The six of them turned the corner into the ziggurat precincts and disappeared. Nabu-zir breathed a sigh of relief. The contract was now binding under the law, and if the contending parties tried to continue their nonsense inside the temple, the priest would put a stop to it, with a stern reminder of the penalties for abrogating a contract with a scribe's seal on it.
He squinted at the sky. The sun god, Utu-shamash, was at his height, and it was long past time for his midday beer. He signaled to the beer wife plying her trade across the plaza, and she hastened to ladle out a pitcher of her brew and cut a drinking tube for him. But before she could start across the square toward him, a shadow fell across his face; he had another customer standing in front of him.
The newcomer had come alone. He was a young man of good birth in a flounced linen skirt with one end draped across his shoulder. But the skirt was not fresh, and the grime of several days rimmed the hem and flounces. Nabu-zir raised his eyes to the young man's face and saw red-rimmed eyes and a haggard expression.
Before Nabu-zir could greet him, the young man burst out, “You are the scribe Nabu-zir, who sits in the courtyard of the moon god?"
Nabu-zir replied gravely, “This is the courtyard of Nanna-sin, the moon god and father of Utu-shamash, the sun. And I am Nabu-zir."
"I am Shamshi-enlil, second son of the merchant Azid-shum,” Nabu-zir's visitor told him, then stopped, seemingly unsure of himself.
Nabu-zir studied the young Shamshi with awakened interest. Azid-shum was one of the richest men in Ur, with a big house within the shadow of the ziggurat and trading posts as far away as the city of Kish. His skin boats came regularly floating down the twin rivers with their cargoes of lumber, stone, metals, and other precious goods from the northern frontier.
"Everyone in Ur knows the name of Azid-shum,” he said. “Why have you come to me?"
Shamshi-enlil hesitated. “Everyone says you are a fair man,” he said.
Nabu-zir waited.
"Everyone says you are not afraid to take the part of a poor man when an injustice has been done, even to challenge the nu-banda, the chief inspector himself, on behalf of a client."
Nabu-zir ran his eyes down the elaborate flounced skirt. It bespoke wealth, soiled though it was. “But you are not a poor man,” he said.
Shamshi-enlil's face fell. The words poured out. “There is in our house a slave named Elutu, who was a farmer upriver near Larsa before he had to sell himself, when he lost his field through taxes. He told me the story of his neighbor, also a farmer, who came near to losing his own field through the actions of the same greedy tax inspector, who made false claims and seized his cattle. No scribe but yourself would deign to write a letter to the king, being afraid of retaliation by the temple administrator. But you did not fear the power of the temple, and through the king's wrath, the tax collector was removed and the man's property was restored to him."
He stopped for breath, then finished in a rush, “This Elutu lamented to me that he had not gone to you before he lost his freedom, and seeing that I too was a victim of injustice, spoke your name to me, though it put him in danger from my brother."
"So you took the advice of a slave and sought me out,” Nabu-zir said dryly. He cast a pointed glance at the bedraggled garment. “After spending the night walking the street."
Shamshi-enlil flushed. “For the sake of Anu, god of the great above, will you hear me out or not?"
Nabu-zir grew thoughtful. “I remember the case of your farmer. Come, we will go to my house, away from prying ears.” He gathered up his styluses and whittling knives. “Here, help me to carry this tub of clay."
* * * *
Nabu-zir's house was in the waterfront district, nestled among the mud brick hovels that fronted the inner canal. He sent his serving woman, Nindada, to the tavern across the alley to fetch beer. He seated his guest beside the hearth, where he could get a salutary view of the little shrine to the moon god, and sat down facing him. While they waited for the beer, Shamshi had a furtive look round the mud brick interior with its sparse wall decorations.
"Not what you're used to, eh?” Nabu-zir could not help saying.
The young man mumbled a flustered apology.
"Never mind,” Nabu-zir said. “Not the way you'd expect a scribe to live, but it's comfortable enough for me.” Out of pity, he decided not to mention the two people buried in funeral urns under the floor, the parents of the previous tenants.
Shamshi was saved from further embarrassment by the arrival of Nindada with two pitchers of beer. He poked a straw through the brewing debris floating on top and took a sip. Nabu-zir did likewise, after piously spilling a few drops on the hearth for the moon god.
"Now then,” Nabu-zir said, settling back comfortably, “what's this all about?"
"How the thing was done,” the boy said miserably. “That's what I can't understand. Is there a wind demon who can penetrate solid clay? Perhaps I need a mashmashu, an exorcist, and not a scribe like yourself."
Nabu-zir saw that young Shamshi was floundering, his thoughts dashing off in all directions like the wild asses in the proverb, and needed help to tell his story.
"This has something to do with your older brother?” he suggested.
Shamshi nodded gratefully. “Ubar-sin. He has always been wild and unrestrained. My father was so grateful to the gods for his firstborn that he never laid a burden on him, never denied him anything. Ubar-sin was never put to work, never was asked to carry reeds as the young and the little are wont to do or follow the caravans that brought our father wealth. He was given everything he asked for, and he wanted more and so grew up to think even the gods were in debt to him. Our father told him, ‘My son, you have brought me sorrow, have tortured me to the point of madness and death,’ and still Ubar-sin would not mend his ways."
"And now Ubar-sin has done something to worry your father, is that it? Something that requires an exorcist or a scribe?"
"My father is dead,” Shamshi-enlil said bitterly. “Even as we speak, he is presenting himself to the seven judges of the underworld."
"Azid-shum, dead?” Nabu-zir said. “And you have come to see a scribe?” It was becoming clear. “Is there something about the inheritance? But I can do nothing about a will that is properly inscribed and attested."
"That's what I thought. I was a fool to come here!” Shamshi-enlil stood up abruptly, ready to go.
"Sit down and finish your beer,” Nabu-zir said, “and we will talk."
* * * *
"...and this fox of a scribe, Puzar-il, when he was finished, read the tablet back to us and enjoined us to sign it with our cylinder seals. Ubar-sin was very angry, so angry that he cursed our father and cursed the very gods. Then he was frightened by the penalty for such recklessness, for our father might have shaved his head, put a slave mark upon him, and sold him. So, though he did not beg forgiveness, he put his seal on the tablet along with mine, thinking to get around our father later. So then Puzar-il inscribed an envelope of clay with a summary of the will and sealed up the tablet."
Nabu-zir had sent Nindada out twice more for beer, and his young client's tongue had become sufficiently loosened. Shamshi leaned forward expectantly, waiting for a response.
Nabu-zir pondered the facts of the story for a while, then said, “A successful merchant like your father must have known something of the art of writing. Did he not think to verify the document before signing it?"
"It is true that my father as an educated man had learned something of the art over the years, though of course he never went to the scribe school as a youth, to be whipped into learning by the ummia, like yourself. But the signs he knew were mostly concerned with goods and numbers, so that he could verify receipts and bills of lading and such things. He made a quick examination, and the document must have looked all right to him, with the lists and quantities of the property to be divided. And he trusted Puzar-il. They had done much business together for a long time."
Nabu-zir pounced on
the last statement. “So this fox of a scribe, as you call him, had participated in your father's dealings before, and doubtless saw to his client's advantage when making out receipts—” He raised a knowing eyebrow. “—and such things."
Shamshi looked sheepish, but pretended a flash of anger. “One does not become a big man by being soft. But my father was honest in his dealings."
"Oh, we can be sure of that. The fines for falsifying a receipt can be ruinous. One could even lose a finger or two."
Shamshi's answer was a stubborn silence.
"Besides,” Nabu-zir went on imperturbably, “a fox of a scribe would not leave a trail for the hounds to follow, is that not so? But let us return to the matter of the tablet. Did you notice anything amiss at the time?"
"Me? What would I know?"
It was like leading a stubborn donkey. Nabu-zir waited him out.
"It is true that my father tried to instruct his sons in what he knew of writing so that we might assist him in his business. For a short time he even paid a teacher from the scribe school to come to our house and tutor us. But Ubar-sin could not be taught. He disappeared when the teacher came, or sat in insolence, not listening."
"But you were different?"
"I learned a little,” Shamshi admitted. “But not much more than my father. I could manage commercial writing, but I could not have managed a letter or read poetry, like the story of Gilgamesh, with any fluency. Besides, I was not given time to do more than glance at the tablet and its envelope before imprinting my seal."
"And what did your glance tell you?"
"Everything seemed in order. There were the property lists, in columns separated by lines. At the top of each section was a picture sign for my name or Ubar-sin's, with the wedges that say ahi, the brother sign. The columns for Ubar-sin were very short. Mine were long."
"So your father intended to disinherit his eldest son and instead make you, the second son, the master of your brother?"
"He was very wroth with Ubar-sin and said he needed a lesson. He said that he would not leave his life's enterprise and the management of his wife and his household to a spoiled child in the skin of a man. He said several times that day that he saw no other way of making Ubar-sin change his profligate ways. But he held out hope to Ubar-sin that if he were to one day show that he had learned his hard lesson, he would restore his portion."
Nabu-zir said thoughtfully, “So your father had no notion that he might die anytime soon?"
"No. He wore an amulet against the asaku-demons that cause illness, and though he was a man in the fullness of his years, they did not trouble him."
"Hmm. But soon after the making of his testament, the goddess of death did, in fact, visit him?"
"Yes. He felt her presence, and called for an ashipu-priest to remove the curse, though the demons had closed his lips to food and water, and sat on his limbs to make them weak. The priest brought a kid, and put him in the bed with my father. He then touched my father's throat with a wooden knife, and cut the kid's throat with a knife of bronze. Then he dressed the kid in my father's clothes and performed the ritual of mourning. But the goddess of death was not deceived, and my father passed away the next morning."
"What then?"
"We sent for the kalu, the funeral priest, of course, and the proper rites were performed, with a hired lyre player for the dirges. A coffin of clay was made, one befitting my father's importance and not a reed mat or two jars wrapped together mouth to mouth, as suffices for common folk. He was provided with food and drink for the journey to the nether world and gold to pay the ferryman. And a pit was prepared under the floor for his burial."
"And his cylinder seal, it was buried with him?"
"Of course. How would he make his declaration to the seven judges without it?"
"And the seal remained around his neck all during the preparations for burial?"
"Where else would it be?” Shamshi was starting to look annoyed.
"Can you swear to that?"
"The body was never left alone,” Shamshi said with strained patience. “If I was busy, there was always a servant or the priest or a dependent."
"Did your brother not help during this time of grief?"
Shamshi gave a great sigh. “He could not be found. He was ever one to evade his responsibilities. Perhaps he returned at night to sleep, but if so, he was gone before dawn."
"So though you were the second son, and the will that elevated you had not been opened yet, all the preparations were left to you?"
"Yes. I am used to Ubar-sin's ways."
"And when did you see him again?"
"Not until the third day, after my father had been buried. And then he immediately insisted that we go before a judge for the opening of the will. He seemed very eager."
"Did that not strike you as odd? After all, the will disinherited him. If what you say is true, he knew that."
"Who ever knew what Ubar-sin was thinking? He did not think. He was like a moth that flies into the flame. Even as a child he would often act to do himself harm."
"And you had other things on your mind,” Nabu-zir said sympathetically.
"Yes."
"Let us go on. So you went before a judge of the inheritance court to have the envelope broken and the will read. I assume that Puzar-il was present, and took the usual oath, knowing the terrible penalties for perjury."
"Yes."
"And the original witnesses. Were they present?"
"One had died. The other attested to the authenticity of his seal impression on the tablet."
"And his impression on the envelope as well?"
"The envelope was displayed to the court before Puzar-il was given leave to break it, and the witness raised no objection. What does it matter? All the seals on the tablet were authentic."
"Including yours?"
Shamshi bit his lip. “Yes."
"Can you be sure?"
"My seal cannot be mistaken,” Shamshi said. “It was carved in marble by the finest craftsman, and shows the rising of the sun god and his bride, Aya, the dawn. Attending them is the goddess of love and war, Inanna, and Enki with his fish, and the creation goddess Aruru, with many, many details. There was even a tiny crumb of clay at the tip of one of Inanna's wings that I remembered from when I rolled the seal over the tablet."
"Was it the same seal I see hanging from your neck now?"
"Yes, it is the same seal I have worn all my life."
Nabu-zir eyed the little cylinder thoughtfully, as though he had never seen one before. It was a tiny thing to hold a person's identity, no larger than his little finger. It hung from a thin gold chain which passed through a hole that had been drilled lengthwise through the marble.
"Did it leave your neck at any time between your father's death and the reading of the will?"
"No."
"Even at night?"
"No, I slept with it."
Nabu-zir nodded approvingly. So did he. So did most people. One's identity was a precious thing.
"It comes down to this so far,” he asserted. “The seals on the tablet cannot be doubted, not even yours. And yet you say the terms of the will had been altered."
Despair contorted Shamshi's youthful features. “Where my name had been, my brother's was inscribed. Where my brother's name had been, my name was. The laws of disherison were clearly etched, as they had been before. But now they applied to me, not Ubar-sin.” He buried his face in his hands. “The thing that was hardest to bear was that now all the reproaches that my father had meant for Ubar-sin—that he had brought him sorrow, that he had driven him to the point of death—were now laid at my feet instead. The judge looked at me with loathing when he announced his decree."
Nabu-zir gave the young man a moment to compose himself, then said, “It is possible to smooth wet clay with one's thumb and rewrite a word or two, you know. I have done it myself many times. Even after the surface has begun to harden a little, one may sprinkle a little water on the spot to soften
it and perhaps rub in a little fresh clay. It is not possible after the tablet has begun to shrink within its envelope, though for a day or two, if the sealed tablet has been kept out of the sun, I suppose the thing might be done."
An expression that might have been the beginning of hope flickered across Shamshi-enlil's face. Nabu-zir continued, his brow wrinkled in thought.
"But the tablet was wrapped up in its envelope, and all its seals were intact. So we must look instead to the envelope. Everyone had a look at the writing on the envelope before it was smashed, though I suppose the judge did not bother to read it through, other than to verify its subject matter. Were the same seals in place?"
"Yes, all of them."
"Yours, your brother's, your father's, the two witnesses, and, of course, the scribe's, Puzar-il's. Did you yourself verify them?"
"Once I realized that the will had been altered, I reexamined the seals on the tablet itself very carefully and could see no reason to doubt them. By now the judge was becoming impatient, but before the temple janitor could sweep up the fragments of the envelope, I picked through them to find the seals."
"That was intelligent of you. Your clear thinking after such a blow is commendable. What did you ascertain?"
"I saved the fragments, much good will it do me."
Shamshi fumbled at his garment and drew out a small linen packet that had been tied up with a knot. Nabu-zir untied the bundle and spread its contents on the table.
"This imprint shows Enki, the god of learning,” he said, holding up one of the larger fragments. “I take it that this is the mark of the scribe, Puzar-il."
Shamshi confirmed it with a nod.
Nabu-zir held up another shard. He paused for a moment to admire the exquisite detail. It showed, among other things, a donkey caravan, trains of skin boats, bursting storehouses, all being blessed by a whole pantheon of gods.
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