I bade the guards bring a suet lamp and light it, for the acrid smoke of normal torches stung my eyes, making my nose run. They brought the suet lamp and lit it, and I took from them a jar of beer which they had hidden when I had come in — sucking it with straws in the dark to pass time, believing the guard supervisor would not mind since Horemheb was also holding a banquet that night. Aziru rose up, groaning and moaning, to a sitting posture, and I helped him put the beer straw to his mouth that he might suck up from the jar the Syrian beer, which is thick with barley grains and malt. While he was eagerly sucking beer, I watched him in the flickering light of the suet lamp: his hair was matted and grey, and his splendid beard had been torn when the Hittites had tortured him so that great patches of skin had come away with it from his skin. His fingers were crushed and his nails black with blood and his ribs broken so that he groaned as he breathed, and he spat beer and blood from his mouth after he had drank. When he had drunk and spat sufficiently, he gazed at the flame of the lamp and said:
“Ah, how merciful and bright is that light to my weary eyes, now that I have lain so long in darkness, but the flame flickers and will soon die, and so also does the life of man flicker and die. I thank you, Sinuhe, for the light and the beer, and I would willingly make you a gift in return, but you know well enough that I have no more presents to give, for my Hittite friends have in their greed even broken the very teeth you once gilded.”
It is easy for everyone to be wise in hindsight. Therefore I would not remind him that I had warned him against the Hittites, but I took his crushed hand in mine and held it in my hand, and he bowed his proud head between my hands and wept, so that his hot tears fell on my hands from his swollen and bruised eyes. Having wept, he said to me:
“I rejoiced and laughed before you, unashamed in the days of my glory and power, so why then in my sorrow should I be ashamed of my tears. But know, Sinuhe, that I do not weep for myself or for my riches and my lost crowns — although I have ever clung passionately to power and to the goods of this world — but I weep for my wife Keftiu, and I weep for my big, valiant son and I weep for my little, slight son, because they must also die tomorrow together with me.”
685
I said to him, “Aziru, King of Amurru, remember that all of Syria is but one rotting grave because of your lust for power. Numberless are those who have died for your sake, Aziru. Therefore it is only fair and right that you should die tomorrow since you have lost, and perhaps it is also right that your family should die with you. Know, however, that I begged Horemheb to spare the lives of your wife and sons and offered great gifts for them, but he would not consent. Horemheb would not consent for he means to wipe out your seed, your name and even your memory from Syria. Therefore he will not even concede you a grave, Aziru, and beasts will tear your corpse. You see, he does not wish the men of Syria to gather at your tomb in times to come and swear evil oaths in your name.”
At this, Aziru became greatly frightened, saying, “For the sake of my Baal, Sinuhe, make sacrifice of drink and meat before the Baal of Amurru when I am dead, for otherwise I shall be condemned to wander in perpetual hunger and in perpetual thirst through the dark land of the underworld. Do the same service also for Keftiu, whom you once loved, although because of your friendship you gave her to me, and do the same service also for my sons, that I may die with a quiet mind and without worrying for their sake. I do not blame Horemheb for his decision, for no doubt I would have treated him and his family thusly had he fallen into my hands. Truth to tell, Sinuhe, though I weep, yet I am glad that my family is to die with me and that our blood shall run together — for in the underworld I should forever suffer torment at the thought of someone embracing Keftiu on earth and touching her wonderful body. She has many admirers, and poets have written numerous poems in honour of her voluptuousness. It is also better that my sons die, for they were born Kings and wore their crowns already in the cradle. I would not have them become slaves of Egypt and suffer in slavery.”
He started again sucking at the beer and for all his misery grew a little tipsy and picked with pained fingers at the dirt and dung the soldiers had cast on him, saying, “Sinuhe, my friend, you accuse me falsely in saying that Syria is a rotting grave for my sake, since I am to blame only for losing the war and allowing the Hittites to deceive me. If I had won, all the evil that has come about would have been laid at Egypt’s door, and my name would be praised. But because I lost, the blame for all evil is cast upon me, and all of Syria curses my name.”
686
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