“You … will … see ... Geno,” he husked, then almost smiled, then died.
I grabbed for my sword and his, and the men of Kish surged forward, and I joined them, and we burst upon Ur like demons set free from the deepest pits of hell. I attacked with both swords, whirling like a dervish, slicing and cutting in a maelstrom of pain and death, and the enemy broke and ran, and retreat became flight, and flight became a rout, and all the soldiers of Ur dropped weapons and scattered, fleeing for the city gates.
Not all made it. Not many made it.
We chased them to the gates, just missed capturing the lugal of Ur, and had to settle for the greater part of his army. The gates closed in our faces, and arrows rained down on us from the stunned but alert rearguard, and we withdrew out of bowshot from the city wall, and shouted our victory in the faces of all Ur.
That night as Sargon and I sat by our tent, eating and drinking, a man called for me, asking me to come to the lugal. Motioning for Sargon to join me, I walked up to his pavilion. All around us men were feasting and drinking, celebrating victory and bragging about the enemy swords and shields they had spoiled. We entered the inner tent, and the lugal motioned us forward.
An arrow had pierced his side during that moment when the battle had seemed in the balance. Nothing serious, at least at first glance. Just a scratch. But his physicians had bound it up as if it was a mortal wound.
A little stiff, the lugal sat up in his chair, looked at us.
“Not a scratch on either of you!” he said wonderingly. “The gods must favor you.”
Sargon said something in reply; I did not really hear, my mind racing. Somehow I needed to engineer this situation into a turning point for Sargon. This was my chance to elevate him beyond guard, because no-one moves from king’s guard, even captain of the guard, to king. Not if he wants to be followed by the army and acclaimed by the priests and respected by the people.
Then my attention snapped back to the lugal. He was addressing me.
“You saved my life, Geno. And won the battle. How can I thank you?”
I bowed my head.
“It was not me who saved your life and won the battle, lugal. It was Sargon who saw that the king’s guard was collapsing, and Sargon who told me to turn with him and come to your defense.”
And I spun the lie, nudging Sargon to be quiet as I told the king that Sargon had feared the Urrish army would try to overwhelm one flank of the king’s guard and end the battle quickly by taking the lugal, and Sargon who had seen it, and directed me — and others who followed — to shift to the other side of the king, meet the onrushing enemy, and crush them.
The king gazed at me and then laughing, said “A great champion, and a modest man. Truly, this is a wonder.”
His advisers and nobles laughed as well, and even Sargon, who had started to look uncertain, swept up in currents beyond his understanding, smiled.
“Then Sargon, you will take the place of the generals I have lost,” the lugal said. “And you will bear my cup, on feast-days, as the most trusted man in Kish.”
Sargon walked forward, almost in a daze, and knelt at the king’s feet. He accepted a ring, and a new robe, and a general’s rod, then returned to my side.
“But you will not be forgotten, Geno,” said the lugal. “You are a mighty warrior, the best I have ever seen, and maybe the best ever born to a woman, and you will be rewarded too. What will you have?”
“Good food, my king, and some drink in the evening. A battle now and then to keep the edge on my skill, and the companionship of good friends. And I would like to stay with my friend Sargon as he commands your armies.”
“So little?” said the lugal. ”So it shall be!”
And yet, unwilling to let me go entirely unrewarded, he gave me gold and silver rings, and a share of the spoil, and his favor.
So we retired for the night, but I could not sleep. The words of the Urrish champion echoed in my ears, and his face, twisted with rage and something more, filled my unseeing eyes. Who was he, and who was I? And what did he mean about serving and protecting, and false gods?
The next day we began the march home, and within the week were on the outskirts of the city of Kish. Scouts had been sent ahead, and the city made ready. All shined their armor and wore their best, and Sargon and I were appointed to ride through the gates of Kish in a position of honor just behind the king. The crowds cheered and roared as we wheeled through the city in a chariot of gold through a forest of flower petals, crushing the branches of fragrant bushes beneath the wheels. Boys waved and young girls kissed soldiers, and we feasted all afternoon. I raised a cup to Sargon, and he looked at me, smiling like a man in a dream, but there was still a question to his eyes.
That night we talked for the first time since the battle. In our new quarters, which were a significant upgrade in a wing of the castle.
“I don’t understand, Geno,” Sargon said. “I’m grateful, and happy, but we both know that bolstering our right flank and saving the king was all your idea and mostly your doing.”
He paused, wondering, then looked at me.
“Why did you give the credit to me?”
I paused too, choosing my words carefully. It was critical that Sargon accept his new, elevated role, and that he not only accept it, but embrace it with both arms. And it was critical that he now knew and worked towards the ultimate end goal: the kingship.
But how much of the truth to tell? I decided a large dollop would be most persuasive, and that the power of the truth would guide and impel Sargon’s future career as king. And, I decided that he could handle it.
“Sargon, did you see my fight with the Urrish champion?”
“Who did not?” he said, laughingly. “It is the stuff of tales and legends already. Even those who did not see it have now, a few drinks later, seen it.”
“Well,” I said, “have you even seen men move so quickly? Have you even, in all your life, seen warriors so deadly?”
He shook his head, suddenly troubled, as if sensing a truth that would change his life, and bring him into contact with uncanny forces.
“Does that seem natural to you, or even normal?”
Again the head shake. More turmoil. I decided to go for broke.
“Sargon of Akkad, now of Kish, I am no mortal man.” He started to tremble, and I hastened to correct.
“No, I am not a god. But I am a servant of the gods. I have lived many lives doing their will, and returned again in different times and places. And it is the will of the gods that you, Sargon, become king of Kish.”
And Sargon, a strong man and mighty warrior, veteran of many battles, hardened and tested, and future king of the world’s first empire, fainted dead away. I arranged him in his bed, found my own, and went to sleep.
Or tried to.
I gazed sightlessly at the ceiling, unsure whether I had done the right thing, and more than ever aware that without completing this mission successfully, there was no guarantee I would ever see Livia again, or the hall, or the other members of my cohort. My friends, as I now realized.
And then a worse thought intruded, and I shuddered as I realized with the finality that truth brings that even if I completed this mission successfully, there was still no guarantee that I would ever return to the hall, and no certainty for anything, including any sort of a future with Livia. And I realized, trembling, that my only hope for anything approaching a degree of self-determination was to somehow get free of the gods, of Hermes, and take Livia and my friends out of their reach. How to accomplish that, however, I had no clue.
In the morning Sargon had recovered his equilibrium, and we moved through the day with small pieces of conversation in the gaps and spaces between other duties. As a general now, Sargon had oversight over the palace guard and a division of the army, and officers trooped in to report, to meet, and to get orders.
“But I am not a traitor,” Sargon said in one break between visitors.
We had taken a chariot to the end of
the city, and were walking along the river, through the reeds along the banks — the only way to be sure we were alone, and not overheard. The palace was filled with ears, and not the place to be discussing any royal succession plans.
“I want to do whatever the gods will,” he said. “I am the servant of the gods, not the master. But it does not seem right to kill the one who gave me the position I now hold.”
I pondered his words, nodding slowly to Sargon.
“I hear you, and I agree with you. It is not the way anyone would wish to get the throne. And yet it is Enlil’s will that you be king of Kish, and being king of Kish you become king of all the cities and lands surrounding her, and the ones that you will add to it. He will find a way of making it happen.”
In truth I did not know how it could be made to happen. And I was worried. I had no reason to hate the man who occupied the throne and who had done nothing but good to me — it would be hard for me to kill him as well. And yet, my entire future, such as it was, depended on the current king of Kish dying. And, of course, Sargon becoming the future king.
“Sargon, do not worry and do not be concerned. Continue your meetings with the other generals, with others in the court. Let them see you for a man of wisdom and a man of strategy. Build relationships with them so that when the day comes, they will support you.”
And we walked back to the city walls, Sargon comforted, but my heart heavy.
The next day I left Sargon and the palace, and walked through the city of Kish deep in thought. My mission and currently my only goal in life was to get Sargon on the throne. But as an honorable man, he would not want to win a crown by a traitorous act of murder. And, frankly, neither would I. It was one thing to kill a man in battle … to defend myself from those who were trying to kill me. It was quite another to murder a man in cold blood, especially one who had been good and kind to me. And yet, here I was, stuck in the third or fourth millennium B.C. No friends, no Livia, and no real hope for escape.
I discovered, with a shock, that I was developing some kind of a conscience. And I had no idea what to do about it.
I looked up for almost the first time at the city I had been walking through for almost an hour. The great temple of Enlil, a mud-brick step pyramid with a long, sloping walkway was on my left, and I could just glimpse the river on my right through an open city gate. Behind, where I had just walked, was a rich quarter of large homes with palms out front and hidden, central courtyards open to the sky inside. Ahead, my feet carried me to one of the markets of Kish.
Music filled the air and hundreds if not thousands braved the busy marketplace as merchants shouted out invitations to buy things both mundane and exotic: foods and spices, tools, weapons, potions, and small magics for eternal love, undying loyalty, or quick death. I walked through a bubble in the busy crowd as the adults, seeing the lugal’s livery, made way for one of the king’s guard, which uniform I still wore. That, and my height and size cleared a path for me. Respectful looks from some, and then more and more told me that many here had seen the victory parade in which Sargon and I had been given pride of place … and heard the stories that had been told of what I had done, and how I had fought.
But the children, careless of such things, swirled around my feet, smiling and laughing and begging. I took care that all my belongings were secure, not wanting to lose anything to a pickpocket, and waded through a score or more of dirty, happy, quarrelling urchins. Casting a last look on the merchants’ offerings and ignoring or smiling at their offers of amulets giving the protection of the gods in battle, I broke free of the market.
I walked for another hour or two down the long winding paths between the houses of the poor of Kish, then turned right to the river, mounted the city wall, and walked back south to the palace, my heavy heart not unburdened by the glorious sunset on the rippling waters of the Euphrates.
Little did I know that by the time I arrived back at the palace my problem would be solved for me.
When I arrived back at the palace I went to my quarters to wash my dusty feet and refresh myself. But I hardly entered my room before there was a hurried knock on the door, and Sargon slipped inside, looking troubled.
“I have been meeting with the other generals, as you’ve said,” he told me without preamble. “There’s something terrible going on.”
Then he became very quiet, and slowly, heads close, whispering, I dragged the story from his lips. Almost inaudibly, afraid of eavesdropping ears that plagued the palace, he told me that the meetings with generals and other officers of the army had been going well, and that he had been well-received by them.
I was somewhat surprised at this — few already in power like a newcomer, or a recent favorite of the lugal — but assumed that the other leaders of the army probably did not see him as a threat. Yet.
Sargon had uncovered a conspiracy. Several of the generals were scheming against the king, angry about years of real or perceived injustices, and recently furious that the lugal had not finished the fight outside the gates of Ur … had not stayed after we had routed them, surrounded Ur, broken its gates, and sacked the city.
“Conveniently ignoring, of course, the fact that we were too few to surround the city,” I mused aloud. “What have you told them?”
“Well,” Sargon answered slowly. “No-one has come right out and told me they are planning to kill the king, so I have not yet had to say a clear yes or no. It is clear to me from the hints and innuendo that they intend to do something soon … but I don’t have any definite information which I can take to the king.”
“That is likely by design,” I said, as the vestiges of a plan began to form in my head. “You cannot stop them, since you have no proof, but you are being encouraged to join them, at least in principle, so as to support them when they are successful.”
But a question remained.
“You speak of several generals, five or six at least. But only one can wear the crown and rule the city. Which is it?”
“I do not rightly know,” answered Sargon. “ They have been very careful about that. Again, what I do not know, I cannot reveal. And it is hard to go to the king with just a general sense of uneasiness.”
“The last thing you should do is go to the king now,” I agreed with Sargon. “You cannot give him definite information, and they will most certainly have you watched closely now. But I will find a way to talk to the king.”
And as we conversed, I revealed pieces of my plan to Sargon. I would go to the king, somehow, and reveal that there was a plot. I would remain close to the king, and watch for the execution of the plot. When they came, I would protect the king. There was one small detail of the plan that I kept to myself, however.
I did not intend to succeed.
The next night I slipped out of my quarters, late. Making my way through the palace complex silently, I saw a soldier who just happened to be keeping Sargon’s door under close observation. Sargon was very definitely being watched, which gave my errand extra urgency.
Coming into the central courtyard and seeing the glorious panoply of stars told me more than anything else that I was in an almost pre-historical time, before human-made light drowned them out, I carefully and slowly slipped onto the roof and, taking extreme care to make no sudden motion or noise, I worked my way towards the king’s rooms, considering how to make my move.
The king could not fail to interpret a nighttime approach to his quarters as an attack. Either raising the alarm or simply misidentifying me as an assassin would prove fatal to my plans. But creeping up on the lugal and forcibly keeping him quiet with a hand over his mouth ran the risk of insulting him too deeply to be forgiven, which would be just as dangerous.
I decided to wait until he was asleep and then to wake him as gently as possible, trying to buy time to explain why he was still half-drugged. I did not count, however, on the king being on his balcony in the wee hours of morning, staring moodily out at the night sky, the dark night-time waters of the Euphrates, and the b
rooding mass of the temples of Kish.
Abandoning all strategy, I dropped down silently to the balcony and padded over to the king.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked casually. “And peaceful.”
The king gasped, reached for the sword that was not hanging from his side, and filled his lungs for a shout. Showing my empty hands, I raised one finger to my lips in the universal signal for silence, and counted on his courage. And my luck.
Luck won the day. Or courage.
“What are you doing here, Geno!” the lugal asked in a savage whisper. He backed up to the edge of the balcony and finally his questing fingers found a sword.
I sat down on a chair, spreading my hands again to show no weapon, no threat, and relaxed, leaning back.
“My lugal, I am not here to hurt you. I am here to save you.”
In swift sentences I told him of the plot — the generals’ anger, their intentions, what we knew and what we did not know. And of Sargon’s and my intention to frustrate their plans. The lugal’s eyes grew wide in the moonlight as he heard me out, and he dropped the sword and came near, then sat next to me.
“I believe you. Oddly enough, I believe you. Partly because a man like you, a warrior who fights like the wind, could have killed me several times over before I even noticed you.”
Lugals and kings and leaders not being particularly noted for modesty, this surprised me somewhat, and I tipped my head in respect. A clear thinker, this lugal, smart, and unclouded by too much pride.
“I also have noticed a change in several of my generals,” he continued in a musing tone. “Their attitude — love, respect, deference — is somewhat less than I would wish for. And I have no son old enough to take the throne, so they see opportunity …”
He came to a speedy decision, and nodded.
“You will stay with me, Geno, and you will accompany me. You will sleep near me, and when I am in court you will be near in the chamber behind the throne room. And you will frustrate the plans of these traitors.”
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