The King Who Refused to Die

by Zecharia Sitchin

  “Why have you come here, uninvited, like a thief?” Enkullab demanded to know.

  “A word with you, my master,” Anubani answered in a low voice. “A secret.”

  “A secret? I am too distraught for petty matters. Speak to the chief of the storehouses.”

  “It is about the king, Gilgamesh.”

  “He has sailed off, gone beyond reaching,” Enkullab replied.

  “But he is within reach, if the master shall listen.”

  “He’s gone a full day of sailing. No man, with neither beast nor boat, can catch up with him.”

  “No man indeed . . . but the gods can!”

  Enkullab stared at him. “Say your words, your secret!”

  “A skyboat,” Anubani replied. “A skyboat can catch up with him and assure his demise!”

  “A skyboat!” Enkullab said, laughing. “Only the gods have them, and Ishtar has made a compact with the Lady Ninsun to await the course of a year!”

  “Indeed so,” Anubani told him, looking shiftily about. “You cannot find succor in Erech. But in the dominions of the Lord Marduk—ah, that would be another matter!”

  “How dare you utter the name of our lady’s adversary, he who had caused the death of her spouse in her own sacred temple!” Enkullab shouted.

  “My master,” Anubani said bowing his head. “The Lord Marduk, following olden customs, the kingship with the priesthood in your hands shall combine.”

  “And how do you come by all this knowledge?”

  “Master, most High Priest,” Anubani said. “A secret emissary of the Lord Marduk am I, a worshipper of the great Lord Enki.”

  Enkullab eyed him. “You can be executed for this,” he said.

  Anubani bent his head down and spread his hands in a gesture of submission.

  “Speak, I will hear you out,” Enkullab responded.

  “A boat that sails up the Euphrates undertakes a risky journey,” Anubani said. “For three days the wilderness encroaches upon the river’s banks, a long stretch open to the desert’s marauders. Then, when a habitat is reached, it is Borsippa, a city dedicated to the Lord Nabu . . .”

  “A thorn in the side of the Enlilites,” Enkullab interjected.

  “A welcome thorn in this case . . . for to the south of Erech, reachable by a fast ass-rider on the day after tomorrow, there lies Eridu, domain of the Lord Enki.”

  “Go on.”

  “Once the message is brought to Eridu, Marduk’s skyships can soar up. The boat could be intercepted, word could be passed to Borsippa. Who can foretell what fate awaits a fugitive?” Anubani raised his eyes. “Many have vanished before on such risky journeys . . .”

  There was silence for a while.

  “An interesting possibility,” Enkullab finally said. “But why should help come from Marduk?”

  “To put right a wrong. To Ishtar, the distant land of Aratta was intended, not the city of Erech. But she laid herself before the Lord Anu, bared her breasts, seduced him. Erech for Nabu, Marduk’s son, was intended!”

  “I see,” Enkullab said. “Removing Gilgamesh is a step in removing Ishtar.”

  “You are a priest of the Lord Anu, sworn to uphold righteousness. Gilgamesh is a sinner, a violator of brides. It is the omen from Anu that should guide you!” Anubani paused, eying the High Priest. “The Lord Marduk, as I said, shall put the kingship in your hands.”

  “And the price?” Enkullab demanded.

  “Just a message, a message from you to the city of Eridu,” Anubani replied. From inside his garment he brought out a clay tablet, wrapped in wet cloth to keep its freshness. “It is all written here,” he said as he handed the tablet to Enkullab. “The tale of Gilgamesh and his sins, your rights to the succession, and an appeal to the gods to intervene.”

  Enkullab took the tablet. Moving closer to the torch so that he could better see, he read the inscription. The tablet’s clay still felt wet. “Yes,” he said. “It is all here, and true.”

  “Seal it with your seal and to Eridu it shall return,” Anubani replied.

  Enkullab studied his visitor. “How do I know that you are who you say?”

  “A worthy question,” Anubani said. From an inside pocket of his garment he brought out a small leather pouch, and from it he took out a cylinder seal. He rolled it on the back of the tablet. The impression showed the god Marduk holding his emblem—the ram-headed staff—and the emblem of Earth—the seven dots—in front of him. Inscribed were the words “Anubani, servant of divine Marduk, the Rightful Successor.”

  “Fate has no distinction,” Enkullab said pensively. “Even among the gods, a right for one is a wrong for the other.”

  “Seal the tablet with your signet seal, and the kingship in Erech will be yours!”

  “So be it,” Enkullab said. He reached for the seal that hung from a leather string around his neck and rolled it upon the face of the tablet.

  “I have put my fate in the hands of your gods,” he said as he handed the tablet back to Anubani, “that they support me in my rightful claims.”

  “So it shall be, Priest of Priests,” Anubani said, and bowed.

  8

  Adadel’s boat, sailing northward up the great Euphrates River, made good progress that very first morning after it had left Erech.

  The brisk wind continued for several double-hours, and the sailors, fresh after the forced rest during the days of the New Year festival, rowed with vigor and enthusiasm at the thought of going home. The two newcomers on board, Enkidu and Gilgamesh, were the focus of attention for a while but, having done their fair share of rowing, were soon accepted as part and parcel of the crew. Adadel, the merchant-captain, however, continued to throw inquisitive glances at them, his suspicions unabated. But then after midday the wind died down and the rowers got tired, and Adadel’s attention was diverted to problems as the boat neared a narrower strip of the river and the waterway had to be shared with other boats.

  By evetime they reached a stretch of the river that was so wide it seemed to be a great lake, not a river. Adadel, though swearing profusely, was not dissatisfied. The crew had done well, and it was time to let them rest and eat—once the anchorage spot for the night had been decided upon. Tying up at the river’s bank would expose the boat to the risk of nighttime marauders; anchoring in midriver risked a collision with other boats passing in the darkness.

  “The river traffic is heavy this time,” the crewmaster said. “Shall we tie up at the bank?”

  “No,” Adadel said. “In midriver.” He nodded at the direction of Gilgamesh and Enkidu. “In case we have to get rid of them . . .”

  After they had chosen a suitable spot, Adadel let the crew off for the night. Some jumped into the fresh water to swim. Gilgamesh, tired by the long hours of rowing, found a place among the bales of skins and large earthenware jars containing grains and fell fast asleep. Enkidu, not at all tired, kept a sharp eye on the goings-on. Then, as the others turned in for the night, he came to lie beside Gilgamesh. To his dismay, he saw that there was no room for him, for other crewmen were sprawled beside the king, surrounding him with their bodies. The best he could do was find an available spot nearby where he could sit up, his back leaning against one of the jars. For a time he sat with his eyes half-closed, keeping watch over his comrade. The nighttime tranquillity was occasionally broken by shouts from other boats as they passed by. Otherwise, all was peaceful. And as the hours passed, Enkidu dozed off.

  He awoke with a start, realizing that his hands were being pulled back and tied with rope. He was thrown to the floor, held down by several crewmen, their daggers pointed at his throat. He could see that Gilgamesh had also been seized.

  Adadel was standing between the two of them, supervising the attack. He was holding a dagger in one hand and a whip in the other. He pointed at Enkidu. “Search him!” he commanded.

  They quickly found the hidden pouch with the silver shekels.

  “Who are you?” Adadel shouted at Enkidu. “Who is your companion?
”

  And when Enkidu did not answer, Adadel hit him with the whip, again and again. “Search the big one!” he ordered.

  Flexing his muscles, Enkidu snapped the ropes tying his hands and shoved his captors aside. He lunged at Adadel, and Adadel thrust the dagger at him, cutting Enkidu’s arm. Enkidu struck Adadel, throwing him to the floor. A crewman who was holding Gilgamesh came at him with his dagger, and Enkidu lifted him, and in one arching motion threw him overboard.

  “Stay clear of us or I will throw you all overboard!” Enkidu shouted.

  Cowed by his unexpected strength, they stayed back. With one pull, Enkidu tore off the ropes with which Gilgamesh was tied up.

  Gilgamesh stood up. “Why did you attack us?” he asked.

  “We meant no harm,” Adadel said. “If we did, we could have just killed you. But you are obviously no ordinary sailors. So, we were curious.”

  “So you were,” Gilgamesh said. “It is common nature to be curious. Have you found out enough, or do you wish for more?”

  “Let us continue the voyage in peace,” Adadel answered. He raised his right hand, its palm facing Gilgamesh.

  “So be it,” Gilgamesh said. He lifted his right hand and clapped it against Adadel’s.

  “By what names are you known?” Adadel asked him.

  “I am Kiagda, and my companion’s name is Ursag,” Gilgamesh said. “In our tongue they mean ‘offspring of Kiag’ and ‘hero.’”

  “And my name is Adadel,” the captain said, “meaning ‘Adad is my God.’ . . . Now, let us all get our night’s rest, for dawn and the rowing will soon return.” He left them and went back to his perch where the crewmaster was waiting.

  “Have you seen it?” Adadel whispered to him. “I’ve cut the short one’s arm with my dagger but he wasn’t even bleeding!”

  “As you said, master, they are no ordinary sailors, these two,” the crewmaster replied. “We will have to find other ways of discovering who they are and why they’ve joined us.”

  * * *

  Apart from the challenges and hazards of sailing the river—a near-collision with another boat, a gust of wind that toppled the sail’s mast, an oar caught in a clump of reeds and weeds, freshly caught fish snatched away by ravens—the journey was uneventful on the second day of sailing. The rowers’ singing, loud and long the first day, was now more sporadic and everyone was hopeful that the repaired sail would do the rowers’ work. Gilgamesh and Enkidu were left alone with only the captain speaking briefly to them. There was still general puzzlement why the cut in the arm of Enkidu—the one now known as Ursag—neither bled nor needed tending, but no one spoke of this out loud.

  The second night they threw anchor and tied up at the river’s eastern bank, standing watch in turns, but the night passed peacefully.

  On the third day of sailing, in late afternoon, there were odd happenings in the skies. Clouds gave way to sunshine and then returned, casting a gloomy grayness on the river and its travelers. Then, from the south, there appeared in the skies dark dots that seemed to dart to and fro, growing larger in size as they neared. All aboard the boat stopped doing their chores, watching instead with astonishment the unusual celestial sight. Then the dark dots separated and one of them dived down soundlessly toward the river, almost touching the watery surface.

  “It’s a skyship of the gods!” Gilgamesh cried out.

  The object rose slightly as it whooshed over the boat and, rising in a graceful arch, joined the two other dark dots in the clouds. For a moment the three dots were out of sight. Then they reappeared, and arranging themselves in a lineal formation, came down to follow the river’s course. Now it could be seen that all three were godly skyships. When they reached Adadel’s boat, they seemed to halt and hover for a while. Then, rising almost vertically, they disappeared from sight.

  “It’s an omen from the gods!” the crewmaster shouted and prostrated himself on the boat’s floor. The other crewmen did likewise.

  “I’ve heard of the skyships but have never seen one before!” Adadel exclaimed. “It’s indeed an omen, whose meaning we must learn before events overtake us. Get up and start rowing! Borsippa, the city of the Lord Nabu, lies ahead. We shall stop there and make offerings at its temples!”

  Gilgamesh grabbed Enkidu’s arm, a concerned look on his face.

  “I read your thoughts, my comrade,” Enkidu said. “The skyships, black in color, are of Enki’s camp, of Marduk and Nabu.”

  “We must reach Sippar,” Gilgamesh said.

  “And we must not anchor at Borsippa, our enemy’s nest,” Enkidu replied.

  While some of the crewmen resumed rowing, others were trying, under the crewmaster’s supervision, to repair the broken mast and hoist the sail again. Enkidu offered to hold the mast’s broken parts together while the others used ropes to reconnect the parts. But again and again the thick logs slipped out of Enkidu’s hands, tearing the ropes that held them together. After several tries, the crewmaster gave up.

  “We’ll just have to row our way upriver,” he said.

  But the rowing was not advancing them much, for the weather became stormier and the cold wind churned waves that made going against the current very difficult. At day’s end the cloudy skies made darkness fall sooner.

  “We’d better stop for the night and find a safe haven along the river’s bank,” the crewmaster said.

  “Yes, there’s no chance of reaching Borsippa before nightfall,” Adadel agreed. “But during the day I’ve seen caravans along the eastern bank, and groups of ass-riders too. Who knows what mischief they might harbor? We’ll anchor in midriver again.”

  “What about the eastern bank, where the dryness begins?” the crewmaster asked.

  “It could be worse. Haven’t you heard of the Shagaz, the marauders who ride a funny-looking, long-legged animal with a hump on its back?”

  They dropped anchor in the middle of the river.

  It was a dark night, for thick clouds hid the full moon, yet it was uneventful. With the relative safety of daybreak near, even those on the last watch lay down and fell asleep. All was still silent as the first light began to awaken some on the boat, which was when it was discovered that somehow the boat had broken from its anchor and was drifting toward the western shore.

  Awakened, Adadel checked the anchor’s ropes. They had not torn—they had been cut!

  As Adadel sounded an alarm to awaken all onboard, there was a loud shout and strangers who were in the water hiding behind the boat’s stern climbed aboard, and a general struggle broke out.

  By now the boat had hit the sandy bank of the river, and from behind the sand dunes of the western bank other attackers rushed the boat. Though armed to the teeth with daggers and swords, and outnumbering the boat’s crew, it soon became evident that they were not out to kill anyone, rather to seize captives alive.

  In the bedlam, the oil lamp that provided the constant fire overturned and a fire began to spread on the boat.

  “Quick, into the water!” Enkidu shouted to Gilgamesh, knocking off two marauders who were overwhelming the king.

  Without waiting for Gilgamesh to respond, Enkidu grabbed him and jumped with him into the river. With powerful strokes he distanced the two of them from the boat, swimming underwater to avoid detection. Though he himself needed no air, he held up the king’s head now and then so that Gilgamesh could breathe. Then he himself took a look. They were a good distance away from the burning boat. The shouts that could still be heard were now coming—not from the boat—but from the river’s bank. Looking about him in the river, Enkidu saw a growth of reeds sticking out of the water. Holding firmly on to Gilgamesh, with his free hand Enkidu steered himself in that direction. Reaching the clump of reeds, Enkidu saw that it was a sandbar, a tiny island rising in the midst of the river. He swam to its far side and pulled Gilgamesh out of the water, helping him lie down, exhausted, among the reeds, while he himself swam back to the island’s front, keeping only his head above the water.

&nb
sp; From this hiding place, Enkidu could see the boat’s captives. Their hands were tied and they were being led away. The marauders were frantically offloading the boat’s cargo, racing the burning fire, loading what they could salvage on to camels that were led to the river’s bank from behind the sandhills. There were shouts in a language that Enkidu did not recognize, and he saw the boat’s master, Adadel, being brought back to the river’s bank. Someone who was apparently in command was shouting, pointing to the boat, slapping Adadel’s face. Some of the marauders spread along the river’s bank, searching.

  Enkidu swam behind the sandbar and immersed himself completely in the water.

  When he put his head out after some time, all was quiet. The marauders and their captives were gone. He returned to Gilgamesh to relay the goings-on.

  “What happened?” Gilgamesh, recovered, asked.

  “Shagaz,” Enkidu said. “They usually kill everyone and take no captives, for as wanderers they have no use of slaves. They are only after the booty. But this time they wanted everyone alive.”

  “Why?”

  “A good question. Perhaps we’ll find the answer in the boat.”

  They waited a little longer to make sure there was no one there, then swam back to the boat. It lay half-sunk in the water, badly damaged by the fire. Broken earthenware jars lay about; whatever jar or bale of cargo was intact had been carried off by the marauders.

  Diving into the clear waters, Enkidu found undamaged waterskins, a pouch filled with wet flour, and the remains of the lamb’s carcass that had been slaughtered and roasted the day before; there was some meat left on the bones. He hauled his finds out of the water. Onboard, among the debris, he found several daggers—whether the attackers’ or the crews’, he could not say.

  “We have food and we have weapons,” Enkidu said. “Let’s find a hidden spot where you can eat and rest. Then we’ll decide on the course to be taken.”