The Egyptian by Mika Waltari

Posted by admin_akashic on Mar 4th, 2022 in Stories

own permission merely because all his advisors were against it, and the townspeople made a huge outcry, threatening him if he dared to destroy their town. Without realising it, Roju’s action had caused the Syrian population in Gaza to rise in rebellion before they were organised enough and ready to rebel, since Aziru’s purpose was that the cities with an Egyptian garrison did not rebel before his troops and chariots had arrived to the front of the city. Thus Roju and his garrison could overpower the rebellion on their own without asking for help — which Akhenaten would not have sent anyway — and he put the rebellion down bloodily and caused such fear in the townspeople that no one dared to think about rising against him thereafter.

If a man was caught with a weapon in his hand and he surrendered pleading for mercy, Roju said, “Hit this man in the head with a club since he disobeys me by pleading for mercy.” If a man surrendered without pleading for mercy, Roju was greatly enraged and said, “Hit him in the head with a club, this stubborn rebel who dares to raise his nose before me.” If wives came to him with their children praying for the lives of their husbands and fathers, he let them all be killed without mercy, saying, “Kill this Syrian brood who does not realise that my will is above their will like heaven is above earth.” Thus no one could please him but he sensed insult and resistance in every word that was said to him. If he was warned of Pharaoh who did not allow bloodshed, he said, “In Gaza I am Pharaoh.” So terrible was his self-esteem, but I have to admit that he only said this after Aziru’s troops had laid siege to Gaza.

Aziru’s siege had been but child’s play compared with the Hittites’ ruthless and consistent siege. Day and night they had hurled fires in to the fortress and in to the houses; and they hurled in poisonous snakes in closed clay jars that broke when they hit the stones in Gaza; and they hurled carcasses and captured Egyptians with their catapults into Gaza so that they smashed against the walls. When we arrived, there were but few inhabitants alive in Gaza, and a few women and old men crept out to us from the cavities of their houses, shadow-like in their horrible emaciation. All the children had perished in Gaza, and all men had toiled and worn themselves to death under Roju’s whip, repairing the breaches in the walls. Not a single survivor showed any joy at the sight of Egypt’s army marching through the battered gateway, but the women

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shook their bony fists, and the old men cursed us. Horemheb had grain and beer distributed amongst them, and many died that night in agony since it was the first time for months that they had eaten their fill, and their starved stomachs could not handle it, so they died. I also think that they had endured such horror and powerless hate during the siege that life had little joy left to offer to them.

If I could, I would portray Gaza as I saw it on that day of victory when we marched in through the broken gates of Gaza. I would describe the dried human skins hanging from the walls and the blackened skulls pecked at by vultures. I would describe the horror of the burned-down houses and of the sooty bones of animals lying in the rubble-blocked alleys. I would describe the hideous stench of that beleaguered city — a stench of death and pestilence — that made Horemheb’s men hold their noses. All this I would describe to give some notion of that great hour of victory and to make plain why it was that I could not rejoice in my heart on this long-awaited day of the dreamed victory.

I would also describe the surviving soldiers of Roju the Stiff Old Sod, their thin sides and swollen knees and backs filled with whip wounds. I would describe their eyes that were not like human eyes any more but, in the shadows of the walls, had a green glow like those of beasts. They raised their spears in their powerless hands and shouted at Horemheb, “Hold Gaza, hold Gaza!” I don’t know if they shouted to mock him, of which there was no reason, or if they shouted because no other human thought was left in their poor skulls. Nevertheless, they were not in as bad shape as the townspeople but were able to eat and drink, and Horemheb had cattle slaughtered for their sake so that they could eat fresh meat and distributed them beer and wine which they had aplenty since his troops had plundered the Hittite camp and the besiegers’ storages. They did not wait for the meat to cook in the pots but tore raw meat with their bare hands and chewed it, getting drunk from their first sips of beer so that they started singing obscene songs and boasting about their deeds.

They indeed had a lot to boast about, and during the first days not one of Horemheb’s soldiers, not even any of his old dung snouts, wanted to compete in boasting with them — for everyone knew what an inhumane deed these fortress men had done by holding Gaza for Egypt.

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