by Seja Majeed
‘I can’t celebrate a victory when my soldiers are being buried and tyrants are still being feared.’
‘Then let us pledge our allegiance to justice, and to the memory of the princess. She deserves to be honoured, no matter how small the victory may be.’
The Priest of Xidrica placed the clay jug on the table and began to pour the barley beer into two chalices. The truth was he needed a drink, but he did not want to drink alone. He offered the chalice to Marmicus, along with a reassuring smile, and lifted his own cup into the air in praise of his friend’s remarkable success on the battlefield. With no reason to question his loyalty, Marmicus took the chalice, placing his lips to it, then drank the barley beer until there was nothing left. The young priest watched as the Gallant Warrior gulped it down, the alcohol immediately relieving the intense pain in his shoulder.
‘You truly have a remarkable gift for war. Today the gods watched one man defeat an empire of thousands.’
‘If knowing how to kill men is a trait envied by gods,’ said Marmicus, ‘then I’ve been cursed, not blessed by it … How did you get that scar on your hand?’ He had never noticed it before today, as the young priest usually chose to cover it with his long sleeves.
‘My master gave it to me when I was a child,’ said the young Priest of Xidrica. He turned to the chair and sat down, looking at Marmicus as if waiting for something to happen. ‘Whenever I look at it, I’m reminded of what’s been taken away from me, and what I’ve struggled to take back all these years. If you look carefully, you’ll see it looks like a snake writhing along my hand. Doesn’t it?’
91
Marmicus stared at the scar which stretched along the young priest’s hand. He was right; it did resemble a snake.
‘I was a slave as a child, and I’m still a slave, even as a man.’
‘If serving the gods makes you a slave, why don’t you free yourself from their rule and become the free man you desire to be?’ asked Marmicus. He could not understand why anyone would wish to live a life that was not of their own choosing.
‘You should ask yourself the same question, Gallant Warrior. Aren’t you the slave of the people, constantly fighting for them, instead of yourself?’
‘If fighting for justice makes me a slave to the people then I’m content with that,’ responded Marmicus. An odd tingling sensation ran along the back of his tongue. ‘What was in that drink? It doesn’t sit well with me.’
‘It wouldn’t sit well with anyone.’
The young priest gave him a long, penetrating look that was uncharacteristic of him.
‘What was it?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s the same poison I gave to your beloved king.’
At first Marmicus thought it was a poor joke. The Priest of Xidrica knew how much he honoured Larsa’s father.
‘You offend our king with those words; he still deserves our respect, even after death.’
‘If I wanted to offend you and your beloved king, I’d tell you everything that I’ve done to betray you both.’
The young priest had finally shed his cloak of false humility and revealed his treacherous self. He relaxed on his chair, watching his victim begin to show the first signs of being poisoned. Marmicus turned to grab his Sword of Allegiance, but the sudden movement made his nauseous feeling worse. His head began to spin, then throb.
‘I see the poison’s working. I have to say it’s worked more quickly than I expected,’ smiled the Serpent. He noticed Marmicus trying to focus on him, but his eyelids had grown heavy. The young priest chuckled. Now the Gallant Warrior was powerless to do anything: the poison was penetrating him, turning a strong man into a helpless weakling. Marmicus felt the tingling sensation in his mouth spread. It had moved to his hands and feet, and even his tongue felt heavy.
The Serpent watched, enjoying every little flicker of pain on Marmicus’s face. He had been waiting anxiously for this, dreaming of it every single day like a child who eagerly awaits the arrival of a special gift. He threw his chalice onto the floor, and it rolled towards Marmicus’s feet. It was time to reveal all.
‘Your king was right. I remember him saying that a man will always carry two things in his hands: friendship in one, and a knife in the other. You should have taken his advice; you made a grave mistake placing too much trust in a person when you hadn’t tested them.’
Marmicus sunk slowly onto his knees, then collapsed sideways onto the ground. He remained conscious, but his body began to tremble, and saliva poured from his mouth as if it were water coming from a well. Everything around him became distorted and cloudy.
‘Why … did you … do this?’ asked Marmicus, slurring his words. It was hard for him to speak, as the poison had numbed his tongue. He could feel it roll back into his mouth; if it did, it would block his breathing passage, and he would certainly suffocate.
‘Never blame the enemy without first understanding his motives,’ the Serpent said. Stepping over to Marmicus, he grabbed his jaw, lifting his head, wanting him to hear every single word. Marmicus could not fight back; he was at the priest’s mercy.
‘If I told you that your king had a son, would you believe me? Well, you should. After the Queen died, your king became lonely at night; he would call upon my mother to keep his bed warm. She did, until one day she fell pregnant. Who could have imagined that a whore would give birth to a bastard prince? When she told him, he banished her from the kingdom, he wanted to hide what he had created with his own body. My mother was forced to live in exile, and I was forced to grow up watching her sell her body to men just so that she could feed and clothe me. One night, my mother disappeared; I looked for her everywhere, but she had vanished like the cool winds from the desert. I was forced to fend for myself, a boy of eight, who knew nothing about the ways of the world. Eventually, I gave up, and was sold into slavery. I’ll never forget the day when I pleaded with my masters to let me go, I told them that I was a prince from the Garden of the Gods; they laughed at me and beat me until I learnt to keep silent, but I never forgot who I was or where I came from. I endured the pain, biting my tongue, and enduring their punches just so that I could survive to see my father. No one imagines that their curse could become their blessing, but that was precisely what happened to me; I was sold to a Grand Priest who gave me my freedom on the condition that I loved the gods like he did. I was free in body, but my mind had become slave to a false love of temples and stone. I pretended to love them, believing in their wretched power just so that I could join the Counsel of Grand Priests and meet my father – who led them. I had pinned my every hope on that day.’
Marmicus began to lose consciousness at this point, but the Serpent would not let him slip away. He grabbed his shoulders, and shook him frenziedly, but it was no use, he had passed out.
‘Stay awake!’ the priest commanded. He got up angrily, and began to kick his chest, his heels digging into lungs and stomach. Marmicus stirred, he coughed spitting blood because he had bitten his tongue; the pain would keep him awake for a few more minutes.
‘Welcome back,’ said the priest as he knelt down, and grabbed Marmicus’s jaw again. ‘Now where was I? Ah, I remember now … after years of waiting and planning, I was summoned by your king; I saw him several times, but one night he invited me alone to his chamber. I took the chance I needed, and poured poison into his wine, watching him take sips until he collapsed. I called the guards and told them that I had found the king lying on the floor; I watched them lift him up, knowing full well that even though he was lying motionlessly, he could still hear and see everything around him. He was trapped in his own body: now he knew what it felt like to be a prisoner. I visited him every night with the rest of the Grand Priests, they were praying for him to gain strength but, unlike them, I prayed for him to suffer - I wanted him to hate his life just as he had made me hate mine. I would have been happy watching him lying there forever, but the Grand Priest of Ursar became suspicious of
me when I asked to see him alone. It looked as though I wanted to confess something to the king. He began to watch me closely, but although he said nothing, I could see the suspicion in his eyes. Finally, I had the chance to see the king alone without anyone knowing, so I came to his chamber, and it was then that I noticed something – something I’d never noticed before. I saw myself in him: his eyes were the same as mine, so too were his nose and lips; and then it occurred to me why the Grand Priest of Ursar had been suspicious of me. It wasn’t because I wanted to see the king alone; it was because of how similar we looked. The Grand Priest of Ursar had noticed it too, that I had my father’s face, and when he noticed it, he must have remembered the king’s secret after all these years. I knew then that the king had confided in him, telling him what he had done.’
The priest stared at his hands as if recalling the moment he realised this. The memory was crystal clear, like the Tigris river.
‘On that night, I remember looking into my father’s eyes, seeing myself within them. I told him what I’d done, how I had poisoned him, and how I’d planned to do it for years. I saw his face react, as if he knew already, and as if he were deeply sorry for every moment of suffering I’d endured because of him. But it was too late to be remorseful. Unseen scars can never heal when they afflict the heart and, just like you, I wanted vengeance, not only for myself, but for my mother, who had suffered alone, in silence. It wasn’t enough that he was trapped in a body he could no longer control. So I strangled him. I remember looking at him, seeing his fear, and feeling absolutely nothing as I wrapped my hands around his neck. I kissed his forehead, just as any loving son would, and left, without a flicker of guilt for what I’d done. I may have killed him that night, but I killed my past too – there was nothing left to bind me to anyone, except for my half-sister. I was the one who told the Assyrians. She was another thorn in my flesh, but I didn’t hate her for it, because she was innocent – unlike our father. So, you see, I killed your heart with my own hands and, if I could, I would do it all over again.’
For the first time, Marmicus had lost a battle on which his life depended. The venom had taken over his bloodstream, poisoning every inch of his body until he fell unconscious, his body tired from a world that had betrayed him in more ways than one. If only the Gallant Warrior had known that the princess was alive and that he had been blessed with fatherhood, maybe then he would have chosen to fight for his life …
92
The Serpent’s work was complete. The young priest looked at Marmicus lying still on the floor. He smiled and grabbed the Sword of Allegiance which lay beside him. He held it in his hands, marvelling at it for a few minutes; it was truly magnificent.
‘Who could ever have imagined that the mighty Sword of Allegiance would be covered with the blood of its keeper?’ said the young priest, raising it. The weapon would be proof of his treachery, showing the Assyrian emperor that he had done everything that had been asked of him. Once he showed him this, he would be in possession of a throne and a kingdom worthy of him. But life is never simple, for where evil conspires, so too does justice. The doors of the chamber were flung open, and guards rushed in, taking up position in every corner of the chamber, making sure that there was no place for the young priest to escape. They were led by one man – a person who had been misjudged, especially by Marmicus, who he had come to save.
The Grand Priest of Ursar rushed to Marmicus, the edges of his robes soaking up the blood that seeped from his injured body.
‘Quickly! Call the Asu; tell him Marmicus has been wounded!’ yelled the Grand Priest. Deep down, he knew it would make no difference. Marmicus was lifeless, his eyelids closed and his chest unmoving.
‘I owe you a great debt of gratitude,’ said the Priest of Xidrica. ‘It’s because of you that Marmicus placed his trust in me. You should have told him of your suspicions from the beginning. You could have saved his life! Now nothing can heal him, for death has already collected his soul.’
‘Silence the traitor!’ yelled the Grand Priest. He lifted Marmicus’s head, placing it on his lap, trying to somehow help him. The colour of his skin had leached away to the paleness of death. If only I had said something … anything …
The guards grabbed the young Priest of Xidrica, their fury taking hold of them as they manhandled him.
‘What shall we do with the traitor, my lord?’ They all hoped that he would give them permission to make an example of him, but the Grand Priest remained silent for a few moments. For the first time, he thought about what Marmicus would have done in his place.
‘Set him free.’
‘He deserves death. He’s a traitor to our kingdom!’ said Sibius, unable to comprehend such an order. The Gallant Warrior was not only a friend to him; he was a hero, worthy of vengeance.
‘I said, set him free! He may be a traitor, but he sat within the Counsel, and our laws dictate that no man from the Counsel can be killed by his brethren. I know Marmicus would have willed this,’ the Grand Priest replied evenly. Then an idea came to him. ‘But that doesn’t mean someone else can’t kill him for us. Make sure he returns to our enemy – let Jaquzan do what he wills with the traitor.’
None of the guards could believe what they were about to do. Even if the law of the kingdom dictated such a thing, it should have been overridden in these circumstances. However, they were powerless to stop it. Respecting their orders, the guards dragged the young priest away. It was indeed true that the Gallant Warrior would have set him free and returned him to the enemy.
‘Make space – the Asu’s here!’
The guard pushed through the crowd that had formed, trying make a path for the Asu. Everyone looked anxiously at Marmicus’s body, hoping that by some miracle he would wake up.
‘I said move back! Move back!’ yelled the guard again, this time pushing people out of the way.
The Asu rushed to help Marmicus. His frail hands trembled as he tried to heal the one man who everyone depended on for life. He hovered his ear over the Gallant Warrior’s mouth, desperately listening for any signs of breathing, but the commotion around him made it difficult to hear. He could feel no warm breath against his skin. The Asu turned and pressed his hand heavily on Marmicus’s chest, trying to feel a heartbeat through the palm of his hand.
‘His soul is still alive – I can feel his heart beating.’
‘What about the blood from his body? Where’s it coming from?’
‘It’s not from a new wound; it’s coming from his shoulder.’
‘My lord, we have a new problem.’ A messenger rushed in holding a clay tablet which had been sent by the enemy.
‘What is it now?’
‘We’ve received word from the Assyrian emperor! He wants to end this war using one-to-one combat.’
‘That would save the lives of many soldiers,’ said Sibius, grabbing the clay tablet from him.
‘Go quickly and find the best warrior, one who can give this kingdom the greatest chance of victory,’ declared the Grand Priest.
‘I wish it was that simple, but it is not. The princess is alive, my lord! The Assyrian emperor says he is keeping her prisoner, and if the Gallant Warrior does not fight to save her life tomorrow, then she’ll be killed in front of her own people.’
The news was astonishing. How could the princess be alive? It made no sense! They were all stunned, but they had no time to question whether it was true or not. The pressure was mounting. The Grand Priest of Ursar turned to the Asu, wishing for a miraculous answer. There was only one question in his mind: would Marmicus wake up, and if he did, would he be strong enough to fight in tomorrow’s battle? He did not have to say anything for the Asu to understand what he was thinking.
‘Only the power of the gods can heal him in time for tomorrow’s battle,’ said the Asu, shaking his head.
‘Then we’ve lost the battle for Larsa.’
93
If there ever was a time when the Gallant Warrior was needed by his people, it was now, in
this lonely hour when hope and despair stood together, waiting for destiny to decide which one to choose. The news had spread like the plague; some people claimed that the Gallant Warrior was badly injured, though still alive, while others said that Marmicus had died at sunset. Whatever the truth, the people of the Garden of the Gods flocked en masse to the palace. In their hands they gripped flowers and incense, and placed them on the steps to the palace until there was no space left.
Rumours that the princess was alive also circulated around the kingdom, and with them came word that she was carrying an infant within her womb that had been fathered by Jaquzan.
Sulaf fought through the crowds, her heart beating so frantically that she could feel her pulse in her throat. She was fighting to get through, wanting desperately to see Marmicus.
‘Please let me pass. I have to see him! I have to tell him something!’ Sulaf cried over and over again, trying to squeeze through. The crowds kept pushing her back, as a strong wave pulls a small boat back to shore.
‘It’s no use – he’s dead! Our saviour’s dead!’ one woman cried. She began to beat her hand against her chest as if she was mourning her own son; everyone knew that if the Gallant Warrior died, the kingdom would certainly die with him. Sulaf refused to believe her words – she would not let Marmicus leave this earth without him knowing that he would be a father. Everything Sulaf had done to harm him came back to her.
She could hear the oracle’s voice again in her ears, the way she had hissed at her when she spoke about Marmicus and what should be done to free his heart. She felt the fire burn her fingertips again, just as it had when she dropped the golden papyrus into the flames; a missive of pure love, intended to carry the sweet fragrance of hope to the Gallant Warrior. No memory was unvisited in Sulaf’s mind. Every time a memory came rushing back to her, she felt as though stoned by guilt, her skin bruising in shame. How could she have betrayed the man she loved so much?