XVII
Areshen wrote old Meneturu at Shar Dulur, and then
with eminently ambivalent feelings for the fact that the frontiers were
still quiet, passed another idle month wandering the tavern squares of Ur,
stumbling some evenings into wall fortresses, others into the High
Priestess' palace in order to spend the night. Setiluth had not quite
given up, though most of her pleading was light hearted mischief, brief
moment's of teasing amusement before she wandered into her own bed
chambers.
His daughter, Areshen decided as he stood in front
of Heluth's tavern with cup in hand, was very much like himself, brooding
in temperament at times, not dismally unhappy with life, though seldom
given to displays of ecstatic happiness. Areshen had visited Martila
yesterday, Martila Setiluth in some ways, certainly in appearance, though
unlike Setiluth, Martila was indeed ecstatically happy with life, her
smile one of simple, uncomplicated warmth, as emotionally touching as it
had always been whenever she stepped into a father's arms. Areshen had
then passed a few pleasant, undemanding hours with Martila and his
grandchildren, had settled into a mood of idle, complacent ease in the
company of a daughter who had changed so little since childhood, had then
walked back onto the streets of Ur.
Areshen raised his cup again, glanced another long
moment about the crowds in Shensulith Square, and finally, as always,
drifted back toward Setiluth, the gentle though usually reserved, often
solemn expression of her features so incredibly close no matter what the
physical distance between them. He couldn't again escape or deny the
ultimate, Setiluth violently, passionately in love with him - and he
fallen every bit as passionately in love with her. My daughter, he
whispered again, lifting his cup, glancing in distraction about a market
square's crowds - holding an exquisitely beautiful young woman in his
arms, wanting her some evenings as violently as she wanted him.
He stood another moment pondering Setiluth's
argument that she had made him fall in love with her. Perhaps, he
sighed. He just couldn't decide, not yet, and with a nervous tremble in
his hand drifted further back, to that day shortly after Isin's asinine
declaration regarding his divinity. After Etwabi and Kinshith had finally
convinced Setiluth and Martila that Sumer's men did not, unless perverse,
make love to their own daughters, Areshen had again taken them back into
his arms, even after they had become women, never suspecting that an
adolescent problem would again become a matter of any real concern.
When Setiluth had learned that he had been
proclaimed a god in Isin, his deification confirmed in the holy city of
Nippur, she had walked into his sleeping chambers asking to spend the
night. Areshen had pulled her into the embrace they had shared many times
in the past whenever she had visited, chuckling for the passion of
Setiluth's kiss to his cheek, chuckling again when he felt her lips to his
own in that which he had thought a brief reemergence of amusing, juvenile
play.
"After all, father," Setiluth had laughed, "I've
always been your favorite, have I not?"
"Of course," the same mirthful conspiracy in
Areshen's eyes.
Setiluth, however, had leaned forward again,
something in her eyes which Areshen hadn't seen for quite some time as she
pressed her lips to his own. Setiluth's kiss, to his confusion, was just
not ending, nor, he realized with dawning concern, was it anything like
the playful, mischievous kisses she had stolen in childhood. Setiluth's
lips were buried to his own in mature, passionate caress, her embrace not
a twelve year old child's, but a woman's. And in one more sudden and
culminating instant, Areshen had flung his hands to her shoulders, had
flung questioning eyes to hers - had stood in dazed confusion for that
which a moment's caressing touch of her lips to his had been. He'd stood
frantic hands crushed to his daughter's shoulders - not yet daring to
admit that he stood in an immersing warmth not quite like any he had ever
before known.
"Setiluth - " Areshen remembered stammering, would
probably never remember what else he might have said.
"It's all right, father," Setiluth had answered.
"You're a god, now," and Areshen remembered her saying something else
about consort wives and god's prerogatives, the constant loneliness he had
felt for so long now pressing like a weight for just the sound of his
daughter's words.
"Father," Setiluth had whispered, her intent now
obvious as she pressed her kiss again to his lips, not, to Areshen's
dismay, with a daughter's gentle affection.
"Setiluth -" Areshen had tried - and had stood
that evening in finished, reeling confusion. He'd already known that his
eldest daughter was mature feminine beauty to every perfect and alluring
extreme, had gazed endless pride toward her - had for the fleeting moment
or two admitted his eldest daughter a young woman who couldn't be called
anything less than arousing. He'd given in to moments of primal
imagining, however, only in vague corners of his mind, hadn't had any
great difficulty retreating from moments of the sort.
And he'd stood in reeling confusion for her arms
drawn about his waist with violent, pleading strength, that in her eyes
which just couldn't be mistaken.
"Setiluth -" he'd tried again seeing frantic,
abandoned want in her eyes, her breath shuddering gasps as she drew her
body onto his own - and the thing something for which he'd been completely
unprepared. He'd flung his hands to her shoulders, stood another timeless
moment in furious denial - yet stood in an immersing warmth become a
helpless want for something more.
"Please, father," Setiluth had whispered, the
depth of emotion now in her features yet something so much more. "I
really have always been your favorite, have I not? We've always been so
close, father. It was always mother and Martila, you and me. Now that
you're a god, father, we no longer have to pretend, never again have to
hide how we really feel about each other. And you and mother are no
longer intimate. Father, it has to be you and me now."
He'd stood frantic hands to her shoulders - she
mature, alluring beauty burying her body onto his, her arms drawn about
his waist with pleading violence. He'd stood for the caressing, urging
touch of her lips to his at some bizarre edge, must in another instant
wrench her into his arms, she and he to fling themselves into the love
they both now wanted with such obvious desperation.
He'd stood that evening a year ago in searching
desperation, had for another fleeting moment attempted retreat. He'd
flung his eyes again to hers, decided that he was mistaking something.
"Father -" her voice a frantic whisper, "father -
please - have sex with me."
It had for him been a reeling oblivion not quite
like any he had ever before known, the touch of her lips to his unfeigned,
urging intimacy. He cradled a woman of mature beauty in his arms, was
flinging himself past every barrier yet hesitating even as he did so. It
had seemed but one more timeless instant, her warmth his entire world.
He crushed her to his heart - and yet he had for a
dazed moment crushed a lover into his arms, had buried his lips onto hers
with wanting violence.
He'd flung his eyes again to hers, decided again
that he must be mistaking something - and he stood seeing unfeigned,
abandoned ecstasy in her eyes, her breath a gasping whisper.
"You're so beautiful, father. I never knew it
could feel like this in your arms. I've never felt like a woman before
this moment. I always knew you would be the one to make me happy,
father."
Areshen had rested again immersed in that
confusing sense of loneliness, had crushed his daughter into his arms
quite as he had any number of times in the past. He'd crushed his hands
to his daughter's waist, had rested his love for her all of the fierce,
emotional ferocity it had always been. He'd opened his eyes in another
frantic moment to his daughter curling her body onto his own, leaning, the
touch of her lips to his caressing, pleading intimacy.
"Please, father," Setiluth finally cried in
finished abandon. "Please make love to me," and Areshen had rested for a
moment and a dazed, timeless eternity holding a woman in his arms,
couldn't even in that moment allow himself pretense or denial. And yet -
Setiluth's kisses and caresses were unfeigned, pleading intimacy, were yet
again something for which he just hadn't at the time been prepared. He'd
rested another bizarre instant knowing nothing more possible, had rested
that timeless, reeling instant a mature woman frantically curling her body
into his arms - and the thing blinding, dizzying ecstasy as he slammed her
body to his, buried his lips onto hers in devouring intimacy.
"Beloved," Setiluth cried in joy, the violent fury
of her love something he couldn't before that evening had known for the
touch of any other woman. It hadn't yet been anything more than moments,
and he flung his eyes to hers, crushed desperate hands to her waist - the
thing a throbbing, pounding ache which could only be relieved by their
bodies become one in the supreme act of intimacy.
He'd opened his eyes, had crushed desperate hands
to his daughter's waist.
"Father," Setiluth pled the instant she felt his
hesitation, "I am your lawful wife."
Was it true, Areshen had asked himself for another
maniacal instant? Was Setiluth in some way he couldn't understand his
wife. He'd rested in new desperation trying to determine if Setiluth's
plea that she was his consort wife made the least sense. Obviously, to
her, it did.
"And father - you're a god now. I want to be the
woman who bears your first divine child."
And with that, Areshen had finally settled into
something at least close to awakening lucidity. The act, for Setiluth,
was obviously to be something a great deal more than a procreative
exercise in which she hoped to conceive a divine child.
Had it been that night, Areshen asked himself,
that he had began to fall so deeply in love with Setiluth? Setiluth was
absolutely convinced that she was his consort wife, desperately wanted to
be his first consort wife, secretly, Areshen suspected, wanted to be his
only consort wife.
"But - Setiluth -" he'd tried, saw sighing
resignation in her eyes for that which he suspected had finally been lucid
resolve in his own.
"All right, father. I'll - wait - for now -"
She'd wandered into his chambers several evenings
later. By that time, however, Areshen had steeled himself. He'd
certainly convinced himself that he was no god.
"Do you not still love me, father?" Setiluth had
cried, trembling some evenings in little less than terror.
Areshen had pulled Setiluth into a daughter's
embrace, her tears and her trembling subsiding only when he had pleaded
his love for an hour or more, he desperately attempting to explain his
beliefs and feelings, Setiluth's hers, neither ever doing so with any real
measure of success. Areshen had on several occasions once more pulled
Setiluth into his arms after their emotions had settled, only to find that
it had once again become a lover's embrace, Setiluth crying out in joy
when she felt the least hint of passion in his kisses, his resistance once
more collapsing as she pled with all manner of intimate caress. Could it
really be true, Areshen asked himself all over again? Could she really be
his consort wife as well as his daughter? He had never doubted the
strength of his love for Setiluth.
"But we're in love with each other now as well,
father," Setiluth protested. "You know that it is true, father."
Perhaps, Areshen had sighed as he pulled Setiluth
into his arms. He'd realized a moment later, however, why he had used
such exceptional care pulling this exquisitely beautiful young woman into
his arms. The woman he was a moment aware from caressing with complete
and final intimacy was his daughter. Nor was his inability to do so ever
a physical matter. Resting in embrace and gazing toward the pleading in
Setiluth's eyes, Areshen again realized that in a single, unguarded moment
was enough, Setiluth eye's awash with assenting ecstasy for that which he
couldn't hide from her. He'd stood some evenings the thing yet again an
immersion in a warm, reeling abandon which he had never before known in
quite the same way. He'd held gentle hands to his sweet Setiluth's waist
never doubting his love for his older daughter emotional ferocity from the
honest depths of his heart. And yet - it had some evenings been aroused
want which he had never before felt with quite the same intensity.
He'd passed evening after evening in searching
desperation. It had been Setith, to his wondering amaze, who had
explained the full significance of it all.
"Setiluth is passionately in love with you,
beloved," Setith had commenced with little more than gentle amusement in
her features. "In part, she loves you as any daughter might love her
father, perhaps a bit more deeply than most. Martila loves you quite as
passionately. But Setiluth's feelings for you never stopped there. When
she was a girl, Setiluth would come into my chambers, a wistful pain on
the poor child's face, and she would inform me that her father was
beautiful. 'He's certainly the most beautiful person in the world, is he
not, mother?' And Setiluth's feelings for you only grew all the stronger
for the fact that you spent so much of your time along the frontiers. She
dreamt of her love for you in your absence, certain of the mutual strength
of it when you returned home and swept her up into your arms," and with an
expression of solemn concern in her features Setith had concluded with a
statement which had left Areshen feeling an ever greater measure of
amazement. "I'm not saying that you must make love to Setiluth, Areshen,
if you cannot find it in yourself to do so. It is just that since you are
no longer subject to the ordinary standards of morality, Setiluth is again
free to release the depths of her feelings for you. She's deeply in love
with you, Areshen, and she would be devastated if another bore your first
divine child. And in many cities, it is customary for a god's daughter,
rather than his wife, to do so."
Areshen had then returned to Setiluth, concealed
the foolishness he felt, and promised that it would be she, if anyone, who
would bear his first divine child. It worked, or at least it seemed to
for awhile. It bought time, if nothing else. Setiluth, however, as
emotionally devastated as she had been at the time, was still as brilliant
and as perceptive as she always had been.
"I understand now, father," Setiluth said as she
met his eyes in intimacy, pulling herself a moment later back into
embrace, not a daughter's embrace, though neither one of immediate,
frantic passion. "I still want to be your lover, father, but I will wait
until you are ready."
Areshen raised his cup again, shared an idle smile
with Heluth in front of her tavern in Shensulith Square, and felt certain,
he supposed, that he would never be ready, almost as certain that
Setiluth, at least to an extent, was beginning to accept the fact. And
still, even after all that, Areshen could just not deny the obvious end of
it all. He and Setiluth were no longer father and daughter. They were in
every way that mattered emotional lovers. There just seemed no other way
to explain their feelings for each other. Nor did he and Setiluth make
the least attempt to deny or conceal their feelings for and from each
other, both finally admitting in whispered intimacy that they had felt
something in each other's arms which neither of them had felt before with
quite such intensity, at least not in quite the same way. In a very real
way, they had come to feel at ease with their feelings for each other,
addressing each other with the word "beloved" before either had realized
they were doing so. When they finally had realized with what passion the
word "beloved" was used by one for the other, they just hadn't bothered
stopping.
When Areshen hadn't been unable to pull Setiluth
into the act of love, Setiluth had obviously felt something very close to
emotional devastation, trembling in terror, certain that her father no
longer lover her. Over the past year, however, Setiluth had gradually
come to realize how foolish a notion that had been, had with a growing
sense of complacent ease come to realize how deeply and completed Areshen
loved her indeed. Setiluth now felt little more than a quick moment's
emotional pain whenever her half hearted requests for love were not
granted, the evening usually ending in easy humor.
"I just cannot convince myself that I'm an
Egyptian king," Areshen had chuckled a week or so ago.
Setiluth, as always, gave way to a short moment's
somber remorse, genuine amusement in her voice when she answered.
"Perhaps you and I will someday go on a journey to
Egypt together, father. Perhaps in Egypt it will be easier for you to
imagine me your wife instead of just your daughter."
Setiluth, Areshen sighed again, was genuinely
trying to resign herself to the obvious. She still, however, at least in
a corner of her mind, hadn't quite given up.
Areshen shared another moment's easy humor with
the ever exotic Heluth in front of her tavern, promised her yet again that
he would consider making her his concubine if her latest beer god failed
to prove profitable, and then hurriedly made his way through the streets
of Ur toward the river harbor. The rumors, it turned out, were correct.
The queen of Isin's pennant flew above the boat now approaching the brick
peer. Areshen broke into a soft smile as he gazed toward Setith standing
at the boat's rail, the dress she wore the simple garments of a Gutiu
warrior queen covering a very small part of Setith's exquisitely beautiful
body, doing very little to cover the rest. Nor was Setith's point lost on
the social and cultural elite of Ur which had proclaimed Setith a
barbarian little more civilized than the actual Gutiu queens who had
descended from the eastern mountains and rampaged across Sumer a hundred
and fifty years ago. Much of this same social and cultural elite of Ur
had also found some excuse to loiter in the vicinity of the harbor for
Setith's arrival, though as Setith's boat drew closer to the peer, one
after another lavishly dressed personage retreated back into the depths of
Ur, a general rout ensuing when the piercing scowl in Setith's features
could finally be seen.
For another long moment, Areshen felt some
overwhelming and all consuming pride for Setith. He'd worried for some
time now that Setith, queen of Isin, might feel compelled to steal into Ur
during the middle of the night, shame in her features as she returned to
the city and the culture which had shunned her. Areshen broke into a soft
chuckle as he again gazed toward the telling scowl in Setith's features,
her hands on her hips in a posture of arrogance and defiance, an entire
Sixty of soldiers in spotless, shining uniform, obviously the most
formidable soldiers Setith had been able to find, standing at her side.
Setith, Areshen chuckled again, steals into nowhere in the middle of the
night with an expression of shame, would have shuddered with shame at just
the thought of doing so.
"So you think me a barbarian queen, do you?"
Setith, with a piercing scowl, asked as she glared toward the harbor from
which the last of Ur's nobility had now fled, dock and warehousemen alone
remaining when Setith's boat finally drew alongside the peer. The dock
workers, however, no longer even pretended work as Setith stepped from the
boat, nor did Areshen bother pretending anything as he watched the woman
reputed to be the world's most beautiful walk onto the peer. Dressed in
lavish, ostentatious robes of state and listening to an orchestra in the
middle of a palace courtyard, Setith was the world's most beautiful
woman. Dressed as she was now, appearing quite as though she had just
journeyed from the wilds of the eastern mountains, Setith was something a
great deal more than beautiful. Areshen stepped forward, carefully. At
the moment, a plunge into the harbor by a careless and inattentive misstep
was a very real possibility. Several sacks of grain and a barrel of
something already floated in the harbor, the gawking dock workers who had
dropped them quite unaware that they had done so.
A Sixty of Ibisien's palace guard finally trotted
through the harbor district's portal a quick moment later. Setith's
soldiers, however, stood at ease along the boat's rails, perhaps the hint
of cautious attention in their eyes, amused mischief in their features as
they watched the conquest of Ur. The young officer in charge of the
trotting palace guard might have flung one, stolen glance toward the
invading queen of Isin; Areshen would never be certain. Without breaking
stride, he and his troop trotted back out the same portal through which
they had entered, each and every soldier appearing quite as though he
hoped he hadn't been noticed, several of them practicing limps they would
protest were obtained in a valiant though unsuccessful attempt to repel
the invading queen of Isin.
"Beloved," Setith began as she reached for
Areshen's hand, a gentle smile now replacing her scowl, though a subtle
hint of sensual amusement remained evident in her features. Setith seldom
wasted a great deal of time on theatrics such as this morning's
demonstration of her feelings regarding her banishment from Ur. When she
did so, however, she was fully aware of the effect it created, was also
aware that her husband, even if he hadn't been the intended target, had
nonetheless suffered the effects, though Areshen's reaction was something
a great deal different than that shown by most others.
Areshen grasped Setith's hand in return, had
recovered enough of his wits to walk at her side along the streets of Ur
without stumbling, at least without doing so and ending flat on his face.
By the time they walked into the courtyard of their old house, Areshen
even suspected that his occasion comment in response to Setith's attempt
at conversation made a least a measure of sense. The erotic, fanciful
delight he felt at Setith's appearance was beginning to settle, replaced,
however, by the still new and all consuming emotional involvement he and
Setith had shared over the past year.
Areshen then gazed in silence toward the moisture
in Setith's eyes as she studied the lifeless, deserted chambers of the
house, and again Areshen realized that Setith, his own wife, was the one,
true love of his heart. His love for others might be every bit as
genuine, particularly the strength of the love he felt for Setiluth with
whom he had passed the last month. Setith, however, was his first love,
had always been so even when he had forgotten it. Areshen stepped
forward, pulled Setith into his arms, she gasping one quick cry of sorrow,
burying herself into her husband's arms for a long moment, finally meeting
his eyes with gentle ease returned to her own.
"Setiluth writes me that Shubari had intended to
convert this house into a silversmith's factory.”
"It would not take long to restore it, beloved."
"No, beloved," Setith answered with obvious
conviction. "Isin is now my home. My place is and always will be at your
side."
"Beloved - " Areshen whispered as he felt the
moisture cloud his own eyes. It felt quite as though something had
hammered its way into his heart, as though the depth of his feelings for
the woman standing in front of him had passed yet again beyond the bounds
of anything he could ever before have imagined possible. Setith broke
into a soft smile herself, then stepped back and with one quick, writhing
twist of her hips again appeared the essence of an untamed and exotic
wilderness queen, delight in her eyes when her husband's appeared
something close to blank stupidity.
"Get in here," Setith commanded as she grasped
Areshen's clothing and pulled him into the same chamber where twenty years
before they had both, both for the first time in their lives, given
themselves to each other.
Areshen again pulled Setith into embrace, now in a
barren, unfurnished room in a deserted house. He'd done nothing since
leaving Isin but resist an eighteen year old daughter's and a twelve year
old wife's pleadings for passionate love. Areshen now gazed with
uninhibited intimacy into Setith's eyes, pulling her finally into complete
and unrestrained embrace. Again it felt like the first time. He'd for
so many years hardly touched Setith at all. Now it was the first time and
so much more.
Finally, even in a cold and barren chamber in a
deserted house, Areshen did nothing more than pull Setith back into
violent embrace, resting quietly in her arms as though the world beyond
the walls was meaningless, Setith quite as unwilling as he that an embrace
of frantic desperation end. Areshen wondered for another moment if he had
felt something Setith had not. He met his wife's eyes, once more saw that
which he could never again doubt was emotion as genuine as that pounding
into every corner of his own heart.
"Beloved," Setith cried, "I'll never, never let
you go again," clawing violence in the arms she thrust about him. Areshen
lay captive in Setith's arms another timeless eternity, the wild fantasy
of the moment gradually settling into tranquil ease.
"It must be your new taste in fashion," Areshen
finally whispered with a soft chuckle, glancing toward the queen's battle
dress laying a short distance away.
"Perhaps in part," Setith answered, gazing toward
the wonder in Areshen's eyes, contemplative question settling into her own
features. "You are sometimes frightened yourself, are you not, beloved?"
"Frightened?" Areshen asked, not in denial,
perhaps in confusion.
"It is for such reason, beloved, that you and
Setiluth are so close, are so emotionally involved with each other. You
both depend a great deal on each other. You certainly did during my
prolonged - absences over the years. Martila is still that which she has
always been, a wonderfully balanced girl, happy with life. You and
Martila love each other very deeply, but you have both to an extent
released each other emotionally. Setiluth, however, may be the one person
in the world other than myself in whose arms you feel free playing an
emotionally submissive role."
Again Areshen returned an expression of question.
He couldn't deny, however, that Setith's thought was the essence of the
truth. And he was beginning to understand it all, perhaps for the first
time.
"Setiluth," Setith continued, "emotionally and
intellectually, is as much my twin as she is my daughter. Setiluth would
also have returned to Ur her demeanor and attire barbaric and
threatening. Setiluth might well have stood on boat's castle hurling
javelins toward the peer."
"She probably would have," Areshen agreed in easy,
genuine laughter.
"As I say, beloved, all this is only a part of
it. At times you are able to rest easily in Setiluth's arms, but in truth
it is Setiluth and I who are far more dependent on you. But I am not
someone who will cower behind the curtains of a portable throne as I'm
carried quietly and in secret through Ur's back alleys. The fact that I'm
not is just one more problem you don't have to worry about."
"It is more than that, however, beloved. A few
minutes ago, you said that you belonged at my side," and Areshen once more
grasped Setith's hand with emotional strength.
"I will always be at your side, beloved," Setith
leaning, her kiss burying passion. Areshen returned his wife's kiss with
the same unrestrained abandon, then lay back for another long minute
gazing in silence toward Setith's features so perfect in their beauty,
unsure, however, if the fact had anything much to do with that which they
had been discussing.
"Setiluth will be worried," Setith finally stated,
though still at the moment not quite willing to release her embrace.
Again Areshen found himself gazing intently toward his wife's features.
Setith and Setiluth, Areshen suddenly realized, were twins indeed, were
certainly so in appearance. Only if he stared long enough could he detect
any appreciable difference. And in most other ways emotionally and
intellectually, the differences between them indeed defied detection. But
a fundamental difference existed nonetheless. Setith was his wife,
Setiluth his daughter.
"I wish there was something more I could say to
set your mind at ease, beloved," Setith continued in a gentle voice when
she noticed the concern in Areshen's eyes, "but Setiluth is passionately
in love with you. She will never completely accept the fact that she
cannot be your lover."
"Never completely," Areshen sighed. "I have taken
her into my arms several times over the course of the past year as a
lover. As soon as I feel her heart next to my own, however, it is in fact
her heart that I feel. It is the heart of my daughter, not my consort
wife. I say, 'Setiluth, you are my daughter,' and she replies,
'exactly.' I suppose we will never completely understand each other's
feelings," and Areshen gazed with intimacy into his wife's eyes for
another long moment, an easier humor once more in his own. "By the way,
Setiluth tells me that your views, Setith, regarding things divine are
not, after all, so remarkably different than are my own."
Setith broke into a soft chuckle.
"She is lying. I shall have her whipped."
Areshen gave way to laughter himself, his voice
quiet and solemn, however, when he continued.
"Setith, would you not feel at least a little
remorse were I and Setiluth to make love to each other?" and Areshen met
Setith's eyes with an expression of apology, not certain if the question
tread beyond the bounds of all social propriety, or was just absurd.
Setith's answer, however, wasn't really that which Areshen might have
expected.
"Yes, I probably would feel remorse, possibly a
great deal of it, beloved," Setith answered in a soft, thoughtful voice,
grasping Areshen's hand with emotional strength as she did so. "I would
feel remorse because you would, beloved. Setiluth is correct; my beliefs
are not remarkably different than are your own. I do believe, however,
that there is a Holy Order of some sort, even if I'm not exactly certain
what it is or where it comes from. At the same time, however, I find
myself uneasy at the thought of you and Setiluth making love to each
other. Nor do I know exactly why. I suspect the answer is the simple,
rational, and natural one. Setiluth is my daughter as well. It is not
difficult for me to understand your feelings, beloved. Setiluth, however,
holds far more traditional views regarding the origin of Holy Order."
"While you," Areshen asked with mischief in his
eyes, "think the gods so much garbage."
"The gods strike you down," Setith protested, that
same expression of scandal and horror in her eyes. Areshen searched a bit
closer this time, however, was certain a quick moment later that at least
a part of the scandal and horror in Setith's features was that which he
now suspected it had been all along, an affectation.
"My apologies, beloved," Areshen answered in easy
humor. "How could I ever have doubted your piety - "
"Get up," Setith groaned, a wilderness queen once
again as she pushed herself to her feet, grasped Areshen's hand with
capturing strength. "Setiluth is waiting for us. She will be worried."
Areshen again made his way onto the streets of Ur
with a wife who a year ago might have walked these same streets with a
sizable procession of attendants waving fans and carrying portable thrones
or whatever else she might have needed along the way, Setith now walking
with no one but her own husband at her side, her clothing ever more
martial and utilitarian than that worn by Areshen himself. Nor, despite
the fact that Setith was no taller than the average woman on the streets
of Ur, did she appear any less formidable than an actual eastern queen.
Servants and such, Areshen noticed, still glanced toward Setith with that
same gentle adoration in their eyes. Ur's nobility, however, Setith's own
for most of her life, found excuses to step into the nearest alley at her
approach. If Setith felt any regret or remorse for the fact, however, she
displayed none of it.
Areshen stole another wondering glance toward his
wife. For twenty years now he had walked these same streets in soldier's
attire and thought nothing of it. Setith, for very long moments, had been
just another soldier walking at his side, Meneturu or Meshduri perhaps,
the queen's dagger Setith wore at her side strikingly similar in
appearance to an officer's short sword. Areshen stole yet another glance
- toward the invading warrior queen from some barbaric wilderness toward
whom the civilized elite Ur gazed trembling fright. He had as often as
any man in Sumer spent idle moments pondering a beautiful Gutiu warrior
queen as she might have appeared several hundred years, had fantasized
that warrior queen stepping from her chariot and pushing his body to the
ground, erotic delight in her eyes as she took what she wanted. Areshen
stood again in an abandoned house, Setith's hand grasping his clothing as
she ordered him to the floor. He had just lived, he suddenly realized,
one of the most powerfully erotic fantasies of the past hundred years.
And the reality, he realized as well, had been something a great deal more
than he would ever have imagined it to be.
"Beloved," Setith began, a mix of concern and
amusement in her voice as Areshen recovered from a stumble which had
nearly resulted in complete disaster. Setith noticed the expression of
entrancement once more evident in her husband's features, ever greater
amusement in her own.
"My intention, beloved," Setith chuckled, "was to
smite Ur, not you."
"You seem to have done both, beloved," Areshen
answered, sufficiently recovered to continue with at least a measure of
intelligence. "When we last saw each other in Shar Dulur, Setith, I
remember you saying that you were a High Priestess rather than a queen in
temperament and education, or something to that effect."
Again Setith broke into a soft chuckle, though a
quick moment later a touch of solemn remorse once more settled into her
features as she glanced about the city which had been her home and her
place of birth, a city which had disowned her because she had refused to
give up the husband she loved.
"I will never again return to Ur," Setith
continued, the fierce, burning scowl once more in her features, "wearing
anything but the plain battle dress of a queen."
Areshen grasped Setith's hand, pride for her, he
supposed, dominating his emotions, though once again he found it necessary
to lower his eyes to the street, choosing his way with conscious and
cautious concern.
Finally climbing the ramp leading to the south
portal in the Sacred Area's walls, Areshen suspected Setith capable of
adapting to any role in life. Nor, when he considered the situation as it
was, did it seem so remarkable that he could walk at Setith's side along
the streets of Ur and feel himself the protected as well as the
protector. Setith, even before she had been cast out from Ur's social
nobility only to find herself sharing Isin's highest military office with
her husband, had never required a great deal of protection from anyone. A
raving lunatic completely dispossessed of his senses might dare approach
Setith in some posture other than bowing submission. Even then, Areshen
would feel no great concern for Setith's safety. He had witnessed the
skillful, athletic twist of Setith's body any number of times as she
directed an infuriated kick toward some unfortunate who had angered her.
The younger and stronger the man, the further he flew. A little less than
a year ago, Areshen had stood atop fortress walls watching Ur's younger
generation in training for soldiers, most a very poor match for the
bundled stacks of swamp reeds with which they fought. None would stand
the slightest chance contesting their martial abilities against Setith.
Walking now beneath the walls of the High
Priestess' palace in the Sacred Area and grasping Setith's hand in gentle
warmth, Areshen drifted back to the towering Gipul of Elam for another
long, thoughtful moment, supposing the close friendship between Setith and
Gipul the result of their mutual brilliance in affairs of business and
such.
"That's part of it," the roaring Gipul with arms
of flowing stone had stated as the pitcher of beer disappeared down his
throat. "In part, however, the friendship between Setith and myself was
forged on the wrestling mats in her father's house. I lowered my guard
the first time I watched a skinny sixteen year old girl approach. A very
big mistake on my part, Areshen. My bruises healed after a few days, and
I asked for a rematch, deciding to keep my eyes open this time. I almost
won - at least my defeat was not quite so ignominious. Setith, however,
is slightly quicker than a bolt of lightning, stronger than your average
ox, and possesses and uncanny knowledge of the laws of motion and
balance. My fourfold advantage in weight was nothing but a hindrance to
me. And that was when Setith was a child. Setith is now a woman, no
longer skinny, and I fall on my knees in gratitude from time to time for
the fact that we are close friends. I still, however, have a contingency
plan prepared for the day Setith is observed approaching the borders of
Elam with a scowl on her face. My armies will be arrayed in close
formation along the road upon which she drives, myself posted prominently
to the rear. As soon as Setith comes into sight, I wish my armies luck,
turn, and run. I intend to run until I have crossed India, will slow
down, perhaps, when I have reached China."
Areshen broke into open laughter as he and Setith
approached the entrance chamber of the High Priestess' palace, turning
toward the clearly evident question and intrigue in Setith's features.
"I love you, beloved," Areshen just said, and
watched gentle adoration settle once more across Setith's features, quite
as grateful as Gipul, he supposed, that it was there. Gipul fleeing
Setith's wrath might have felt comfortable slackening his pace along the
frontiers of China. Areshen had always thought it more prudent to
continue on toward one of the warlord's palaces which, according to
several of his Chinese consort wives in Isin, lay along the shores of a
vast ocean.
"Even then," Areshen had informed Gipul, "I intend
to have a boat concealed in the bushes somewhere, just in case."
"Beloved?" Setith again asked as they walked into
the palace's entrance chamber.
"I was thinking about Gipul, beloved," Areshen
began in explanation for the amusement in his features. "When he was in
Ur, he told me that he may soon be ready for a rematch with you."
Setith broke into soft laughter as she grasped
Areshen's arm in gentle, affectionate embrace. A quick moment later they
passed from the entrance chamber into the palace's purification room.
With a long, despondent sigh, Areshen gazed toward rows of ceramic pots
containing the Holy Oils, basins of water near another wall, incense jars,
ablutions bowls, a hundred other shining, gold plated utensils of
purification sitting on shelves throughout the chamber, all of which for
the past month now he had ignored as he trotted into the next chamber, the
Purification Priests wearing expressions ranging from amusement to
annoyance as he did so.
Areshen turned pleading eyes toward Setith, quite
aware, however, that today he would be spending the next hour on a bench
in this chamber.
"Beloved," Setith frowned as she removed her own
clothing, nodding for Areshen to do the same.
"I washed my feet this morning," Areshen groaned a
quick minute later as Purification Priests with basins of water and pots
of Holy Oil beside the bench on which he and Setith now sat played with
his feet.
Again Setith just broke into a soft smile as she
grasped Areshen's arm.
"It is a courtesy to Setiluth, beloved," Setith
answered. "After all, she is the High Priestess," and Areshen settled
back against the chamber's wall, Setith's words by and large a mystery to
him. Areshen then realized that it had been some time now since he,
Setith, and Setiluth had sat together in the same room, realized further
that he had no idea how Setith and Setiluth would deport themselves
greeting each other for the first time since Setith had left Ur for the
north.
Areshen found out, however, less than a minute
later, as Setiluth hurried through the purification chamber's rear portal.
"Mother," Setiluth cried as she flung herself into
Setith's arms.
"Oh Setiluth," Setith sighed as she lifted her
eyes, "we were only half way through the purification rites. You of all
people - "
"Mother, I couldn't wait. I just couldn't. As
soon as I heard that you were in the palace - " and Areshen watched with
keen interest as two women so close to twins in appearance gazed silently
and intimately into each other's eyes. Again they pulled each other into
embrace, the frantic, emotional intensity of which was certainly as
obvious as any Areshen had ever seen two people share. Areshen had for so
long now seen expressions of scowling irritation in both women's features
as they studied tabulation tablets and the like, their scowls, if
anything, even more pronounced when it happened to be a tablet sent by one
to the other. Perhaps, Areshen suspected, that had been why he had felt
concern for this moment, wondering if Setith's and Setiluth's
protestations of love for each other had been genuine, or had been spoken
just for his benefit. Obviously the former, Areshen chuckled as he
watched Setith and Setiluth hold each other at arm's length, tears on
their cheeks as though it had been twenty years rather than twelve months
since they had last seen each other.
Who, Areshen then asked himself, supposing it the
only matter of concern left to ask, was mother, and who was daughter?
He'd seen the roles reversed any number of times in the past, particularly
when the daughter was as old as Setiluth.
"Now, young lady," Setith commanded, "you have
defiled both me and yourself by touching me before I had completed the
purification rites. I want you naked and sitting on that bench at once,"
Setith standing in scowling impatience, her arm rigidly pointed toward the
bench.
"Yes, mother," Setiluth chuckled in submission as
she hurriedly removed her clothing and lowered herself to the bench in
order to undergo the purification rites.
"On oath to the gods," Setith groaned in annoyance
as she lowered herself to Setiluth's side and back into embrace, "you of
all people, Setiluth. You're becoming as careless as your father. I
raised you better than that."
"I'm sorry, mother," Setiluth answered. "I
promise, I'll be more careful," Areshen gazing as inconspicuously as
possible toward the Purification Priests ladling Holy Oil onto his feet,
suspecting Setith's and Setiluth's conversation very similar to any number
of others they had shared in the past in which an apostate husband and
father was the topic of concern.
"Mother," Setiluth continued, amused mischief now
in her eyes, "father does not even bother to stop in the purification
chamber when he comes to the palace."
Areshen once more flung studying eyes toward his
feet.
"That is your father," Setith protested. "I
raised you and Martila to be proper young ladies. How I ever managed to
do so with your father living in the same house, I will never know. Were
it not for the fact that he was called so often to the frontiers, I might
have given up in despair and sent both you and Martila to Egypt in order
to be educated."
"Mother," Setiluth chuckled, "we weren't that
bad?"
"No," Setith finally sighed, raised a gentle hand
to her daughter's forehead, emotion once more awash in her eyes. "And
look how you turned out, beloved. No one is more suited to sit the High
Priestess' throne in Ur."
Again Areshen couldn't help but notice the
moisture in their eyes as Setith and Setiluth pulled each other into
embrace, their kiss a long moment's intimate affection.
"I do not understand," Areshen then asked in
amusement as he waved his hand back and forth between Setith and Setiluth.
"Does not the defiling still flow back and forth when you touch each
other?"
Several Purification Priests choked back
laughter. Both Setith and Setiluth turned their gaze from each other
toward a barbarian from the western deserts. Big mistake, Areshen sighed
as he gazed again toward his feet.
"Is he done?" Setiluth asked, and a Purification
Priest nodded. "Go have some beer, father," Setiluth chuckled. "It is
the one chamber to which you can now find you way without getting lost."
Areshen nodded, relief in his features as he
hurried from the chamber before either Setith or Setiluth changed their
minds. Areshen little doubted the moment's order of submission among the
three of them. He, most certainly, was last on the list.
Continued
