by H A CULLEY
As usual, Tarhunda was mounted on his horse and rode immediately behind the king’s chariot. His stallion was now showing signs of age and the commander feared that he would have to retire him soon. Tarhunda disliked the bone-shaking ride of a chariot with its solid wheels and fixed axles. Camels were not an alternative in his view; they were smelly and all too prone to bite their riders. To return to Anatolia, where he had purchased this horse, was too dangerous. It was too close to Hittite territory and he hadn’t escaped the hornet’s nest once to walk back into it again just for a new mount. However, he had heard that horses could be purchased in the city of Ashkelon in Phoenicia, near where they were bred and tamed by a people called the Hyksos. This was beyond Syria, so he would need to find a merchant who traded that far south.
He was startled out of his reverie about horses by the roar of the crowd as they entered the city through the south gate. As the main entrance to the city, the street was quite broad; perhaps twenty yards wide between the mud brick houses that lined it. However, so many people stood in front of the houses, waving and cheering, that there was only just enough room to the procession to pass. Small boys dared each other to dart across the street between the rows of chariots until their parents managed to catch them and hold onto them. One daring twelve year-old even managed to leap onto the platform of a chariot from the rear and wave to his fellows before he was elbowed off again by the archer standing behind the driver. He fell into the dirt and only just managed to scramble out of the way of the next chariot, to the cheers of the crowd.
When Hammurabi reached the ziggurat, he and Arishaka dismounted and, together with Queen Adiar, who had waited for them at the bottom of the steps, they slowly walked up the two hundred steps to the top of the first tier of the massive structure. At this level there were a number of shrines and temples to minor deities. A single flight of steps led up to the temple of Marduk at the top. The king’s plan was to demolish this level and the top tier with its temple and replace it with two tiers surmounted by a much grander temple.
Once the army had formed up in the square in front of the ziggurat, with the people crowding in behind them, Hammurabi and Mannui-Qipe, assisted by his priests, started to make the sacrifices of goats and then bulls, throwing the intestines of each into the fires burning in large copper dishes in order to read the omens from the smoke. The meat would be used to feed the priests later.
Mannui-Qipe pronounced the omens good and thanked the king for the proposed enlargement of the temple before Hammurabi stepped forward with Adiar and Arishaka by his side.
‘Our northern borders are now secure,’ he told the sea of faces looking up at him from the square. When the cheering had died down he continued, ‘but we still face a threat from Elam, who have provided sanctuary to Zuuthusu, who foully murdered our beloved king, my father, Sin-Muballit.’ A roar of anger greeted this statement and Hammurabi held up his hands for quiet.
‘We will settle with him and with Elam in time but Rim-Sin of Sumeria casts covetous eyes at the prosperity of Babylon. We must be ready to repulse him should he decide to attack us.’ The people in the square were deadly silent now. ‘So I have asked our trusted commander, Tarhunda, to raise a small standing army.’ This provoked a buzz of comment and some cries of opposition; once again the king had to hold up his hands for quiet.
‘I know that you are suspicious of a standing army but this will be recruited from your young men, not mercenaries. This army will not be used to oppress you, but to ensure your security.’ This time the general tenor of the comments from below was one of approval.
‘Finally I want to thank my brother for the heroic part he played in our victory and to ask you to congratulate the queen, who is once again expecting our child.’ The cheering that greeted these two announcements was deafening. It wasn’t clear which one was the more popular, and that was Hammurabi’s intention. His brother was still a child, but he would be a man in a few years and, although he had convinced himself not to worry about the boy’s growing popularity for now, things might change as he grew older.
~#~
When Sin-Bel-Alim came to see him a week later to say that there was a delegation from Yamhad in Syria to see him, Hammurabi was puzzled. He knew that was where Zimri-Lim had taken refuge after the capture of Mari and that Yamhad opposed Assyrian expansion. On the basis that the enemy of my friend was also my enemy, he had made the reasonable assumption that Yamhad wasn’t likely to be friendly towards Babylon either. When he heard that they had brought two barge loads of seasoned cedar he was even more surprised. The timber would be extremely useful for the construction of the new temple, but the king was astute enough to know that diplomatic gifts always had strings attached.
He met the two emissaries in a small room with just Isiratuu and Sin-Bel-Alim in attendance. The fewer people who knew about this embassy the better.
‘Thank you for seeing us, lord king,’ the senior of the two began before launching into the usual flowery greetings and complimentary remarks that typified such meetings, and which bored Hammurabi to distraction.
‘Yes, thank you ambassador. Now let’s stop wasting each other’s time and tell me what you are doing here and what Sumu-Epuh wants in exchange for such a costly gift.’
The senior Syrian was affronted by the King of Babylon’s directness. He had been taught from an early age to skirt around your true purpose and only hint and point towards what you really wanted to say. That way you could easily backtrack if the meeting wasn’t going as planned, or claim a misunderstanding if things went wrong later.
‘My king feels he is under pressure from certain of his neighbours but he only craves peace. After the recent events in Mari, he wishes to establish good relations with the new king there and wonders whether the great Hammurabi would be prepared to use his influence to help him in this regard.’
‘Let me see if I can decipher this message. Your king, Sumu-Epuh, wants Babylon as an ally because I control the lands to the south, and effectively to the east of Mari too, as that’s where Eshnunna lies. As Yamhad abuts Mari to the north and west this would isolate Mari from Assyria, except for a narrow corridor to the north-west. He knows that Yasmah-Addu, the new king of Mari, is weak, indecisive and unpopular and ultimately wants to put Zimri-Lim, who is betrothed to his daughter, Shibtu, back on the throne of Mari. How am I doing so far?’
The two emissaries looked uncomfortable and said nothing.
‘I assume from your silence that you cannot fault my logic? Good.’ He paused and exchanged glances with his two ministers before continuing. ‘Then perhaps you can tell me why I should change from supporting Assyria, which is a growing power in northern Mesopotamia, to Yamhad, which lies in Syria and is beset by hostile neighbours; not just Mari but Qatna and Urshu as well?’
‘Because, lord king, Shamshi-Adad is an old man now and when he dies his empire will collapse. Already he faces a rebellion in the east. Neither of his sons are half the man he is and, when he goes, you will face Elam, Mari, Yamhad and possibly even Sumeria with only Eshnunna as an ally.’
‘Succinctly put. Such plain speaking must have been difficult for a diplomat.’ Hammurabi smiled for the first time. ‘So your king is proposing a secret alliance, which will only take effect when Shamshi-Adad dies? How will this help Sumu-Epuh in the meantime?’
The ambassadors again said nothing.
‘Of course, once our secret pact is agreed, Sumu-Epuh will make sure that it is discreetly leaked to Qatna and Urshu to dissuade them from any unwise moves. If that leads to discord between Babylon and Assyria, so what; Assyria will be occupied with Babylon and Eshnunna, leaving Yamhad free to concentrate on Qatna and Urshu.’
‘You credit our king with more cunning than he possesses, my lord. With your backing, he can reach an agreement with Assyria that confirms Yasmah-Addu as King of Mari. Then we only have Qatna and Urshu to worry about, which we can handle.’
‘So Sumu-Epuh would abandon the man who is to wed his daughter?’<
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‘No, not at all; merely postpone his return to the throne of Mari until the time is right.’
‘I see. Let me consider all that has been said. I will send for you again when I am ready.’
The other ambassador was about to speak when his colleague laid a warning hand on his arm and whispered in his ear. The two men bowed deeply and left the room.
~#~
A week later the matter was raised again during a routine meeting of the king’s council.
‘Have you decided what to do about the envoys from Yamhad, lord king?’ Sin-Bel-Alim enquired politely. The two envoys had been badgering him for a response for several days now.
‘Mmmm, it is a difficult problem. I need to keep Assyria friendly towards us but it is tempting to conclude a treaty with Yamhad with the future in mind.’ Hammurabi pretended to be deep in thought, though most there were certain that he had made his mind up before the meeting.
‘I think the solution might be to let Shamshi-Adad know that I propose to conclude an agreement with Sumu-Epuh of Yamhad.’ A chorus of protests greeted this announcement and a flicker of annoyance crossed the king’s face. ‘I haven’t finished. I will let him know that, in return for the recognition of Yasmah-Addu as King of Mari by Sumu-Epuh, I will support the latter if his kingdom is attacked by either Qatna or Urshu. This is, after all, Sumu-Epuh’s primary concern and Shamshi-Adad will be pleased that he doesn’t have to worry about his western border whilst he is engaged in the east. At the same time I will let Sumu-Epuh know that this agreement will cease if and when either he or Shamshi-Adad dies.’ Hammurabi smiled. ‘Then I will be free to conclude a more favourable treaty with Yamhad.’
All of those present could see what a clever solution this was. It secured Yamhad as an ally whilst at the same time strengthening the bonds of friendship with the King of Assyria.
‘Now we have another matter to deal with, I think.’ Hammurabi turned to Tarhunda. ‘You want to go off for several months to replace your horse?’
‘Not quite, lord king.’ Tarhunda smiled in response to the polite laughter that had greeted the king’s somewhat facetious question. ‘I want to buy enough horses to start breeding them here in Babylon.’
‘Whatever for? I accept your attachment to your somewhat strange method of personal transportation, but why do we need to start breeding them? Camels are better; they can carry an archer and a boy to control it and they don’t need feeding and watering nearly as often as your horse, and they are faster over a long distance.’
‘Because they are quicker and more nimble on the battlefield; I would like to build up a small force of mounted spearmen, who can get in amongst enemy chariots and support the archers on their camels. Sooner or later the enemy will realise that it is better for them to aim at the camels themselves, rather than the archers on top, but horsemen are a much more difficult target.’
‘I suppose it can do no harm to try it,’ mused Hammurabi. ‘How many do you propose to buy and where from?’
‘I will need quite a few: some to use immediately and a small herd to use as breeding stock. The only market that I could travel to safely is Ashkelon in southern Syria. I have heard that trading caravans travel there from Aleppo, the main city of Yamhad so, once the new treaty is in place, I can travel there and join a caravan.’
‘How many would you take with you?’
‘I have trained half a dozen men to ride my horse so they can look after those that I buy. I will need to take some guards; perhaps half a dozen camels with their riders and archers?’
‘Take a dozen to be on the safe side, and I want you to take my brother with you. It’ll be good experience for him and it will get him out from under my feet.’
Arishaka hated being cooped up in the palace all day with his tutors and there was nothing he would relish more than an adventure like this.
‘Very good, lord king. I will give him some riding lessons before we leave so he can make himself useful on the way back. I am most grateful to you. You won’t regret the decision, I promise.’
‘Just make sure you come back safely; I can’t afford to lose you.’ He didn’t tell him to bring Arishaka back safely. Perhaps that was just an oversight, Tarhunda thought, but it was a little odd all the same.
~#~
At first Tarhunda thought that he had been saddled with a baby-sitting job, but the more he got to know Arishaka the more he liked him. The boy was engaging and intelligent beyond his years. He was now eleven years old but seemed to have put childhood behind him some time ago. He was eager to learn, especially about warfare. He was particularly fascinated by tales about the Hittites.
One evening the two sat by the fire and Tarhunda started telling him about the father of the king he had served, Anittas, who had just been king of Kassara initially. When he came to the throne he was surrounded by petty kingdoms on the Cappadocian plateau in central Anatolia. By building up the wealth of his city through trading with Assyrian merchants and training a standing army, he was able to embark on a campaign of conquest so that, by the time that he died and Anittas inherited his kingdom, all of Cappadocia had been conquered except for the city of Hattusas, which stood in a loop of the great Red River.
‘Hattusas is a prosperous city surrounded by farms, which grow wheat, barley, flax and lentils. The land has lush pastures, on which sheep and cattle graze, and extensive woodland,’ Tarhunda told Arishaka. ‘The houses are all built from wood, quite different to those made of dried clay bricks in Mesopotamia. The city itself stands on a high ridge, surrounded by a stout palisade. However, Anittas didn’t attack the city directly, but showered it with fire arrows until nearly half of it was burnt to the ground. Hattusas surrendered and Anittas made it his capital because of its central position.’
‘But he wasn’t killed at Hattusas, was he?’
‘No, he preferred to live at Kassara, his home city, whenever he could; and that’s where Labarbas, may the gods devour his soul, killed him and all his family before seizing the throne for himself.’
The party eventually arrived at Aleppo and Tarhunda went looking for a caravan travelling south. It took a week to find one going as far as Ashkelon, some three hundred miles away. With time on his hands, Arishaka spent most of the time exploring the city. In some ways it was similar to Babylon, especially the smells and the flies, but in other ways it was totally different. Babylon had a central market that was set up each day in the central square in front of the ziggurat. Here there was no ziggurat and merchants traded from permanent booths that lined many of the narrow lanes of Aleppo. There seemed to be a district for every type of commodity; all the goldsmiths were in one pace and the spice sellers in another; but he spent most of his time in the lane where the armourers crafted weapons and armour out of bronze.
In the year since the victory parade Arishaka had grown in height and had started to fill out a little. The body armour of bronze plates sewn onto a padded linen vest no longer fitted him properly, so one day he took it with him to see if he could trade it for something bigger. The first armourer took one look at it and told the boy to get lost. The boy was dressed quite plainly as Tarhunda didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to their group and the two archers, who accompanied him to make sure he didn’t run into any trouble, had stayed discreetly in the background.
He moved on to a much larger smithy where three men wearing leather aprons were gathered round the forge producing bronze spearheads and copper arrow heads. A boy of about eight was hard at work pumping the bellows to keep the fire red hot. A fourth man was working on a bronze helmet but stopped beating it into shape when he saw Arishaka and one of his bodyguards standing waiting. The soldier was dressed as a caravan guard but his presence indicated that the boy wasn’t a time-waster. The second bodyguard had stayed in the shadows.
The boy started to explain what he wanted, holding the plate lined vest up, when suddenly three men appeared armed with daggers. One stuck his in the neck of the unsuspecting guard bef
ore he could react and another waved his menacingly at the armourer to keep him from interfering. The third assassin thrust his dagger towards Arishaka’s body, but the boy reacted too quickly for it to reach its target. He whipped the armoured vest around in an instinctive reaction and deflected the dagger; at the same time he balanced on one foot and kicked his opponent hard in the groin.
The second bodyguard had been quicker to react. He had drawn his sword and thrust it into the back of the man who had killed his companion before the assailant was aware of his presence. Meanwhile, one of the other bronze-smiths had used a pair of tongs to hurl the red hot spearhead he had been working on at the man facing his fellow smith. It was a lucky throw and it hit him in his left eye. The screech of agony filled the lane just before the smell of burning flesh made everyone gag. The noise ended abruptly when the surviving bodyguard drew his bronze blade across his neck, severing his windpipe and his jugular.
The man went to finish off the third attacker who had recovered from Arishaka’s kick and was now surrounded by people but the boy stopped him.
‘I want him alive for questioning back at our camp.’ He turned to thank the two smiths and caught a glimpse of the small boy, who had stopped pumping the bellows and was staring wide eyed at him. At least I’ve brightened up his dull existence, Arishaka thought as he turned to follow the guard and his prisoner.
‘I will send some men for our friend’s body.’ He indicated the dead bodyguard.
‘What about these two? The city watch won’t be at all happy about this,’ one of the smiths asked.
‘Don’t worry; I’ll sort that out as well. I’ll be back tomorrow to talk about my armour.’
The smiths looked dubious. How could an eleven year old boy pacify the city watch?