by Sam Barone
Tammuz showed no particular interest in Jarud’s new commander. Instead, Tammuz held out his hand. “One copper for the pitcher. I still have to make my living.”
Jarud pointed at one of his men. “Pay the innkeeper.”
A worn copper coin appeared, and was grudgingly handed over, despite the fact that the pitcher had been a large one and contained the best ale in the house, in honor of Jarud’s appearance.
“Good luck with your new commander,” Tammuz said, after giving the coin a brief inspection. Sumer’s night watch came into contact with plenty of fake coins, and had little compunction about trying to pass them off. “Come back when your watch is ended. I’ll save some good ale for you.”
“You always say that,” Jarud countered, “and it’s always the same piss.”
“I collect it just for you from the piss pot outside. At least it’s always fresh.”
Everyone laughed, and Tammuz went back to the table where En-hedu was busy helping Irkalla. He stood beside his wife, until Irkalla left the table to deliver another cup of ale. “I just heard Sumer’s going to have a new captain of the guard, a man named Kourosh.”
En-hedu nodded. “Those three in the corner table look like trouble.”
“I’ll keep an eye on them.” He knew that En-hedu would remember Kourosh’s name. Between the two of them, they often picked up bits of information. They already knew the names of most of Shulgi’s commanders and their assignments. But Jarud’s few words about the new man’s skill were much more interesting. A popular leader, especially one who knew his trade, would rise quickly in Sumer’s military hierarchy. Men who could lead were always in short supply, whether in Akkad or Sumer.
Such a man would be worth watching, and his name would be reported to Akkad by the next messenger. By then Tammuz would know quite a bit more about the man, his origins, his skills, and his strengths and weaknesses. En-hedu had already collected a wealth of information from the commanders wives, most of them eager to talk about what their husband or lover was doing.
During the first few months, Tammuz had wondered about the usefulness of what he and En-hedu were learning. Now he saw the value in the reports that went to Akkad every month or so. In the last year, Sumer’s soldiers had regained both their pride and their confidence. Once again they swaggered through the lanes, benefiting from the stern training instituted by King Shulgi and Vanar, his infantry commander. Border patrols to the east, and the desert fighting to the west, had toughened them up. To Tammuz and En-hedu, the sheer size of the forces being recruited could have only one ultimate objective – the city of Akkad.
Still, life in Sumer had grown quite pleasant for them. One year and half of another had passed since their arrival. The city’s population had increased greatly in that time, and by now the Kestrel and its owners were accepted as if they had lived there all their lives. Tammuz and En-hedu had gathered and dispatched many reports to Akkad during that time. Perhaps, Tammuz decided, it was time to start doing more than just gathering information.
More than thirty days later, Tammuz glided through Sumer’s darkened lanes, as silent as a shadow and attracting as much attention. Most of the city’s inhabitants had secured their doors and settled in for a good night’s sleep. Only those few returning from the ale houses remained up and about. And Sumer’s night watch, of course, prowling about and keeping an eye on things.
The new moon shed almost no light, but Tammuz knew the way through all of the city by now. Since he first heard Kourosh’s name mentioned as the latest leader of the night watch, Tammuz had learned much about the increasingly popular commander. Bits of conversation heard in the Kestrel had helped, as members of Sumer’s guard offered plenty of praise for their new leader. A stern but fair taskmaster, Kourosh forced recruits and veterans alike to train each day with sword and spear, often from dawn to dusk. Despite the petty grumblings, Tammuz noticed a hint of pride in these men. Kourosh knew his trade and, more important, he knew how to train his men and earn their respect.
Twice in the last ten days Tammuz had slipped out of the Kestrel late at night and walked the lanes. As tonight’s work ended, he had watched Kourosh drink with some of his senior men at a tavern he favored, one closer to the barracks. The new commander of the guard had never visited the Kestrel, but over the last month Tammuz had seen Kourosh several times, training his men and escorting them to and from the docks, a route that often took him past the Kestrel.
Now Tammuz stood in the shadows at the end of another long day and half of the night. No more ale would be sold until the morning, and those who had no place to go would sleep in the tavern or find an empty spot in the lane. The taverns had already disgorged the last of their customers and started fastening their doors. The evening’s drinking had ended, and both innkeepers and their patrons needed to sleep, if they were to work hard the next day.
Kourosh and five soldiers came out of the tavern fifty paces away, talking loudly, one of the usual effects from too much ale. Two men departed down the lane, but Kourosh – recognizable by his stocky build – and the other two began walking toward Tammuz.
Staying in the shadows, Tammuz slipped away and moved ahead of the three, hurrying toward the king’s Compound, where Kourosh had his comfortable quarters. If the two soldiers accompanying their commander returned to the Compound with their leader, then Tammuz would have wasted another night. But if they turned toward the barracks, then Kourosh would complete the last few hundred steps of his journey alone.
At this time of night, the broad lane leading to the compound should be free of soldiers and passersby. Tammuz felt his heart racing, and tried to restrain his nervousness while he anxiously peered down the lane. Kourosh should have been only a hundred paces behind, but perhaps he had lingered to talk to his men. Either that or he had decided to sleep in the barracks tonight . . .
A single shadow loomed up out of the darkness. Tammuz gave one last glance to the lane behind him, saw that it was empty. Taking a deep breath, he shuffled forward, taking short steps and limping a little. Kourosh’s long strides closed the gap between them in moments, and the soldier walked straight down the center of the lane.
Tammuz, still hobbling along, moved to his left, as if to yield the center to the approaching soldier. At the same time, he slipped the knife from its sheath and pressed its length down the back of his leg.
“Get out of the way, old man,” Kourosh said, his tone pleasant enough despite his words.
“Yes, master.” Tammuz shuffled more to his left, then sprang to his right, crashing into the soldier. Before Kourosh could react, the knife had buried itself in his chest, just under the breastbone, Tammuz driving the blade upwards with all his strength into the heart, just as he’d been trained.
Kourosh gasped, more in surprise than pain. His hands seized Tammuz’s shoulders, and he tried to push his attacker aside, but by then the knife’s blade had already sucked the strength from his arms. In a moment Tammuz tore free of Kourosh’s grasp, jerked the knife from his body. Ignoring the spurt of blood that spattered over his arm, Tammuz struck again, this time through the ribs and into the lungs. The second blow wrenched a gasp of pain from Kourosh and sent him sprawling on his back to the ground.
Tammuz glanced up and down the lane, ready to flee if anyone had noticed. But he saw no one. Satisfied, he reached down. His hands shook, and it took three tries before he could cut the soldier’s purse free from his belt. Kourosh wore a short sword, and it would be one of quality, so Tammuz slid that from its sheath, shoved it under his left armpit, and began trotting down the lane, back the way the soldier had come.
At the first joining of two lanes, Tammuz turned to his left. A hundred paces further was one of the city’s wells. As he drew near, Tammuz emptied the contents of the dead man’s purse into his hand, then dumped the coins into his tunic. He scooped some dirt from the lane into the purse and tossed it into the well. With luck, it would sink to the bottom and never be seen again.
By now Ta
mmuz had reached the poorer quarters, and he saw the homeless or drunks sleeping in the lanes. He set the sword down near two unconscious forms who reeked of ale. With luck, they’d awake in the morning, find the sword, and try to sell it in the market.
Moving with caution, Tammuz retraced his steps toward the Kestrel. He stopped twice, to make sure that no one was following him, and doubled back once just to be certain. Then he crossed one more lane and in another few hundred paces reached the inn.
The inn’s front door would be closed, but he turned down the side lane until he reached the narrow door that led into their private chamber. The door that was always barred opened silently as Tammuz approached, and he knew En-hedu had watched for him and seen him coming down the lane.
Tammuz slipped inside without making a sound. He moved to the edge of their bed and slumped down, exhausted more from the tension than from the physical activity. He felt himself shivering, and couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He’d never killed someone like that, in cold blood.
En-hedu took her time securing the door’s many bolts and braces, working silently so as not to awaken any customers. She finished up by moving a sack filled with dirt against the bottom of the entrance. With luck, that portal wouldn’t open again for months.
Then she stood before him. “Take off your tunic,” she whispered.
He rose and unbuckled his belt. The coins taken from Kourosh’s purse spilled onto the sandy floor with scarcely a clink of metal on metal. En-hedu helped pull the tunic over his head. She tossed it aside, stepped away, and returned with a pitcher of water and a piece of cloth. Taking her time, she scrubbed his face, neck, arms and legs, anywhere blood might have spattered.
“It went well, husband?” No need to ask what had happened. His shaking hands told the story plain enough. Nevertheless, her voice couldn’t conceal how worried she’d been.
“Yes. He never even cried out.”
She continued with her ministrations. In the morning she would bathe him again, to make sure no bloodstains appeared on him. His tunic would be wrapped inside one of her dresses and taken to the river at first light, to be scrubbed clean against the rocks. Any stains that remained would be taken for wine spills, an occupational hazard for any innkeeper.
“Lie down,” she whispered, as she guided him down onto the bed.
He started to tell her what happened, but she silenced him with her fingers on his lips. “In the morning, Tammuz. Now it is time for you to rest.”
She knelt on the floor beside the bed and began kissing his body. For a moment he tried to protest, then to his surprise his penis stiffened into rigidity, and he felt her long hair brush his stomach as she took him into her mouth. His passion raged, either from her deft touch or the murder of Kourosh, he couldn’t tell.
En-hedu kept stimulating him, driving his lust higher and higher, until she felt him throb with desire. She moved on top of him. He couldn’t hold back a gasp of pleasure as he entered her softness, but if any of the inn’s occupants heard that kind of noise, they would just roll over and return to their sleep.
She moved her body against him, and within moments his seed burst inside her with a force he found difficult to believe. Then he slumped back exhausted. En-hedu took him into her arms and held him tenderly until he fell into a deep and untroubled sleep.
36
Four months later . . .
The priests of Marduk, after many long nights consultation with the stars, finally declared the end of summer. Most of Sumeria’s farmers had finished their harvests, and now offered thanks to the gods. As En-hedu knew, that meant spilling a drop or two of ale on the Kestrel’s floor, then gulping down the rest of the cup as fast as possible. Tonight the tavern would be packed with as many grateful farmers as river men.
King Shulgi had ordered the usual three days of feasting, which ended yesterday. Nevertheless, Sumer’s inhabitants continued to relax and enjoy another benefit from the gods – the blazing heat of the season had broken as well, and balmy days and cooler nights would soon be in store.
For En-hedu the time of feasting brought plenty of customers, as the wealthy wives indulged themselves. One of the richest women in Sumer now sighed contentedly under En-hedu’s ministrations.
“Ahhh, that feels so good.”
“Yes, Mistress Bikku.” En-hedu leaned forward, her body’s weight helping move the muscles in the woman’s naked back. A pleasant enough body, En-hedu mused, in better shape than many of her customers. Wives and mistresses of the wealthy tended to possess soft bodies, unused to any physical work. Probably the hardest labor they performed consisted of vigorously satisfying their husbands’ needs in the bedchamber. Unlike Tammuz, whose rod tended to stiffen at En-hedu’s lightest touch, Sumer’s merchants, even some of the younger ones, apparently required long and strenuous efforts to bring them to arousal, especially after a long night of feasting and drinking.
Mistress Bikku had first summoned En-hedu several months ago, after hearing many and glowing recommendations from Ninlil, wife of Puzur-Amurri, En-hedu’s first client from Sumer’s upper class. Since that first precarious start with Ninlil, En-hedu’s list of wealthy clients had grown to over a dozen.
The pampered wives, both old and young, relied more and more on her massage skills to relax and to prepare for their husbands’ nightly visits. Her customers paid her as many coins in a few days as the Kestrel earned in seven or eight.
To please her new employers, En-hedu had purchased two new dresses that showed her rising status. No woman of wealth wanted to be visited by someone from the poorer classes, no matter what skills she possessed. So En-hedu dressed like the wife of a prosperous merchant or respected craftsman. A porter carried fresh water to the Kestrel each morning, so that En-hedu could wash her body before donning her finery. She scented the water with crushed flower petals, to create a pleasant scent that lingered in her hair.
To her surprise, Tammuz found both the fine clothes and sweet-smelling water exciting, and often when she returned from working on one of her customers, they would retire to their private chamber to relax and make love.
All of the well-off women En-hedu massaged liked to talk, especially to someone of no consequence. The fact that her ministrations were probably more enjoyable than what many received from their husbands also helped loosen the women’s tongues. Most of the wealthy merchants and traders cared more about their own pleasures. They had little time or interest in satisfying their women, who were often relegated to the role of pleasure slave or a symbol of the man’s status within the city.
Aside from the usual gossip such women indulged in, sooner or later the conversation turned to the talk of the coming war. En-hedu had picked up many odd facts, one here, one there, that occasionally added up to a significant bit of information, which soon found its way to the Kestrel and from there to the boats going upriver to Akkad and Lady Trella.
Between the loud banter from the soldiers and other patrons of the Kestrel, and the giggling gossip of En-hedu’s clients, she knew more about the coming war than most of King Shulgi’s soldiers. The most important facts, however, still eluded her – when and how the war would begin. Rumors had predicted the start of the war several times, and all had turned out to be false.
On the bed, Bikku groaned in pleasure once again. “Your touch is making my loins grow moist, En-hedu.”
“You flatter me, mistress.” En-hedu received many such invitations, but always managed to deflect them. Most of them. At least that’s what she told Tammuz when he asked her about such invitations as they whispered at night in their bed. “I’m sure I’m too clumsy for such things.”
A chattering of women’s voices rose up outside Bikku’s very sumptuous bedroom, saving En-hedu from making further excuses.
“Bikku, are you not finished yet?” Ninlil, her face flushed with excitement, entered the room and rushed to the head of the bed. “Your servant says that En-hedu has been here for some time.” She managed to spare En-hedu a quick gl
ance.
“Don’t shout so.” Nevertheless, Bikku turned her head on the pillow to face her visitor. “En-hedu’s hands feel so good I never want it to end.”
“Who else are you inviting for supper tonight?” Ninlil ignored the last comment. “Everyone wants to come and enjoy your table.”
“Ahhh . . . oh, yes, En-hedu, right there.” Bikku had no need to answer Ninlil’s question. “That’s where it feels so tight.”
“Yes, mistress. I can see your muscles stretching beneath your beautiful skin. This will help you please your husband tonight.”
Bikku was seven or eight seasons older than Ninlil, and first wife to Jamshid, perhaps Sumer’s most prosperous merchant, reputed even wealthier than Gemama. Accompanying her husband, Bikku had dined at King Shulgi’s table seven or eight times in the last six months. Queen Kushanna favored her company, or so Bikku related to any and everyone. The queen of Sumer’s presence and beauty overawed every other woman in the city, and every wife hungered for the chance to dine at Shulgi’s large and impressive residence. Such invitations now marked those in favor with the king, or those who needed to offer more gifts and gold as a sign of loyalty.
“Not tonight,” Bikku said in response to Ninlil’s question. “At least, not until much later in the evening. Only the men are meeting at King Shulgi’s palace, no doubt to drink too much wine and talk business long into the night. We wives will be dining alone tonight. A simple meal, but my cook promises no one will go home hungry.”
Ninlil laughed, and En-hedu joined in to the extent of a brief smile. She continued her work, kneading the woman’s lower back, occasionally adding a drop or two of warm oil. By now, En-hedu could ask the servants to heat the oil before her arrival, so that it would help soothe the delicate skin of their mistress.