Turtledove, Harry - Novel 12

by Between the Rivers (v2. 1)

  “Dimgalabzu also needs to know, because—” Sharur began.

  Ereshguna folded his arms across his chest. “I am your father. I say we will go to Kimash. You shall obey me.”

  “You are my father.” Sharur bowed his head. “We will go to Kimash. I will obey you.”

  And so, instead of walking down the Street of Smiths to Dimgalabzu’s, Sharur and Ereshguna walked up the Street of Smiths to the lugal’s palace. As they passed, smiths and other metal merchants popped out of the buildings in which they worked to ask how Sharur’s journey had gone. None of them seemed unduly concerned; the bonuses Ereshguna had paid to the caravan crew must so far have persuaded the guards and donkey handlers not to say too much.

  Nor did Sharur and Ereshguna say too much now to their colleagues. “We go. to speak of the caravan with Kimash the mighty lugal,” Ereshguna said several times. “Kimash deserves to hear first the news of what Sharur traded. The mighty lugal deserves to hear first the news of what Sharur brought back.”

  That satisfied the smiths and the other metal merchants. It did not satisfy Sharur. What did 1 trade? Nothing, he thought bitterly. What did I bring back? What I set out with. And what would the smiths and the other metal merchants say if they heard that? What would the smiths and the other metal merchants do if they heard that? Sharur was glad he did not have to find out, not yet.

  A procession of slaves and donkeys carrying costly baked bricks on their backs made Sharur and Ereshguna stand and ' wait outside Kimash’s palace. “See, he is building it larger again,” Ereshguna said. “Soon, I think, it will be larger than Engibil’s temple.”

  “I think you are right, Father,” Sharur answered. Neither man said what he thought of that. Just for a moment, Sharur covered the eyes of the amulet he wore on his belt. He did not want Engibil looking at him then. He did not want Engibil looking into his heart then. He did not want Engibil seeing how he hoped the lugal’s palace would outdo the god’s temple.

  When the last braying donkey and the last sweating slave had passed, Sharur and Ereshguna advanced to the doorway of the palace. Guards with spears and shields stood stolidly, enduring the building heat. Ereshguna bowed before them. He said, “When the mighty lugal Kimash should deign to Cast his eye upon us, we would go into his presence. When the mighty lugal Kimash should deign to hear us, we would have speech with him.”

  “You are Ereshguna and Sharur,” one of the guards said. “I will tell Inadapa the steward you are come. Inadapa will tell Kimash the mighty lugal you are come.”

  He hurried away. When he returned, Inadapa accompanied him: a bald, round-faced, round-bellied man with a beard going gray. “Kimash the mighty lugal bids you welcome,” the steward said. “Welcome you are, he says, and welcome, and thrice welcome. You will come with me.”

  “We shall come with you,” Ereshguna and Sharur said together. Without another word, Inadapa turned on his heel and went back into the palace. They followed.

  Sharur wondered how Inadapa found his way through the rabbits’ warren of corridors that made up the palace. The building had not grown up according to any unifying plan, but haphazardly, by fits and starts, as three generations of lugals decided again and again that they needed more room—and more rooms—to house all that was theirs, or to store away the old so that they might enjoy the new.

  Here was a room full of stools and tables. Should Kimash decide to give a great feast, they might come forth once more. Meanwhile, they simply sat in twilight. In the next room, pretty young women brewed beer, chanting hymns to Ikribabu as they worked. The chamber after that was piled high with bales of wool; the powerful oily smell of sheep filled that stretch of the hall.

  Jars and pots held wine, beer, grain, dates ... who could say what all? The stores in the palace might feed Gibil for a year, or so it seemed to Sharur.

  Presently, Inadapa led his father and him past a chamber where more pretty young women were spinning wool into thread. As Sharur had in the brewing chamber, he noticed them because they were young and pretty. If Kimash summoned one of them, she would come, and, Sharur was sure, she would not lie beneath the lugal as if half a corpse. Kimash had opportunities for pleasure beyond those of an ordinary man.

  Ereshguna noticed something else. To Inadapa, he said, “Steward to Kimash the mighty lugal, would these women not get more work done if the wool they spun were in the chamber next to theirs rather than halfway across the palace?”

  Inadapa stopped in his tracks. “Master merchant,” he said slowly, “in days gone by, wool was stored in the room next to this one. For some reason or other, it was moved. No one ever thought either to move it back or to move the women closer to the chamber where it is now held. Perhaps someone should give thought to such things.” Shaking his head, he strode down the hallway once more.

  “How many other such cases are there in the palace, if only someone would look?” Ereshguna murmured under his breath to Sharur as they followed the steward.

  “I wonder if any one man knows everything the palace holds,” Sharur whispered back.

  Ereshguna shook his head. “Inadapa’s grandfather— maybe even his father—might have, but the palace was smaller in those days.”

  Sharur started to answer, but just then the hallway opened out into Kimash’s audience chamber. The lugal sat on a chair with a back; its legs and arms were sheathed in gold leaf, and it rested on a platform of earth that raised Kimash above those who came before him. Inadapa went to his knees and then to his belly before Kimash. Sharur and Ereshguna imitated the steward’s action.

  “Mighty lugal, I bring before you the master merchant Ereshguna and his son Sharur,” the steward said, his face in the dust of the rammed-earth floor.

  “In my day,” Sharur’s grandfather’s ghost said with a scornful sniff, “in my day, I tell you, we only groveled in front of Engibil, not in front of some upstart man who thought he was as fancy as a god.”

  “Not now, Grandfather,” Sharur whispered under his breath.

  “Father, Kimash may be able to hear you,” Ereshguna added, also muttering into the dust. “He knew you well in life, recall.”

  The ghost gave another loud sniff, but said no more. Kimash gave no sign of having heard. He probably heard a lot of ghosts; as lugal, and before that as lugal’s heir, he had come to know a great many Giblut. All he said was, “Rise, master merchant Ereshguna. Rise, Sharur son of Ereshguna.”

  “We greet you, mighty lugal,” Sharur and Ereshguna said together as they got to their feet.

  “And I greet you in turn,” Kimash said. “You are welcome here. You will drink beer with me.” He clapped his hands together. “Inadapa! They will drink beer with me.”

  “Yes, mighty lugal.” Inadapa clapped his hands together. A lesser servant came running. Inadapa pointed to Sharur and Ereshguna. “They will drink beer with the mighty lugal.”

  “Yes, steward.” The lesser servant hurried away. Soon a slave came in with a pot of beer and three cups.

  After libations and thanks to the gods, Kimash, Sharur, and Ereshguna drank. Setting down his cup after a deep draught, Kimash said, “I am glad you have come home safe from the Alashkurru Mountains, son of Ereshguna; I am glad no harm befell you.”

  “I thank you, mighty lugal,” Sharur said, less comfortably than he would have liked. He could see the track down which the caravan of this conversation was heading. A lion lurked at the end of the track. It would leap out and devour him unless he turned the conversation aside—and he could not turn it aside.

  Kimash said, “I have not heard how your caravan fared in the distant mountains. With most caravans, I know this before they come into Gibil. But the house of Ereshguna holds its secrets close.” He smiled at Sharur’s father, more approvingly than otherwise.

  Yes. There was the lion. Sharur could hear it roar. He could see it lash its tail. Very well. He would cast himself into its jaws. He said, “Mighty lugal, my father and I have come before you on account of what passed with the caravan
in the mountains of Alashkurru.”

  “Good.” Kimash leaned forward in his high seat. “What offerings have you that I can lay on the altar of Engibil? What strange things, what rare things, what beautiful things have you? The god has been restive of late; the god has been hungry. I must show Engibil I can sate him; I must show the god I can satisfy him. I do not wish to risk his anger.”

  Feeling the lion’s teeth close on him, Sharur exchanged a glance of consternation with Ereshguna.dTis father nodded slightly. He knew what that meant: better to be eaten all at once than to have chunks bitten off him. His own thought had been the same. But oh, how bitter, oh, how empty was the truth: “Mighty lugal, I have no strange things, I have no rare things, I have no beautiful things for you to lay on the altar of Engibil. I have brought back no offerings for the god; I have brought back no profit for my father. The Alashkurrut would not treat with me, for their gods have come to hate and to fear the men of Gibil.”

  Kimash scowled. “I feared it might be so.” His voice was heavy. “When a caravan returns successful to the city, it blares forth the news with trumpets. When a caravan returns with profit, it blares forth the word with drums. Failure is wreathed in silence. But so, sometimes, is success extraordinarily large. So, sometimes, is profit extraordinarily great. I hoped that might be so. Tell me now why it did not come to pass.”

  As Sharur had for his father, he spun out the tale for the lugal. When he finished, he asked, “What are we to do? The gods are stronger than we men. If they will that we fail, fail we surely shall.”

  “If all the gods will this together, and it stays in all their wills long enough, fail we surely shall,” Kimash replied. “But the gods are contentious, no less than men. How could it be otherwise, when we are created in their image? Therein lies our hope: to wait out this flood until their anger against us recedes within its banks and the sun shines on their quarrels once more.”

  Ereshguna said, “Mighty lugal, your words are as pure as a nugget of gold. Great Kimash, your words shine like polished silver. From the anger of all the gods we may yet win free, as a hare may chew through the noose of a snare if the hunter is lazy and does not return soon enough to his trap. But Engibil presses on us always. How shall we escape the wrath of the city god?”

  “I had hoped to ease his spirits with gifts from the Alashkurrut; I had hoped to soften his heart with presents from the men of the mountains,” the lugal answered. “Master merchant, you press on the wound where it is sore. Now I shall have to find some other way to appease Engibil. If I do not...” He let out a long, harsh sigh. “If I do not, things shall be as they were in the days of my great-grandfather, and of his great-grandfather before him.”

  “May it not come to pass,” Sharur exclaimed. “May you rule us, mighty lugal. May Engibil remain content with worship and presents.”

  “That is also my desire, I assure you.” Kimash’s voice was dry.

  “It is the desire of all within Gibil, mighty lugal,” Ereshguna said, covering the eyes of his amulet to hinder Engibil’s senses. “We see the god-ruled cities around us, where men are toys or at best children, from whom obedience is required and who are punished without mercy when they obey not. You are a man. You know men. We would sooner have your judgment and your guidance.”

  And Kimash the lugal inclined his head to Ereshguna. “For your generous words I thank you, master merchant. Generous they are, but not, I believe, altogether true. Merchants and artisans: yes, you would sooner a lugal or an ensi ruled you than a god. But the peasants? Who can say? A god gives certainty. A god gives not freedom of thought but freedom from thought, in the same way as does the beer pot. Have you never known men who found this desirable?”

  “My heart is heavy within me, for I cannot deny what you say,” Ereshguna replied. “I wish I could show you speak falsely. Then my spirit would rejoice.”

  “But what are we to do?” Sharur broke in. “How are we to keep Engibil content to rest lazily in his temple?”

  Kimash cocked his head to one side. Then, to Sharur’s surprise, he smiled. “The ghost of Igigi my grandfather says he managed it when Engibil was less used to rest and more used to rule than he is now. My grandfather’s ghost says I had better manage it as well.”

  “Your grandfather was a wise man, mighty lugal. No doubt his ghost remains wise,” Ereshguna said. “Does the ghost tell you how you are to accomplish,what you desire?”

  “Oh, no.” Kimash smiled again, this time wryly. “He simply tells me what I must do, not how I must do it. Such is the usual way with ghosts in my family. Is it otherwise with yours?”

  “No, mighty lugal,” Sharur and Ereshguna said together. Both of them were resigned to the way of ghosts.

  “I heard that,” Sharur’s grandfather’s ghost said sharply. “I heard that! I don’t care for your tone of voice, not even a little bit I don’t.”

  As best they could, they both ignored him. Sharur said, “Mighty lugal, what are we to do? Do you know how to appease Engibil even without the strange things, the rare things, the beautiful things I should have brought back from the mountains of Alashkurru? Do you know how we Giblut can trade if the gods outside our city remain united against us in hatred?”

  “I can appease Engibil a while longer, I think,” Kimash said. “It would have been easier, son of Ereshguna, had your caravan succeeded. You know this as I know this. But I can go on. To answer your second question, we Giblut cannot trade if the gods outside our city remain united in hatred against us. Our hope must be that they do not remain united in hatred against us. Our prayer must be that they cannot remain united in hatred against us.”

  “Thank you, mighty lugal, for showing my son forbearance,” Ereshguna said. “Bless you, mighty lugal, for showing him kindness.”

  “I know the worth of the house of Ereshguna,” Kimash replied. “He is your son, master merchant. Had he been able to do more, he would have done more. I wish he had done more, but against the gods a man contests in vain. Now let us all think on how we may yet profit ourselves and satisfy our city god.”

  He nodded to Inadapa, signifying that the audience was over. The steward led Sharur and Ereshguna out of the palace through the maze of halls by which they had come to the lugal’s audience chamber. When Sharur reached the entranceway, the sudden strong sunlight made him squint and blink.

  “Now,” he said, “to the house and to the smithy of Dimgalabzu, the father of my intended. He, too, must know what passed in the Alashkurru Mountains, though I would sooner sup with snakes and scorpions than have to tell him.”

  * * *

  As they walked back along the Street of Smiths toward the house of Dimgalabzu, Ereshguna said, “Son, do not fret over what the smith will do. Do not worry over what Dimgalabzu will say. His family wants this match between you and Ningal to go forward. Our family wants this wedding to take place. Where the will on both sides is good, a way will open.”

  “But I cannot pay the bride-price to which we agreed,” Sharur said.

  “You are but a part of the house of Ereshguna,” his father reminded him.

  “I know that, Father, but I intended to pay the bride-price from the profit I would bring home to Gibil from the caravan to the mountains of Alashkurru.”

  “You are but a part of the house of Ereshguna,” Ereshguna repeated. “For the sake of this match, the rest of the house will gladly aid you.”

  “Father...” Sharur wished he did not have to go on, but saw no way around it. “Father, I do not know if Engibil will permit this. I do not know if the city god will let this be.”

  Ereshguna stopped in the middle of the Street of Smiths, so suddenly that a man walking behind him and Sharur almost bumped into him. After the fellow had gone his way, muttering under his breath, the master merchant asked, “Why should Engibil care how you gain the bride-price for Ningal? Why should it matter to the city god how you are wed to Dimgalabzu’s daughter?”

  “Because, Father,” Sharur answered niiserably, “I
swore a great oath to Engibil before I set out for the mountains of Alashkurru, that I would pay Ningal’s bride-price out of the profit I made from this caravan.”

  His father’s breath hissed out in a long sigh. “What ever possessed you to do such a thing, son? Did a demon take hold of your tongue?”

  “Yes,” Sharur answered, “the demon of pride. I know that now. I did not know it then. All the caravans on which I had ever traveled had gone well. I never dreamt the gods of other lands would turn their backs on us. I never dreamt the men of other lands would refuse to treat with us.”

  “The demon of pride,” Ereshguna repeated, his voice soft. “The men of the cities where gods still rule say this is the special demon of Gibil. The men of other lands where gods rule say the same.”

  “I have heard this.” Sharur touched first one ear, then the other. “The Alashkurrut say we are so proud, we would sooner rule ourselves and put our god in the back part of our minds. I denied this all the time I was among them, but it holds some truth. When I swore the oath to Engibil, I did it not to affirm his power over me, as an Imhursaggi would have done, but to boast of my own power in the world. And now my oath brings me low.” He hung his head.

  “In my time, we never would have thought such a thought.” The voice of his grandfather’s ghost was shrill and accusing in his ears. “In my day, we never would have done such a deed.”

  “When I was a young man,” Ereshguna said, “I might have had a thought like yours, Sharur, but I do not think I would have sworn an oath like yours. You and your brother are more your own men than I was at your age. Anything outside yourselves has less power over you than was so for me.

  “And, when I go astray, I go further astray than you would have done,” Sharur said.