17. Chapter Seventeen

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Author's Note: A friendly reminder: because this chapter was mistakenly released early and locked after being posted directly following Chapter 15, many readers skipped Chapter 16. Please go back and read it.

The King of Hittite and his Queen do not share a story of tragic romance; he is simply a lecherous man and a monarch. The current Hittite Queen is a woman of significant standing, evidenced by the fact that the King’s inner palace is impeccably purged of other women and that he has only one legitimate heir.

She exerts strict control over her only son, having raised girls from her native Hatti tribe by her side since childhood to ensure a virtuous and beautiful wife would be ready for him once he came of age. However, when Mira tearfully complained that the prince had been bewitched by that seductive enchantress from Egypt, the Queen looked at the weeping girl with deep resentment for her uselessness, while also feeling irritated that her son had defied his upbringing after just one trip abroad.

The Queen asked her attendant, “Is there any special news from the Prince’s quarters?”

The attendant, a trusted confidante named Sannet, was not as heavily relied upon as Mulla, who remained at the capital Hattusa, but she was nonetheless an exceptionally clever woman.

As if she had known the Queen would ask, Sannet had the intelligence ready: “The Prince has not been eating well these past few days. Whenever he has free time, he goes outside the city to drill his soldiers. The King has summoned him several times, and the Prince has been earnest and obedient, though he remains somewhat despondent due to the recent defeat.”

A sharp glint flashed in the Queen’s eyes. “It is not just because of the defeat. He seems to have an unusual interest in that strange dancer from the Nile. That enchantress is truly extraordinary.”

Sannet immediately knelt and moved to the Queen’s side. “I fear the Prince simply cannot swallow his pride. That dancer is the woman of the Egyptian King; aside from the Egyptian King, the Prince has never tasted defeat at the hands of anyone else.”

The Queen only hoped that Izmir would not trap himself in his own web and would regain his spirit. The Hittite kingdom would be his sooner or later; vengeance was merely a matter of time.

Sannet seemed to have more to say. Mira signaled her, and Sannet understood, adding, “Queen, since returning from Egypt, the Prince has brought back a female slave. She appears to be a mute.”

The Queen was furious upon hearing this. She slapped the arm of her chair, ready to stand, but changed her mind and smiled instead. “Sannet, go tell the Prince that I have come out in a hurry and did not bring enough staff. Tell him to lend me that slave.”

After Sannet left, the Queen claimed a headache and returned to her private chambers to rest. Mira smiled triumphantly; she would eliminate every woman around the Prince except herself.

Sannet’s mission went smoothly. In the eyes of such high-status individuals, a slave was merely an object. Since his mother requested her, Izmir readily agreed. Besides, Inanna was originally captured as a gift for Mitamun; now that Mitamun was gone, it made no difference whether she was given to his sister or his mother.

Inanna kept her head down, not daring to breathe loudly. Her status in the Prince’s palace was that of a low-ranking slave, though Kasi and the others were relatively polite to her, making life bearable. But to a mother, a woman near her son—even if that woman was recorded in the same ledger as horses and cattle—was a target of suspicion.

Still, the Queen was surprised when she saw Inanna. “How could Izmir capture someone like this? She looks a bit strange, but this isn’t a woman at all! Sannet, go check.”

Sannet was not gentle. She pinched Inanna’s chin, scrutinized her cheeks and eyebrows, and poked her waist to gauge her reaction before reporting back to the Queen: “Clear features, a firm waist. She is undoubtedly a virgin.”

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The other three women in the hall could not understand the Prince’s strategy. Since there had been no intimacy, why would he keep such an unremarkable, mysterious young girl to serve in the palace?

Sannet asked one more question: “Has her monthly cycle begun?”

Inanna shook her head. She suddenly realized why she had felt something was off—it had been nearly two months since she had crossed over, and her period had yet to visit. She felt fortunate not to have encountered that awkward problem during the most difficult days, but her chest was starting to develop and felt sore to the touch; although it hadn't happened yet, it was surely coming.

She vaguely recalled that because she had lost her parents young and lacked proper nutrition, she hadn't reached puberty until she was fifteen. Now, she had gained ten years of time, but the price was truly too high.

“I know Izmir; this slave likely has some exceptional quality,” the Queen said, still trusting her son. She waved her hand dismissively. “You may go.”

Mira would not let Inanna enjoy a comfortable life in the Queen’s palace, but she wasn’t foolish enough to be jealous of a girl who wasn’t even a woman. Thus, Inanna began a boring and idle life of scrubbing floors. Every morning and evening, she polished the Tawananna Path—a section of the palace floor paved with silver plates engraved with the Hittite royal emblem, the Sun Disk—until it shone brightly.

Whenever Inanna knelt there, digging sand out of the crevices of the silver plates with a cotton cloth, she wondered if prying one piece loose would be enough to fund her escape back to her homeland.

Later that day, the King of Hittite, wearing casual robes and reeking of sweat and mutton, strode across the silver path and entered the Queen’s chambers. He was certainly not there for marital affection; he wouldn’t have come at all if the Queen hadn’t sent for him.

As he passed the kneeling Inanna, the scent of post-coital musk wafting from his robes made Inanna feel nauseous for a long while. Dressed in such a state, it was clear that the marriage of this noble couple was in serious trouble.

Inanna had guessed correctly. The Queen, concerned for her son, had sent her trusted attendant Sannet to invite the King to discuss matters.

The Queen waited from midday until the sun began to set, while Sannet stood in the sun, watching the ornamental grape trellis in the courtyard shake violently. Because the royal family rarely visited this summer palace, the trellis was lush and overgrown. The King and his new concubine from Lydia were thrashing about within, and one could only catch glimpses of mottled, swaying shadows and hear cries of desire.

After a long while, the King emerged from the vines, his upper body bare and his tunic bunched at his waist. He contentedly patted his still-strong abdomen, took a towel from an attendant, wiped the sweat from his body, and said to the expressionless Sannet, “Let’s go.”

Though he said this, the King, his expression hidden behind a thick beard, cursed inwardly: everyone who came from his wife’s territory had the same dead-eyed look.

Sannet followed closely behind the King, though she did not forget to glance into the depths of the trellis, where a pile of pale flesh lay slumped on the stone bench like a lump of greasy tallow.

She did not even raise an eye. Behind her, a maid understood and went to instruct the physician to prepare medicine to prevent any future trouble. The Queen didn’t need to worry about such a lowly new concubine; within a month, upon returning to Hattusa, the King would naturally forget all about such a low-status woman.

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The King entered the Queen’s inner chamber. Though the woman was clearly impatient, she wore a compliant smile. But upon seeing her husband disheveled and marked with the remnants of his lust, a flicker of disgust passed through her cold, indifferent eyes.

The man naturally saw it but did not care. Ever since he had gone to the Hatti tribe twenty years ago to marry this noble and only princess, she had worn this same expression.

He casually sat in a chair, reached into his thin robe to scratch an itch, and asked indifferently, “What is it?”

Thinking of her son, the Queen held back her temper. “It is about Izmir.”

“Oh?” The King squinted at his wife. “Hasn’t Izmir always been under your tutelage? Since when do you ask for my opinion?”

The Queen’s expression was rarely this ugly. She was usually one to preach and assert her dominance. “Izmir’s first battle was a failure. I am very worried that after he returns to Hattusa, not only will he be unable to overcome this, but the Pankus Council will move to impeach him.”

The Hittites were an immigrant nomadic people from the Anatolian plateau who had founded their kingdom by conquering the indigenous tribes through their prowess on horseback. This empire was less a nation and more a confederation of military tribes.

Membership in the Pankus Council was restricted to privileged military figures, the King’s royal guard, high-ranking generals, and hereditary nobles. Holding decision-making power alongside them were the King and the Tawananna—the Queen, who represented the largest indigenous tribe and was a former Hatti princess.

“Impeach? How would they impeach him?” the King scoffed. “Izmir is my only son. If you want another, you should learn to stop making trouble and stop having people disturb me.”

The Queen gripped the armrest tightly, struggling to keep herself from leaping at the man to scream. “Huvalli, do not forget why I married you! Without me, how could you have gained the submission of the Hatti tribe, or the peerless, secret knowledge of iron smelting that my people possess? Only if Izmir is your heir can you continue to receive our support.”

King Huvalli laughed at his wife’s outburst. “Hattis, so you want Izmir to follow in my footsteps? To have a Hatti woman stuffed into his harem, for that woman to poison his concubines, and for the children born to die? I’d like to see if this child born from your womb would agree to you and your confidantes doing such a thing.”

Queen Hattis turned pale but refused to lower her head. “If you want me to watch as the low-born offspring of those base women threaten Izmir’s position, then I swear by the name of the Tawananna: that will never happen!”

What a foolish woman. She thought she could act as she pleased in the Hittite palace without his tacit approval? But the King was too lazy to argue the point.

Huvalli spoke matter-of-factly: “The laws of the late King Telipinu are carved on the walls of the Temple of the Goddess Arinna. Do you think they lack persuasive power? The Hittite throne must be inherited by the eldest legitimate son, and heirs may not kill one another, or they shall be hanged by the Pankus. Izmir is my only heir; what more do you have to worry about?”

Hattis sneered, “Zidanta was sentenced to exile, and he is still lingering in the Lebanon forests!”