“As a reward,” he began, not quite looking me
in the face, “and as a token of his friendship, my king is prepared
to offer you ten mina of gold.”
“And as a right, in fulfillment of a debt, my
king is prepared to accept twenty.”
“I think it is unwise for us to speak further
of this today, my lord.”
“This may be so.”
“Thus I will leave you now.” He rose from his
seat, offering me his hand like a friend. “Let us hope that
tomorrow all men shall have grown wiser.”
I dined alone that night, wondering how much
I would finally squeeze from this crafty servant and his fool of a
master. I decided that I would settle for fifteen mina, which was,
after all, a great sum—I did not wish to stay in these mountains
for a whole winter. I was shaknu of the north, not governor of
Tushpa. I had business in my own country. Fifteen mina was indeed a
great sum. I would settle for that. And I would be just as pleased,
I decided, if the king sent his harlot back to me tonight. I was
being wise enough with her master, but last night I had been a
great fool.
I had known no woman since leaving Nineveh.
Why? What was I attempting to prove to myself? Esharhamat was lost
to me, and I must find a way to go on living. And a man who knows
no woman is only half alive. If the woman returned, I would do her
more than justice.
But she did not return. I spent the night
alone, and not well pleased with my own company.
. . . . .
From the landward side, the only approaches
into Tushpa are up steep cliffs of rock. The trails are narrow and
winding, full of places of ambush, and, at the top, the city walls
are high and fashioned from the same stone—thus, while an invading
army may ravage the countryside, the capital itself is impregnable.
This the Lord Sargon learned ten years before I was born.
But the Lord Sargon had not had a force of
one hundred and fifty men already inside the walls.
To remind the Urartians of this, the hour I
received word that the rest of my army had been sighted I gave
orders that the two companies which had come with me were to
assemble for parade. We would march straight out into the city’s
great square, within sight of the walls—which, of course, had not
been built to be defended from the rear—and there we would await
the arrival of our comrades. We were King Argistis’ guests. If he
attacked us he would surely bring the Lord Sennacherib’s wrath down
upon him. I was prepared to let him ponder the difficulties of the
situation.
The Lord Lutipri, who was standing on the
wall to witness the approach of these not quite invaders, invited
me to join him. My officers had their orders—they would be watching
from the square and I had only to raise my arm to see those orders
obeyed, but he knew that as well as I. There was a cold wind
blowing by us as he gave me his hand.
“It is, my prince, in any case not a great
force,” he said, gesturing toward the lines of horses and men that
moved across the valley floor so far below us.
“No, it is not a great force—only a part of
the great army my Dread Lord Sennacherib has under his command. A
small part.”
We watched them in silence for perhaps the
space of five minutes. The Urartian soldiers on the walls watched
them. No one, however, attempted to interfere as they began making
their precarious way up the trails cut centuries before in the
cliff faces. At last the Lord Lutipri put
his hand on my arm.
“My king is generous,” he said. “You have won
his heart and he will give you fourteen mina of gold.”
I turned to him, letting my face go as
expressionless as stone.
“Seventeen.”
“Done.”
We shook hands and were friends again.
“But can you leave tomorrow?” he asked,
narrowing his eyes as he looked into the wind. “I have no wish to
seem inhospitable, but. . .
I could not help but laugh.
“Nor I, my lord, to die in the snow on my way
home. Yes—yes, by all means tomorrow.”
. . . . .
And I was as good as my word. The companies
who had only just finished their march from the west—and who had
expected a few days’ rest—were not very pleased, but it was already
the fifth day of the month of Tisri and the air was like ice.
Winter came early in these mountains.
The march home took us twelve days. At first
we struck west, crossing the Toprah mountain range, until we found
the sources of the Greater Zab. Then we simply followed the river
home. It was a longer way, but we put the mountains behind us
early. Snow was already in the air when, a day’s march from Amat,
we encountered the first of the garrisons outriders. He stayed with
us for an hour, and then I sent him galloping home with news of our
coming.
We camped that evening not two beru from our
own gates. We might have reached our own beds by darkness, but I
did not wish this army to come straggling home in the middle of the
night like a pack of vagabonds. These men were conquerors, and I
wanted them to feel it. I wanted Amat to feel it. Soldiers need to
know they are soldiers and not pack animals, so we would sleep
through one more night on the cold ground.
So the next morning, with our drums booming
and the citizens of Amat standing by the roadside to cheer, we made
our return. These were not the same men who had left only a little
over a month before—I was not the same. We were the soldiers of our
king and the servants of our god, and we had brought home victory.
As I rode through the fortress gates, listening to the shouts of
“Ashur is King” with what was now truly an army at my back, I was a
proud and happy man.
And a weary one. I could hardly wait to
return to my own rooms, eat a hot meal, sweat my body clean, and
sleep for twelve hours.
But what I found there took away my weariness
as if by magic. It was Kephalos.
My old servant had not changed, except to
grow a little fatter. His tunic was of the finest embroidery and
his brown beard smelled of myrrh, and he fell on his face before
his stinking, dirt streaked owner and embraced my knees.
“Master!—the gods be praised. . .”
“Worthy Physician, what in Adad’s name are
you doing here?”
I raised him to his feet and, as he wiped
away his tears of thanksgiving—for no man ever wept easier than my
slave Kephalos—he accepted from my hand a cup of wine.
“Ah, Lord, your revered brother the marsarru
seemed not to have liked the little present you sent him. He shook
it in my face—that head, Lord; as nasty a piece of work as I have
seen—holding it up by the hair with his own hand, and informed me
that ‘you may tell the Lord Tiglath Ashur, when you see him, that
he has nothing to fear from me!’ Well, my young master, I required
no broader hint—Nineveh was no longer a place of safety for me, so
I packed up to follow you to this wild place.”
He looked about him, without any
enthusiasm.
The head—yes. I had almost forgotten about
the head. But it did not matter. I stood up and put my hands upon
Kephalos’ broad shoulders, for the sight of him was dear to me.
“And did you bring your entire household?” I
asked. “Where in this little town will you find room for them
all?”
“Not all, Lord—not Philinna and the boy
Ernos.” He shrugged his shoulders and groaned, as if recalling some
painful memory.
“In the end, Master, when I grew tired of her
embraces and her endless nagging both, I allowed her to follow her
old trade as a tavern whore, which she did with great success. She
amassed wealth sufficient to buy her freedom—which had been my plan
from the first—with enough left over for a dowry that even I would
have found attractive had I known less about the woman who came
with it. Her husband is a leather dealer on the Street of Ishtar,
poor devil. As for the boy, I fear he did not turn out very well.
Doubtless he flourishes somewhere, and keeps busy cutting
throats.”
I laughed and embraced him.
“Kephalos, you dog, how I have missed
you!”
Chapter 20
“Your royal brother Esarhaddon is rarely ever
seen in Nineveh these days,” Kephalos told me—over a supper
prepared by his own cook, whom he preferred, with some
justification, to mine. “He has set up his own court at Calah and
reigns there as if he were king already. It is said that he and the
Lord Sennacherib can hardly bear to be in each other’s
presence.”
The esteemed physician belched loudly, for he
had dined well and was more than a little drunk. In the week since
he had arrived in Amat he had made himself quite at home and
developed a great appreciation for my Nairian wine. I found, upon
inquiry, that several jars were missing.
“I hardly know how to tell you, Lord—it was
rumored when I left that the Lady Esharhamat is expecting a
child.”
“That is not very surprising.” I tried, as I
spoke, to keep all expression out of my voice, there was no telling
with what success. “Producing children is rather the point of royal
marriages, is it not? And I know for a fact that Esarhaddon has
already fathered many on the bodies of his concubines.”
“It is believed by some—by many, Lord — that
you are the real father of this child.”
“Only the Lady Esharhamat could know that for
certain. And perhaps not even she.”
“Yes, Lord. This I acknowledge.”
For a long moment he sat quietly with his
head cocked to one side, seeming to study my face. I was not such a
fool as to fail to understand.
“I think,” he continued, “I think that this
belief is itself born of the hope that it might be true, for the
Lord Esarhaddon is not popular. . .”
I held up my hand in a gesture of
annoyance—these were not things which I wished to hear, which it
was even proper for me to hear—and Kephalos fell silent. It was a
painful silence, which lasted until I broke it myself.
“Have you seen my mother?” I asked. My
slave’s face brightened with relief.
“Yes, Lord. I stopped at Three Lions on my
journey north. She is well and lives for the day she may join
you—although, the gods know, there is little enough beyond your
radiant person to tempt anyone to Amat.”
I laughed and refilled his wine cup with my
own hand, for Kephalos spoke no more than the truth.
“And for that reason, my friend, as well as
many others, I am glad you have come, for I have something in mind.
Tell me, am I still rich?’
“Yes, Lord, as rich as ever.” He nodded
appreciatively and wiped his hands on the front of his tunic, as if
the mention of wealth made them sweat. “As rich as any man in the
Land of Ashur, save only the king, your brother Esarhaddon, and the
lord turtanu—although I have found it expedient to. . .
“To what, dog—speak!” I grinned, to show that
I was only joking. “What have you done now to beggar me?”
“I have thought it wise, Lord, to place some
small share of your riches—my own as well, Lord, for these are
unsettled times and a man must be prudent—into the hands of
merchants in Tyre and Sidon, even in Egypt. And I have made these
investments under other seals, that none might know these so and so
many talents of gold and silver are the property of the Lord
Tiglath Ashur, son of Sennacherib.”
I must have looked puzzled, for Kephalos
puckered his brow and frowned.
“I think the day may come. Lord, when both of
us will be forced to flee from this land—provided we are still
able. And your brother Esarhaddon, when he is king, will have a
long reach.”
“I have nothing to fear from Esarhaddon,
slave, nor he from me.”
“Master, you have many virtues to which I do
not pretend to aspire, but in these questions you are like a child
and must be content to be led by a slave, whose nature is less
admirable than your own but who is therefore much wiser in the
workings of a world not at all admirable.”
And Kephalos, who was of course quite right
and served me better than ever I had served myself, stared down
into his wine cup as if ashamed to meet my eye. But it was I, and
not he, who had reason to feel ashamed.
“I am sorry, my friend,” I said, and put my
hand upon his arm. “I spoke in haste and anger. Do not be offended
with the prattle of a child.”
“I am not offended. Lord. What you have said
is true—now. The Lord Esarhaddon is your brother and loves you. But
what is true now may not be true forever. Things can change
mightily when a man with a weak head finds himself master of the
world.”
He looked up and smiled, and I saw that I was
forgiven. And, yes, of course he had been wise to prepare for a day
that might never come. And if I did not care to think of such
things, that did not make me any the nobler.
It was time, however, to change the
subject.
“But I am still rich?” I asked. “You have not
sent even last copper shekel to Sidon and Thebes?”
“No, Lord—you are still rich. As befits a
prince.”
“Good. Then send to Nineveh that some of my
wealth may be brought to me here. I have need of it, for I intend
to build a mighty palace for my mother’s sake. And I will rebuild
the garrison, and the town as well—it is my intention to turn poor
little Amat into a great city. And not in brick but in stone. “And
for this, if I am not to be robbed and plundered by every rascal
who has something to sell, even if it be only the labor of his own
muscles, I shall need my rascal of a slave, the great physician
Kephalos, whose brain has more coils than a serpent.”
. . . . .
My faithful servant stumbled off to bed that
night both very drunk and very happy. I had given him a precious
commission, a gift of the most astonishing value. He was to have
charge of building a great city—and from such a project, he
calculated, the bribes alone would keep him in luxury into extreme
old age.
But of course, like a good guest, he had come
bearing gifts of his own.