. This was the moment of no return; from here onwards, we crossed the border of the Two Lands into the lands of the Levant. Despite the anxieties of the journey, we were all suddenly alert. Nakht waved his hand in the air, and with the assent of Ambassador Hattusa, we began the next stage of our journey on into the heart of the unknown.

‘What is in your satchel?' I asked Nakht, after we had ridden for some time. The sun had risen quickly on our right, and the cold of the night had vanished immediately from the air. It was already hot.

‘Important letters and documents,' he replied. ‘If anything goes wrong, I will destroy them before they can be seized.'

‘Can I see one?' I asked.

He showed me a small clay tablet, covered with tiny, incomprehensible angled marks.

‘What sort of documents are they?'

‘Diplomatic letters, and so on. But most importantly, the private letter from the Queen herself, addressed to Suppiluliuma, the King of the Hittites, remains securely locked in my trunk.'

He paused, and added confidentially, ‘I composed it myself, on her behalf…'

‘You write letters for the Queen of Egypt?'

He nodded, acknowledging my admiration.

‘In these strange marks?' I asked.

‘Those strange marks, as you call them, are Akkadian. It has been the lingua franca of the world for as long as anyone can recall. The Babylonians and the Assyrians both spoke it, variously. But now it is mostly a written language, used by high-level officials in international exchanges regarding politics and diplomacy between the Great Empires.'

‘Why isn't Egyptian used? Isn't it the greatest of the languages?' I said.

I knew Nakht would enjoy the chance to expostulate on this subject.

‘Egyptian is the most complex and subtle of all modern languages, but despite its obvious superiority, it would not be politic to impose it upon everyone, or indeed to have it become widely known outside the Two Lands. Akkadian is useful for a number of reasons. Firstly it means all diplomatic exchange has to be conducted in a mutually foreign tongue. The advantages of this are obvious–neutrality of expression, minimal ambivalence, equality of articulation, and an absence of confusing metaphor or hidden meaning. And the formality is recognized and understood everywhere. Kings, no matter how much they despise each other, are always “brothers”. The royal household is the “house”. Empires are big “families”, with the rivalries, jealousies and warm concord common to all ordinary families. Negotiations, treaties, marriage arrangements, exchange of gifts and services, are all managed in this apparently simple metaphor of familial relationship. And, of course, it is a guarantee of status: those lands and so-called kings who cannot communicate in Akkadian simply forfeit the right to join in the company of those who can. They are, literally, barbarians.'

I thought about that.

‘So I suppose it functions like a code, for you must be highly educated to be able to decipher it,' I suggested. ‘And without this old language, which no one speaks any more, there might be no stability, and no order in our international affairs?'

Nakht smiled.

‘Exactly so. Although I sometimes wonder whether language alone is powerful enough to vanquish Seth and his forces of disruption. But that is the dilemma of the world today. The enlightenment against the dark forces of chaos…'