Egypt (26 page)

As he said this he pointedly looked at the Queen. Nakht surveyed our battered state, and quickly intervened on our behalf.

‘I beg your pardon, my lord. My men were ignorant. But they are officers of the highest rank. Rahotep is known as the finest Seeker of Mysteries in all Egypt. His only motivation would be to apprehend the murderer. If you would permit, he may be able to help.'

The King looked me over briefly, then nodded. I wiped the blood from my face and took a better look at the decapitated head. The wound was accomplished with several powerful hacks from an axe–so I knew at once this was not the work of the Theban murderer. I reached out to Hattusa's mouth. There was a shout of outrage from the Crown Prince, but I continued regardless, while the King spoke to him sharply. The jawbones were locking together–he had been dead a little while already. I slowly prised them open enough to insert my fingers into the clammy, cold mouth. I drew out a little scrap of folded papyrus. Without even opening it, I offered it to Nakht, but the Chief Steward snatched it away. He opened it, then, puzzled, he showed it to the King. And I watched carefully as the Crown Prince took it from his father, glanced at it, and returned it to me with a look that told me precisely nothing.

The Hittite King began to shout at me, and Nakht translated quickly.

‘He wants to know how you knew this was there, and what it means,' he said. And from his look I knew he was also saying, ‘Please be extremely careful how you reply.'

‘I didn't know what I would find. I was merely checking the condition of the jaws because that gives an indication of the time of death—'

Nakht interrupted: ‘This is not an Egyptian star at all, as you can see. In our hieroglyph a star has five points surrounding a small circle of light. This has eight arrows around a black centre. Perhaps it is a Hittite sign?'

‘Of course it is not. This is all nonsense,' interrupted the Crown Prince. He shoved the papyrus aggressively at the Queen. ‘But perhaps you recognize this sign, my dear lady? Perhaps it is a Babylonian star. Your people are famous star-watchers, aren't they?'

The Queen glanced at the sign.

‘This is not a sign from the zodiac of my people,' she said clearly.

‘It is the sign of the Army of Chaos,' I said.

Everyone stared at me, astonished.

‘The ambassador has been murdered as a punishment for his association with Egypt and with our mission,' I continued. ‘I name Aziru as the suspect.'

The Crown Prince roared with fury, but Nakht followed up quickly: ‘Let us be clear. You have a murderer in this city, and he knows about our most private discussions. He is warning you, as well as us.'

The Chief Steward respectfully took the King aside, so that we could not hear the exchange that followed. The Crown Prince confronted Nakht and me.

‘You should leave now, before you, too, suffer the same fate,' he said, so only we could hear him. Then he turned to join his father and uncle.

The Queen stood in silence, gazing at the ambassador's head.

‘That sign. I have seen it. It is not Babylonian, but for us it represents Ishtar–the Queen of Love and War. But why is it here, like this?' she said quietly to Nakht and me.

Nakht shook his head, deeply alarmed. I was desperate to ask her more, for this was compelling new information about the meaning of the sign. But the King and the Crown Prince were openly arguing now. What was going on, underneath the surface of these events? The Crown Prince was feeling betrayed: his father had exiled his mother, and why would he forgive that? No matter how useful the political argument for the union with the Babylonians might be, blood is blood. But had the Crown Prince ordered this murder? Was he an agent in Hattusa's death? Or was Aziru acting on his own? It was hard to believe the Crown Prince knew nothing about the murder, for it served his purposes too well. Perhaps that was why he had been so cheerful during the festivities. I glanced at the Queen, who stood like a statue of melancholy among these angry, arguing Hittite men. I wondered how long she could really survive.

Suddenly the guards ran up, pushing two men, bowing in terror, into the presence of the King. I had seen them earlier; they were gatekeepers. They trembled like lambs before slaughter when they saw the head of Hattusa. The Chief Steward began to question them, and immediately they shook their heads, their hands raised to the God, protesting their innocence.

‘They claim all who came or went during the feast were permitted and authorized,' translated Nakht.

‘Ask them if they saw a man carrying anything–a box or a bag,' I said to him.

He translated quickly, but the gatekeepers only shook their heads.

‘Ask them if they saw a man, a Levantine, with red hair, about my height,' I said.

Once more they pleaded their innocence, when suddenly, without warning, the Crown Prince stepped forward and simply thrust his sword into the chest of one of the two men. The man looked aghast and slowly collapsed to his knees. The Crown Prince pulled out his sword. The man clutched uselessly at the torrent of blood, as if to plug a leaking vessel, and then keeled over. The Crown Prince wiped his blade on the dead man's clothes. The second man closed his eyes, and began gibbering and praying for mercy.

‘Each man must pay the penalty for failure to protect the King,' said the Crown Prince, preparing to kill again. But the King stepped forward, and with his own sword he executed the second man, who died with a grievous howl that silenced everyone present.

I awoke the next morning stiff and aching from the beating administered by the Crown Prince's guards. I was black and blue across my arms and legs, and a dark bruise shadowed my left cheek.

‘At least your teeth are still in your head,' quipped Simut as we made our way through the city streets towards the palace, accompanied by our own guards.

‘And your head on your shoulders,' added Nakht.

It seemed to me there was a new air of tension on the streets. Now the Hittites deliberately slighted us, turning their backs as we approached. And the Chief Steward, who was waiting for us inside the palace itself, looked deeply uneasy. Their internal security had been tightened for our visit; other than the Hittite palace guards, who surrounded us as soon as we entered, the place seemed deserted.

This time we did not have to wait for an audience with the King. We were immediately led through the dismal, deserted passageways, and swiftly ushered once more into the pillared hall. Once again, the Crown Prince looked pleased with himself, as if he knew something we didn't. I noticed Nakht warily absorbing this, too.

‘What is happening?' Nakht asked the Chief Steward quietly.

‘I'm afraid I have not been party to the latest discussions with the King. His son has been with him all morning,' he replied nervously.

Quickly the King entered the hall. He spoke rapidly, and the Chief Steward, translating, attempted to keep up.

‘We have considered the Great Queen's proposal, and find it to our liking. Let our two great empires be joined as one family by marriage. We will send our son to the Queen, in marriage, to sit upon the throne of Egypt with her. He will be King. The terms of his powers and necessities must be satisfactory. Do not disappoint us.'

He glared at Nakht, and at the Crown Prince himself. Nakht, pleased at this development, stepped forward to respond.

‘On behalf of the Queen of Egypt, may I offer our congratulations at this happy news. The Prince will be welcomed and honoured in Egypt as a son, and as King. I lay down my own life as bond for his safety, well-being and contentment. He will be able to call on me, at any time. I am his loyal servant.'

And he bowed respectfully to the Crown Prince.

But the Crown Prince smiled with a strange satisfaction, and slowly shook his head. Too late, Nakht realized he had fallen into a trap. A brief fanfare heralded the arrival of a new character. Absolute silence dominated the hall. And then, someone entered quietly, reluctantly, through the arched doorway to the royal apartments. All eyes fell upon this figure, whose nervousness and anxiety were painfully obvious.

His face was exquisite; his glossy hair fell around his shoulders in lustrous black waves. He held himself proudly and yet vulnerably, with little of the masculine confidence of his brother and father. He was nevertheless amazingly charismatic.

‘I am the Prince Zannanza,' he said.

The pillared hall was utterly silent. I watched as Nakht struggled to regain his footing. He had been comprehensively outwitted, for how could he bring back this delicate, gentle man to be the husband of the Queen, and to sit upon the throne of Egypt? It was as if the Hittites had played an enormous, disastrous joke upon us. But what could Nakht say? It was too late. So he bowed to Prince Zannanza.

‘The Royal Envoy Nakht presents himself. It will be my great honour to escort you to Egypt on behalf of the Queen, who bids me wish you well.'

Prince Zannanza returned the bow. He glanced at me with bright, intelligent and frightened eyes. Simut and I bowed carefully to him.

‘My son will leave for Egypt with you as soon as possible. We remember the urgency of the Queen's request,' said the King. ‘Furthermore we will negotiate the terms of a settlement regarding the disputed and troublesome territories that lie between our empires.'

To my surprise, the Crown Prince nodded with agreement at this. Only a few days previously, he had been utterly opposed to an armistice. Now he looked like the architect of this plan. Suddenly the King stood up, and approached Nakht directly, threateningly.

‘But hear my words. The Prince Zannanza is your responsibility. You must ensure his safe passage, and his security in Egypt. If any harm should befall him, at any time, know this: our anger will overflow, our wrath will be terrible, and the Hittite army will rise up and destroy Egypt. Tell this also to your Queen, for the life of my son is in her hands.'

Nakht bowed low, and the King departed as suddenly as he had arrived, taking Prince Zannanza with him. Once he had gone, the atmosphere shifted. The Crown Prince, surrounded by his uncle and other ministers, spoke with a new, and utterly untrustworthy, warmth. He was practically dancing with amusement.

‘We are
delighted
, Royal Envoy. Surely your mission to Hatti has been a
complete
success. Your Queen will have a marvellous new husband. Egypt will have a marvellous new King. My dear brother has many fine accomplishments. He dances beautifully. He adores music and poetry.'

And then the fake smile passed from his face, replaced by an exultant grin.

‘Who could have said such a day would come to pass, when ancient enemies are suddenly united in marriage? Who would have prophesied we would master the Egyptian throne so easily? We must celebrate my dear brother's great good fortune even as we deeply lament his leaving. Our loss, of course, is Egypt's gain. We are sure he will be the
perfect
husband to the Queen of Egypt. May their marriage be blessed with many fine, strong sons who will grow into warrior kings, who will be the fruit of this charming alliance, and the future of a great dynasty.'

He laughed out loud at the huge joke of it all.

‘There is peace between our empires,' said Nakht. ‘We are satisfied. But what of Aziru?'

The Chief Steward stepped forward, uncomfortably.

‘The necessary arrangements have been made,' he said.

‘What arrangements?' the Crown Prince asked, uncertainly.

‘Alas, little time remains to us to conclude our own arrangements for departure. I will leave your uncle to give you an account of our agreement regarding the troublemaker and tyrant Aziru,' said Nakht, taking the only revenge available to him. And so, having thrown his cat among the ducks, he chose to depart; and we bowed and left them to their arguments.

Back in our accommodation, Nakht stood very still, trying to come to terms with what had happened. He was holding a drinking bowl, and sipping the water. Suddenly, in a fit of fury, he dashed it against the wall. It shattered into shards. I was shocked; I had never before seen him succumb to such fury. He was always so controlled in his behaviour.

‘I am an imbecile. Why did I not foresee this?' he hissed.

‘If that delicate boy ever sires a warrior king, I will eat my own sandals,' said Simut unhelpfully.

‘It is a calculated and terrible insult,' said Nakht. ‘No wonder the Crown Prince was looking pleased with himself. I made a fatal mistake. I underestimated him.'

He began to pace, trying to think his way out of this catastrophe.

‘However, we have no choice. We must return home to Egypt with Prince Zannanza, and find a plausible way to present him to the court and the people,' he continued. ‘Egypt has suffered greater difficulties. Tutankhamun himself was no warrior king. Nor was his father. Perhaps a quiet, artistic, intellectual Hittite noble on the throne will actually be more acceptable, and indeed desirable, than a foolish, knuckle-brained warrior. Who is to say there will not be heirs? These things can be managed, arranged…'