“Where?” She said nothing, until he gripped her arms and held them hard. “Tell me where she is, by the Gods!”
“I cannot. She refused to tell us where she would go, only that she would serve the Goddess as priestess in another temple, far from here. She took with her a tablet, with the mark of the High Priest Lathor, attesting to her rights to take the final initiation as a priestess of Inanna. And that is what she intends to do, my prince.”
“No.” He let go of the woman’s frail arms and turned slowly away from her. “This is wrong. How could she leave Lagash on her own? I don’t believe it. She couldn’t have struck out on foot, into the desert, alone!”
“There was a caravan passing last night, my prince. She took a mule and rode out to join them.”
He had not wanted the explanation to be so simple. Drawing a breath, closing his eyes, he asked, “Which way was this caravan moving?” His voice was softer now.
“East,” Lia said, after a slight hesitation.
He looked over his shoulder at the woman and wondered if she was lying. And if so, why? “She will not leave me,” he stated. “I will find her, and it matters not how far she has gone. I will have her with me again. And I vow, I will marry none other.”
“I fear it is too late for that, my prince. I only wish it could be as you say.”
“It can be,” he said. “It must be.”
But it wasn’t. Oh, he tried. He ordered soldiers and messengers to every corner of Sumer in search of Nidaba. But to no avail.
He could barely tolerate food. Refused to take part in any revelry of any kind. Rarely slept. All he truly did was train for battle, and that simply because it was his only means of exhausting himself to the point where he was too tired to feel the pain. He trained with a sword until he could best every man in his father’s army. He trained until his body looked like that of the mighty one of old, Gilgamesh, who some claimed was half god. And still the pain of losing Nidaba ate at his gut.
One day a trusted soldier, just back from yet another fruitless search, saluted Eannatum with his fist to his palm, bowed his head, and said, “I am sorry, my prince, but this journey, as all the others, has yielded no word of the woman you seek.”
Natum frowned as suspicion tickled at the back of his mind. It had been weeks. Weeks. “How is it,” he asked slowly, “that the most powerful army in all of Sumer can expend so much time and energy in such an extensive search... only to find nothing?”
“Prince Eannatum, I—”
“No, no. Look up at me, face me as you speak,” Natum commanded.
The soldier, Garon, was his own age. They’d attended edubba school together. Garon had been one of the few boys who’d tried to be Eannatum’s friend when the others had shunned him. He knew this man well.
“I do not know how to answer your question,” Garon replied. But when he said it, he looked away, just a quick flicker of his eyes toward the expanse of room behind him, and the doorway at its end.
He feared someone was listening! Eannatum realized it with sudden, startling clarity. And he would fear only one man above his prince.
His king. Eannatum’s own father.
Realizing the danger to Garon should he press him here and now, Eannatum nodded slowly. “I am only frustrated at being thwarted. I know you and your men are doing your best. Go, Garon. Go on home to your pretty wife and your children.”
Garon’s lips pressed together tightly, and he couldn’t seem to look Eannatum directly in the eye as he nodded, saluted again, and turned to leave.
An hour later, when Garon stepped out of his small white house with a water pail in hand, Eannatum was waiting. He stepped out of the shadows near the well, directly into Garon’s path.
The soldier’s head came up fast, and he sucked in a breath.
Eannatum held up a hand. “It’s all right. We are alone now, my friend. No one listening at any doors, or lurking in secret palace passageways. You may speak freely.”
Slowly Garon closed his eyes. “I am sworn to your father, Eannatum. I cannot betray him.”
Eannatum shook his head. “I believe it is my father who has betrayed me,” he said softly. “I believe he conspired to have Nidaba sent away, so that he could more easily convince me to play along with his ambitious plans. All of this is clear to me, Garon. The only thing unclear is where he has sent her.”
Garon licked his lips, glancing from side to side nervously.
“If I were to lead a troop myself, Garon, which way would I lead them?”
Nothing. Silence.
Eannatum impaled the man with his eyes. “I have trusted you above others, Garon. I’ll be king soon. And I’ll need to know who of my men I can trust so fully. I believe you are one of the few. Prove to me that my faith has not been misplaced.”
The soldier bowed his head, expelled his breath in a rush. And finally he spoke. “I have always heard tell that the city of Mari, far to the north, is a sight to behold, my prince. If I were to travel, I believe that would be my destination.”
Nodding heavily, Eannatum closed his eyes. Mari. The temple of Mari was one of the most heavily guarded in all of Sumer. It housed great treasures, riches beyond compare. And it was a favored target of Sumer’s enemies.
“Thank you, Garon.” He clapped a hand to the man’s shoulder. “No one will ever know of this meeting. You have my word.”
“They may very well know already, my friend. For I’ve no doubt you were followed from the palace.”
“You give me too little credit. I wouldn’t risk you that way.”
“Not even for her?” Garon asked, looking up. But then he smiled bitterly and lowered his head again. “By Enlil’s wings, Natum, I can’t even blame you. I’d have done the same.”
That he’d slid into the old habit of addressing Eannatum by his casual name seemed to signal a shift in the conversation. A dropping of the pretenses and formalities of solidier and sovereign, a return to the conventions of two young friends.
“I promise that you’ll be rewarded Garon, for your loyalty to me,” Natum told him. “Tell me what you wish, and I’ll see that it’s granted.”
Garon sighed as he looked Natum in the eye. “Fool that I am, I’ve but one wish, my friend. Take me with you on this journey north. Let me bring my regiment. You’ll need us if you hope to return alive.”
Eannatum tipped his head to one side. “Things are that bad in the north?”
“That bad and worse. Ummamite hordes have been gathering for months, just beyond the borders. They prepare for something momentous, Natum. And in the meantime, they amuse themselves with midnight raids on defenseless villages. Mari has had to become a veritable fortress to keep them at bay. The outlying areas have not been as fortunate.”
Eannatum frowned. “Nidaba is not safe there.”
“For a prince, your vision is narrow, Eannatum. No one in Sumer is safe just now.”
Was this soldier chastising his future king? No, Eannatum thought slowly. No. This old friend was advising his comrade. And he was right. “My father has told me these things, but I thought he exaggerated the danger... better to persuade me to fall in with his plans.”
Garon nodded. “I can see why you would mistrust him after all he’s done, Natum. But while he’s guilty of a great deal, on this score at least he gave you the truth. The situation is dire.”
“We’ll find a way to eliminate the threat of the Ummamites. Just as soon as I’ve found Nidaba and brought her back to Lagash.”
Garon pursed his lips, as if he had more to say, but refused to say it. “As you wish, my prince.”
Eannatum turned and left him there, his thoughts on his woman, not his country. Not invading hordes and not the security of his people. He was glad Garon had held his tongue, because he didn’t want to hear what the man had to say. Deep down, he knew it full well.
The regiment, some fifty soldiers strong, marched northward with the dawn, much to the consternation of the king. For days they journeyed, marching on foot, a few m
ounted on the domesticated camels that were becoming an increasingly valuable mode of transportation, though they were still extremely rare in Sumer. Eannatum rode a camel. Garon rode beside him.
The journey was dusty, dry, hot. They crossed vast expanses of barren desert, too far from the shores of the blessed twin rivers to enjoy the life-giving kiss of their waters. By the time they neared Mari, Eannatum’s dark skin had burned, even through the robes he wore. His lips were as parched as dried dates, and each time he blinked he felt sand scratch his eyes. And even then, he smiled when he saw the gleaming walls of Mari rise up in the distance.
“It is late, Eannatum,” Garon said. “The men are tired, and the city gates will not open until dawn. Let us make camp here. There is a small village nearby. That means water, and perhaps even a meal of something besides hard bread and dried meat.”
He stared at the walls ahead. So close. He wanted to ride to that city, to climb those walls and go to her. And yet fear gnawed at his belly. What if she really had left of her own volition? What if she really didn’t want him?
He swallowed hard, refusing to believe it. Gods, it had been so long since he’d tasted her lips. He could almost taste them now.
“Eannatum?” Garon said.
Natum licked his parched lips. “We’ll do as you suggest. It’s a good plan.”
Garon angled his camel toward a stand of hashur trees, where a spring bubbled with life. Then he held up a hand and shouted an order. The parade of men came to a halt, and the weary soldiers began to make camp.
It was near midnight, and the men’s bellies were full, their thirsts sated, their tired limbs resting at last, when Eannatum felt something. He wasn’t certain at first just what it was. Not a sound. The only sounds were those of the desert night. A jackal, yipping inces-santly. A night bird’s cry. The all but silent flapping of a pair of giant wings. The squeal of a bat. The bubbling of the spring. It wasn’t a sound that woke him, made him sit bolt upright, frowning. It was something else.
A sense.
Then a vague vibration of the ground. As if a great thundering herd of cattle were pounding over it some distance away. He nudged Garon with his foot, and the soldier was on his feet instantly.
Only then did the sounds come. Shouts, battle cries, screams. Flickering torches took form in the distance, some arching through the night as they were flung.
“The village!” Natum shouted. “It’s under attack!”
Garon’s men came awake at once, as Garon shouted orders, and as one they rushed to defend the village. Of that battle, Eannatum remembered very little. He armed himself with a massive spear, a heavy shield, a club, and he surged into the fray. He recalled darkness, dust, smoke, fire. He recalled a wall of men, Ummamites, too many of them to number. And he recalled the blow to his head that rendered him useless.
He woke to the dawn.
Blinking his vision into focus, he managed to take stock. He was on his back on the ground, with the desert sunrise searing his eyes in their sockets. He was assailed by the scent of blood, of death. He looked around, and saw them, villagers, soldiers, women, children-bodies were scattered in every direction. The village was gone, except for smoldering remnants of what had been serene homes.
He heard sobbing, wailing, saw an old woman holding the lifeless body of a child to her breast.
“Eannatum, you’re alive!”
He turned toward the sound of Garon’s choked voice. The man limped toward him, his face black with soot and smeared with blood. “I seem to be,” Natum said, as Garon grasped his hand and pulled him to his feet. “And I’m glad to see you are as well. But this...” He looked around again at the horror surrounding them. The anguish of the few survivors was heavy—a sodden blanket weighing him down, thickening the very air. They were his people, and their pain, his pain.
This is happening daily up and down the northeastern borders of Sumer,” Garon said, his voice grim.
More voices reached him now, and Eannatum saw a group of people approaching from Mari. Men, women, priests and priestesses. They fanned out among the dead and wounded to help the survivors. And at last, he saw the face he’d dreamed of nightly for so long—the beautiful, sculpted features of Nidaba, as she broke away from the others and ran toward the old woman who cradled the dead child. He heard her cry out. Heard the pain in her voice clearly, and felt it even more vividly in his heart.
His eyes burned as he watched her embrace the old woman and gently take the child from her arms. “See to your wounded, Garon,” Natum said softly. And he moved forward until he stood behind Nidaba.
She lay the child down on the ground, her back to him, and she gently reached up to smooth a lock of dark hair away from the girl’s still elfin face. “She did no wrong, this child. She did no wrong.” Kneeling, Nidaba tipped her face skyward and opened her arms to the heavens. “Go in peace, child. Go into the bosom of Inanna, and there find healing and love. Go now. Linger in this pit of death no longer.”
He couldn’t remain silent. He put his hands on her shoulders and felt the tingling jolt of that contact. Nidaba lowered her arms. “Natum?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
She rose slowly, turned to face him, and then suddenly, desperately, she flung herself into his arms and sobbed as if her heart had been smashed to bits. He held her hard, kissed her face, her neck, her hair. The ice encasing his heart seemed to melt at her very touch. “Gods, Nidaba, how I’ve longed to hold you again.”
“And I, you,” she told him.
He found her mouth, kissed her with everything in him, tasted the salt of her tears on his lips, and finally stared into her eyes. “Cry no more, my love. I’ve come to take you back with me. We won’t be kept apart any longer. I promise you that.”
Her expression changed. Her eyes widened just a bit, and her grip on him eased. Slowly she unwrapped her arms from around him and took a single step backward, out of his fierce embrace. “Eannatum, though I love you, surely you see now why we can never be.”
He frowned. “I see nothing but an enemy to be defeated. I’ll send my armies, and it will be done. It has nothing to do with us, Nidaba.”
“It has everything to do with us!” She closed her eyes, bit her lip. When she opened them again, she seemed calmer and took his arm. “Come with me.”
They walked. Away from the scene of the battle and all that carnage, far away, and up a hillside outside the city of Mari. Higher and higher they climbed, and though he plied her with questions, she never spoke a word until they reached the summit. Then, turning toward Umma, she pointed. “There.”
He looked. And his heart seemed to freeze in his chest. Beyond the borders, just inside the land of Umma, he saw hordes—more soldiers than he had ever seen in one place before. Thousands of them, camp after camp, as far as the eye could see.
“Your armies cannot hope to stand against those masses. Within months, Eannatum, Sumer will fall to the Ummamites. And more innocent children will die at their hands. More young women will be enslaved by their soldiers.”
“I’ll find a way,” he said, gripping her shoulders, staring into her eyes.
“Your father has already found a way.” She lowered her eyes. “I didn’t want to believe it either, but since coming here, I’ve begun to see the way things really are. Eannatum, Sumer will fall unless you can unite its cities. And you can do that only by marrying the princess of Ur and assuming the kingship of all Sumer. Only then will you have a chance to drive the Ummamites back and defeat them so soundly that they will not dare take up arms against Sumer again.”
He shook his head in denial, even knowing her words were true. “It’s you I love, Nidaba. How can I marry another when it’s you I love?”
“You have no choice,” she whispered, her voice growing hoarse. “I realized that after the third of these midnight raids that I witnessed. That’s why I took the initiation. I am a priestess now, Eannatum. And you are a prince. We could not be together even if you were free. I serve the t
emple. You, your kingdom.”
He swallowed hard. “We cannot wed. But we could be together. As king, it’s my right to have any woman I desire. It’s the law.”
“An arcane law. No king enforces it anymore, Eannatum.”
“This king will.”
She closed her eyes, shook her head. “You love your people,” she said softly. “I know you, Eannatum. I know you’ll do the right thing. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be the Natum I love so very much.”
He closed his eyes. In a moment he felt her lips on his, light as a breeze. “Good-bye, Natum. Do not forget me.”
And then she was gone. When he opened his eyes again, he saw her, running away down the hill, her white robes flowing behind her. It was a blade straight through his heart. But he knew she was right. He had his duty, and she had hers, and if they failed to play their parts, the blood of thousands would stain their hands.
Damn fate and all its cruel twists. Damn him, for falling so deeply in love with a woman he could never have. Damn the world, and everyone in it.
Chapter 7
THE TUB WAS full, and Nathan turned the water off, went back to the bedroom, and slowly peeled the blankets away from Nidaba. She lay still, unresponsive, her face sticky. She didn’t look like a holy woman or a High Priestess, much less an immortal High Witch, just now. She didn’t look like the queen she should have been. She looked like a messy little girl trapped inside a woman’s body.
He knew better, though. He’d watched her grow from a child into a young woman right before his eyes. And what a woman she had become. He had seen her again, after she had left him on that bitter hillside. He had seen her on the day of his coronation.
He would never forget...
Nathan closed his eyes against the memories that burned in his mind and told himself to focus on the present, not the distant past. When he opened his eyes again, he forced himself to see not the sensual priestess he remembered, but the helpless, frail-looking woman lying on the bed, staring at nothing with eyes that seemed afraid.
“Forgive me, Nidaba. Even now, the memory of you burns in me as if it was fresh and new.” He ran a hand across his forehead, reconsidered what he was about to do, then laughed at himself. There was no shyness in Nidaba. No humble, blushing virgin in her. There never had been.
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