Day of the False King

by Brad Geagley

  “Has any of them…um…ever described their night with the god?”

  It was Marduk’s turn to be shocked. “Not only would that be sacrilegious, Semerket, but tasteless as well. I’m surprised at you. What human words could ever describe such an experience?”

  “What words, indeed?” murmured Semerket ironically. The maidens’ collective silence was certainly a very convenient tradition. With a start, he suddenly wondered if Bel-Marduk would demand the comfort of virgins during his trip back to Egypt. He certainly hoped not, for he had no wish to become a procurer, even for a god. And if the Lord of All did indeed desire such companions, where was he supposed to find them on the dusty roads of Mesopotamia? He sighed, resolving to deal with the problem when it arose.

  By now, river traffic surrounded them utterly, and forward motion on the Euphrates came to a halt. Semerket became irritated to find himself confined in an unmoving boat in mid-river. Standing up, he gazed far ahead to see what the holdup was, only to observe yet another wonder—a solid stone bridge that spanned the entire breadth of the Euphrates. He gaped at the continuous stream of vehicles and pedestrians that traversed it from one side of the river to the other. It was quite the most amazing feat of engineering he had ever seen, for the bridge was almost an entire furlong in length. In its center an immense gangplank of wood spanned the two stone piers that made up its bulk, and he saw that it was through this relatively small gap that all the river traffic was being funneled; hence the delay.

  In the enforced idleness of the backwash, Semerket raised his besotted eyes to the public buildings that lined the river. A note of pride crept into Marduk’s voice as he saw Semerket gazing at the immense city walls. “Are they not impressive, Semerket? Why, they’re so wide,” he boasted, “that four chariots can ride atop them—abreast!”

  Semerket was about to churlishly remark that surely with such thick walls Babylon need not have surrendered to the Elamites so hastily. He still hoped to goad Marduk into revealing the reason for his bitterness. But distant tinkling bells stopped his words before he had a chance to speak them, and he turned in the direction of their sound.

  A train of donkeys was leaving the city, going to the north. The asses bore baskets across their backs filled with chunks of what looked like glistening black rock. Semerket saw that the drivers were women—undoubtedly the members of the mysterious gagu Marduk had mentioned earlier. Though the women were clad from head to toe in shroudlike woolen cloaks, allowing only a glimpse of their eyes, there was no mistaking them for men. Even the train’s guards were females, though they were sensibly clad in practical leather armor.

  “Do these gagu women make a success of their livelihood?” he asked.

  “They’ve lent their wealth to every king and prince in Asia for centuries. If the women were to go bankrupt tomorrow, the entire region would collapse—they’re that powerful.”

  “And it’s this trade in bitumen that’s brought them their wealth?”

  “Hardly. Bitumen is just one of their interests. No, they’ve become wealthy because they’re scientists, Semerket—masters of astrology.”

  Marduk told him that the gagu’s predictions were so astonishingly accurate that kings and satraps from around the world consulted with them. No one was more adept at divination than the women of the gagu, Marduk swore, and their every business decision, every loan, investment, and purchase was first subjected by them to the prism of heaven, the true reason for their success.

  As Marduk spoke, Semerket abruptly sat up straighter in the boat. Something familiar had caught his eye. What had it been? He again scanned the long line of donkeys and the women who drove them.

  There…!

  A woman walked beside a big two-wheeled cart piled with chunks of dried bitumen. Shrouded like the others, there was nevertheless something oddly familiar about her—the way she walked, how she held her head, the curve of her hidden leg beneath the shroud. Taller than the rest, certainly less compact (for he was beginning to notice a certain stockiness common to Babylonians of both sexes), the woman possessed a distinctly Egyptian stance.

  Semerket stared after her. His mouth dried up. His heart beat a fierce rhythm. His lips suddenly parted, for he was going to shout—to scream—“Naia!”

  His throat ached from the effort it cost him to choke back her name. He turned away, fiercely telling himself that the last thing he needed to be doing was imagining Naia in every likely woman that passed. If he continued to do so, he realized, he ran the risk of failing to recognize her when she was truly there.

  “What are you looking at so intently?” asked Marduk.

  “At…at the baskets on the donkeys. They’re full of bitumen, aren’t they? It must be heavy stuff.”

  “On the contrary, it’s very lightweight. That’s why it’s so perfect for the gagu to handle—a woman can easily manage a load of it.”

  Semerket looked sharply at Marduk. Had he not noticed the way the bags sagged over the donkeys’ backs—how the hardy little beasts seemed almost to stagger under their weight?

  “Yet…” Semerket fell silent. So the gagu indulged in a little smuggling. What merchant guild did not? It was none of his business what those women were up to, and such speculation would only cloud his mind with irrelevant detail. Perhaps he had only imagined it, anyway. In his mind, he heard again the deep voice of Elibar, warning him of the perils of Mesopotamia. He would see things that were not there, and become blind to things that were…

  It was late afternoon when their little round ship finally squeezed past the bridge and found a place to moor on a distant riverbank. Only the donkey seemed sad to see him go, reaching out its head to forlornly nuzzle his hand. The wine merchant and his son raised loud cries of lamentation to see Marduk depart, however, bowing before him abjectly and kissing his hands, fervently asking for his blessing. Marduk at last extricated himself from their embraces, and led Semerket forward into the city.

  Babylon possessed eight gates, each named after one of the city’s chief gods. In fact, Marduk said, the name Babylon itself actually meant “The Gate of God.” Semerket and Marduk entered through the Ishtar Gate, the grandest of them all. It was one of the few mud-brick structures glazed in expensive enameled tiles, and its deep blue color was sacred to the goddess. Trying to look less a bumpkin at his first festival, Semerket obediently stepped into the customs line and forbade himself to gawk.

  “You must do the talking for both of us,” he whispered to Marduk. “Don’t give them my name—I don’t want anyone to know I’m Pharaoh’s envoy. Tell them I’m a merchant seeking spices, or some such thing, and that I can’t speak Babylonian. I need to explore the city on my own before any officials know I’m here.”

  He had decided not to announce his arrival to Babylon’s new king until he had completed his own mission. Only then would he begin negotiations to bring Bel-Marduk’s idol back to Egypt. In the meantime, he meant to work far away from the attention of great ones, for he had begun to suspect, given the Elamites’ weakened position, that if the native Babylonians knew he was close to Kutir more doors would close to him than open.

  Marduk did not answer him, but merely averted his head, and began to follow a few steps behind, cringing and gawking like a simpleton. Semerket smiled to himself, marveling at Marduk’s endless mutability. He was a true shape-shifter, able to blend into any crowd, enact any role.

  However, when they came to the Elamite immigration clerks and tax gatherers, Marduk remained silent, still affecting his empty gaze. He hung his head and seemed confused and intimidated by the Elamites’ sharp questions.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Semerket said in Egyptian. “Answer them.”

  But Marduk only peeped dully at the men from behind Semerket. Drool began to string from his mouth. The customs clerk turned his head away in disgust and addressed all his questions to Semerket, refusing even to look at Marduk.

  In the end, Semerket had to declare himself to the authorities, for they had s
earched his pack and found the tablets bearing his name. They then exclaimed and bowed low before him, showing him a list of expected foreign dignitaries, with his own name placed among the most prominent. Instantly, a palace clerk appeared to usher Semerket and Marduk away from the others and into a private room located within the gate itself.

  “You are most welcome, Great Lord,” gushed the clerk in precise Babylonian. “We will send a courier to inform the palace that you have at last arrived.”

  Semerket was appalled. “But I don’t want that!” he blurted out before thinking.

  The Elamite clerk stared at him, taken aback. “But…but what will I say to the king when he asks why you don’t present your credentials?”

  Semerket hastily improvised, with no help from Marduk. “You may inform the king, of course, of my arrival. But tell him…tell him that before I present myself at court, I must first purify myself through prayer, to thank the Egyptian gods for my safe arrival.”

  Semerket knew that the Mesopotamians regarded Egyptians as religion-mad, and hoped the Elamites would accept his excuse, suspicious as it was. The clerk looked doubtful and began to shake his head.

  “Or perhaps I should return to Egypt?” Semerket asked darkly.

  “Oh no, sir!” The clerk held up his hands in a supplicating manner. “King Kutir would be extremely disappointed—angry, in fact—if you were to depart from Babylon now. His troops would find you, in any case, for he is anxious to hear Pharaoh’s greeting from your own lips.”

  Semerket considered quickly. Either Kutir must possess a formidable network of spies, or Pharaoh’s instructions to Ambassador Menef had been extremely thorough. Either way, he had to find a way to gain some time.

  “Before I kneel before his throne,” he continued to insist, “I must first kneel to my gods.”

  The clerk’s voice was weak. “When do you think you will be content to present yourself at the palace?”

  Semerket answered obliquely. “I will give sufficient warning before I come. Meanwhile, my slave and I will look for accommodations in the Egyptian Quarter.” Semerket shouldered his pack decisively.

  “But rooms are waiting for you at Bel-Marduk’s temple hostel, Great Lord! It will be my pleasure to escort you there myself.”

  “The rooms won’t be necessary.”

  The clerk’s face succumbed to his anxiety at last, crumpling into a mask of abject fear. He confessed that a lingering death in the Insect Chamber would be his fate if Semerket vanished within the city. He begged Semerket to see reason, and spare him so terrible an end.

  Cursing his luck, furious at Marduk for his silence, Semerket reluctantly agreed to follow the hapless clerk to the hostel. There, Semerket knew, the priests would spy on him, reporting his every movement back to the palace—exactly what he had hoped to avoid.

  The clerk mopped his brow, relieved. “And if you wish, the priests can surely furnish you with a proper valet.”

  “I already have a servant.” Semerket tersely indicated Marduk, who reached out to grab, entranced, at a passing fly.

  “Forgive me, Great Lord…but…but is he quite right in the head?”

  “He’s new,” Semerket said, lips thinned with suppressed anger, “recently purchased. I haven’t broken him in yet.”

  The clerk nodded. “We have a saying in Elam, Great Lord—one must turn a slave inside out before they become a proper servant.”

  “A sage piece of advice,” said Semerket ominously, narrowing his eyes at Marduk. “And one that I will certainly try.”

  From the Ishtar Gate the trio walked down Processional Way, a wide boulevard paved in stone on which the city’s massive celebrations took place. Semerket attempted to speak to Marduk in whispered Egyptian, demanding to know what possessed him, but Marduk continued to affect an idiot’s shuffle and refused to speak. Semerket grew increasingly frustrated; all his plans for seeking Naia and Rami from the shadows were in ruins, thanks to this stubborn man. He deliberately turned his back on Marduk then, listening as the Elamite clerk pointed out the city’s wonders with a pride born of recent acquisition.

  “And its walls are so wide,” the man concluded with a flourish, “that four chariots can ride atop them! Abreast!”

  Semerket murmured appreciatively.

  The hostel was a massive six-story affair situated along the Processional Way. Semerket’s rooms were on the fifth story, as sumptuous as any he had seen in Pharaoh’s palace. Skins covered the tiled floors, and a wide doorway led out onto a terrace overlooking the city. Gazing down from its ledge, seeing the people congregating so far below, Semerket suddenly felt a wave of profound dizziness overtake him. Never having been so high up before, he was astonished that his reaction could be so immediate, and so acute. Semerket retreated hastily into his rooms, to stand as far away from the terrace as possible. At that moment, he heard a cry from the Elamite clerk, who had discovered the final and most amazing of the suite’s luxuries—pipes that conducted hot and cold water into his indoor privy. Diverted, Semerket crossed the room to pull at the silver taps, first with timidity and then with delight, allowing the water to spew forth into bronze basins.

  “Come see this, Marduk,” Semerket called, forgetting his irritation. “Tell us how it’s done!”

  But no answer came. Semerket grew angry again, tired of Marduk’s pretense at simple-mindedness. He turned, a scowl on his face—but Marduk was not there.

  A quick examination of the rooms told the rest of the story. Marduk had slipped away while Semerket and the clerk marveled at the gushing water. Even the priestly servants who waited in the hallways had not seen Marduk leave.

  Semerket smiled ruefully to himself. He should have expected it; Marduk had never promised he would stay.

  For the first time since Mari, Semerket was alone. As he gazed out to the darkening city, careful to avoid the edge of the terrace, he saw Babylon’s myriad cooking fires begin to light up the sky. It was only then that he truly appreciated the city’s immensity, for it gleamed in front of him like a blanket of rubies without ever seeming to end.

  Sweet Osiris, he thought, how was he ever to locate Naia and Rami in such a place?

  DAWN FOUND SEMERKET on his way to Babylon’s Egyptian Quarter. A man was following him, he noticed, a rather disreputable-looking fellow with a sparse beard and ponderous belly. Semerket turned to stare at him, and the man halted, overcome by a sudden urge to study the contents of a nearby vegetable stand. Semerket almost laughed aloud. Did his pursuer really think he was being subtle—that Semerket did not know him for a spy?

  Semerket decided to confront his pursuer, striding pointedly toward him. “Since we seem to be headed the same way, stranger,” Semerket said, bringing his face close to the man’s, “perhaps you can tell me: am I on the right path to the Egyptian Quarter?”

  His spy at first pretended that he did not understand Semerket’s accented Babylonian, and glanced about. To Semerket’s repeated inquiries, the man simply turned on heel and fled. In his haste to get away from Semerket, however, he made the mistake of peering to the rooftops.

  Semerket looked up, knowing what he would find. Another agent stared down at him from behind a balustrade. The man, thinner but no less disreputable-looking than the first, quickly slipped from sight.

  Semerket hurried down a side street, shaking his head at the spies’ clumsy tactics. He headed east, where the hostel’s priest had told him he could find the Egyptian Quarter. Once there, he planned to mingle with his fellow citizens, to ascertain whether any of them had heard of Naia or Rami, or of any recent attacks made on Egyptians by Isins. He would also attempt to find where Ambassador Menef’s residence was located, for he knew from Naia’s letter that she and Rami had last been living there.

  As he wove through the swarming Babylonians, who had risen early to open their innumerable shops, he heard his spy leaping noisily from rooftop to rooftop above him. The streets were so narrow this was not a difficult chore. Yet even this small bit of athleticis
m seemed too much for his hapless pursuer. From below, Semerket heard an aborted scream and a crash. He looked up to find the man clinging frantically to a parapet. Semerket debated whether he should rescue the man, but the spy’s fat friend quickly appeared to drag him back onto the roof. Several broken mud bricks rained down on the narrow street with a tremendous crash. Semerket leapt easily aside, but some of the bricks struck an old crone selling blooms. She lay senseless in the alleyway, sprays of mountain lupines strewn about her in a pathetic circle.

  “Look,” Semerket called up, “if you want to know where I’m going, it’s to Amun’s temple in the Egyptian Quarter.” His spies made no answer, but cowered behind the roof’s ledge, pretending to be invisible.

  “Morons,” Semerket muttered darkly. If these spies were the best Elam could produce, he thought, their occupation of Babylonia was doomed to be a short one.

  Semerket discovered that the streets of Babylon seemed to radiate from successive squares like spokes on a chariot wheel, never leading to where he expected. It was not very long before he had passed the Egyptian Quarter altogether, finding himself in an area of town where merchants sold mud bricks, pots, ewers, and molded terracotta statues. He stopped to ask directions from a seller of religious figurines.