The Concubine's Son

by H A CULLEY

  His men had buried the human bodies, skulls, feet and hands in a common grave. Dadanum had debated whether to take the bodies of Ashlatum and Samuditana back to Sippar for a proper funeral, but they had begun to stink and so he decided to bury them together in a separate grave. He had marked the spot in case the king wanted to recover the bodies later. He had intended to take their rings back to prove their identities but, not only were the rings missing, the fingers had been cut off to facilitate their removal. The mood of his men was very subdued but he could tell that, underneath their sombre demeanour, they were incredibly angry.

  As soon as the grisly task was completed, he set off for Sippar with just an escort of two men; leaving his second-in-command to bring the men back at a slower pace. He rode through the city gates of Sippar, his heart feeling heavier with every step his camel took. He dismounted at the palace gates and his camel boy took the animal away to the camel stables. Dadanum wished he was going with them.

  He squared his shoulders and strode into the palace. He located the chamberlain and told him he had an urgent and personal message for the king. Ten minutes later he was ushered into the throne room. He stopped on the threshold, looking at all the elders, nobles and others gathered seeking an audience with Hammurabi. The king sat on a chair at the top of a small dais, Adiar sitting beside him on a stool. As the chamberlain led him forward, his leather sandals making a slapping noise on the stone floor, the chatter ceased and all eyes turned towards him. The chamberlain left him at the foot of the dais and went to whisper in the king’s ear.

  Hammurabi beckoned him forward and he reluctantly climbed the four steps so that he was standing just below where the royal couple were sitting. Dadanum was in a quandary. He could whisper his message in the king’s ear but he knew that it would be very difficult for him to retain his composure in front of everyone after he had imparted his news; and he needed to tell Adiar at the same time. He couldn’t leave her wondering what he had said and he couldn’t whisper in two ears at once.

  He only had a second to make his mind up and he still wasn’t certain what to do as he stepped up to murmur in the king’s ear. Then the solution hit him.

  ‘Lord king, I have grave tidings for the ear of the queen and yourself in private.’

  Hammurabi gave him a piercing stare, then nodded and beckoned his chamberlain back. When the latter announced that the general audience was ended there was a hubbub of speculation and angry murmuring from those who had been waiting for some time to put their petitions to the king.

  The king led the way through a door behind the dais into a small room where he was dressed in his state robes before audiences. There was no furniture except for a chest where his robes were kept. A servant hurried forward and helped him out of the full length coat embroidered in gold and the gem encrusted hat. Once the servant had left, Hammurabi and Adiar turned to Dadanum.

  ‘I assume that you have brought us news of my mother and our son?’

  ‘I fear so, my lord king. It is not easy to say what I have to.’

  ‘Just get on with it.’ Adiar snapped. She cared little for Dadanum’s feelings; she already knew in her heart that her eldest son was dead but she needed to know for certain.

  Dadanum cleared his throat nervously. ‘It is the worst possible news. We found the column escorting the Lady Ashlatum and Prince Samuditana two days ago. They had been slaughtered; no-one survived.’ He looked at the floor waiting for the tirade of abuse that messengers of bad tidings were often subjected to. Instead he heard quiet sobbing and looked up hesitantly to see Adiar clasped in Hammurabi’s arms, crying on his shoulder. The king’s eyes were unreadable but his face looked haggard, as if he had aged ten years in a heartbeat.

  He waved Dadanum away, then called softy after him.

  ‘Don’t go far, I’ll want to know the details, but not now.’

  Chapter Thirteen – Vengeance – 1774 BCE

  Hammurabi stood in his chariot with Arishaka sitting beside him on his horse. Hammurabi was dressed in his normal robes but his brother was wearing a thick leather coat with bronze scales sewn all over it. His bronze helmet was shaped to his head, leaving only his face exposed. There was a hole at each side to hear through and red and blue plumes were held in a holder at the back of the helmet. They signified his rank as the army commander. Commanders of a hundred wore blue plumes and the officers in command of a thousand sported red ones.

  The two brothers looked at the walls of Mari and discussed the plan for getting inside them. Behind them the army was deploying to surround the city from the south and east. The river guarded the western side and here Hammurabi had deployed several boats packed with archers to prevent resupply by water.

  At the same time troops from Yamhad under the command of Zimri-Lim had sealed off the approaches from the north. These were not in the same class as the trained militias from the Babylonian cities but they would prevent any escape from Mari in that direction.

  Their one worry was intervention from Assur, Nimrud and Nineveh, the three nearest Assyrian cities. Arishaka had stationed three units of a hundred to watch the approaches from there and had kept four thousand men in reserve to the east of Mari to deal with any surprise attack. Hammurabi felt that Ishme-Dagan probably had enough to cope with dealing with the Hittites, who were beginning to mount tentative incursions into Assyria, and renewed pressure from the Kassites in the mountains of Lorestan to the east.

  After the killing of his mother and eldest son, both Hammurabi and Adiar had spent some time in mourning. Hammurabi had pulled himself together after a few weeks and began to plan the downfall of Yasmah-Addu, who he was certain had arranged the ambush. However, Adiar showed no sign of recovering and had started to blame her husband for Samuditana’s death, saying that he should never have sent him on such a dangerous mission.

  As time went on she set her dead son on a pedestal. When Hammurabi tried to point out that it was her golden boy who had indirectly caused the deaths of himself and Ashlatum by opening his big mouth, she refused to listen and started throwing things at him. Their relationship was creaking at the seams and so Hammurabi threw all his energy into the attack on Mari. If he was honest, he was as glad to get away from his wife, and the atmosphere of acrimony between them, as he was eager for the campaign.

  After a week all was ready for the assault on the town. Arishaka had already reconnoitred the tunnel he had used to get into the city all those years ago when he was a boy, but it had been sealed up. The Babylonians had made a battering ram by placing a heavy tree trunk onto several sets of wheels. They had also constructed three wooden towers on wheels to assault the walls. The Yamhad men had constructed another. But these were all diversions.

  The garrison of Mari consisted of a locally recruited militia, numbering eight thousand, and two thousand Assyrian warriors. Against them Hammurabi had brought twelve thousand Babylonians and Yamhad had sent two thousand. After taking out the reserve of four thousand to guard against attack from Assyria, the remaining total of ten thousand hardly seemed enough to tackle the same number of defenders, protected as they were by the city walls. However, a third of the Marian soldiers had been won over secretly by the city council to support the son of their previous king.

  At dawn of the eighth day the siege towers and the battering ram trundled slowly forward. The thousand men pulling them along were supported by fifteen hundred archers who, in turn, were each protected by a spearman with a large shield. As they neared the walls the archers concentrated on keeping the Assyrian archers’ heads down. In this they were only partially successful. Several managed to bring down some of the men pulling the siege engines towards the wall, but it didn’t make any difference at first to the onward march of the towers and the battering ram.

  As the towers and the ram neared the walls and the gate the hail of arrows intensified and more and more of the men hauling on the ropes were killed or injured. Then, suddenly, the men manning the walls disappeared from sight and the sound of fig
hting inside the walls could be heard quite clearly by the attackers.

  From his vantage point on top of a small hillock half a mile from the city Hammurabi grunted with relief. ‘It looks as if our mother, Marduk bless her soul, managed to get my message through to the city council on her way north after all.’

  Arishaka looked at him curiously. ‘Would you like to take me into your confidence, brother?’

  The king smiled at him. ‘I didn’t want to say anything before in case she hadn’t succeeded. I wanted you plan and execute the assault properly but it looks as if Yasmah-Addu is having to fight on two fronts. Before our men started to cheer, I could just hear the sound of fighting inside the walls. That means that the city watch and the militia who are loyal to Zimri-Lin have risen up against the Assyrians and those in the city who support them.’

  ‘I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me about the plan before this? It might have saved lives.’

  ‘You needed to act as if it was up to you and you alone to capture the city. If the attack had been half-hearted the Assyrians and their allies could have put down the uprising before we were in a position to help. As it is, our men have nearly secured the walls and in a few more minutes the gate will give in and we can go to the aid of our friends before they are overwhelmed.’

  Arishaka was still muttering under his breath about not being trusted but he did understand Hammurabi’s reasoning. Had he known, he would have told them to go cautiously and minimise casualties until they heard fighting from within the city. They might then have been too late to save their allies within Mari.

  ~#~

  Yasmah-Addu was hanging by his wrists, which were chained to the roof of a cell in the city jail.

  ‘I’ll ask you once again, who were the men who ambushed my mother and my son and left them pegged out to die under the midday sun?’

  ‘I tell you I don’t know. I left the details up to my general, once I had found out that you were going to betray me.’ Despite the pain he was in, he glared at Hammurabi with loathing. ‘Traitor.’ He spat.

  Hammurabi sighed. ‘Let me make something clear to you, you are going to die. You are no further use to me and you could be a problem if I let you live. I’ve had quite enough of a deposed king pursuing a vendetta against me with my half-brother Zuuthusu. I have no intention of allowing a repeat of the experience. But it is your choice whether you die slowly and painfully or quickly with dignity. My men are expert at removing small bits of you slowly starting with your nails, fingers, toes, teeth and eyes, then your genitals.’ He paused. ‘You get the picture; I’m sure I don’t need to go on.’

  The former King of Mari broke down and started to sob. ‘What is it you want to know?’

  ‘The identity of all those who slew and mutilated my men and killed my mother and son. I’ve told you this already. Come on; I’m getting impatient.’

  Yasmah-Addu said nothing further so Hammurabi signalled to one of jailors and he picked up a pair of bronze pincers in one hand and the prisoners hand in the other.

  ‘Stop! I’ll tell you. There is no need to torture me further. If I am going to die, there is no point in keeping secrets; but my brother will hound you down for this.’

  ‘I don’t think so. He always had a low opinion of you and he will be glad to have got an embarrassment out of the way. Whether he will be so glad to lose Mari is another matter.’ A slow grin spread over Hammurabi’s face. ‘In any case, he has his hands full merely keeping your father’s kingdom together at the moment. Now, you were about to tell me who killed Ashlatum and Samuditana.’

  The other man uttered a sigh and his head sunk towards his chest as he gave in. ‘I hired a tribal chieftain called Gurzu and his men to carry out the ambush. I promised them twenty talents in gold and paid them when it was done. But I only paid them to kill, not to mutilate or torture.’

  ‘Thank you. And where do I find this Gurzu?’

  The former King of Mari hesitated, then decided that there was nothing to be gained by protecting the ambushers. ‘His is a nomadic tribe but his territory is in the mountains along the border between Mari and Yamhad.’

  ‘And how big is his tribe?’

  The man tried to shrug but couldn’t really do so hanging in chains with his arms above his head.

  ‘I’m not sure; no more than a hundred men I wouldn’t have thought.’

  ‘Thank you. You have been very helpful. Now, it’s time for me to keep my part of the bargain.’ Hammurabi nodded to the man who had been holding the pincers and then tuned and left the cell. As soon as he had left a quick stab to the heart put Yasmah-Addu out of his misery.

  Three days later the necessary religious ceremonies had installed Zimri-Lim on his father’s throne and Hammurabi led his army south again. All except Dadanum, who had been left behind with his own company of one hundred camel archers, a further company of camel archers and a hundred horsemen. Arishaka had wanted to command them and hunt down the murderers of his mother and nephew, but Hammurabi said that, as army commander, his job was to carry on building up and training the army, not chasing around Mesopotamia looking for revenge.

  Dadanum’s first problem was to locate Gurzu and his tribe. The border between Yamhad and Mari covered a large area so he split his force into two. The horsemen were sent out in ten small patrols to scour the western end of the search area and Dadanum did the same with his camel riders for the more barren eastern half. The other company was kept in reserve to guard the base camp, which he set up at Terqa, a Marian city further up the Euphrates.

  After two weeks of fruitless searching over a wide area, Dadanum decided to try a different strategy. He offered a sizeable reward for news about Gurzu and his tribe and sent messengers with news of the reward to all the towns and villages in the area. A week later a man and his son arrived at Terqa and asked to see him. They were shown into the reception room of the house that Dadanum had commandeered in Terqa as his headquarters.

  Dadanum was alone, apart from two guards who remained at the door. The man said that his son had news of Gurzu. The Babylonian commander’s eyes glanced towards the boy, who looked to be about twelve or thirteen. Both man and boy looked like nomads, and smelt like them too. The Marians were exceptionally fastidious about bathing and dressing well; even the men used perfume. The Babylonians didn’t take presentation and hygiene to the extent that the Marians did but, even so, Dadanum found the smell of man and boy particularly offensive.

  ‘There is a reward for news about Gurzu?’ the man asked eagerly.

  ‘Yes, if you can tell me where he and his tribe can be found, I will give you this purse of silver once we have confirmed their location.’ He gestured towards a leather pouch that sat on the table in front of him.

  Suddenly the boy pulled a dagger from within his filthy robes and, leaping onto the table, he threw himself at Dadanum. At the same time the man whirled and leaped at one of the guards. Before the guard could use his spear, the nomad had thrust a dagger into his belly. The other guard was quicker and thrust his spear into the spine of the nomad, pinning him to the ground. The spinal cord was broken and he died instantly.

  Dadanum had thrown up his left arm to ward off the blow from the boy’s dagger and thrust his right fist into his face, breaking his nose and knocking him out. When the boy recovered consciousness he found that he was spread-eagled with his arms and feet tied to four pegs that had been driven into the mud brick wall of the room. His naked body dripped water from the bucketful that had been thrown over him to bring him round.

  ‘Even that hasn’t made him smell any better.’ Dadanum commented to the three men standing beside him, facing the boy. The latter noticed with little satisfaction that the Dadanum’s left arm was heavily bandaged. His only regret was that he had failed to do what his chieftain had asked of him and his father. The fact that he had wounded their target was small consolation.

  ‘Now boy, where do I find Gurzu?’ One of the other men in the room translated the question b
ut the boy’s only reply was to try and spit at Dadanum.

  An hour later the weeping boy told Dadanum what he wanted to know, but not before he had been blinded in one eye and had lost the nails from three of his fingers.

  ‘Shall we kill the boy, captain?’ one of his men asked.

  ‘No, tend to his wounds. Tomorrow he can use his one good eye to lead us to this oasis where his tribe is camped.’

  Thirty six hours later, just before dawn, the three companies of Babylonians waited in the low foothills that surrounded the oasis with its date palms and fig trees. The boy had explained that his tribe lived on their goats and selling the produce from this grove and several other groves dotted around the area; that and robbing travellers whenever they could.

  Leaving he boy tied up with two guards, the three hundred Babylonians started to walk their animals slowly toward the sixty or so tents dotted around the oasis. There didn’t appear to be any sentries and so the alarm wasn’t raised until a man came out of one of the tents. He walked a few yards and started to relieve himself. Then something made him look up and he saw the encircling Babylonian soldiers. As he cried out a warning, two arrows silenced him, one through his neck and one in his chest.

  By now the grey half-light that had crept over the camp as the sun began to rise behind the surrounding hills started to turn into a warmer yellow as its rays appeared on the top of the hills. Men tumbled out of their tents clutching their weapons, but most were struck down by arrows before they got a chance to use them. The women and children looked out of their tents but most decided to stay where they were; to try to run was to invite death and there didn’t appear to be a way through the tight cordon. A few tried and paid the penalty.

  Gradually the remaining men realised that the situation was hopeless and they threw down their weapons. An hour later the camp had been searched and all the women and children had been roped together by the neck ready for the long walk to the slave market in Mari. The boy who had guided them was put in with the rest but Dadanum didn’t rate his chances of lasting more than an hour or so very highly, once the others realised who had betrayed them.