Day of the False King

by Brad Geagley

  “Shepak rescued me at the last possible moment. If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you the marks.” Without waiting for Kutir’s consent, Semerket turned and pulled down the yoke of his tunic. The wound where the beetle’s jaws had dug into him was swollen and discolored.

  The sight of the still-bleeding lesion at last convinced Kutir that Semerket’s tale was true. “But why?” he asked dully. “Why would she do it?”

  “Queen Narunte discovered that your sister and her husband came here with secret orders from your father. Your victories in Babylonia threatened him. They had been charged to undermine your successes where they could.”

  “Successes!” Kutir echoed bitterly. He abruptly brought his hands to his face, and his shoulders shook silently. He regained control of himself quickly, however, looking off into the dark. “Narunte’s only a mountain chieftain’s daughter, unused to more enlightened ways, fierce in her love for me. She’s rough, sometimes, I acknowledge it…”

  At that moment, Semerket knew that Kutir would never bring the queen to justice for what she had done to him. He shrugged philosophically and said, “Then let the blame fall on Menef and his henchmen alone, Sire. They come from a civilized nation and should have known better.”

  Kutir regarded him gratefully. “You’ve lived up to your reputation, Semerket. You found my sister, as I knew you would, and were honorable enough to tell me of your compatriots’ part in her murder. Many other men would not have had the courage to tell me the truth. I will order the arrest of Egypt’s ambassador and his men. Their punishment will be left to you.” Then his eyes filled with shame. “As to my part of the bargain, I regret that my current strategic position prevents me from allowing Bel-Marduk’s idol to leave Babylon. The god’s magi, I’m afraid, would laugh in my face if I ordered it. They’re counting on another king to give the orders in Babylon soon; I wish you luck with him.”

  “I understand, Sire.” He felt it would only cloud the issue to tell Kutir that he was already on extremely friendly terms with his likely successor. Why trouble the poor man with inconsequentials?

  It was dawn when they emerged from the palace cellars. To Semerket, who had spent most of the previous day in the tunnels beneath Babylon and the long night hours searching through the palace crypt, it seemed as if he had lived for a time in perpetual darkness. It was almost startling to see the rays of the sun again.

  Kutir told them both to wait at the garrison. He would send for them after he arrested the pair, he promised, when it was safe for Semerket to appear. But the hours passed and no message came. Concerned, Semerket and Shepak took themselves to a side entrance of the palace used by tradesmen and servants. They hoped to waylay some butler or serving woman, to ask if they might know why the king tarried. But the servants were just as ignorant as they.

  Semerket began to feel uneasy. He sensed that something strange, even profound, was taking place within the palace. His sense of discomfort increased with the arrival of several couriers from the south. They rode their foaming mounts at full gallop into the palace courtyard, dismounting before their horses had even stopped. They ran swiftly into the palace, clutching their important-looking leather pouches, not even pausing to wipe the dirt from their faces.

  “They’re from King Shutruk,” said Shepak, recognizing their livery. He attempted to hail the next courier in Elamite, but the man simply barreled passed him and into the palace without even looking at him.

  Semerket, who had his own vital reasons for not wanting to stay, was on the verge of suggesting that Shepak should meet alone with Kutir. He did not need to be present when they locked Menef and the Asp away; Shepak, as former commander of the garrison, was no doubt admirably versed in the detention of prisoners. At that moment, however, a steward approached, saying that Kutir would see them.

  He and Shepak entered the throne room, where huge carved bulls’ heads topped thick square pillars. The Gryphon Throne itself sat on a dais of intricately carved ivory panels. But Kutir, Semerket noticed, did not sit on it. Instead, he was at the corner of the room, in close conversation with Queen Narunte. They both raised their heads to stare at him as he approached.

  Fear shot through Semerket, particularly when Shepak was detained by the chamberlain at the edge of the hall. Semerket squinted into the dim light, trying to read the expression on Narunte’s face. He expected rage, guilt, even shock that he had survived the Insect Chamber, but her reaction to his presence was of the most casual indifference, as if he were some stranger she had not met before.

  Courtiers moved aside as Semerket came forward alone, his footsteps echoing loudly on the malachite tiles. Was this an ambush? Was he once again to be cast into the Insect Chamber for what he had discovered?

  He genuflected before the royal pair.

  “Semerket,” Kutir said quietly. “I must tell you, as representative of Egypt’s Falcon Throne, that King Shutruk of Elam, my father, has mounted his golden chariot.”

  Semerket looked up, staring blankly. “What?”

  “He’s dead, Semerket,” elucidated Kutir tersely. “Couriers brought the news today. After a meal of pigeon pie and figs, his bowels turned to a bloody flux and he was struck dumb. He succumbed a few hours ago without speaking another word.” Kutir’s voice broke, and he began to weep, though Semerket believed his tears were only for show. “He may have been poisoned, my spies tell me. Can you believe it? Who could ever commit such a terrible deed against Elam’s greatest king?”

  Without thinking, Semerket glanced at Queen Narunte. She was not afraid to meet his glance. Her silver eyes did not glitter; Semerket could read nothing in their pale depths, not even satisfaction. Nevertheless, he knew the answer to Kutir’s question stood at his side. What a career lay ahead of Narunte, he thought in wonder—provided she avoided the strong brew that loosened her tongue.

  “I am grief-stricken, Sire,” Semerket mumbled. “As I’m sure Pharaoh will be when he receives this dreadful news.” Semerket hoped that his words were adequate to the situation. He could not help but think that the entire world—and especially his son—would breathe easier now that the old tyrant was dead.

  “What will you do now, Sire?”

  “I must return to Susa. I must go there before my brother can raise an army and stake his own claim to the throne. But…”

  The king fell silent, looking at Semerket helplessly.

  Yes, indeed—but! Semerket knew that with the Isins hidden in the city, with the food stocks gone and the Elamite fleet destroyed, there was little chance of Kutir’s reaching the border with his armies intact. The king could, of course, easily escape the city in disguise, but what good would it do him to enter Elam without his armies? If he pursued so rash a course, he would be able to count his life in moments.

  Well, Semerket thought, these were the occupational hazards of being an invader in a hostile country. It was none of his affair, or Egypt’s. Though Semerket had not found Kutir to be the savage despot he had been led to expect, neither was he particularly fond of him. In addition, if he were being truthful with himself, he much preferred it if his friend Marduk ruled in Babylonia.

  So much for Egyptian neutrality, Semerket thought grimly.

  It was then that the idea occurred to him. He coughed politely, and spoke.

  “YOU MEAN HE’LL LEAVE—just like that?” Marduk was incredulous.

  “I mean exactly that.”

  Semerket was once again in the tunnels beneath the city. He sat in the small dark room off the cistern that Marduk and his generals called their headquarters.

  The tall Isin from Mari made an angry gesture. “Don’t believe him, my lord. The Elamite king sent this Egyptian to tempt you into some kind of trap.”

  Semerket rolled his eyes. “How can it be a trap, you moron, when it was my own idea?”

  The Isin struggled to dispute him, finally muttering, “Because everyone knows that Egyptians can’t be trusted.”

  “Semerket can,” said Marduk flatly. “But I m
ust admit that I’m finding it difficult to believe Kutir’s telling the truth. I mean, after all the men he’s lost, all the supplies and treasure—to believe that he’d simply abandon this misbegotten war of his…”

  “He knows he’s trapped in the Royal Quarter, Marduk. The only way he can leave is for you to agree to this truce. If you don’t, you’ll face a siege that might last for months, even years. Kutir’s brother will seize Elam’s throne and Kutir will have no kingdom except what he can manage to hold on to here. Wouldn’t you rather let him go now, when he has another kingdom to go to, rather than create an enemy who knows that he has nothing to lose?”

  The Isins erupted into loud, angry debate, saying that they must punish Kutir for his invasion of Babylonia. “We have a chance to kill him,” said the tall Isin, pounding his fist into his palm. “And then we will be the ones to march into Elam! With Kutir and his armies slaughtered, Elam can only drop into our hands like a ripe fig!”

  “And so it begins all over again…” Semerket muttered darkly.

  “Semerket is right,” Marduk said. “For the first time in almost three centuries, a native-born Dark Head will sit on the Gryphon Throne. We’ve achieved everything we set out to do; let’s not risk the gods’ anger by asking for more. We will let the Elamite invader and his armies leave peaceably. Besides,” he continued, smiling craftily, “these Elamites will soon be engaged in a long and bloody civil war. At the end of it, they will be weak and spiritless. What better time to sweep in and seize that ripe fig? Time is on our side, gentlemen—we can afford to be generous for once.”

  Mesopotamia never changes, Semerket thought in disgust. Thus it had been, and thus it ever would be—a succession of “strong men” seizing power from one another. He took that moment to slip away into the little room where Kem-weset waited with Rami. The boy’s eyes were open and they brightened to see him.

  “No fever?” Semerket asked Kem-weset.

  “Not under my care!” said the physician forcefully. But he added in a humbler tone, “The gods were kind.”

  “To us all,” Semerket agreed with unusual enthusiasm. He turned his black eyes on Rami. “How do you feel, boy?”

  “I have a headache.”

  “Headache or no, it seems that you won’t be standing in front of Osiris anytime soon. So you didn’t have to ask for my forgiveness, after all. It simply wasn’t needed.”

  Patting Rami’s hand in farewell, Semerket then took himself into the outer hallway. Marduk soon joined him.

  “You look very morose,” said Semerket. “I’d have thought you’d be ecstatic.” Semerket even laughed aloud. “You’d best be careful, Marduk. People might start mistaking you for me.”

  Marduk sighed before he answered. “All my life, I’ve been trained for one thing—to struggle for my heritage. I had prepared myself to die for it, just as my own father did. But thanks to you, Semerket, my struggle is over.”

  “And that makes you sad?”

  “The truth is, life prepared me only to struggle, never for the victory.” He shook his head impatiently. “I’m talking nonsense. You can’t possibly understand what I mean.”

  Semerket smiled. “Maybe I’m the only person in the world who can.”

  Later that day, after many trips on Semerket’s part between the various levels of the city, a truce between the two rivals for the hand of Babylon was announced. Heralds went into the cities of the plain, proclaiming in an edict from King Marduk-kabit-ahhesu, the first king of the second Isin dynasty, that he would allow the Elamites to leave Babylonia unmolested. Marduk dispatched the Isin troops themselves to escort the retreating armies to the border, not only to protect them from any unwarranted violence on the part of a people who had suffered so much at their hands, but also to make sure they well and truly left the nation.

  AS THE ELAMITES were making ready to depart, Semerket found Shepak in the garrison compound.

  “You saved my life,” said Shepak simply.

  “You saved mine.”

  The two men stared awkwardly at the ground for a moment, and then spoke simultaneously:

  “If ever you’re in Elam…”

  “If you’re ever in Egypt…”

  They laughed. Embraced.

  “Say goodbye to that goddess friend of yours,” said Shepak. “Tell her that had it been another day, another time, she might have been the woman I took back with me to Elam.”

  Semerket, biting his tongue, promised that he would convey the message to Nidaba. Then Shepak mounted his horse and put on his helmet (which had been stripped of its grisly body parts, lest such mementos incite the Dark Heads into final acts of revenge). The last Semerket saw of him, Shepak was riding at Kutir’s side through the Ishtar Gate.

  Only then, at last, was Semerket able to attend to the penultimate task that awaited him. There were no more international disputes to settle, no more crypts to search, no foul insect chambers to escape. Semerket’s step was light and confident as he made his way for the second time to the gagu.

  AS DETERMINED AS HE WAS, difficulties beset his short journey. Upon learning the news that the Elamites would vacate the country, a spontaneous festival erupted on the streets of Babylon that night; people left their homes for the first time in two days to converge on the temples and palaces, eager to make their devotions to the gods and perhaps catch a glimpse of their handsome, dashing new king Marduk.

  By the time Semerket at last arrived at the gagu, it was well after dark. Its drawbridge was down, and Semerket walked across it and into the courtyard without asking permission to enter. For once, none of its women were loading donkey trains, nor did he see the smoke of melting bitumen rising into the night skies.

  Yet, just as before, the women guards once again surrounded him, spears leveled. Even in times of celebration, it seemed, the gagu women never lost their wariness of men.

  “What do you want, Semerket?” the guard asked.

  He raised his brow in surprise; at least they knew his name. “I would see Mother Mylitta.”

  This time they did not run to Mylitta to ask if she would condescend to receive him. Instead, they took him directly into the gagu, once again delivering him to the base of Mylitta’s soaring observatory tower.

  “Doesn’t she ever come down from up there?” Semerket asked forlornly as he set his unwilling foot upon the steps.

  Slowly, hugging the tower, turning his face inward, he crept up its long height. At the top, Mother Mylitta was, as ever, peering through her tubes of bronze and making her notes on tablets of clay. She did not even look up as Semerket stepped into the enclosure.

  “Good news,” she said in her deep, masculine voice. “The Seshat star has turned forward in its arc again, and will soon be back in its proper place above Egypt. It seems you weren’t the evil it predicted, Semerket. In fact, I’m beginning to think that you’ve brought great fortune to Babylon instead.”

  “Had you bothered to read my horoscope, perhaps you might have known that.”

  “You fool,” she said, not unkindly. “Do you think I hadn’t?”

  He looked at her, his black eyes suddenly flaming like melted bitumen. “Then why didn’t you tell me who the woman truly was?” he whispered fiercely, unable to keep his emotions in hand.

  “I take it you mean the one who came here after the raid?”

  “You know I do. The one dressed as a princess.”

  “You have to realize, Semerket, that the gagu exists not for the sake of trade, as most people think, but for the protection of all women who suffer at the hands of men. Why do you think I went out to the plantation that night? After what I learned from the stars, it didn’t matter if the princess was an Elamite, a Dark head—or even an Egyptian. A woman in peril will always find a home with us as long as we exist.”

  “But it was cruel to let me go without telling me that night I came here; savage. If you’d read my chart, couldn’t you see my love for her in it?”

  “Yes, I saw it there. I don’t think
I’ve ever seen anything like it in the heavens before. It’s almost as strong as your love of truth, your desire to see all things clearly. Both traits impel you equally through your life.”

  “Then why did you let me leave? I almost died afterward! I might never have seen her again!”

  Her voice was harsh, without emotion. “It’s precisely because of what I saw in your chart that I couldn’t tell you who she was.”

  Semerket felt his scalp prickle; he had not considered this possibility. “What else have you seen in your heavens, Mother Mylitta?” he asked quietly.

  “This I have seen. I’ve seen how you destroy those who love you. I’ve seen how death dogs your every step. You’re a catastrophe to those who attach themselves to you, for you bring such pain to them that you can in a trice annihilate all their joy of living.”