In the year 1070 BCE, during the XXIst dynasty, Egypt was no longer the conquering empire it had been under the reigns of Ramses II or Thutmose III. The country was divided between the power of the pharaohs in Tanis, in the Nile Delta, and that of the high priests of Amun, who ruled supreme in Thebes, in the south. It is in this context of political decline that the story of Wenamun, a simple official sent on a diplomatic mission to Phoenicia, begins. His goal: to obtain cedar wood for the temple of Amun. Cedar wood, prized for centuries for its strength and beauty, was essential for building the sacred barges that transported the gods in their sanctuaries. Thebes, the cradle of the cult of Amun, had to import this precious resource from Byblos, a prosperous city-state located on the Phoenician coast (in present-day Lebanon). But what was supposed to be a relatively simple mission turned into a true odyssey marked by storms, humiliations, and moments of despair.
As he left Thebes, Wenamun boarded a modest-sized ship, probably a felucca or a transport boat equipped with oars and a large triangular sail. Loaded with gifts and official letters, he sailed down the Nile to the Mediterranean Sea. The summer winds blew strong, favorable for a quick crossing but also unpredictable. As he hugged the coast of the Levant, a storm broke out. The sea, usually peaceful under the bright sun, turned into a chaotic turmoil. Waves rose like liquid mountains, striking the ship's hull. The sailors shouted to adjust the sails, but the wind carried them away. Under a black sky torn by lightning, Wenamun, clinging to a mast, felt for the first time the true danger of this mission. Each creak of the wood beneath his feet seemed to herald the end. After an endless night, the storm finally subsided, leaving the boat and its passengers exhausted but alive.
Dor, a coastal city of Canaan, was a strategic stop on the way to Byblos. But for Wenamun, it quickly became synonymous with misadventure. No sooner had he arrived than he discovered that one of his sailors had fled, taking with him part of the treasure intended to buy the cedar wood. Desperate, Wenamun sought the help of the local prince, Beder, hoping he could recover the stolen goods. However, relations between Egypt and the Canaanite cities were no longer what they used to be. Once vassals of the Egyptian empire, these cities had emancipated themselves, and their rulers had no obligation to respond to the requests of a foreign official. Wenamun was left alone, humiliated, and without resources to continue his mission. The hot sand of Dor, burning his tired feet, contrasted with the icy indifference of the local authorities.
After additional days of sailing, Wenamun finally reached Byblos, the ultimate destination of his mission. The city appeared on the horizon, bordered by hills covered with cedar forests. The massive trunks of these majestic trees, straight as columns, seemed to touch the sky. Byblos was a bustling port, where Phoenician, Cypriot, and perhaps even Mycenaean merchants crossed paths. The docks were teeming with life: goods were piled in an organized chaos, fishermen unloaded their nets, and the air was saturated with the smell of fish, tar, and spices. But the city's vibrancy did not mask the cold reception reserved for the Egyptian envoy. For several days, Wenamun was left outside the palace of King Zakar-Baal, forced to wait for an audience. The Phoenician sun was relentless, and each day of waiting was an additional humiliation. In Egypt, diplomats were received with all honors; here, he was just a man among others, lost in a city that no longer respected the past greatness of his country. When he was finally received, the king of Byblos did not hide his contempt. Aware of Egypt's weakened position, he demanded disproportionate compensation for the cedar trunks. Wenamun found himself cornered: if he refused, his mission would fail; if he accepted, he risked not being able to return home with the necessary resources.
Faced with this impasse, Wenamun turned to his faith. One night, he went to a secluded beach, facing the calm sea, and implored Amun, the god of Thebes, to guide him. He raised his arms to the stars, seeking a sign in the vast black sky. Suddenly, a shooting star streaked across the celestial vault, leaving a luminous trail behind it. For Wenamun, it was a divine response. The next day, he returned to the palace, determined to conclude the negotiations.
It was then that an unexpected event occurred. A Cypriot ship docked at Byblos, carrying a prince of Cyprus. Curious about Wenamun's affairs, the latter decided to intervene. Perhaps he saw in this alliance a political opportunity; perhaps he was simply moved by the diplomat's plight. Whatever the case, the Cypriot prince convinced Zakar-Baal to deliver the wood to Wenamun, ending weeks of tension.
As he supervised the loading of the precious cedar trunks, a new problem arose. Representatives from other ports appeared in Byblos, accusing Wenamun of not settling his debts during his previous stopovers. The wood was seized, and the envoy found himself once again on the brink of failure. But thanks to the support of the Cypriot prince, he managed to escape his accusers and set sail with his precious cargo.
The return to Egypt was tinged with bitterness. Wenamun, marked by his ordeals, understood that his country had lost its former aura. In Thebes, he delivered the wood to the temple of Amun, but his tale was that of a broken man, a diplomat confronted with a world where Egypt now had to beg for what it once imposed by force.
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