VIII
Areshen pushed himself straight in the chariot,
then gazed across a mile of open farmland toward the walls of the city of
Nippur, the Holy City of Sumer and Akkad. Areshen gazed another long
moment toward the armies of Sumer and Akkad now encamped on open fields
beneath the city's walls.
There was, as old Meneturu at Shar Dulur had
stated a month ago, no turning back now, Areshen supposed. Twenty
thousand soldiers, the officers and First Soldiers of which swore
allegiance to various cities across Sumer and Akkad and then took orders
from Shar Dulur, also studied the walls of Nippur, its portals locked and
bared. A dozen other commanders answering to Isin and Shar Dulur had led
formations of troops on a tour of the south, parading their commands
before garrisons still professing loyalty to Ur, the only city still
capable of rallying any appreciable opposition against Isin and Shar
Dulur. Ibisien, Areshen's spies in Ur reported, had decided to react to
the situation in his usual manner. The king of Ur had retreated into the
back chambers of his palace and gotten drunk. Shubari, High Priest of Ur,
had sent a few dozen products of his indiscretions from city to city
across the south calling on them to march in defense of Nippur, the Holy
City now besieged by the blasphemous pretender from Isin. Without
exception, however, according to Areshen's staff officers now touring the
south, the commanders of those garrisons still professing loyalty to Ur
were content to do so behind the locked and bared gates of their
fortresses. The second siege of Nippur, Areshen had finally sighed in
relief, would be no spark touching off a general conflagration between the
cities of Sumer and Akkad.
Areshen gazed from his chariot for another long
moment toward the closest of the troop encampments now ringing Nippur,
hundreds of tents arranged on either side of a narrow dirt track which led
directly up to the city's gates. This military encampment might have
appeared an awesome and impressive sight to the uninformed observer,
though Areshen was quite aware of the truth. Sumer's real soldiers were
still posted along the frontiers holding a hundred tribes of wandering
barbarians at bay. The troops now encamped on every side of Areshen's
chariot brandishing pike and short sword in practice were by and large
levies of reserve called back to service just a month ago, half of them,
perhaps, capable of scaling Nippur's walls without falling off the
ladders. At least the First Soldiers, Areshen decided as he watched
another Sixty of archers loose their arrows, appeared reasonably
competent, most of these First Soldiers veterans of campaigns along the
frontiers.
Areshen finally nodded toward the young driver
standing beside him in the chariot, the driver reigning the horses
forward, then for a mile along the narrow, dusty road leading toward
Nippur's walls.
As usual, Areshen passed a long moment in tranquil
thought of Ati as the chariot rumbled along. Perhaps he would make Etwabi
his concubine, perhaps not. He genuinely loved the quiet though
passionate young woman residing in his wife's house in Ur, was certain
that the affection Etwabi expressed from him was in great part genuine as
well. But there remained some subtle hint of distance between Etwabi and
himself, something Areshen could not quite explain. My sister, Teru had
stated the last time Areshen had visited, is Ur, mostly, but not quite
all, at least not yet.
Again Areshen found himself in Ati's unassuming
and gentle arms at Shar Dulur, Ati who was just Ati, and Areshen felt
certain that bliss would have been spending his life with Ati in a small,
one room farmhouse like the one in which he had begun life, armies and
political intrigue someone else's concern. Who knows, Areshen sighed.
Twenty years ago he had been a young officer with a growing reputation as
a successful field strategist, certain that he had found happiness when a
young woman from Ur's Sumerian nobility had noticed and then professed her
love for him. Areshen still loved Setith, very deeply, he supposed,
though he supposed as well that it was now easier to love Setith from a
respectable distance, preferably as great a distance as possible.
Would he and Ati, Areshen asked himself again, had
they lived the past twenty years in a one room farm house, be able to rest
quietly in each other's arms today certain, as they felt emotional and
sensual warmth in each other's kiss, that their hearts beat as one? Nor,
Areshen supposed, would any old farmer living in a one room farm house be
likely to tell him. Most such still feared the gods, would tell him what
they believed he wanted to hear rather than the truth.
Oh for a beer, Areshen sighed as the chariot
bounded along, Nippur's walls looming ever larger in the near distance.
Setith, sweet Etwabi in Ur, gentle Ati at Shar Dulur - and even Heluth,
Areshen supposed with a wondering chuckle, wild exotic Heluth standing in
front of her tavern's serving board in Shensulith Square chucking
unprofitable gods into their corner. How genuine, of late, had the spark
of pleading in Heluth's eyes become whenever she stated that she would be
willing to forgo the honor of being a minor order priestess in order to
sell herself into Areshen's household.
Areshen finally turned his attention back to the
walls of Nippur and the earthen ramp which led up to a locked gate,
archers standing on the wall towers in both directions for as far as he
could see. Areshen lifted his shield as they approached the walls, though
he doubted that any of Nippur's defenders would target a single
approaching chariot, particularly since no trumpet declaring the
commencement of war had yet sounded.
When the chariot's driver had reigned the horses
to a halt beneath the city's walls, Areshen glanced with studying
concentration toward the soldiers gazing down from above, few of whom
appeared a great deal more competent than his own soldiers in encampment
now besieging the city. Nippur, the Holy City of Sumer and Akkad, had
never before found it necessary to depend on itself for a great deal of
anything, its temple of Enlil, Enlil supreme among the Sumerian pantheon
of the gods, receiving a share of the produce from every other city across
Sumer and Akkad.
Shubari - Areshen sighed in disgust. Nippur's
gates were locked and bared because of Ur's farting High Priest. Does
Shubari really believe that Enlil is suddenly going to wake up and hurl
lighting bolts down on the armies surrounding the city? Areshen sighed
annoyance again, pushing himself straight in the chariot.
"Tebro," he finally shouted toward the walls.
"Tebro, military governor of Nippur and son of a slobbering, flea infested
dog? Where are you, Tebro? Stand up and render an account of yourself."
Areshen could not help but notice most of the
soldiers atop the walls concealing expressions of amusement as a pink
faced, polished, obese little man waddled forward, Tebro typical of most
of Sumer and Akkad's military governors, passing his time in his palace's
perfume baths.
"Areshen of Isin," Tebro began, his voice hardly
more imposing than a castrate's serving in the city's temple precinct, "we
do not fear you. You dare not defile these sacred walls with your
rabble. Go away. Lord Enlil will protect us."
"Shit from a constipated, worm plagued sheep,
Tebro," Areshen scoffed, his voice almost a sigh of annoyance as it echoed
off the city walls. Areshen passed another moment studying a few more of
the soldiers atop the walls, tense amusement now in their expressions,
those closest to Tebro turning their backs as Tebro glared furiously in
every direction.
"Tebro," Areshen continued, "stop playing
soldier. You're not cut out for it. Climb down from those walls and
unbar the gates now and I will let you waddle back to Ur and your sweet
Shubari's loving arms."
"Inumen is High Priest here in Nippur," Tebro
answered. "Enlil is our divine Lord."
"Inumen began in one of Shubari's back chambers,
Tebro. Most say the same of you. Climb down from those walls, Tebro.
I'm not interested in you. I intend to roast the High Priest's liver on
the temple's altar. Unless you climb down from those walls and stop
making a nuisance of yourself, your liver will roast on the altar beside
the High Priest’s."
Areshen studied Tebro's plump and polished face
for another long moment, the crack in his composure obvious, his attempt
to conceal his fright comical. Areshen studied a few more of the amateur
archers lining the walls, none of whom would suppose the barbaric nature
of his words out of character. Tebro and the garrison of Nippur were
hardly competent enough to maintain order even in the Amuru construction
yards along the canals. The men in Tebro's command could not be pleased
that they now faced a man reputed to be far more barbaric than a hundred
tribes of savage barbarians he had defeated in battle along the frontiers.
"Tebro," Areshen continued, the same note of
dismissive annoyance in his voice, "you are becoming a bother to me. If
you do not climb down from those walls and unbar the gates, I will return
with my army. When I am finished with Nippur, Enlil will no longer sit on
his golden couch atop the temple. He and everyone else on these walls
will be relieving their bowels in a mud shit house beside an irrigation
ditch. When I am finished with Nippur, no brick will remain standing on
another. I and my army will feast on the grain piled in your temple while
you and yours are fleeing naked across the western deserts. I will
proclaim to the chiefs of every tribe in the desert that you and your men
are fair sport, to be taken, spitted, and roasted at their pleasure."
"You frighten no one," Tebro answered, his voice a
terrified squeak. Again Areshen glanced up and down the walls, a clear
measure of concern now evident in every face. Few of these soldiers were
ignorant of the fact that Areshen had indeed razed at least a half dozen
towns over the past eight years. Few doubted that the blasphemous king of
Isin was capable of doing the same to the Holy City of Nippur.
"Tebro," Areshen continued, deciding on a
different approach for his final verbal assault, "a short time ago I had
an opportunity to tour the Amuru construction yards along one of the
canals near Nippur, and I witnessed the manner in which your High Priests
discipline the diggers. In one camp I witnessed a particularly impressive
sight, a dozen men and woman suspended from wooden poles, nails driven
through their hands. Now that I have been proclaimed a god, I must
endeavor always to conduct myself in a manner pleasing to my fellow gods,
and I most certainly cannot allow myself to be outdone by the High
Priests. I shall therefore erect ten thousand wooden poles beneath the
walls of Nippur. Ten thousand of you now standing atop these walls will
hang from the posts I will erect, a gift to my fellow gods. As the blood
drains from your hands nailed to my holy posts, I will drive past in my
Sacred Chariot one final time in order to be certain that you die well, a
pleasing and acceptable sacrifice to my fellow gods."
Areshen studied the walls a final long moment,
heated arguments now breaking out among small clusters of soldiers, First
Soldiers running back and forth desperately trying to reestablish order.
Enough for now, Areshen sighed, nodding toward his driver. A quick moment
later the driver reigned the chariot about, then back down the narrow,
dusty road from the walls of Nippur.
Areshen sat at a small field table a mile from
the city's walls, the folds of a camp tent rising about him on all sides,
the usual stack of dispatches sitting on the table. With a sigh of
resignation, Areshen lifted the first of several tablets on which the king
of Ur's message was inscribed.
"They tell me," Ibisien wrote, "that you mean to
invest Nippur, Areshen, my loyal and faithful military governor. Please
do not invest Nippur, Areshen, my loyal and faithful military governor.
The High Priest Shubari has also said that you must not invest Nippur,
though it is not a matter of great importance to me what the High Priest
Shubari says. Did I say, please do not invest Nippur, Areshen, my loyal
and faithful military governor? If not, then please do not invest Nippur,
Areshen, my loyal and faithful military governor. The High Priest Shubari
came to my palace and said that Areshen, my loyal and faithful military
governor, must not invest Nippur, though it is not a matter of great
importance to me what the High Priest Shubari - "
Areshen laid the tablet aside. From the sound of
the message, Ibisien had probably been held to his feet by one scribe
while another copied dictation even more drunken and rambling than usual.
Perhaps Setith had something more interesting to
say, and Areshen reached for another tablet.
"Bathul's finances, beloved husband, are
reasonably well ordered. The temple's assets are by and large adequately
accounted for, though I have found it necessary to insist that the High
Priests of several chambers, the chamber of past due accounts in
particular, attend to their duties with a bit more diligence. A few
temple farms are seriously in arrears, and simply must be prosecuted. To
allow the situation to continue unanswered would displease the Divine Lord
Leshinuthu and the Divine Lady Bilthu and seriously disrupt Holy Order.
But I will, beloved husband, be gentle, just as you asked of me. I will
accept as payment for past due accounts owed the temple only single men
and women unless the managers or patriarchs of the farms in question wish
to offer married men and women, though I will avoid demanding married men
and women whenever possible, and I will then accept as payment for past
due accounts owed the temple only married men and women unless the
managers or patriarchs of the farms in question wish to offer their
children, though I will avoid demanding children whenever possible, and I
will accept as payment for past due accounts owed the temple single men
and women, married men and women, and their children, only if the managers
or patriarchs of the farms in question wish to offer them. Some families,
however, have indeed offered themselves into my service, a large number
from the village of Betulum, for instance, which has been assaulted by
locusts for two consecutive years now and has failed. At my palace in
Bathul appeared the entire village of Betulum pleading to enter my service
as my children, saying that they have heard that I am indeed a gentle
mistress, beloved in Bathul having been its High Priestess only a month.
This pleased me intensely, beloved husband, so with tears in my eyes, I
said to the people of Betulum, only your unmarried men and women shall
belong to me for life. Your children shall serve me for three years, and
then I will offer those who desire it their freedom at five sixths the
usual price. The people of Betulum then sang of my generosity in single
voice, those who were to become my children for life falling to their
knees in adoration before me."
Areshen lowered his wife's first tablet with an
easy smile, doubting none of it, though he would never understand why
Setith's thousands of children in towns all across Sumer and Akkad so
adored her. More than a few of them had seen Setith cross, genuinely
angry any number of times, though the ill feelings between mistress and
servant were always short lived. Setith's exactions and punishments were,
Areshen supposed, less severe than those inflicted on servants by a great
many other mistresses. Even in the one instance when the punishment had
been the height of needless cruelty, Etwabi herself had said that Setith
had vigorously protested the punishment in front of Ur's Executioner
Priests, an act of blasphemy Areshen would never before have suspected
Setith capable of.
Areshen lifted the next tablet on which his wife's
letter was written.
"I am sorry to have disappointed you, beloved
husband, the night before I left Ur for Bathul. I know I promised, but I
was called away on an urgent matter which required my immediate and
personal attention."
Areshen chuckled a quick moment's amused mirth,
wondering how much silver had been involved in Setith's urgent and
personal matter. In a very real way, Areshen had indeed been disappointed
when one of Setith's servants had informed him that the mistress would not
be available to receive him in chambers. It had been well over a year now
since he had really touched Setith with any degree of intimacy, and Setith
was still an exceptionally beautiful woman, thought by a great many to be
the most beautiful woman in the world. Areshen had wondered if it might
have seemed like the first time with Setith.
"By the way, beloved, as to the matter of Shar
Dulur," and Areshen released a long sigh of frustration. For a hundred
years now most of the assets of Sumer and Akkad had been owned by little
more than a hundred people, High Priests, governors, and a few private
individuals. The owner of Shar Dulur, palace of the king of Isin and
military headquarters of the armies of Sumer and Akkad, just happened to
be Setith. With another long sigh, Areshen returned to the letter.
"It seems the current month's payment, as well as
those for several previous months, are late. Please be good enough to
instruct the advocates responsible for Isin's accounts to see to this
matter at their earliest possible convenience. I am certain, beloved
husband, that we can resolve this matter without once more finding it
necessary to resort to a court of law - "
Areshen lowered the tablet to the table, then
glanced up as Meneturu pushed his massive bulk through the tent's flap.
Now in military attire, Meneturu appeared fit and formidable despite his
years and the gray in his hair.
"Setith's?" and Meneturu nodded toward the tablet
Areshen had lowered to the table.
"Yes," Areshen groaned. "We have to pay off Shar
Dulur, Meneturu, scrounge or pilfer the money from somewhere. If we
don't, Setith will nag me incessantly."
With an easy chuckle, Meneturu lowered himself to
a folding chair next to the table.
"My spies tell me there's more than enough grain
in Nippur's temple stores to do so," Meneturu began. "We'll have to
declare right of conquest in order to get our hands on it, but we'll have
to do that anyway in order to dethrone Tebro and the High Priest Inumen.
I will never understand why you did not declare right of conquest in Isin
eight years ago."
"Meneturu, you've known Setith for years. Would
you want to take something away from her without paying for it?"
"I suppose I wouldn't want to be the first to
try," Meneturu chuckled.
"You're just back from the walls?"
"Tebro could hardly squeak a word this time. Most
of his men appear to be wilting beautifully, far more rapidly than we
might have hoped for. I would say that tomorrow would not be too soon to
have a go at the walls."
"The troops we have here ourselves are not the
sort I'd care to lead toward the frontiers and the tribes, Meneturu."
"They're as ready as they'll ever be. Isime and
Shulitu will be the only ones with any real work to do if we proceed
according to plan."
Areshen rested in silent thought for a quick
moment. Isime's and Shulitu's Six Hundreds, the only two now engaged in
the siege of Nippur which were professional and battle hardened, had been
pulled from the western frontiers. The resulting hole had been plugged by
auxiliaries from the tribes currently in the pay of Isin, not a situation
Areshen or Meneturu cared to see continued for any length of time.
"Perhaps," Meneturu continued with a mischievous
smile, "we should have brought ten or twenty thousand Su horsemen down
here from the east instead of Isime and Shulitu, parade them beneath the
walls. Have you ever heard a Su war scream? They'd be scraping shit off
Nippur's walls for the next six months. Tebro would drop a considerable
load himself."
"Perhaps," Areshen laughed. "But then we'd only
have to convince the Su to go home. More than a few of their young
princes were educated in Nippur or Ur, would love to set themselves up in
a perfume bath somewhere."
"Most likely. By the way, Meshduri is here. He
arrived from Ur early this morning. He's already had a quick look at the
walls. If there are weaknesses to be exploited, Meshduri is the one who
will find them," and Areshen smiled for the curious wonder in Meneturu's
eyes, Meneturu Akkadian, a stomping old bull according to his colleagues,
who could not understand how the urbane and literate Meshduri, Sumerian by
birth, could be such a brilliant tactician when it came to defensive
walls, both their construction and their destruction.
"You know, Meneturu, Meshduri and I started out
together twenty years ago."
"Yes, but Meshduri's spent most of his life
sitting at table hatching plots against the High Priests. He's a better
scribe than most scribes."
Areshen shrugged his amusement, watched Meneturu
push himself from the tent, and then turned his attention back to several
more tablets. Far less competent a scribe than Meshduri, Areshen soon
tired of the nuisance, and pushed himself from the tent as well. He then
walked without haste along narrow dirt paths winding their way through the
military encampments, finally down a road which led along the banks of a
small irrigation canal. Areshen glanced another moment toward the city of
Nippur off to his right, then toward another series of military
encampments spread across open farmland beneath he city's walls. A moment
later he turned his attention toward the small brick village a short
distance ahead, then toward a narrow bridge which crossed the canal near
which several soldiers had reported last seeing Meshduri. Areshen pushed
himself onto the bridge, studying quiet, palm lined paths which led along
the further bank of the canal toward the village, that a small brick
temple farm the buildings and residents of which were owned by Nippur's
gods, Nippur's High Priests overseeing the god's property.
Areshen finally noticed Meshduri standing beside a
small grove of date palms a short distance from the village. Meshduri
stood close to the canal's banks gazing toward the walls of Nippur in
silent, contemplative study. Meshduri, Areshen chuckled, indeed looked as
much a scribe as he did a soldier. Meshduri was by and large Sumerian,
thus smaller in stature than the hulking Akkadian Meneturu, though
Meshduri was certainly not an Ibisien, painted and polished more
beautifully than any of his wives, was certainly not the plump, boyish,
totally useless Tebro squeaking away atop Nippur's walls. And old
Meneturu was right; if there were weaknesses in Nippur's walls to be
exploited, Meshduri would find them.
Meshduri turned from his study of Nippur toward
Areshen, the same intense and studying expression in Meshduri's features
which Areshen had noticed a month ago when he had come upon him erasing
words from tabulation tablets.
"This is a considerable distance from which to
conduct an inspection of the walls, is it not?" Areshen asked in easy
humor as he approached.
"Sometimes true inspiration comes from a distance,
from the broad view," Meshduri chuckled, pointing toward the towers of the
gate beneath which Areshen had stood taunting Tebro earlier in the day.
"Meneturu says the same," Areshen agreed,
pondering the same section of the walls.
"I talked with Isime and Shulitu a short time
ago. Both have had a close look at Tebro and his shop keepers atop the
walls. Isime and Shulitu both say you needn't have pulled them from the
frontiers. You should instead have recruited from choirs and castrates in
one or two nearby temples."
"They're that confident?" Areshen chuckled,
glancing now toward the small village a short distance further down the
road.
"Isime and Shulitu are that confident," Meshduri
answered, glancing toward the village himself, guessing Areshen's concern
in an instant. "There's beer there."
"Good," Areshen stated, pushing himself
purposefully forward. "Are your wife and daughters safe remaining in Ur,
Meshduri? I hear you have been making a considerable nuisance of yourself
to Shubari, extorting grain from the temple in unprecedented quantity."
"I paid my regards to Ibisien at the palace before
I left Ur, our beloved king well fortified by the royal cup and in a
particularly maudlin mood. 'Not you too, my sweet Meshduri,' he cried.
'Everyone is leaving me for Isin.' Ibi assured me, however, that Ur is
still a city of law and justice. The households of Areshen and Meshduri
will remain under the protection of the palace. Since the siege of Nippur
began, it's become very obvious that Ibisien could spit from Ur's walls
into territory beyond his control, but he is still the master of Ur
itself, and will do all he can to hold Shubari and the temple in check.
Ibisien, I suppose, remains confident, at least in a corner of his wine
soaked mind, that Isin and Shar Dulur are temporary expedients, that we
will all eventually return to the fold in Ur."
"In a beer soaked corner of my mind, Meshduri, I
dream of doing just that. I am not - old king what's his name,
expecting five hundred members of my household to joyfully walk into my
tomb and wait for the grave diggers to shovel dirt down on top of their
heads, nor am I Sargon of Agade marching form one end of the world to the
other. I've done two things in my life, Meshduri, fed pigs, and fought
the tribes along the frontiers. Then I return to Shar Dulur and drink
beer with Ati. Sumer worshipped Urnammu because he fought wars and then
returned to his palace and wrote laws. I've never written a single law."
"Have you heard the way students in the scribal
schools talk these days, particularly those in Ur and the south?" Meshduri
asked.
"The army is out of fashion. The temple and
Shubari are the way to the top."
"The priesthood, the law," Meshduri scowled, then
glanced about the small, mud brick buildings of the village among which
they now walked, one room farmhouses, grain sheds, narrow paths leading
into the surrounding fields. Meshduri raised a beckoning arm toward a
child standing next to one of the sheds.
"Girl, come here," Meshduri commanded, and with
less fear in her features than Areshen might have expected, the ten year
old child approached, her eyes wide and wondering as she gazed toward two
men in military dress, short swords hanging form their sides.
"Turn your back to us, girl," Meshduri ordered,
"and take your clothes off."
The girl obeyed quickly, and Areshen winced for
the scars covering the child's body from her neck to her ankles. Flogging
was a perfectly acceptable means of discipline throughout Sumer and Akkad
provided the instrument used was of a standard sort. The scars covering
this girl's body, however, had obviously been inflicted by a whip onto the
chords of which had been affixed small glass beads with sharp and jagged
edges.
"Get dressed, girl," Meshduri sighed, turning
again toward Areshen and nodding about the village. "I talked with the
patriarch here a few minutes ago. They're Cothculimu, eastern Amuru,
settled here after the second battle of Kel Dulur," and Meshduri nodded
toward the temple thrusting its way above the city of Nippur in the near
distance. "A junior Executioner Priest comes to this village once a week,
approaches the patriarch, and orders him to choose someone from the
village. Anyone from the village under thirteen years old. 'Why?' the
patriarch asks every week. 'What have we done wrong?' The Executioner
Priest just says, 'choose. Choose a child. It is the will of the gods.'"
Meshduri turned back to the girl as she crept
forward, her hand extended.
"Another?" Meshduri asked, his scowl an obvious
affectation.
"You have more," the girl answered in a voice of
amused accusation, a bashful smile in pretty Amuru features.
Meshduri pulled a piece of date candy from a fold
in his uniform and placed it in the girl's hand. With another soft,
bashful smile, she then wandered back toward the shed.
A quick minute later, Areshen and Meshduri stood
at the door of the village's small tavern shrine holding cups.
"They worship you in Isin," Meshduri finally
continued, "because you do not, in fact, write laws. You spend your time
sitting with Ati drinking beer. By the way - "
"She still says no," Areshen sighed.
"She's frightened," Meshduri answered with gentle
sympathy, then continued in solemn quiet. "We have very fine laws in
Sumer today, all the laws we need, and we certainly have all the High
Priests and advocates we need to interpret and enforce those laws. And
with all that, Sumer and Akkad have discovered that they need an Isin with
a blasphemous Areshen as its king. Meneturu says that he confronted you
about all this last month at Shar Dulur?"
Areshen chuckled, taking a long pull from his
beer.
"Meneturu informed me that I would march on Nippur
even if I could not justify doing so by claiming there to be an external
threat along the frontiers, a threat exacerbated by the temple here in
Nippur. I informed Meneturu that he would have done the same."
"The old bull would have done the same indeed.
Urnammu would not have done so, however. Shulgi would not have done so.
Scream he, 'I am a god,' all day long from the top of the temple, Shulgi
would not have marched against his own Shubari, and Shubaris back then
were no different than is our own beloved farter today."
"Even so, Meshduri, the reason why the blasphemous
king of Isin can march on Nippur while the south cowers behind the locked
and bared gates of it garrisons is, in fact, a hundred tribes of screaming
barbarians along the frontiers."
"That, and the fact that the blasphemous king of
Isin with no god of his own is now a god himself," Meshduri chuckled.
"A few months ago when all of this was becoming a
problem," Areshen sloshing his cup toward the walls of Nippur, "I woke up
in my chamber in Shar Dulur one morning and decided that I would make the
whole thing just go away by snapping my fingers. I snapped my fingers,
but the whole thing did not just go away, Meshduri."
Meshduri broke into easy laughter as he handed his
cup to the tavern mistress standing behind the door's serving board.
Areshen did the same, smiling gratitude when she handed a full cup back.
"The problem did not go away," Areshen again
sighed after another long pull from his cup. "I had expected at least a
small bolt of lightning when I snapped my fingers. Urnammu and Shulgi
probably got a least a small bolt of lighting after they were proclaimed
gods."
Again Meshduri broke into easy laughter, enjoying
the light spark of slightly intoxicated mischief in Areshen's eyes. As
usual, however, Meshduri could not help but notice the ever present hint
of strain and fatigue also evident in Areshen's features.
"Your divinization is by and large just political
expedient, you know, Areshen. The Assembly in Isin is no different than
Ur's, each member fancying himself the epitome of ideological detachment.
Each goes home and lives in the real world at night, however, shopkeepers,
servants, scribes with their tablets and brick makers with their spades.
Sumer and Akkad, high and low, think the king of Isin is a god."
"Meshduri," Areshen stated with abrupt, emphatic
annoyance, "the king of Isin is not a god. Not even a small bolt of
lightning, remember?"
"Oh?" Meshduri asked, an expression of amused
wonder in his features. Areshen laughed with ease, appreciation in his
eyes.
"It is the way they express their love for you,
Areshen," Meshduri continued. "I see no harm in it."
"Sometimes I wonder, Meshduri. One of the gods
does intrigue me."
"Oh?" Meshduri asked again, nothing affected in
his expression this time.
"Etwabi's."
"Meneturu's niece?"
"Yes. She has a brother, Teru, teaches in a
private school in Ur. He's a very intelligent young man, though he'll
have nothing to do with Shubari or the temple."
"A very brilliant young man indeed."
"His god says something that I have never heard
any of the gods of Sumer say. Teru's god says that he is the only god."
"I hope Shubari doesn't find out that there is
only one god. He'd be out of business if that god didn't happen to reside
in his temple."
"An intriguing thought," Areshen answered.
"Shubari out of business."
"It probably wouldn't work," Meshduri sighed.
"Shubari would find some way of convincing people that he had captured
this god who is the only god."
"I somehow don't think that Shubari and this god
would like each other."
"That wouldn't bother Shubari."
"No, I suppose it wouldn't," Areshen sighed, vague
and ill defined notions of dealing with Shubari using highly unorthodox
methods fading from his mind.
"The best we can do for now," Meshduri continued,
"is to rid Nippur's temple of Shubari junior and the walls of Nippur of
Tebro."
"Tebro, perfumed little bath flower that he is,
lawfully remains under my jurisdiction as military governor of Ur. If he
survives our assault, what should we do with him, Meshduri?"
"He will survive. He'll be hiding beneath the
High Priest's skirts when we climb the walls. Leave him in Nippur. The
High Priest as well, for that matter. Restrict them to responsibility for
the temple's choir and castrates, then have Isime or Shulitu leave one of
their Sixties behind in Nippur to watch them. Sixty real soldiers well
placed in Nippur's Sacred Area will be more than enough to dissuade Tebro
and Inumen from any more foolishness. Nippur, all of Sumer, for that
matter, will just assume that Enlil now favors Areshen of Isin who can
afford to be lenient. Inumen dead would just irritate Shubari. Inumen
alive taking orders from Isin instead of Ur will infuriate Shubari. He'll
blow Ur's temple apart farting his outrage, but he'll be powerless to do
more. He cannot send another back chamber product of his assignations to
Nippur to replace a High Priest who is still alive."
"Of course," Areshen nodded as he and Meshduri
strolled from the tavern, then along the canal road leading back toward
the military encampments. "You are as brilliant as ever, Meshduri. That
is how it will be done."
Meshduri nodded his appreciation, his features
settling into an easier humor as he decided to change the subject to
gentler matters.
"So Ati still says no?"
"She belongs on the queen's throne, Meshduri.
Instead, she scrubs Shar Dulur's floors."
"Sumer is an ancient culture," Meshduri sighed in
sympathy. "Even a king with no god of his own will not change it
overnight."
"Ibisien says he is going to retire to Egypt in
the west."
"He told me the same," Meshduri chuckled.
"He'd find a quieter time of it among the tribes
in the desert, I suspect. You agreed to join me in Isin without a great
deal of protest, Meshduri. A month ago you did not dare abandon Ur's
walls to the temple."
"Documents well placed with certain of my agents
in Ur will hold Shubari and the temple in check for the time being, will
also see to the provisioning of the walls for at least the next six
months. I do feel uneasy walking away from Ur, but it pleases me to spend
time in the field once again. I've been sitting at table for far too long
now. And now is certainly not the time to repose quietly at table."
Areshen nodded in grim resignation. The
approaching hostilities could only conclude in Isin's and Shar Dulur's
favor. Still, this was Nippur, and there was no turning back this time.
Undisputed master of Nippur, Areshen would be undisputed master of the
civilized world. At the moment, however, the only source of comfort and
ease seemed the company of the life long friend walking at his side.
"You're not happy, are you, Areshen?" Meshduri
asked, and again Areshen met the eyes of a close, genuine friend.
"No," Areshen sighed when he realized he could not
have hidden his feelings from Meshduri anyway. "Lately I dream that I
have spent my life with Ati in a one room farmhouse. In this dream I have
found happiness. I find a bit more with Etwabi in Ur. I find some,"
Areshen continued with a soft chuckle, "stumbling into the Holy Chamber
located at the back of Heluth's tavern shrine in Shensulith Square. I
find, however, very little happiness anywhere else."
"And Nippur will only make it worse."
Again Areshen glanced appreciation toward
Meshduri, one of the few regular army officers toward whom he would do
so. Their situations could easily have been reversed had one or two lots
deciding past commands fallen to Meshduri rather than to himself. And
Meshduri, Areshen realized, might easily have handled it all far better
than he had himself. Meshduri was probably one of the most brilliant
soldiers he had ever served with, his brilliance at times taking turns
toward the devious; yet the entire garrison manning Ur's walls ate only
because Meshduri was indeed brilliant enough to act deviously and then
survive having done so.
Areshen glanced another long moment toward the
walls of Nippur now off to their left, then with a resigned sigh turned
back to Meshduri.
"It has to be done, I suppose," Areshen sighed
again.
"The god of Isin has spoken?" Meshduri chuckled.
"I suppose that's it," Areshen chuckled as well.
"It's not that bad being a god in Shar Dulur as long as I stay out of the
city, stay out of Shar Dulur's civil chambers."
"A great many, as I have said, love you for
reasons which have nothing to do with political or religious expedient.
Even Ati would probably follow you to your tomb - "
"Meshduri - " Areshen protested, astounded.
"She would follow you into your tomb for reasons
that have nothing to do with Holy Order. She doesn't love a god, Areshen,
she loves you. Nor did I leave Ur to be with a god, Areshen. I, however,
will not follow you into your tomb. I don't like the taste of dirt."
Areshen chuckled for a long moment, gratitude
again in his eyes, then question.
"Do you believe in the gods, Meshduri?" Areshen
asked, apology necessarily in his features for a question of the sort.
Meshduri walked in silence for a long moment, his
brow wrinkled in searching thought.
"No," he finally answered. "I suppose I don't."
"I didn't think so, Meshduri. I never have. Your
emotional balance is far too stable. Only old Meneturu is your equal.
Perhaps that is because he believes in only one god, far less of a bother
than Sumer's stable full of them."
"Perhaps," Meshduri laughed, gazing again toward
Areshen in searching question.
"Eight years ago," Areshen explained, "I was
standing on the Amuru wall with twenty thousand soldiers, ten to my left,
ten to my right. A hundred thousand Amuru faced us, Amuru perhaps, but
still a hundred thousand of them. We will die together, twenty thousand
soldiers pledged, to me and to each other. Had we done so, Meshduri, I
would have shed no tears, not for myself, not for them. The average
soldier eight years ago was no different than the average soldier today.
He respects the High Priest standing at the altar taking the auspices
quite as highly as he respects a maggot in a loaf of stale bread."
Meshduri chuckled in easy humor, quite aware that
it was true.
"Those soldiers standing on the Amuru wall,"
Areshen continued, "saw no god when they marched past me in review. Yet
they still knew why they were prepared to die. Today, Sumer and Akkad
applies to the High Priest of Isin for a place beside me in my tomb. I
find no pleasure, Meshduri, no pleasure at all in the thought. I would
have led twenty thousand soldiers to their deaths without remorse. I
would feel nothing but remorse should twenty servants follow me into my
tomb thinking I were a god."
Meshduri gazed back in silence for a long moment,
lost, and then just shrugged.
"I do not think you are a god, Areshen."
"Thank you," Areshen just sighed, though in a
slightly easier humor, turning his attention finally and fully back to the
walls of Nippur. The approaching battle, at least, was a matter of grave
concern to no one, the shopkeepers manning Nippur's walls little more than
sport for the professional soldiers commanded by Isime and Shulitu.
Gathering and dispatching the city's populace would be a logistical
nuisance. That, however, was another concern both Areshen and Meshduri
could just shrug away. The actual slaughter, in which the vanquished
population was offered to the gods, would be directed by the High Priests,
those in Isin's service planning the festivities with all the enthusiasm
Ur's might have displayed.
Continued
