The Assyrian

by Nicholas Guild

  I smiled and nodded—what else was I to do, since one does not spurn the tokens of kings?—but I could not help but wonder if this fool imagined I would value a night in any harlot’s arms at twenty mina of gold.

  “I am grateful for your favor to me, Lord—to me, and to my soldiers. Saving only that of the king our master, we serve no will but your own.”

  And then it was Argistis’ turn to smile and nod. He was not such a fool as to fail to understand my precise meaning.

  “And yet the Scythians are still within my borders, Prince—how does that come to be?”

  “For your own safety, Lord,” I replied, perhaps just a shade too quickly, as if it were an answer I had rehearsed. “Unless you garrison the western shore—and perhaps even if you do, for they do not fight like women—you will have one or another of these tribes there forever. Better you should have the Scythians for neighbors than some others, for they have tasted the might of Ashur, and their headman, Tabiti, son of Argimpasa, has called me his brother and sworn a blood oath of loyalty. As long as the king in Nineveh and the king in Tushpa are friends, you will have no cause for complaint from the Scythians.”

  The threat may have been wrapped in a promise, but this king saw it clearly enough. He smiled yet once more and turned the conversation to other things.

  By even the standards of kings, however, his table talk was empty, boastful, insipid. He talked about the exploits of his generals as if they were his own—which all kings glory to do—but Argistis was alone in his apparent powerlessness to distinguish between himself and his servants, whom he seemed to regard as mere extensions of his own will. He did not even have the cunning to be jealous. He appeared to regard himself as alone in his kingdom, surrounded by mere blocks of wood instead of men.

  “I was wise to treat with you for aid,” he said casually, “although I little expected such a swift victory. The Scythian barbarians will know now to fear the might of Urartia.”

  Had he forgotten the Lord Lutipri’s existence? Or my own? And one might imagine the Scythians drawing quite a different moral.

  The king my father, I knew, wished for no more conquests, but the king my brother, when his turn came, might turn his ambitious eyes to the north. What an easy victory, I thought, what a joke would it be for Esarhaddon to pull the feathers from this peacock’s tail.

  Having learned long ago the folly of reveling with fools and scoundrels, that night I drank but little of the strong Urartian wine. However, that man was not alone who, having grown drunk enough to attempt mounting one of the courtesans, found himself too drunk to accomplish the act, so, when at last the king withdrew and the rest of us were then free to stay or go, there were not many who could stagger to their rooms without assistance. But I required no help. When I rose from the table, I made my solitary way to a balcony and there breathed in the cold, clear air—a reminder, if I needed one, that the winter snows would not hold off forever—until the fumes were gone from my head and I was as fresh as a spring lamb.

  But it is not always a blessing to be sober. I did not feel lonely or low spirited, only. . . I did not quite know how I felt, except that my soul was empty.

  What was I now, when my king’s enemies were conquered and my soldiers safe in their beds? What had I of my own? Was there even life left in my body?

  But these were no more than the thoughts of a man who has been awake too long and has the taste of stale wine in his mouth. I would go to bed, and tomorrow the world would seem a friendlier place.

  King Argistis had lent me quarters not far from his own apartments—the better, no doubt, to keep me under his wakeful, haunted eyes. When I entered these rooms I was glad to see the brazier still red with living coals. I had already undressed and was washing my face in a basin

  of cold water when I noticed the girl watching me from my sleeping mat. In truth, I had forgotten all about her. Half light and shadow lend a charm to all things, and she appeared even more beautiful as she lay there, leaning back on her arms, her breasts, as they rose and fell with their breathing, seeming to possess my eyes. She smiled at me, as if she knew all about me, as if my heart were open to her. Her smile made me think of a cat with a cornered mouse—this will be an easy kill, it seemed to say.

  “My lord is weary,” she said, in a voice as smooth as linen. “Come. Let me touch my lord’s brow with my cool hands.”

  Yes, the smile said, I understand the weaknesses of men. It took me no more than that instant to understand that I did not want to feel the touch of those cool hands.

  “I have drunk too much wine,” I said. “I fear we would both be wasting our time.”

  Her smooth shoulders moved in a tiny gesture of dismissal. What was her time for, she might have asked, except to be wasted on such as me?

  I had sat down on a little wooden stool, and I watched her in silence. And when at last it was obvious even to her that I was merely waiting for her to leave, she rose from the sleeping mat and came near me. She crouched beside me, touching my arm with her hands, and her lips brushed against my skin as if by accident.

  Was I not a man? Could I feel nothing, not even desire? Yes. I felt that. I took her by the shoulders and looked at her in the dim light. I looked at her as I might have looked at a map of some unknown country. I pushed her from me—roughly, so that she fell hard against the smooth floor. I did this and buried my face in my hands.

  “Leave me,” I said, in a choked voice. “I have no wish to hurt you, but. . . Leave me.”

  I could hear the sound of her naked feet against the floor, and then the sound of a door closing, and then nothing.

  “. . . I hope your love is a curse to you,” she had said. “I hope it haunts you until you die. . .”

  The dawn had almost come before I closed my eyes.

  . . . . .

  The next morning, I received no summons from the king. He was no doubt closeted with his ministers and servants, listening attentively while they settled among themselves what he should decide to do. Thus, after I had visited the barracks where my soldiers were quartered, I felt myself at perfect liberty and decided to walk alone through the great city of Tushpa and see this miracle of beauty with the eyes of an anonymous stranger.

  All that day I wandered through her streets, lost in wonder. The temple of the god Khaldi, patron of the Urartians, was built of massive stones raised in alternating layers of black and yellow, its gates framed in red granite. On the inside the walls were painted in the brightest colors to depict the rituals of his worship, along with demons such as made the blood run cold, and scenes of hunting and farming. These people were masters of the art of carving stone—their friezes, executed after the manner of Nineveh, were astonishing enough, but, beyond this, they had found the true pattern of shaping images in the round. The idol of that terrible deity was so lifelike that I half expected to see it move, to blink its eyes in the smoke of its burned offerings and to bare its savage teeth. The temples of the lesser gods, the palaces of the king and his nobles, and armories and garrisons, even the humblest shops and houses were exquisite in their decorations and their perfection of line. If the mighty gods should ever decide to build a city and dwell on earth like men, even they could not hope to surpass the marvel that was Tushpa.

  I returned to King Argistis’ palace in a state of elation, that curious happiness that comes to us when, for a few hours, we have been taken out of ourselves, have almost forgotten our own existence. A man playing with his children feels it, as does—so I am told—the artist in the practice of his art. As does the patron of that artist. As does the simplest farmer looking at a sunset. This Tushpa gave me, freely, unconscious even that there was something to give, and not for a moment only but for the whole day. And from that day I always loved the city and felt it a great misfortune that she was ruled by a foolish weakling.

  The Lord Lutipri was waiting for me in my rooms.

  “You sent the woman away last night,” he said, after we had taken our seats and had wine poured
for us. “The king was surprised and—I must say it—offended.”

  “Was the king offended because I was not in the mood for rutting, or because he must now pay me twenty mina of gold whether I spend my seed in his harlots or do not?”

  Lutipri found this such a diverting remark that he was forced to cover a smile with his hand. This, I think, was his diplomatic way of telling me I should not speak rudely of his master.

  “My lord prince must realize there is not such a sum in the whole city of Tushpa. What would you have us do? Melt the idols of our gods?”

  “Tushpa is rich—your king is rich. Have I not seen every demonstration of this?” I shrugged my shoulders. “However, the rest of my army will arrive tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, and the first snows of winter will not be far behind them. If the Lord Argistis does not object to quartering a foreign army of some seven hundred men until the spring thaw, then I shall be happy to stay in Tushpa. I could not in conscience leave until I have fulfilled the bargain we both made in the names of our royal masters. How could I? How would I explain myself to Ashur’s mighty king?”

  “You said seven hundred men?”

  “Yes. With horses and gear. Did you imagine I conquered the Scythians by myself?”

  The Lord Lutipri set his wine cup back down on the table, puckering his mouth slightly as if the taste no longer appealed to him.

  “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 foll
ow 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.”