The Second Mystery Megapack

by Ron Goulart

  “Did you search the hall again?” I asked.

  “Twice again we searched the rooms and the statues and the alcoves. No one was there. No one!”

  This was very puzzling. Now Uncle led us into the interior, directing me to take notes of everything that we saw. Banu and Azizu and Erishum followed, the others remaining outside. We searched each of the rooms in turn before returning to the main statue.

  The image of the eagle-headed god Nisroch had been partially shattered by its impact with the tile floor and the Great King’s body. The face and wings of the god were separated a small distance from the rest. We saw a dark stain upon the stones where the Great King’s life blood had flowed across the floor. Uncle knelt by the base of the statue and examined it closely. He took out a short knife, and probed slowly around the edges.

  “Look here!” he suddenly exclaimed.

  We gathered ’round. There were indications of tampering, both at the front and at the rear of the base, and signs that some of the alterations had been patched over with a light veneer of plaster.

  “This was no accident,” he said. “This work was accomplished over a long period of time.”

  Someone must have known of the Great King’s nocturnal habits, and planned accordingly.

  “But how?” Azizu asked. “We searched the temple thoroughly, before and after. Even if someone had undermined the statue, how could it have been toppled at just the right moment to kill the Great King?”

  “We must look at the underlying motives to help discover the answer to that question,” Uncle said. “Who stood to gain? We should talk first with the rebel princes.”

  “My father will not approve,” the prince said.

  “If the Great King wants us to solve the unsolvable, then he must bear with us,” Telemachos said. I was very proud then of your son, grandsire. He demonstrated why the sons of Meles are renowned throughout the Mediterranean for their vigor and intelligence.

  Banu looked at the spot where his grandfather had perished. “I will see what I can arrange,” he finally said. “But I can promise nothing.”

  * * * *

  The next morning, however, Banu appeared at our apartment in the city with his Turtanu to tell us that an interview with the two rebels had been arranged. We exited the city once again, and rode for an hour until we came to a fort constructed out of mud bricks. We were led to a small, squat, windowless building in the compound.

  The guards conducted us to a room empty save for a table and stools. The first prisoner was brought to us.

  “This is the high and mighty Prince Arda-Mulishi,” Banu said, “he who once called himself Great King of Assyria.” He spat on the ground and made a sign which I later learned was a curse, but the prisoner never reacted.

  Indeed, it was clear that the man had been greatly abused. His eyes were puffy and dull, his limbs bruised, his spirit largely broken. His once fine clothes were tattered and stained with blood and dust.

  Telemachos, speaking through me: “Did you kill the Great King?”

  Prisoner, finally looking up: “Who are you, stranger, to question a prince of Assyria?”

  Uncle: “I speak in the name of the Great King.”

  Banu slipped his father’s seal from around his neck; it was tied to a cord threaded through a hole that pierced the green stone. He displayed it in his open palm.

  Prisoner, glancing at Banu: “Spawn of that foreign bitch, Naqi’a!” It was his turn to spit and laugh. The Turtanu struck the rebel on his back with the blunt end of his spear, sending him to his knees.

  “I see you share your father’s winning ways, boy,” Arda-Mulishi said. Erishum raised his weapon again, but Banu held up his hand.

  “Half-uncle,” the prince said, “you may make this day difficult for yourself or not, as you choose. But you will answer.”

  Prisoner, still smirking: “What was the question?”

  Telemachos: “Did you kill your father?”

  Then the rebel prince turned to Uncle for the first time, looking him straight in the eye.

  “No,” he said. I did not need to translate.

  Telemachos: “Do you know who did?”

  “No.”

  Banu: “Why did you make yourself Great King in contravention of your father’s will?”

  Arda-Mulishi said nothing for a very long time, and then sighed: “When the Great King died at the hand of the god whom he had dispossessed from his rightful place in Babylon, the people of Assyria knew that the gods had turned against them.

  “All of you who were there know of the turmoil of those days. The state was in danger of collapsing. Esarhaddon was far away in Armenia.

  “The Great King Sennacherib told me the month before his passing that I would be restored to my rightful place in the House of Succession on New Year’s Day, two months hence. I was his eldest surviving son after my senior brother, King Ashur-Nadin-Shumi, whom the Babylonians sold to the Elamites twelve years ago. My mother was First Queen to the Great King. She was Assyrian, not Phoenician. She kept her own name, and did not have to change it to something else.

  “This was my birthright once, and would have been again, and so I seized what was mine. But I failed to consult with the gods, and the gods were still angry with Assyria. The real killer betrayed me, whomever that person was. I could never find out, although I tried. There was no time to continue in the midst of crisis.”

  Telemachos: “You investigated the death of your father? How?”

  Arda-Mulishi: “I ordered the Turtanu who saw the murder, Captain Azizu, to interrogate those who were likely to benefit from my father’s death.”

  Telemachos: “What did he report?”

  Arda-Mulishi: “He had no time to report. Shortly thereafter, I had to join the forces being assembled to meet Esarhaddon’s advancing army, and I never saw Captain Azizu again.”

  That was all he would say. I later learned that he had been executed not long thereafter.

  We next interrogated another son of the deceased Great King, Prince Nabu-Sharru-Usur, who had supported his brother’s rebellion, and for whom the present year had been named. The difference in appearance between the two men was striking. Nabu was clean and well-dressed and had not been abused. I raised an eyebrow at my young friend.

  “He has to present my father to the gods when he takes his rightful place upon the throne,” Banu said. “He still has a role to play.”

  Nabu-Sharru-Usur: “Yes, I do.” His voice was high and thin, like a woman’s, and I suddenly realized that this was a man who would never have to shave again.

  He gathered his robes about him, and sat down on a stool with a sigh. “Get on with it,” he said.

  Telemachos: “Did you conspire to kill the Great King?”

  Nabu-Sharru-Usur: “He was my father. He made a place for me among the highest nobles of the land. You see what I am. I could never be the Great King because of that. I had a good place at court, a life of beauty and luxury and power. Why would I give that up?”

  Telemachos: “For greater power?”

  Nabu-Sharru-Usur: “What greater power? Already I had the Great King’s confidence. Already I lived as I pleased. There was nothing else I wanted. Because of his death, all of that is gone. I must play my little role for my half-brother, and then exit history. Isn’t that true, nephew?” He looked down at Prince Banu.

  Banu: “I wouldn’t know.”

  Telemachos: “Who murdered your father?”

  Nabu-Sharru-Usur: “One of those Babylonian scum. We did everything for them, and do you think they were grateful? Not a bit. Always complaining, always moaning about this and that. Yes, one of the Babylonians killed him. I have no doubt whatever. They all hated him for razing their city.”

  Telemachos: “Your brother said he was about to be renamed Crown Prince.”

  Nabu-Sharru-Usur: “Everyone knew that my father had changed his mind again about the succession. It was Nisroch, you see. The god told him that he needed to make amends for stea
ling the deity from his ancestral home. Mortal man may not interfere with the immortal gods. Nisroch wanted to be Marduk again. He would not be propitiated. Father refused, and the god killed him.”

  Telemachos: “The statue was tampered with. A man killed the Great King.”

  Nabu-Sharru-Usur: “The gods work through men to achieve their ends. It was the judgment of the gods.”

  We learned nothing else from him.

  Later over dinner, we talked about our next step.

  “We must locate one or more of the guards who were on duty that day,” Uncle said.

  “Why?” I asked. “We’ve already talked to Captain Azizu.”

  “Yes, but having a different view of the same event might help us discover what actually occurred. Also, we should interview Queen Naqi’a.”

  Prince Banu did not think the latter would be possible, but agreed to inquire about the guards.

  That was the end of the second day.

  * * * *

  The next morning was cold and drizzly, but we felt we were making good progress, at least until the young prince appeared.

  “They’re all gone!” Banu said as he entered our apartment.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “The guards who were on duty that night. They were all sent to the army shortly thereafter, and have not returned. Most are probably dead. However, I found a friend of one of the sergeants, and he may be able to tell us something.”

  This was Sergeant Iqisu, a rough-hewed man in his forties, waiting just outside our door. We brought him in.

  The prince took the lead: “You knew Sergeant Yari?”

  “I did,” came the reply. “We trained together years ago, and we were assigned to the same squads throughout our careers.”

  “Tell us what he said about the Great King’s death.”

  “Well, prince”—he bowed at each of us in turn—“it was all passing strange. A half-month before the, uh, incident, Cap’n Azizu brought in a bunch of new recruits, really green under the gills, if you know what I mean, and gave them to Sergeants Yari and Banba to train. Yari complained about it at the time. These rubes just didn’t know one end of the spear from the other. They had to be taught everything. Usually, we get only the best. But they didn’t even ken much Akkadian.”

  “Did the guards follow their usual procedure that evening?” I said, translating Uncle’s words.

  “Yes, sir,” Iqisu said. “Yari said they searched the place quite thoroughly, as usual, and found no one there, before or after.”

  “Can you normally see inside the temple when the Great King is present?”

  “No, sir. The doors are partially kept shut to give him space to talk with his god. Only the officer remains to watch over the Great King.”

  “What about the captain?” I asked. “Is he visible?”

  “Those of us stationed near the front of the temple can often glimpse his back, but we’re usually watching for danger outside, if you know what I mean. It’s curious, though: Yari said he called to the cap’n once for assistance, when a drunk tried to enter the temple, and it took him a moment or two to respond.”

  “What happened to the squad who was on duty that night?” Uncle asked.

  “Two days after the Great King’s death, they were all drafted into the army. Men were being pulled from around the city to help face the threat from the northwest.”

  “Were any of your other guards reassigned?”

  Iqisu shook his head “no.”

  Later that day, we talked about the most recent developments.

  “Who is this Azizu?” Uncle asked.

  “I have no idea,” the prince said.

  Erishum thought that Azizu came from somewhere in the west, but knew little else about him. “I will ask around,” he said.

  “How does one become an officer of the guard?” Telemachos asked.

  “Such appointments are always political,” the prince said. “One must have a patron in high places.”

  “Then who was Azizu’s sponsor?”

  “I do not know,” Banu said.

  “One thing that I do know,” Uncle said, “is that all large enterprises keep very detailed records of such appointments. Where would such listings be found, Prince Banu?”

  “In the House of Archives,” he said, sitting up straight. “Yes, it would be there.” He smiled. “I knew there was a reason that Father wanted me to learn the stylus.”

  “Then, if I may be so bold, my prince, I suggest that you and Achilleus spend tomorrow morning examining those files.”

  That was the third day.

  * * * *

  The House of Archives was a nondescript structure of brick and stone near the Handuri Gate in the southern part of Nineveh. Although the prince and I had no problem entering the building, finding what we wanted proved no easy task.

  “Well, yes,” the librarian said, “there are filing marks on the boxes, but you would need to have one of the scribes show you the meaning of both them and the texts, and we have none available to spare for a tour.”

  “I can read the signs perfectly well myself,” Banu said, “and I represent the Great King’s interest in this, so either cooperate or you’ll find yourself copying eponym lists somewhere in Outer Armenia.”

  “Of course, Great Prince.”

  “We are looking for the record of an officer’s appointment.”

  “When did this occur?” the librarian asked.

  “I have no idea,” came the reply.

  “Then how do you expect me…? Uh, yes, I’ll do everything I can,” the man said, when he saw the anger building in Banu’s eyes. “Where’s he stationed?”

  “He’s part of the Great King’s personal guard,” the prince said. “His name is Azizu.”

  “Oh! Well, that should be relatively easy. He’ll be recorded on the payroll of the Great King’s own household. Let’s just see,” and the librarian went bustling off into the next room, looking at this box of tablets and that, reading the labels affixed in clay to each. “Yes, this may tell us something.” He motioned to one of his orderlies to lift down the heavy container.

  “Azizu, Aaa-ziii-zuuu. Aha! Says he was appointed in the eponymate of King Sennacherib himself, five years ago. This number”—he pointed at the leading edge—“tells me the location of his enrollment tablet.”

  The librarian ran into an adjoining storage area, and then into another further on. He had the orderly lift the heavy box onto a sorting table. Then he paged through the tablets, one by one.

  “Yes, here it is. Azizu. Native of Qarqara in the west. Enlisted eleven years ago. Raised to officer rank by the Great King five years ago, on the recommendation of Queen Zakutu.”

  “Grandmama!” Banu exclaimed.

  “But I thought her name was Naqi’a,” I said.

  “That was her original name. Her royal name, her Akkadian name, is Zakutu, ‘the lady who was freed’.”

  Banu suddenly noticed the librarian’s interest in their conversation, and abruptly dismissed him, saying, “You will be silent, clerk, about all of these matters, or you will lose the ability to speak and write.” Then he said to me: “We’ll talk of this later.”

  But after we had returned to our apartment, the prince brooded within himself, and finally he made his excuses and left. Only I remained to tell Uncle what had transpired.

  * * * *

  On the fifth day we were interrupted by the appearance of Captain Azizu in our doorway.

  “I hear you’ve been asking questions about me,” he said.

  “We are asking questions of many people,” Uncle replied through me. “The innocent have nothing to fear.”

  “I just did my duty,” the officer said. “Everyone who was there will confirm my account.”

  “Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Telemachos said. “We have only your rendition of what occurred, because we cannot locate any of the other guards who were on duty that night. Where is Sergeant Yari, for example?”

 
“I have no idea, sir,” Azizu said. “He was reassigned by order of the Substitute King, and I’ve not seen him since. He was in the army that the usurper took to Hani-Galbat. Many of those men have never returned.”

  “How convenient,” Uncle said. “What of the rest?”

  “Most of them I didn’t know,” the Captain said.

  “Who assigned them to you?”

  “Don’t know that either. I am accustomed to following my orders as presented to me, sir. I do not question orders, ever. I do my job. I do it well. No one has ever questioned my efficiency. The Great King himself has praised me.”

  “You were ordered by the Substitute King to conduct an investigation of the Great King’s death. What conclusion did you reach?”

  “War intervened before I could proceed very far, and then Arda-Mulishi was deposed, so I stopped looking. It was the judgment of the gods.”

  “Who recommended you for this position?” Uncle asked.

  “The Great King.”

  “But the Great King does not usually reach down into the ranks of his soldiers to find and reward one individual, does he? So, I was you again: who sponsored you, Captain?”

  “I cannot say,” Azizu finally said.

  “Cannot, or will not.”

  “I cannot say.”

  “Then I guess we will have to continue asking our little questions, won’t we?” Uncle said. “You are dismissed, Captain.”

  Banu did not appear at all that day, and I worried about what had happened to him. Truth be told, however, I did not know how to reach him, and was not sure that I wanted to.

  We ate out that night, venturing down the winding back ways of Nineveh to one of the shops that lined Garden Street. They had a spiced fresh lamb fixed with herbs and late vegetables and olive oil that even at this cold time of the year was something well worth fighting for. The place was filled to the brim. The patrons were as raucous as black-headed crows jostling each other for scraps, the cymbals and drums kept warring with one another to beat a tune upon our deaf ears, and the girls, well, the girls were simply good enough to eat. We finally left the place satiated and satisfied, and just a little bit drunk.