“How do you know that?” Nimrod asked. “Do we have both sides of the story?”
“Isn’t it evil to speak with Satan? Isn’t that the point, or one of the points, of the tale?”
“Isn’t that what one injured friend always says about the other?” Nimrod asked. “‘Oh, he’s such a liar. You can’t trust anything he says.’”
Gilgamesh shook his head. “You think too deeply for me.”
“No. It’s simply that I’m willing to question what we’ve been fed all our lives. Once you question it, too, then you’ll see things in a different light.”
“Perhaps so.” Gilgamesh craned his neck. “Ah! Now the asp is gone, and I can no longer kill him without searching through the high grass. Don’t blame me if you’re bitten.”
Nimrod slung the waterskin over his shoulder. “We’ll leave that way,” he said, pointing south, “and avoid the asp.” He checked the sun. “I want to reach camp before dusk, so we’ll have to move briskly.”
They traveled in silence. As they rested later under the shade of thorn bushes, Gilgamesh pitched a dirt clod near Nimrod’s feet.
“Suppose you’re right,” Gilgamesh said, as Nimrod looked up. “That we only have one set of facts. And suppose it turns out that Satan knows some of the truth. How does that help us? We’re not able to speak with him, are we?”
“I don’t know,” Nimrod said.
“How does one speak with Satan?” Gilgamesh asked.
Nimrod shrugged.
A few moments later, Gilgamesh asked, “You haven’t been speaking with him already, have you?”
“No,” Nimrod said with a laugh. “So far, it’s all speculation. But, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that Satan is right, either.”
“Then who is?” Gilgamesh asked.
Nimrod looked troubled. “I think of all the Hunters, you understand me best. You’ve been a great boon to me, my friend.”
“Isn’t that Uruk?” asked Gilgamesh, flinging a dirt clod at his feet so it disintegrated into many pieces. “Uruk leads when you’re not around. He’s very strong.”
Nimrod studied his friend. “You haven’t been yourself lately. Something weighs on you. Tell me what it is. Maybe I can help.”
Gilgamesh shifted uncomfortably. He’d planned for this moment many times. Yet each time that he’d thought of actually breaching the topic…
“You’ve listened to me talk,” Nimrod said. “Let me listen to you.”
Gilgamesh jumped to his feet and began to pace, and then he whirled around, blurting out the tale of Opis and Uruk. He finished by saying, “Now Uruk wants to marry her. He is going to marry her.”
Nimrod chuckled.
Gilgamesh paled and his mouth went dry.
“I’m sorry,” Nimrod said. “I don’t mean to upset you. It’s simply that I’ve seen the girl. She’s a small thing. I don’t envy her Uruk.”
“Nimrod, I love Opis.”
That sobered Nimrod. “Oh. So that’s what’s bothering you.”
“I don’t have the wealth to offer her father like Uruk does. I don’t know what to do. I can’t let Opis fall into Uruk’s hands.”
“Oh, come now. It’s not as bad as that. She’s pretty, of course. But in time, you’ll have the choice of countless women. If you want my advice, don’t allow yourself to be trapped by any one woman. It is a great mistake.”
Gilgamesh shook his head. “You know I’d follow you anywhere, Nimrod.”
“Yes. You’re very loyal.”
Gilgamesh dropped beside him, clutching Nimrod’s knee. “Help me.”
“How? I’m very limited in what I can do.”
Gilgamesh’s eyes shone. He’d waited months for this moment. “Forbid Uruk to marry her.”
Nimrod grew grave and shook his head. “As much as I wish to see you happy, I cannot arbitrate in such a personal affair between my two best Hunters.”
At any other time, Gilgamesh would have glowed at such praise.
“I think Semiramis said something about this to me the other day,” Nimrod was saying. “Uruk has already given gifts to Opis’s father, goats, I think.”
“They’re not Uruk’s goats,” Gilgamesh said. “They’re from his father’s herd.”
“My point is that this is finished business. A transaction has taken place, goods given to seal a pledge. You must step aside, Gilgamesh. That is the right thing to do.”
Horrified, Gilgamesh rose to his feet.
“While I sympathize with you—you must believe me, I do—I cannot have my Hunters quarreling among themselves. Do you understand?”
Gilgamesh looked stricken.
“The matter must drop here, now, forever. Find yourself someone else to love. There are many women.”
Gilgamesh was bewildered. He had expected that, out of all people, Nimrod could understand. But…Dropped? Never! But he didn’t know what else to say or do. So he nodded.
“Let’s not talk about it anymore,” Nimrod said. He rubbed his chin. “You asked me a question just before we started talking about this. The question was. ‘Who is right, Jehovah or Satan?’ I’ve begun to wonder if neither of them is right. Both seem to use men as pawns in a broader war between themselves. What if… what if men made their own destiny? Do you think such a thing is possible?”
Gilgamesh shrugged.
“Hmm,” Nimrod said, watching Gilgamesh. “Well, I don’t know either. But I wonder about it.” Nimrod grinned. “I suppose in the end, it’s a matter of strength on man’s part, and not being tricked by one side or the other.”
Gilgamesh nodded, and he glanced at the sun.
Nimrod rose. “Right you are. We’ve talked long enough. Let’s keep going.”
Perhaps a half-hour later, they loped along an animal run: a dirt path. Tall grasses swayed higher than their heads. A bird whistled as it perched on a nearby stalk. Gilgamesh darted around the bend, disappearing from view, and Nimrod heard the grass rustle to his left.
Then, to his horror, Black Mane, the cave lion leader, leaped onto the path. The mighty king of lions seemed surprised. He snarled, and his breath was hot and his teeth gleaming death. The luxurious black mane swept back as the mighty cave lion leapt, those awful claws flicking from their skin-sheaths.
Nimrod didn’t have time to call out. He dropped to his knees, ground the spear-butt and clutched the haft with two hands. He had a moment to admire the cave lion’s sinister beauty. What better end than under those massive claws?
Black Mane blocked out the sunlight. And the wicked, razor-sharp point of bronze entered the beast’s chest. The butt on the ground held, kept in place by Nimrod. Black Mane roared in agony. He roared so Nimrod almost lost his grip. The claw tips hooked Nimrod’s tunic, shredding it from his body. Then both monster and hunter were aware of Gilgamesh thrusting his black elm lance from the side. Gilgamesh pulled out a reddened lance and sank it in again, again, and again, like a wasp gone insane. With a tremendous groan, the great cat sank onto the trail, dead, twitching only a moment and then lying forever still.
For several heartbeats, neither Nimrod nor Gilgamesh moved or said a word. Each man sucked air. Then Nimrod drew the heavy spear out of the beast. He kissed the bloody shaft, put his foot upon Black Mane and shouted wildly.
18.
Several days later, Nimrod, Gilgamesh and Uruk traveled along the shady banks of the Euphrates River. Like a thin strip of forest, date palm trees lined both sides of the mighty, yellow-colored current. From the tops of some of the palms, cooing pigeons watched.
When they had first arrived in the Land between the Two Rivers, the Euphrates had been swollen from the melting snow of the hinterlands. Then the river had been rich with silt and an even muddier brown color, and had flooded wide areas, depositing the new soil in a helter-skelter fashion. In some places, the floods formed reed-rich swamps only now drying out; in others, the rainless alluvium missed the moisture and remained sandy grassland. In this vast, treeless plain of primeval mud, the river fell a mere 112 fee
t in 210 miles. Accordingly, when the Euphrates flooded, it often left its riverbed and carved out new channels. Because of that tendency and the distribution of silt each year, the riverbed in many places was higher than the surrounding countryside.
As the three men traveled along the palm-lined bank, ducks quacked their way across the four-hundred-yard-wide river, while elephants on the other side dipped their trunks into the flowing waters and hosed it into their mouths. One frisky fellow sprayed his mother until she lowered her head and nudged him.
The sun beat down on everything except whatever hid under the shade of the palm trees. Sweat slicked the three Hunters. Uruk doffed his wolf cap and dragged a brawny forearm across his face. “I’m for a swim.”
Nimrod barely shook his head. He scanned back and forth, seeming to search for something. Ever since reaching the Euphrates, he had refused to be alone for even a moment.
“We could try out my new hooks,” Gilgamesh said. “Let’s wade past the reeds and toss out our lines.”
Nimrod shook his head again. He hadn’t said much today. He kept watching, glancing around and occasionally urging them to hurry. He walked ahead and, without noticing, he walked through dried elephant manure.
“What’s he so fired up about?” muttered Uruk.
Gilgamesh had no idea, but that Uruk even addressed him showed that the brutish Hunter also sensed Nimrod’s unease.
Nimrod whirled around, intent, staring at both of them. He doffed his lion hood—he wore Black Mane’s skin as a hooded cloak. “Whatever happens, don’t panic.”
“What’s going to happen?” Gilgamesh asked.
Nimrod glanced over his shoulder, as if he saw something he didn’t like. Gilgamesh saw nothing unusual.
“Agree to nothing,” whispered Nimrod. “Remain silent, saying neither aye nor nay. Proffers of power or…” He glanced sharply at Gilgamesh “…of woman gained or riches to buy them…” Nimrod shook his head. “Hold your ground, too. Don’t allow yourself to be awed. Remember, about things we can’t see, we can be easily tricked or cheated.”
“What are you talking about?” Uruk asked.
Nimrod bared his teeth. “Follow me, and remember what I’ve just said.” He turned and marched ahead.
Gilgamesh and Uruk, both thoroughly frightened and uneasy, stuck close behind him. They traveled for another league, two, when:
“NIMROD!”
Nimrod skidded to a halt, his eyes wide.
Standing in the sun, or with the sun behind him, stood a shining man. The man’s garments were brilliant, blinding, causing Nimrod to throw his arm over his eyes. Uruk and Gilgamesh fell to their knees, trembling and awe-struck. Uruk groaned, dropping onto his belly to do obeisance. In a moment, Gilgamesh fell beside him.
“O MIGHTY HUNTER,” said the shining man. “WHY HAVE YOU DISOBEYED YOUR FATHER?”
“Who are you?” Nimrod shouted, with his legs trembling.
“I AM BEL. I AM THE ONE YOU SEEK.”
Nimrod dared lower his arm as he squinted. The shining man was awful to look upon, and yet beautiful. Nimrod groaned, falling to his knees. Once again, he pressed his face against his arm.
“I AM THE ANGEL OF LIGHT, OF THE SUN. I AM HERE TO TEACH YOU THE FIRST GLIMMERINGS OF TRUTH.”
“What truth, O Bel?”
“THERE IS MUCH WORK TO DO BEFORE YOU CAN BE LIBERATED FROM THE BONDAGE OF HIM WHOM WE BOTH HATE.”
“From Jehovah, O Bel?”
“FROM THE ONE WHO WOULD MAKE ALL CRAWL LIKE WORMS BEFORE HIM. HEED WELL, MIGHTY HUNTER, AND DO THIS TASK, AND WE SHALL TAKE THEE TO OUR BOSOM THAT THOU MAY JOIN US IN OUR HOLY WAR.”
“What about my companions?”
“THEIR LIVES ARE FORFEIT. FOR THEY HAVE SEEN AND HEARD TOO MUCH.”
“No!” Nimrod said.
“YOU HAVE NO SAY IN THE MATTER. YOUR DISOBEDIENCE FROM YOUR FATHER’S INSTRUCTIONS HAS COST THEM THEIR LIVES.”
“Then slay me, too.”
“DO YOU, ONE SO YOUNG, ALREADY WEARY OF LIFE?”
“Far from it. But I will not stand aside while you slaughter my companions. I am Nimrod. I am the Mighty Hunter.”
“YOU ARE THE CHOSEN OF BEL, WHICH IS INFINITELY MORE WORTHY AND BECOMING THAN YOUR SMALL TITLES.”
Then the bright one, he named Bel, shone more fiercely. Nimrod groaned, with his head sinking and his limbs aquiver. At that moment, he recalled that he had slain Black Mane, and that without a scratch. A prodigy shouldn’t bow. So Nimrod snarled, grinding his teeth. He strove for mastery of himself. He lifted his head, although shielding his eyes with his arm, and he struggled upright, standing as against a powerful wind.
“YOU ARE A GNAT, A WORM OF THE EARTH. WHAT IS THIS YOU TRY TO PROVE?”
“I am Nimrod. I am a man. Destroy me if you are able, but don’t seek to cow me. I refuse to part with my companions, just as I refuse to do your will if you slay them and let me live.”
For a heartbeat, no word was spoken. For two, three, four heartbeats, silence reigned.
“WE GRANT THEE THEIR LIVES, O REBEL, FOR YOU HAVE PROVEN YOURSELF A MAN AMONG MEN. SO WE BID THEE TO DARE TO REACH FOR THE GREAT PRIZE. FIRST, HOWEVER, YOU MUST BUILD THE CITY OF BABEL AND A TOWER, AND THEN YOU WILL TEACH ALL MEN TRUE WISDOM. FOR THE LIGHT-BEARER OF HEAVEN WILL GUIDE THEE, IF YOU HAVE THE STOMACH TO BE KING.”
“I will rule,” Nimrod said. “But I refuse to be any being’s slave, not yours, nor Satan’s nor even Jehovah’s. Yet, if you help me, I will help you.”
“WELL SPOKEN, MIGHTY HUNTER. WE ARE AGREED.”
“So be it,” Nimrod said. “We are agreed.”
Pharaoh’s Palace
“Pharaoh!” cried the high priest of Sekhmet. “I beg you. Please don’t let this old schemer poison you with anymore of his lies!”
Blind old Ham slurped from a saucer of water. He could see nothing, but his ears told him much. He heard the shouting high priest, of course. He also heard the way the man’s golden sandals rubbed on the tiled floor. From here on his stool, he could smell Pharaoh’s sickness.
Ham was weary after speaking for so long. His bones ached for sleep. After telling about Nimrod’s meeting with the angel, he’d needed some water. Now his belly demanded bread.
“These—these lies about Nimrod and the angel—bah!” the high priest of Sekhmet said. “I beg you, Great Pharaoh, order the guard captain to rip out the liar’s tongue.”
“It happened as I said,” Ham protested.
“Do you take Pharaoh for a simpleton?” the high priest asked.
“It is late,” Pharaoh said slowly.
“He tries to poison you with these lies,” the high priest declared. “In some nefarious fashion, he thinks it will help him escape your wrath.”
“I help Pharaoh by speaking the truth,” said Ham.
“Your old age has turned you daft,” the high priest said. “Pharaoh, if you desire Sekhmet’s help in curing you, you must—”
“Pharaoh must obey your whims?” Ham asked. He was old and blind, and he was weary. But he could out-argue a pretentious high priest any day.
“These blasphemies you dare spout—”
Ham laughed loudly. “You’re nothing but a foolish child. Did you ride on the Ark? Did you face a Nephilim giant? No, you milk the foolish with your tales of Sekhmet.”
The high priest gasped in outrage. “How dare you demean the gods of Egypt. Pharaoh, this is unbelievable.”
“I walked on the empty Earth,” Ham said. “I was there when animals roamed among a handful of people. You would have died under a lion’s claws or entered a wolf’s belly. I witnessed the dreaded Tower of Babel. And I was there before the tower, and know why men attempted the foolishness of building it.”
“There truly was a tower?” Pharaoh asked.
“The tower explains why the world is so divided,” said Ham.
“Pharaoh,” the high priest said, “you’re pale. Your left hand trembles. I suggest you sleep and send this ancient blasphemer to the dungeons.”
“He might not last the night,” Pharaoh said.
“Let him go elsewhere then,” the high priest said. “I bid you, however, to rest yourself.”
“I am very tired,” Pharaoh admitted.
Ham was also tired. But he suspected that he would never reenter Pharaoh’s presence if he left now. The high priest of Sekhmet had a reason for wanting him sent away. It wasn’t the stated reason. No, there was something else going on.
“Old schemer,” Pharaoh said.
“Lord,” said Ham. “I wonder why the high priest of Sekhmet doesn’t wish you cured.”
“That’s a lie!” cried the high priest.
“I hold Pharaoh’s cure,” Ham said.
“Then tell us now,” the high priest said. “Save our Pharaoh’s life while there is time.”
“Yes,” Pharaoh said. “Tell me now. I am weary. I need sleep.”
“Do you wish for life?” Ham asked.
“I’m not interested in more of your verbal trickery,” Pharaoh said. “Tell me how I may be cured.”
“Yes. Before I do that—”
“Guard captain,” Pharaoh said.
“Here, Lord,” said the guard captain.
“I wonder…” Ham said. “High Priest, are you a good friend of Pharaoh’s eldest son?”
“What are you implying?” Pharaoh asked.
“Maybe your high priest of Sekhmet wishes to serve your son more than he wishes to serve you, Pharaoh,” said Ham.
“That is an outrageous lie!” the high priest shouted.
“You protest too loudly,” Ham said. “I have already stated that Pharaoh may know the cure to his plague. Now, while he is tired, you urge him to forgo the answer to his suffering. I wonder why that is.”
“You’re a foul old—”
“Silence,” Pharaoh told the high priest.
Ham heard tapping. He was so tired. He was hungry. But now wasn’t the moment to ask for more bread. Would Pharaoh listen to the rest of the tale? Could he save Egypt from a horrible doom?
“I will listen a little longer,” Pharaoh told Ham. “But if you take too long, if your story should ramble into boring tales of lineage, yes, then you shall die a quick death.”
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