Sharur held up a hand. Ramsayas asked, “Does that mean you will speak on something else?” Sharur nodded—the wanax of Zalpuwas still had his fingers in his ears. At that nod, he removed them, wiping one against the wool of his tunic. “Very well then, Sharur son of Ereshguna: Speak on something else.”
“By your leave, mighty wanax, I should like to speak to your gods.” Sharur had no great hope anything would come of that. The same gods dwelt in Zalpuwas as in Tuwanas. But Tarsiyas did not speak with the loudest voice here; that place belonged to the goddess Fasillar. If the gods of the Alashkurru Mountains knew discord—as the men of the mountains did, as the gods of Kudurru did—perhaps Sharur would find those strong here more friendly to his cause.
Ramsayas’s eyes got a faraway look, as if he were listening to someone Sharur could not hear. That was exactly what he was doing. As Huzziyas had hack in Tuwanas, he said, “They will hear you.” And, as Huzziyas had, he added, “They will not listen.” .
When Huzziyas had said that, he had appeared to be speaking for himself. Ramsayas sounded more like a man delivering the words of the gods. That was not a good omen, not so far as Sharur could see. He had had few good omens since setting out from Gibil. He hardly even missed them anymore.
Had the gods been besieged in their temple, in Zalpuwas, they could have held it even longer than was so for their citadel back in Tuwanas. Sharur felt, and was no doubt meant to feel, like nothing so much as a tiny insect as he walked into the great stone pile. The weight of the stonework, and of the power indwelling there, made him want to shrink down into himself, making himself of even less account when measured against the gods of Alashkurru.
Fasillar, the Alashkurri goddess of birth, was depicted enormously pregnant. By Sharur’s standards, the statue was earnest but clumsy work; it might have been carved by the brother of the man who had shaped Tarsiyas’s image back in Tuwanas. Ninshubur, the goddess of birth in Kudurru, was also the goddess of new ideas. Sharur did not think that was so for Fasillar, as best he could tell, the Alashkurri gods actively discouraged new ideas.
Ramsayas stretched himself out at full length on the ground before the cult image of Fasillar. Sharur bowed low before it. He respected the gods of the Alashkurru Mountains (more accurately, he respected the power of the gods of the Alashkurru Mountains), but they were not his gods.
The goddess spoke: “Whom do you bring before me, Ramsayas son of Radas? Why do you bring him before me?” Did Sharur imagine it, or was that last question full of ominous overtones?
“Mistress of the mysteries of birth, provider of warriors, great goddess of this town, great goddess of this land ...” After the honorifics, the wanax of Zalpuwas took a deep breath so he could come to the point: “I bring before you Sharur son of Ereshguna, a foreign man, a man of the distant land between the rivers, a man of the town of Gibil.” He did not raise his head as he spoke, not once. Indeed, he reckoned himself far more a servant of the gods than did Huzziyas of Tuwanas.
Sharur wished the wanax had not mentioned Gibil. Faillar surely knew whence he came, but reminding her of it would do his cause no good. He bowed again, saying, “I greet you, great goddess of this town. I greet you, great goddess of this land.”
Fasillar’s stone eyes swung in their sockets till they bore on Sharur. “You are the foreign man who spoke with Tarsiyas my cousin in the town of Tuwanas.”
“I am that man, great goddess of this town, great goddess of this land,” Sharur acknowledged.
‘‘Tarsiyas my cousin made it plain to you we do not want what the men of Gibil have to trade,” Fasillar said. ‘‘Tarsiyas my cousin made it plain to you that we do not want the men of Alashkurru to take what the men of Gibil have to trade. Tarsiyas my cousin having made that plain to you, why did you not leave this land? Why did you not return to Gibil? Why did you go deeper into these mountains, into this land, to disturb another town, to disturb Zalpuwas?”
“Great goddess of this town, great goddess of this land ...” As he spoke the honorifics, Sharur used the time they gave him to gather his own thoughts. ‘‘I understood from Tarsiyas your cousin, great god of that town, great god of this land, that he rejected dealings for the things of Gibil, dealings with the men of Gibil.” He licked his lips. “I did not understand him to mean all the towns of this land, all the gods of this land, rejected my city and the men of my city.”
Fasillar’s stone eyes blazed. The nipples of her swollen stone breasts sprang out and pressed against the rich wool wrappings in which the folk of Zalpuwas had decked her. “You knew what Tarsiyas my cousin told you, Sharur son of Ereshguna. You knew what Tarsiyas my cousin meant, man of Gibil. In your heart, you chose to misunderstand, to twist the words of Tarsiyas my cousin to a shape more pleasing to you. That you do this, that you can do this, shows why all the gods of Alashkurru hate you.”
Still down on his belly, Ramsayas moaned. Again, his was a different kind of fright from Huzziyas’s. The wanax of Tuwanas had been frightened because Sharur had got him in trouble with his gods. The wanax of Zalpuwas was frightened because Sharur had got himself in trouble with the Alashkurri gods. Huzziyas wanted to be out from under them, but could not escape. Ramsayas was content down to the bottom of his spirit to remain their servant.
Their anger frightened Sharur, too, for it meant he would not return to Gibil with his donkeys’ packs nicely burdened with copper and copper ore. It meant he would not return to Gibil with rare and beautiful things for Kimash the lugal to set on Engibil’s altar, which might in turn make Engibil angry at Kimash and at the rest of the men of Gibil.
And it meant he would not return to Gibil with Ningal’s bride-price. She would have to remain in the house of Dimgalabzu the smith, her father. Perhaps Dimgalabzu would offer her to someone else, someone who had not been so rash as to pledge a bride-price from profit and then come home without it. Ereshguna would not be happy to see this marriage alliance fail, for he wanted his family joined to Dimgalabzu’s. Sharur would not be happy to see this marriage alliance fail, for he wanted himself joined to Ningal.
He said, “Great goddess of this town, great goddess of this land, I will appease you and the other gods of this town, the other gods of this land, with any contrition-offering you ask of me, short of my life or the lives of my countrymen. I want no more from you than to trade my wares for the wares of this land and to return to my city, to return to my god, in peace.”
“No,” Fasillar said, and Ramsayas moaned again at that blunt rejection. The goddess went on, “A contrition-offering depends upon true contrition. You, man of Gibil, you would make the offering and speak the words of contrition with your mouth, while your heart laughed within you. For the gods of this town, for the gods of this land, to accept such an offering would be for us to eat of poisoned fruit. Better it were never made.”
Sharur bit his lip. Fasillar had indeed seen what was in his mind: he would have made the offering as part of the price of doing business in the Alashkurru Mountains, not because he repented of being what he was. lowing his head before the superior power he could not help but recognize, he asked, “What am I to do, then, great goddess of this town, great goddess of this land?”
“You have but one thing to do.” Fasillar’s voice was implacable. “Leave this land. Return to Zalpuwas no more.”
“Great goddess of this town, great goddess of this land, I obey.” Sharur bowed his head again. Even as he spoke, though, he saw how he might bend the Alashkurri goddess’s words to his own purpose.
As the caravan pressed deeper in among the Alashkurru Mountains, Harharu asked, “Are you sure you know what course you take, master merchant’s son, the goddess having told you to quit this land?”
“Donkeymaster, I obey Fasillar.” Sharur’s smile was crooked. “We quit the land of Zalpuwas, do we not? When we leave these mountains, we shall not leave them through the land of Zalpuwas, but by another route.”
Mushezib laughed. “Thus did I obey my mother after I got too big for my f
ather to beat me.” The guard captain eyed Sharur. “Are you too big for these gods to beat you, master merchant’s son?”
“Not a chance of it,” Sharur answered. “If the gods— any gods—take it into their minds to beat a man, they will beat him. My hope is that they will not take it into their minds to do any such thing, that I can make myself too small to draw their notice.”
That satisfied Mushezib. It did not satisfy Harharu, who said, “Master merchant’s son, on what do you pin this hope? Slice words as you will, the goddess told you to quit this land, and you press deeper into it. Before long, we shall halt in another valley. Before long, you shall present yourself before another wanax’s chief merchant, or more likely before another wanax himself. Before long, you shall be brought into the presencex of the Alashkurri gods. How can you fail to draw their notice?”
“Before long, we shall halt in another valley,” Sharur agreed. “I know the valley in which we shall halt: the valley of Parsuhandas. The trading in the valley of Parsuhandas has long been good for Gibil. But I shall not present myself before Wassukhamnis, the chief merchant of the valley of Parsuhandas. I shall not present myself before Yaddiyas, the mighty wanax of the valley of Parsuhandas. Most especially, I shall not be brought into the presence of the Alashkurri gods in the valley of Parsuhandas. I shall not draw their notice.”
“Ah. Now I understand.” Mushezib boomed laughter. “You will trade swords and spearheads and good date wine to the peasants of the valley of Parsuhandas, and we will go back to Gibil with our donkeys piled high with cucumbers.” He laughed again.
“The peasants of the valley of Parsuhandas are Alashkurrut like any other Alashkurrut,” Sharur said. “No doubt, could they pay for them, they would be glad to have fine swords of bronze, and fine spearheads of bronze as well. Could he pay for it, any man would be glad to drink good date wine. But we have in Gibil cucumbers aplenty. I would sooner bring back to our city copper and copper ore. And this, if matters go as I hope, I shall do.”
Harharu’s frown remained. “And you will not see Wassukhamnis, chief merchant of the valley of Parsuhandas? And you will not see Yaddiyas, mighty wanax of the valley of Parsuhandas? Master merchant’s son, what will you do?”
“I shall present myself before Abzuwas son of Ahhiyawas,” Sharur replied.
Harharu considered that for as long as a donkey took to walk five paces. Then the donkeymaster bowed so deeply to Sharur, his hat fell off his head.
Rain spattered down from a cloudy sky as the caravan entered the valley of Parsuhandas. By that time, guards and donkey handlers had stopped exclaiming in dismay at summer rain, and most of them had stopped making signs and
charms against the evil omens to be drawn from such a phenomenon. For his part, Sharur took the evil weather as a good omen: rain made it more difficult for the gods of the Alashkurru Mountains to peer down and see what he was about.
Stronger than both Tuwanas and Zalpuwas was the fortress town of Parsuhandas, which seemed to have sprung from the stony ground rather than being built. The valley of Parsuhandas was narrow and steep, the fields of the valley small and cramped. Nevertheless, Parsuhandas prospered.
Parsuhandas prospered because many black-mouthed holes had been dug into the sides of the valley, most often where it was steepest. Men went into those holes and grubbed at the ground with copper picks and with pry bars made from branches and shod, sometimes, with copper, and with shovels more often of bone and wood than of copper and wood. Not many men went down into the mines, for the mountains of Alashkurru were like any other land in that their peasants could not raise food enough to support more than a few who were not peasants. But miners there were, who brought copper ore and, every now and again, masses of native copper up from the darkness into the light of day.
Near one of those mines, the largest in the valley of Parsuhandas, dwelt Abzuwas son of Ahhiyawas. A great pillar of smoke rose from his stone home, guiding Sharur and the caravan thither. Yet that home was not afire. Like so many in Gibil, it was also Abzuwas’s place of business, and he the busiest and most clever smith in the valley of Parsuhandas and, probably, in all the Alashkurru Mountains.
As if Abzuwas had been a man of^Kudurru, he wore only sandals and a linen kilt. He did it not to ape the men from the land between the rivers, but because he-spent so much time tending his forges, and would have steamed in his own wrappings had he donned the usual Alashkurri tunic.
He stood outside the stone building when Sharur led the donkey train up to him: outside and, too impatient to wait for the rain to do the job, pouring a big jar of water over his head and hairy torso, both to clean himself and to cool his body after some long stretch of sweltering work. “I greet you, Abzuwas son of Ahhiyawas, master of metal,” Sharur called out as he approached.
Abzuwas shook himself like a wet dog. Water sprayed out from his hair and beard. He rubbed at his eyes to get the water out of them, too. “Well, well,” he said, his voice deep and rolling like the voice of a big drum. “Well, well. I greet you, Sharur son of Ereshguna, master merchant’s son. For a man from the land of Kudurru, a man with the knowledge of bronze, to call me a master of metal is praise indeed. It’s more praise than I deserve, but a man fool enough to turn down praise would also be fool enough to turn down a woman if she offered him her body, and, whatever kind of fool I may be, I am not such a fool as that. Welcome, Sharur son of Ereshguna, welcome!”
He walked forward to enfold Sharur in a wet, smelly embrace. No matter how wet and smelly it was, Sharur was glad to have the hug. Since he had come into the Alashkurru Mountains, Abzuwas was the first person to have fully returned his greeting. Since he had come into the Alashkurru Mountains, this place was the first place he had felt welcome.
As he freed himself from Abzuwas’s massive arms, he realized that was literally true. Here by the smithy, he did not feel in the back of his mind the unfriendly presence of the gods of the Alashkurrut. Metal had power, and gave a man power—power that was not, or was not yet, the power of any god.
“So,” Abzuwas boomed. “So! I had not heard you were in the fortress of Parsuhandas. I had not heard you were treating with Yaddiyas, the mighty wanax of Parsuhandas. I had not heard Yaddiyas, the mighty wanax of Parsuhandas, had sent you to me.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “But so what? When I get to working, when the metal pours bright into the mold, I do not hear anything, even things many men think they tell me.”
“Abzuwas, my friend, I will not lie to you,” Sharur said. “I was not in the fortress of Parsuhandas. I was not treating with Yaddiyas. Yaddiyas has not sent me to you.”
“Well, well,” Abzuwas said again, in a different tone of voice. “So you came straight to me, did you? Why did you come straight to me? Why did you not go into the fortress of Parsuhandas? Why did you not treat with Yaddiyas, the mighty wanax of Parsuhandas?”
“I came straight to you because I felt sure you would trade with me,” Sharur replied, sounding more confident than he felt. “I did not go into the fortress of Parsuhandas, I did not treat with the mighty wanax Yaddiyas, because I did not think he would trade with me.”
Abzuwas frowned. “And why is that, Sharur son of Ereshguna? The mighty wanax Yaddiyas has always been glad to gain your swords. The mighty wanax Yaddiyas has always been glad to gain your other goods. I can give you only copper and copper ore in trade. Copper and copper ore are all I have. The mighty wanax Yaddiyas has many different things. He can give you many different things in trade.”
“Copper and copper ore will do nicely,” Sharur said. “They are what draws the men of Kudurru to the Alashkurru Mountains.”
“You did not answer my question.” Abzuwas folded his arms across his chest and looked straight at Sharur. “Why did you come to me, and not go into the fortress? Why would you treat with me, and not with the mighty wanax?”
“For no reason I can see,” Sharur said, almost truthfully, “your Alashkurri gods are angry at me. They have forbidden the wanakes of this land from t
rading with me. They have forbidden the merchants of this land from trading with me. So far as I know, they have not forbidden the smiths of this land from trading with me!”
“Ah, the gods.” Abzuwas spoke in some surprise. “Yes, the gods.” Sure enough, he needed to be reminded of them, just as a smith in Gibil might go for days without worrying about the will of Engibil. The gods were stronger than he, yes, but they did not much impinge on what he did in his daily labors. “They are angry at you, you say?”
Reluctantly, Sharur nodded. Abzuwas asked, “Why should they not be angry at me, then, if I give you copper and copper ore in trade for your goods? Why should they not be angry at me if, of a sudden, I trade Gibli swords and wine and cloth and whatever else you may have?”
“Because you are a smith,” Sharur answered. “Because you have your own power. Because here in this place I do not feel the weight of the Alashkurri gods on my shoulders.” Because you are more like a man of Gibil than any other Alashkurri I know, even Huzziyas the wanax who would be a lugal if only the gods here would let him. But Sharur did not say that aloud, not knowing how Abzuwas would take it.
The smith understood it even if he did not say it. “I cannot take this chance, Sharur son of Ereshguna. You and I, we are not so much alike as you would think.”
“But we are,” Sharur insisted. “We both have more freedom from the gods than is common here in your mountains or in the land between the rivers.”
“No.” Abzuwas shook his head. “You are nearly right, but you are not right. I have freedom under the gods. I do not have freedom from the gods. I do not desire freedom from the gods.”
“It amounts to the same thing in the end,” Sharur said. But Abzuwas shook his head again, sadly. “I have seen you Giblut. Whether the gods give or not, you snatch. Such was never my way. I am content. Are you?”
Turtledove, Harry - Novel 12 Page 9