by K. T. Tomb
THE
BABYLONIAN BASILISK
A Chyna Stone Adventure
#4
by
K.T. TOMB
Acclaim for K.T. Tomb:
“Epic and awesome!”
—J.T. Cross, bestselling author of Beneath the Deep
“Now this is what I call adventure. The Lost Garden will leave you breathless!”
—Summer Lee, bestselling author of Angel Heart
“The best adventure novel I’ve read in a long time. I can’t wait to read the sequel. Count me a fan. A big fan.”
—P.J. Day, bestselling author of The Sunset Prophecy
“K.T. Tomb is a wonderful new voice in adventure fiction. I was enthralled by The Lost Garden...and you will be, too.”
—Aiden James, bestselling author of Plague of Coins
OTHER BOOKS BY K.T. TOMB
STANDALONE ADVENTURES
The Last Crusade
The Kraken
The Adventurers
The Swashbucklers
The Tempest
Sasquatch
Ghosts of the Titanic
The Honeymooners
Curse of the Coins
Drums Along the Hudson
THE CHYNA STONE ADVENTURES
The Minoan Mask
The Mummy Codex
The Phoenician Falcon
The Babylonian Basilisk
The Aquitaine Armor
THE EVAN KNIGHT ADVENTURES
The Lost Garden
Keepers of the Lost Garden
Destroyers of the Lost Garden
THE PHOENIX QUEST ADVENTURES
The Hammer of Thor
The Spear of Destiny
The Lair of Beowulf
The Fountain of Youth
THE CASH CASSIDY ADVENTURES
The Holy Grail
The Lost Continent
The Lost City of Gold
THE ALPHA ADVENTURES
“A” is for Amethyst
“B” is for Bullion
“C” is for Crystal
The Babylonian Basilisk
Published by K.T. Tomb
Copyright © 2014 by K.T. Tomb
All rights reserved.
Ebook Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication
The author wishes to dedicate this book to the late
Richard Laymon.
The Babylonian Basilisk
Prologue
“Why should you take another, Sire? We are already three wives in Babylon and your harem is full of unused concubines who spend their days gossiping and growing fat and unattractive,” Ishtari complained.
“I have taken wives from the courts of my allies, Ishtari, but as a good king I must take concubines from the courts of my enemies, both conquered and unconquered. Otherwise, how will I form new alliances for Babylon or enforce her rule over the conquered nations?”
Ishtari shrugged and picked up the wine jar to refill her husband’s cup. She wasn’t pleased. No truly loving and caring wife would be, under the circumstances. What else did she expect Hammurabi to do? The city needed supplies for its markets and the extensive construction work at the Ninurta Temple complex. He had to make peace with the Assyrians; they had been causing serious unrest north of Babylon, disrupting the importation of goods necessary for commerce and survival in their country.
“Ishme-Dagan is a difficult man to deal with, wife,” he continued. “I doubt it will end peacefully between us but for now it is important to make him feel so. He is threatened by us, as he should be, but I do not want to begin a war with him, at least not until the temples are complete. It would be unlucky.”
“You are wise, husband. One cannot glorify the gods and wage war with the same hands.”
Hammurabi nodded his agreement with her wise words and smiled.
“That is why my royal wife is Babylonian,” he said smiling, extending his left arm to her, and beckoning Ishtari to his embrace. “Only one as such can understand our political position at all times.”
She sat beside him on the large curule chair and nestled into the crook of his arm. He kissed her neck and buried his face in the perfumed waves of her long, black hair. The scent of jasmine and olive oil was fragrant on her milk-bathed skin. How he loved this goddess of a woman. She sighed at the sensation of his breath on her skin; he smelt of the wine he drank, odorous of the sun-ripened fruit of their fertile valley. As always, when in her husband’s embrace, Ishtari felt the sumptuous stirring of desire for him.
“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.
***
&
nbsp; 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. 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 to me 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 nothing 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 that 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.”
