The Causality of Time

by Jonnathan Strawthorne

  Talmido looked up, his eyes widening with shock and relief. His hands trembled with nerves of steel uncoiling and releasing a plethora of chemical actions and reactions to counter the stress that had been building up over the course of the last few hours.

  “Lieutenant, pull the men back. Regroup them for a final assault,” Talmido ordered.

  “Yes, sir. Right away,” the lieutenant replied.

  “Move those men over there. Pull the cavalry back to form up,” Talmido shouted.

  Messengers ran about delivering the orders, and soon the lines began to pull back and reform as Elamite shock troops plowed their way into the Babylonians’ left flank.

  The Elamite cavalry charged through the Babylonian ranks at will, dispersing the men and breaking down all form of discipline and momentum. The fresh troops savagely exacted justice on the Babylonians with no mercy or regret, remembering how their ancestors had been treated with such disdain and hatred over the centuries by that enemy.

  The Babylonian army units tried to turn toward this new attack; however, the Assyrian battle lines stopped them dead in their tracks. The front line faltered and shivered like an animal caught in a trap, knowing there was no way out. Their greed had overpowered their reason, and now their enemies’ trap was sprung with the finality of the decision.

  The men on the Babylonians’ left flank attempted to face the Elamite enemy to no avail, and subsequently tried to flee. The troops behind them were not at first aware of the devastation bearing down on them and impeded their own ability to turn. Thousands were cut down and trampled by their men and the enemy alike. Pandemonium began to display itself and infect the ranks. Men began to throw down their weapons to claw their way through the lines behind them, shouting for a retreat.

  The Assyrian cavalry located behind the Babylonian front lines turned its attention now to the men in reserve, who were trying to recuperate and return to carry on the fight. The cavalry slammed into these men, throwing them to the left and the right, breaking bones, severing heads, and trampling them to death. It was war at its finest. It was a sight to behold and be relished by any warrior, commander, or career soldier. The Babylonians were doomed to be destroyed. It would go down in history as a significant battle fought.

  The ballistics groups continued their barrage, all the while aiming for the heart of the front lines, mowing men down with such rapidity, shrinking their effectiveness, and allowing the Assyrian and Elamite phalanxes and columns of men to carry on with their work.

  Soon the Elamite soldiers were cutting their way across the Babylonian front line, massacring the men with such glee that they sang the songs of their ancestors—songs of justice, retribution, and revenge—while dealing death to these men. The Elamites were an accomplished fighting society. Cowards, they were not. They had forged an empire out of the diversity of their peoples and the rough justice of the land there.

  This fight was part of their overall plan to subjugate Babylonia and secure their trade routes to the west. By assisting the deserting Assyrians, the Elamites were helping themselves in expanding their empire economically, politically, and militarily. It would be one fight out of many to come, so now was the time of times to start and see it through to the end, Shutruk-Nahhunte, the king of Elam, reasoned.

  So, the Elamite army contingent was sent to assist these fleeing Assyrians and to secure land by the sea above Akkad for Elam. The whole Elamite army contingent of twenty-five thousand men moved as one against the Babylonians, crushing them against the Tigris River and sending thousands to a watery grave. The Babylonians were now in full retreat with no thought of rearguard action. It was every man for himself. Platoons and units tried to carry on the fight but were quickly subdued. By the evening, the fighting had stopped. The fleeing men were being hunted down and either killed or captured.

  As those events were taking place, Talmido and Si-tatious had moved off the dais and into the front lines to assist with the fighting. Now covered in blood and mud, the two men watched the Elamites finish the battle. Most of the Assyrian men had stopped fighting out of sheer exhaustion and were grateful for the arrival of the Elamite army.

  The din of battle gradually receded from the Assyrian front line. Eventually, the cavalry returned at a languid walk. The horses and men were utterly exhausted from the fight. With no energy left in them, the men sat down where they were to recuperate. Groups of ballistics men moved out to the battlefield to collect the wounded. They were seen running back and forth, gathering Assyrian and Babylonian men alike. Any distinction between soldiers did not occur as they knew who those soldiers mainly were. Perhaps, as before, they would have a change of heart and join the cause, if given a chance.

  Chapter 46

  The Day After

  The men slowly gathered themselves together and moved off the front line to settle down at their encampment. They washed up in the river and fell asleep as dead men. It was the next morning when orders came forward for them to begin the grisly task of battle reclamation. Nothing would go to waste.

  A grand tent of meeting was set up by the Elamites. Talmido and Si-tatious were requested to attend that evening. Shutruk-Nahhunte, the king of Elam, wanted to meet those men who would defy all logic, reason, and rule. He wanted to size them up, to determine if he had anything to worry about. He had personally attended the battle out of curiosity. It had been a long time since he had been to a fight, and he wanted his men to see him again as he once was: a mighty warrior king—a sovereign to be reckoned.

  Once noon arrived, Talmido and Si-tatious entered the tent of meeting and stood there, waiting for their patron king, Shutruk-Nahhunte. They were entirely indebted to that sovereign and needed to let him know of their gratitude and their serious attention to the agreements as laid out and generously given.

  They stood just within the shade of the tent, patiently waiting for this enigma of a man, wondering what would be in store for them. Trumpets and drums began to blare and beat out a sound for everyone to hear. The king came into view with his retinue of bodyguards, viziers, courtiers, and scribes in tow. He approached the tent and smiled with a broad, open face of respect for the men attending. They were men after his own heart, willing to take the fight to the enemy and willing to sacrifice it all for liberty. It was what his ancestors had done generations ago for his own people.

  The king regarded them with an eye of respect and careful attention to dignity, but also with a depth of inquisition. He wanted to know the souls of these men. Would they honor the agreements and support the Elamites in their endeavors? Alternatively, would they beg off once they had acquired or accomplished what they wanted?

  Shutruk-Nahhunte gestured for all to sit as he sat upon his throne. He looked over the meeting with a sense of completeness. It was to be a moment in history that his descendants would write about, so he thought carefully and chose his words with wisdom, aware the scribes there were writing down his every word.

  “We finally meet face to face—no emissaries or messengers to get in between us, Talmido, Si-tatious,” he said as he nodded toward them, acknowledging their existences. “What you men accomplished will be sung about for generations to come and written down for posterity. It is a great day not only for Elam, but also for you two and your people. It is a day for rejoicing and a day that will live on in the greatness of history. What do you have to say for yourselves? Come, let’s talk like men and not as titles.”

  Si-tatious looked at Talmido as he looked at Si-tatious. Talmido nodded his head and stepped forward. “My lord, your graciousness, generosity, trustworthiness, reasonableness, and justice are indisputable. It is you and your men who have saved us from certain death. We are in your debt. We are loyal servants to the might and will of Elam. We received your royal decrees and agreements. We will, the gods willing, honor all those decrees and agreements. We are friends of the Elamite people. We were small in number and are perhaps smaller now, but we are big in heart and ambition. We thank you as individuals and now thank
you as a free people within your scope of command.”

  “Yes, it has been a fascinating situation, hasn’t it? Scribes, write that from today forward, the Elamite people are to honor and respect the agreements between us now and forever. The people of the fleeing Assyrian group are freemen and entitled to all the rights associated with such freedom. No one is to encroach upon these rights—either written, spoken, or in action. Now that we have all the formalities out of the way, Talmido, Si-tatious, let us retire to a more private setting and discuss the future of our nations.” He winked and grinned with a devious smile of humor upon his lips.

  The private meeting lasted well into the night, with dancing and wine provided in copious amounts. Plans materialized with so much enthusiasm and laughter that the guards thought the king was in mortal danger only to find, upon entering his tent, the three of them bowled over laughing to the point of tears and fits of coughing.

  The king had a sense of humor not known to reside in such a regal stature and entertained his guests with tales of his exploits and the adventures of his forbearers, much to the delight of Talmido and Si-tatious. It was this perception, the king pointed out, that helped him to take all matters in stride—not to take them too seriously. It also helped him keep his balance as a man and a monarch. This balance ensured the stability of his reign and the success of the Elamite kingdom. Talmido and Si-tatious listened carefully to this wisdom, acknowledging its practicality and reasonableness. They took all his sayings into their hearts and minds.

  The next day, the Elamite army and the king moved out to return to the city of Susa. Twenty thousand Elamite soldiers were left behind to build a fortress and to assist Talmido’s men.

  They took their time in gathering up the spoils of war once all the dead were gathered and buried. Once again, everything was cataloged and stored for shipment to the land by the Sea above Akkad where a new city of hope and freedom would stand.

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  PART SIX

  A QUEST TO UNDERSTAND

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  Chapter 47

  The Harvest

  It started on a day like any other—a day that brought about the crowing of a rooster and cries of bread hawkers.

  A woman arose and washed with water from an iron pot that had been set outside the night before, wiping away the sleep and refreshing her tired eyes with a gentle caress of the water. She smiled at the iron pot expectantly, knowing that today was the day for the summer-harvest festival. Oh, it would be such a grand festival—all the food, wine, and young men. What more could a woman with youth and beauty want?

  The villagers from all around would be attending the festival with their sons who were looking for able-bodied and voluptuous wives to bear them their own sons to inherit family farms or businesses. She was no different from the dozens of other young women who wanted to marry a healthy, stable, and wealthy husband. Wanting to provide the progeny of generations that would bring either blessings or denunciations to a family name was a natural desire of them all, as it was with the previous generations that gave the lives and hearts of families and homes.

  She brushed her hair, contemplating who would be attending and which families might vie for her attention. Her father and mother had been in negotiations with some families throughout the area to wed her off; however, she was a strong-willed woman who did not want to settle for any man with a pocket full of gold. This stubbornness provided for many angry exchanges between her and her parents that divided them down a line of intergenerational paths that seemed to be irreconcilable.

  Humming to herself, she stared out her window, looking across the fields of wheat glistening in their golden richness. The wind blew through the stalks, creating ripples like those on the ocean that give off a hypnotic wave of calm and happiness. She smiled with a sense of pent-up anxiety and expectation while applying her makeup and putting on her best dress that amplified her figure and feminine grace.

  The annual harvest season started with the festival of the new moon since time immemorial. The heads of barley, weighed down with plump seeds, ripened to a blue gold, and beckoning to be plucked and milled into the multitudinous varieties of the bounty that only the mouth can discern and appreciate, waved at her as she slowly made her way down a cobblestone avenue toward the festival area.

  Singing an old song of the past to herself, she smiled to any onlooker with complete satisfaction, happiness, and calm.

  We who bear the children call out

  Do not make way for lies and doubt

  Of those young and old alike

  Do not forsake their love’s delight

  All men have a mother

  All women have a father

  Show your love and fear

  For both are needed and dear

  Life will throw its advantage

  Upon a table that is mismanaged

  Towards all those embroiled

  In greed and selfish despoil

  For a mother’s love and warm embrace

  Do not forget who birthed your grace

  No one can understand the love

  Of mothers that birth thereof

  It is a mother’s pride

  It is a father’s stride

  For children to remember

  Their parents in the days of ember

  We who bear the children whisper

  Do not hold your hands as a drifter

  Take your time and remember

  We who are your family member

  Upon arriving at the festival, she milled about, looking for her girlfriends and anticipating their collective enthusiasm and excitement. To her chagrin, tasks took hold of her, parted her from the ecstasy of the festival, and took her to the reality of the day. Chased down by the ghosts of days past, the women of old, she ran with earnest intent back to her home to gather the day’s bread, not knowing the time of seasons to befall her—not understanding the celestial times that would take hold of her and thrust her into a coming period of love lost and joy bereft.

  Stepping out of the house and into the day’s sunshine, she shielded her eyes, squinting into the street with an expectation that belied her disbelief of what she saw. Walking down the street with an air of ownership and sitting ramrod straight in the saddle of his most beloved friend was a man of determined stature. The wind blew the mane of his horse across its neck, announcing the arrival of something unknown—something that was sure to divulge fascinating passages of experience and knowledge. She held her breath, not wanting to break the moment, looking intently, and wondering who this could be. Upon catching his eye, she gasped with a sense of expectation, knowing he was not the typical suitor. His eyes looked but did not see. His gaze swept across her with a vision of blindness that told tales of sorrow and loss that belied his outward appearance of strength. Sucking in her breath yet again, she read his history as if the book for it stood before her in all its wonder and glory. That was the man of her dreams—the one that taunted her from the recesses of her mind, beckoning her on toward a future that only the gods could create and foretell.

  Since time was of no consequence, the man moved along its river of pools and cascades, not knowing which way to turn for the answers his mind cried for but never received. What was he? What was his purpose? The dust of the day coated his nostrils and the inside of his mouth, creating a thirst that only the cleanest, purest water could quench. Closing his eyes for a moment, he contemplated that town of normalcy, telling tales of harvests generations old. It could stymie the very core of man’s creativity and drive the mind to insanity and beyond. Where was he? What compelled him to come here? The horse seemed to know, stepping along with an intent that only an animal with a sense of direction could invoke.

  The sun was hot, causing sweat to drip down off his brow and onto his chin. Reaching up with his right hand, he wiped it away only to inadvertently lock his eyes onto pools of relaxed contemplation. Shadows of calm swept across him, tighten
ing his grip on the day and holding his attention to the reality of time. Focusing, he looked into those pools of blue, knowing in his heart that life had indeed come back. The dawn of hope had entered into his very existence, kicking back the door of despair and loneliness, opening up the possibilities of the unknown.

  He nodded his head toward her and carried on his way, looking for a stable for his horse and an inn to refresh his soul from the hard journey. A bath, a beer, and a bed were all he desired at that moment, not wanting anything that would create a future beyond his day-to-day vision. Turning left onto a cobblestone lane, the man and his horse searched for a stable and a tavern. After finding lodging for his horse, the man entered a smoke-filled bar, casting a long shadow across the tables and the men relaxing, playing dice, and drinking. Yes, he had come to the right place. Rooms were down the hall, and he got one for a tenth of a gold piece a night with hot water boiled to perfection for a long-awaited bath for sore muscles and tired eyes. The bath felt like heaven as he slowly entered the water, the warmth of the liquid seeping into every fiber of his being and drawing him ever closer to the sleep that had eluded him for so long now. A moan of complete ecstasy escaped his lips with a sigh of relief as he sank deeper into the water and allowed the heat to penetrate his every pore and cleanse his soul.

  He washed away the journey’s dust and filth to emerge with muscles rippling under taut, sunbaked skin. His shoulders flexed as he combed his long black hair, and his chest bulged with strength and desire. Many women had fallen for his chest, his arms that seemed like oak-tree branches, and his legs that were like the roots of a mustard tree, losing themselves in his musk of male complexity. His eyes flashed a greenish-gray blaze of clarity, peering deep into the recesses of anyone capable of withstanding the scrutiny. He was not a man to challenge. Journeys and histories melded together and intertwined to build a character of resolve, compassion, and a sense of longing that could not find resolution no matter what he did—a yearning for answers and to belong to something, to someone, or to somewhere.