Babylon's Thirst, Page 2

Ishtar, lions, dragons, and Assyrian horses were lined around the room, giving it a crowded feel. And it was crowded; Chaldean and Babylonian soldiers flanked the inner gateway, maiden girls in flowing blue dresses carried pots and pitchers to refresh the nobles who flocked around the dais at the far end of room, where stood Nabopolassar's golden throne.

  And there sat the usurper, a red-robed bull with the eyes of an eagle, a golden circlet on his brow.

  He looked once at the king, and saw a picture of those dead men hanging limp from skewers, crawling with maggots and flies, eyes pecked out by birds. He dropped his eyes, and hovered near the entrance. Then he saw his son, lying on the ground, too tired even to shade his face, and he asked himself, how long could the boy go on? How long could he last?

  He walked between coloured pillars to the raised dais, and there he dared another glance at the king. His aides and nobles were talking amongst themselves, and none paid any attention to the thin farmer with the dirty, patched tunic.

  Waiting for a moment, he felt pressure build within him, and though he feared the usurper and his brutal warriors, he couldn't come this far and say nothing. Still it was hard to think of any good words, for had no gift as a speaker. So the pressure grew until it all burst out of him in flood.

  "Nabopolassar," he began, "Nabopolassar, Nabopolassar..."

  One of the Chaldeans bent close to a Babylonian noble and whispered, "is it a local custom to speak the name thrice?" His new friend shrugged.

  "Nabopolassar," Enkidu kept on, "you have conquered all of Babylon, but you have not ended your war on it."

  Nabopolassar turned his full attention on Enkidu.

  "You took our lands with the spear, you killed or captured our soldiers, and such as live now serve you. Why, when you have beaten our army, do you make war on the common men, on our wives and our children?"

  The king narrowed his eyes. "You are a liar or a fool. I make no war."

  "You fought us with spears, now you fight us with hunger and thirst. You let the old bricks rot in our canals, and they burst their banks. You kept us from making repairs. You let the water seep into the earth and breed foul marshes. The marshes drank our water and our crops withered. Now the sun has drunk even the marshes, and we must starve."

  "No one in my city goes hungry."

  "No one lives in your city, but the rich. This was always a land of farmers. The gods built Babylon, and the farmers fed it. Why do you lay this curse on us?"

  "If it's a curse that ails you, go to the temples. If the gods love you, they will help you." His flock of nobles giggled and jibed at Enkidu.

  "Hammurabai said a king should be righteous, and care for the land."

  "It was Marduk, not Hammurabai, who made Babylon his seat; Marduk, the warrior god. I am the best warrior, and Marduk hails me, else how could I take Babylon from her sons?" The king glared at Enkidu. "Go back and care for your mud patch. I tend to the empire."

  "What will come of your empire when you have no food? Without farms-"

  "Will you teach your king? Get out!"

  "Please, wait," said Enkidu, seeing his hopes die. Someone called for the guards to throw him out, and he grew desperate. This wasn't what he'd meant. "Wait," he said, "Lord king, please, we need your help. Please."

  The guards were almost on him.

  "Do you think the gods will listen? If you stay, I may send you to them."

  Enkidu felt himself caught in a snare. If he left now, he would have nothing to take home but failure. If he stayed, he faced torture and death.

  "Marduk," he swore, and snatched a bronze dagger from the belt of a noble. The man looked startled, and darted away. The soldiers caught up to Enkidu, and made a half-ring about him, as the king looked on.

  ...

  Enkidu cut the air with his stolen knife. The Chaldean guards levelled their spears at his belly, ready to spit him in an instant. "So you are an assassin after all," Nabopolassar called from his dais across the hall.

  "I am a farmer," said Enkidu, darting his eyes from spear point to king, "but there can be no farmer without earth, and no earth without water. You hold back the water, and all you leave is dust! It were better you had killed us all, than to leave us wasting, leave us to watch our children sicken and die. Why have you come, Chaldean? You call yourself king of Babylon, emperor of Chaldea. I say hail, Nabopolassar, king of the desert, emperor of the dead."

  "Treason," said one of the king's aides, "blasphemer," said another, "the king has been appointed by the gods."

  "I own no blasphemy," said Enkidu, "for he was sent by the gods, he was indeed...as a scourge upon Babylon."

  "You do not know how I have struggled, farmer," said Nabopolassar, "you do not know how much I have given for Babylon, how much of my own blood I have shed. If you cared so much for your land, where were you when I came? If you hated me so much, why did you risk nothing, but sit upon your patch of dirt and spawn brats?"

  "If you care for more than bricks and piles of stone, you will want my brats one day. You cannot have a city without men. Or will you carry them off from Nineveh, when Babylon is barren?"

  Nabopolassar's aides had drawn their daggers, "you cannot say these things," one said, "it is death."

  Enkidu saw a ripple of decision move through the soldiers. They would not long hold back their spears. He raised the knife up over his head, and caught the usurper's eye. "You say you have given of your blood, Nabopolassar," he said, "enough to make you dry as the land?" He brought the knife down, and rested the point on his left upper arm. And then, with a set face, he dug the blade into the skin. It hurt, worse than fly bite or the time he'd broken his toe. It hurt like a wasp stinging its way deep into the flesh, and the red blood welled up and poured down his arm. He saw the men around him draw breath through locked teeth; they knew pain. He kept on cutting, down, and deeper, though it cost him greater effort with every second. His pulse was loud in his ears, and a red light flared across his vision, like an evil dawn.

  "Repair the canals, lord king, or the land will shed corpses as my body sheds blood."

  Once the words were past his lips, he felt his strength seep down through his legs and ooze into the cold stone floor. Shadows crawled over him, and he knew no more.

  ...

  Enkidu woke to searing pain and the red glow of burning coals. "By the gods," he cried, "can you torture me further?"

  "Shh, Enkidu," a woman comforted him with soothing sounds and the touch of a soft hand, stroking his chest.

  "Who?" He tried to sit up, but his chest was strapped to the bed on which he lay. He blinked sleep from his eyes, and saw the coals were gripped in tongs by an aged man with a long white beard.

  She laughed. "Have you forgotten your wife?"

  "Enlila? Why are you here? Where am I?" He saw now he was in a fine big room, with mosaics across the walls.

  "We, my sweet, foolish husband, are in the royal palace."

  "Did they arrest you? Where is Enki?" He struggled against the leather strap across his chest, and the old man poked him with a sharp thumbnail.

  "Be still, master, or the coals will burn too deep."

  "What are you doing? Aah!" The aged fiend pressed the bright coal against the wounds on his left arm. Oily smoke rose, and the room filled with the stink of burnt meat.

  "Be strong, Enkidu," Enlila stroked his head and chest.

  "That should do it," the old man dropped the smouldering coal in an earthenware dish, and left the tongs on the table beside them. "Don't pick at it," he glared at Enkidu, "or I'll have to do it again." He shuffled out.

  Enkidu lay back on the bed, gasping, all smothered by sweat. "If it's not torture, what is it?"

  "Oh Enkidu, you are so brave. I'm so proud of you, and little Enki is too excited to speak!"

  "Why, Enlila? Why?"

  "You did it!"

  "Nabopolassar will restore the canals?"

  "Yes!"

  "The king will heal our farm? All of the farms?"

  "Yes
, and oh, but that's not all of it..."

  "What more could there be?"

  "The king looked at you, and with your arm, you're no good for farming, so he made you a royal agent. You're now the inspector of canals for Chaldean empire. We will live in the palace, and eat good meat, not the kind with the lice crawling through it, and wear good new linen, and-"

  He forgot about the strap again, and left a red band across his chest. "Get this thing off me, Enlila, and tell me how this can be. I thought they were going to kill me."

  "It's the talk all over the city. The king watched you...and when his soldiers asked if they should put up a new stake, do you know what he said?"

  "No, Enlila, what did they say?"

  "He said 'that man's the reason I made Babylon my capital.' Oh, isn't it wonderful?"

  He couldn't move his arm, and it hurt whether or not he tried. There was a bruise on the back of his head, and he felt dizzy and weak. And canal inspector? He was a farmer, not a canal inspector...what did he know about inspecting canals? But he looked at Enlila, who was smiling, really smiling, for the first time in longer than he could remember, and tears came into his eyes, and he took her into his arms and said, "yes, Enlila, it's wonderful."

  ***

  About the Author

  Jacob Magnus lives in South Korea with his girlfriend’s dog. He enjoys travel, and practises the Korean sword art of Gumdo. His favourite game is Deus Ex.