Turtledove, Harry - Novel 12

by Between the Rivers (v2. 1)

  “Once more, we have beaten them,” Ereshguna agreed. “If Kimash the lugal wills it, I shall go on into Imhursag. I shall go on into the land Enimhursag possesses as his own. But the fighting there will be harder, for it is land the god has held for long and long, land he has made his. I hope Kimash will decide routing the Imhursaggi army and humiliating the god of Imhursag are punishments enough.”

  “And I.” Sharur nodded emphatically. “We have other things with which to concern ourselves.” He said no more than that. Engibil might be listening. Engibil might come to the northern border of the land of Gibil to jeer at Enimhursag over his failed invasion. Or Engibil might come to the northern border of the land of Gibil in search of the stolen Alashkurri cup. If he did come in search of the cup, he would come in wrath. Sharur wanted to do nothing that would draw his notice.

  Kimash came up to the banks of the canal. Donkeys in gilded harness drew him in his chariot, which was likewise adorned with gold leaf. With his armor and helmet also gilded, he glittered almost—almost—like a god. Cupping his hands before his mouth, he shouted across the canal: “Go home, men of Imhursag! Go home, god of Imhursag! You are not welcome here. You have seen you are not welcome here.”

  Sharur cheered. So did the rest of the Giblut drawn up along the canal. Mixed with the cheers were jeers for the god of the rival city, and also jeers for the men who fought at his command.

  “You Giblut are mad!” Enimhursag shouted back. “You should be slain like mad dogs, lest your madness infect all the land between the rivers.”

  “We have beaten you,” Kimash replied. “If you dare set foot on Gibli soil once more, we shall beat you again.” The Giblut raised another cheer. Enimhursag shook his great fist at them, but remained silent. The lugal went on, “Stay on the soil that is yours, and we shall have peace. You may ransom prisoners we have taken; those not ransomed will be sold as slaves in the usual way. The booty from your encampment is ours, of course.”

  Enimhursag’s scowl was fearsome, but still the god said nothing more. Ereshguna murmured, “Kimash, it seems, does not wish to cross over into Imhursaggi land. It is good.”

  “I suppose so,” Sharur said, “though, thinking on it, Engibil might be happy and busy and distracted if he had to begin to rule new lands we had won for him with spear and sword.”

  “He would not do the fighting, though,” his father replied. “He would not battle alongside us as Enimhursag has battled for the Imhursagut. He would merely enjoy the benefit of our labors. As I say, I am contented with the way things have gone.”

  “Perhaps you are right, Father,” Sharur said. “And whether I am contented or not, it is the way things have gone, and I must accept it.”

  No sooner had he said that than Enimhursag turned his back on the land of Gibil: the god also accepted the way things had gone, whether it contented him or not. Recognizing that, some of the Giblut cheered. Others jeered again, loudly and lewdly. Enimhursag’s great shoulders slumped.

  Suddenly, the god’s gigantic form disappeared. Some of the men of Gibil exclaimed in surprise. “Has he perished?” someone near Sharur asked.

  “No,” Sharur said in a loud voice, so many could hear. “Usually, the god sees and speaks through one of the Imhursagut, picking the man or woman best suiting his purpose at the time. The rest of the Imhursagut will obey such folk, knowing Enimhursag inhabits them. That he no longer wears the great body proves he intends to fight no more.”

  “It is over,” Ereshguna agreed. “It is over, and we have won the day.”

  Sharur and Ereshguna took no part in the plundering of the Imhursaggi camp on the way back to their own. “I would sooner not quarrel with men of my own city over trinkets,” Ereshguna said. “Let others squabble over them; chances of finding anything worth trading or keeping are not good now. I would sooner return to our own encampment and drink dry a pot of beer.”

  “It is good,” Sharur said, and went on with his father.

  Tupsharru and Habbazu went in among the abandoned tents to see what they could find. In addition to the precious prizes he had already gained, Habbazu came back with a gilded helm, a fine bronze sword, and a dagger with a hilt inlaid with silver. Tupsharru carried an ax with a handle similarly inlaid back to the Gibli camp.

  “Perhaps we were wrong,” Sharur said to Ereshguna, eyeing the plunder with admiration.

  “Perhaps we were,” Ereshguna said. “But I have beer in my belly. I have bread in my belly. It is not perfect, but it will do.”

  Habbazu, who was dipping up a cup of beer for himself, bowed to Ereshguna. “ ‘It is not perfect, but it will do,’ ” he repeated, cleverly mimicking the master merchant’s intonations. “There speaks a man who has lived in the world and taken its measure.”

  “I have lived in the world,” Ereshguna said. “Whether I have taken its measure is for others to say, not for me. What I will say is that, over the years, the world has taken my measure: taken my measure, aye, and cut and trimmed and pounded me to serve its purposes.”

  “That is the way of the world.” Habbazu glanced over toward Sharur and Tupsharru. “Your sons, I think, are still too young to agree in fullness.”

  “Likely you are right.” Ereshguna also glanced toward Sharur and Tupsharru. His gaze was affectionate, not calculating.

  Sharur said, “What I think is that Burrapi the Zuabi mercenary should disappear from this camp, and disappear soon. I think someone who answers to a different name should go down to the city of Gibil and take up lodging above a tavern or with a family that will let him use a room for pay. I think it would be best if he did this before the servitors of Kimash the mighty lugal come asking questions concerning that mercenary.”

  Habbazu inclined his head. “You may be young, son of Ereshguna, but you give good advice. I have seen this before. I now see it again.” He drank down the beer, got to his feet, and bowed again to Ereshguna and then to his sons. “I shall not wait a moment. It shall be as if Burrapi the Zuabi mercenary had never been. With the loot Burrapi the mercenary has won, someone who answers to a different name will take up lodging in the city of Gibil. In Gibil, a stranger will call on the house of Ereshguna. Perhaps, though, he will seem somehow familiar.” He bowed once more, to all the men of the house of Ereshguna together, and then went off whistling the tune the fluteplayer in the square in front of the temple of Engibil had played as an accompaniment to the dancing girl’s lithe swaying.

  “That was indeed a good notion,” Ereshguna said. Sharur beamed, pleased at the praise.

  How good a notion it was, Kimash showed within the hour. Two of the lugal’s largest and burliest retainers appeared before the tent Sharur, Ereshguna, and Tupsharru shared. The bigger of the two growled, “Kimash the mighty lugal requires the immediate presence of the Zuabi mercenary named Burrapi. No excuse will be tolerated.” To emphasize that, he set his right hand on the hilt of his sword.

  Ereshguna said, “I must offer an excuse nonetheless: he is not here. I have not seen him since the battle ended.”

  “He was seen in the battle,” Kimash’s guardian said. “He was seen after the battle, plundering the tents of the Imhursagut.”

  “If he found enough booty to satisfy him, he is likely to be on the way to Zuabu by now,” Sharur said. “He fought for gain, not for love of the city.”

  “Did he ever speak of a man named—?” The first guard turned and whispered with the other, then nodded. “Named Habbazu, that was it.”

  Solemnly, Sharur, Ereshguna, and Tupsharru shook their heads. The second guard spoke for the first time: “His silence proves nothing. The two Zuabut could have been plotting together, plotting for the benefit of Zuabu, plotting to harm Gibil and the interests of Gibil.”

  “I had not thought of that,” Ereshguna said, solemn still. Kimash’s conclusion was close to the mark, but not on it.

  “That is why Kimash the mighty lugal rules Gibil,” the first guard said. “He is a man who thinks of everything.”

  “No
doubt you are right,” Sharur said. Kimash’s retainers spoke of him as if he were a god. Even Inadapa, steward to the lugal, spoke of him that way—and Inadapa was clever enough in his own right to understand perfectly well that Kimash was a man like himself. Most rulers in Kudurru either were gods themselves or were men through whom their city gods spoke. To rule in his own right, Kimash had to ape divinity.

  His guards, though, did not seem to think he was aping it. The first one said, “The mighty lugal will send pursuers on the Zuabi’s trail. They will drag him down like the dog he is. The mighty lugal has said he desires the Zuabi brought before him, and so the Zuabi shall be brought before him.” He might have been stating a law of nature.

  “No doubt you are right,” Sharur said again, in the tones of polite agreement he would have used had an Alashkurri wanax come out with some obvious absurdity that would not ruin a dicker.

  Kimash’s retainers swaggered away. Ereshguna said.

  “Son, you were indeed wise to send Habbazu down to Gibil as quickly as you did.”

  “I thought Kimash would link Habbazu and Burrapi in his mind,” Sharur answered. “He did not link them in quite the right way, but with Habbazu in his hands he would soon correct his mistake.”

  Tupsharru said, “I wonder when Engibil will realize something out of the ordinary has happened.” He went into no more detail than that; no telling if the god was listening.

  Perhaps Engibil did hear him, and went searching to discover what had happened that was out of the ordinary. Or perhaps the god, having seen that Gibil’s northern frontier no longer faced danger from Enimhursag and the Imhursagut, returned his chief attention to Gibil and, in Gibil, to the temple wherein he dwelt.

  His voice was a great deal more than twice the size of a man’s. It might have been articulate thunder crying out: “I have been robbed!”

  Sharur wanted to run. Sharur wanted to hide. Running from Engibil was futile. Hiding from Engibil was useless. By their expressions, Ereshguna and Tupsharru felt exactly as he did.

  Since running from the god was futile, since hiding from the god was useless, all three of them stayed where they were. Through lips likely as numb with fear as Sharur’s, Tupsharru whispered, “Engibil has ways of squeezing the truth from a man even the torturers of Kimash the lugal cannot match.”

  “There is truth, and then again there is truth,” Ereshguna answered, also in a whisper. “Remember it. Give as little as you can. We are in danger. We are not yet lost.”

  Tupsharru and Sharur both nodded. Sharur’s younger brother knew little directly concerning the stolen Alashkurri cup, and could truthfully deny questions assuming such direct knowledge. Sharur knew his own position was riskier. He knew too much, altogether too much.

  And Engibil knew he and Ereshguna knew too much, altogether too much. Telling Kimash that Habbazu was in Gibil had been a mistake. The lugal, seeking to shore up his own shaky position, had warned the god. He had not said who had given him that news, or Engibil would already have descended in wrath upon, the house of Ereshguna. But, should Engibil enquire of Kimash, Sharur was sure the lugal would appease the god with him and his father and brother sooner than facing Engibil’s anger himself.

  So it proved. The god of Gibil did not immediately visit the tent wherein Sharur, Ereshguna, and Tupsharru rested, but neither did he long delay. He appeared without warning: one moment, he was nowhere nearby; the next, air blown out by his arrival stirred Sharur’s hair and whiskers. “Men of the house of Ereshguna!” he boomed. “Was it you who told Kimash of the coming to Gibil of a certain Zuabi thief? Answer with the truth.” He pointed to Sharur, Ereshguna, and Tupsharru in turn.

  Engibil was a drowsy god, but a god nonetheless. Sharur suddenly found himself incapable of lying: an awkward predicament for a master merchant’s son. He answered with the truth: “Yes, we were the ones.” He could have done nothing else.

  “How did you know this master thief when you saw him?” Engibil demanded.

  “He had tried to rob my caravan when it was passing through Zuabu,” Sharur said. “He failed—my guards were alert—but I knew his face when I saw him again in Gibil.”

  “My guards were not so alert,” Engibil said petulantly. “Why did he want to steal whatever it was he wanted to steal?” Having denied that the Alashkurri cup was anything out of the ordinary, the god did not care to mention it now. Sharur noted how unspecific he was.

  He answered, “Great god, he wanted to steal it for Enzuabu.” That was true. Habbazu had later changed his reasons, but Engibil had not asked about that.

  “Do you know where the thing that was stolen is now?” Engibil asked.

  “No,” Sharur replied. As Ereshguna had remarked, there was truth, and then again there was truth. Only Ningal knew exactly where the cup lay. If Sharur interpreted Engibil’s questions literally enough, he could evade most of the strictures the god had set on him.

  Engibil rounded on Ereshguna and Tupsharru. “Does either of you know where the thing that was stolen is now?”

  “No,” Sharur’s father said. Sharur’s brother shook his head. They had both interpreted the question as Sharur had done.

  “You can not lie to me,” Engibil said. “I know you can not lie to me. Even if you are less firmly in my grip than I might like, you can not lie to me.”

  “That is so, great god,” Sharur said—truthfully. His father and brother nodded. Like him, they had given Engibil the exact truth, or what they could construe as the exact truth.

  The god frowned. “This is not what I had been led to believe by others,” he said. “I had thought you would know more than you do.”

  “Perhaps, mighty god, it was those others who were mistaken,” Sharur said. The truth was that Engibil was indeed a lazy god. He asked only a handful of questions and then, when the men of the house of Ereshguna succeeded in evading them, decided not to bother asking any more. He could easily have found questions Sharur and Ereshguna and Tupsharru would have been unable to evade—or, for that matter, he could have tom answers from their minds by force.

  He did neither of those things. He said, “Perhaps they were. They also told the truth, or what they thought to be the truth. But a man may be honestly mistaken, as a god may be honestly mistaken.” He tried again, in a way, asking Sharur, “Do you know where this Zuabi thfef is now?”

  “No, great god, I do not,” Sharur answered. Habbazu was surely somewhere between the encampment here and Gibil, but where? Had he stopped to rest? Was he buying beer in a village? Sharur had no way of knowing, not when the thief was out of his sight.

  Engibil asked the same question of Ereshguna and Tupsharru in turn, and received the same reply. Then, as much to himself as to the men of the house of Ereshguna, the god said, “I shall watch the western border. If the thief tries to take the thing that was stolen back to Zuabu, I shall learn of it. If he tries to take the thing that was stolen back to Enzuabu, I shall know.”

  And then he was gone, as suddenly as he had appeared. Sharur, Ereshguna, and Tupsharru looked at one another. As one, they sighed. As one, they turned toward the pot of beer. Ereshguna happened to be standing closest to it. He dipped up cups for himself and his sons. As one, they drank.

  None of them said anything for some time. Engibil had gone, but they could not tell whether he had left behind some small part of his presence to listen to whatever they might say. Sharur quickly emptied his cup of beer, then filled it again.

  At last, Ereshguna broke the silence, saying, “I am glad the god has realized we know so little about this theft and about the thief.”

  “As am I,” Sharur agreed, and Tupsharru nodded.

  Ereshguna went on, “I hope Engibil will have some sharp things to say to those who told him we knew more than we proved to know.”

  “So may it be,” Sharur and Tupsharru said together, speaking to a listener who might or might not be there. Sharur added, “I hope the great god does keep a close watch on the western border, that he might captu
re and punish the thief if he tries to take the thing that was stolen back to Zuabu.”

  He could lie once more—he felt that—but he spoke the truth there. If Habbazu stole the cup from the house of Dimgalabzu, Sharur would sooner have seen it in Engibil’s hands than in Enzuabu’s.

  Now Tupsharru and Ereshguna said, “So may it be.” No matter how reliable Habbazu had shown himself to be, trusting a Zuabi came hard.

  Sharur said, “I hope Kimash the mighty lugal will soon permit us to return to Gibil. Now that we have forced Enimhursag to flee, now that we have plundered the Imhur- saggi camp, we have no great reason to linger near the border with Imhursag. We who dwell in the city can return to our homes. We can return to our trades. The peasant levies who fought alongside us can return to their villages. They can return to their fields. We can be assured we shall have a good harvest, and food for all.”

  “That would be good,” Ereshguna agreed. “That would—”

  Before he could say anything more, Engibil reappeared. “You!” the god said, and pointed straight at Sharur.

  “I serve you, great god.” Sharur dropped to his knees and then to his belly, though he doubted whether the forms of respect would do him any good. Engibil had to have learned something -to return to the encampment of the Gibli army. Sharur resolved to give the god as little as he could, knowing how little such resolve was liable to mean.

  Engibil said, “You were outside my temple when the thing that was stolen disappeared. You were outside my house when the thief dared rob it.”

  “Great god, I had gone down into Gibil to put a prisoner into the hands of Ushurikti the slave dealer,” Sharur said. “Mighty god, while I was there, I put on an entertainment for the people left behind in the city, and especially for the priests who serve your house on earth.” Unless Engibil forced it from him, he would not admit he knew exactly when the cup disappeared from the god’s temple.

  “It was during this entertainment that the thing that was stolen was raped away,” Engibil said. “What do you know of this? Tell me the truth.”