Wives of the Flood

by Vaughn Heppner

  Semiramis stood straighter, trying to project an imperious quality. She smiled wryly as she noticed that Minos had immediately stopped shoveling as Uruk turned his back. Her brother sidled to the edge of his pit, straining to hear.

  “We seldom talk, you and I,” Uruk said. “Perhaps you think ill of me.”

  “Why should I think anything one way or another?”

  Uruk’s seriousness seemed to grow. “You are friends with Gilgamesh. We all know that. As you may know, Gilgamesh and I sometimes disagree on certain matters.”

  “On private matters mostly.”

  “Yes,” said Uruk. “Private matters. As a Hunter, I admire Gilgamesh. He has many of the skills I lack. He is fleet of foot, swift in thought and fast, very fast with the lance and dagger. Your husband has wisely chosen Gilgamesh as one of his captains.”

  “Along with you, Uruk,” Semiramis said. “You’re a warrior matchless in strength and dedication.”

  “Thank you, my lady. Those are kind words. You should know by now, I hope, that Nimrod means more to me than life. He is the greatest among us, the Mighty Hunter. I’d follow him anywhere.”

  “Ah, Uruk, my husband holds you in high esteem. Many times I’ve heard him say so.”

  “I am overjoyed then, and almost complete.”

  “Almost?” Semiramis asked, lifting one of her plucked eyebrows.

  “I do not have Gilgamesh’s easy way with women. He is skilled at speech. I am not.”

  Semiramis thought that an understatement. Uruk was a brute without need for speech, a savage with a bull’s disposition and strength, willing and able to take whatever he pleased..

  Uruk said, “I grieve at the thought that Gilgamesh may have died at Beor’s hands.”

  Semiramis stiffened. “That’s presumptuous of you to say. I find it in very bad taste.”

  “There,” said Uruk. “That’s what I mean. I have upset you, and that was not my wish. No, Semiramis, I want you to think well of me.”

  “What does it matter what I think?”

  “I want no enemies,” Uruk said. “No enemies who love Nimrod as much as I do. That is why I wish to show…” He scowled. “I must say something presumptuous. But I ask that you not be offended by it.”

  “I find this entire conversation bordering on the upsetting.”

  Uruk nodded solemnly. “I am afflicted with a monstrous appearance, one that women find repulsive. So I will get to the point and leave you in peace. Semiramis, because you grieve for your good friend Gilgamesh, I wish to give you a present.”

  “A present because he might be dead?” Semiramis asked, revolted at the idea.

  “No,” Uruk said, “a present in token of a fellow captain. Gilgamesh was to acquire something for you. It seems he failed. So I will stand in his stead and offer you this.” Uruk lifted a small, leopard-skin pouch.

  Semiramis hesitated, not wishing to touch Uruk’s big hand. Then she stepped nearer and snatched the pouch. She found her stomach knotting. She didn’t want to untie the sinews. Yet curiosity stirred. She pulled the string and rolled three lustrous white stones onto her palm.

  “They are sea-gems,” Uruk said.

  Wonder filled her. “They’re beautiful.” Then the wonder turned to amazement. “These are fish-eyes,” she said, staring at Uruk, “fish-eyes from Dilmun, the Blessed Land.”

  “That is so.”

  “You stole them from Gilgamesh.”

  If it was possible, Uruk became even graver. “Stole is a harsh word, Semiramis. What I know is that they’re yours, in token of the amber beads.”

  Semiramis drew herself to her full height. She was a tall woman, taller than many men were, although not as tall as Uruk. He seemed like a brute, a killer and a warrior of massive might. Yet behind that bony ridge under which his small eyes glowed rested a cunning mind. He spoke from design, with double meaning behind his words. With a chill, Semiramis realized that the ugly, massive man before her was dangerous. That he plotted deeply. That, as an enemy, he might prove formidable.

  “I cannot accept these,” she said.

  “I beg you to. For only your beauty can do them justice.”

  She studied the three fish-eyes, perhaps the most costly gems in the world. Uruk gave these not to gain her love. No. Her slender fingers curled around them.

  “They are very beautiful,” said Uruk.

  “Would they not better serve you in other matters?”

  With a grunt, Uruk knelt on one knee, catching Semiramis by surprise. She glanced at a watching Minos. He seemed as bewildered as she did.

  “Semiramis,” rumbled Uruk. “I beg you to accept the gems as a token of friendship between us.”

  She eyed him, calculating swiftly. “Friendship flows both ways, does it not?”

  “I ask nothing in return,” Uruk said.

  “Can I not help you in some small matter?”

  Uruk seemed puzzled. “Perhaps…” He shook his head. “No. It is a private matter, a trifle.”

  She opened her hand. The sea-gems were beautiful, three drops of moonbeams. That Gilgamesh had won them by diving into leviathan-infested waters only increased their luster. She felt desire for them, and envisioned a string of them circling her brow.

  “Perhaps I could speak to Nimrod, my husband, on your behalf. Perhaps I could counsel him to rescind an order of his concerning you and this trifling matter.”

  Uruk seemed to choose his words with care. “I am in love, Semiramis, deeply in love.”

  “I’ve heard. Her name is Opis, I believe.”

  “I ache at not being able to fulfill this love,” Uruk said.

  Her fingers curled around the fish-eyes. “Perhaps now, things will begin to change for you.”

  “Do you think so?” Uruk asked. “Any who aided me in this endeavor I would cherish like a sister. My undying gratitude would be theirs.”

  The knot in Semiramis’s stomach refused to unravel. By Minos’s account, Beor had surely killed Gilgamesh. She clenched her fingers into a fist. Wicked, wicked Beor. Someday…oh, she yearned for his death. It would take a mighty warrior to slay Beor. She eyed Uruk.

  “I don’t understand why you need my encouragement,” she said.

  “Failure in this matter is inconceivable. By all and every means, I plot for success.”

  She nodded. He was formidable indeed. “Then success, my friend, is what you shall have.”

  18.

  Word that Beor’s Scouts and perhaps sons of Magog had waylaid the Hunters caused anger, grief and controversy in Babel. Canaan and Zidon suggested they didn’t know all the facts. They pointed out that Minos had no love for Beor and might have invented some of the tale.

  “Four Hunters didn’t return,” Nimrod said. “That is no invention. That is the first fact. The second fact, just as incontrovertible, is that they were foully ambushed.”

  The sons of Canaan, only recently arrived, grew sullen and talked among themselves of the mistake of moving to Babel. Perhaps they should return to the Zagros Settlement. So Kush called an elder’s meeting, with Ham as patriarch and Nimrod as chief of the Hunters attending. During the meeting, they decided to send a delegation to Magog Village, to inquire into the facts. Ham, Zidon and several grandsons of Menes were appointed.

  Nimrod rose from his chair, with a leopard cloak drawn over his shoulders. “This is a poor decision. Four Hunters have been slain.”

  “You don’t know that,” Menes said. “Gilgamesh and Enlil never showed up, Obed said. As for Olympus and Zimri, all we know is they took arrows to their legs.”

  “Do you hear what you’re saying?” Nimrod asked in outrage. “They were ambushed, shot at and stuck with arrows.”

  “As Beor was once ambushed and shot at,” Canaan said, “and also stuck with an arrow.”

  Nimrod began to pace. “This is incredible. In peace, my Hunters went to Magog Village. In trust, they journeyed among the sons of Japheth. Their reward for such was death.”

  Kush rose. “Th
e delegation will leave in a week. We must find out exactly what occurred. What we must not do is let this disaster threaten the unity of Babel.”

  “War has been thrust upon us,” Nimrod said. “I now fear for the safety of the delegation.”

  “Nonsense,” Ham said. “You’re overreacting. I admit that I have little love for Japheth, but I don’t believe that his sons have become murderers.”

  Nimrod grumbled further, but the meeting was at an end.

  Three days later, a Shemite delegation arrived at Babel. Assur, son of Shem, led it. He was a dark-bearded man with a grave and dignified manner. He bore a scroll from Magog, sealed with wax and given to Ham. In it, as Ham and Rahab read, Magog admitted that he feared for his safety to come to Babel or to let any of his sons or grandsons come and explain what had happened. Thus, he had begged Assur to act as an intermediary. Assur now explained to Ham and Rahab the brunt of Magog’s reasoning, why he had allowed Minos and the others to be taken in ambush.

  “This is unbelievable,” Rahab said, when Assur had finished. “Gilgamesh tried to steal the amber necklace.”

  “I told them I wouldn’t take the message unless I could speak alone with Gilgamesh,” Assur said. “He admitted taking the necklace, but that he had been returning it. Why else had he barged into Beor’s house with the necklace already in his possession, if not to return it?”

  “Did you believe him?” Rahab asked.

  “I did,” Assur said.

  “What about Enlil?” Rahab asked.

  “He hid in the forest as an accomplice,” Assur said. “But it was the testimony of Scyth, a grandson of Magog, who condemned the Hunters. He said that Minos came to him, offering a ruby if he would lure Beor into the forest.”

  “Scyth said this of his own free will?” Ham asked.

  Assur shook his head. “After they captured Gilgamesh and Enlil, Beor said they should question those who had spent the most time with the Hunters, to see what other mischief they planned. Scyth had been with them the most, and he was questioned the hardest, until he broke down and admitted the truth. That’s when Beor convinced them to ambush the Hunters. Gilgamesh said he knew nothing of this plot.”

  “Did you believe Gilgamesh?” Ham asked.

  Assur shrugged, shaking his grave face. “It’s hard to know what to believe.”

  “But you didn’t think he was lying?” Ham asked.

  “It’s hard to say,” Assur said.

  Ham glanced at Rahab. She reached out, touching Assur on the wrist. “You did well in coming here,” she said. “We thank you.”

  “Strife must be averted,” Assur said. “As it is, Magog fears retribution, while Beor breathes threats of open conflict.”

  “They hold three Hunters as slaves,” Ham said.

  “Slaves?” Assur said. “I’m certain they didn’t use that term. In fact, I believe Magog would be distressed to have it expressed so.” Assur glanced from Ham to Rahab. “We all understand the implications of that term.”

  “Do we all?” Ham asked. “Then let me say it again—slaves. For the Hunters, you say, wear wooden yokes, imprisoning their necks and wrists, and they sleep at night in cages. If they didn’t say slaves, those in Magog Village still treat them as such, and that is what matters. My question is, how does making slaves of my great grandsons avert conflict?”

  “I do not believe their condition is permanent,” Assur said. “Beor and Magog merely punish the wrongdoers. They make them work to pay back for the harm they have done the community.”

  “How long does Beor plan to keep them?” Ham asked.

  “Until Nimrod purchases their freedom,” Assur said. “Beor is open to negotiation, he said, but, on one point, he is inflexible. First, his wife Semiramis must be returned to him.”

  Ham shook his head. “That is as good as declaring war against the Hunters.”

  “By Beor’s account of how he lost his wife,” Assur said, “it seems like a reasonable request.”

  “Reasonable or not,” Ham said. “It is a point on which no one will yield.”

  19.

  For two days, Kush wore his finest garments, long, red robes and a square leather hat with a ruby in the front center. Arm-in-arm, he showed Assur the sights of Babel: the canals, the fields, the river, boats and myriad of fish, fowl and eggs taken from the reed-filled lagoons. He showed Assur the walls, the stout homes, some of them two stories tall, the clean lanes and the beginning base for the Tower of Babel. He showed him the smithies, the items of bronze, daggers, arrowheads, shovels and plows. He showed him beer in the making, the baking of bricks, the vast stores of barley, wheat and sesame seeds. From Ham’s chariot, he showed Assur Hunters bringing down a bull elephant. He showed him Lud’s pottery, leather tanning and the creating of parchment. Kush showed Assur the plenty and industriousness of Babel, the budding of civilization, that Earth’s greatest and best hope lay in all the children of Noah banding together and lifting humanity into a golden age of prosperity here in this city.

  Assur, in his plain white robe, his long, dusty beard, drank in the sights. He seemed to marvel, and said many times, “I had no idea it was like this. Cousin, this is amazing.”

  Throughout the sights, the days of good eating and the evenings sipping date palm wine, Kush assured Assur of his peaceful intentions. They sat in candlelight one night in whicker chairs on the roof, studying the stars and sipping from golden chalices. Deborah rocked in her rocker, needling woolen threads.

  “Youthful vigor is good,” Kush said. “You saw the Hunters.”

  “They are very brave,” Assur said. “I thought the charging elephant would trample some of them.”

  “Yes,” Kush said. “They are skilled men, those Hunters. Brave, as you say. Sometimes, too—and this is very sad—they are impetuous. Take this terrible situation with Beor.” Kush shook his head. “I will not tolerate such things if what Magog says is true.”

  “How can you doubt it?” Assur asked. “I attest to its truth, otherwise I would not have come.”

  “I do not doubt you,” Kush said. He shook his head. “The subject is difficult for me, so I find it hard to express myself properly. What I hope is that, during Festival, we hammer out these differences.”

  “Do you think it will be that easy?” Assur asked.

  Kush looked stern and thoughtful, setting his chalice down, rubbing his wooly, white beard. “If Olympus hadn’t died, perhaps, for now blood has been shed, and Jehovah has said that blood must be paid for with blood.”

  Assur sipped date palm wine. “Olympus was a son of Japheth, not a son of Ham. One might think then that Olympus’s death is something for Japheth to avenge.”

  Deborah halted her measured rocking. “If you would permit a woman’s observation.”

  “Please,” Assur said.

  “Olympus was a grandson of Javan, thus of the tribe of Japheth,” Deborah said. “Yet he was also a citizen of Babel. For my husband has declared that everyone of the city shall be treated equally.”

  Kush nodded. “I am duty-bound to see justice done for Olympus.”

  Assur studied his chalice. “Perhaps justice has already been done.”

  Deborah and Kush traded glances.

  “Er, yes,” Kush said. “That is how it might appear on the surface. I, however, prefer to wait until Festival. There, all the sons of Noah, working in unison, can arrive at a just decision.”

  “We’ve learned from our experiences at Babel that unity is all-important,” Deborah said.

  Assur seemed thoughtful, as if he would add to that, but he didn’t. Soon, they spoke on other things.

  A few days later, Assur and his delegation readied to depart. He praised Kush, as nominal head of Babel, for openly declaring that he yearned to solve this dilemma peacefully. Assur assured him that such he would report to Magog, to Japheth and finally to Noah.

  20.

  Nimrod seethed. Hunters of his had been ambushed, had been beaten in forest combat and had been out-thought, ou
t-fought and out-wood-crafted. He took Minos, Thebes and Obed far out into the wilds and railed at their stupidity, at their cowardice during battle. In a row, the three wayfarers stood, heads hung low, not daring to meet the Mighty Hunter’s gaze. Nimrod tongue-lashed them. Ambushed! Fallen upon unawares as if they were deer or oxen. How many wild dogs, he asked, ambushed lions? They were not like lions. That was painfully obvious. They understood nothing about hunting, about stalking, about slaying foes.

  “You are worthless,” Nimrod said. He drew a gnarled vine staff from his belt, a baton of office. Each of his captains bore one. “Obed. You, I once trusted, and you once performed great deeds, so I shall absolve you from punishment—this time. Minos, for Semiramis’ sake I hesitate to beat you as you deserve, and I know that in reality you are a rat and never to be compared to a lion or even to a wild dog. Dogs at least bare their fangs when kicked. You couldn’t even hold onto your weapons. Thebes, you have the makings of a Hunter and perhaps you can yet learn how to be a lion. Therefore, you will withstand the worst of my spleen. If you dare, I bid you to draw your dagger and defend yourself.”

  Thebes looked up, confused, until Nimrod advanced toward him. Thebes backed away, with his hand on the hilt of his dagger.

  “Kill me if you can,” Nimrod said.

  Thebes looked to Minos. Minos licked his lips and moved to Nimrod’s left. Cobra-quick Nimrod struck, the vine baton catching Minos on the side of the head, dropping him with the crack of wood on bone. Obed backpedaled and then went to one knee, taking himself out of the fight. Thebes snarled and drew his dagger, the razor-sharp bronze glinting in the sunlight. The baton lashed again, hitting Thebes’ hand so the dagger dropped to the sand. Then Nimrod beat Thebes, until Thebes lay unconscious beside his dagger.

  Sweat slicked Nimrod’s face. He breathed heavily. He bid Obed to step near. Warily, Obed did, his grotesque features twisted with worry. “That one,” Nimrod said, toeing Minos, “will never be a Hunter. But this one.” Nimrod pointed at Thebes. “He never cried out in pain. For him, there is hope. Stay with them. Help them back to Babel, and tell me later if Thebes still desires to remain in the Hunters.”