“Your words are a riddle,” Gilgamesh said.
“The great cycle that Earth makes about the Sun is divided into Twelve Ages,” Ninsun replied. “Each has been named in honor of a great Anunnaki. The Bull of Heaven, a gift of Anu to Enlil, symbolized the Age of Enlil. Because it has been slain, turmoil is now in store. The Age of the Bull, Enlil’s era, has been mortally wounded.”
“That cannot be!” Gilgamesh exclaimed. “The Lord Enlil shall reign forever!”
“The die has been cast,” Ninsun said sorrowfully. “You were the handyman of fate, Gilgamesh. The Age of Enlil shall be replaced, but the omen is of violence and death. And what Age shall follow? Will it be that of the Divine Archer, so named after Enlil’s foremost son, the warrior Ninurta, or will it be the Age of the Ram, symbol of Marduk, Enki’s firstborn? Nothing is clear anymore. By your search for Everlife, Gilgamesh, you have stirred up uncertainty and apprehension among the gods. What you have done has become woven into the affairs of the gods.”
“And rightly so! I belong among them, being two-thirds divine. My birth with six fingers has destined me to a godly fate!”
“Yes, your fate,” Ninsun said. “It is time to speak of that which in Nippur transpired. Ishtar demanded the death of both of you. Adad was of equal mind. Utu pressed your defense. Enlil said, ‘Let Enkidu die, Gilgamesh live.’ The Lord Enki defended his creature. ‘Enkidu knew not slaying until mortal traits in Erech he acquired,’ he said. ‘Let Erech be punished with a seven-year drought; let Enkidu live, let Gilgamesh die.’ My mother pleaded for the sparing of both of you. Then the Lord Ninurta spoke, ‘Let Enkidu be spared but banished to toil forever in the gold mines, and let Gilgamesh end his days as a mortal.’ And that, my son, was the sentence.”
“To live but lose my comrade, to live but await death!” Gilgamesh exclaimed. “It is a punishment worse than death itself!”
His hand jerked violently, and Ninsun grabbed it to steady it.
“My son,” she said, “to my mother, the great Healer, I’ve told the secret of the Tablet of Destinies. Though it was not intended for you, by it you have been fated. Having put your hands inside Anu’s handiwork, unseen death you have touched. A sheer mortal would have been dead by now.”
He pulled his hand away. “Go on!” he cried out.
“Your hand-jerking is a bad omen, Gilgamesh. The malady, if not counteracted, will eat your bones and shrink your muscles. Of a magical plant my mother told me . . . it can preserve your life.”
“Tell me of it!”
“It is a secret of the gods, Gilgamesh. You must purify yourself and make amends to the gods that you have offended before you may hear of it. Pray for yourself and for Enkidu, and go and sit by him until he awakens. Then I shall speak to you of a certain plan.”
“I shall do as you say, my mother,” Gilgamesh said and kissed his mother’s hand.
“Do not delay,” she told him. “There is a large crowd besieging the gate—a multitude of people seeking healing. They’ve been kept away long enough. Hold your rites by nightfall so that we can let them in in the morning.”
* * *
From the palace the artisans were summoned to fashion for Gilgamesh a golden image of the Bull of Heaven, the symbol of the Lord Enlil. While the artisans and servants were busy following the king’s instructions, Gilgamesh washed and purified himself.
Before sundown he came out into the courtyard wearing a pure garment of white linen. The table of acacia wood that had been brought over from the palace was placed in the center of the courtyard. Upon it were set the golden Bull of Heaven and the emblems of the other gods: the Winged Disc of the great Lord Anu, the crescent of the Lord Sin, the radiating disc of Shamash, and the eight-pointed disc of Ishtar. The symbol of Ninharsag (whose healing secret was to be divulged) was in the shape of an umbilical cutter.
Gilgamesh called for a bowl of carnelian filled with honey and a bowl of lapis filled with curds and put them on the table. Then a pigeon in its cage was also placed thereon.
“Oh great gods,” Gilgamesh said, “forgive my transgressions. As I offer you this fruit of the milk, dry not the lips that suckled godly milk. As I offer you this bowl of honey, wipe not away the sweetness of my life. For the slaying of the Bull of Heaven, accept this image as restitution.”
He bowed seven times, then mixed the honey and the curds and put the bowls before the image of the Bull of Heaven. Then he took the cage and released the pigeon. “Oh great Anu, Heavenly Father,” he said, “as I have given wing to this bird, take me under your wing. Carry me aloft like an Eagle, to your celestial abode!”
He bowed again, seven times. Then he turned away and went to be with Enkidu.
* * *
When dawn came, Enkidu began to stir. He lifted his head and opened his eyes. He saw Gilgamesh and held out his hand.
“How long have I been sleeping?” he asked. Gilgamesh took his hand, and then the other. The redness was gone and the swellings had disappeared. There was strength in Enkidu’s arms.
“At Salgigti’s house a great weakness overcame you,” Gilgamesh said. “Twelve days and twelve nights you’ve slept without ceasing. To cure your weakness I’ve brought you here, to my mother’s House of Resuscitation. Now you’re well!”
There was sadness in Enkidu’s eyes as he stared at his friend, holding on to his hand.
“There’s more to my sleep, isn’t there?” he asked. “I know things from my dream.”
“Remove all evil thoughts,” Gilgamesh replied. “Let me put pure water to your lips and wash your body, and you shall be fully recovered.”
“The dream,” Enkidu said, “must have a meaning. In my dream I saw two emissaries. They had wings for garments. One came forward, the other stayed back. The first one took me by the arm to lead me away. ‘Follow me’ he said, ‘to the House of Darkness, whose dwellers are bereft of light; clay is their food and dust is in their mouths.’ I stood my ground, refusing to go. ‘I shall not abandon my comrade!’ I shouted. The other emissary nodded his head. ‘Go, for he too shall go,’ he said. Then another hand touched me, and I awoke.”
“Think not of evil dreams, Enkidu,” Gilgamesh said. “For our transgressions I’ve prayed and offered sacrifices. Whatever doom there was in store, under the protection of the Lady Ninharsag, the great Healer, we have come, and my mother a lifesaving plan has devised. . . . Now let me rush to her and tell her of your awakening.”
Informed of the news, Ninsun returned to Enkidu’s bedside with Gilgamesh. She touched Enkidu, then passed her wand over his body.
“Though not a mortal, you were gravely ill,” she told him. “But now you are fully healed. Do not exert yourself for a while, just walk about. And drink only pure water.”
She turned to Gilgamesh. “We can let the crowds in now,” she told him. “Come and have the morning meal with me in my chambers.”
To her chambers they returned. There the handmaiden served them wheat cakes, dates, and pure water. When they were alone Ninsun turned to her son. There was a grave look on her face.
“My son,” she said, “have you heard of Ziusudra?”
“The legends I’ve heard of a man of long ago, when the Deluge swept over the Earth.”
She nodded. “Thousands of Earth-years ago. He was a man of Shuruppak, my mother’s city. He was righteous in his ways and of divine lineage, for the Lord Utu was his father’s father. The Lord Enki saved him and his wife, and all that was his, from the floodwaters.”
“I’ve heard the legends,” Gilgamesh said. “But that was long ago. They are all gone and dead forever, remembered only in old men’s tales.”
“Not so. . . . It is a secret of the gods, but my mother permitted me to reveal it to you. Ziusudra and his wife are still among the living!”
“It cannot be!” Gilgamesh exclaimed. “His wife was all mortal, and he himself was not more than a third divine!”
“That is the secret,” Ninsun said. “Through myriad years, he and his wife stay
ed alive, residing in Tilmun. There, in a secluded place they are hidden. A life-giving plant grows there, Gilgamesh. Whoever eats of its fruit is constantly rejuvenated, constantly postponing death. You must go there, Gilgamesh, for only this fruit can defy your malady!”
“And how shall I attain that distant goal, my mother?”
“I have a plan,” she said. “Come and I will show you.”
They went to the inner chamber where the altar was, where the disc tablets could be made to display their markings. Ninsun pressed the activating spot in the altar, and, as once before, its stone front vanished into the floor, exposing the shelves and the stored discs.
“I’ve wondered since the previous time how this magic altar works,” Gilgamesh said.
Ninsun chuckled. “You were a curious child and you haven’t changed.” She bent down and picked out one of the discs.
“My Tablet of Destinies!” Gilgamesh exclaimed, excitement in his voice.
“No, it’s a map of the place you are to go to and the route to it.”
“Let me see my tablet again,” Gilgamesh said. “Display its heavenly writing for my eyes to behold once more!”
“No, not now,” Ninsun retorted. She closed the altar’s front and put the disc she had chosen in the altar’s cavity. The whirring sound that Gilgamesh had heard once before was heard again and the disc began to radiate a golden glow. Ninsun touched the other activating spot, and the white sheet appeared from the side of the altar and moved slowly to cover the face of the disc. And, as before, the markings on it became visible. It was a map.
Ninsun used the pointing stick as she spoke. “Tilmun is shaped like a tongue. The Upper Sea forms its curving northern shores; two horns of water shape its shores on the east and on the west. At its narrow tip, high mountains rise like giant teeth against the sky, their stones rich with veins of copper and turquoise. That southern part of Tilmun is the destination of Enkidu, there to toil with other condemned men in the bowels of the Earth, mining the precious veins.”
“He doesn’t know the verdict yet, but he had a dream about it,” Gilgamesh said. “Has my prayer made him well, only to eat dust in the darkness? Without water he shall perish!”
“One step at a time,” Ninsun told Gilgamesh. “Along the shores of the Upper Sea there runs a caravan route that connects the lands of the Lord Adad with Magan and the other lands of the Enkiites. To the route’s south, hidden by a chain of mountains, lies a secret plain. It is the heart of the Fourth Region, forbidden to men. No mortal can enter the zone and live, for in its midst the Place of the Rocketships has been established.” She pointed to the place with the stick. “That is where Ziusudra’s secret abode is, where the Plant of Life grows.”
“How shall I reach the place, enter it, and live?”
“There is a land route known only to the Anunnaki. Here, let me point it out to you. A river, the Falling River is its name, begins at lakes not far from the Cedar Mountain. From the mountains it flows down to an inland sea, the Sea of Salt. Where the sea begins and ends there are crossing points that connect to routes leading to Tilmun. Though desolate, this is the route you would take, were it not for Enkidu.”
He looked at his mother, puzzled.
“Because of the sentence imposed on Enkidu, you shall take none of the land routes. Instead, you shall reach your destination by sea!”
“By sea?”
“Indeed. You will announce that, on account of your comradeship with Enkidu, you have decided to accompany him on his last journey. Ishtar, I hope, will be persuaded to permit it. You will obtain a boat of Magan that sails up the west coast of Tilmun.” She pointed out the route with the pointer. “The ore port is here. You will drop off Enkidu there. But you yourself will not turn back. You will continue up the coast, not all the way to Magan, but to this point here. Remember it well, Gilgamesh, for the place is unknown to seafarers. There you will bid good-bye to your crew and continue alone. They and the boat will await your return there, so make sure the boat has enough provisions.”
“I follow you so far,” he said. “What happens then?”
“From the shore, direct your steps eastward. There is a pass in the chain of mountains that surround the forbidden zone. Keep walking until the guardians of the Place of the Rocketships stop you. Tell them who you are and that you’ve come to meet Ziusudra, and they’ll direct you to him.”
“And they, and Ziusudra, will believe me?”
“Show them this,” she said. She made the altar’s front open up and took out two objects.
“My Tablet of Destinies, and another just like it!” Gilgamesh exclaimed.
“Yes, except that the perfect replica is different. On it, the markings are visible and the writing has been converted to that of the Edin, so that Ziusudra can read it. It is this replica that you’ll take with you. The real tablet shall remain here, hidden in this altar.”
“As you say, my mother,” Gilgamesh said, and took the replica from her.
Ninsun was putting the authentic Tablet of Destinies back into its hiding place when a sharp noise startled them. She turned to look at the door, glimpsing a disappearing figure.
“It is someone with metal on him!” she shouted. “Quick, Gilgamesh, get hold of the eavesdropper!”
For a moment Gilgamesh stood uncomprehending. Then with long strides, he reached the adjoining room. There was no one there but the outer door was open. He ran out, unsure after whom. Outside the courtyard was already filled with people—the sick, the old, mothers with their youngsters—squatting, standing, milling about. Whoever it was that had entered Ninsun’s private abode was now lost in the crowd. The compound’s main gate was wide open, thronged with those who were trying to enter and those who were leaving.
Gilgamesh looked back. His mother was standing at the doorway.
“Whoever the intruder was,” he said as he returned to her, “he has vanished.”
“I wonder who it was,” Ninsun replied, “and what his purpose might have been.”
“Probably a beggar, seeking something to steal.”
“A beggar with metal upon him, stealing from a goddess?”
“Who knows?” Gilgamesh said. “Some people will stoop to anything if they can get away with it.”
“I wonder,” Ninsun said. “The attempt by Marduk and Nabu to capture you, Gilgamesh, showed that Erech is also a prize in the contest between the clans.”
“You haven’t told me how Nabu’s complaint was dealt with,” he said.
“Having claimed that they were only trying to rescue you and Enkidu, Utu had no counterclaim and had to apologize. But everyone knew that there’s more to the incident than meets the eye. Be careful on your journey, Gilgamesh. And what about your son while you’re gone? Would you like him to stay with me?”
“You’re truly concerned, my mother,” Gilgamesh said, kissing her hand. “I think Urnungal should stay in the palace, as befits the Crown Prince. Niglugal will keep an eye on him.”
“Niglugal. . . . How much can you trust him, Gilgamesh?”
“He has served me well, and before that, my father.”
“Yes, but your father was also Enkullab’s father. While you watch the intrigues in the temple, don’t lose sight of the palace, Gilgamesh!” She put her hand out and caressed his curly hair. “Now, let’s go and see how Enkidu is doing.”
In the place where he was resting, Enkidu was sound asleep. He was breathing steadily, rhythmically.
“He is recovering well,” Ninsun said.
“Who shall tell him his fate?” Gilgamesh asked. “To toil in the bowels of the Earth?”
“You, for it is you who shall take him there,” Ninsun replied.
12
Three days later Ninsun sent word to Gilgamesh that the great Lady Ishtar had granted her consent to the sea voyage by Gilgamesh and Enkidu, and thereupon the palace was mobilized for the task at hand.
Emissaries were sent to Ur and Eridu to find a ship of Magan, one large and strong
enough for the perilous journey. Striking a bargain with its captain, the ship was sailed upriver, then hauled by strong men from Erech who, using ropes, maneuvered the vessel into a canal outside the city.
There, the best carpenters and woodworkers strengthened the ship’s keel with selected woods, imported from afar. They fitted her with new masts of straight tree trunks. Three-ply sails, sewed together by Erech’s best seamstresses, were attached to these masts. The city’s smiths were also kept busy fashioning strong weapons for the ship’s crew, and a newly designed ax was especially fashioned for Gilgamesh. He called it the Might of Heroism weapon.
As these preparations progressed, Gilgamesh was a frequent visitor to the special quay where the ship was being outfitted. He went there escorted by a platoon of soldiers from the palace guard. It was usually commanded by a captain of the guard, but one day Gilgamesh asked Kaba, the commander of all of the troops, to accompany him.
Though youth was usually synonymous with soldiering, Kaba was an exception. His large and muscular body belied his age. Only his thick beard, carefully trimmed but all gray, and the many wrinkles in his sun-browned face, attested to his passed years. It was he, when Gilgamesh was still a boy, who had trained the king in the martial arts, and now he was training the son of Gilgamesh, the boy Urnungal.
“It’s a fine ship,” Kaba said after they had arrived at the quay and he was circling the ship, looking at it from all sides.
“It ought to be,” Gilgamesh replied. “It’s destined for a long and perilous journey. We will need a complement of fifty soldiers for it, Kaba, because a good part of the route hugs the Shagaz lands. Can you get that many as volunteers?”
“I will be the first one to volunteer,” Kaba said.
Gilgamesh put his hand on the troop commander’s shoulder. “No, not you, Kaba,” he said. “You have served my father, you have served me, and you might have to serve the next king, my son, Urnungal. Your place is here!”
The King Who Refused to Die Page 19
