Ur

By D E Austin

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II

Areshen finally stepped over another pile of donkey droppings laying in the street, then through the portal into his house's small entrance chamber.

"Military governor," old Shathsurinu began as he attempted to push his bent and aged frame from the bench next to the entrance chamber's inner door in order to announce Areshen's arrival.

"Sit, old friend," and Areshen lay a hand to the old man's shoulder in gentle restraint, then stole a glance through the inner door leading into the house's courtyard. Several of the household's other servants, like the doorman belonging to Setith rather than to himself, wandered from one room to another across the courtyard, though Setith herself was nowhere in sight. Sighing a measure of relief, Areshen lowered himself to Shathsurinu's bench.

"All right, old man," Areshen began, "give it to me straight, no art, or I'll have you hung by your feet and flogged."

Shathsurinu coughed a long, mirthful laugh, then leaned closer and spoke in a low, conspiratorial voice.
"Actually, military governor, she's in an unusually good mood. The captain of the Erub was here less than an hour ago."

"Is that right?" Areshen asked, an edge of relief settling into his smile. The Erub, one the larger of that grand fleet of cargo vessels Setith owned, had been several weeks overdue. The Erub's loss would not have been a major financial tragedy to someone as wealthy as Setith, though it would have annoyed her, and Setith annoyed was best avoided by husband and servants alike.

"Priests of Nanna and Ningal also visited," Shathsurinu continued, "offering to sell the town of Polanu to the mistress at the price the mistress had proposed. The Lady Setith is now High Priestess of the goddess Kethlicuri, a divine Lady held in high esteem up and down the Pendurum Canal."

"Then Setith has had a good day," Areshen stated, another measure of smiling relief in his features.
"I believe so, military governor," Shathsurinu answered. "She hasn't even kicked me. Not once, all day long."

Areshen chuckled, though only because the old man did so himself. Areshen, however, was not in the least amused with the way Setith treated her servants, particularly old Shathsurinu, a former first soldier who after his discharge had failed as a private leather merchant in Nippur. When Shathsurinu and his family had traveled to Ur and approached Areshen offering themselves for sale and asking that Areshen recommend them to Setith, Areshen had begged Shathsurinu to look for a gentler mistress. Areshen had agreed to intercede on Shathsurinu's behalf only when the old man had repeated his plea, saying that he had been turned down everywhere else, would have to try the temple farms or one of the construction yards along the new canal, a fate even worse than Setith.

Setith's treatment of Shathsurinu's daughter had been a trying annoyance several months ago, one of those few instances in which Areshen had found it necessary to strap on his courage, stand in front of his wife, and just issue his pronouncement. Areshen had been well within his right to stand before Setith and declare, "I have spoken." The house and all of Setith's business ventures belonged to her, but the household, as long as they were married, was his, legally and finally. Issuing orders to Setith, however, was quite as exciting as had been issuing orders to the hulking Saran in his first military camp. In this case, Areshen had found circumstances dictating that he do so, that in the end, he supposed, the only real principle he believed in.

Shathsurinu's daughter had spilled wine onto Setith's dress at the dinner table or some such thing. In a rage, Setith had ordered that a wooden post be driven into the dirt in the middle of the courtyard, the entire household then assembled to witness the punishment. The girl's arms had then been tied onto the post, her body suspended several feet above the ground. A nail had then been driven through the girl's hands.
Setith had fully intended to leave the girl hanging in the courtyard until she died. Even when Areshen returned home and ordered that the girl be cut down, Setith had protested with all manner of pouting and whining for the next two days, as usual her cries ending with the words, "you do not love me anymore."
Areshen stretched his feet beside Shathsurinu on the entrance chamber's bench for another long moment. He had loved Setith very deeply twenty years ago when they had married. And Setith certainly carried those twenty years well. Setith was without doubt one of the most beautiful women in Ur, arguably in all of Sumer and Akkad. But there was much about her which had changed. Areshen himself had had to discipline soldiers many times over the past twenty years, had had to do so far more often in recent years from a military governor's throne. But Areshen was pleased to think that his judgments had been dispassionate, rational and just even when the judgment was death. And there was certainly nothing barbaric in standard methods of military execution, a quick flash of the ax, perhaps just a brief instant's physical pain, though certainly no more than was necessary. There just seemed something very needless and irrational about nailing a girl's hands to a wooden post over a few drops of spilled wine.

"It is a perfectly acceptable manner of disciplining servants," Setith had pouted. "It is quite in accord with the dictates of Holy Order. The High Priest Shubari has said so himself."

I'm sure he has, Areshen sighed as he pushed himself from the entrance chamber's bench to his feet. Shubari, sitting on top of his temple, has spoken, probably in between farts. One of these days a few ten thousand servants and canal diggers and farm laborers belonging to the temple were going to start wondering if Shubari and his precious temple were worth having nails driven through their hands. The High Priest Shubari would once again crawl through the Sacred Area's walls into the king's palace begging for the army's help. And Ibisien, with a wide smirk of pleasure on his face, would ask Shubari if Nanna and Ningal were sleeping again.

"I suppose," Ibisien had stated when Shubari had crawled into the palace several months ago asking that a slave revolt in the canal yards near Nippur be put down, "if Nanna and Ningal, who in their benevolent though mysterious wisdom saw fit to make you, Shubari, rather than me, Ibisien, High Priest, are unwilling or unable to suppress the revolt themselves, I can prevail upon the military governor."

Ibisien had summoned Areshen to the palace a week later, Ibisien in no hurry to see the slave revolt at Nippur suppressed. Anything which was a source of irritation to Shubari and the temple was a source of drunken, giggling delight to Ibisien and the palace.

"Areshen, my sweet," Ibisien painted as delicately as ever had pouted when Areshen had finally arrived at the palace, "Shubari and his servants are squabbling again, in Nippur this time. Something about nails. Be a darling for me and go do something about it."

With his usual shudder, Areshen had turned from Ibisien fondling two of his pet boys, had then set off for Nippur several days to the north. Scrounging a half dozen Sixties of chariot and short sword along the way, all that was really necessary in the situation, Areshen had then chased several thousand terrified canal workers back into the hands of their task masters. In an irritable mood because of the annoyance, Areshen had then lined the taskmasters and the High Priests who oversaw them onto the banks of the canal and demanded to know why it was necessary for the armies of Sumer and Akkad, busy as it was along the frontiers, to waste their time chasing canal diggers back into their camps.

"Have they lost their faith?" Areshen had sneered in anger. "Or have your gods run out of nails?"
"Wonderful speech, Areshen," Ibisien had giggled in delight when Areshen had returned to Ur's palace. "Shubari is livid. The Sacred Area's walls tremble with his farts."

Ibisien, however, had taken care to maintain a sufficient distance between himself and Areshen, Ur's king now and again glancing toward the sky from the palace's courtyard, watching for the bolt of lightning which must certainly strike down Ur's blasphemous military governor one of these days.

Areshen lay a hand to Shathsurinu's shoulder one final time, sighed resignation, and then stepped from the house's entrance chamber into the courtyard, one of the largest in this part of Ur, the building's basic design, however, not far different than most others in the city. Setith's rooms and chambers, a half dozen of the building's largest, lay on the east side of the courtyard, Areshen's, three smaller chambers, on the west. On the north lay the kitchens and stores, on the south the servant's quarters. Areshen stood gazing toward a date palm growing in the center of the courtyard, then spun quickly about when he sensed stealthy movement from behind. Etwabi and Kinshith, very attractive Akkadian serving girls belonging to Setith, both naked, lunged as soon as Areshen turned.

"I'll have you both flogged," Areshen barked, fixing his expression into the arrogant scowl which Setith wore when addressing misbehaving servants. "I'll have you both beheaded," Areshen tried, not quite certain why he bothered with protests sounding more a plaintive cry than anything else.

The girls, giggling in delight, seized Areshen by the arms and led him across the courtyard toward his own chambers, then into a small sitting room.

"Flog me first, military governor," Etwabi crooned as she and Kinshith pushed Areshen down onto the floor cushions.

"Just once," Areshen sighed in defeat as he lay back, the girls now running damp towels over his body, "I would like to be shown the least little bit of respect in my own house."

"We respect you, Areshen," Kinshith answered, her expression the epitome of dignity and propriety for the fleeting moment or two. Areshen rolled his eyes in resigned despair as Kinshith and Etwabi broke into mirthful, irreverent laughter, dipping their towels into basins of water next to the floor cushions and returning to a task in which both seemed genuinely to delight.

Sighing, laying back again in defeat, Areshen was quite aware it was his own fault that he couldn't even wash the street dust from his own body in his own house. In fortresses and military camps across Sumer and Akkad, even First Soldiers who resembled old Saran, towering hulks their bodies covered with all manner of battle scars, now stood trembling in awe at the approach of the military governor of Ur, the army in its entirety quite aware that its current commander was far less inclined to tolerate lapses in discipline which had grown into acute problems under Areshen's immediate predecessors. But those were free soldiers, Areshen realized as he stole another glance toward the girls now engrossed in their work. No one had forced his soldiers to lift sword in hand and pledge their lives to king and palace. They had done so of their own free will, and deserved a military governor who cared enough to insist that discipline be enforced.
Areshen glanced again toward the girls, would never understand how Setith could treat them the way she did, girls who were absolutely dependent on their mistress for everything, including their lives. Etwabi and Kinshith, in particular among Setith's servants, had been loyal and faithful for years now, genuinely respectful whenever Setith addressed them. But the girls were not free. What else did Setith want from them? What, for that matter, did Shubari and High Priests all across Sumer and Akkad want from a multitude of others who worked the temple's farms and dug the temple's canals? Areshen delighted in the light hearted laughter of the girls now washing his body in gentle and caressing touch, was pleased that Setith had not yet broken their spirits. He was quite aware that he could never bring himself to address them with anything other than clearly feigned anger. He would certainly never see the household servants as soldiers. Why do Setith and so many thousands of other household mistresses want their houses devoid of laughter, expressions of dour submission and defeat on every servant's face? This was never Ur, certainly not the Ur of Areshen's youth.

And one more revolt in the canal yards, Areshen decided with a defiant measure of anger, and he was going to lead the first Sixty into the Sacred Area, grasp Shubari's fat face with his hands, and demand to know why all these canal and farm revolts had begun as soon as Shubari himself had been proclaimed High Priest.

"Oh Areshen, my sweet," Ibisien had giggled in the palace, though he had done so, of course, from a safe distance, "you will take me with you when you invade the temple?"
"Are you not worried, king, that Nan - Nin - whoever, will strike you down?" Areshen had asked, sighing then for the dismay settling into the king's features. Ibisien, at least to an extent, was worried, one eye searching the sky for the bolt of lightning.

"Military governor," Etwabi crooned as she drew an affectionate arm about Areshen's neck, "do not frown. It ruins your beauty," and Areshen found himself chuckling in an easier humor as Etwabi leaned, her kiss to his cheek, however, something more than gentle affection. Etwabi raised her eyes to his another long moment, the same expression of pleading in the girl's features. Maybe soon, Etwabi, Areshen answered in voiceless intimacy toward another beautiful young woman waiting to become his lawful concubine. Kinshith, Areshen noticed, not quite certain if he did so in amused relief, wore little more than gentle amusement in her own features. Kinshith's dances on occasion were all of the enticing mischief Etwabi's were, though Kinshith, it seemed, cared no more for life's ceremonial profundities than did Ur's military governor.
Areshen wandered another musing moment through fortresses and military camps in cities all across Sumer and Akkad, would always feel an intense little satisfaction for the spontaneous salutes and ovations he received from garrisons on parade, subordinate civil and military governors alike standing with barely concealed expressions of envy as their commands demonstrated their loyalty and affection toward Ur's military governor. And with that, however, Areshen edged his eyes again toward a pair of his wife's serving girls, felt a very genuine warmth for the affection they very obviously expressed for him.

"That's better," Etwabi crooned for gentle ease and humor now settling into Areshen's eyes. "Do you still love us, Areshen?"

"Of course I love you," Areshen chuckled.

Swooning entrancement now in Etwabi's eyes, she leaned again, this time meeting Areshen's lips with her own. He pushed gentle hands to her shoulders, not quite certain why. It seemed as pleasant and genuine a love as any he had ever known, a warmth coursing very real paths into his heart as a young woman so obviously and painfully in love with him buried her lips onto his with pleading, urging passion. Etwabi's kisses and caresses in another quick moment the frantic, devouring intimacy he had known they would be, Areshen glanced another moment's amusement toward Kinshith now busying herself arranging towels, preparing to flee the chamber, amused mischief in Kinshith's eyes as she stole a final glance. No, Areshen pronounced, he unaccustomed to the sort of uninhibited revelries common enough in a great many of Ur's wealthier households, he more than content to remain so. He couldn't, he supposed, deny feeling all manner of earthy intrigue for that which in the eyes of two very beautiful serving girls was every manner of mischievous intrigue. He still, however, held restraining hands to Etwabi's shoulders, might allow himself the amorous abandon into which she had very obviously fallen as soon as they were alone in the chamber. He edged his eyes again toward a beautiful young woman for whom he felt, he decided, as passionate a love as any he had ever known, decided it was assenting hands he held to Etwabi's shoulders. He glanced amused appreciation toward Kinshith gathering the last of the towels - glanced then toward the sudden flurry of motion at the chamber's door any notion of amorous abandon gone in an instant.

It was the august, ostentatious procession it always was, a half dozen maidservants waving fans, as many man servants carrying the portable throne - the Lady Setith attired in all her flowing glory and regalia sweeping into the chamber.

"There," Setith snapped, and the portable throne was placed against one of the sitting room's walls, Setith installed upon the throne a quick instant later.

Areshen sighed another moment's resignation, gently urging Etwabi still writhing in an entranced frenzy back into consciousness, chuckling with easy amusement for Etwabi's soft gasp as the girl flung awakening eyes toward her mistress sitting a few feet away. Areshen settled his gaze toward his wife for another long moment as two of her maid servants arranged the folds of her majestic skirts about her feet, Setith, as usual, scowling a half dozen "you fools" as she directed the procedure. Setith, Areshen couldn't help but notice, even if her features seemed perpetually twisted into an expression of annoyance and demand, was indeed quite as beautiful as she had been twenty years ago, a stunning, piercing beauty envied from one side of the city to the other. Gone though, perhaps forever, Areshen sighed, was that gentle innocence which had so touched his heart when they had first been married.

"Beloved," Areshen began, "you are looking well."

"You as well, beloved," Setith answered, a hint of the old, gentle warmth still about the edges of her features, perhaps amusement as she gazed toward the lingering sensual entrancement just now fading from both Areshen's and Etwabi's features. Areshen was certain that he still loved Setith, just as certain that Setith still loved him, at least as far as she was capable of loving anyone. Many things which had been of paramount importance to Setith twenty years ago, however, were trivial today, other matters taking their place.

"And you are now High Priestess of Ke - Ka - "

"Kethlicuri, beloved," Setith answered, pride most likely motivating the trace of a smile she now wore. "A respectable little temple."

In other words, as profitable as a hundred other small temples in the southern part of Sumer over which Setith was already High Priestess, and Areshen lay his head back to the floor cushions as Etwabi and Kinshith now ran their towels across his body with professional detachment, the laughter gone from their eyes.

"I am pleased, beloved," Areshen answered, wondering if Setith suspected how little he cared about another temple. She probably did, Areshen decided, the wispy smile in her features concealing a mind as brilliant and as perceptive as any he could imagine.

"Beloved husband," Setith then continued, and Areshen opened his eyes for the sudden note of affection in his wife's voice, hoping that whatever she was going to ask for would not be totally outrageous. "It seems that I have also been noticed by Leshinuthu and Bilthu - "

"Lesh - who?"

"The patron deities of Bathul, beloved," patient amusement in Setith's voice.

"Oh Setith," Areshen groaned. "Bathul - that's a long and dangerous journey upriver. The city pledges, at best, nominal allegiance to Isin."

Indeed, Areshen sighed, a half dozen senior officers attached to his military headquarters currently residing in Isin had advised that Bathul be sacked once again.

"Husband, I must go to Bathul. How can I not? Leshinuthu and Bilthu have called me by name. As I lay sleeping on my bed last night - "

"Yes, beloved, of course," Areshen sighed, wondering why in forty two years he had never once received a nocturnal visitation from any of Sumer's gods himself. "But Setith, Bathul is a city, one of the largest in Akkad - " Areshen sighing in desperation realizing that he was arguing against himself. Setith was quite aware that Bathul was a city. Her agents and spies probably knew the whereabouts of every last ounce of gold in Bathul's coffers. "And La - whatever, has called upon you to be his - her, whatever, High Priestess, beloved?"

"Yes, beloved," a glint very like a shimmer of polished gold, Areshen decided, flooding across Setith's eyes. "I have received a message from my agents in Bathul confirming the revelation I received from the city's patron deities. The entire temple in convocation has pronounced Leshinuthu's and Bilthu's call authentic. They have called me by name."

In other words, Areshen suspected, finding it necessary to restrain or at the very least conceal his amusement, Bathul's patron gods had been paid off by Setith's agents, the High Priests composing the temple's convocation acting as financial intermediaries between Setith and said gods.

"Well, Setith," Areshen sighed, "I suppose you are as capable and as responsible a High Priestess as Shubari is a High Priest here in Ur."

"Husband, I assure you, you will have far fewer revolts to suppress in Bathul when I am installed there as High Priestess. I shall reside in Bathul's temple palace myself at least four months a year."

"Oh?" Areshen replied, genuine amusement now in his features for possible pleasant advantages in the situation. It was indeed a long and dangerous journey upriver to Bathul. The city itself, however, was prosperous and stable, its civil and military governors reasonably competent men even if they did tend to act a bit independently at times. Still, all Areshen really need do was write them asking that they keep an eye on Setith, dissuade her from anything overtly malicious, overlook that which was mere mischief. And Setith was indeed right about one very important matter - there had been relatively few insurrections in towns over which she was already High Priestess, though Areshen wasn't really certain why. Setith was no one's idea of a gentle task mistress. But the advantages, Areshen again thought, a soft, contented smile breaking across his features - Setith in Bathul four months a year, far, far away Bathul.

"Then you do not object, beloved?" the same knowing amusement in Setith's features.

"No, beloved. You may go to Bathul," Areshen answered, his smile broader still when he realized there would be no reason to listen to Setith's pleading for the next two months. "But Setith, please be gentle with Bathul. It's pledge of submission to me and Isin is hedging and tentative at best. It needs to be sacked again, but I haven't found the time. Don't do anything to aggravate the situation."

"Areshen," Setith replied, protest in her voice, "I am always gentle. Etwabi, Kinshith, am I not a gentle mistress?"

"Of course, mistress," Kinshith replied.

"Yes, mistress," Etwabi replied, sincerity in the girl's voice, perhaps even protest equal to Setith's.
"Please, beloved," Areshen just continued. "I cannot understand some of the things that you do."
"Areshen, you are a soldier, one of unprecedented acclaim, but you just do not understand Holy Order."
"I used to, before the High Priest Shubari became its interpreter."

"Areshen, everyone and everything has its place. That has not changed. Even Shubari, an atrocious lump of lard sitting on top of the temple intentionally farting into the faces of the gods, cannot change Holy Order."
Areshen broke into a soft chuckle. He could never accuse Setith of not retaining at least a measure of her sense of humor.

"And beloved," Setith continued, "you intentionally tamper with Holy Order yourself when you consort with the servants as though they were your equals and your friends. Dear Etwabi and Kinshith, for instance. I'm doing nothing more than looking out for their best interests, would be scandalously remiss in my duty to them did I not order them whipped when they needed it. I know you love the girls, Areshen. I love you all the more because you do. But they are children. You may love them without reservation or restraint, but you must never allow them to presume themselves capable of deciding what is in their own best interest. Nothing would more disturb Holy Order or provoke the wrath of the gods. And beloved, you simply must take the girls into concubinage if you are going to continue having sex with them. You are the only governor in Sumer and Akkad who does not bother to take concubines, Areshen. People are beginning to talk. You flaunt Holy Order. There is a proper way in everything."

"Of course, beloved," Areshen sighed, deciding, however, on one more attempt at irreverent protest. "But Setith, nails through servant's hands? That seems a bit - harsh, at least to me. What perverted god told Shubari that that was a proper means of discipline?" Areshen twisting questioning eyes toward Setith. As he might have suspected, Setith just gazed down from the heights of her throne with an expression of benevolent tolerance, quite as though she might toward a barbarian from the western deserts who couldn't possibly understand the complexities of Sumer's faith or social customs.

"Beloved," Setith pronounced as she stretched an arm toward the maid servants who lifted her from the throne, "come visit me tonight in my chambers. We will fornicate with each other, and then we will discuss it all further."

Areshen nodded, watched Setith and her entourage depart, and then settled back onto the floor cushions, his mood not really foul, though as usual after an audience with Setith, not that which it had been before. Oh for the days when he and Setith had made love, Areshen sighed. Now that Setith was High Priestess of this and that's temple in towns all across Sumer and Akkad, they fornicated, the act somehow different in Setith's mind, as though forbidden to ordinary people. Now that Setith was High Priestess of Bathul, a throne become in recent years quite as prestigious as Ur's and Shubari's, Areshen supposed he and Setith would be required to put on public performances laying on a temple's altar, a few dozen gawking priest standing in a circle applauding. Not, Areshen decided, on a bet. Holy Order be damned.

Etwabi and Kinshith both released a noticeable measure of tension with Setith's departure, though even their moods now remained subdued.

"Enough," Areshen sighed as he pushed the towels away. "Please," he repeated, gentle vehemence in his voice when they hesitated.

Both Etwabi and Kinshith pushed themselves from the floor cushions, then toward the door. Kinshith, with a final writhing dance, wandered through the door into the courtyard. Etwabi, however, turned back toward Areshen, the emotional plea clearly evident in her features. Areshen gazed toward a young woman he genuinely loved for another quick moment, as usual impressed with the keen intelligence which darted from her eyes, and then raised an arm toward her. With a gentle sigh of relief, Etwabi pushed herself back to the floor cushions and once more settled herself into Areshen's arms.

Areshen met Etwabi's lips with his own in a moment's soft, affectionate touch. He then reached for her hands, spent another long moment examining the scars. The flesh through which the nails had been driven was now healed, as much as it would probably ever heal. Physically, the wounds did nothing to diminish the young woman's striking beauty, though Areshen wondered how else they had affected her. Kinshith and most of the younger of Setith's other female servants spent endless hours adorning themselves with all manner of perfume and jewelry and every sort of finery, each hoping that the next young man with whom they became romantically involved would approach Setith asking for her permission to propose marriage. As intransigent as Setith could be in most matters, she never refused her servant's suitors, asking only the original purchase price if the young man could afford it, extending credit at generous rates of interest if he could not.

Etwabi, however, seemed to take no interest whatsoever in the myriad of proposals a young woman as beautiful as she could expect to receive, ignored the young men who flocked about her whenever she was sent to the market square, just came home and insisted she was happy with Setith, still happy with Setith, even after Setith had suspended her from a post in the middle of the courtyard with a nail driven through her hands.

"Areshen - " Etwabi began as she brushed a gentle hand to his cheek, a questioning expression in her features for the concern in his own.

"Etwabi," Areshen began, his own expression breaking from anger into gentle warmth, "I could find you a husband without difficulty. You certainly do not want to remain here with Setith."

"I do, Areshen. At least for now."

"Etwabi - " Areshen sighed, and Etwabi grasped his hands, gentle ease in her features.

"Areshen, the mistress loves me very deeply."

"Etwabi," Areshen gasped, "she hung you from a post - "

"She loves me, Areshen."

"And she said the High Priests told her that it was a perfectly acceptable means of punishment."
"Of course she did, Areshen. She had to. She hated what she had to do to me, but how can you defy Holy Order?"

"Etwabi - "

"Areshen, you do not understand. It was not at all that which it seemed to you. Areshen, will you listen? Patiently?"

Areshen sighed, laying back in defeat.

"The mistress was angry, of course. But it was not from her anger that she acted as she did. She consulted with the High Priests very carefully. She always does when she finds it necessary to punish one of us. The morning of my punishment, the mistress came to me and fell on her knees in front of me crying. 'Oh my beloved Etwabi,' she said to me, 'the gods have lost their minds. I should never have gone to the High Priest,' and I was shocked as I looked at her, Areshen. Even though I am a child, I knew that the mistress should not speak so. She told me the punishment the gods had revealed to the High Priest. 'Beloved Etwabi,' the mistress said and I was terrified by the look in her eyes now. 'Shubari is insane. We will run away together to one of my towns where the gods are not so cruel.' I was shocked, Areshen, and I was frightened. I pled with the mistress and I took her hands into my own. I would never have dared do anything like that before. I begged the mistress not to defy Nanna and Ningal because they are more powerful than almost every other god and would find us no matter where we ran and would then be very angry with the mistress. When the High Priest Executioner came the mistress took me into her arms and she wouldn't let me go. 'I was wrong to come to you,' the mistress screamed at the High Priest Executioner. 'Tell Shubari, that fat, far - ' well, the mistress can speak just like a soldier when she wants to. The High Priest Executioner, however, was a very pious and wise young man. He explained to the mistress and me why we must not defy Holy Order."

Areshen nodded, settling into a long moment's speculative wonder. It had just been too long, he supposed, since he and Setith had spent more than brief and fleeting moments with each other, Setith scurrying from one temple to another seeing to all manner of financial concern, he to fortresses and military camps along the frontiers, a dozen tribes of barbarians a constant, unrelenting nuisance. Setith, defying the High Priest? And doing so on a servant's behalf? Perhaps there was indeed a trace of the girl he had married twenty years ago remaining in Setith. He just couldn't be certain, however, little doubting that Setith's invitation to join her in her chambers this evening would be forgotten as affairs of business and temple drove trivial matters such as sex from her mind. Setith had extended Areshen any number of such invitations to her chambers over the past few years, just the hint of sultry intrigue about the edges of her features. Invariably, however, sometime during the course of the day, a servant would appear with the mistress' apologies, the mistress detained with temple and business matters of one sort or another.

Perhaps, Areshen sighed as he again wrapped Etwabi into his arms in a long moment's gentle silence, perhaps that young executioner priest had indeed been a pious, sincere young man. But what of the High Priest Shubari, and Areshen once more felt a familiar anger course through his being. So many thousands of gentle, trusting creatures like the young woman he now held in his arms waiting for Shubari to descend from the temple and reveal the latest pronouncement from the gods, and Shubari just farts out, "nails." Yes, Areshen groaned in anger, one of these days he was going to haul that farting piece of blubber off the temple and pound a few nails through his hands. Perhaps Shubari would then decide that he had misinterpreted the latest pronouncement from Ur's - stinking gods. Let the lightning come, and Areshen glared toward the ceiling in anger. Do it now. You might not have another chance.

"Areshen, you're frowning again," Etwabi whispered in a soothing voice, her hands to his in gentle caress until she felt his tension subside.

"Etwabi, perhaps Setith is right. Perhaps I do not understand. I certainly do not understand you. Your family's gods are not Ur's gods. You have said so yourself many times, as does your brother every time he visits."

"Teru," Etwabi continued with a soft chuckle, "is a nuisance to you, isn't he, Areshen? He knows you love me. He speaks presumptuously because of it."

"He speaks his mind, Etwabi. He just does not realize that he is wasting it on the person to whom he is speaking. The total of my understanding of our gods could be written on one very small tablet. I could never begin to understand his gods as well."

"Teru has only one."

"Who has told him that he and his whole family must leave Ur for the north."

"Yes."

"You should go with him, Etwabi. Setith would not object."

It was yet again pleading strength in Etwabi's arms. Areshen no longer attempted to deny the depth of his feelings for her, wrapped her into an embrace of close, finished intimacy.

"Areshen - " Etwabi tried, a soft yet desperate cry as she met his eyes. Areshen just pulled her head onto his shoulder, held a woman he genuinely loved in warm embrace, wondered again why he had not just gone ahead and made her his concubine. She had pled so many times now. Setith certainly did not seem to object, had, as a genuine expression of her own love for him, offered to release Etwabi to him at five sixths the price she had paid for her. Other civil and military governors kept as many as a dozen concubines. Both these governors and Setith thought it exceptionally bizarre that the military governor of Ur, not a wealthy man, but certainly far from destitute, kept none.

Again Etwabi raised pleading eyes to Areshen.

"Perhaps soon, Etwabi," Areshen began in a gentle voice. "Give me a little more time, beloved," and Areshen felt again the intimate strength of Etwabi's arms, a cry of ecstasy wrenched from her throat for the endearment.

"I love you, Areshen," she whispered.

"What would your brother say, Etwabi?"

"You know what he would say, Areshen. He would be furious."

"He would be furious if he saw us now, I suppose," Areshen chuckled.

"Stop, Areshen," though he couldn't restrain another soft chuckle, quite aware that Etwabi still felt at least a twinge of concern for the simple fact that she was naked as she lay in his arms.

"Etwabi," her brother, fanatical in his devotion to his strange god native somewhere to the western deserts, had gasped the last time he had visited, "you are naked."

Areshen, just as naked at the time, had stared back in amusement and confusion. Half of Ur was naked at least half the time. Ur's gods didn't seem to have much to say on the matter.

"Besides," Etwabi finally continued, "Teru will forget me when he leaves Ur. They all will. They'll be far away in the north."

"You will be lonely, Etwabi. And they will take their gods - their god with them. Will you not be lonely without your god, Etwabi?"

Another woman, Areshen sighed, was staring toward him as though she might toward a barbarian from the western deserts.

"Teru's god does not live in stone, Areshen, or so Teru says. I really don't understand all of Teru's words myself. I suppose that is why he is always so furious with me."

"The gods -" and Areshen decided to change the subject before the onset of the inevitable headache any discussion of the gods caused him. "I see Ibisien later this afternoon. Actually, I should be at the palace now, but he can wait."

Etwabi broke into a soft chuckle, quite aware that Areshen held Ur's king in esteem only slightly higher than he held the High Priest Shubari and Ur's gods. Etwabi was also quite aware, however, of where the real power in Sumer and Akkad lay these days. She was holding the man who wielded it in her own arms. Areshen had no pressing need to bow in respect to anyone, though Areshen being Areshen, he still offered the pretense of a bow to Ur's king, at least in public.

"I'm going to ask Ibisien about this nail thing," Areshen continued. "It is quite within the purview of the Assembly to nullify this asinine foolishness of Shubari's, and they are damn well going to do it."
"My brother respects you, Areshen," Etwabi just said, chuckling for the expression of amaze in Areshen's features. "Teru says that you are a decent man, god fearing in your own way, even if you don't believe in god."

"Most people call me 'the man with no god of his own,'" Areshen chuckled.

"Teru disagrees, Areshen."

"Has he been talking to his god again?"

"You really are awful, Areshen. I am certainly going to loose you to a lightning bolt."

Areshen chuckled, glanced toward the ceiling, chuckled perhaps a bit more reverently.

"Teru says that it will be his son who talks to god."

"To god?"

"That's how Teru says it. I don't understand Teru either. He also said something very frightening, Areshen. He said that the nails will be gone before the end of the year because Sumer is ruled by a decent man and the nails are an aberration. But Teru says there will come a time, many years from now, when a land even greater than Sumer will rule the world, another land which will use nails against their own people, and they will drive nails even into the hands and feet of our god."

Areshen met Etwabi's eyes in silence for a long moment, genuine concern for her in his own. He couldn't help but notice the gentle faith in Etwabi's voice whenever she spoke of the gods, or god, as her brother Teru put it. Perhaps that was why he had never made Etwabi his concubine. Teru planned to take his whole family into the north. As bitter as the arguments between Teru and Etwabi had been, Areshen had always sensed a genuine love between brother and sister whenever he had seen them together. Areshen further suspected that Etwabi was far more pious than she would admit even to herself at the moment. If Etwabi did remain in Ur when Teru and his family migrated into the north, Areshen knew that he would never abandon her, would most certainly never allow her to again endure the pain to which the High Priests had subjected her. Again, however, Areshen heard the gentle faith in Etwabi's voice, genuinely doubted that she would be happy remaining in Ur once her family had gone, no matter how much she loved him.

Continued