IV
Areshen stood at the serving board of another street
side tavern, deciding to placate one more beer god before placating Ibisien at
the palace. Areshen spent another long moment gazing toward the towering
walls of Ur's Sacred Area a short distance up the street, another caravan of
heavily laden donkeys proceeding toward the south portal. A half dozen other
caravans of donkeys and porters proceeded along Ur's streets toward a maze of
alleys and cul de sacs which lay in the shadow of the Sacred Area's walls.
This a section of the city containing a confusing jumble of factory workshops
and warehouses, most of the buildings belonged to the temple, a few to Ibisien
and the palace. A smaller number were still owned by private individuals,
though most of these contracted to temple or palace as well, bankruptcy the
inevitable fate of those attempting to defy the High Priest Shubari by
insisting that it was possible to exist denying ownership by the patron gods
of Ur.
Areshen gazed again toward the south portal in the
Sacred Area's wall, a Sixty of heavily armed temple guard posted near the
massive bronze doors, and he wondered what it might have been like spending
his life sitting in the Great Court of Nanna counting everything from chickens
to sacks of gold, meticulously recording figures onto tabulation tablets
collected at the end of the day by the Tabulation Priests.
"Look at this," Ibisien had whined in the palace a few
weeks ago, handing Areshen a tablet stolen by one of the palace's spies, a
tablet on which a Tabulation Priest's figures were orderly arranged in tidy
rows and columns. "Have you ever seen anything so outrageous, Areshen? Cover
your nose, Areshen," Ur's king had howled in righteous indignation, "cover
your nose, or the lies will leap from this tablet and bite it. I will sue
Shubari and the temple, Areshen. That is what I will do. Shubari is no
better than a common thief."
Areshen released a long, pondering sigh as he turned
his attention from the Sacred Area's south portal to the equally magnificent
entrance chamber which led into the interior courtyards of the king's palace.
More than likely Ibisien would spend at least an hour ranting and raving over
some further annoyance the High Priest Shubari had caused him. The bickering
between king and High Priest seemed incessant, the bodies of spies reporting
to one or the other found floating in the river with amazing regularity.
With a final sigh and an amused nod of appreciation
toward the beer god, Areshen pushed himself from the tavern back onto the
street, glanced a final moment's annoyance toward the walls of the Sacred
Area, then made his way toward the palace's entrance chamber. Whatever all
the bickering between temple and palace was about, it was quite beyond him.
Perhaps it was time to retire to Isin for another month or two, a quiet month
or two behind the walls of the fortress he had made his military
headquarters. Areshen was quite aware that the people of Isin now called Shar
Dulur Fortress the palace of the King of the Four Quarters. He still
hesitated to do so himself, however, and genuinely hoped that Ibisien would
give him no reason to begin doing so.
Areshen stepped through the arched portal into the
palace's huge entrance chamber, a grand and imposing hall as large as his
house's entire courtyard in which a dozen members of the palace guard stood to
attention. The First Soldier of the guard whose duty it was to protect
Ibisien, King of the Four Quarters, turned and approached, then stood to rigid
attention when he recognized the visitor, the man saluted by Sumer and Akkad
beyond the walls of Ur as the other King of the Four Quarters. A quick,
conspiratorial nod from Areshen, however, arrested the First Soldier's salute.
"First Soldier," Areshen intoned in standard formula,
"I am Areshen, son of Kuru, loyal and humble military governor of Ur, and beg
audience with Ibisien, king of Ur."
"You may pass, Areshen son of Kuru," the First Soldier
intoned, wondering if the day would ever come when Ibisien would instruct him
to say otherwise. Probably not. Ibisien was an effeminate, perfumed and
polished drunk. But he wasn't suicidal. Some of the palace's soldiers were
loyal to Areshen as military governor of Ur; most of the rest were loyal to
him as king of Isin. Save for one or two fanatics living in the past,
however, all were loyal to him, and the one or two exceptions had doubtlessly
apprised Ibisien of the fact a very long time ago.
Areshen stepped through another maze of entrance
chambers, male and female servants of every capacity scurrying here and there
along passages which led into the hidden recesses of the palace. Areshen then
stepped into the first of the palace's two great courtyards. A hundred feet
across and adorned with ornamental stone pools, benches constructed from
costly Lebanon cedar, and life sized gods standing in several dozen wall
niches, portals from this courtyard led to the chambers of the harem. Areshen
crossed the courtyard glancing with idle interest toward a few dozen of
Ibisien's wives scattered among the benches, wondered if any of these women,
most extraordinarily beautiful daughters of rulers and potentates from across
the world, ever engaged in trysts beyond the palace walls. Most apparently
did not. There were very few children in Ibisien's palace, and Ibisien
certainly didn't make children.
On the other side of the harem courtyard, Areshen
passed through another series of entrance chambers in which servants and
palace officials of superior rank and prestige tended to the needs of
dignitaries from cities which still acknowledged at least the pretense of Ur's
and Ibisien's preeminence, most of these cities laying in the southern part of
Sumer. Beyond these chambers, Areshen progressed into the palace's inner
courtyard, this even more elaborate and ostentatious than the outer, then into
the chambers of the palace's inner sanctum, the domain of officials such as
the Harem Master, the Chief Cup Bearer, and the Judge of Audiences. In the
Great Hall's long, narrow entrance loggia sat the Judge of Audiences himself
on an imposing throne near the Great Hall's massive bronze doors, a long line
of supplicants waiting their turn to plead for admittance. The old, bearded
official on the throne shrugged as soon as he noticed Areshen, nothing to
report, and turned his attention back to the supplicant currently arguing his
case.
Areshen nodded appreciation toward the Judge of
Audiences, then toward the young soldier who without hesitation pulled the
bronze doors open just enough for him to pass through. Areshen then pushed
himself into the Great Hall of the palace of Ibisien, a chamber quite as large
as the palace's inner courtyard with massive stone columns rising on either
side of a colorfully carpeted central aisle leading toward the head of the
chamber and the throne. Areshen edged his way through the crowds of elegantly
attired officials without haste, then spent another long minute standing in
the shadows beside one of the stone columns a dozen paces from the head of the
chamber, though close enough to hear the proceedings at the throne without a
great deal of difficulty.
Ibisien, in his early forties, sat with an expression
of benign disinterest, head on hand, eyes quite as glazed as they always were,
emissaries from Gipul, king of Elam, pleading before the throne. How, Areshen
asked himself, does Ibisien find time to apply that which must certainly be a
barrel full of cosmetics to his face every morning and still have time left
over to conduct his Assembly? Setith, who spent an hour reclining every
morning while her handmaids attended to her, looked plain and unadorned by
comparison. Ibisien was undeniably an attractive individual, years younger in
appearance than his actual age. Ibisien was also the epitome of - delicate
charm, Areshen decided, his occasional gesture from the throne delivered with
graceful, flowing eloquence, the motions of his hand every bit as - sweet as
anything Areshen had seen in the harem courtyard, a courtyard filled with
women who had spent their entire lives devoting themselves to the study of
feminine poise and allure. Ibisien's mannerisms were certainly not copied
from his wives, however, few of whom had ever seen their husband from a
distance closer than ten paces.
Areshen glanced another long moment about the crowds
of Sumer's officialdom packed into the Great Hall, a sight even more
depressing than that to be had on Ur's streets. Urbane, eloquently dressed,
everyone in the crowd seemed intent on emulating the king of Ur in the manner
of their appearance. None appeared as though he might have jabbed a feminine
ass or two with his little toy spear. Most, for that matter, probably
emulated Ibisien in the manner of their sexual proclivities, feminine
posteriors or otherwise of very little interest to them. This, Areshen
sighed, was Ur, at least today. Still, all of this was no great or immediate
concern. Perversity was the High Priest Shubari driving nails through
helpless servant's hands, and it was the increasing prevalence of this
perversity which had compelled Areshen to attend the king's Assembly this
afternoon.
Areshen turned his attention back to the emissaries
from Elam, an aged man with a long, white beard now pleading before the
throne. Beards were a rarity in most of Sumer and Akkad these days, rare also
in Elam to the east, were certainly rare in the Assembly of Ibisien. Long
popular in Akkad to the north, beards had gone out of style in the south for
at least a generation now, though a few older men such as this emissary from
Elam and the elderly Judge of Audiences on the other side of the Great Hall's
door still wore them.
"Exalted one of Ur -" the emissary from Gipul king of
Elam continued as he fixed his attention on a half conscious Ibisien lolling
on the throne, then turned a quick moment later to one of his colleagues
tugging on the sleeves of his robes. Both glanced a stolen instant toward a
figure standing in the shadows a short distance to the rear. The bearded
emissary then turned back to the throne, his expression and his voice now
exuding poise and confidence as he addressed Ur's king.
"Exalted one of Ur," and Ibisien's eyes cracked open,
at least a measure of lucidity now evident in his features, "Gipul of Elam,"
the emissary continued, "intends no disrespect, nor does the east wish to
severe the ancient and holy bond between itself and Ur. Elam merely desires
that it be allowed to name the year as it chooses, a privilege, exalted one of
Ur, which you have graciously extended to many other cities throughout the
world over the past eight years. Perhaps, exalted one of Ur, we could also
discuss one or two additional matters of a trivial nature allowing us to
decided for ourselves that which is our own best interest -" and the emissary
fell silent as Ibisien finally raised his head, his hand thrust forward as
though to block further debate. Ibisien searched the Great Hall, gazed a
quick instant toward the figure in the shadows, and then pushed himself from
the throne to his feet.
"My apologies, emissary from Elam," Ibisien intoned,
his usual sweet and melodious high pitched croon, "but I too have noticed that
the military governor of Ur is now present in my Assembly," and Ibisien bent a
beckoning hand toward Areshen. "Military governor, my loyal and faithful
military governor, attend your king."
With a resigned sigh, Areshen pushed himself from the
stone column to the head of the Great Hall, then stepped onto the throne
platform. The officialdom of Ur crowded about the Great Hall had now settled
into silence, dread anticipation on a hundred faces, all wondering if this
would be the day the charade came to an end. Areshen, however, studied only
Ibisien's exotically polished and perfumed features as he stepped forward,
felt as always a grudging admiration for the king of Ur. Ibisien remained
every bit the study of poised and confident majesty the stone carvers had
chiseled onto a hundred slabs of stone. Nothing in Ibisien's features
betrayed the least hint of concern. This, Areshen sighed, is how the
degenerate little fruit fly will appear should the day ever actually come.
Not today, however, Areshen had already decided, no matter how ludicrous the
charade.
Areshen stood before Ibisien a final, studying moment,
bowed his head in one quick motion of submissive respect, saw the usual
expression of relief and gratitude settle into Ibisien's eyes. The collective
sigh of relief which swept across the officialdom of Ur gathered in the
palace's Great Hall was even more audible than it had been last time.
"I must," Ibisien then informed his Assembly, "retire
to my chambers in order to confer with my military governor, my loyal and
faithful military governor," an emphatic nod of his head toward the emissaries
from Elam. "Lushir, my sweet," and Ibisien crooked an arm toward the king's
gallery seated beside the throne platform. As Ibisien led Areshen toward the
Great Hall's rear portal, a nephew or cousin or some such, certainly not a
son, Areshen decided, stepped onto the throne platform. The current heir
apparent, quite as delicately perfumed and polished as Ibisien, seated himself
onto the throne, then with a graceful waft of his hand toward the emissaries
from Elam allowed the debate to continue.
Ibisien led Areshen through the Great Hall's rear
portal, across a small courtyard in which alert wine stewards were already
trotting, and then into a lavishly decorated sitting room. The first wine
stewards had already appeared at the door by the time Areshen seated himself
onto an expensively cushioned couch. Ibisien, seated on a couch a respectful
distance across the chamber and quite aware that Areshen would just move if he
attempted to sit closer, held his cup out toward the wine steward.
Ibisien took a long pull from his cup, a moment's
blissful tranquillity settling into his features, turned then toward Areshen.
"Did you hear him? Did you hear old white beard,
Areshen? One or two trivial matters, says the old farter," the ever present
note of whining complaint in Ibisien's voice. "He speaks as though you and I
were no longer friends, Areshen. You are still my friend, Areshen, are you
not?"
"King," Areshen began, "I want to discuss these nails
-"
"Areshen," Ibisien pouted, "tell me you are my
friend."
Areshen sighed.
"I am your friend, king."
Ibisien broke into a soft, giggling chuckle, lifted
his cup once more, then settled into complacent ease.
"I will never understand you, Areshen. You loathe me,
have no reason whatsoever to humor me, and still you will do so by telling me
that you are my friend."
"I do not loathe you, king. The word is far too -
vehement.”
This time Ibisien broke into a long moment's genuine
laughter, meeting Areshen's eyes with appreciation in his own.
"They tell me that you do not yet hold King's Assembly
in Isin, Areshen. You really must. It is important that a king be seen by
his people. They will forget the great victories you have won in battle, and
you will only have to fight more battles because of it. You must hold
Assembly, and you must have the stone carvers glorify the victories you have
won. It would not hurt to become a god in a few more of your cities as well.
I should have been a god - but, that's another matter. Setith could certainly
assist you when she's installed in Bathul. And when you are king of Ur as
well as Isin -"
"King, I have no wish to sit on your throne."
"You genuinely do not," amused appreciation in
Ibisien's eyes. "I suppose I will never understand you, Areshen. Alas, it
makes no difference in the end. It will all come to pass as it will. Have
you ever heard the name Apitu, Areshen?"
"He was your grandfather's military governor, was he
not?"
"My grandfather loved Apitu. And Apitu was loyal to
my grandfather. Loyal to the point of insanity. Apitu would have followed
Shulgi into his tomb as readily as the ancients followed King Epenatu into
his. But my grandfather was also quite insane, insanely jealous of his
throne, and Apitu was a very capable military governor. 'Apitu,' my
grandfather therefore said, 'you must go to Egypt for me. There you will find
the magnificent pyramid of Cheops. If you can't find the way, ask someone.
There are many stones in the pyramid of Cheops, Apitu. Count them. Count
them all. When you have finished, go the pyramids of Manroe, Cherus, Menesa,
and any other you can find. Count the stones in them as well. When you have
counted them all, you may return to Ur and report your findings.' Apitu, it
seems, has been delayed. He has yet to return."
Areshen could not help but break into mirthful
laughter as he lifted his own cup. "Am I to go to Egypt, king, and count
stones with Apitu."
"Yes. And see what is delaying him while you are
there."
In laughter himself, Ibisien gulped the rest of his
wine, then thrust his cup toward the nearest wine steward. When Ibisien
continued, however, it was in quiet, thoughtful solemnity.
"Send Areshen to Egypt to count stones, they all
begged me. Send Areshen to Egypt while it is still possible to do so. No, I
answered. Areshen is Apitu, exalted one. But I, I answered, am not my
grandfather."
Areshen nodded, appreciation in his own eyes this time
as he lifted his cup.
"You do know, Areshen," complacent quiet in Ibisien's
voice, "that it was the High Priest Shubari who during the famine eight years
ago stood in the harbor refusing to allow the grain ships you sent from the
north to birth."
"I suspected as much even at the time, king," and
Areshen felt again that same seething anger at the thought of Ur's High
Priest.
"'The gods,' Shubari proclaimed, 'have spoken. The
grain from the north is poison.' So Ur starved. Sumer starved. But Shubari
got fat. He's gotten fatter with every passing year."
"Shubari is the reason I want to speak to you, king.
It is no longer sufficient that Shubari and his gods be worshipped by starving
people. He now demands that they worship him with nails driven through their
hands. The people of Sumer will do so. Many Akkadians will do so. But the
Amuru digging canals and working on the temple's farms will not, and the Amuru
chiefs along the frontiers most certainly will not. It is time, king, that
you and the Assembly speak to the High Priest Shubari. If you do not, a
hundred thousand Amuru will again cross the western walls in order to do so."
"The temple," Ibisien whined, "will say that I am
meddling in affairs which are matters of Holy Order, Areshen."
"I will not."
"An excellent point, military governor, and obviously
the one which will decide the issue. I'm still not certain, however, that the
Assembly will be favorably disposed to render a resounding ovation in support
of a pronouncement against Shubari. Well over half of the Assembly now hold
minor priesthoods. Still a greater number are indebted to Shubari. Our noble
High Priest made an obscene profit eight years ago selling his own grain
rather than allowing the grain you shipped from the north to be sold in Ur."
Areshen sighed in frustration.
"Then sue the temple, king. The last time I was here
you had advocates waiting in every courtyard for instructions, that over a
balance on a tabulation tablet which didn’t add up. When I am in Isin, a
hundred advocates stand in the corridors of Shar Dulur fortress, each having
devised some new scheme hoping to ingratiate themselves with me, schemes which
in almost every case involve suit brought against some temple somewhere."
"But those suits do not involve matters of Holy Order,
Areshen. They involve, as you say, figures on tabulation tablets which do not
add up. No civil tribunal will hear a case involving Holy Order. Such cases
are summarily dismissed. They can only be heard in the temple courts."
"Holy Order," Areshen mumbled. "Setith pitches
buckets of Holy Order into my face at least once a day," and with a long sigh
of resignation, Areshen nodded toward the Great Hall. "Then it must be the
Assembly, king. You must put an end to this nail nonsense. I have never seen
any of your servants here in the palace hanging from posts with nails driven
through their hands."
"No, you have not, Areshen. The fact that I choose
not to adopt the latest innovations suggested by the temple is an endless
source of farting irritation to Shubari," and Ibisien sat in pondering
silence, determination finally settling into his features. "Very well,
military governor, I will pronounce in Assembly that nails may not be used in
corporal punishment inflicted on servants of any class. I cannot promise,
however, a resounding ovation, particularly over an issue such as this. After
all, they're - servants," Ibisien shrugged. "And it is no secret these days
that unless the ovation my pronouncement receives is at least as resounding as
one of the High Priest Shubari's farts, it will be enforced only with a great
deal of difficulty, may, in fact, have to be enforced by the military
governor."
"But it can be enforced?" Areshen asked. "And the
issue will be addressable in the civil courts rather than simply a matter for
the temple courts?"
Ibisien broke into a soft smile.
"You have become remarkably well acquainted with
judicial procedure over the past few years, Areshen. I believe you are quite
adequately prepared to conduct Assembly in Isin. Eshieri conducts your
Assembly there at the moment, does he not?"
"Meneturu watches Asch - Esh - whatever, very
closely."
Ibisien broke into soft laughter for the thought. A
fat little stone beer god now sat Isin's throne. One of Areshen's trusted
lieutenants watched the beer god's every move.
Ibisien returned to his wine for another long moment,
complacent resignation in his voice when he continued.
"Perhaps I shall retire to Egypt myself when it is
time - "
"King, I do not want Ur's throne. I never wanted - "
Areshen tried, sitting in silence when Ibisien just waved a fatigued and
inebriated arm in the air. "Why Egypt?" Areshen then asked. Why would anyone
want to got to Egypt, a land far to the west, admittedly one of fabulous
wealth in the distant past, though for centuries now a land constantly at war
with itself, barbarians plundering from every side, thieves busily digging
into the burial crypts beneath the tombs of its ancient kings.
"I suppose I would like to see Egypt's royal tombs
myself," Ibisien continued. "They say they are far more grand than even Ur's
temple. Can you imagine it, Areshen, monuments of such size built when
Epenatu sat Ur's throne. All of Epenatu's household followed their king
joyfully into his tomb. How much more the ancients of Egypt must have loved
their king. All Egypt, they say, labored over the king's tomb, many devoting
their lives to no other occupation. The ages have changed, Areshen. No one
loves their kings the way Sumer loved Epenatu and all Egypt laboring over the
tomb loved its king."
"But why would you want to go to Egypt today, king?
It has been dead for centuries, has it not? A dozen warlords from lower Egypt
contend with another dozen up river over a meaningless throne."
"No longer, apparently. It seems one has prevailed,
has ruled for a generation now without anything approaching the conflagrations
of the past. Our merchants in the cedar forests of Lebanon are once again in
competition with merchants from Egypt."
"Then we are no longer alone in the world?"
"Perhaps not," Ibisien agreed, reaching for a papyrus
scroll on a nearby table and removing the ribbon. "Beautiful, is it not?"
Ibisien asked as he held the document up for Areshen's inspection.
"Chutrinsu," and Ibisien nodded, probably toward the chambers of his chief
scribe, "purchased this scroll from a merchant just back from Lebanon.
Chutrinsu's first passion remains things Sumerian, literature and artifacts.
Whenever someone digs a new tomb, digs any sort of a hole, for that matter,
Chutrinsu is there playing in the dirt. You would be surprised what he finds
buried in the ground, pots and things from Sargon's time, writing tablets
composed in the old script. It is rumored that Chutrinsu is notified whenever
someone is planning to rob some old king's tomb. He will offer the best price
for whatever the robbers find," Ibisien chuckled, turning finally back to the
scroll. "My grandfather was also a collector of these documents. He had
nearly four dozen of them at one time, as well as the services of an Egyptian
scribe fleeing the latest war to translate them. This scroll, it seems, is a
collection of lamentations, some composed eight centuries ago when Snedre sat
the throne. By the way, the kings in Egypt are all gods, did you know that,
Areshen, all of them gods, the physician's slap to their little rumps as they
plop from the womb conferring divinity upon them. I should have been a god -
"
Again Ibisien gazed toward the Egyptian scroll in
searching thought.
"Listen to the words, Areshen. It seems the
calamities through which Egypt lived were the author's inspiration. The words
are frightening indeed.
'The mistress says, I am hungry,
'Vile servants eat their fill.
'The king's small son lies naked in the street.
'The butler enters the dressing room like a thief.
'The royal barge is trodden by cattle;
'the king's path by all the people of the village.
'That which was high is now low;
'that which was low is now high.
'The man who laughed now mourns;
'the man who mourned now laughs.
'No seed is sown in the field;
'no one who has been injured receives justice at the
gate.
'The widow laments,
'but no one hears her cry.
'The orphan says, I am hungry,
'but no one listens to its plea."
Ibisien lowered the document with a pondering sigh,
then reached again for his cup.
"Are you returning to Isin, Areshen?"
"By your leave, king. The Amuru are moving in the
west, nothing ominous, raids on cattle farms, that sort of thing. I would
like to post another Six Hundred or two along the western walls, however. Is
Gipul going to be a problem in the east, king? I have no wish to fight both
west and east at the same time."
"Gipul has sent me another daughter, a very beautiful
one, the harem master tells me," Ibisien stated with no great expression of
enthusiasm in his features. "She is expected, with my assistance, to produce
a child for Gipul and Elam with Sumerian blood in its veins, a child who will
one day take its place near the head of my Assembly. I suppose if I make such
a child for Gipul, we will have no great problems with Elam for at least
another generation."
"Do your best, king," Areshen chuckled as he pushed
himself to his feet. "Each of us is called upon to make certain sacrifices,
to do things we are not ordinary wont to do in order that the greater good be
served."
"Areshen, were you not so extraordinarily beautiful
yourself, I would have you beheaded."
Continued
