Gilgamesh Immortal (Chronicles of the Nephilim) (27 page)

Gilgamesh had been gone a long time from his mighty city-state of Uruk. This
had allowed Ishtar to rebuild the portions of her temple and complex that the felled Huluppu tree had demolished. She wasted extravagant expense on the complex. It had taxed the treasury, but she did not care. It was one way to get revenge on Gilgamesh for the humiliation he had paid her. A king without sufficient financial resources was not a loved king.

She had much of her own way to plot and scheme for the future.
Her access to Ninsun was limited, thanks to the bodyguard protection afforded her by Ninurta, that overgrown brooding bully. She knew that once Gilgamesh got back, that god of broccoli would transfer his attention to his true ward, the king. Ishtar would then have Ninsun all to herself.

She had developed a playful way to
ridicule Ninurta, by calling him derogatory titles that could technically be considered legitimate. Thus she could not be accused of provocation. She would refer to him as “Mighty Cucumber Deity” or “God of Weeds,” all legitimate parts of the world of vegetation over which he ruled. She could see it annoyed him, and that was her goal. It would all add up and one day, he would lose his control and she would have the advantage.

But Ishtar was restless. The assembly of gods had hidden away at Mount Hermon and had left her out of their secret plans. Uruk had a history of greatness, but she felt its time was waning. Other kings
were vying for position and power. Kingship would move to other city-states as they naturally did. Uruk was still the city of Anu, its patron deity, and she was only considered an escort of the sky god. No matter how glorious she made her temple complex, she would still only be an escort of the patron deity of the city and not the supreme being. She wanted her own city to rule over. She wanted more power. She wanted more.

Ninsun prepared for another sacrifice on her roof to the seemingly absentee Shamash. Ever since her confession to Gilgamesh of his adopted status, Ninsun could barely live with herself. She had thrown herself even more deeply into her religion to salve the pain. She had loved Gilgamesh with all her heart and soul. To her, he was her child. Spirit was thicker than blood. She knew him better than he knew himself. And she knew that Gilgamesh would go to the ends of the earth to find the truth and to attain eternal life even if it killed him to do so.

And he did go on a quest to the ends of the earth to find his ancestor, Noah
the Distant and Faraway in the magical island of Dilmun. She knew that he would learn the full truth from Noah because Noah was a righteous man, to a fault. But just what the full truth was, Ninsun did not know herself. All she knew was what she already told Gilgamesh: He was the bastard son of god and human, rejected by his true ancestor, the great Flood survivor, and given in secret adoption to avoid the curse that no doubt followed him. It would crush him. If he made it back alive to Uruk with this self-revelation she feared he would either go mad with despair and kill himself, or go mad with bitterness and lay waste to the world.

So Ninsun found herself spending many hours in prayer every day for her son, and seeking the
penance that would grant her forgiveness for her failure to protect him from the truth. She could not shake the guilt.

Ninurta
spent much of his time with Ninsun protecting her until Gilgamesh returned. He was probably the only thing keeping Ninsun alive from the vengeance of Ishtar. Not that he cared one whit for the cow’s worthless life. But he was commissioned to tend to the safety of King Gilgamesh in order for the assembly’s plan to take proper shape in proper time. It was the command of the King to protect her while he was away on a personal journey upon which only he could embark.

Though Ninurta was a god, and Gilgamesh the son of a god, the assembly had nevertheless established that they would be accountable to the rule of human kings, who were the covenanted heirs of dominion over the earth by Elohim’s own decree. If the gods would seek to take over that right of inheritance, then surely Elohim the Creator would intervene drastically again as he did previously with the Deluge. But as soon as Gilgamesh returned, he would leave this pathetic blubbering fool and reconvene to the side of his liege the king. That order, Gilgamesh could not contravene.

When the herald’s trumpets announced t
he arrival of the long gone king of Uruk, everyone in the town stopped what they were doing. Bakers baking bread, mothers feeding their children, workers in the fields tending harvest, Sinleqiunninni in the basement arranging clay tablets, and Ninurta overseeing Ninsun. Ninurta whisked away from the pillared rooftop of Ninsun’s palace to meet Gilgamesh at the gates. Ninsun turned and watched her protection vanish like a vapor and she knew her end was near. But she was not about to go down without a fight. She was not going to let Ishtar have the pleasure of triumph. She had been preparing for this moment for a long time. She readied herself for defense.

At the sound of the herald, Ishtar put down a goblet of blood that she was drinking. A smirk crossed her face, and she left her cup unfinished. She had things to do, things she had planned for. And the first thing to attend to was to properly attire herself for the arrival of the king. She had carefully calculated that her outfit should be both regal and aggressive. It should display a queenly sense of religious authority, but also carry an edge of political defiance. She chose a leather bustier and shoes that looked like a two-bit street harlot, over which she draped a grand purple flowing robe with wide semicircular neck ruff that screamed “Queen of Heaven.” She had no time for elaborate make up so she clouded her face deathly white with powder and ratted out her hair into an exploding bush, placing a gem studded tiara on top.

Simply delicious
.

The next thing
to do was
not
to greet the king at the gates. That would be too subservient. Let
him
come to
her
temple. Her next business was to visit the Queen Mother’s palace, where she knew Ninurta would no longer be leaving the stench of his presence surrounding the shrew Ninsun.

Gilgamesh and Urshanabi approached the city gates. Since he had been released from employment by Noah, Urshanabi decided to take his only other offer of being Gilgamesh’s boatman on the river Euphrates.

Urshanabi was
overwhelmed with the glory of the walls of Uruk. And the sevenfold gate was magnificent. They stepped through each chamber as the doors slid open to allow them into the next, until they opened up to the city entrance loaded with citizens cheering their king.

“You are quite beloved,” said Urshanabi to Gilgamesh.

Gilgamesh muttered back to him with disdain, “They have no idea who I am, the mob of simpletons. They cheer the victor who gives them bread. They will turn on me as easily. They will not be happy with what I plan to do.”

Urshanabi knew Gilgamesh had been forever changed by his encounter with
Noah ben Lamech. A root of bitterness had taken hold. He had rejected the god of Noah and his demands upon him. Gilgamesh’s soul seemed to radiate a darkness he had not seen when he first confronted him in the forest.

And then Gilgamesh saw
Ninurta waiting for him beside a golden chariot leashed to a team of grand black stallions. He grinned and Ninurta could tell that Gilgamesh had in him a dark new determination he had never seen before. He had a diabolical edge on his lips.

So this n
ew quest was worth it after all
, Ninurta thought with smug satisfaction.

Gilgamesh pronounced, “
Ninurta, I have missed you. But the time has arrived for our agreement.”

Ninurta
smiled. Finally, this useful demigod was ready.

They mounted the chariot and
pranced down the Processional Way with pomp and regality.

Ishtar moved swiftly through the halls and stairways of the royal palace. She made it to the rooftop and slowed down, making sure she would provide maximum effect with a restrained glide toward Ninsun like that of a snake slithering toward its rodent prey. She wanted Ninsun to feel the full impact of fear, knowing her death was approaching her.

She stepped out of the pillars into the light. The cheering crowds could be heard at the gates echoing through the city. Ninsun was at the ledge watching the triumphal entry of her magnificent son. A tear of pride and happiness flowed down her cheek.
He was so magnificent, so godlike.

But she did not want to be ordered by Ishtar, so she turned around to face her predator.

Ishtar was thrown off for a second because she could read Ninsun’s face as being entirely at ease. This was not a victim in fear of her obvious demise. Did she have a hidden weapon?

She shook it off and
said with a seductive tone, “My fat little cow, pretender to deity, I see you are prepared for burial,” said Ishtar.

Ninsun had dressed up in her finest high pr
iestess garb. She had a pure white linen toga with a trimming of colorful patterns of painted gold and silver. A large necklace of shells draped the skin above her breasts. She had large gold double earrings, and strands of golden willow leaves studded with lapis lazuli and carnelian interwoven into her long hair. She was crowned with the horned headdress of deity. On her back, she wore a special cape made of vulture’s feathers to give the appearance of relaxed wings. Standing next to the large golden gong that was a call to worship, she looked radiant and divine.

Ishtar said, “I love your earrings, and nice touch with the winged robe.”

Ishtar was totally unprepared for the surprise she was about to receive.

Ninsun smiled and said, “
I know who you are, Azazel, and you are destined to lose. You will not have victory over me.”

How did she know?
Thought Ishtar.

But it was too late. Ninsun raised the hammer and hit the gong. It rang through the land. She stepped up on the short ledge of the rooftop and cast herself off.

Ishtar’s eyes went wide, then narrowed with anger.

You coward
ly bovine,
she thought. But then she realized she had better flee or she would be blamed. No sense in unnecessary complications.

Down in the triumphal entry, everyone looked over at the palace temple of Ninsun at the sound of the gong. Gilgamesh then saw the lone figure of his mother cast herself off the ledge of the rooftop. Her body plunged to her death in the garden below.

He knew who it must be, but he showed no shock. H
e was too calculated to let his defenses down. He immediately searched the rooftop for a malefactor. There was none. It was a suicide. He had anticipated Ishtar murdering her, but it was perfectly sensible for Ninsun to beat her at her own game, considering she had no other options once Ninurta was gone from her side.

He snapped his reins and yelled for his stallions to race
his chariot toward the palace garden. The citizens responded without thinking by following their king.

When he got there, he saw his mother laying peacefully on her back in a garden plot of white roses stained red with her splattered blood. She stared at the heavens as if in search of the gods.

But then Gilgamesh did something no one expected. Without shedding a tear he got off the chariot and walked right past her toward the palace entrance, shouting heartlessly to his servants, “Clean
this mess up.”

Another impediment out of the way
, he thought. He was truly a changed man.

They scurried to obey and Urshanabi followed him around to the front of the building where he mounted the steps
and faced a crowd of servants.

He barked to the head servant impatiently, “Fetch me Sinleqiunnin
ni, I have much to do. Hurry!”

The servant ran off. Then Gilgamesh took a lowly brewer servant and told him, “Go tell Ishtar that the king has arrived and wishes an audience with her in my throne room
tomorrow morning.

“But sire,” questioned the servant. He
could not finish his exclamation of surprise. It was so obviously out of protocol to send a lowly servant, and a brewer at that, to make a call on the goddess. It was clearly an insult on top of another insult of holding her off until morning, placing her in secondary importance.

Gilgamesh yelled at him, “NOW!”

The servant gulped and bowed and ran off, wondering what his fate would be with the goddess.

Then Gilgamesh stopped as if he had forgotten to make a point
. He turned to Ninurta. “Thank you for watching over my mother while I was gone. At least it kept you occupied.”

Ninurta
nodded silently and followed Gilgamesh to the throne room.

Within the hour,
Sinleqiunninni led a host of scribes into the palace throne room to greet the king. They brought their clay tablets and styluses as ordered by Gilgamesh and set up their tables in an orderly fashion.

Sinleqiunnin
ni bowed to Gilgamesh and spoke with trepidation, “My lord, I am loathe to report that the palace finances have been raided by Ishtar to rebuild her palace. We are perilously depleted of wealth.”

“I
do not care,” said Gilgamesh to the scholar’s astonishment. “I want you to organize a cycle of shifts with your scribes. I have some stories to tell.”

“He who saw the Deep,” said Gilgamesh. He paused. He was dictating to the first shift of scribes recording his exploits in cuneiform on clay tablets in his throne room.

“On second thought,” said Gilgamesh, “maybe you should start with ‘Surpassing all other kings…’”

But he stopped again. He could not make up his mind. Then he gestured to one half of the room.

“Okay, this half write ‘He who saw the Deep’ and this
half write, ‘Surpassing all other kings.’ If I cannot make up my mind, I might as well have several versions and see which one does better.”

Gilgamesh told his stories all night long
. The scribal school perspired trying to keep up. He told them episodes of his journeys to different shifts. The first shift heard about his oppressive start and the quest for significance. The late shift heard his contest with Enkidu and friendship. Another shift, the story of Humbaba and the Cedar Forest. Still others, his journey to seek eternal life from the survivor of the Great Flood, Utnapishtim on the island of Dilmun.

Of course, he embellished all his stories. But
the story of his meeting with Utnapishtim was different. That one was completely fabricated to tell the tales he had heard as a kid of Atrahasis and the Flood. He changed the name to Utnapishtim and completely ignored everything Noah had actually told him. Instead, he repeated the concocted tale of a man who was told by the god Enki to build his ridiculous boat cube because Enlil was going to flood the land. He spoke of how Utnapishtim had been given immortality by the gods. There were just enough details in there to ring true with what really happened, but just enough contrived details to point away from the truth to what Gilgamesh wanted the world to believe.

By the time he had finished, he had multiple episodes
copied by many scribes on separate tablets. Then he commissioned Sinleqiunninni to do one version that combined them all into a simpler storyline with an entertaining plot.

Gilgamesh concluded, “And I want you to carve
my exploits on a stone of lapis lazuli and place it in a wooden chest to be buried in the foundation of the walls of Uruk.”

Sinleqiunni
nni sighed. “Your majesty, in order for proper story structure to be maintained, I may have to change some details from your episodic tales in order to make them fit. You may not realize that there are storytelling principles that have been discovered by the poets that are necessary for a good story to hold an audience with amusement. Surely, you…”

“Scholar, shut up!” interrupted Gilgamesh. “Just make it happen.
”

And Gilgamesh went to take a nap.