The Forgotten Tale Of Larsa

by Seja Majeed

  ‘What an impertinent girl!’ the Grand Priest of Ursar blasted furiously, his voice echoing. ‘What an outrage! Does she have no knowledge of who we are? This is the reason women should never be permitted to rule – they have no awareness of time. They should remain figures of beauty, appreciated only by the eyes and never by the ears. It’s what the gods had intended for them.’

  He rose from his seat in frustration and paced up and down the chamber; his reflection sparkled across the long pool of water that marked its centre line.

  ‘She has certainly shamed her father; he would have never kept us waiting like this.’

  The temple echoed with the complaints of unhappy priests who had been waiting for some time, their faces contorted with outrage. It was unheard of to keep the Counsel waiting.

  ‘Men quarrel like wolfhounds! Their rantings are devoid of all reason,’ a strong voice declared, from behind the priests. The most powerful woman in all the land had heard their insults, and she was not impressed. Even so, the Grand Priest of Ursar remained where he was. He never could conceal his disgust from anyone; being polite was not worth the effort, even for royalty.

  ‘How dare you keep this Counsel waiting? Your behaviour is nothing more than a symbol of your female impertinence!’ he declared furiously. His opulent robes flickered beneath the fiery torches, while his beard shimmered like strings of silver.

  ‘Calm yourself, oh scholar of the gods. I may be a woman, but I can be as ruthless as a man,’ replied the princess. She walked on, followed by a long line of servants. One servant brought up a beautifully engraved wooden chair, positioning it in the same spot where her father had once sat before the Counsel of Priests. ‘As for the rest of you, the real obscenity doesn’t lie with me, but with this Counsel, for you all speak lovingly of the gods, yet you have chosen to quarrel among yourselves in their house. I doubt the gods would be pleased.’

  ‘Forgive us, Your Highness, we are all friends and allies of your kingdom; none of us have come here to insult you,’ said the young Priest of Xidrica. His voice was soft and humble, unlike that of his counterpart, who possessed the arrogance of a king.

  ‘Then quarrel we shall not, oh noble one.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Highness. You have indeed taken your beauty from your mother and your wisdom from your father.’

  Even though the princess appreciated the gesture, the compliment failed to work its charm. She knew that the Counsel had not assembled simply to flatter her, or congratulate her for becoming their soon-to-be-inaugurated queen; they had come for a purpose, something that must be of great importance.

  ‘Let us not pretend any longer. Like my father, I am wise in matters of the mind. We can all be certain that none of you have journeyed through the scorching desert simply to pay me a weightless compliment. So who is going to tell me the real reason you’ve decided to call upon me?’

  Finding out would be harder than she had imagined. The Counsel fell silent. Nobody dared move in their seat; it was as if they all wanted to blend into the background. After all, no one wanted to have the responsibility of passing on bad news.

  ‘Well?’

  Again, no one answered: it was obvious that they all knew the answer, but they were too afraid to voice it. It occurred to Larsa that she preferred them when they were squabbling; at least then she knew what troubled them. She looked across the chamber, searching for someone brave enough to give her an answer, but everyone was acting so peculiarly – some even avoided making eye contact. Something was wrong; she could feel it. A rush of uncertainty came over her, and she tried hard to hide her nerves. If they knew she was nervous, they would use it against her.

  ‘I am still waiting. Will no one speak? Just a moment ago you were all adamant that I hear your thoughts. What has changed?’

  The Grand Priest of Ursar finally rose; the responsibility fell to him to tell her the disastrous news. He was, after all, the most powerful of them. Holding his long cane, which amplified his grandeur, the frail priest stared deeply into the princess’s eyes and quietly uttered the words, ‘War is coming …’

  4

  I forgot how beautiful the sun looks; somehow the prospect of war makes everything seem all the more glorious,’ Larsa whispered to Marmicus. They were watching the evening sun dip lower into the horizon, settling over the fertile kingdom of the Garden of the Gods. The sky was painted with glorious shades of orange and pink that blended together like a painting, and the kingdom was calm; nothing could unsettle it, not even the rustling of the palm trees or the coming of war.

  ‘I feel the gods are displeased with me. I must have wronged them somehow for them to curse my kingdom so soon.’

  ‘Nothing can curse a man other than his own deeds. The gods have nothing to do with what’s happening here – only the desires of selfish men can set fire to peaceful lands.’

  ‘I know you don’t believe in the gods, but I feel they’re watching over us, even you.’ She turned towards him, seeking reassurance.

  Marmicus knew it was difficult to accept the prospect of war, but the first thing any ruler needed to do was to be strong in the face of the enemy. This wasn’t the time for Larsa to doubt herself – there was too much at stake.

  ‘Have I done something to provoke this war? Why has it come so soon, when I’ve barely ruled for a day?’

  ‘You already know my answer.’

  She walked away from the balcony, infuriated by his cold reply: Larsa needed his comfort, but his mind was worlds away. She sat upon the divan, wanting to collect herself. There was so much to think about, and she didn’t know where to start. This was all new to her, although not for him. Marmicus approached her, feeling a slight guilt for his short response. Larsa pretended not to care, but her eyes betrayed her.

  ‘The more you doubt yourself, the more power you give to your enemies. If you want to help your people then you have to be strong for them.’

  ‘You always think of the people before you think of what I need or how this will affect us. Think of me, for a change,’ said Larsa. She needed a husband who would comfort her, not a selfless warrior who comforted and thought of others. As much as it was noble, it was often irritating.

  She made a sweeping gesture with her arm. ‘None of this means anything to me if you’re gone. I don’t want you to fight in this war. I won’t let you.’

  She couldn’t bear to have him fight again, not so close, not when the enemy was just beyond her borders. At least with distance there came some small degree of emotional remove. If he died, what would she do? She could barely cope without a mother and father; she knew she couldn’t survive without him.

  ‘You know our homeland means everything to me. I cannot neglect my duty just because you’re frightened that I may die.’

  ‘And yet it’s easy for you to neglect me without question? Is it wrong for me to ask my husband to be by my side? You make me sound as if I’m acting selfishly when all I want from you is to be here with me! I’ve come to live half a life; I won’t do it any more. I can’t.’

  Her face scrunched up with resentment; she would not be made to feel guilty for her suffering. He had sacrificed his own happiness for the sake of others – and he may be loved by the people – but it had come at the cost of her happiness.

  ‘Why do you deny yourself the right to live your life?’ she said. ‘You’re entitled to smile just as I’m entitled to love. After this war, there will be a thousand battles waged by others who will summon you to fight alongside them and, if the cause is noble, you’ll accept their challenge and leave me here. I can’t live my life on the thread of hope that you’ll return to me unharmed. I want us to be a family – I want to be a mother one day and I want you to be alive to see our children grow. Is it selfish of me to ask you to live for us?’

  ‘You want to be a mother?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, heatedly. ‘I feel I’m ready now. I wasn’t before.’

  A huge grin appeared on Marmicus’s face; one which he tried to hid
e – they were in the middle of an argument, after all.

  ‘Why are you smiling? Don’t you want to be a father some day?’

  ‘Larsa, I have never been happier than I am at this moment.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The faint dimples in his cheek revealed themselves as he smiled brilliantly. ‘There’s no other woman in the world who I’d want to carry my child. I love you so much.’

  A voice interrupted them.

  ‘Forgive me, my lord, but shall I tell the Counsel that you will not be joining them?’

  ‘No, let them know that I will be joining them shortly.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ replied the soldier.

  ‘We will discuss this later. I must go now,’ he whispered as he gently kissed her and strode out of the chamber, and towards the Temple of Ishtar.

  5

  It was not very often that the Counsel agreed on matters, but tonight they had hoped to make an exception. They were losing precious time while the enemy was gaining valuable strength.

  ‘We’ve got no choice in the matter; we must attack, and protect the walls of this city,’ declared the Grand Priest of Ursar.

  He had had enough of listening to pathetic suggestions by the other priests; it was action that was needed, not idle deliberation.

  ‘If we fight without the gods’ blessings, we’ll certainly lose this war. I say we should call upon the gods, and ask them to show us some signs of triumph before we rush into combat,’ the young Priest of Xidrica said. His love for the gods was as evident as his nobility, but it was a quality deeply unappreciated by many of the Grand Priests; the only quality that seemed to unite them was the love of pocketing power for themselves.

  ‘I think we should send Jaquzan gifts of gold. Maybe this generous act can tame the wild beast, even if it is only for a short while?’ said another.

  ‘You buffoon! Jaquzan doesn’t value peace, and he doesn’t need any more gifts. The entire world is falling at his feet, and he has everything any man can ever dream of. We have only one option, and it’s to attack now. Besides, we are Grand Priests, not peasants. Let the people fight and let us marvel at their victory – their deaths will ensure our survival, which is just as it should be.’

  ‘Enough!’ roared Marmicus, who had at last broken his silence. No one understood combat more than he did. He lived it and breathed it every day; it was his gift and his curse.

  ‘War without honour is not an option! If we attack, then we shall attack honourably. My men will not be drawn into a battle with cowards as their leaders and greed as their cause. Their sacrifice will not be any man’s gain, and their names will not be tarnished by this Counsel’s greed, or for the sake of clay gods who can’t even answer their prayers. If any of you forget this, then you’ll enter into battle alone, for I will not command my soldiers to follow you.’

  ‘Marmicus, we’ll lose this war if we do not act with haste; let us attack while the lion is still caged.’

  ‘Where there is no faith, there can only be certainty of defeat.’

  He turned his back on the Counsellors and paced towards the magnificent stone statue of Ishtar, which overshadowed them; it was the only way he could possibly remain civil. The Grand Priest had angered him greatly with his selfish remarks; it was as if the lives of his soldiers had no value at all: he was commanding men to enter into battle and selflessly die for him without so much as a nod of gratitude for their sacrifice. It made him feel sick to his stomach. If anyone else said anything along those lines, Marmicus knew he would snap and the consequences would be lethal.

  ‘Perhaps you’ll change your mind once you’ve heard the news?’ said the Grand Priest of Ursar. He would not back down so easily, not when his position was on the line.

  ‘What news? What are you talking about?’ asked a Counsellor, and a murmur of curiosity went round the chamber. Could there really be news that would so drastically change the Gallant Warrior’s mind?

  ‘Yesterday I was sent word, from a reliable source, which has changed the balance of power in favour of our enemy. Persia has fallen into the hands of the Assyrians; now all that remains of it are the ashes carried by the winds. The greatest empire that has ever rivalled Babylonia has been defeated. If we are not careful, our kingdom will follow suit.’

  His news was shocking – unbelievable: the kingdom of Persia had always seemed an all-powerful force, ruling over every land in the region. The Persian army was remorseless, with a military might which slammed down like the fist of a god on anything, or anyone, that got in its way. Its demise had proven the Counsellor’s point: Jaquzan was not to be underestimated; he was only to be feared.

  ‘So, you see, comrades,’ said the Grand Priest of Ursar, ‘this is why we must attack now. If we are not careful, we shall be trampled on by the Assyrians. What difference does it make if we fight for the people or if we fight for our own cause? The result will be the same: some shall live, while others shall die. Let the people fight, and let us remain watchful over our positions – no man here wants his scholarly throne ripped from beneath his feet for the sake of protecting another man’s honour!’ He looked at the Counsel, whose heads were nodding in unison as if being bullied into agreement. ‘The time has come for us to embark upon war. Death is death and life is life – the only difference is that we deserve to live for longer.’

  Marmicus turned, looking back at the Grand Priest. His face showed sheer disgust, while his fist instinctively tightened around the hilt of his sword.

  ‘Have patience, Marmicus. His greed will be judged by the gods.’

  The Priest of Xidrica could see the fury in Marmicus’s eyes. His temper had eclipsed his reason: he was as a volcano, about to unleash hell on earth; nothing could hold him back.

  ‘I have fought many battles. I have seen many die and some live, but in all the wars that I have fought in, the purpose has always been the same: it has been to protect this kingdom and all those who serve it. You stand here before me now in your opulent robes, feasting on the fruits of this kingdom without thanks, and speaking of war as though it is nothing more than a game for your amusement: as if the scars inflicted by our enemies will heal in time and the cries of men who fought courageously to protect this kingdom will be carried off by the winds, only to be forgotten. But you know nothing of war – for cowards have no place in the armies of the brave.’

  The Grand Priest shrank back into his seat like a child scolded into submission. He had been humiliated in front of his fellow priests: it felt as though sand had been thrown into his eyes and smoke had been flung into his lungs. One day, oh Gallant Warrior, you shall learn to bite your tongue, or you shall live to regret it …

  ‘Know this. Jaquzan may have an army of thousands, but he does not have the honour or the devotion of my men, who fight for the people and for the love of this kingdom. We shall not be defeated if our hearts are devoted. Men have waged wars for a thousand years and more, but none shall ever conquer like this. War will come and, when it does, our battle will never be forgotten.’

  ‘Allegiance lies in the heart of the sword!’ roared the Counsel in clamorous approbation. In one brief moment the Gallant Warrior had united the hearts of men – except that of one man, a serpent who secretly carried hatred within his heart, and was cunningly plotting to kill him. Enjoy your moment of glory, oh Gallant One, but it will not last long, for soon you shall squirm because of the treachery that runs through my veins …

  ‘What then do you propose we do, Marmicus?’ asked the noble Priest of Xidrica. His eyes lit up with inspiration as he absorbed Marmicus’s speech.

  ‘I propose we do this …’

  6

  ‘That’s their plan, sire,’ Nafridos said, feeling pleased with himself. The news sent by the Serpent was invaluable; it had revealed Marmicus’s military tactics, giving the Assyrians the advantage when war came; it was indeed worth a thousand plates of gold.

  ‘What makes you certain it’s not a trap?�
�� Jaquzan asked, swirling his chalice in a hypnotic rhythm.

  ‘It’s not a trap; he gave me his word.’

  The Assyrian emperor gave a long stare, reacting only with a subtle twitch; his cousin had amused him with the stream of words that flowed so freely from his lips. Carelessness was a trait that Jaquzan despised above all things; he was the master of self-preservation, whose every emotion was crafted with a purpose. ‘Don’t let your stupidity and ignorance blind you, cousin – only a fool trusts someone who has already betrayed another. It’s like saying that you trust the sea when it has already sunk your ship.’

  He rose from his magnificent throne. It weighed five thousand minas and had been carved from solid stone; on either side of it were two Lamassu, the Assyrian winged bulls which were the symbols of his empire; their human heads and hoofed feet guarded him against adversity. Though he was not superstitious and did not believe in the spirits of the Lamassu, they had been passed down to him from his ancestors, and it was out of respect for them that he kept them as symbols of his kingdom.

  He walked into the open, terraced gardens, taking his chalice of wine with him; the green lushness contrasted with his jet-black hair and glowing skin, which appeared tight, and smooth. He was a handsome man, no older than thirty-five, but his expressionless features made him appear older than his years, and somehow less than human.

  ‘Do you want me to ignore their plan, and go ahead with the attack as if nothing has been said?’