Ur

By D E Austin

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XVIII

 

   The palace household kitchens, as opposed to the larger factory kitchens in which the god's meals were prepared, were relatively easy to find.  The chief cook in Ur's High Priestess' palace was in temperament another similar to old Luculsag in Shar Dulur, devoted to Setiluth, and therefore tolerated with easy humor the occasional disruption caused by Areshen's visits.  It was Kinshith, however, who grasped Areshen's hand and led him toward the beer casks.  Areshen for another timeless moment saw Kinshith standing in the metal factory where Etwabi had died, Kinshith hungry and exhausted herself, tears on smoke stained cheeks as she wept for Etwabi.  Kinshith had, at least to an extent, recovered since Areshen had removed her from the metal factory, though still missing was the full expression of that youthful, sometimes mischievous light in her eyes which he had seen whenever she and Etwabi had seized and led him about in Setiluth's house by the arms.

   Areshen reached for the cup from Kinshith, returned her gentle smile, decided as quickly that he couldn't leave her until he had once more seen at least a hint of youthful ease in her features.

   "Kinshith," Areshen began, "it has been far too long since you have seized me and led me away in bondage."

   "Military governor - " Kinshith chuckled, softly, as though Areshen's words were distant memories of light hearted happiness from another life.

   "Far too long," Areshen just repeated as he wrapped Kinshith into embrace and then, to the amused delight of everyone in the kitchen, swept her from the floor into his arms.  "Therefore it will be me who seizes and abducts you," and Areshen turned toward the subtle expression of amusement in the chief cook's features.  "I am seizing and abducting this woman," Areshen proclaimed.  "I intend to have my way with her, and then you may have her back," and Kinshith finally broke into mirthful laughter, something far more genuine as she was carried from the kitchen.  The chief cook watched the spectacle with idle amusement for another quick moment before turning back to the purchase order tablets spread across her table.  Several dozen other women with whom Kinshith now shared life sighed with expressions of envy.

   Areshen carried Kinshith through several small chambers, then chose one which appeared to be unoccupied and out of the way.

   "Areshen," Kinshith whispered with obvious concern, "this is the shrine of Tamuz."

   "I'll throw the old girl a slab of meat later," Areshen answered as he stepped through the portal, then lowered Kinshith to her feet.

   "Areshen, Tamuz is -"

   "Whatever," Areshen answered, tossed several cushions at the base of the altar against one of the chamber's walls, then pulled a silver chalice from a wall niche next to the one in which a life sized Tamuz stood.

   "Oh Areshen," Kinshith again chuckled in despair, lowered herself onto the cushions, and then watched Areshen pour half the beer into the Holy Chalice from which he had just wiped the dust using the sacred, gold embroidered altar cloth.

   "Here," Areshen pronounced as he lowered himself into Kinshith's arms and handed her the cup.  "I'll use this - silver thing."

   "Holy Chalice," Kinshith laughed.

   "Holy Chalice," Areshen answered as he lifted the now defiled and useless Holy Chalice to his mouth for a very long drink.  "Yes," Areshen then continued, "I do believe the beer now tastes of holiness."

   Kinshith again broke into genuine, unrestrained laughter for a very long moment, her expression settling into the gentle ease Areshen had known so often in the past as she drank from her own cup.

   "All right?" Areshen then asked in quiet urging as he watched another moment's ease in Kinshith's features, perhaps just the hint of lingering pain and remorse.

   "I am now," Kinshith whispered, meeting his eyes in intimacy.  Areshen leaned, drew his arms about her, held her to his heart.  He couldn't help but hear the soft, strained cry in Kinshith's throat as he cradled her in close embrace.

   "Etwabi and I," Kinshith  continued in a quiet whisper as she settled her head onto Areshen's chest, "were sisters of the heart ever since we were young children.  We lived our lives together, passed our evenings in each other's arms.  Whenever we were sold, we somehow managed to have ourselves sold into the same household.  We were both devastated when the mistress Setith was declared bankrupt in Ur and we were seized by the temple.  Even then, we managed to have ourselves placed together in Tarinuduri's house.  In this house, Areshen, we had nothing but each other.  Our wages were a quarter of that which Setith had paid us.  Sometimes the sleeping mats were full and Etwabi and I would have to find a place on the streets for the night.  We were together, however.  As long as we could feel the warmth of each other's arms throughout the night, we were happy.  We never once argued, Areshen.  Never once in so many years did we even have a cross word for each other.  Neither of us could make it through another day in Tarinuduri's house without each other.  And now - oh Areshen, never again - " and the soft, strangled cry breaking from Kinshith's throat, Areshen crushed her again to his heart.

   "Etwabi," Kinshith finally continued, "became very ill.  I went to Tarinuduri; I fell on my knees pleading.  'She must have more to eat,' I begged.  'At least until she recovers.'  Etwabi was a very brilliant woman; you know that, Areshen.  But the poor dear was so clumsy, could not carry a cup of wine from one side of Setith's house to the other without spilling it.  And Areshen, it was not Setith who decreed Etwabi's punishment when - "

   "I know, Kinshith.  Etwabi told me."

   "Poor Etwabi broke something every other day in Tarinuduri's house.  The mistress Setith never once withheld Etwabi's wages for breakage.  Tarinuduri did, every single time.  Even when Etwabi became ill, Tarinuduri would not relent, no matter how I pled.  I begged Tarinuduri to release Etwabi's sick wages, but he would not do so."

   "Kinshith, you did more than plead.  When I found you at Tarinuduri's house, you were far thinner than the others.  You were starving, Kinshith."

   "Probably," Kinshith admitted.  "Just before the end, I did not eat for eight days.  I gave Etwabi what little she and I had left in desperation, but it was little more than a handful and by that time it was too late anyway; she couldn't keep food down.  Then I begged Tarinuduri to send for the physicians, any physician, even a junior one.  Certainly a junior one would not be too much of an expense.  'You have your wages,' Tarinuduri answered.  'If you want charity, go out onto the streets with the other beggars.'  By this time neither Etwabi nor I had anything left at all, so I went to the physicians and offered myself if they would come and care for Etwabi.  None would.  I am not beautiful.  So I went back to Etwabi and took her into my arms, Areshen.  I cried; I told her I had tried everything.  She looked into my eyes and thanked me; she smiled, Areshen, and then she stopped breathing."

   Areshen and Kinshith sat in each other's arms in silence, their tears just falling as they would.

   "Tarinuduri," Areshen finally continued with an angry, trembling sigh, "no longer sits in a bath chamber barking orders to his tin and coppersmiths while selling his servant's sick wages for another jug of perfume.  Tarinuduri now wears chains and digs tin with his own hands in the Anulish mountains," Areshen snarled.

   "They told me the same three days ago," Kinshith sighed as well, then broke into a soft smile, the hint of conspiratorial accusation in her eyes as she met Areshen's.  "It is also rumored that Tarinuduri was on his way to the Anulish Mountains to dig tin quite some time before he was convicted of theft and misappropriation in the courts."

   "It would not be the first time I have been accused of doing things backwards," Areshen answered with a soft chuckle.  "And as far as I know, the palace here in Ur has yet to issue a warrant for the military governor's arrest."

   Areshen gazed again toward Kinshith's returning smile, then in silence toward the wall for a long moment, strain and pleading in his eyes when he turned back to Kinshith.

   "If I had known, dear Kinshith, I would never had left you and Etwabi in that house for so long - "

   "I know, Areshen."

   "When Setith told me that her possessions in Ur had been seized, I remember trying to comfort her by telling her that Etwabi and Kinshith would be all right.  'They are both very intelligent women,' I said.  'They will be able to take care of themselves.'  I never knew what Ur was, Kinshith.  I stumbled through the gates, along the streets, slept in my chambers in Setith's house, and then left for the frontiers again.  Shubari should have flown from the top of the temple ten years ago.  Now Setiluth tells me that Shubari still lives - "

   "Areshen, Shubari will always live in Ur.  He always has and he always will.  The mistress Setiluth, if anyone is able to do so, will hold in check that of Shubari which still resides in Ur.  You have done all you can, and you have done that which no one else could have done.  Trust Setith and Setiluth, now.  Rest, Areshen, until it is time for another Shubari to fly from the top of the temple."

   Again Areshen just gazed into Kinshith's gentle eyes for a long moment, a pretty thirty two year old woman with whom he had passed many hours in light hearted conversation, Kinshith never an emotional intimate until he had removed her from the lawless, criminal horror that had been Tarinuduri's metal factory, though Kinshith always a friend with whom he could sit in easy, unforced conversation, quite as though, to Setith's oft expressed annoyance, they were equals.

   "Kinshith," Areshen asked as he once more raised his eyes, "do you - want to - "

   Kinshith broke into a soft, emotional smile as she grasped Areshen's hands with caressing, emotional strength, pressing her lips to his own in a brief moment's affectionate touch.

   "If you want to, Areshen," Kinshith then answered.  "I suppose we do love each other a bit more since - since - "

   "Yes," Areshen answered.

   "But we've never really fallen in love with each other.  And you're still the man with no concubines," Kinshith chuckled.  "The act of love would just be a bother to you without a very strong passionate love.  It has always been so for me as well."

   "As usual, my brilliant Kinshith, you are right," Areshen chuckled, continuing in quiet solemnity a moment later.  "But I could never bear to loose you as a friend, Kinshith, and I no longer entertain the fanciful notion that I can turn my back for more than a brief moment without a Shubari even more vile than the last returning and stealing the life from someone I love," and Areshen lowered his eyes a brief moment in searching thought.  There was a way, he suddenly realized, to be certain that another Shubari never dare harm Kinshith.

   "Kinshith, be my wife?" Areshen asked, by now quite aware that the word "yes" on Kinshith's lips was all that was required.

   Areshen felt the sudden crush of Kinshith's hands to his own, emotional tears on her cheeks as she broke into a radiant smile.

   "No, Areshen," Kinshith answered, and again pressed her lips to his own in a long moment's gentle touch.  "I will be all right, Areshen," Kinshith then continued as she once more lowered her head to Areshen's chest.  "The mistress Setiluth, Areshen, is perhaps the one person in Ur who is yours and the mistress Setith's equal.  I will be safe living in Setiluth's household.  And Setiluth is the High Priestess now.  No one in the world can take me away from her.  Perhaps in a year or two you might want to ask me again.  Perhaps then you might really want me to say yes, and I will be prepared to do so."

   "Perhaps you are right, sweet Kinshith," Areshen agreed, and again met a friend's eyes, curiosity and question now in his own.  "Tell me, Kinshith, now that I have asked you to become my wife, could you say yes at any time in the future?"

   Kinshith broke into soft laughter as she gazed toward the uncultured barbarian from the western deserts.

   "No, Areshen, I could not," Kinshith answered when her laughter subsided.  "You must ask me all over again when you are ready to do so."

   Areshen and Kinshith pushed themselves from the floor cushions, stood in close, emotional embrace for another long minute.  Again Areshen gazed toward Kinshith's kind and gentle features.  "I am not beautiful," Kinshith had said a few minutes earlier.  That, Areshen decided, was most certainly not true, though he couldn't be certain why.  Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that when Etwabi's grain rations had been withheld by a criminal master, Kinshith had starved as well.  Areshen gazed a final moment toward Kinshith's soft and gentle features, her beauty, he finally decided, as radiant as any he had ever seen.

   "I think you are beautiful, Kinshith," Areshen felt it necessary to insist, "your beauty that which Etwabi used to say shines from the depths of your soul, and that something given you by that strange god of Etwabi's.  I suppose, ultimately, it is foolish to think myself so noble as to be husband to someone such as yourself.  Perhaps I was born of and near Ur.  I feel little affinity for the place, however.  Save for a rudimentary scribal education the subtleties of which I have forgotten or never possessed in the first place, I might indeed be that which so many proclaim me to be - the barbarian from the western deserts.  That, I suppose, is how the king of Isin is likely to be remembered, the worst thing that ever happened to Ur and to cultured Sumer."

 

   "Perhaps," Kinshith answered, grave, thoughtful solemnity now in her features.  "Who is to say, however, how valid will be the judgments made by our posterity?  How valid are the judgments Ur has made regarding our predecessors?  The Gutiu kings and queens were by cultured Ur proclaimed barbarians when they descended from the eastern mountains.  They were welcomed with rejoicing, however, by a great many people, particularly those ill acquainted with the niceties of culture and learning.  I wonder why.  I suppose we'll never know.  Great grandmothers fearless in their advancing years tell stories told by their own grandmothers of justice done by the Gutiu barbarians when justice had been denied or not even considered necessary by Ur's own.  I find their stories intriguing, though I'd dare say so to no one but you, Areshen.  And it is in no way foolish to think yourself a husband to anyone, Areshen."

   "Then I can hope for a 'yes,' perhaps - someday?"

   "Yes," Kinshith chuckled, "as long as you remain the barbarous king of Isin."

   Areshen, at Kinshith's insistence, helped her restore the shrine of Tamuz to its original condition, or at least as close to it was possible.  As they walked from the chamber, Areshen grasped Kinshith's hand again, holding in familiar warmth until Kinshith, with a soft, nervous laugh, finally pulled her hand away.

   "We shouldn't, Areshen," Kinshith said.  "I must return to the kitchens," and Areshen turned another long moment toward Kinshith's gentle, pleading eyes, another Ati, Areshen sighed, a brilliant young woman who dare not imagine that her role in life might change.

   "A few minutes ago," Areshen began in easy humor, "we were holding each other very closely when I carried you from the kitchen.  No one said anything."

   "No," Kinshith chuckled.  "But I was on my way to be ravished.  I have now been ravished.  It is not my place to be seen holding your hand."

    Areshen sighed again as he gazed toward the easy humor in Kinshith's eyes.  "We never really fell in love with each other," Kinshith had also said.  Really? Areshen mused.  Are you so certain, Kinshith, and Areshen leaned forward, took her into his arms, met her lips with his own.  His kiss this time, however, was something a great deal more than friendship, his kiss a caressing touch of urging passion defying time and place entirely.  As Areshen had suspected she might, Kinshith quickly found herself lost in the kiss only moments after it had begun, even with other people walking past pretending to ignore the blasphemous spectacle in the holy chambers of the High Priestess' palace.  It was everything in the end which Areshen had hoped it would be, Kinshith's embrace frantic, pleading intimacy.  It was finished, writhing abandon, the surrounding world forgotten as he crushed her into his arms, Kinshith's kisses and caresses emotional and pleading intimacy as frantic as his own.

   Areshen raised his eyes to hers, held hers in burying, capturing intimacy.  It was more than he had hoped for, his beautiful Kinshith gasping in a breathless, dazed oblivion - he waiting in easy amusement until she finally began to notice people walking past on all sides.  It took Kinshith a very long minute to do so, quite long enough, Areshen decided as he broke into a gentle smile.  Holy Order rubbish, Areshen decided.  Both he and Kinshith had just proven it possible to turn their backs on that which others might have considered their proper and polite roles in life, had done so with the administrators of Holy Order walking past on all sides.  And not a single bolt of chastening lightning.

   "King's promulgation, Kinshith," Areshen then stated.  "In your case, the question need not be asked again.  You are in the future free to say 'yes' at any time."

   Kinshith broke into a soft chuckle, gentle warmth perhaps, Areshen suspected as well, the very real hint of passion in her eyes, though most certainly that same obvious and remarkable brilliance.

   "A king pronounces, Areshen.  A High Priest promulgates.  And besides, military governor, you are not king in Ur.  Ibisien is."

   Areshen sighed, shared a final moment's soft laughter with an intimate friend, and then let her go.  Areshen watched Kinshith walk back toward the kitchens for another long moment, certain beyond doubt that he loved her, even if not certain that it was the depth of passionate love.  He had, however, over the past few minutes, seen that same playful light in Kinshith's eyes which he had seen so many times in the past when Etwabi and she had cast aside their roles in life and frolicked like children with him in Setith's house.  That, after all, had been why he had carried Kinshith from the kitchens in the first place.  That, Areshen sighed, at least for now, was enough.

   Etwabi, Areshen whispered, and for another long moment just watched Ur pass from one chamber to another in the High Priestess' palace as the pain again stabbed into his heart.  It would always do so, Areshen supposed, and fled again from the world surrounding him.

   "Areshen," Gipul of Elam had pled when he and Areshen had stood along the banks of the Pendurum Canal the day after Shubari's demise staring toward the walls of Ur, "let me burn the place down, Areshen."

   "Give Setiluth a year or two, Gipul," Areshen had answered, and the towering Gipul cradling two fifteen year old daughters in his arms, one with Shubari's scars on her back, the other ignored by Ibisien for the past year now, had released a grudging sigh of submission.

   "As you wish, Areshen," Gipul answered.  "I suppose if anyone can disinfect the rest of Ur from the rest of Shubari, it is Setiluth, the daughter of Areshen and Setith.  But Shubari is a vile, vicious infection, Areshen, an infection which spread from Ur to Elam many years ago.  It has taken me the past ten years to purge Elam of the worst of it.  Ur is the center of the infection, has been for a hundred years, Shubari the full expression of its filth.  Do not let the infection harm your daughter, Areshen.  Do not turn your back."

   "Gipul," Areshen had asked with alarm evident in his voice, "what is this infection which you name Shubari?"

   "The long answer?" Gipul asked, the hint of amusement in his features.  "The one involving trade agreements, contract tablets, wagon loads of bricks?"

   "You are talking to a brick, Gipul."

   "Nonsense," Gipul laughed.  "But I'll give you the short answer anyway.  On Elam's throne, I hear priests serving a thousand different gods expound a thousand different opinions on a thousand different topics, every conceivable version of Holy Order.  It's all written down, tablets a thousand years old.  Scribes, merchants, officials in palace, each have their own ways.  In the end, however, there are only two ways which seem to make sense to me, right and wrong, good and bad, the just and the unjust.  How do you tell the difference?" and Gipul shrugged.  "You just do."

   "Is it that easy?"

   "Yesterday, Areshen, on the steps leading to Ur's temple, you stood in my path blocking my way when I said that Shubari must die.  I despaired when you would not let me pass, but only for a moment.  Areshen follows the right way.  How do I know?  I just know.  He will let me pass.  And you let me pass, Areshen.  You let me pass knowing that Gipul of Elam, if provoked by Shubari, would do exactly that which he did.  You let me pass because you are a good man, Areshen.  Shubari was not a good man."

   Areshen nodded, accepting Gipul's words in easy, uncomplicated humor.  A moment later, however, Areshen again turned studying, questioning eyes upward toward Gipul's formidable visage, a considerable distance upward.

   "At the moment," Areshen began, "my armies stand far to the west along the frontiers, others as far to the east.  Yesterday, on the steps leading to the temple, Gipul, I could not have appeared a very formidable obstacle standing in your path."

   "This is because you were not seeing yourself through my eyes," Gipul answered, then continued with easy, though sudden amusement in his features.  "I informed Ibisien at the palace that Areshen of Isin will not bar my path if I find it necessary to return to Ur in order to demolish it.  'You, king,' I informed Ibisien, 'because you are Ur's king, will return to Elam with me on then end of a leash.  You will be my pretty little pet.  I will parade you everywhere.  At night you will grovel naked at my feet.'  Tears were streaking the polish on Ibisien's pretty little face, Areshen; a shudder passed through his delicate little body.  I looked a little closer, however, and only then did I realize that Ibisien had heard words far different that those I had spoken, his tears and his shudder by no means that which I had thought them to be.  Ibisien was beside himself with anticipation.  'Oh my giant, massive, brutal Gipul,' Ibisien cried as he writhed on his couch, 'how terrible it will be when you come for me.  You will strip the clothing from my body.  You will bind my hands and my feet.  You will lift me onto your knee - '  He then went on for ten more minutes, Areshen; I swear to whatever god has time to listen, Ibisien catalogued every possible way there is to suffer personal degradation.  He expects to lay in my bath while I stand and piss on him."

   Areshen had stared with amused wonder toward Gipul along the banks of the Pendurum Canal, stared now toward the walls of the High Priestess palace in Ur.  Gipul, Areshen realized, should he indeed return and sack Ur, would most certainly carry Ibisien back to Elam in a cage.  Gipul would probably allow Ibisien a comfortable retirement, however.  Over the course of his reign as king of Ur, Ibisien had done little more than drink wine and indulge his rather bizarre sexual appetites in the back chambers of his palace.  He had certainly done less harm than Shubari, would, if prodded long enough, side with factions in active opposition to Shubari, particularly if the dispute involved tabulation tablets and the like.  Ibisien, however, as well as most others occupying the upper echelons of Ur's nobility, had for several generations now done little more than revel in various manner of abandon, perfume baths, banquets and the like their predominant pastime.  Did all this have something to do with the disgust Gipul and his sort felt for the place?

 

   Areshen shrugged, decided to dismiss both Ibisien and Gipul as matters of immediate concern, and wandered from the High Priestess' palace onto the streets of Ur, a pretty twelve and a half year old girl's features now on his mind.  A few minutes later, Areshen stepped into the courtyard of the house Setiluth owned a short distance from the Sacred Area's walls, then broke into an easy smile as Eta ran into his arms.  Areshen kissed his third wife with gentle passion for a quick moment, watched the same entrancement spread across her features, and then held her at arm's length for another minute.  Eta, Areshen realized again, had already been close to her adult height when he had married her two months ago.  In those past two months, however, it seemed Eta had made something a great deal more than two month's progress toward becoming a woman, mature, finished beauty evident in her features, the same as he gazed from a short distance.  Areshen edged his eyes again to Eta's, promising himself again that he would wait at least another year and a half.

   "I am twelve and five sixths years old now, beloved," Eta began, the same light of gentle pleading in her eyes.

   "Yes, you are, beloved," Areshen chuckled.  "You are still living here in Setiluth's house?"

   "I visit Teru every day when he performs our god's liturgies.  But you must wear clothes in Teru's house, even inside, even in the hot season.  Teru became very angry with me the other day when I walked into his chamber and he was not wearing his long robes.  I don't know why.  Teru is very beautiful.  He is as beautiful as my father was.  He is not as beautiful as you are, beloved, but he almost is."

   "You must respect the wishes of Teru's god in his house, Eta.  It is Sumer's way."

   "That is what Teru said you would say, Areshen.  I will miss Teru when he leaves Ur for the north, but Teru says that the people of Sumer will never give up their other gods, so our god will lead his family to a land where he is the only god.  I visit Setiluth in her High Priestess' palace every day too, but you have to sit in that room and be purified for almost an hour before you can get inside."

   "I know the feeling,” Areshen chuckled.

   "Will you take me for a walk outside by the river, beloved?  You were supposed to take me for a walk outside a few days ago, remember?"

   "Yes, beloved, I will take you for a walk outside," and Areshen broke into a gentle smile of amusement as Eta ran for the waistcloth, her expression of annoyance as she wrapped it around her body little different from that of any other child's close to her own age.

   "It does not make sense," Eta complained as she and Areshen walked hand in hand through the streets of Ur, then along a narrow path lined with date palms leading to a popular swimming area a short distance beyond the city walls.  "I will only take the cloth off again when we go swimming.  Back on the farm, mother would make father put a clothe on in the morning just to walk out the front door, even in the hot season.  As soon as father and the other men walked to the plows, they just took the cloths off again.  Then father had to put it back on again at night before he walked into the house, and then he just took it off again as soon as he walked through the door and got his cup."

   "You are going to be Sumer's chief thinker, Eta," Areshen chuckled.  "Setith tells me that when you visit Isin later this year, she is going to make you consort queen on the throne of things never before thought about."

   "That is what Setith says to me too," Eta chuckled, then turned toward Areshen with a questioning smile.  "Setith is very beautiful, Areshen, especially when she wears the queen's battle dress.  She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.  But Setith looks exactly like Setiluth.  I still cannot tell them apart sometimes.  How can Setith be Setiluth's mother, Areshen, when Setith and Setiluth look like they are twins?  I asked Setith this as well.  She didn't answer.  She just took me into her arms and kissed me - very hard."

   Areshen chuckled in easy amusement.  So there was a touch of vanity hidden somewhere in Setith after all.

   "Perhaps, Eta, that is another question you must ponder when you sit beside Setith on the throne of Isin."

   A short while later, Areshen swam at Eta's side for a few minutes, then pulled himself onto the grass.  As usual, Areshen could not help but notice the wistful expression of longing in Eta's features as she floated in the water a short distance away, her eyes darting across his body as he walked toward a small grove of date palms.  Nor would Areshen deny that he felt more than a little pleasant vanity for Eta's attention.  A young woman in love for the first time in her life had a few minutes before in a very matter of fact tone of voice proclaimed him more beautiful than twenty five year olds.  These same words on Eta's lips impacted with a great deal more erotic forces than they did when spoken by a hundred others Areshen's own age who over the past twenty years had intimated the more sensual of their desires in all manner of thinly veiled proposition.  For most of those twenty years, Areshen supposed, he had considered the fact that his appearance had changed so little since his youth to be nothing more than just that, a fact, perhaps an annoyance at times, though usually one of little more importance to himself than Setith's perpetually youthful beauty was to her.

   Again, however, Areshen felt Eta's eyes burning into him, and for another long moment found himself just standing in the palm grove quite intensely enjoying every second of it.

   Act your age, perhaps, shot through Areshen's mind, from where he had no idea, and with a soft, amused sigh, he lowered himself onto the grass beside one of the trees.  For a long while, Areshen gazed only toward the river, his emotions gentle as he pondered the strength of the love which seemed to be growing between himself and a twelve and five sixths year old wife.  Perhaps that love would become a sensual passion in a few years.  In a very real way, Areshen genuinely hoped that it would, despite the difference in his and Eta's ages.  At moments, particularly unguarded moments, the feelings of sensuality between them were already, without a great deal of doubt, very mature, countless stolen glances one toward the other in which the imagination was given free reign.  When they had traveled together on the back of a donkey across the southern part of Sumer, Areshen had found Eta stealing all manner of passionate caress every morning, Eta giggling in delight when still half asleep he had reached up and pulled her into his arms, Eta supposing the fact that he had done so with obvious passionate intent a very important indication of his love for her.

   In the past few months, however, Areshen had begun to notice the first blossoming of maturity both in Eta's kisses and in the words she chose to express her love for him.  And Eta was indeed a thinker, a remarkably brilliant young woman, another indication, Areshen chuckled, that Holy Order having placed her on a tenant farm near Uruk was a Holy Order so much nonsense.  Still, it would be another year and a half, perhaps longer, Areshen supposed, before he could look toward Eta and see only a woman.  Areshen glanced again toward the child now swimming some distance away, a child, however, who in a few minutes would climb from the river and then lower herself into his arms, would quite as skillfully and erotically as anyone he had ever known offer to make love to him with all manner of teasing and pleading.  And it was by no means an easy matter to resist the sensual pleading in Eta's eyes.

   Areshen glanced again toward Eta now climbing onto the grass, reminded himself of his promise, and then met the quiet pleading in her eyes.  Eta broke into a soft chuckle, however, as she lowered herself into his arms, quiet emotion in her voice as she spoke.

   "Beloved, should you never feel yourself ready to make love to me, it would not be a matter of any great importance to me.  Not really.  Before you married me, I had nothing to look forward to but prostitution in Uruk, work emptying chamber pots in someone's house if I was very, very lucky.  I love you, Areshen.  With my body, yes.  But it was not my body which hurt when I thought you were going to leave me with that tavern mistress.  It was my heart.  You cannot marry every woman in Sumer to make her heart stop hurting, even though you are a person who might want to do so.  But you did marry me, Areshen.  Now I am your wife.  My heart will never hurt again.  How can making love compare to that?"

   Areshen gazed with gentle amazement toward the piercing intelligence in Eta's eyes, then toward the soft, delicate features of a young woman he was certain that he loved, desperately for another quick moment wishing that he could see into Eta's heart.  He must, he decided, give her something of his love, something just a bit more than he had yet given her.  He leaned forward, reached for Eta's lips with his own, the kiss as usual one of gentle warmth, perhaps just the hint of sensual passion.  A long moment later he once more raised his eyes to Eta's, then his hands to her cheeks in affectionate, caressing touch.

   "I love you," Eta whispered, and again Areshen lowered his lips to hers in gentle though caressing and affectionate touch.  Again, however, the promise coursed through his mind.  As he supposed the brilliant, insightful young woman in his arms might, Eta relaxed the searching passion of the embrace as quickly as he did himself.  Areshen then raised his eyes to Eta's once more, a quick kiss to her cheek until gentle, emotional ease once more broke across her features.

   "Give it all another year, beloved," Areshen whispered as he spoke his thought to a woman, his voice quite as emotional and intimate as it might have been with Setith or Ati.  "A year will pass quickly, sweet Eta," Areshen whispered again as he raised a hand to Eta's cheeks, Eta's hand atop his own in gentle caress.

   "I will give you forever, beloved," the depth of searching emotion in her features for a long minute, then that same, light hearted, mischievous smile.  "I'll give you forever if you give me just a little more now."

   Areshen broke into a soft chuckle, certain now that he recognized the beginnings of passionate, heart felt love, both in Eta and himself, suspecting that he would realize how deeply in love they were well within another year.  For now, Areshen decided to give Eta that for which she had asked, reaching again for her lips in gentle, light hearted touch.

 

Continued