Sarah (14 page)

“And all of us who were present this morning will carry in our memories your courage before the bull. If we were to weaken in battle, we have only to remember you. Just as you defied the bull's horns, so we shall defy the swords of our enemies.”

Sarai smiled. Kiddin—proud, haughty, handsome Kiddin, who cared as much for his body as his rank—was making a huge effort to please her and even, in his way, to appear humble.

“Good day, brother,” she replied, her tone distant rather than affectionate. “I'm pleased that the invocation was of benefit to you.”

“It was, Sacred Handmaid, be sure of that.”

Kiddin rose to his full height and looked Sarai up and down. There was nothing humble in his gaze. Nothing brotherly, either. It was the kind of look that made Sililli's hackles rise. The look of a young animal, inflamed by Sarai's beauty and heavy with desire.

Kiddin put his hand inside his leather cape and took out a necklace of gold beads, carnelians, and silver rings.

“Accept this gift. May it enhance your beauty, the greatest my eyes have ever contemplated.”

Sarai laughed, so loudly that the handmaids turned their heads. “Gratitude, soft words, a necklace . . . I can't believe my eyes or my ears! What's happening to you, Kiddin? Has the prospect of battle sweetened your character, dear brother?”

“We aren't children anymore!” Kiddin retorted, curling his lips. “The time for squabbling is over. You have been enhancing our father's name in this temple for many moons now, and I am grateful to you. I may have been unfair toward you in the past. Who could ever have guessed that your whims were ruled by the hand of Inanna? You're right, though: I have a duty to be humble before you. My words and my gift are sincere. And my pride is great: Like everyone in our house, I've heard the news, Sacred Handmaid of the Blood.”

Once again, he bowed respectfully, holding his hand out for Sarai to take the necklace, which she had still not touched.

“The news?” she asked, frowning.

“Oh . . . Didn't you know? True, our father only found out about it yesterday. Our almighty sovereign has named you to be his sacred spouse in the Sublime Bedchamber when seedtime next comes around.”

The shock of it took Sarai's breath away. Emboldened, Kiddin stepped forward and placed the necklace in his sister's hands.

“Don't be surprised,” he said, in a low but excited voice. “We'd been expecting this choice for a long time. Who could lay greater claim to such an honor? There is no priestess in all the temples of Ur, Eridu, or even Larsa who has been free of the bridal blood for as long as you. Seven years! Not to mention your beauty . . . Never before has Inanna been so present in a priestess, or so powerful. Now that war is looming, who better than you to replace the Lady of War in the king's sacred bed?”

Sarai wanted to free her hands, but Kiddin would not let go of them.

“You are doing our house an enormous honor. My one wish is to become your equal. Once you have been united with him, the mighty Shu-Sin will entrust me with one of his four armies. Rightly so. Thanks to your blessing this morning, I shall fight like a lion as soon as battle begins. Think, sister, how important our family will soon be in Ur! You, the Priestess of the Sublime Bedchamber, and I the Bull of War.”

“We haven't reached that point yet,” Sarai replied, coldly. “There's nothing certain about the king's choice. Don't trust rumors. In the temple, words spread like flies!”

“Oh, no! You can be quite certain of what I'm telling you. But that isn't the reason I'm here. I've come to inform you that my father desires your presence in our house. He has refurbished our temple to make it worthy of the Sacred Handmaid of the Blood, and he wishes you to make the first offerings to the new statues of our ancestors.”

Sarai hesitated. Kiddin was aware of it.

“If you refused,” he went on, effortlessly resuming his old tone, which had lost all trace of tenderness or humility, “nobody would understand. Since you started living in the temple, I can't recall you setting foot in our house more than three times. If you didn't come to salute our ancestors, it would be an insult to the living and the dead.”

A FEW days later, Sarai entered Ichbi Sum-Usur's house with an escort of handmaids, including Sililli. The whole household had gathered in the courtyard. Behind her father and brother stood her aunts, uncles, and cousins, as well as the handmaids, gardeners, and slaves. The family wore ceremonial togas with tasseled and embroidered hems, and had put on their wigs and jewelry.

Kiddin was right, Sarai thought, as she advanced across the petal-strewn mats and rugs. It was so long since she had last been here that she barely recognized the place. Ichbi Sum-Usur had had the communal rooms surrounding the courtyard decorated with massive columns, on which the sunlight formed geometric shadows. On all of them, there were splendid bas-reliefs of glazed brick, carved with scenes from the lives of the gods. The colors, the forms, the subtlety of the contours were remarkable: It was as though the Lords of Heaven were about to leap into the courtyard, as alive as humans.

Ichbi Sum-Usur, too, had a new solidity about him. At the waist, his toga bulged with rolls of flesh, and the jowls of his face ended in a self-satisfied double chin. His natural hair was covered with a heavy, oiled wig. His joy at seeing his beloved daughter again was sincere. Gently, with a new deference, he bowed to her, offering his palms to heaven, in a mark of respect she had only ever seen him grant the most powerful. His eyes dimmed with emotion.

“Sacred Handmaid of the Blood, welcome to my house. May Enlil, Ea, and the Lady of the Moon be thanked.”

While their father was speaking, Kiddin bowed deeply, as did the rest of the household. As a sign of his new rank, he wore the symbolic ax of the king's officers in his belt. When he straightened up again, a smile as white as salt in the sun shone through his dark beard.

Sarai approached her father. She took his hands in hers, brought them to her forehead, and bowed in her turn.

“My father! Here I am only Sarai, your daughter. You used to call me ‘my beloved daughter.'”

She was unable to continue. Abruptly tearing his hands from hers, Ichbi Sum-Usur stepped back. “No, no, Sacred Handmaid! That cannot be! Now Ea is your only father and Inanna your sweet mother. I, Ichbi Sum-Usur, am merely the humble mortal who led you into this life so that they could choose you.”

Sarai opened her mouth to protest.

“My father is right!” Kiddin said, forestalling her, in a voice loud enough to be heard by everybody. “The daughter and sister we knew died six years ago, during those days when she slept with a sleep that was not human and Ishtar revealed to her the Heaven of the Lords. The woman who opened her eyes again is forever our beloved Sacred Handmaid of the Blood. To call her otherwise would be to offend the Lords of Heaven.”

Sarai felt a coldness in her chest, a coldness as icy as a winter wind. She was on the point of reminding Kiddin of the words he himself had used when he had come to ask an audience of her in the
giparù,
words he was now forbidding everyone to use: “Sarai,” “my sister,” “my very dear sister.”

But she remained silent. Kiddin may not have been sincere, but the same could not be said of her father or the others, who were looking at her with intense respect—respect and fear.

Yes, for them she was the Goddess of War made flesh! The capricious girl, the rebel who needed constant supervision, had disappeared. The gods had chosen her. The sadness of it seized her by the throat. She had never felt so alone in her life.

With resignation, she did what was expected of her until the sun reached the zenith. The temple was newly decorated; altars of precious wood had been set up and strewn with petals, ready to welcome new statues of the ancestors. She uttered prayers, sang the praises of the dead, burned perfumes, gave and received offerings. She did all with a mechanical indifference that passed for the usual detachment of a priestess accustomed to such ceremonies. From time to time, she sensed how pleased her father and the household were, and she forced herself to find a kind of satisfaction in that.

When at last the sun was at its zenith, they returned to the great courtyard, where tables and cushions had been arranged for a banquet. Tradition demanded that all the members of the family had to sit down to a meal to which the statues of the ancestors would be invited, like relatives returning from a long journey. Until they had taken their places among the living and been served large portions of the richest dishes, nobody would be allowed to drink or touch any of the food.

Everyone sat down according to their rank. Handmaids placed a seat for Sarai in the center of a small dais, between Ichbi Sum-Usur and the aunts. As soon as she was seated, a strange stillness seized everyone. Nobody said a word. The house froze, as if it was populated by statues. The only sign of life came from the birds flying overhead and casting strong shadows.

A shiver ran down Sarai's neck and her shoulders. Discreetly, she clenched her fists to stop her fingers from trembling. She felt fear in the small of her back, like a wave of pain.

Suddenly, she no longer saw the tense faces of her relatives sitting at the banquet tables, but instead another dais that had been set up on this very spot, one day long ago. She no longer heard the heavy silence as they waited for the ancestors, but rather, the din of wedding chants. At her feet, she saw a basin of scented water. She saw herself standing naked before her father and the man who wanted her as his wife, and felt once again the contact of the oily water on her skin as she slipped into it with despair in her heart.

It was so long ago! So long since she had last thought of all that! So long since she had dreamed of a
mar.Tu
who would come and take her far away from Ur through the power of a single kiss!

A long creaking, like a moan, made her jump. The great door of the house was finally opening. Freshly painted and resplendent, Ichbi Sum-Usur's five ancestors appeared, carried on cane palanquins.

They crouched life-size on purple, black, and white cushions. Their curly wigs swayed on their shoulders, and their togas were perfectly pleated. Their severe faces were wrinkled with age and their ivory and lapis lazuli eyes seemed to pierce the souls of the living as surely as arrows. Each of them held in one hand a golden sheaf of barley or corn; in the other, a sickle or some writing tablets.

These were statues of rare perfection. Murmurs of approval were heard in the courtyard. The stillness suddenly broke, and the assembly raised their arms and broke into a fervent chant.

O Fathers of our fathers,

     Seed of the damp earth,

     Sperm of our destinies,

     O beloved fathers . . .

Ichbi Sum-Usur and Kiddin stood up and held out their hands. Their faces were red, and their eyes shone. The slaves moved the palanquins close to the dais and carefully placed the statues between the perfume burners. Standing behind them, Sarai recognized his face.

IT all happened so slowly, it was as if the laws of nature had been suspended. In reality, it took but a fleeting moment.

Two men entered the courtyard, a few steps behind the ancestors. When the statues were put down, they both came to a halt. One of them was old, the other in the full flower of his youth. They were wearing the thick gray linen robes of the
mar.Tu,
which was what had attracted Sarai's attention. The older one had a wrinkled face and hands made white by kneading clay. Their postures were reverential, even slightly anxious. The younger one stood stiffly and frowned as he peered about him more in surprise than in admiration. His eyes took in the sun-drenched bas-reliefs, then turned to the dais. Luminous brown eyes, that came to rest on Kiddin and on Ichbi Sum-Usur. It was him.

It seemed as though he did not dare to meet her gaze; admiring only her toga, her figure. She did not realize that she was slowly moving forward on the dais. A voice inside her repeated: “It's him, I know it's him.”