Turtledove, Harry - Novel 12

by Between the Rivers (v2. 1)

  Sharur prostrated himself once more before the god of Gibil. Then he rose and, with profuse thanks, left the god’s house at the top of the temple. Burshagga waited for him outside. “I gather you are a fortunate man, son of Ereshguna,” the priest said as they began to descend the great stairway.

  “I gather I am,” Sharur agreed vaguely, being still too astonished for any more coherent reply. .

  Burshagga did not press him. No doubt the priest had seen many astonished men come out of the god’s house. Had he seen one more astonished than Sharur, Sharur would have been astonished.

  “The god has blessed the son of Ereshguna,” Burshagga told the priests and temple servitors working in the courtyard while he and Sharur were walking out through it.

  Ilakabkabu shuffled up to Sharur. “Are you worthy of the god’s blessing, boy?” the pious old priest demanded.

  “I gather I am,” Sharur repeated. “Engibil thought I was.”

  “Be worthy in your heart,” Ilakabkabu declared. “Be worthy in your spirit. Deserve well of the god, and he will do well by you.”

  “You give good advice,” Sharur said politely. As in a dicker, he feigned feelings he did not have. He feigned them well enough to satisfy Ilakabkabu, who nodded gruffly, let out a sort of coughing grunt, and tottered back to the wall hanging he had been straightening.

  “For once, I cannot disagree with my colleague,” Burshagga said. “His words are true; his doctrine is sound.”

  “Any man can see as much,” Sharur said. “Truly, I am blessed that Engibil chose to look kindly upon me. Truly, I am fortunate that the great god chose to grant my heart’s desire.”

  Truly, Sharur had no idea why Engibil had chosen to look kindly upon him. Truly, he did not know why the great god had chosen to grant his heart’s desire. So far as he knew, he had done nothing to deserve anything but anger from Engibil. Anger was what he had been braced—so far as any mortal could be braced—to receive from the god. After all, when Engibil so summarily ordered him to the temple, he and his father and Habbazu had not been singing the god’s praises.

  But Engibil had notjknown. Engibil had not even suspected. Gods were very powerful. Gods knew a great deal. But they were not omnipotent. They were not omniscient. Engibil had proved that.

  Walking out of the temple, Sharur realized the gods of the Alashkurru Mountains had proved it, too. Had they been all-powerful, they would have recovered the cup in which they had hidden so much of their strength. Had they been all-knowing, they would have known some wanax or merchant might set the cup in a Gibli’s hands.

  For that matter, when Enzuabu sent Habbazu to rob Engibil’s temple, the god of Zuabu had not known all he might have. He had not known the debt of gratitude his thief owed to a Gibli, or how that debt might affect Habbazu’s actions.

  Sharur still did not know how that debt of gratitude might affect Habbazu’s actions, either. But Sharur did know he was not a god. Mere mortals were used to dealing with uncertainty.

  When Sharur returned to the house of his family, he found Ereshguna and Tupsharru, Betsilim and Nanadirat all gathered downstairs, all of them looking as if they were about to begin the rituals for the dead. They all cried out together when he walked through the door. His mother and sister embraced him; his father and brother clasped his hand and clapped him on the back.

  Habbazu was nowhere to be seen. “What became of the thief?” Sharur asked, when he was no longer kissing his parents and siblings.

  “He saw you go out the door with the will of the god pressing hard upon you,” Ereshguna answered. “He walked with me for a few more moments, and then, without warning, he fled. He was around a corner before I had any hope of pursuing him.”

  “Perhaps the power the god showed put him in fright,” Sharur said with a grimace. “He thought of Engibil as a drowsy god; he reckoned him a sleepy god. He discovered Engibil was not so drowsy, not so sleepy, as he thought.”

  “It could be so,” Ereshguna said. “In truth, Engibil has shown himself to be more interested in the city, more interested in the world, than we might have wished him to be.”

  “Engibil has shown himself to be more interested in this family than we might have wished him to be,” Betsilim exclaimed. “If not on account of this mysterious cup, why did the god summon you to his temple?”

  “Why?” Sharur knew he still sounded bemused. He could not help it, for he still felt bemused. “The god summoned me to his temple because he is more interested in this family than we had thought him to be.”

  “I am your mother. I gave you birth,” Betsilim said sharply. “Do not think to twist my words into jokes.”

  “Mother, I was not trying to twist your words into jokes,” Sharur answered. “I told the truth. Engibil summoned me to his temple to give me leave to accept a loan from the house with which to pay bride-price for Ningal the daughter of Dimgalabzu.”

  That startled his family into silence. He understood, being startled himself. Nanadirat broke the silence first, with a squeal of delight. She hugged Sharur again. Tupsharru spoke to the slaves: “Bring beer! No, bring wine! This news deserves better than our everyday drink.”

  Ereshguna said, “This is splendid news indeed, news good beyond the wildest hopes I had when you left our home.” He frowned a little. “It is news so good, I wonder what caused the god to change his mind.”

  “Father, I wondered the same thing,” Sharur said. “But, considering what I feared when Engibil summoned me before him—considering what we all feared when Engibil summoned me before him—I did not question him, nor did I question his judgment.”

  The wine came then. The sweetness of fermented dates washed from Sharur’s mouth the taste of fright that still lingered there. He drank several cups. His head began to spin. His head had been spinning, one way and another, the whole day. He was still weak fromhis encounter with the fever demon. Meeting Habbazu the thief on the streets of Gibil had astonished him. When Engibil summoned him to the temple, he had thought he would visit his family again only as a ghost. When the god, instead of condemning him, granted him favor, he found himself amazed all over again.

  Ereshguna kept frowning—not in anger, Sharur judged, but in continued perplexity. “Why did the god summon you?” he said again, dipping a chunk of barley bread in the honey pot. “Why?”

  “Maybe Engibil decided he was wrong,” Nanadirat said. “Maybe the god decided he treated Sharur unjustly, and that he should make amends.’’

  Sharur laughed. He laughed and laughed. Some of it was the wine laughing through him. Some of it was relief laughing through him. And some of it was nothing but amusement. “My sister, justice for a god is what the god says it is: no more, no less,” he said. “Gods do as pleases them. They are gods. They can.”

  Nanadirat pouted. Ereshguna said, “Sharur is right. Engibil will have had some other reason. He laid down a firm decree, and then he changed that firm decree. It is very strange.”

  “But what reason could he have had?” Sharur asked. “You are right, Father. That he should change his decree is very strange. When I stood before him, I did not think on how strange it was.”

  “You were thinking of what the god might do to you, not of what he might do for you,” Tupsharru said.

  “So I was, my brother—so I was,” Sharur agreed. “Now that I am away from Engibil, though, I would try to understand why the god did as he did.”

  “Why he did it does not matter,” Betsilim said. “Rejoice that he did it, as your family rejoices. Rejoice that he did it, as the family of Dimgalabzu the smith will rejoice when the news reaches them.” She looked sly. “Rejoice that he did it, as Ningal your intended will rejoice when the news reaches her.”

  Thinking of Ningal rejoicing did make Sharur want to rejoice. Thinking of wedding Ningal made him want to forget everything else. Thinking of wedding Ningal made him want to forget Habbazu the thief; it made him want to forget the Alashkurri cup in the temple of Engibil.

  “Who will ta
ke the news to Dimgalabzu and his family?” Nanadirat asked. “May we all go together? I want to see Ningal’s face when she hears.” .

  “That is very forward of you, my daughter,” Betsilim said, sounding disapproving and indulgent at the same time.

  Tupsharru leered. “Sharur wants to see Ningal’s face when she hears.”

  The kitchen slave dared to speak: “It will be a happy time.” She would reckon it a happy time because, with Ningal come to the house, Sharur would not choose her to minister to his lusts even occasionally.

  “Let’s go now,” Nanadirat said. “Bad news can wait. Good news should not.”

  “Important news, good or bad, should never wait,” Ereshguna said.

  At that, Sharur turned his head to look at his father. He found Ereshguna looking back at him. Both of them had intent, thoughtful expressions on their faces, very different from the joyful ones Betsilim, Nanadirat, Tupsharru, and the slaves were wearing (though the slaves joyful countenances might well have been masks to please their masters, at least in part).

  “Could it be?” Sharur asked.

  “Have you got any better notion?” his father returned. “Have you got any other notion at all?”

  “What are the two of you talking about?” Nanadirat asked impatiently. “When are we going over to the house of Dimgalabzu the smith?”

  “Later,” Sharur said, also impatiently. “Father and I need to talk about this.”

  But Ereshguna held up a hand. “No. Let us go now. We can talk about this later. If we go now, if we speak with Dimgalabzu now, and if the god is watching and listening, he will see he has accomplished that which he wished to accomplish. Later will be time enough to discuss the other. We have had the notion. It shall not escape our minds.” Sharur inclined his head. “Father, you are wise. As you say, let us go now. As you say, later will be time enough to discuss the other. The notion shall not escape our minds.”

  “What are the two of you talking about?” Nanadirat repeated. Neither Sharur nor Ereshguna answered her.

  Dimgalabzu was grinding a sharp edge onto a spearhead when Sharur and his family walked into the smithy. Seeing them all there together, the smith set the spearhead down on his workbench. “Well, well, what have we here?” he said in surprise. He took a longer look at his guests. A slow smile spread across his face. “What we have here is good news, unless I miss my guess.”

  Ereshguna bowed. “What we have here is good news indeed, my friend,” he said. “Engibil has smiled upon my son. Engibil has smiled upon the union of our families.”

  “Is it so?” Dimgalabzu’s smile got wider, but then contracted. “When last we spoke of this matter, there was a difficulty concerning the bride-price. Unless this difficulty has been eased, the union can not go forward.”

  “This difficulty has been eased, father of my intended,” Sharur said. “The union can go forward. Today Engibil summoned me to his temple. Today the god released me from my oath. Today he gave me leave to accept from my family a loan for the bride-price to be paid for Ningal your daughter.”

  “Is it so?” Now the smith sounded astonished. “How fortunate for you, son of Ereshguna. The god rarely changes his mind. The god rarely needs to change his mind. Why did he change his mind this time?”

  “He said he had held my oath too tight. He said he had been too strait. Thus he chose to ease and loosen his hold on the oath.” Sharur answered with nothing but the truth, straight from the god’s lips. He did not look at his father.

  The thought they seemed to share would have to wait.

  “How fortunate for you, son of Ereshguna,” Dimgalabzu repeated. The broad smile returned to his broad face. “How fortunate for all of us.” He clapped his hands together and shouted for his slaves to bring beer and salt fish and onions for his guests. Then he went to the stairway. “Gulal!” he called. “Ningal! Come down! We have guests you should see.”

  Ningal and her mother came downstairs. They both carried spindles; they had been making wool or flax into thread. They exclaimed in surprise when they saw Sharur and his family in the smithy. They exclaimed in delight when Dimgalabzu explained why Sharur and his family had come.

  “Is it true, Sharur?” Ningal asked softly.

  “It is true,” Sharur answered. Most of the time, his intended bride kept her eyes on the ground, as a modestly reared young woman was supposed to do in the presence of a man not of her immediate family. Every so often, though, she would look up at Sharur from under lowered eyelids. As he kept his eyes on her to the exclusion of all else, he caught the glances. They enchanted him.

  Gulal, who stood beside her daughter, also caught those glances. She poked Ningal in the ribs with her elbow and muttered something pungent under her breath. Thereafter, Ningal glanced at Sharur less often and more circumspectly. But, to Sharur’s delight, she did not stop glancing at him.

  In came the beer and salt fish and onions. “Let us drink,” Dimgalabzu boomed. “Let us eat. Let us rejoice that our two families are to be made one. Let us rejoice that the god has favored our two families’ being made one.”

  They drank. They ate. They rejoiced. Gulal and Betsilim put their heads together and talked in low voices for some time. Every so often, they would look over at Sharur and Ningal and then go back to their intent conversation. He eyed them with considerable apprehension. Because they were only women, he felt foolish about that... until he noticed Ereshguna and Dimgalabzu eyeing them with considerable apprehension. If his father and the father of his intended worried about their wives, his own concern had reason behind it.

  Dimgalabzu asked, “How did the god of the city come to release you from the oath he formerly held close?”

  “If you mean to ask why the god chose to do it, father of my intended, you would have to enquire of him,” Sharur replied. Whatever ideas he and his father had on that score, he was not yet ready to share them with Dimgalabzu. “If you mean to ask how he did it, he summoned me to his temple, as I told you, and told me of his change of heart there.”

  “How very curious,” Dimgalabzu murmured. “Do not mistake me, son of Ereshguna; I am delighted that Engibil changed his mind. I am joyous that the god thought twice. But I am also surprised.”

  “I was surprised, too, when Engibil summoned me to his house on earth,” Sharur said. He had also been horrified, but the smith did not need to know that. He wondered whether he ought to tell Dimgalabzu about Habbazu. For the time being, he decided, the father of his intended did not need to know about the Zuabi thief, either.

  Ningal and Nanadirat put their heads together, as their mothers had done. Watching them whisper and giggle and point at him made Sharur want to sink into the floor. He glared. They giggled harder than ever. Having nothing better to do, he dipped up another cup of beer.

  Gulal spoke up in a loud voice: “It is decided.”

  “Aye, it is,” Betsilim agreed. Between the two of them, they sounded as certain—:and as irresistible—as any god Sharur had ever met.

  Gulal went on, “The wedding shall take place on the day of the full moon of the last month of fall: not only a day of good omen, but also one on which the son of Ereshguna is unlikely to find himself away from the city with a caravan.” Sharur did not think he was likely to find himself away from the city with a caravan any time soon. No other cities of Kudurru, no other lands around Kudurru, seemed willing to trade with Gibil. Still, his guess was that his mother had won the concession from Gulal, hoping trade would improve in what remained of the better weather. He supposed he should have thanked her. Instead, he grumbled to himself at having to wait so long for the wedding.

  Whatever else Dimgalabzu was, he was not a foolish man, and, if he was not a young man, he once had been. He said, “Let Sharur and Ningal embrace now, before us all, in token that this arrangement is agreeable to them.”

  Gulal gave her husband a look suggesting she would have a good deal to say when she could speak to him in private. When Ningal stepped toward Sharur with a smile,
Gulal gave her daughter the same look. Under Gulal’s glare, the embrace was perforce brief and decorous. But an embrace it unquestionably was.

  Tupsharru clapped his hands together. Nanadirat whooped. That embarrassed Sharur enough to make him let go of Ningal even sooner than he would have otherwise. Dimgalabzu looked pleased with himself. Gulal’s expression said she was less furious than she had been before Sharur took Ningal in his arms.

  Sharur bowed to the mother of his intended. His politeness made Gulal smile for a moment, till she caught herself doing it. Ningal saw that and smiled, too, at Sharur. He kept his own face carefully blank. A merchant often found it useful not to let the other side in a bargain see at a glance everything in his mind.

  Ningal said, “The end of fall is not so far away. Every day that goes by brings it one day closer.”

  “You are right,” Sharur said loyally. Altogether too many days would go by to suit him, but he would not disagree with his intended before she became his wife—nor, he hoped, too many times after she became his wife, either.

  Ereshguna stared down into his cup of beer, as if it held the answers to all the questions in the world. A torch behind him flickered, making his shadow jump. Outside in the darkness, a cricket chirped. Farther away, a dog howled. Those were the only noises Sharur heard. His mother and sister and brother had gone up onto the roof to sleep. The slaves slept, too, in their stuffy little cubicles.

  Sharur looked down at his own cup of beer. He saw no answers there. He drank. If he drank enough, that was an answer of sorts, but not the one he needed now. He sighed.

  So did Ereshguna. The master merchant sipped, then said, “Son, tell me what is in your mind: why, in your reckoning, did Engibil choose the moment he chose to release you from your oath concerning the bride-price for Ningal?’’

  “Did we not have the same notion at the same time?” Sharur asked.

  Ereshguna smiled. “Each of us had a notion at the same time. Whether we had the same notion, I cannot know until I learn what your notion was.”