by K. T. Tomb
“The Assyrians have confiscated all the black hematite that was mined in the north for the temple altar,” Ishtari said. “Now that you have decided on the idols for the temple, how will the craftsmen create them in time for the festival?”
“Woman, it is time for love and you keep asking questions!” Hammurabi said with a laugh. “It is why you are queen and not another. This is the first thing I shall negotiate with Ishme-Dagan. He is to escort the caravan of stone to Babylon city bringing with him the girl and her retinue that we may judge her worth. He already knows that I will not consider her unless the confiscated caravans are returned to us and the roads reopened.”
“This is good news, my king,” Ishtari said, standing from the chair to kneel and remove his sandals.
She signaled to a nearby chamber slave, who brought a basin for her and a jug of cool water. Ishtari placed her husband’s feet into the basin and poured water over them, gently washing them with her beautiful, long, black hair. Though she was now thirty-five and had borne Hammurabi ten children in their fifteen years of marriage, she had not one grey hair on her head or one wrinkle on her beautiful face.
“You honor me, wife,” he said, touching the top of her bowed head. “When the markets become full of Hittite and Mesopotamian merchandise again, then I will invite him and his court to Babylon. The hematite will come with them as a sign of good faith.”
“Then you will take Kashira as a royal concubine of Babylon,” she stated, drying his feet with the ends of her own veil even though the slave held a piece of cotton cloth out for her to use for that purpose.
The slave instead quickly removed the basin and the jug while Ishtari took her seat on the floor and tenderly rubbed olive oil into his freshly washed skin.
“Do not be troubled by this, my love,” he replied, stroking her hair gently. “You do not need to attend the bedding if you do not wish to. However, I believe that you will want to be there to be assured that there will be no passion between this girl and I. She will wear the collar of the harem women just as the others do because she is no wife of Babylon.”
“Very well, husband,” Ishtari succumbed. “All this talk of bedding Kashira is spoiling the moment. I only wish to bed my husband.”
Hammurabi smiled.
After fifteen years as his queen, Ishtari had become bolder and bolder with him, it was the quality he loved most about her. She served him and she pleased him, in every way that a king or a man would desire, but she was also strong and clever. She knew the politics of ruling an empire and she knew the laws of it as well.
He stood and took her by the hand. As she rose to her full height, he pulled her closely to him with one hand and gestured his dismissal of the chamber slaves with the other.
“You will have no attendants this night?” Ishtari asked him, surprised.
“Why?” he asked. “I am attended by love.”
She smiled as he led her into the bed chamber.
***
A few weeks later, the markets within the city limits were again bursting with food and supplies of every kind. There were the dried and salted meat and fruit delicacies from the west, the woven treasures from the east and the jewelry merchants’ tables were laden with delicate pieces from Egypt and Phoenicia.
The work on the temple was near completion.
Hammurabi was pleased with the reports from the city. Even from the palace balconies, he could see the change in the atmosphere among the people. There was a certain air of relief, as if some doubt had been brewing about the city’s future and it had now been dispersed like so many wisps of smoke.
“All seems well again in the world, wife,” he said, smirking.
“Indeed, husband,” she agreed, not lifting her head from the garment she was expertly mending.
“I see you even have beads to decorate your clothes again. Why don’t you have your slave do that, Ishtari? You always bring sewing into the throne room.”
“Does it displease you, Master?” she asked, teasing him with the term of respect.
“I am accustomed,” he relented, taking his seat beside her. “You have sewn your own clothing since before I married you. I just do not understand why.”
“My sister was murdered with a poisoned veil when I was ten years old, husband. She was married to the brother of an Egyptian Pharaoh and her handmaidens hated that she was a foreigner so much that they killed her. I do not allow slaves to tailor my garments nor those of my husband or my children.”
“I did not know this,” Hammurabi said softly.
“I did not care to mention it before, so that is no fault of yours.”
“Will you continue to sew when Ishme-Dagan and his court arrive?”
“I will, as I usually do, Master,” she replied. “It is important for them to see that even though I may sit at your side as the Queen of Babylon; it is you who rules here.”
Hammurabi nodded his pleasure at her response.
He noted how she never took her eyes off the needle and fabric in her hands and worked assiduously, as if she was in a hurry for the garment to be ready. There was an open vial of liquid which was tucked into the beaded belt at the top of her bodice. Occasionally, Ishtari dipped her needle into the tiny bottle, threaded a new bead onto it and continued sewing. He knew nothing of working garments, so the king thought little of it.
Some time passed before they heard the horns that heralded the arrival of the Assyrians. Hammurabi stood from the throne and took a few steps forward, fixing his crown and smoothing out his robes. Ishtari remained seated, not even raising her eyes once as the colorful procession entered the throne room.
When they were all assembled in front of them and Hammurabi was again standing in front of his golden chair, Ishtari took her cue. This quaint custom of her husband’s was his rebuttal to her insisting on sewing while they held their court; he would not sit on his throne as King until she had laid aside the fabric and donned her crown as Queen.
Ishtari slowly put the material and her needle down on the tiny table beside her where the bowl of multicolored beads lay. She waved her slave forward with the crown while picking up the little cork, covering the vial of liquid at her belt and tucking it away. The girl picked up Ishtari’s hair in a huge roll and secured the tall crown on her head. When it was securely in place, the queen stood and walked around to her husband’s left side where she stood beside his throne and gracefully leaned against it with her hip. She folded her arms before her chest. The slave girl hurriedly folded the curule chair and the table she had been using and moved it away.
There was a murmur among the Assyrians as they were kept waiting for her to prepare herself for receiving them. They were even more shocked when Hammurabi didn’t sit down until she had positioned herself at his side in her feline stance.
Their confidence as a royal couple was undoubted within the room and anyone who might have come to Babylon thinking that they would be meeting a weak ruler would be completely deflated. Together, they exuded a wondrous power that was an enigma to behold.
“Welcome, King Ishme-Dagan and the court of Assyria, to Babylon,” Hammurabi announced as loudly as he could.
Dagan stepped forward and bowed slightly. At that Hammurabi stood from the throne and descended the raised dais. He extended both hands to Dagan and, accepting the gesture, Dagan stepped forward and they embraced. As if on cue, both kings extended their left hands and their consorts approached the men. Ishtari to Hammurabi’s side and Kashira to Dagan’s.
“May I present Ishtari, Queen of Babylonia,” Hammurabi said.
“May I present Kashira, Princess of Assyria,” Dagan replied.
The four bowed courteously to each other and separated. As she approached the dais, Ishtari’s slave brought her chair back and unfolded it for her. When she was seated, the table was also replaced and she immediately took up the fabric and began to sew again. There was a murmur again from the crowd; half of whom expected her, like the other women, to excuse herself from the proceedings and the
other half who were outraged that she would then begin to do menial tasks in front of strangers.
The queen anticipated the hubbub and took the opportunity to say to her husband under her breath, “Not even a royal princess, husband? He brings us a bastard daughter to seal his deals for him? Who does this upstart mongrel think he is?”
“Be quiet, wife,” he replied with a broad smile on his face. “Let him think that we are satisfied. There is better cheese made from the milk of a fat cow than from that of a skinny one.”
She laughed and said, “Indeed.”
Ishtari heard everything but said nothing as the men and their various advisers bickered back and forth about the business of reopening the roads and maintaining access and commerce between the two nations. Soon, she was finished with the beautiful piece of gauze which she had fashioned into a bedding veil. She continued to fiddle with it touching the rows of beads with drops of the liquid from the tiny vial. When the negotiations had come to a favorable conclusion, the court of Assyria presented Kashira to Hammurabi and Ishtari again; this time she was dressed in the red dress of a lesser bride. The King and Queen descended the dais together and each extended a hand for the woman to kiss.
There was a long pause as Ishtari met Kashira eyes and glowered at her for a moment, then suddenly the girl lowered her eyes and the queen announced, “She will do, husband and I will attend the bedding. Kashira, I have made you a bedding veil. Here in Babylon, concubines are not permitted to share the passion in their eyes with the king.”
The court gasped but Ishtari did not care. She turned and strolled from the room, taking the garment with her.
***
Three nights later, after the great traditional feast, the caravans of the Assyrians withdrew from the walls of Babylon heading north towards their home. The king and queen silently turned from the steps of the palace and walked hand in hand towards the staircases. They went up to the chamber levels and then to the concubine’s rooms.
Kashira had been bathed in almond oil and milk, perfumed and dressed according to Ishtari’s specifications for the evening. She had been given a meal of dried fruit, soft cheese, freshly baked bread, olives and grapes. Her wine was spiked with the strong grain alcohol the farmers produced.
When they arrived in her bedchamber, she had been stripped and lain out on the silks of the bed for them to appraise. Ishtari approached first. She stroked the hair back from the girl’s face and then unfolded the veil she had made, wrapping it carefully over the girls’ head and face until her features were completely obscured.
“We will speak in the morning, Kashira,” she said. ‘You look very beautiful.”
“Yes, Mistress,” the girl replied.
The queen stood back from the bed and kneeled in a corner of the room. Hammurabi had watched her silently as she performed the ritual. He wanted to feel badly for her but it was how things worked in their world. He knew he only felt that remorse because of how much he loved her. If he did not love her, and their country, so much he would not have to do such things. As a man, he smiled to himself; the tasting of a new wife is never a bad thing for a man or a king.
He would gladly do his duty.
***
The next morning, a scream rang out through the palace. While servants bolted toward the sound to see what had happened, Ishtari gracefully sauntered towards the concubine’s rooms. At the dressing table, a distraught Kashira sat pawing her face in the polished bronze mirror.
“Leave us!” the queen commanded, as soon as she arrived.
The slaves and other attendants went scurrying through the door.
“Kashira, you are not well,” Ishtari started.
“Mistress, my face!” she wailed. “Look at it.”
Kashira turned to the queen to reveal a face whose skin was raw and red. Tiny bumps were forming in aggravated patches, filling with white ooze.
“Did you enjoy your bedding?” the queen asked, unaffected by the spectacle.
“What?” the girl replied, surprised.
“I asked you if you enjoyed yourself with my husband last night!” Ishtari said, “Do not enjoy his company again, girl. This was just a small dose of the poison I carry for women who would try to place themselves on my throne. This is only a warning; heed it well. Mariah will bring something to heal you.”
Satisfied, Ishtari returned to her rooms.
“You poisoned her?” Hammurabi asked.
“Yes, husband.”
“How?”
“It was the veil. The minute she heated it with her breath and her sweat, it leeched into her skin.”
“Will the antidote work?”
‘Yes, Master. She will be well again by dinner tonight. It was only a small dose, not lethal at all.”
“And she knows that you did it? And why?”
“Yes, husband. She is a clever girl; I didn’t have to explain much.”
“Good. I want her to inform Dagan as quickly as possible about the threat to her life here. It’s time that Assyria stopped being an obstacle between us and Phoenicia; I’m tired of their pretending to be a kingdom when all they are is a country of bandits and brigands.”
“He will know before the next moon, husband, so we may as well prepare for war.”
“Excellent! We will make many sacrifices to gods and by their grace, Babylon will be victorious.”
“But husband, the temple is not yet complete. It could be a bad omen to march on Assyria before it is finished.”
“Ninurta is a warring god, but also an understanding one. First, we fight and then we will praise him with our victory and its spoils.”
Chapter One
UNESCO Headquarters,
Place de Fontenoy, Paris, France
“Director,” Petrovik said, as he stepped into the office.
“Yes, Petrovik,” she replied, without looking up from the computer screen. “What is it?”
“We still haven’t been able to make contact with the dig team in Iraq. They should have returned last week but when they arrived in Baghdad, we lost contact with them completely.”
“I know all about it. What happened to the investigator we sent? Hasn’t he been able to make any progress finding them yet?”
“He hasn’t been able to find so much as a clue of what happened to them, Ilea.”
“That’s absolutely preposterous!” she shouted, standing up from the desk so quickly that her chair flew back into the wall behind her.
She gathered her emotions hastily as she tugged at the ends of her blazer. She turned and looked over the city through the wide expanse of window.
“Should we file a missing persons report? Alert the authorities and enlist the assistance of the Iraqis to locate them?”
“No,” she replied, “We shouldn’t bring any unnecessary attention to this matter until we know more about where we stand and possibly who’s responsible for this. If it is really an abduction then it’s just a matter of time before they contact us to tell us what they want.”
“But in the meantime we can’t just sit here and wait, can we?”
“Absolutely not! We’re talking about nine of our best scientists and researchers here, not to mention their project was sanctioned and funded by UNESCO. We have to keep searching for them.”
“The liaison team lost contact with the other seven last night as well, Director.”
“What? Petrovik, when were you planning on telling me that? Where were they the last time they reported in?”
“At the base camp, Director.”
She ran her fingers through her short, straight bob anxiously and turned back to the desk. Pressing a button on the phone, she initiated a call to her receptionist.
“Call Miss Stone right away!” she ordered the woman on the other end of the line, before pressing the button again to end the call. “Say nothing to the media or the rest of the administration and get the liaison team in here right away.”
“What are you going to do?”
“
I’m bringing the rest of Found History in on this, Petrovik. Chyna’s lead investigator was with the others at the base camp. She was supposed to help them break down the operation and secure the artifacts for a quick evacuation. If they’re off the grid now, Chyna is the only person who will be able to help us locate and extract them.”
***
Chyna’s laughter burst from the slightly ajar door of her office again.
Rashid Abdullah, Head Curator of the Hagia Sofia museum had taken to visiting her at the office regularly since they had been open for business. He had become a dear friend to them all after they’d met while Chyna’s team had been working on the assignment they all now referred to as the case of the Mummy Codex.
Rashid had been a key player in the solving of that mystery. As it turned out he was actually the modern day protector of the book that had been hidden from humanity for almost three thousand years by one of Egypt’s most famous and ill-fated princesses, Ankhesenamun-Tasherit-Ma’at.
Rashid, they later found out, was a direct descendant of Pharaoh Djoser’s High Priest, Imhotep, and like all his descendants before him he had guarded the Book of Life, with a little help from his friends, of course.
Since they had come to Istanbul, Rashid had been sending a few jobs at the museum their way and that had been particularly helpful to the Found History team. They had met the who’s who of Istanbul society, had the chance to showcase some of their finer talents with the exhibitions and curating they did, and establish themselves as appraisers to the merchants in the region. It had been a beneficial relationship for all involved. Sirita had even hired an assistant investigator and taken on two interns from the local university just to keep up with the work.
“How are our friends in Luxor doing?” Chyna asked Rashid. “I haven’t heard much from Nassir, Mohammed or Jamila recently.”
“They are quite well,” her friend replied confidently as he poured fresh çay into both glasses on the table. “They miss us and insist we visit them for some sport soon.”
