Nabu-zir stood his ground. “I tell you, Lu-inanna, a murder has been committed. And another murder might take place while we are standing here arguing."
"Are you sure you want to do this? The penalty for a false accusation of murder is death for the accuser himself."
"I am sure. And if that is not reason enough for you to act, there is the matter of the housebreaking and the beating of my servant."
"Come now. The penalty for inflicting an injury is only a small fine if the victim is a servant or a slave. Likewise the penalty for unlawful entry."
"If you wish to split hairs, Lu-inanna, the penalty for trespass by a day is a fine, but death if by night. And the sun had already set. So you already have a capital case."
Lu-inanna sighed. “Really, my overexcitable friend..."
"Or must I go to the high priest and tell him that nothing was done while a crime against the state and against the gods was being committed?"
"All right, all right! Give me a few minutes to find the chief constable."
"We'll need a few armed men. And a torch bearer."
"Enough, Nabu-zir! Does the dog teach the lion to hunt?"
"And I'll need a warrant."
"Write it yourself while you are waiting."
Despite the assistant administrator's show of indifference, four burly patrolmen and a torch bearer were found in less time than it takes water to boil. The patrolmen wore leather helmets and carried short spears, looking impressive enough for his purpose. Nabu-zir strode at their head, just behind the torch bearer, carrying his cudgel. The clay warrant, still soft, was tucked next to his skin along with the bronze dagger.
They marched through the silent and deserted streets of Ur past row after row of blank mud-brick walls, each house marked only by the single arched door that gave access to the foyer and the courtyards within. Only the distant flicker of an occasional torch or lamp signaled the presence of others with business abroad.
Nabu-zir halted them at the door to the merchant's house. There was nothing to distinguish it from the less affluent houses on either side, except that, from the distance between doors, it could be seen to be wider.
He tapped softly, not wanting to alarm the doorkeeper within. The door opened a crack and he immediately pushed past the doorkeeper, the patrolmen right behind him. The man tried to flee but was caught and held by one of the patrolmen before he could raise the alarm.
"Do not try to flee, and do not shout for help,” Nabu-zir warned him. “This is temple business."
He produced a warrant and read it aloud. The man reacted with incomprehension, but the sight of the temple seal frightened him into compliance. Nabu-zir left one of the patrolmen to guard him, and led the others through the lobby and into the courtyard.
The whitewashed walls of the surrounding complex rose above them, bordered by a continuous wooden gallery that supported an upper story. Nabu-zir made a beeline for the door to the central hall, with the policemen pounding along behind him, and burst through to an evil scene. Young Shamshi-enlil was bound to a chair, with three menacing figures looming over him. A glowing brazier stood on a nearby stand, with a branding iron heating in it.
There was an arrested moment before the three were aware of the intruders, then they turned to face Nabu-zir and his escort. Nabu-zir could tell at a glance which one of them was Shamshi's brother, Ubar-sin, and he recognized the other two from Nindada's description.
"What villainy is this?” Ubar-sin shouted, and the big one, the ox, made a move toward a battle-ax that was leaning against a table. Nabu-zir raised his cudgel, but the policemen were also raising their weapons, and the man thought better of it.
"The villainy is yours, Ubar-sin,” Nabu-zir said, “and you have been found out."
Ubar-sin spoke with contained rage. “A father may sell his children as slaves, and my father's will made me the father of my brother."
"You and the scribe you bribed with a promise of a share of the riches falsified the will, and when the judges of the assembly render their verdict, it is your brother who will be your father, to dispose of you at his pleasure. But he will not get the chance to sell you, for the court will decide the punishment for all your crimes. Including, I believe, the murder of your father."
Ubar-sin turned ashen. “Who are you, to speak to me like that?” he said.
Nabu-zir produced the clay tablet and held it up. “Shall I read you the warrant, Ubar-sin? This time there is no dishonest scribe to change it to your liking."
He motioned to one of the policemen, who came forward and cut Shamshi loose. “Thank the gods that they saw fit to send you here in time,” Shamshi said shakily. “They were about to mark me as a slave. Buzu wanted me killed. He said it would be safer, that no question would ever come up that way. But my brother said it would do to sell me to one of the northern caravans, that I would never be seen again."
Nabu-zir turned to Buzu. “You were going to be made rich too. Rich enough to contemplate murder, it seems. What was your part in this? Were you the one who poisoned your master, Azid-shum? Did you steal the old man's seal after he was dead, long enough for Ubar-sin to take it to his bought scribe to provide a stamp on a new envelope?"
All of Buzu's cockiness was gone. “I did not poison my master,” he said sullenly.
"No one will care if yours was not the hand itself. You will be sentenced anyway, as an accomplice."
He turned to Ubar-sin again. “How did you poison your father, elder brother? What did you use? Mandrake? Nightshade? Some concoction bought in a thieves’ den, sprinkled in your father's evening tipple? It doesn't matter. We will find out."
"None of this can be proved. And there is no voice to speak out."
"Dumb objects always have a voice, Ubar-sin. And they have already spoken out."
An excited chittering of voices could be heard from beyond the hall from the servants, who had become aware that something was going on, but who did not dare intrude. But the three patrolmen had shifted their attention to the archway behind Nabu-zir, and he turned his head to see. The fourth man, the one he had left with the night doorman, was coming through the arch, gripping a household slave firmly by the elbow.
"This one is named Elutu,” he said. “He has something to tell you."
It was Shamshi who spoke first. “Elutu, you were the one who spoke the name of Nabu-zir to me!” he cried, his voice breaking with emotion. “The goddess Nanshe must have spoken in your ear, for he has brought me justice! As justice will be brought for you! I swear it!"
"You can let go of him,” Nabu-zir said to the patrolman. “He will not run away."
"He came to me in the door chamber, babbling his head off,” the patrolman said stiffly. “I thought it my duty to bring him to you, since it was no longer necessary to hold the watchman."
"You acted with commendable initiative,” Nabu-zir assured him, “and I will say so to the chief constable.” He turned to address Elutu, who was rubbing his elbow and quivering with a desire to speak. “You saw something, but you were afraid to speak before, is that it?” he said.
Ubar-sin, his face livid, tried to rush forward, and had to be restrained by a policeman. “You will not speak against your master!” he shouted. “I will punish you!"
"You are my master no longer,” the slave said defiantly. He advanced toward Nabu-zir, his chin up like a free man. “I was one of those assigned to watch the body of Azid-shum before the burial. I was alone with him during the night, and I saw his cylinder seal around his neck, as always. While the household slept, this one—” He nodded toward Ubar-sin. “—who had not been seen all day, crept into the house and ordered me out of the chamber. When I heard him leave the house again, I went back. At first I noticed nothing, but then I saw that the cylinder seal was gone. The same thing happened the next night, and this time the seal was back around Azid-shum's neck."
"You will testify to that before the judges?"
"Yes, Nabu-zir."
Ubar-sin went wil
d, and tried to break free. The guard quelled him with a rap on the side of the head.
Unperturbed, Nabu-zir continued: “Doubtless we will find other servants able to tell us more about the circumstances surrounding Azid-shum's death. Such as the symptoms pointing to a poisoning rather than a visit by a demon sent by the goddess of death."
"They will be afraid to talk, lord."
"They will have nothing to fear,” young Shamshi said, stepping forward. “I will see to that."
* * * *
"...and so,” Nabu-zir summed up, “only two of the seals had to be forged on the envelope—those of the disinherited Shamshi-enlil and the surviving witness. The envelope, as usual, got only a cursory look before being smashed, and in case there might be any question of Shamshi-enlil demanding a closer look after the will was opened, that impious scribe Puzar-il had cleverly started a crack in those two spots to ensure that those seal impressions could not be whole. All the seals on the will itself, of course, were authentic."
The great assembly hall was packed to bursting with the free citizens of Ur, and hundreds more who could not be squeezed inside were milling about restlessly in the outer plaza. Because of the overriding importance of the trial, the judges had decreed that a full council of the citizenry would be involved in deciding the case. There was an oft-quoted proverb: “Do not wander into the Assembly to be drawn into other people's quarrels, and risk being forced to testify in a lawsuit not your own.” But the sensational nature of the Shamshi-enlil case had drawn even the uninvolved and wary to the assembly hall.
The defendants were grouped together in front of the judges’ raised thrones, guarded by spearmen. There were four of them: Ubar-sin and his principal accomplice Puzar-il in the fore, and the two henchmen, Buzu and the ox, in the second rank. The seal carver himself, Lugal-kan, had fled the city as soon as he had heard that Puzar-il had been arrested, probably to hide in Eridu. It didn't matter. All the cities of the plain cooperated in returning fugitives, and eventually Lugal-kan would be brought back to Ur for arraignment. What did matter was that in his haste he had left behind enough evidence to show how the fraud had been committed.
The evidence was on display on an offering table from the temple, a gilded platform that was usually laden with the daily tribute of grain and other commodities. Today, for all the crowd to see, it held the brazier and tin pot that had been used in the forgeries along with one of the forged seals that Lugal-kan had failed to dispose of, the wax fragments that Nabu-zir had stolen, and the clay shards that Shamshi had had wit enough to retrieve.
The crowning piece of evidence was the clay tablet itself, with its smoothed-over and rewritten names. The names had been altered skillfully enough so that the deception could not, in all honesty, be detected, but Nabu-zir had made effective use of it in his summing-up, holding it up before the indignant crowd and whipping up their emotions.
He held the tablet up for a last reminder of what the trial was about, but it was unnecessary for him to speak. A murmur of outrage spread through the crowd, and a stocky citizen at the front said, “To change a document after it has been sealed is a crime against the gods, worse than murder, and murder has been done here as well! Even a judge of the temple may be punished if he changes his judgment after it has been inscribed on clay!"
There was a cacophony of voices as others sought to speak. Nabu-zir replaced the tablet and settled back to wait. It was going to take hours, but the verdict was not in doubt.
* * * *
Nabu-zir and Shamshi-enlil were enjoying a beer together and discussing the events of the previous day, when Nindada came hurrying in from the vestibule, where she had been sweeping away the morning's dust.
"Lord,” she said, a little out of breath, “the inspector Lu-inanna just turned the corner down the street and is headed this way. He is bearing an armful of tablets. I cannot deny him entrance. What shall I do?"
"Do not trouble yourself, Nindada,” Nabu-zir said. “Doubtless he has come here to gloat. He will be taking credit for bringing Puzar-il and the others to justice. Go across to the tavern and fetch a jar of beer for him. And bring back more beer for us as well."
She hurried out, leaving her broom. Nabu-zir turned to Shamshi and said, “He will be asking a large offering for the temple now that you are rich,” he said.
"He will have it,” Shamshi said. “The gods created man to support them."
"Ah, yes,” Nabu-zir said. “We support them, and they support us. That is why we have daily offerings and monthly offerings, and offerings in between."
"As to the slave, Elutu, he shall be a farmer again. I am freeing him and will see to it that he is given back his field."
"Meaning a generous offering to the temple."
"Yes. It is the least I can do for him. I am in his debt for sending me to you. He is a brave man."
"He will have to be brave. The temple's tax collector will want a third of his crop."
Lu-inanna chose that moment to enter. If he had heard the remark he gave no sign. Nabu-zir went on smoothly, “Ah, here is Lu-inanna now. You can discuss the matter with him."
Lu-inanna deposited his load of tablets on the table and sat down heavily. “And what matter is that, Nabu-zir?” he said.
Shamshi interposed a reply: “I wish to buy back a field that was confiscated by a tax collector, so that its owner will not have to pay rent to the temple in addition to his crop tax."
Lu-inanna manufactured a smile. “It is good to see you looking so prosperous, Shamshi-enlil. We shall have to name you Lugal-Shamshi now that you are a great man. I presume that this is about that slave of yours."
"He is a slave no longer,” Shamshi said.
"Under the code of Nanshi, outright ownership of land is permitted,” Nabu-zir pointed out.
"Ah, our scribe is now a legal scholar,” Lu-inanna shot back. To Shamshi he said, “Come round to the temple tomorrow and we will discuss it."
Nabu-zir tilted his head toward the pile of tablets on the table. “What have you brought me, Lu-inanna?” he said. “More payroll lists to be copied?"
"Something more interesting, Nabu-zir. A record of yesterday's trial, on eleven numbered tablets. We will need many copies. One for the legal library, another for the judges of the assembly, others for the libraries at Kish and Uruk and Eridu. It will keep you busy for many days."
"Yes,” Nabu-zir mused. “It will be consulted for years to come."
"A warning to all those who might seek to steal someone else's name. All four will be put to death. We cannot have such a thing. Ur itself might fall."
"And what of the fifth, the sculptor of the seals?"
"He did not get far. He was intercepted on his way to Eridu. But he will not be tried here in Ur. We will have to send him back to Eridu. It seems he had a mark on his forehead. He had it removed by some scoundrel doctor. Not a slave mark. It said, ‘A fugitive, arrest him.’ He will face charges enough in Eridu."
"One can almost feel sorry for him. Eridu is not as merciful as Ur. They will make an example of him."
Nindada arrived with the beer, and further talk broke off. After a sip, with Nindada still in the room, Lu-inanna said slyly, “Your servant is very handsome, though not young. The temple should never have let her go. Will you sell her?"
"She is not for sale,” Nabu-zir said. “Her freedom was written in clay when I bought her debt, and she has the tablet to prove it."
Copyright (c) 2008 Donald Moffitt
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Fiction: DAVEY'S DAUGHTER by Russel D. McLean
One, two
"Y'see..."
Huff-huff
"...Sam..."
Huff-huff
"...the matter..."
One, two
"...of money..."
He relaxed. Stepped back. Kept dancing a little, back and forth, arms loose and fists ready. He was getting on, but there was still a strength about him. Maybe he was a little loose around the edges now, but he
still seemed dangerous. I'd never seen him in the ring, but from photos and the way he moved, I knew he'd been a real hard bastard.
He took a few deep breaths, slowed down the dance.
I stepped back from the punching bag. No need to hold it steady, now.
"I ken ye think ye're doing the right thing,” he said, “but I dinnae take charity."
"Not charity,” I said. “Mates', rates."
"Aw, don't piss me about.” He stepped back and moved over to the ring where two boys were working on their punches. Davey yelled at them, “Keep at it, lads. No slacking!” They picked up the pace.
I said, “I'll find her."
"At yer usual fee.” He didn't even let me start protesting. “Else I'll knock yer block off. For nothing. How's that for mates’ rates?"
* * * *
Davey's daughter Kirsty was sixteen years old. Sweet sixteen, they say, but in my line of work you come to realise they're always anything but.
Kirsty was missing now for three days. Davey could have—and maybe should have—gone to the police, but he came to me. He didn't like the local coppers, and more importantly, they didn't like him.
I'd known him now for four years, which was enough time for him to get over the idea that I had been one of the enemy. He thought the police had their place, but where he grew up that place seemed to be harassing him and his mates.
Saying the force has changed is one thing. Proving it to some people is quite another.
So when his daughter went missing, he called me.
And because he'd done me some favours in the past, I took the case, no questions asked.
Davey's gym was falling into disrepair. Health and Safety would probably have a field day. Dundee's working-class gyms used to be part of a thriving community. The lads lapped it up, all that controlled aggression. It was where Davey had learned, in his words, “how tae be a man,” and it had instilled enough pride in him that when the last owner died, he took over the business. But as Dundee became less of a working-class city and the metropolitan poseurs took over, a gym became less a place to work out than a place to be seen. Clubs like Davey's took the heaviest financial hits.
AHMM, September 2008 Page 8