The Thera Judgment
By
E.J. Kaye
2010
Egyptian Scarab
(The Louvre)
For Alexandra Elizabeth
Editor, Muse
Prologue
From a speech by Dr. Harry Simpson at the University of Chicago, December 3 2015..
…I’ve heard it said that archaeology really amounts to trying to use a bunch of puzzle pieces to assemble the picture on a puzzle box you don’t possess. In a life spent putting these pieces together, I’ve never been so fortunate to see the picture on the puzzle box.
In 2011, that opportunity was granted to me. It was the culmination of my own work, as well as the work of some gifted archaeologists across four continents. Good scholarship, timing and quite a bit of luck provided the opportunity to learn an amazing narrative that occurred almost 4,000 years ago.
In this book, you’ll see how the pieces fit together perfectly for a change. But first, a little background.
The Thera Eruption
The volcanic eruption of Thera, also known as Santorini, occurred sometime around 1600 B.C. The violence of the eruption completely destroyed the Minoan settlement of Akrotiri, though evidence from the site suggests that Akrotiri had been abandoned slightly before the great eruption. Apparently, a much milder eruption occurred before the major blast, and it convinced the inhabitants to leave the area.
The Volcanic Explosivity Index places the Thera eruption at about a 6 or 7, which means the amount of volcanic ash thrown in the atmosphere was up to four times more than the Krakatoa eruption of 1883. It is considered one of the largest volcanic eruptions in recorded history.
The explosion released a tsunami that devastated much of the eastern Mediterranean. Pyroclastic flows that travelled over the surface of the water annihilated settlements as far as 80 kilometers from Thera; the atmospheric affects of the blast were recorded by the Egyptian and Hittite civilizations. Crop failures, cold weather and many other related impacts are noted by contemporary observers as far away as China.
Puzzle Pieces
On April 8, 2011, I received a call on my cell phone. I was in Herakleion, the capital of the Greek island of Crete. I was resting there after spending a fortnight digging at Akrotiri as part of an archaeological team. The call came from the Turkish town of Bogazkale, which is located in northern Anatolia and near the site of the ancient Hittite imperial capital of Hattusas.
The speaker on the other end of the call was Dr. Josef Brunner, a researcher doing archaeological work for the German Archaeological Institute on the site of Hattusas. I had met Dr. Brunner informally a few times in the past, and participated in a peer review of one of his monographs on the Hittite Middle Kingdom. We often corresponded via e-mail on topics that touched on the relationship between Minoan and Mycenaean cultures and that of the Hittites.
Now, his work had led to another excavation point, which had brought some confusing results.
He had found a structure deeply buried that appeared to date from the Hittite Old Kingdom. Among the details Dr. Brunner related was a thin but noticeable layer of what appeared to be volcanic ash during his excavations. He felt that the ash layer corresponded roughly to the Thera Eruption but would require additional study by someone more versed in that field.
Most importantly, and the reason for his call, was the discovery of two sets of clay tablets. One set was written in a fairly early form of Hittite cuneiform, corresponding to the reign of Hattusilis I. The other was completely out of place: a large trove of tablets written in a script that Dr. Brunner recognized as Linear A.
Linear A is a writing script generally identified with Minoan Crete. Up until 2010, the writing had not been deciphered. Its successor, Linear B, had been translated by the Englishman Michael Ventris in 1952 and was an early written form of Greek. I was fortunate enough to break the Linear A code in 2010, finding it to be a variant of the Ugarit language commonly in use in the Levant during the early and middle Minoan period.
The period of time it took me was well over 25 years; I had reached so many dead ends and abiding discouragement that it seems miraculous to me that I actually became successful in accurately reading the script. The satisfaction of the accomplishment was the best part of it; beyond a small salary increase, additional grant money and a television interview with the BBC, the worldly rewards were not large.
A good thing about a higher level of notoriety was being the first person Dr. Brunner called when he discovered Linear A tablets essentially next to a set of similarly dated Hittite tablets. We agreed that it was too odd a circumstance to let pass. I resolved immediately to travel to Bogazkale and see the tablets, while Dr. Brunner began translation of the Hittite text.
Interesting Travel Reading
Flying to a remote Turkish location requires infinite patience along with a taste for adventure. Over three days, I flew from Herakleion to Nicosia, Cairo and eventually Ankara. A rented taxi drove me the final leg to Bogazkale in unseasonably frigid spring cold.
The time travelling was not wasted, fortunately. My new-found notoriety had increased my overall academic profile; proof of this existed in a continually growing stack of peer review requests piling up both in my small Herakleion apartment as well as my home in suburban Chicago. Before I left Crete, I shoved about three inches of material from the stack into my vintage British army rucksack to review on the way to Bogazkale.
I began the trip reading through and taking preliminary notes on a new study of the Anavyssos Kouros provenance and a monograph regarding the improvement of the original Ur ziggurat by Nabonidas of Babylon. On my extended layover in Cairo, I picked up a study on Egypt that ended up being the most important piece I read in transit.
A burial chamber had been unearthed in historic Thebes. It was that of an Egyptian official known as Najja Mshai, which means “Second Born Traveler”. Dr. Anwar Mahfouz’s translations of hieroglyphs in the tomb, as well as several perfectly preserved papyri, recounted a fascinating man who travelled to Akrotiri and Hattusas on economic missions for Pharaoh Inyotef VII.
What interested me particularly was Najja Mshai’s detailed recordings, mentioning Minoans and Hittites by name. It seemed clear that he had developed cordial relations, if not friendships, with his contacts abroad. Furthermore, Najja Mshai clearly recounts the after affects of the Thera eruption, mentioning darkened skies, and tremendous waves that battered Hyksos-controlled Lower Egypt.
This detailed story made for fascinating reading, and by the time my taxi pulled up in the center of the dusty little town of Bogazkale I was eager to see the site of Dr. Brunner’s findings at Hattusas. The fact that Dr. Mahfouz’s discovery in Egypt and Dr. Brunner’s observation of ash deposits meant that I might have the rare opportunity to see the impact of the Thera eruption from viewpoints that differed from those I had studied at sites such as the Minoan capital of Knossos.
An Electric Discovery
I met and had lunch with Dr. Brunner on the grounds of the dig at Hattusas. The city area measured about 2400 meters by 800 at the longest and widest point respectively. The city was built on a sloping hill; the ‘upper city’ was the original site during the Old Kingdom and much of it was built over by subsequent rulers.
Dr. Brunner’s excavation had been next to what the Germans termed “Haus am Hang” (“The House on the Slope”), a terraced 32x36 meter edifice that was apparently an administrative building. Hundreds of tablets had been found in the cellar of the building. As Dr. Brunner completed the excavation of one cellar, he had come across a similar but much smaller building next to the “Haus am Hang” Careful work had revealed a 10x20 meter two-story building; differing from the “Haus am Hang” it appeared to be a private residence. Unlike the mud-brick walls that made up both this house and the “Haus am Hang”, a chamber had been bored out of the living rock of the hillside. It was in here that Dr. Brunner found the tablets.
Over a sumptuous lunch of Adena Kebab on Pide flatbread, Dr. Brunner brought forth his notes on the Hittite tablets. They were an amazing find from his perspective, particularly in the fact that the tablets were a narrative record. His translation showed the writer, a man named Atpa Ud-Hand (“Atpa the Honest”), had not only witnessed the aftermath of the Thera eruption, but also had the opportunity to meet a survivor of it.
The man he referred to was named Pura Assiyant Aruna-Arha; the first name being a Minoan name and “Assiyant Aruna-Arha” translated roughly as “dear friend from a sea far away.” The tablets tell the story of Atpa’s interaction with Pura, and events that surrounded that interaction. He had only translated perhaps a quarter of the tablets, but through careful selection from among them, he was able to determine that the tablets were indeed the account of one complete narrative.
By the time Dr. Brunner had finished with this information, I was already settled well back in my chair, my demitasse of Turkish coffee spilt on the dusty Anatolian soil. In my recent work at Akrotiri, I had found commercial records that referenced a “Pura”; could it be the same man?
Dr. Brunner was optimistic. As we compared notes on Pura, we could see that he was an exporter of olive oil and timber with a large business. I noted to Dr. Brunner that my records of Pura indicated that his timber export to Egypt was particularly lucrative. Here, Dr. Brunner also noted that Atpa mentioned a thriving timber trade with Egypt through an economic mission headed by a man Atpa referred to as “Najja Mshai Assiyant Halugatalla (Najja Mshai, “Beloved Friend and Ambassador”).
The coincidences were piling up too fast for me as I gave Dr. Brunner a classic slack-jawed look. I pulled Dr. Mahfouz’s material on a similarly named Najja Mshai, and we soon felt that there was once again a strange but true connection between three civilizations more than 3600 years old.
I asked to see the Linear A tablets to which Dr. Brunner had referred. He provided me a wooden box with several well-packed tablets, relating that he had found both the Hittite and Linear A tablets carefully stacked in recesses bored out of the rock of the hillside. He noted that the Hittite tablets had been packed in order, which is why he was able to begin piecing the narrative together so swiftly.
Brunner was a gray-haired, fine-boned gentleman in his mid-sixties who affected a gray fatigue hat. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, paying testament to the sleep he had foregone while excitedly translating the Hittite texts. He smiled as I pointed the probable lack of sleep out as I pulled the first Linear A tablet from the box.
“It is your turn to not sleep now, I suspect” Brunner had said with a thick German accent. And he was right.
Translation and Publication
Accommodations in Bogazkale were minimal; I was fortunate to be granted a small room in the rental residence of Dr. Brunner. With a camp bed, a makeshift desk and a battered desk lamp, I began the cumbersome job of translating the first few tablets. I knew that I’d only be able to translate a sampling in Bogazkale; I would have to get impressions of the entire set and then translate them elsewhere.
What I found that night and the subsequent three days was a narrative that concurred with the discoveries of both Dr. Mahfouz and Dr. Brunner. Pura’s account seemed to span his livelihood before the Thera eruption, the circumstances that brought him within range of the catastrophic event itself, and his subsequent meetings with both Atpa and Najja Mshai. The fact that he turned up again in Hattusa was nothing short of a miraculous event which perhaps helps explain why this and the other two accounts were in a complex narrative form.
After a warm parting from Dr. Brunner, I returned to Akrotiri and Herakleion to continue the work of translation. I worked for months on the tablets, establishing contact with Dr. Mahfouz so we could compare notes on his Egyptian find and keeping up with Dr. Brunner as he finished translation of the Hittite text.
I completed the work early in 2012, and published “Linked Perspectives of the Thera Eruption of 1607 BCE” with Drs. Mahfouz and Brunner the following January. This book provided the Egyptian, Minoan and Hittite texts relating to the Thera eruption and aftermath, as well as complete scholarly notes. The fact that some material was missing or illegible, along with the stilted, formal writing styles extant in all three cultures, made for a laborious read for the non-scholar.
A Compelling Tale Deserves a Wider Audience
I confess that while I and my colleagues were pleased with the results, I felt a pang when I considered that this material was likely only to be read by those in our field. All the work I had translated or seen in other cultures indicated a narrative like this was a highly unusual circumstance. Certainly, stories were told in all of these cultures. However, they usually related to interactions with the gods, or described victorious military campaigns. To provide a narrative from all three cultures that describe such an event and how it affected the personal lives of all three men was completely unprecedented.
So I undertook the task of telling the story from the viewpoints of the original authors. In providing these narratives, I’ve decided to ‘flesh them out’; I’ve endeavored to fill in the gaps and adapt the wording to accepted English grammar standards and so forth.
However, note that what you read in the book ‘The Thera Judgment’ is essentially the story of three men: Pura Badar-Dia of Khania, Najja Mshai of Egypt and Atpa Ud-Hand of Hattusa….
Part 1
“In the Hands of the Wise,
Gold Exceeds the Sword in Conquest”
Minoan proverb
1.
Khania, Crete. Spring, 1608 BC
Pura jumped onto the Star of Khania from the stone pier. The ship’s master came forward and greeted him with a friendly wave.
“We are almost completely loaded, your honor” said the gap-toothed master. He was a squat man, with muscled arms and a mostly bald pate. Above and below the short, light kilt he exhibited a hairiness that explained his nickname, the ‘Sea Bear’.
Pura nodded and looked up at the slate-blue sky. To the west, a line of black indicated incoming heavy weather, a common spring occurrence.
“It is unfortunate that the Sea Mistress has not ordained favorable weather for the voyage” reflected Pura aloud. “Did the priest you hired make all the proper sacrifices?”
The Master scratched his head. “As far as I can tell, your honor. He seemed sincere, and the burnt offering was of high quality.”
“So it is” said Pura. “We must live with her decision.”
Pura was tall for a Minoan, long in arm and leg. His skin was smooth and bronzed, and his clothes reflected his status as among the most successful merchants in Khania. A white kilt with a striped design and gold belt-pulls were complemented by a green-hued scapular and high-laced leather sandals. Like almost all of his peers, he was clean-shaven with deep-set, piercing gray eyes and a broad nose.
He walked with the master past the stepped mast and descended into the narrow hold. There, he looked over the boxes of saffron spices, amphorae full of olive oil, and containers full of hand-crafted pottery carefully packed in straw.
The two men halted in front of a man sitting cross-legged on the floor. In his hand was a stylus and several soft clay tablets. In a shaft of sunlight that seeped into the hold, the scribe carefully cataloged the various items being shipped.
“What items are still to be loaded?” inquired Pura.
The scribe wrinkled his nose, squinting up at the master and the merchant. “Those two artisans you added to our roll are late in delivering the necklaces you ordered. I was told they would be delivered today; I’ve sent a runner to their studio to collect the material but he has not yet returned.”
“Can we substitute, your honor?” asked the master.
“No, unfortunately” said Pura with a rueful shrug. He ran his fingers through his thick, curly hair. “The Priest was specific about the design he favored. I’ve never seen a client actually draw it out for me the way that character did.”
“Can you have someone else complete it?” asked the master.
“Sorry, old Sea Bear. The priest used charcoal on bark. It barely made it here, and the only copy is with those two rascals on the Sunset side.” He ran his hand again through his hair. “They were the only ones who I thought could inlay the gold correctly and get the links right.”
As they turned to head back on deck, the runner sent by the scribe appeared. “Yes?” said the scribe.
The runner took off his small leather cap and crumpled it in his hands. “With respect, the artisans will deliver the items tomorrow. They said: ‘seeing how the Sea Mistress has ordained the weather, we will use the time granted us to ensure the highest quality in the goods we deliver’.”
The scribe looked from the runner with a face full of dismay. “I regret this, your honor.”
Pura laughed, while the master muttered. “It is a long journey to Pylos. If you hope to reach Akrotiri by the end of spring to meet your contacts, we will be hard-pressed.”
Pura tried to keep a look of concern from appearing in his face. “Rest easy, hairy one. We both know how the Mistress works in the spring; this weather will come through tonight and tomorrow we will sail.”
The master returned Pura’s smile when the reached the deck. “It is as you say, your honor. But I will ensure that the priest does a little more work before he earns his measures.”
Pura nodded. “See to it!”
*
At 35 years of age, Pura was at the summit of what could be expected of a rich Minoan merchant. His clients on the mainland of Greece were primarily based at Pylos, but he did some business in Myceneae as well. However, his most lucrative business was located at Akrotiri, a small island north and east of Crete.
At Akrotiri, he met other merchants from Anatolia and the Levant. He sold his stocks of saffron, pottery and jewelry to Hittite traders, weapons-grade bronze to Ugarit, and leather hides to Cyprus. In return, he carried goods such as copper, spices and weapons back for sale on Crete or mainland Greece. He had more than half of his stock shipped to a warehouse in Akrotiri that he had helped build with his own hands. That warehouse, managed by his cousin Asijaka, was the hub of Pura’s success.
As he leisurely walked the kilometer into the hills to reach his home, he reflected on his success. His father, also named Pura, had started the import-export business by chance. A fisherman from Pylos had been shipwrecked on the coast a few kilometers from Khania. Pura the Elder had taken in the stranger and nursed him back to health.
Then, he packed his small fishing smack full of saffron and jewelry crafted by an artisan cousin and made the trip to Pylos. His speculation was handsomely rewarded, and soon he had a thriving business carrying high-demand goods between Crete and the Greek mainland.
Upon his father’s death, Pura had expanded his business to include other mainland cities and Akrotiri. He particularly enjoyed the interaction with traders from foreign lands; he was able to speak with Ugarit merchants due to the similarity of their dialects, and he had also taken steps toward fluency in the Hittite tongue. An easy smile complimented his shrewd bargaining ability, which in turn made him a very rich man. His success furnished him with enough to pay his shipping costs, religious tithes and taxes and maintain an affluent lifestyle.
He had built a network of local Minoan artisans and growers who provided quality goods for export. He treated these partners well, and used his contacts to import items that were coveted by them. Two years ago, his business had improved to the extent that he added another ship, the Sacred Labrys to his assets. Larger than the Star of Khania, the Sacred Labrys brought Minoan goods directly to Akrotiri for sale to his foreign partners. It was due to leave for Akrotiri within the next two weeks.
He reached his home compound, greeted by a loincloth-clad footman at the wooden gate. Inside the courtyard, Pura removed his scapular and plunged his head into the small bubbling fountain surrounded by a patio of artistically laid stones. Two children came running out to meet him.
“Hello father!” said a smiling boy of eight years.
Pura ruffled his curly black hair. “Hello little Pura. Has my little bull had a fun day?”
“Oh yes father” said the boy. “I worked hard with the wrestling instructor, and he thinks I will be able to move up in class by summertime!”
The boy had the long arms and legs of his father, with an aggressiveness the elder lacked.
“Fine, my son. And you, Widina?”
Widina was also unusually tall. Slender and graceful at the age of fourteen, her marriage to the master of the Sacred Labrys had been arranged seven years ago. The union was scheduled for the end of the year, and she was excited at the prospect. “I am well father” she said, one hand twisting her elaborately coiffed long hair. “Kiko gave me this robe as a wedding present. Do you like it?”
Pura stood back and admired the robe. It extended to her waist with short sleeves, and was dyed a vibrant ochre color. It contrasted admirably with her white, flounced skirt.
“It is very pleasing, Babybird” pronounced Pura, using his pet name for the girl. “Kiko is very generous. I hope he saves his generosity for my daughter and not those slippery Ugarit traders” he said with a laugh.
“Father, you arranged this marriage” she said with an impish grin. “But he holds you in high respect – I’m sure he will be a suitable son-in-law.
Pura laughed and wrapped his arms around both children. A humorous voice rang through the courtyard.
“Your evening meal is ready, according to the cook. Aren’t you snails hungry?”
Pura looked across the courtyard to see his wife Sama at the door of the Great Hall. Slender like her daughter, her exotic red hair still had the power to fascinate Pura even after 15 years of marriage. Their marriage had been unusual; she had been betrothed to another merchant when she was eight years old, and the merchant 25. The man’s death at sea in a storm had terminated the marriage contract, and Sama was able to marry Pura, her playmate from childhood.
Energetically pious, she also possessed a sharp mind hidden beneath her coiled red hair. Through the building of his business, and she had been a valuable confidante of her husband. She wore a similar robe and skirt combination as Widina, though Sama’s was trimmed in the black that denoted her as a celebrant of the cult of the Mistress of Animals.
Suddenly, Pura could distinguish the smell of grilled lamb, onions, saffron rice and flatbread. “Let’s go, children!” He hoisted little Pura on his back and let Widina slip her arm through his as they walked into the Great Hall.
The Great Hall was the showpiece of the compound. Low benches were arranged in a “U” shape in the middle, where the food stood ready at a low table. Strewn with cushions, they served as comfortable couches for the diners to lounge upon.
The room was light and airy. Windows pierced the west wall, creating a cross-draft with the windows facing east into the compound. Giant murals were painted on the walls; to the west, a scene of women picking and arranging flowers under the eyes of the goddess of fertility; on the east, warriors fought with a giant octopus, its tentacles extending over the length of the wall while the warriors hewed at it with swords and axes. Over the doorway into the sleeping areas, scenes of couples walking hand-in-hand in both sun and moon-light spoke to the relaxing environs beyond.
Little Pura indicated the far wall that led to the cooking hearths. The scene there was of young men wrestling and exercising at the seashore. “That is me, father!” he beamed. “I will be the next great wrestler of the family!”
Sama handed the boy a wooden bowl filled with meat, rice and bread where he reclined on his couch. “You better eat well then – you will need your strength for such a feat!”
The elder Pura took a deep draught of the strong red wine from a clay flagon. He tried to turn his mind away from thoughts on the upcoming journey so that he might enjoy the time he had with his family.
It was at least four days from Khania to Pylos, where he could expect to stay a week to trade and pay courtesy calls, and then a further week of sea travel to reach Mycenae. These trips were not done as a single voyage; instead, the sailors stopped at islands along the way where they beached their craft and spent the night. Storms always posed a threat of delay or even disaster.
After a week in Mycenae similar to that of Pylos, it would be at least eight days of sailing, and possibly as much as ten before he could expect to reach Akrotiri. The prevailing winds were likely to be in his favor on that leg, but the possibility of hostile pirates lurking among the islands joined storms as a menacing threat. His luck had been good, neither terrible storms nor pirates had yet to molest him on a journey, but he was prepared for the eventuality that his luck would run out.
He usually stayed in Akrotiri for two to three weeks, after which he would start home for Khania. He would make stops at other Minoan towns on the north coast of Crete on the way; such a journey often lasted up to two weeks. Taken altogether, he could expect to be away at least two months. He would make two such trips during the sailing season, which would last approximately six months.
He sighed as he looked at his family eating and chatting merrily. He knew that Sama had tried to make these last few days as happy and normal as possible before he had to head out on his travels. He also knew that she worried about him on the sea – she was unaware that he had learned of her heavy attendance at ceremonies of intercession with the Sea Mistress.
He took another strong draught of wine from the flagon, and tried again to force himself to relax. Surprisingly, he succeeded. Joining the children in a new guessing game invented by Widina, he whiled away the hours until sleep nestled in the comfortable love of his family.
Nwt-Imn (Thebes), Egypt. First day of Spring 1608 BC
Najja Mshai rose from his sleeping mat, casting off the rough homespun blankets that kept the night chill at bay. He scratched his chest, yawning in the gloaming that suggested the coming sunrise.
He removed the cover of a large clay pitcher and poured water into identical earthenware bowls. Using one bowl, he drank a deep draught before using the remainder to clean his face and hair. He looked up at the highly polished silver mirror that hung on the wall and used a keen-edged obsidian razor to remove his beard. As he shaved, brown, almond-shaped eyes stared back at him, set deep in a narrow face with a small nose and thin lips.
He straightened and began girding himself with a linen loin cloth, trying to be soundless so as not to disturb the sleep of his wife snoring softly behind a curtain in the next room. Finished with his dressing and ablutions, he stopped to put a necklace of small bronze links over his head. He settled it on his brown-skinned chest and lifted the pendant, an elaborately worked gold key, up to glance at it. Smiling, he continued to hold the pendant in his right hand as he picked up the other bowl of water and headed outside to the balcony of his home.
He set the bowl on the ledge, and then prostrated himself as the sun broke the horizon to the east. “Welcome to your lands, eternal one. May your heat warm us, your saliva continue to flow so your children can prosper in the eternal valley, oh holy Ra” he chanted softly. He continued to chant for several minutes before straightening and returning inside, leaving the water to evaporate in the bowl. As he donned a loose white blouse and leather sandals, he could hear the stirrings of the other inhabitants of the mud-brick mansion.
Najja Mshai was beloved of Pharaoh. His mother had been a favored concubine of the sixth Inyotef, and the fact that he was born on an auspicious festival day (the festival of Ra) was a tremendous asset. Growing up in the company of other princes of the blood, his keen intelligence and ability to pick up ideas rapidly had marked him for high service to Pharaoh when he matured.
His first great opportunity upon reaching his majority was being attached to an embassy to the Lower Egyptian city of Avaris and King of the Hyksos, Apophis. Relations between the Hyksos, desert herdsman who had overrun Lower Egypt and proceeding to rule the last 150 years, and the indigenous Egyptians were always touchy. Pharaoh continued the policy of his predecessors by building up the army to eventually re-take all of Egypt while paying tribute to the Hyksos in return for autonomy.
The embassy had been a great success, easing the tribute amount to some extent and making it payable in either grain or gold, at the discretion of Inyotef. The mission was also successful in increasing trade between the two co-existing Egyptian monarchies as well as assuring access to the Mediterranean for Upper Egypt. Najja Mshai had been particularly recognized; his grasp of facts, rapidly developed ear for the Hyksos dialect and a strong sense of perception had made him a valuable member of the team.
He had followed his success with additional embassies to Avaris, and later, an exotic trip across the Sinai desert into the Levant. There, he had made connections to increase commerce between the Levant and Egypt, as well as being the first Egyptian in years to make contact with the Hittites of Anatolia.
Now, as he made to head down the stone stairs of his otherwise mud-brick mansion, he had only one more day here before he set off on his longest trip yet.
Najja Mshai was short, even for an Egyptian. At 26, he was also younger than most of his contemporaries. His household included seven surviving children, his first wife, and four concubines. His status as the chief trade ambassador of Upper Egypt conferred many honors and riches on him beyond the ability to support his family.
After dining with his children, he met with the architect building his tomb to ensure that the work was progressing. He expected the tomb to be completed before the winter solstice, and his shrewd questioning soon revealed that the work was behind schedule. He softly but sternly reprimanded the builder while giving him assurance that additional labor could be hired to get the project back on schedule.
His latest travels had been proposed by his Hittite contact. An island far north in the sea from Egypt cleared large numbers of goods that were of interest to Pharaoh. During Najja Mshai’s Levantine expedition, he had returned with fine pottery and skillfully made jewelry from a large island known as Crete in the northern sea. Pharaoh had used this material for gifts, both to Apophis in Avaris as well as to important members of the bureaucracy. They were so well received that Pharaoh had instructed Najja Mshai to become his ambassador and lead an embassy to find a steady source of these valuable materials.
More importantly, Najja Mshai had shared with Pharaoh the availability of good timber from this same area, at least according to his Hittite contact. Pharaoh’s interest in getting good wood was well known; hard to find close to the Nile, it was vital for ship-building as well as for framing material for Pharaoh’s aggressive building program.
Thus, as ambassador, he was given a royal writ to purchase as much timber as possible. He would go to this trading hub, Akrotiri, where the Hittites traded with several merchants. There, he would place orders for both the luxury goods and timber, with a view toward an additional voyage later on to bring the timber back to Egypt. Pharaoh, in conjunction with the Hyksos regime in Lower Egypt, had already made plans for ships to be available for the return voyage.
*
He bid farewell to his extended family, picked up his horse-hair fly whisk, and clambered into his sedan chair to be conveyed to the palace for a final consultation with his staff. It was another dusty day as he entered the main city of Thebes, but a stiff breeze from the north helped cool the ebony backs of Najja Mshai’s Nubian bearers. They moved swiftly down a broad boulevard flanked by low administrative buildings that soon gave way to a series of temples. A quick wave of his whisk beyond the folds of his sedan chair brought the conveyance to a smooth stop in front of the Hall of Stars. Helped from the chair, the Ambassador slowly ascended the low stone steps that led into the temple.
He was greeted by the hall’s deacon, an older man of middling height clad in a knee-length white kilt and a scapular decorated with astrological symbols. The deacon bowed very low, and then presented Najja Mshai with an ostrich feather and a vial of yellow powder. The Ambassador set down the whisk on a nearby table, bringing his hands together and bowing his head in a perfunctory fashion to the deacon as he accepted the two articles.
Preceded by the deacon, Najja Mshai entered the Hall of Stars. Eight gigantic stone pillars, four on each side, flanked a narrow hall. The roof was beautifully ornamented with constellations and a lunar calendar; the Ambassador never looked at this aspect without his breath catching momentarily in his throat. He felt dwarfed by the stars in both nature and in this magnificent hall.
The deacon led him to a low dais, where Najja Mshai knelt. He carefully smudged the yellow powder on his forehead. Placing the ostrich feather before him, he prostrated himself while the deacon chanted behind him:
Fair Hathor,
goddess of skies and mother of the stars
watch in your eternal vigil
one of Ra’s children, your children
on sea, on land
you see the traveler
and ensure strong steps back to the family
The deacon lit a small brazier, and a pleasing combination of burning and flowers filled the space with an exotic smell. The Ambassador raised his head, and then closed his eyes and resumed his prostrate position as another chant issued from the lips of the deacon:
Khonsu, oh sky wanderer
show your light across land and water
guide the footsteps of your master’s children
across the land, across the water
show yourself to them when they seek direction
lead them in straight ways
far and back
The deacon finished. Pulling an earthenware pitcher from behind a curtain, he filled a wooden bowl with water and brought it to Najja Mshai. The latter stood, brought his hands together with a slight nod. He dipped his hands in the bowl and proceeded to wash the yellow powder from his forehead. Nodding again to the deacon, he returned to the entryway, retrieved his fly whisk, and reentered the sedan chair to finish his morning journey.
Arriving at the palace, he disembarked from the sedan chair, bidding one of the bearers to wait patiently as he did not expect to be long. Two guards stood at the side entrance of the palace grounds, clad in scapulars and short kilts and wearing bronze khopesh swords. He presented the key around his neck, and was quickly waved through with respectful bows.
The Palace complex had many buildings that extended from the cliffs of the river valley all the way down to the stone docks on the Nile. The main royal building of Pharaoh Inyotef was midway between these two extremes. The Great Hall of the palace was easily seen, its walls extending more than ten meters high and thus the tallest structure in the city. It was only second in height to a series of stone stelae that surrounded the main palace. Off the Great Hall, additional buildings served as living quarters, a place for the harem, a commissary and other comforts for Pharaoh.
Najja Mshai strode confidently down the stone pathways that divided the campus of the palace complex. The pathways were edged in gravel, and alternated miniature stone stelae and trees ranging from sycamores to date palms. He passed a variety of men, including soldiers, priests and members of the bureaucracy, nodding solemnly as he went by.
Turning into a squat administrative building pierced by a line of windows at the crown, he met with the other embassy members in a conference room. A vase of corn flowers stood atop an exotic table of teakwood from Nubia around which the men gathered.
“So our time has come at last” said Najja Mshai. “All is prepared?”
Matsimela, the embassy’s operations chief, stood and bowed to the Ambassador. “Your Excellency, all is prepared.”
“To ensure we are all at an understanding, please review the plans of our journey.”
“With pleasure” said Matsimela, a squat straight-backed soldier with muscled arms and particularly evident smallpox scars on his face. He was a year older than the Ambassador. “We begin our journey tomorrow on the Satis IV with the other vessels, hoping to reach Memphis within ten days. From there, we move on to Avaris to present our compliments to Honored Apophis and the Hyksos court, a journey of another ten days and an official visit of another seven. From there we board the Hyksos ship and travel to Tahpahnes on the sea; it is another ten days.”
“Will we have time to rest?” asked Jibade, an artisan commissioned by Pharaoh to help evaluate foreign goods for import.
Matsimela shot a stern glance at Jibade. “We will have a few days of rest, and the Hyksos captain and crew will need to evaluate sailing conditions before we proceed.”
Jibade nodded while attempting to shrink into his chair. An older man, he was thin of arm and had a lame leg. He could not conceal his fear of the imposing soldier.
“Continue” said Najja Mshai in an even voice.
Matsimela resumed the plan. “From Tahpanhnes, we follow the coast, stopping at Ashkelon, Jaffa and Byblos, and from there to Cyprus.”
“How many days do you reckon for this part of the journey?” asked Akil, a shipwright.
Matsimela rubbed his hair. “I suspect it will be at least a month. Once we reach Cyprus, we sail directly to Bodrum on the coast of the Hittite kingdom and then to Akrotiri. All told, the journey is one of almost three months.”
The Ambassador frowned. “I hope no storms or other dangers affect the embassy. My Hittite contact stated that we must be there before the summer solstice if we hope to meet his best merchant.”
Matsimela nodded his head. “I believe we will make it with many days to spare, Your Excellency. All my calculations, as well as those of the Hyksos liaison, indicate that we have comfortable margins that take into account storms and local conditions.”
“I hope your liaison also ensures that the vessels needed to convey the goods back to the motherland are also so timely” said Najja Mshai dryly. “The Hittite promises that the goods will be ready before the change of seasons, and they will need to be transported to our warehouses on Cyprus before the weather deteriorates.
“It will be as you say” said the soldier in a reserved tone. “We have planned and re-planned for this embassy since the winter solstice. I am confident of success.”
“What of the goods we will bring to present to Apophis?” inquired the Ambassador.
Matsimela indicated Paki, a man tall for an Egyptian. His face was badly scarred from smallpox, and a limb was withered from polio. A minor priest of Ra, he had been put in charge of obtaining suitable gifts for the Hyksos king and for the other Levantine potentates.
“They are all prepared” said Paki in a deep basso voice. “I believe they will find favor with the king.”
Akil nodded with a lecherous grin. “I am particularly impressed with the Nubian slave girl you’ve procured. Her skin is as black as a storm cloud.”
Paki turned his disfigured countenance on the shipwright. “I have spent much time with her to ensure that she will be pleasing to the king” he said. “I am confident she will carry out her duties successfully.”
Najja Mshai looked up sharply at Paki. Something about the man disturbed him, but he could not deny that he had performed his duties well. “Very well Paki. I am pleased with your work.”
Paki nodded, bowing slightly. “Does Your Excellency have any further questions?” asked Matsimela.
“No, all appears satisfactory” said the Ambassador with a half-smile. He stood, and the other members of the embassy did likewise.
“This is a great day for Egypt!” he said. “Pharaoh’s confidence is in us, and as Ra loves his children, we will bring not only important goods to the motherland, but also show our strength and purposes to the other peoples of the world. Let us remember to carry ourselves as personal representatives of Pharaoh.”
He knocked on the table with a closed fist. “One thing that we must keep in mind during our trip to the north. Tensions are always present between Egyptians and the Hyksos. We’ve discussed this before, but I must reiterate that you are not to engage in any verbal jousting with our hosts in Avaris.” His face was displayed a determined look. “Even if you are directly insulted, you are to hold your tongue or face immediate retribution. This embassy must be a success, regardless of any nationalistic feelings you might harbor.”
He looked at the assembled members of the embassy. “Am I clear?”
He saw nods all around. Paki’s assent was less vigorous than that of his fellows; his scarred face was grim and eyes distant. Najja Mshai noted it for a later discussion.
He cleared his throat, raising his arms.
“May piety be your creed, vigilance be your watch-word, and duty be the desire of your heart. You are dismissed.”
As the members of the embassy drained out of the conference room, Najja Mshai strode to a window that looked out over the calm Nile. “So this is to be my share for now” he said to himself, gazing at the slowly flowing river. “May it lead me to greater deeds in the eye of Pharaoh.”
Hattusas, Capital of the Hittite Kingdom. Spring, 1608 BC
Atpa Ud-Hand stood close to the throne as the nobles filed into the official levy. As a member of the pankus, or relatives of the king, Atpa was entitled to appear at these monthly levies of King Hattusilas. A glance to the side of the hall revealed his son Manapas, dressed in a leather jerkin, speaking into the ear of Atis-Awari, the commander of the King’s bodyguard. Atpa felt a chill as the commander smiled at the words of Manapas. “This has to stop” he mumbled to himself.
The pillared hall was open at the far end, letting in the chill mountain breeze of the Anatolian plateau. The members of the pankus were garbed in wool robes and padded jackets while bare-armed guards in bronze-link byrnies stood guard around the hall.
“So when does your expedition leave?” asked Negna-Mehur, a priest of Ishtanu the sun god.
Atpa smiled weakly. “I am to meet the Egyptian delegation at Bodrum and then on to Akrotiri” he replied. Atpa was a thick-set, balding man with large dark eyes and a winning smile. “We look to depart by the next new moon.”
“What are the Egyptians like?” asked Negna-Mehur, a pudgy man with a long beard. “Do they really have tails?”
Atpi was about to curse the stupidity of anyone who said something so foolish, but fortunately remembered both the setting and the listener before replying. “No, learned one. The Egyptians are pretty much the same as us, though their skin tends to be darker.”
“No tails? My nephew will be disappointed. Like us, you say?”
“Oh yes. They wear cosmetics; my contact there says it helps to keep down the glare of the sun. You see, outside of the large river that runs through the land, it is essentially a flat desert.”
Negna-Mehur pondered this. “And what of the Minoans?”
Atpa smiled. “Very similar to us, in build and clothes.”
“How do you understand their speech?” asked the priest gravely. “I would think they all should speak the words as the gods gave them to us.”
Atpa again stopped himself. He was about to observe that the Egyptians and Minoans asked the same questions to the priests of their gods. “I seem to manage. I guess I’m just good at communicating with people.”
“That you are, friend Atpa, and the materials you bring back have enriched my shrine. I am grateful!”
Atpa reflected on the materials he had garnered on his last trip to Akrotiri. Finely made bronze jewelry inlaid in gold and lapis-lazuli. Beautiful amphorae now graced the King’s levy hall, a direct product of Minoan artisans. His own wool robe was woven by Minoan craftsmen in a striking style, with baggy sleeves and colored stripes at the shoulder.
Atpa’s skills at languages and negotiation had made him one of the most valuable members of the court of King Hattusilas. He was able to trade Hittite minerals such as gold and lapis to the Minoans, Egyptians and Levantines for crafted pieces, spices and minerals such as turquoise. The last embassy from the Egyptians had led to the acquisition of a company of Nubian bowmen in exchange for Hittite craftsmen able to produce sturdier chariot wheels. His success was the envy of many within the pankus; it always surprised Atpa to realize that he was probably the first Hittite to be highly valued that was not a warrior. His heart warmed, basking in the approbation of his peers.
But as he looked across the hall, the chill returned. Manapas was talking to the Master of Horse, Lulahhiyala Turiya. A battle-scarred veteran of numerous engagements, he was also listening intently to the whispers offered by Manapas. Atpa turned to the now-silent Negna-Mehur and bowed.
“I must greet my son” he said. “But before I go, please accept my humblest thanks for the blessed brassard with Tarhu’s imprint you have kindly provided for my upcoming travels. I believe it will keep me safe from bad weather during that time.”
Negna-Mehur bowed. “May Tarhu protect you on your travels.”
Atpa turned away, his sense of gratitude genuine. Tarhu had brought good weather on sea journeys in the past, and the Hittite merchant counted on that good fortune to continue.
He passed in front of the king, ensuring that his back was not showing. In the middle of the walkway, he paused and dipped his entire body from the knees while holding both hands together, palms up. The King acknowledged the salute with a nod, and Atpa continued over to his son.
“Manapas, I have obtained a skin of Byblos wine. I thought perhaps we might share a cup?”
At 38 years old, Atpa’s smaller stature was dwarfed by that of his son. 20 years old, he was the antithesis of his father. His tall, lean frame and shock of reddish-brown hair made him look every inch the warrior he was. Manapas’s face was scarred from a Hurrian arrow that had grazed it; he took every opportunity to show others his willingness for battle.
Manapas gave his father an appraising look. “Aren’t you enjoying the levy father? I would think you felt reassured by the presence of the King and your cronies.”
Atpa shrugged off the implied insult. His successful mercantile ventures had started a split within the pankus. While many appreciated the riches and peaceful relations that Atpa’s work had helped bring about, the warrior class chafed at the lack of opportunities to test their mettle in combat. After several years of bloody campaigns in the directions of the four winds, Hattusilas’s later years had been dedicated to consolidation of the new territories won. In the view of the new generation of warriors, fighting rebellious tribes was considered small beer next to the opportunity to cross swords with regional powers, whether they be in the Levant, the Aegean, or in Egypt.
“I just thought we could spend some time together” said Atpa, trying an easy smile. Since the death of his wife the previous summer, his relationship with the boy had grown more and more strained. Manapas had left on his first campaign, despite Atpa’s attempts to interest him in his trading and diplomatic duties. Battle had served to radicalize young Manapas; on his return he let slip his lack of appreciation for the rule of Hattusilas.
Now Atpa was worried. He had played down Manapas’ complaints as those of a warrior itching for battle. This was a revered trait among the pankus, and as long as Manapas kept his complaints within the warriors, no harm was likely to come. But today’s levy was not the first where Atpa had seen Manapas whispering to others within the pankus with military rank. Atpa worried that Manapas was planning a coup, an event that had already happened before in Hittite history.
He wished to himself that Manapas would be old enough for marriage, but the marriage contract he had arranged with the daughter of another highly-placed member of the pankus would be long in fruition. The bride, aged seven right now, would not be ready for marriage for at least five years.
Manapas agreed to return with his father to the family house. Located down the slope of the hill upon which was built the capital of Hattusa, the villa was roomy with wide balconies and large rooms.
They reclined on couches as servants brought the wine and cups. A bowl of pickled beets was put with the wine, and the two men drank and ate while conducting a desultory conversation. After finishing his second cup, Atpa turned on his side and looked directly at his son.
“My son, we must discuss your conduct. You whisper with both the commander of the King’s guard and the Master of Horse. You move through the pankus actively extolling the need for a ‘real’ war to prove the vitality of our race.” He ran his palm over his forehead in an attempt to keep his words from wounding his son. “Manapas, you must cease this. The King is very likely aware, and has no wish to become like one of his less-fortunate predecessors.”
Manapas sighed, dropping his cup on the floor. “Father, you do not understand. You are not a warrior. Our gods intend us to seek battle. We have enemies and potential enemies all about us. And instead of giving them the hammer of our armies, we give them wildflowers.”
Atpa leaned forward, a patient look on his face. “Living in peace allows us to save money for the real storms. Why look for a fight when we gain advantage through trading with the Minoans or the Egyptians? Their resources are greater than ours; were we to fight them, I cringe at the potential outcome.”
Manapas jumped to his feet. “I cannot listen to such talk. We are a warrior race. We seek out battle and win it. I’m unafraid of degenerate Egyptians or the little fishes of Minoans that swim the Aegean. The Levant should be ours, yet we allow their little trading activities to continue when they should be slaves to our success!” His face was red, and he breathed heavily.
“Calm down, son” said Atpa with a tired voice. “There is a time for war, and our King was vigorous in expanding the empire. Now, he wisely decides to consolidate, which means putting down rebels and securing the areas won through our effort. In the meantime, good relations with the Egyptians and Minoans helps us isolate the traders of the Levant. We grow our influence there, and eventually we will be in control.”
He motioned for Manapas to sit. “You are young, and a brave warrior. I am proud of you son. I just ask that you wait, gain experience. Plotting against the King, to which you swore an oath of allegiance, is sacrilege. And it can cost you your life.”
Manapas looked at his father. He didn’t respect the elder’s work; trading was a matter of grubbing after shekels that repulsed his warrior instinct. However, he could not deny that his father’s grasp of strategy was strong. “I cannot promise that my views will change, but I will try to be more patient father.”
“That is all I ask of you son. Have you heard whether you will be joining the northern expedition?”
Manapas turned red again. “I have not been selected.”
They both realized that the decision was affected by Manapas’ plotting. “This is just another reason why I do not believe in the King’s course of action. I’m not even allowed to fight!”
“Remember your promise to work on patience” said Atpa coolly.
Manapas smiled grimly. “When I push for action, I’m rebellious. When I stop, I get passed over. I can’t do this forever.” He turned on his heel and left the house.
Atpa looked after his son, then put his head down into his hands. “I must get him out of the capital before he gets himself killed.”
He spent many minutes in that position before making his decision: he would get his son attached to the Egypt-Akrotiri mission. “At least he’s out of the capital, and though he’ll be angry, one never knows when having a good warrior will pay off when travelling.”
The Island of Thera, Spring, 1608 BC
Under the island of Thera, a massive caldera, or crater, covered a magma chamber that led deep into the crust of the earth. The crater had filled with magma and exploded more than once in the thousands of years previous; the island’s creation was due to the explosions that deposited pumice by the cubic kilometer. Now, the middle of the caldera sprouted a cone; a conical blister that grew with the magma piling up in the reservoir deep beneath the earth’s crust.
Near the top of a low ridge on the southwest end of the island, a woman walked up a stony trail in the pre-dawn twilight. She was followed by an older man, a slave named Yishikata that had served the woman’s family for generations.
“Hurry Yish – I need to be in position before the sun breaks the horizon.” Her sandals scraped the sharp rock as she hurried upward, flanked by a few stunted pine trees and ferns.
“I will try harder, Mistress Ky, but remember that I am an old man” said Yishikata. Slung upon his back was a wooden frame with cloth stretched across it, while a leather bag dangled from a strap around his neck. His white hair fell to shoulders that had once been heavily muscled, and below his kilt his legs still showed that he had been a powerful man.
She looked back and smiled. “Yish, you are a fool. You will outlive us all.”
She reached the crest of the ridge, seated herself on a rock, and helped Yishikata to unpack their various supplies. She frantically mixed up various paints, a combination of crushed plants and rocks made thick with animal fat. The sun began to mount the eastern horizon, a blaze of red and yellow light that broke sharply along the edges of the island.
Ky-Jabokira was the daughter of Lord Arudara Badar-Sklavokambos, Governor of Akrotiri. Slim, with long curly hair, dark eyes and a bright smile, she was considered to be among the most beautiful woman on the island. But her beauty was even eclipsed by her artistic skills. Her work on pottery, cloth and murals was unequaled by any other artisan on the island. She now looked out toward the east and worked feverishly on her new creation.
The island of Thera was roughly circular; a lagoon of sorts in the middle with land around the edges. To her left, a small entrance into the lagoon allowed ships a safe haven from storms. Behind and below, the town of Akrotiri lay, terraced into the ridge with a harbor full of shipping. Ahead and slightly to the right, the harbor was dominated by a large island.
It was beyond the island that Ky looked, painting feverishly. Past the large island in the middle of the lagoon, a smaller cone-shaped island caught the morning sunlight. This was Ky’s seventh study of the small island over the last month; in each of the studies the island seemed to grow larger. She had dubbed the island pinetos, “mushroom” in her language. Growing out of the lagoon, it was now taller than any of the ridges of the encircling island of Thera and could be seen by sailors venturing into the harbor at Akrotiri.
Its growth fascinated her, but was of little interest to the other islanders. The harbor-master pointed out that the growing cone in the lagoon was a good navigational point for sailors. At a meeting of the guild of the merchants, more than one pointed out that the growth of the cone mirrored the growth in their trade. A fat merchant named Kouro had made the most imposing pronouncement “When the island stops growing taller, so will our trade begin to diminish.” He was convinced that the growth of the cone was a reflection of the favor of Ghaat, first among gods and creator of the world.
Others were not so sure. Small tremors occasionally shook the island, and steam sometimes issued from small vents in the cone’s surface. A group of adventurous young men had sailed out to the cone and climbed almost to the summit. It was a difficult, day-long climb over terrain totally devoid of vegetation. They returned with sandals virtually destroyed by the sharp rock, and they complained of the surface beneath their feet becoming almost too hot to tread upon.