“The moon and sun will fight in a few days,” Rudi explained. The girl’s one-eyed gaze, now intelligent and aware, fixed on her. “They require a death in order to assure us the sun will win.”
Kidu’s gaze on the girl was intent, almost frightening. Rudi saw the lines around his mouth and eyes had whitened, his breathing was shallow. Did he know her? she wondered.
The girl closed her eyes and bowed her head.
“Are you willing to die for the welfare of the commonwealth of Ur?” Kidu asked her, in a tone gentle as a breeze. “Look at me when you answer.”
She turned to him, then was struck motionless for a moment when she looked into his face.
Rudi had seen his extreme beauty cause that reaction before. They stared at each other.
“Answer the question, female,” Asa said. “Are you willing to die for the commonwealth of Ur?”
“No! I’m not willing to die for an eclipse! It’s not a sign from the gods, it’s just…” She seemed to be searching for a word. “They happen often. Do people get sacrificed every time there’s an eclipse?”
Rudi felt chills. How did this female know what an eclipse was? How did she know they occurred more than once?
The female continued to protest. “I’m not willing. I was kidnapped on my way home. I don’t know this has happened to me, I—”
Kidu spun on his heel, looked straight at Asa. “She’ll be the substitute.”
“What!” she shouted. Rudi saw she turned extremely pale beneath her Khamite skin. “I will not!”
“She, she doesn’t seem willing,” Rudi pointed out.
“It seems if we are trying to convince the gods that the ensi is dying, Puabi should this day leave Ur and go far away until after the danger of this event has passed,” Kidu said.
“But there are rituals, there are—” Asa began.
“I’m not going to die!” the girl said, now earnestly fighting against her captors. She had height and skill, but she was exhausted and dehydrated and could barely keep her feet.
“She will,” Kidu said. “She will become Puabi this day.” He looked at Rudi. “Take the cart, return to your sister, and tell her to set sail immediately.” He turned to Asa. “I will bring the girl into Ur tonight.”
“What about—”
“You’ve done your part, Asa. Leave me your slaves. Rudi, send back a sledge and clothes, for me and the new Puabi.”
“I will not—” the female raved.
The en looked at the woman. “She will be perfect.” He turned away from her. “Go now. We are losing time.”
“Less than three days,” Asa said.
“May the gods give you haste,” Kidu said.
“Don’t just let this happen to me,” the woman said to Rudi. “I…” she fell silent at the expression on Rudi’s face.
“It is your destiny, female,” Rudi said. She just wished they’d had time to converse. This Chloe was the only other female Rudi had met who knew anything of the stars. How did she know, a simple Khamite girl?
Asa bowed, and the two of them left. Kidu stood in the shade of the palms and watched them mount into the carts and ride off. Rudi looked back. The girl was slumped between the two slaves, Kidu standing to her side, his hands on his hips. He wouldn’t hurt her, Rudi thought. She shouldn’t fight against destiny.
Rudi looked forward, to the walls of Ur.
* * *
“You’re to be Puabi?” Guli asked.
Ulu nodded.
“How did this happen?”
She shrugged. She seemed less alive than he’d ever seen her. Not even a glimmer of the woman he’d known. “What happened to the ‘new’ Ulu?”
“A waste. That seed wasn’t watered, so it withered.”
He sat down on the grimy bed and tried not to look around. How much of his life he’d spent in cells. Or in shit. “What is wrong with you?”
She said nothing. Guli settled back, to wait. He couldn’t paint someone in this mood. Weeping, screaming, anything was better than this monotone statue. “We don’t have much time left, either of us,” he said. “So I’ll wait. When you want to talk, talk. The only place I have left to go is Kur.”
* * *
“This is a bad plan,” Chloe said to Cheftu/Kidu. “Killing me?”
“Release her,” he said to the guards.
They let go of her arms, and Chloe fought to stand upright. Cheftu/Kidu towered over her, draped in golden chains and white wool. Chloe could smell her stink and was superaware of how nice he smelled. And she couldn’t forget the slaves and guards who stood all around them. Hadn’t he said he had spies? Was that the reason for this charade?
But he looked so foreign, so alien. And God, he was huge. Cheftu had never been delicate or small, but this guy—this new body—was a rugby player’s.
“What makes you think you can persuade me to die for this woman?” she asked, not quite daring to meet his eyes. The slaves stood there, waiting for orders.
“Go prepare some food,” he said to them. “Now.”
Both of them left. Two other slaves stood just out of earshot, but within easy distance to see every expression on her face. Cheftu stepped closer to her. Chloe wanted to melt into him, but were they putting on a show? Or was he psycho? “Are you trying to scare me back into the shed?” she asked. Where they could talk.
His golden eyes flashed with heat. Talking wasn’t on his mind. “Who did this to you?” he asked. His tone was soft, caring. “Who hit you, who did you have to defend yourself against?”
The wounds on her body, the soreness and dried blood underlined how real this game was. She knew the slaves, or guards, or whoever, were curious. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to be alive long enough for the wounds to heal, am I?”
He took her wrists in his hand. Both of them fit within the circle of his fingers. He tugged her toward him. “You serve the commonwealth by your sacrifice.”
Do I resist? Can I resist? Am I supposed to resist?
“I have promised Asa I will tame you,” he said.
She tugged at him.
“For the sake of those who watch, I must be seen to do so,” he said quietly.
“That’s an interesting line,” Chloe said, but her words were breathy, and she trembled. “Does it work often?”
He bent close to her, so close she could see the flecks of brown and amber in his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt your mouth, but I must kiss you.”
“Part of the show, huh?” she whispered.
When his mouth touched hers, his kiss was soft, gentle, and quick. Chloe acknowledged she wanted it to be endless, to seduce her, to make her so dizzy she would abandon any semblance of control. “Don’t stop,” she pleaded.
“Make the female a bath!” he shouted over his shoulder. One of the slaves left. One stayed. “Come into the house,” he said. “Eat, sleep, wash. We’ll return to the temple soon.”
“Both of us? Tonight?” she asked.
“Earlier.” His voice dropped to a shade of a whisper. “I must be free of these spies before I touch you.”
Her knees were wobbly.
He scooped her up in his arms, against the hot gold that decorated his chest. “Just play your part,” he said in an undertone. “And know it’s killing me to play mine.”
Cheftu carried her into the house, set her in the tub, and left her in privacy to bathe. After she ate, a slave ministered to her black eye, another to her cuts and bruises, and a third fanned her while she napped.
* * *
It must be dark outside now; a trickle of cool air blew through the cramped cell. Guli had been resting, his forehead on his knees.
“What happened?” she asked finally. “I asked you to dinner, but I couldn’t find you. Then I heard from Ningal that you had killed a man. Your owner.”
Guli smiled. If only Ulu could hear herself—she sounded like a lady. She even sat like a lady now, instead of sprawling for attention.
“It doesn’t matter,” he s
aid. “I killed Viza. I would do it again, I just wish I had done it sooner.” Before Viza had ruined other people’s lives. “And you? Talk to me, Ulu.”
“I have a son,” she began.
By the time she was finished with her tale, Guli wished to kill again. “You don’t have to be a substitute,” he said. “I won’t do the makeup, and they will have to use Puabi.”
Ulu sniffed, the first sign of her spirit breaking that he’d heard. “Ezzi was so ashamed of me that he plotted my death. Ezzi was so sure he could get me to offer myself for him that he told Puabi my name even before he lied to me, manipulated me. He cares that little for me—” She didn’t say anything else for a long time. Guli reached across the space and took her hot, grimy hand in his.
“If he has worked this hard to have me dead, then dead I shall be,” she said.
He took her in his arms.
* * *
“Chloe?” Puabi said. “That was her name?”
“The marsh girl, yes,” Rudi said. “Come, the en said we must go.”
“I imagine he did. No,” Puabi said. “I’m not leaving until I see this girl.”
Rudi frowned. “What is your reasoning for that? Puabi, your life is at risk. You don’t have the time for jealousies now.”
“Chloe. He called out that name the morning after I thought he’d died. Do you not remember? He even called you Chloe. Who is this female? How does he know her?”
Rudi groaned. “You should know, you have set enough spies on him.”
“I should dismiss them all. No one has ever heard of this Chloe, until I mentioned her to the lugal. She’s been babbling at him to attend the Tablet House.”
“Truth is, Puabi, she’s going to be dead in less than three days. You will get a chance to live, to have the en all to yourself. Why not allow this woman a little joy before she dies in your stead?”
“Kidu,” Puabi said, tightening her sash, “has not congressed with me since that morning. That night, actually. Before I thought he died.”
Rudi’s head was beginning to ache, a not uncommon feeling around her sister. “What do you want, Puabi?”
“Tonight, at the Sacred Marriage—he’ll be expecting his Chloe at the temple. I’ll be there instead.”
“Is he so great a lover that you’ll risk your life?” Rudi asked. “You’ve lost your reason! You are scoffing at the opportunity you’ve been given to escape. He might decide to tell the council about the substitution, then you would find yourself reviled, poisoned, and buried.”
“Shama!” Puabi shouted, though the old man was sitting almost beside them. “I want to be in the temple tonight. Make sure that Chloe thing isn’t there. But she will die for me.”
Shama bobbed his head. Rudi buried hers in her hands. Puabi’s reason had fled. Obviously.
* * *
Guli withdrew himself, and they both lay panting, drenched and calm. They’d spent themselves, in all ways. Weeping until they were both weak. Congressing until collapse. Laughing from exhaustion and hunger. Finally, holding each other, savoring every minute left.
Guli took Ulu’s hand in his big one and held them up to the dim light of the torch. It was bright outside now, but dark in the room. “You’ve always had the most beautiful hands,” he said. “I used to watch them, at the tavern. You use them when you speak. Sometimes, without even knowing what the conversation was, I could guess your words. From your hands.”
He kissed the back of her palm.
His hands were beaten up, scarred, but gentle in her hair and exquisite on her body. Ulu ached for a moment; could they have had this for all the years they’d known each other? This peace? This joy? This calm? Was this sacred world just waiting for them, and only the hands of the gods could force them to enter?
No, she thought. I would never be content without sampling other men, and he is dear to me, but he wouldn’t understand. Still, wouldn’t it have been lovely to have been loved in this lifetime.
Guli leaned over, braced on his arm. “You are supposed to be dark, I hear.”
“Sumerian, not Shemti,” she said. “Then, covered in gold. In truth, it matters little who goes to the tomb. No one but the lugal has really seen Puabi, and when anyone does, she’s always in gold paint and formal dress.” Ulu laughed. “Anyone could pretend at being the ensi. Anyone.”
He touched her face with delicacy, smoothed her frown away with his fingertips. “You are of my heart, Ulu.” His dark eyes were shiny in the light and he closed them. A tear fell on her bare breast.
Ulu pressed his face against the tear, into her flesh, and held him. The drums began outside. “Take my heart when you take my body, this time,” she whispered to him. “Make love with me.”
* * *
“He must see me!” Ningal said. “I have waited all day.”
“The en has just returned and—”
Ningal drew himself up. “Tell the en Justice Ningal is here. He will see me.”
A half-hour later, the en entered the room. “Greetings, Justice,” he said.
Ningal bowed his head. How the en had changed, once he’d stopped the opium. Ningal had quite enjoyed their conversation, just days ago. He was certainly more than a wrestler and temple stud. The man had a mind.
Kidu motioned for food and drink as he sat on his chair. “What do you need from me?”
“The female Chloe,” Ningal said. “She has disappeared, and I fear for her welfare.”
“The female Chloe,” Kidu repeated. Her name tripped easily off his tongue—though his accent was a little different. “Your houseguest, I believe?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you for your kind remembrance. I fear for her safety.”
The en glanced at the scribe who took notes, the slave who fanned him, the slave who poured his wine, the two girls who lounged in the shadow of the wall, then back to Ningal. “I will see what I can do,” he said, and stood.
He didn’t have the details yet, Ningal thought. “She was returning to our home—”
The en looked at him, and Ningal wondered if he imagined the compassion in the man’s eyes. “Do not fear for her, I’m sure she will be well.”
“Have you heard something?” Ningal asked.
The en hesitated. “I will send you a message after I’ve made some inquiries.”
“There are some boys, from the Tablet House. They’ve roughed her up before. I think they took her.”
The en’s eyes narrowed, and Ningal was reminded of a giant cat, just before a killing leap. “They will not escape,” he said.
“Search for her,” Ningal said. “Please. I will pay any cost, do anything within my power, but bring her home to me. That is all I wish for.” He looked at the young man, healthy and perfect. “You might not understand, since you are forbidden to marry or limit yourself to one woman, but she is all I want. No one else. Chloe alone.”
The en stared at him, the warmth in his gaze gone. “Leave me.”
Ningal was rushed out the doors and back into the hallway. His cloak was soaked with sweat, and his legs felt as weak as though he’d walked a long distance. Who else would help him? He sensed Chloe would be the last priority for the en. Who knew Chloe, appreciated her? Who—Nimrod. Ningal braced his shoulders and left the temple, his direction the lugal’s house.
* * *
Nimrod opened the missive from Kidu. It bore only one word.
“Now.”
* * *
While she waited, Chloe watched the old man Cheftu had stashed her with when they returned, silently and in two carts, to the temple. This old guy was someone’s servant, for he was gone a lot. When he wasn’t, he and Chloe played draughts and ate the leftovers of rich food. His room had no sunlight, but at least it wasn’t hot.
After feeding her again, he brought her some clothes. When she stripped, he rubbed frankincense and gold dust into her skin and tucked her hair beneath a wig. So it begins, Chloe thought. This is the first of my impersonations of ensi Puabi. What would happen if I just stopp
ed in the middle of the speech or procession or whatever, and shouted that I wasn’t Puabi.
I’d be dead there and then, she realized.
The old man draped a pirate ship’s worth of jewelry around her neck, on her arms, and in her hair. With careful strokes he painted around her eyes, mumbling in surprise when she opened the second one and he saw the disparity of color. She couldn’t explain why they hadn’t both changed to green when she realized she was completely herself—but they hadn’t. He continued his work. Finally, he smiled and clapped.
Two slaves entered. Sandwiched between them and trailed by the old man, Chloe was led up some narrow stairs into luxurious apartments, filled with flowers and scattered with the remains of hasty packing. “Oh God, it’s real,” Chloe whispered.
Here, in this room, she heard the chanting of priests, the clear soprano singing of priestesses. It was dark again. I’ve lost so much time, she thought. My last days weren’t supposed to be like this.
A huge group of people arrived at the door. The old man draped her face. They left the palace and walked down the avenue to the staged temple. At the foot of the staircase they festooned her with flowers. Shama motioned her up, so Chloe took the first step.
Seven stages: white, black, red, blue, orange, silver, and gold. Sixty steps a stage. It was going to be a long walk.
Chapter Four
Cheftu climbed the stairs slowly. His retainers waited at the bottom, and Chloe waited in the blue temple to heaven, at the top, on the golden stage. He was exhausted; and the day’s activities had prevented him getting any meals.
The temple’s stores were distributed now. The clients, freedmen, and gentlemen had delivered their bribes all day and night; the precious items piled up against the walls of the temple. Temple slaves and priests had dug out the tunnel to the ancient death pit. Its roof was the new pit’s floor, now matted down anticipating its new inhabitants. Other priests had worked on securing the arched brick roof.
Cheftu’s responsibilities until the “new” ensi took her place, were enormous. He alone would verify the women were dead, that the potent drug they took had worked. His coterie of priests would kill the animals in their tracks, leave the offerings, and fill the passageway with dirt once more.
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