by Brian Godawa
Enkidu could not shake his sadness.
Gilgamesh offered his forearm and said teasingly, “I cannot very well show up before the counsel with my left hand and not my Right Hand.”
Enkidu tried to smile. “Of course I will obey my king.” He grabbed forearms and they embraced.
Chapter 11
The Hall of Pillars was a common location for the meeting of the assembly of ruling elders of the city. The long hallway studded with massive pillars of strength and ornamented with brightly colored cone mosaics radiated a power and glory that gave the meetings a sense of divine majesty. Gilgamesh had turned it into a hall of feasting. Long tables were spread with fish and fowl, bread and beer, plums and pomegranates. Enkidu and Shamhat sat on Gilgamesh’s right and Ninsun on his left as they ate a hearty meal together. Dumuzi sat next to Ninsun and next to him was Sinleqiunninni. All around them were the seventy assembly members, convened for an important meeting, all wondering what Gilgamesh was up to this time.
But now was the time to feast, and Enkidu was feasting. In fact, he was eating so fast that he could not keep his plate stocked or his goblet full as the servants scurried around pouring wine and beer. He almost choked on some food and he washed it down with wine splashing down his greasy mug.
Shamhat was horrified. His animal like eating habits were the one thing that he seemed incapable of civilizing. Shamhat leaned in and whispered, “Enkidu, slow down. You are eating too fast.”
He knew she was right, but it still annoyed him. She was his wife after all, not his mother.
Gilgamesh had been watching Enkidu with amusement. He cracked a big smile, “Worry not, Enkidu. The fowl will not fly astray nor the fish swim away.”
Enkidu slowed down. He thought, Now I have two mothers.
Gilgamesh added, “I think you are so speedy, you need your own servant just to keep your plate from starving.”
Okay, thought Enkidu, he is more like a bratty brother than a mother.
“Forgive me,” smarted Enkidu, “I am just so used to having my food stolen from me by the king’s hunters.”
“Ha! Good one!” exclaimed Gilgamesh. “Speaking of which, I have much to query you on your life in the wild.”
“It is a topic, I rather prefer not to discuss, my lord,” said Enkidu.
Ninsun and Dumuzi leaned in, eavesdropping.
Suddenly, Enkidu raised one of his legs and let go a loud and gurgling fart. He continued to eat as if nothing had happened.
Ninsun and Dumuzi leaned back with wrinkled noses in disgust. Shamhat whispered harshly to him, “Enkidu!”
Gilgamesh laughed again, “I see Shamhat is not done discussing your wild habits and the etiquette of civilization.”
Shamhat apologized, “Sorry, my lord.”
Gilgamesh added, “Mother taught me well that slowed consumption decreases flatulence.”
Enkidu was peeved. He was munching a bite in his mouth, staring at Gilgamesh. He stopped his chewing, scrunched his face, and let another fart rip out like a lightning bolt. It was his bellicose response to being judged.
“Excuse me,” said Enkidu, with the most ironic contrast of sweet politeness he could muster.
And Gilgamesh loved it. The two of them broke out in uproarious laughter. Apparently, being the only ones to enjoy such a childish violation of civilized etiquette.
But Gilgamesh was crafty. He abruptly switched the topic back to his original inquiry. “Tell me, Enkidu, what was it like to run wild and free with the animals? I have often desired to know such liberty.”
“Being wild and free is not all it seems, my lord,” said Enkidu.
“Agh!” bellowed Gilgamesh. “We humans are constrained by such petty rules and social norms. I sometimes feel in a cage of tradition.”
Then perhaps you should eat faster, Enkidu thought, but instead of saying it, he countered, “I consider the rules of civilization to be good boundaries. They keep man from being an animal.”
“But an animal runs naked and free,” said Gilgamesh. “Animals experience everything with gusto, the hot sun on their backs, the freezing cold rain, a cool drink of water or a battle of fangs and claws.”
Enkidu would not bow. He knew the reality. “Animals freeze to death and die of dehydration in their simplicity. They gorge themselves and starve to death. They eat their own. They leave behind the weak as victims of predators. They lack meaning and purpose, and none of them understand the spiritual intimacy of marriage beyond raw sexual urge.”
Unfortunately, Gilgamesh could not understand that one either. But it did not keep him from pontificating, “Well, if we are more than animals, then what is the meaning? What is our purpose? To live, build cities, and die? How is that different from living in a herd, eating grass, and dying?”
“You are the king,” said Enkidu. “I would have hoped you had wisdom about such things.”
Ninsun’s opinion of Enkidu was changing. Despite his lack of pedigree, he seemed to have a good effect on her son.
“Ah, very good, Enkidu,” said Gilgamesh. “Indeed I should. And yet, I have been young and am now older and I have seen that all of life dies, human and animal, rich and poor, king and commoner. All alike die. All of life is striving after wind. All our days are numbered, Enkidu. So what is the point? Our lives are less than a breath in the eternal timeline of existence. Like a vapor, we exist and are gone. Everyone, both the wise and the fool, is soon forgotten.”
What Gilgamesh was speaking was on the order of what apkallu wisdom sages of old would ponder. But Enkidu was following well enough. And it resonated with him deep in his soul.
“Are you afraid of death, O king?” said Enkidu.
“Only the fool is not,” said Gilgamesh. “Death is the great equalizer. No man of any strength, cunning, or goodness has ever overcome it. It remains the only question of importance.”
Enkidu said, “Would the gods give answer? Are they not divine?”
Ninsun smiled with approval at Enkidu’s intuition.
“The gods are strangely silent,” said Gilgamesh. He turned to his mother, making note of her eavesdropping and said, “Present company excluded, Mother, the gods do not seem to show their faces much anymore. We have their images of wood and stone, to represent their dominion, but they seem to be more markers of their absence than their presence.”
Ninsun would not let her chance be missed. She spoke up, “Ever since the Deluge, the Annunaki gods who were not caught in the waters have chosen to rule from their cosmic mountain, Hermon, in the west. It is in the midst of the Great Cedar Forest that is guarded by a ferocious giant ten cubits tall or taller.”
Gilgamesh’s attention piqued. Enkidu’s countenance dropped and he became silent.
Ninsun finished, “The gods have not forgotten us, Gilgamesh. They are surely strategizing our future from on high.”
But Gilgamesh sat silently in thought.
Ninsun, Dumuzi, Enkidu, and Shamhat all watched him with curiosity, wondering what he would say.
Ninsun had no patience. “Son?”
Enkidu knew. “He is contemplating the mysteries of the cosmos.”
The feasting continued around them. The assemblymen ate, drank, gossiped and jockeyed for power in the Urukean political hierarchy.
Gilgamesh whispered to Enkidu, who suddenly stood up and announced to the crowd, “Ho, hurrah! Men of Uruk, listen! Assembly of the city draw near. Your king has a pronouncement that requires your approval!”
Everyone went silent. Their approval was of course mere formality. Gilgamesh always did what he wanted and then garnered whatever approval was required by the city charter to satisfy the citizens. It made them feel less ruled over than they actually were. Morale was important when the king wanted his subjects to keep from revolting.
Gilgamesh dropped his surprise. “Your king and his Right Hand will be going on a journey.”
Everyone looked at one another with curiosity.
Gilgamesh continued, “This will be a j
ourney of such importance as to bring everlasting fame upon Uruk and upon the name of her king.”
No one was ready for what came next.
“Enkidu and I will journey to Mount Hermon, the mountain of the gods and we will fight the giant who guards the Great Cedar Forest.”
Hushes and gasps went through the crowd. Ninsun’s face turned white in terror. Enkidu buried his face in his hands.
Gilgamesh continued, “With the approval of this assembly, we will kill this monster that all evil be banished from the land. And we will scout the Cedar Forest for timber to enhance my mighty palace to new greatness over all the land!”
Silence permeated the room. Eyes shifted back and forth, seeking to avoid the king’s attention, afraid to stand up to the king. Gilgamesh looked around for response.
“Well?” said Gilgamesh, “speak up. You are the assembly, not a brood of deaf mutes.”
Finally the mayor and head of the assembly rose to his feet. His name was Nashukh and he was so old he did not care if he was killed for the negative counsel he was about to give — even though everyone else was thinking the same. Nevertheless, sweat trickled down his forehead. His hands and his voice trembled.
“My lord and king,” Nashukh said, “you are young. Your spirit is restless. Your heart is carrying you away into foolishness.”
Voices mumbled with shock at the scandal of the old man’s words. It started a cacophony that was only stopped by Gilgamesh shaming them.
“Silence! You sound like schoolchildren. At least one of you has the guts to speak his mind. I admire you Nashukh. Now sit down.”
Nashukh obeyed.
Gilgamesh said, “Give me your blessing. I will embark on a distant journey and return a mightier king through the gates of Uruk. And I will do so in time for the New Year’s Festival.”
Again, he was rewarded with silence. Everything they had heard of the monster of the Great Cedar Forest forebode nothing but failure for Gilgamesh.
“Your hesitation is ill-informed,” said Gilgamesh. “Folk tales and legends always make these monsters much worse than they actually are. What say you?”
Suddenly, Enkidu blurted out, “Humbaba!”
All eyes turned to Enkidu.
“His name is Humbaba,” He repeated. “Humbaba the Terrible.” And everyone knew he was talking of the giant guardian. They all listened in rapt attention as Enkidu spoke with deadly seriousness.
“I have been to the Great Cedar Forest when I roamed the wild years ago. Humbaba is a mighty Rephaim giant. This is not a creature you want to face.”
Even Gilgamesh felt chills down his spine as he heard the ominous tone in Enkidu’s voice, a man he thought had no fear.
Enkidu continued, “The Great Cedar Forest extends for ten thousand leagues. Enlil has assigned Humbaba as a terror to any intruders. His roar is like a flood of many waters, his mouth breathes fire and death. He never sleeps and he can hear the rustling of a leaf one hundred leagues away.”
Okay, now he is exaggerating, thought Gilgamesh. Vestiges of his simple animal experience as a Wild Born. Gilgamesh knew the Forest extension was more like a hundred leagues, not an absurd ten thousand. No giant, not even a Rapha had hearing that acute. A hundred or more cubits maybe, but not a hundred leagues. And no creature could live without sleep. A god, maybe, but not a creature. All this was the stuff of legends, and legends are overthrown by real world Gibborim warriors like himself. Enkidu’s attempt to strike fear in Gilgamesh’s heart only served to embolden him to the challenge.
Enkidu continued his story with a hushed voice, as though telling a ghost story to impressionable children around a campfire. “His strength is unequalled, and he has occultic powers to paralyze his enemies at a distance. Every man’s battle with him is his last. The only creature more fearsome on land is the Bull of Heaven.”
The Bull of Heaven was a ferocious amphibious beast that dwelt mostly on land. The size of a temple, black as a raven, legends said it survived the Deluge because of its aquatic nature and bullish will of iron. Enkidu could only thank the gods Gilgamesh was not foolish enough to seek out that legend. Humbaba was mild in comparison. Which was not saying enough to encourage Enkidu. He had a feeling his fate was already sealed for this journey.
Gilgamesh broke the hypnotic spell cast by Enkidu’s story, “Men of Uruk, noble counselors of the assembly, who has immortality but the gods of heaven? As for humankind, our days are all numbered. All is chasing after wind. No one returns from the grave. Glory and fame alone can establish a name that will live forever.”
The assembly was silent with awe. A tear rolled down Ninsun’s cheek. She treasured her Gilgamesh with all her heart and feared to lose him to a foolhardy adventure. Gilgamesh looked at Enkidu with a sincere longing, and said, “Enkidu, what has become of your boldness and strength? You were born and raised in the wilderness. I have heard that you have killed a lioness with your bare hands that once escaped my own weapons of death.”
Enkidu looked up at Gilgamesh surprised. Shamhat and Dumuzi had told Gilgamesh the story of the lioness attack and he had figured out by the marks on the lioness’s face that it was the one who had faced him down earlier and might have killed him, had it not been for the accidental head injury.
Gilgamesh continued with his characteristic touch of sarcasm, “Well, if you are afraid, my Right Hand, you may trail behind me and call out to me, ’Go this way or that.’” He then turned back to the assembly and concluded, “I will vanquish Humbaba and cut down his Cedar. And should I fall, I will still establish my fame for eternity as Gilgamesh, the mighty Gibbor, who locked horns in battle with Humbaba the Terrible!”
The assembly broke into more murmurs. Sinleqiunninni gave his characteristic teacherly throat clearing and spoke up, “My, king, trees are not all that Humbaba guards.”
Gilgamesh waited with curiosity. But as the king’s scholar continued, he lost track of what was being said.
Sinleqiunninni said, “The Cedar Forest is actually two hundred leagues in extension, not ten thousand as Enkidu claimed with his hyperbole. It contains not merely cedars but juniper, cypress, acacia, myrtle and olive trees. And it surrounds Mount Hermon, which rises approximately five thousand, eight hundred and seventy one cubits high into the air and is part of the Sirion mountain range that extends for thirty one leagues in a northeast southwest direction.”
It was amazing. The king’s scholar could deaden any discussion by simply speaking. It was as if this man of knowledge made knowledge boring. It was worse than Enkidu’s flatulence.
Gilgamesh determined to keep the assembly focused before Sinleqiunninni distracted them to oblivion. “Well, what is the point, scholar? Is there a point here?”
Sinleqiunninni finally got to the point, “Mount Hermon is the home of the gods.”
“I would appreciate it if you do not rattle off the list of gods who reside there as we do not have all day,” said Gilgamesh. Sinleqiunninni sat down, quieted.
Enkidu said, “What will you do, O king, when the gods discover that you have killed their Guardian?”
“I do not know, Enkidu, but do you not desire to know why they hide away in their cosmic mountain with such timidity? This is more than an heroic adventure of killing a giant and establishing a name. This is a search for the gods in whose hands is eternal life.”
Enkidu said, “But you are already two thirds god.”
“And one third human,” added Gilgamesh. “So death still has its claim on me.”
Enkidu considered his words carefully. Gilgamesh continued, “You have transformed from an animal into a man. Would you not want to transform from a man into a god?”
“But is it for man to do so?” asked Enkidu.
“Join my side, Enkidu, and together we shall see,” said Gilgamesh.
There was no stopping him. Gilgamesh would answer each objection that Enkidu could come up with, and defy any technical fact the king’s scholar could muster until every defense was worn down. It was shee
r will power and Gilgamesh had more of it than everyone in the room combined.
Enkidu resigned himself to his fate, stood up and announced to the assembly, “Noble counselors, I know the route to the Great Cedar Forest, and I know the wiles of Humbaba. If you will grant your blessing, I will accompany King Gilgamesh on his journey for the greatness of Uruk and his good name.”
And so they received the blessing of the assembly who charged Gilgamesh not to trust his strength, but to trust his Right Hand to lead the way and his skill of fighting to make each blow hit its mark.
But such a mighty quest of mighty deeds would require mighty weapons of special handiwork.
Gilgamesh and Enkidu oversaw the forging of battle axes of three talents each. Men of normal human strength could not wield them. Their swords with gold hilts weighed two talents each, their girded kilts were fifty minas. A war net of two talents completed their battle gear that totaled ten talents each. Gilgamesh also brought along his magical animal skins that took away the fear that animals and predators had of man. But he told no one about his special talisman, not even Enkidu, his most trusted ally.
Then Gilgamesh and Enkidu went to the town square near the main gate. Gilgamesh blew his horn to gather the men of the city. He called for fifty warriors to join their journey to the Cedar Forest.
“But this quest is the most dangerous I have ever performed,” Gilgamesh told them. “So if you have a wife, return to your wife, and if you have children, return to your children. For I require warriors who have no family to suffer loss.”
Among the champions who volunteered were seven warriors of the same mother with special talents. The eldest had mighty hands like the paws of a lion that could tear a man in half. Another had a strong jaw whose bite was like the mouth of a cobra. A third had a sword made of flexible metal that operated like a whip and cut like a dragon serpent, rumored to have been handed down from a son of Noah himself. A fourth could spit fire like a dragon. A fifth could track anything with the taste of his serpentine tongue. A sixth had the mighty power in his fists and arms to batter mountains into rubble, and a seventh could call down lightning from heaven onto his adversaries.