Authors: John Koetsier
The king gazed at me and then laughing, said “A great champion, and a modest man. Truly, this is a wonder.”
His advisers and nobles laughed as well, and even Sargon, who had started to look uncertain, swept up in currents beyond his understanding, smiled.
“Then Sargon, you will take the place of the generals I have lost,” the lugal said. “And you will bear my cup, on feast-days, as the most trusted man in Kish.”
Sargon walked forward, almost in a daze, and knelt at the king’s feet. He accepted a ring, and a new robe, and a general’s rod, then returned to my side.
“But you will not be forgotten, Geno,” said the lugal. “You are a mighty warrior, the best I have ever seen, and maybe the best ever born to a woman, and you will be rewarded too. What will you have?”
“Good food, my king, and some drink in the evening. A battle now and then to keep the edge on my skill, and the companionship of good friends. And I would like to stay with my friend Sargon as he commands your armies.”
“So little?” said the lugal. ”So it shall be!”
And yet, unwilling to let me go entirely unrewarded, he gave me gold and silver rings, and a share of the spoil, and his favor.
So we retired for the night, but I could not sleep. The words of the Urrish champion echoed in my ears, and his face, twisted with rage and something more, filled my unseeing eyes. Who was he, and who was I? And what did he mean about serving and protecting, and false gods?
The next day we began the march home, and within the week were on the outskirts of the city of Kish. Scouts had been sent ahead, and the city made ready. All shined their armor and wore their best, and Sargon and I were appointed to ride through the gates of Kish in a position of honor just behind the king. The crowds cheered and roared as we wheeled through the city in a chariot of gold through a forest of flower petals, crushing the branches of fragrant bushes beneath the wheels. Boys waved and young girls kissed soldiers, and we feasted all afternoon. I raised a cup to Sargon, and he looked at me, smiling like a man in a dream, but there was still a question to his eyes.
That night we talked for the first time since the battle. In our new quarters, which were a significant upgrade in a wing of the castle.
“I don’t understand, Geno,” Sargon said. “I’m grateful, and happy, but we both know that bolstering our right flank and saving the king was all your idea and mostly your doing.”
He paused, wondering, then looked at me.
“Why did you give the credit to me?”
I paused too, choosing my words carefully. It was critical that Sargon accept his new, elevated role, and that he not only accept it, but embrace it with both arms. And it was critical that he now knew and worked towards the ultimate end goal: the kingship.
But how much of the truth to tell? I decided a large dollop would be most persuasive, and that the power of the truth would guide and impel Sargon’s future career as king. And, I decided that he could handle it.
“Sargon, did you see my fight with the Urrish champion?”
“Who did not?” he said, laughingly. “It is the stuff of tales and legends already. Even those who did not see it have now, a few drinks later, seen it.”
“Well,” I said, “have you even seen men move so quickly? Have you even, in all your life, seen warriors so deadly?”
He shook his head, suddenly troubled, as if sensing a truth that would change his life, and bring him into contact with uncanny forces.
“Does that seem natural to you, or even normal?”
Again the head shake. More turmoil. I decided to go for broke.
“Sargon of Akkad, now of Kish, I am no mortal man.” He started to tremble, and I hastened to correct.
“No, I am not a god. But I am a servant of the gods. I have lived many lives doing their will, and returned again in different times and places. And it is the will of the gods that you, Sargon, become king of Kish.”
And Sargon, a strong man and mighty warrior, veteran of many battles, hardened and tested, and future king of the world’s first empire, fainted dead away. I arranged him in his bed, found my own, and went to sleep.
Or tried to.
I gazed sightlessly at the ceiling, unsure whether I had done the right thing, and more than ever aware that without completing this mission successfully, there was no guarantee I would ever see Livia again, or the hall, or the other members of my cohort. My friends, as I now realized.
And then a worse thought intruded, and I shuddered as I realized with the finality that truth brings that even if I completed this mission successfully, there was still no guarantee that I would ever return to the hall, and no certainty for anything, including any sort of a future with Livia. And I realized, trembling, that my only hope for anything approaching a degree of self-determination was to somehow get free of the gods, of Hermes, and take Livia and my friends out of their reach. How to accomplish that, however, I had no clue.
In the morning Sargon had recovered his equilibrium, and we moved through the day with small pieces of conversation in the gaps and spaces between other duties. As a general now, Sargon had oversight over the palace guard and a division of the army, and officers trooped in to report, to meet, and to get orders.
“But I am not a traitor,” Sargon said in one break between visitors.
We had taken a chariot to the end of the city, and were walking along the river, through the reeds along the banks — the only way to be sure we were alone, and not overheard. The palace was filled with ears, and not the place to be discussing any royal succession plans.
“I want to do whatever the gods will,” he said. “I am the servant of the gods, not the master. But it does not seem right to kill the one who gave me the position I now hold.”
I pondered his words, nodding slowly to Sargon.
“I hear you, and I agree with you. It is not the way anyone would wish to get the throne. And yet it is Enlil’s will that you be king of Kish, and being king of Kish you become king of all the cities and lands surrounding her, and the ones that you will add to it. He will find a way of making it happen.”
In truth I did not know how it could be made to happen. And I was worried. I had no reason to hate the man who occupied the throne and who had done nothing but good to me — it would be hard for me to kill him as well. And yet, my entire future, such as it was, depended on the current king of Kish dying. And, of course, Sargon becoming the future king.
“Sargon, do not worry and do not be concerned. Continue your meetings with the other generals, with others in the court. Let them see you for a man of wisdom and a man of strategy. Build relationships with them so that when the day comes, they will support you.”
And we walked back to the city walls, Sargon comforted, but my heart heavy.
The next day I left Sargon and the palace, and walked through the city of Kish deep in thought. My mission and currently my only goal in life was to get Sargon on the throne. But as an honorable man, he would not want to win a crown by a traitorous act of murder. And, frankly, neither would I. It was one thing to kill a man in battle … to defend myself from those who were trying to kill me. It was quite another to murder a man in cold blood, especially one who had been good and kind to me. And yet, here I was, stuck in the third or fourth millennium B.C. No friends, no Livia, and no real hope for escape.
I discovered, with a shock, that I was developing some kind of a conscience. And I had no idea what to do about it.
I looked up for almost the first time at the city I had been walking through for almost an hour. The great temple of Enlil, a mud-brick step pyramid with a long, sloping walkway was on my left, and I could just glimpse the river on my right through an open city gate. Behind, where I had just walked, was a rich quarter of large homes with palms out front and hidden, central courtyards open to the sky inside. Ahead, my feet carried me to one of the markets of Kish.
Music filled the air and hundreds if not thousands braved the busy marketplace as merchants shouted out invitations to buy things both mundane and exotic: foods and spices, tools, weapons, potions, and small magics for eternal love, undying loyalty, or quick death. I walked through a bubble in the busy crowd as the adults, seeing the lugal’s livery, made way for one of the king’s guard, which uniform I still wore. That, and my height and size cleared a path for me. Respectful looks from some, and then more and more told me that many here had seen the victory parade in which Sargon and I had been given pride of place … and heard the stories that had been told of what I had done, and how I had fought.
But the children, careless of such things, swirled around my feet, smiling and laughing and begging. I took care that all my belongings were secure, not wanting to lose anything to a pickpocket, and waded through a score or more of dirty, happy, quarrelling urchins. Casting a last look on the merchants’ offerings and ignoring or smiling at their offers of amulets giving the protection of the gods in battle, I broke free of the market.
I walked for another hour or two down the long winding paths between the houses of the poor of Kish, then turned right to the river, mounted the city wall, and walked back south to the palace, my heavy heart not unburdened by the glorious sunset on the rippling waters of the Euphrates.
Little did I know that by the time I arrived back at the palace my problem would be solved for me.
When I arrived back at the palace I went to my quarters to wash my dusty feet and refresh myself. But I hardly entered my room before there was a hurried knock on the door, and Sargon slipped inside, looking troubled.
“I have been meeting with the other generals, as you’ve said,” he told me without preamble. “There’s something terrible going on.”
Then he became very quiet, and slowly, heads close, whispering, I dragged the story from his lips. Almost inaudibly, afraid of eavesdropping ears that plagued the palace, he told me that the meetings with generals and other officers of the army had been going well, and that he had been well-received by them.
I was somewhat surprised at this — few already in power like a newcomer, or a recent favorite of the lugal — but assumed that the other leaders of the army probably did not see him as a threat. Yet.
Sargon had uncovered a conspiracy. Several of the generals were scheming against the king, angry about years of real or perceived injustices, and recently furious that the lugal had not finished the fight outside the gates of Ur … had not stayed after we had routed them, surrounded Ur, broken its gates, and sacked the city.
“Conveniently ignoring, of course, the fact that we were too few to surround the city,” I mused aloud. “What have you told them?”
“Well,” Sargon answered slowly. “No-one has come right out and told me they are planning to kill the king, so I have not yet had to say a clear yes or no. It is clear to me from the hints and innuendo that they intend to do something soon … but I don’t have any definite information which I can take to the king.”
“That is likely by design,” I said, as the vestiges of a plan began to form in my head. “You cannot stop them, since you have no proof, but you are being encouraged to join them, at least in principle, so as to support them when they are successful.”
But a question remained.
“You speak of several generals, five or six at least. But only one can wear the crown and rule the city. Which is it?”
“I do not rightly know,” answered Sargon. “ They have been very careful about that. Again, what I do not know, I cannot reveal. And it is hard to go to the king with just a general sense of uneasiness.”
“The last thing you should do is go to the king now,” I agreed with Sargon. “You cannot give him definite information, and they will most certainly have you watched closely now. But I will find a way to talk to the king.”