Even during the heyday of the ziggurat, it must’ve been a daunting challenge to climb the staircase all the way up. I counted five hundred steps before the remoteness of the stairs made them too indistinct to count. And there were no handrails to aid in the ascent or arrest a fall or simply fend off the inevitable disequilibrium and lightheadedness.
But the best days of the ziggurat were far in the past. Many of the steps were broken. Entire sections of the staircase had collapsed. Several corners of the cubes had broken off. The surfaces of the cubes looked like the skin of a decomposing corpse: A few smooth patches, still shining in the sun; many more dull, greenish-gray expanses; and then, the predominant expanse of crumbling, pitted, pitiful, dun-colored dirt that had once been fired brick.
The large plaza around the tower, bisected by the promenade, was dotted with dusty piles of bricks, broken building blocks, crumbling beams, and the ordinary, wind-blown detritus of a once-great achievement of human vanity.
Along the boulevard and scattered among the piles of debris were the hovels of the priests, as well as vendors’ stalls offering newly-arrived pilgrims food, drink, sexual release, ready-made votive offerings, live poultry suitable for either consumption or sacrifice, counterfeit souvenirs, games of chance, and many other vehicles for separating the pilgrims from their assets.
We saw relatively few people about, however, perhaps because everyone had rushed to the Processional Way to witness our arrival or because the pilgrim business was in general decline.
“I don’t think we’re going to be climbing up there, Aniketos,” Hephaistion said, following his friend’s gaze. “It looks rather unsafe.”
“What happened?” Alexandros demanded to know.
Mazaios shrugged. “The Etemenanki is built mostly of fired brick. It requires constant maintenance. In fact, it’s been rebuilt many times. According to Babylonian legend, Marduk himself built the first ziggurat in this place to mark the center of the world, the axis around which the cosmos revolves.”
“Well, that can’t be right,” I interjected, possessed by some malicious daimon. “We all know the cosmos revolves around the Athenian agora.”
Alexandros laughed and the others followed his lead. Mazaios looked baffled.
“Anyway,” the once and future satrap continued, “a ziggurat has stood on this spot for millennia. The version you’re looking at now was rebuilt by the same Naboukhodonosor responsible for the Ishtar Gate and so many other temples and monuments in Babylon. He reigned for forty-three years and was fortunate to have lived long enough to see the renovation of the Etemenanki completed.
“In his day, all of the fired bricks on the surface of the tower were clad in copper. It must’ve been something, seeing this huge tower reaching for the sky, emitting vivid flashes of reflected sunlight. The staircase was built of stone and hundreds of people climbed it daily to the Old Temple of Marduk at the summit, bringing food and other offerings to the god. The temple was furnished with an extremely large couch and, according to the priests, each night the god himself would descend, consume all the food and drink left for him, sleep on his couch, and then ascend back to the heavens in the morning. The story must have been true because, when the next wave of pilgrims clambered up the staircase the following morning, the food and offerings were always gone.”
“Did anybody ever stay up there overnight, just to see what the god looked like?” Kleitos inquired.
“No, it is forbidden for anyone to stay in the temple after dark. The priests make sure everyone is gone before they themselves climb down for the night.”
“So why has the tower fallen into disrepair?” Seleukos asked.
“It’s a long story, sire. It starts with the fact that Naboukhodonosor, who was a great ruler, wasn’t fortunate in his successors. His son ruled for two years and was murdered by his brother-in-law who in turn ruled for four years before meeting his own untimely death. Six different rulers attempted to hold power during the twenty-two years following Naboukhodonosor’s death and not one of them died in bed.
“The dynasty of the Khaldaian kings was finally put out of its misery by our own Kyros the Elder, the real founder of the Achaimenid dynasty. He defeated the Babylonian army and took possession of Babylon for the Persian Empire.
“As it happened, Kyros was a great believer in propitiating all local deities. He spent lavishly on maintaining and repairing the Etemenanki. Some of his successors – without wishing to name any names – have been less faithful and less generous. Now, as we all know, they’ve paid the price.”
“Well, I’m going to see to it that the Etemenanki is rebuilt and made bigger and better than ever,” Alexandros promised and undoubtedly meant it. “Now, what’s next?”
*******
The woman looked to be perhaps forty, slightly fat, obviously well-to-do, judging by her attire. She also appeared to be homeless. She lay, sprawled on a soiled cloak, spread out on the bare pavement of the courtyard. Her long, embroidered chiton had ridden up her legs, exposing both thighs. Her body was surrounded by perfume bottles and containers of food and drink, sufficient for that day’s consumption, as well as containers of waste presumably excreted during the previous day. Her hair was disheveled, the gaze vacant. The scent of the perfume bottles waged a losing struggle against the other odors hovering above her supine body. I guessed she hadn’t bathed in several days.
She’d secured a prime spot, next to the walkway, just beyond the wall that separated the Etemenanki precinct from the courtyard of the “New” Temple of Marduk. (As with most things in Babylon, “new” was a relative term.) She was the first person we saw as we made our way along the walkway connecting the two sacred enclosures. When she saw us pass through the gap in the wall, her gaze focused momentarily on Alexandros, who was leading our group. She stretched an open palm toward him. Taking her for a beggar, he looked over his shoulder to Hephaistion, who promptly handed over a coin. “Here you are,” Alexandros said kindly and flipped the coin to her.
The coin never reached the woman’s palm. Even as the silver piece was arcing through the air, picking up speed as it went, and while the first glimmering of a smile started to light up her face, Mazaios, moving with amazing speed and agility, sprang forward and snatched the coin out of the air. “You don’t want to do that, your imperial highness.” He handed the coin back to Alexandros. “Just look around.”
Sitting next to the intended object of Alexandros’s generosity was another woman, younger, less opulently dressed, but also less fragrant, looking curiously at our group. Beyond her sat another young woman, this one clearly a farmer’s daughter, her tunic hiked indecently up to her hips, the deep bronze hue of her skin attesting to a lifetime of outdoor work.
As we took in the scene, we realized there were scores of women scattered throughout the outer courtyard of the temple, ranging in age from barely pubescent teenagers to mature matrons, some modestly covered up and others leaving nothing to the imagination. They all perked up when they grasped the full extent of our group.
“It’s not a problem, Mazaios. We have sufficient coins for all of them.”
“That’s not it, your majesty. By handing a coin to one of them, you would enter into a binding pledge from which it would be sacrilegious to back out. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to do that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s just keep moving. I’ll explain as we go along.”
We resumed our walk. “These women are here to fulfill a religious obligation,” Mazaios explained. “Every Babylonian woman must, once in her lifetime, come to the Temple of Marduk and demonstrate her submission to the god by copulating, within the inner sanctum of the temple, with the first man who pays her for the privilege. There used to be a huge, golden statue of Marduk inside and the act was supposed to be performed within his sight, but Xerxes carted off the effigy when he conquered Babylon, so now it’s sufficient for the couples to perform their devotions inside the naos, where the sculpture used to s
tand.
“The women must accept the first stranger who hands them a coin, regardless of who it is or how much he has paid. And the man, having made the payment, must follow through with the act on pain of divine retribution.”
“Must be a lot of pressure to get it up,” Kleitos observed in his usual trenchant fashion but this time we were all too shocked to laugh.
“It’s no joking matter,” Mazaios chastised him. “The women are supposed to stay here until someone pays them. The young and pretty ones show up at dawn and are on their way back to their husbands in time to make breakfast. But some of the older or uglier ones can stay here for days or weeks. There’ve been instances of husbands paying men to come to the temple and release their wives from their bondage but that sort of venality is frowned upon and may well incur Marduk’s wrath.”
“Maybe I’ll come back at dawn tomorrow and help one of these ladies out,” Kleitos offered, oblivious to the tenor of the conversation.
Alexandros turned on him and snapped sharply. “You’ll do no such thing. We don’t profane other people’s religious customs. Now, let’s get out of here.”
*******
Our tour ended at the palace grounds, where one more surprise awaited. As we rode, surrounded by a cordon of worried cavalrymen, through the teeming crowds of worshipful natives, we were heartened by the sight of the huge royal palace at the far end of the plaza. If only we could reach those massive walls protecting the palace, perhaps we could finally escape all this adulation and get some rest. The sun had already disappeared behind Babylon’s imposing skyline, daylight was beginning to fail, and we were all exhausted. Although Babylon had thrown open its gates, it felt as though we had fought every step of the way to the palace.
“Can we get through the palace gate?” Hephaistion asked Mazaios.
“Of course, sire. My men are on the other side, awaiting my signal. They’re keeping it barred to keep all these well-wishers from pouring in.”
“How many men?” Alexandros asked.
“Perhaps a thousand of my knights are in the inner courtyard, plus all the noblemen, courtiers, palace eunuchs, attendants, servants, and slaves. The entire palace staff awaits your arrival.”
Alexandros and Hephaistion exchanged a quick look. We didn’t have nearly enough cavalrymen to cope with a thousand knights, particularly knights occupying an easily defensible position behind massive walls and a narrow gateway.
Alexandros shook his head. “They wouldn’t dare. Not with most of my army already inside the city walls and Mazaios’s family in our custody.” He urged Boukephalas forward and the rest of us followed in a tight formation behind him.
The gate opened. A dozen men ran out, with their spears extended, and fanned out to keep the crowd at bay. In truth, the ordinary citizens packed into the palace grounds were far too overawed to move an inch. They were content to fall to their knees, bow their heads, and peer surreptitiously at their new rulers, led by the invincible King Alexandros, as we rode by.
The surprise was on the far side of the gate. The inner courtyard was filled with squadron after squadron of Mazaios’s knights, fully armored, but on foot. Their mounts were nowhere to be seen. As soon as Alexandros entered, a command rang out and they all fell to their knees as one, touched their foreheads to the ground, and remained motionless. Mazaios looked expectantly at Alexandros, who nodded slightly. Mazaios raised his arm, there was another shouted command, and the knights rose in unison, maintaining their orderly ranks. Then they pivoted smartly, opening a wide corridor in the middle for us to pass through.
“Not bad for a bunch of cavalrymen,” Seleukos observed.
“They’ve had a lot of practice surrendering, I guess,” Kleitos put in. “Maybe they should’ve spent more time learning how to fight.”
“Quiet!” Alexandros ordered. “They fought bravely,” he added quietly after a moment, “until Dareios fled the field.”
Beyond the dismounted phalanxes of Persian knights stood the Babylonian priests in their serried plagues. There were almost as many holy men as there were soldiers, all in spotless white robes, only the length of their beards and the design of their headgear differentiating sect from sect. They bowed their heads respectfully, regardless of the identity of the god whom they served. However, they also all remained defiantly on their feet.
All around the clutch of standing priests lay the entire palace staff, from the highest-ranking noblemen to the lowliest slaves, all prostrate on the ground and motionless. Alexandros was about to let them rise when he noticed the menagerie positioned on either side of the palace portico.
A dozen lions, several leopards, and a number of other exotic animals, all in their respective cages, awaited us. Pacing restlessly next to the cages were two elephants. In between the cages, strutting free as birds, roamed flocks of peacocks and a few ostriches. And then we noticed the wooden caskets, presumably containing untold treasure, sitting on the ground and guarded by a variety of pure-bred dogs and cats, all thankfully collared and leashed.
But Alexandros only had eyes for the elephants. He finally waved distractedly for everyone to rise as he rushed over to the enormous animals. “I’ve never seen one of these in the flesh,” he told Mazaios, “although I’ve certainly heard of them and I’ve seen them depicted on coins and carved in stone. Are they liable to charge?”
“Oh no, your majesty. Their mahouts have them under complete control. Plus, just in case, you’ll notice there are shackles and chains on their hind legs.
“All this and more is our welcome present from Babylon to you,” Mazaios added grandly.
It was completely dark before Alexandros could be persuaded to enter the palace and settle down to the lavish repast getting cold in the kitchens.
*******
Less than three weeks after our grand entrance into Babylon, the baggage train, the hostages, and the camp followers arrived from Tyros. Most of the consorts, courtesans, concubines, and close personal friends, who had assumed that their men would be starved for their companionship after months of enforced celibacy, were sorely disappointed. It turned out that, after a couple of short weeks in this cauldron of carnal concupiscence, the lascivious appetites of even the most libidinous of our men were fully sated.
There was no place in the world better suited to beguile, besot, and bewitch a bunch of victorious, virile parvenus than Babylon. They were the new masters of the world, strutting with confidence and laden with booty. Alas, under the veneer of hardened warriors, there lurked the naiveté of Macedonian farm boys. They were easy prey for the professional strumpets of Babylon, of whom the city boasted a generous supply. Nevertheless, the pros couldn’t keep up with the demand. Fortunately, their ranks were augmented by bevies of eager amateur volunteers, sent out by husbands looking to make a quick killing (mostly in the figurative sense) or simply wishing to ingratiate themselves with the new ruling class.
Among the most eager procurers were the palace courtiers and Persian aristocrats who unexpectedly found themselves stranded in an occupied capital. They competed with each other in presenting lavish entertainments, complete with food, wine, and the company of their own wives. Since they had many wives and concubines, they could afford to share them with abandon.
Unlike many of the new arrivals from Tyros, Barsine wasn’t one of the disappointed paramours. Alexandros attended many of the banquets, resplendent in Dareios’s downsized robes, ate and especially drank to excess, but he didn’t partake of the pudenda on offer. Somehow, he found the Persians’ mores, at least in this respect, offensive. He was therefore eager to visit Barsine as soon as she was settled in the familiar quarters of the Babylonian harem.
“Your son,” she said, in lieu of a greeting, when Alexandros entered her chamber. The tiny newborn, tightly swaddled in a soft woolen shawl, was peacefully asleep. “You can hold him, if you’d like.”
Alexandros reached out for the proffered bundle but then changed his mind. He had held many things in his hands before b
ut never a baby. “I don’t know how to hold him,” he confessed.
“Don’t worry, my liege. The only trick is to make sure to support his head.”
The baby started screaming as soon as it found itself in the crook of Alexandros’s arm. He hurriedly handed it back. “He’s got a good set of lungs on him,” he said, once the baby was safely back in its mother’s arms.
“He’s going to be a great warrior, my lord. I knew it, even before he popped out of my belly. He eats ravenously, is full of energy, and look at him – he’s prettier than Adonis. Takes after you.” She gave him a coquettish smile, which he missed, his attention focused on the baby. “If you’ll get a little closer, he’ll look right into your eyes.”
“But he’s so tiny. Shouldn’t he be bigger by now?”
“He’s only three weeks old, my love. He’s actually quite big for his age. Trust me, I know. I’m the one who had to give birth to him.”
“I forgot to ask. What’s his name?”
“He has no name yet, my liege. He’s your son; you get to name him.”
Alexandros thought for a while. “Let’s call him Herakles. He was one of my ancestors, you know.”
“Yes, you’ve told me. It’s a wonderful name. We should have a naming ceremony and ask the gods to make sure he grows up as great and powerful as his namesake.”
“We’ll certainly do that as soon as I can arrange it. Now, let’s put him back in his crib. It’s been a long time, you know.”
It turned out that, while Alexandros may have refrained from indulging his carnal desires at the banquets, all those salacious sights and sounds had stoked his lust well beyond the bursting point. Barsine, who was still healing from her delivery, had her hands full and, when that proved to be insufficient, did what it took to satisfy her man.
Conquest of Persia Page 21