by Sam Barone
En-hedu poured a few drops of oil across the girl’s shoulders, and started working the muscles from the neck down. The base of Ninlil’s neck had another clump of strained muscles, and she massaged that slowly, taking her time and letting the heat from the oil and her hands warm the flesh. Gradually the knot loosened a bit, and En-hedu moved her hands lower.
Groans and grunts accompanied her every touch.
“How long has your back troubled you, mistress?” Talking might distract Ninlil from the pain.
“None of your . . . damn you, that hurts! Can’t you be more gentle?”
“I’m sorry, mistress. But I must work your muscles if you are to feel better.”
“I fell and hurt my back about two years ago. Since then, the pain has grown worse each day. Now when my husband visits my bed, he complains that I can’t pleasure him properly.”
“How often does he come to you?” En-hedu moved her hands lower.
“Every three days. He has two other wives. Neither is as beautiful as I am, but they have no pain to deal with. They can do things to him that I cannot.”
“How sad.” She added a few more drops of oil, and moved her hands lower. Now the really deep massage would begin, and En-hedu had no doubt that it was going to hurt.
“If I can’t please him, he may send me back to my father’s house, and demand the return of his dowry. The other wives would be glad to be rid of me.”
The story came out as En-hedu’s hands kept pushing and kneading the soft flesh. Puzur-Amurri, a vigorous and wealthy merchant nearing his fiftieth season, had been captivated by Ninlil’s beauty, pursued her with passion, and paid plenty of gold to her father for her maidenhead. But now Puzzi, as she called him, had grown annoyed at her problem, especially when she had been unable to keep his shaft firm, a task that apparently required quite some effort.
As Ninlil related her tale of bedroom failures, En-hedu’s fingers kept moving, working the flesh, probing the weak areas, moving all the way down to the lower back and the curve of her buttocks. As she worked, En-hedu tried to recall everything that Zenobia and Te-ara had taught her – the muscles must be massaged firmly and with pressure, to send the warmth of the oil and En-hedu’s hands deep into the body.
By now Ninlil had reached the peak of the massage. Her breath came heavily, and she moaned at every movement, followed by a sigh of pleasure when En-hedu’s hands moved away from the weak points.
“I think, Mistress Ninlil, that is all I can do for you today.” En-hedu stepped away from the bed. Leaning over like that tired her own back, and the muscles in her forearms ached from the strain. “Now you should rest.” She gathered up her dress and slipped it over her head.
Ninlil pushed herself up to a sitting position, her head swaying at the movement. “I feel weak.” She stretched out her arm for her garment. “Owww! It hurts! What have you done to me?”
“You must lay still for now. The pain will pass in a few moments.”
“Damn you! You’ve ruined me. I’ll have you whipped for this.” With a gasp of pain, she tried to sit up, then collapsed back onto the bed. “Joratta! Help me!”
En-hedu never got another word in. Ninlil kept shrieking, and Joratta, who must have been waiting just outside the chamber, rushed in and attempted to calm her. Her cries grew louder and soon other servants rushed into the room, all anxious to soothe their mistress.
Joratta turned to En-hedu. He mouthed the word ‘Go.’
En-hedu snatched up her basket and slipped out the door. She practically ran through the house and back into the street. As she turned off the lane, she glanced behind her, to make sure no one followed. It would be bad if they caught her and brought her back for a beating.
But no one showed any interest in her passage. Dejected, she set a quick pace and started the long walk back to the Kestrel.
En-hedu was still distraught when she related the story to Tammuz. He poured a cup of ale mixed with water, and she drank it gratefully.
“Well, you tried your best.”
“She should not have moved. I told her to lay still.”
“At least you got out of there before they realized you were gone.”
“If she had been pleased, others of her class would have sought me out. Now there will be no one.”
A servant skilled at massage, especially one dealing with the wives and concubines of the wealthy class, would have access to much information. Men talked too freely in front of their women, or boasted of what they knew to impress them. Either way, as Trella and Annok-sur had discovered, women knew much more than their husbands and lovers ever dreamed.
“Stay close to the inn for a few days,” Tammuz cautioned. “She may send Joratta to search you out and have you beaten.”
“If she does, you mustn’t do anything. A beating is nothing. I can endure far worse. But you might risk everything we have if you try to stop her.”
“We’ll see.” He patted her shoulder. “We’ll see.”
The rest of the day brought no news of Joratta or Ninlil’s other servants, no threats or complaints. En-hedu returned to her regular routine, and saw her usual clients. As a result of her skilled hands that day, the Kestrel made a profit of two copper coins, two chickens and a handcart load of clean white sand direct from the beach to spread across the floor.
The evening passed quietly as well, and Tammuz pushed Joratta and his whip to the back of his mind. Tammuz and En-hedu had a business to run, and its demands soon took their thoughts away from Ninlil. Another day and night went by without any sight of Joratta. But mid-morning of the next day brought Ninlil’s servant and his bodyguard back to the Kestrel’s door.
Tammuz glanced up when the entrance darkened. It took a moment to recognize Joratta, but as soon as Tammuz did, he summoned his own bodyguard. “Rimaud!”
The Kestrel’s guard stepped into the common room, and limped slowly toward Tammuz’s side, left hand on the scabbard of the short sword.
Joratta, eyes blinking in the semi-darkness, either didn’t notice their alertness or didn’t care. “Where is En-hedu? She must return to my mistress as soon as possible.”
“So she can be whipped?” Tammuz moved to his feet and rested his hand on his knife.
“What?” A look of disbelief crossed Joratta’s face. “No, of course not. My mistress wants to have another massage.”
Tammuz looked toward Joratta’s guard in the street. This was a different man, and he paced slowly back and forth outside the Kestrel, showing no interest in his master’s business. Joratta obviously had no thoughts of a beating on his mind. If the woman wanted another massage . . .
“Go back to your mistress while you can still walk.” Tammuz returned to his stool, but kept his feet on the ground. “And before I remember you owe me two coppers for my wife’s labors.”
“My mistress will pay her whatever she asks, but she must come now.”
Tammuz laughed. “Your mistress has no credit here. She’ll pay what she owes, and pay in advance if she ever wants to see my wife again. Tell her that.”
“You don’t understand. My mistress . . .” he moved closer and lowered his voice, “she pleasured her husband so well that he wishes her to come to his bed again tomorrow. So she must have another massage right away.”
“I thought she was screaming in pain when she threatened En-hedu with a beating.”
Joratta grimaced. “She was in pain . . . for most of the night. But in the morning when she awoke, she felt much better, and by the evening when the master came to her chamber, the pain was almost gone.”
Tammuz couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Maybe your master should come here to spend time with En-hedu himself. She could pleasure him without getting your mistress involved.”
Rimaud snickered at the jest, and Joratta frowned again.
“You owe me two copper coins.” Tammuz leaned forward and pointed his finger at Ninlil’s servant. “Plus another one for threatening my wife and letting her walk back here withou
t an escort. Then two more for if your mistress wants another session. That’s five coins. Pay now, or get out.”
“I can’t pay that.” Joratta looked uncomfortable. “What if my mistress refuses to pay so much? Or if there is more pain?”
“I don’t care. Go back to your mistress. Tell her what she must pay. If she agrees, you can return here. En-hedu will be back by then, and if she’s willing to give your mistress another massage, you can walk her there. And back. And by all the gods in Sumer, if she walks back alone this time, she’ll never set foot in your mistress’s house again.”
Joratta decided Tammuz meant every word. “Just make sure she’s here when I return.” He turned and walked from the Kestrel, shouting at his guard as he emerged. Their voices quickly disappeared up the lane.
“Do you think she’ll pay?”
Tammuz looked at Rimaud and laughed. “A second wife who can’t pleasure her husband? She’ll pay that and more.”
They were both still laughing when En-hedu arrived.
26
Two months later . . .
Shulgi picked his horse through the bodies of men, women and children until he reached what had been the center of the village. Not that much remained. His men had put the torch to all the tents and reed huts of the Salib encampment. They’d stripped the bodies and the dwellings of anything of value first, of course. Flies buzzed about his head, and he brushed them away. They had more than enough to feast on. More than a few carcasses of horses, cows, sheep, goats and other herd animals lay scattered about, mixed randomly with the bodies of their former owners. Even a few dogs, who could have escaped easily enough, had died defending the animals entrusted to their care. Others howled from the edges of the encampment, driven away by the sounds and smells of death.
The wail of the surviving women and children hung in the air as well. The cries of anguish and sorrow seemed almost powerful enough to return the dead to life. Men lined up to rape the women, pushing and shoving to keep their places. Not that Shulgi or his men cared in the slightest about their victims, alive or dead. The Salibs, even more than the Tanukhs, had raided Sumer’s lands too often in the past. Everyone in Sumeria hated them, even more than they hated the Akkadians in the north. Shulgi felt satisfaction at the thought that he would be the one to pay back the Salibs for their constant raids.
For generations, the villages of Sumer had been too weak to strike back at their tormentors from the desert. Now, as the cities swelled in number, that had changed, and the power of the sword now rested in Sumeria. Rested in Shulgi’s own hand, when all was said and done. He’d led his men in the attack, guiding them straight toward the largest concentration of Salibs. Two who opposed him had died, though one was an old man and not really worth counting. Most of the Salibs fled when they realized the numbers of their attackers. More important, his men knew he fought in the forefront, not from behind their ranks, as his father would have done. From this day on, Sumerians could speak about their warrior king without any doubts as to his courage or skill.
Shulgi let his eyes scan the battleground. A few of Razrek’s men galloped in from the desert, after chasing down the last of the fleeing tribesmen. By the desert-dwellers’ standards, this had been a rich village, where men measured wealth in the number and strength of their horses. Now most of those horses belonged to Sumer, and would be used to build the ever-growing force of cavalry Shulgi demanded. Every mount captured would be a weapon aimed straight at Akkad. The rest of the loot, whether livestock, gold, jewels or women, would be divided into three parts, with two parts going to his Tanukh allies.
Razrek and two of his men rode up, their horses picking the way through the rubble and dead bodies.
“Hail, King Shulgi. A mighty victory.”
“Did you get all the horses?” Shulgi ignored the words of praise. Defeating this desert scum meant little. They remained only the first step on his long march to Akkad.
“Nearly all of them. More than we expected. Many broke loose, and it will take a few days to round them all up. We should add at least two or three hundred horses. And I don’t think we’ll have any trouble with our friends after this.”
The success of this first joint raid with Kapturu’s men should ease some of the tension between the two groups. The Tanukhs had earned their share of the gold and women they prized so much. That should keep them from bickering and arguing over every little detail with their Sumerian ally. The fact that Shulgi had ridden at the head of his men would also be noticed, along with the Salib blood still staining his sword. Chief Kapturu had remained safely out of harm’s way throughout the fighting.
“I suppose we’ll have to waste a few days celebrating.” Shulgi shook his head in disgust.
“No way to avoid that,” Razrek agreed. “When that’s over with, Kapturu will send some of his men back to his village with the women and spoils.”
Shulgi had lost a handful of Sumerians in the fighting, and now the Tanukh chief would further weaken their combined force just to safeguard his share of the loot. Meanwhile, the next village in their path would have plenty of warning, either to flee or fight. From this day onward, it would be war in the desert, and Shulgi would need every man.
“I managed to grab a couple of women from Kapturu’s men, so we’ll each have something to keep us occupied.” Razrek offered that to try and cheer his commander.
Compared to Kushanna, these would be ugly enough. Still, any woman was better than none, and by now Razrek knew enough to make sure his king received the more promising of the two. “Make sure you clean them up first,” Shulgi ordered.
Razrek smiled at such fastidiousness. “Don’t worry, my king. They’ll be grateful enough that we haven’t handed them over to the Tanukhs.”
Shulgi turned away. His men would be erecting a tent for him. He would bathe in the oasis that had supported this village, then he would amuse himself with the captive woman for the next few days, as a leader should. There was nothing else he could do. Shulgi knew he had to be patient. It would take many months, maybe even a year to subdue the Salibs. Only after that feat ended could he think about preparing the Tanukhs for war against Akkad.
Still, word of this victory would spread over the desert. Even as the Salibs banded together, so would more Tanukhs rush to join Kapturu’s standard. And Shulgi’s losses would be steadily replenished from the training camps in Sumer and the surrounding regions. Most important, his men gained fighting experience. All this should happen without alerting Akkad’s spies to what he intended. After all, he could afford to wait a few years for his empire. He would then have a long life, with Kushanna as the first of many wives, to enjoy the world he had conquered.
Kushanna frowned at the man on his knees before her. Big, but soft, she decided. Recent tears had streaked his dirt covered face, bruises covered his face and arms, and his bound hands shook as he held them against his chest. His eyes held a hint of wildness, as if he were not quite right in the head.
Sohrab, accompanied by two guards, had escorted the prisoner into her presence. Sohrab had returned to Sumer with his captive last night, and requested a morning audience.
“Is this the man from Carnax?”
“Yes, my queen. He’s the only survivor I could find. His name is Dilse. I searched all over, but –”
“You had to force him to come to Sumer?”
Not that she cared, but something seemed odd with the situation. Any plodding farmer should be eager for the chance to earn a few coins and visit Sumer.
Sohrab licked his lips. “He’s not exactly one of Carnax’s survivors.” He saw the frown and hurried on. “It seems he was one of the bandits who sacked the village. I think he’s afraid he’ll be killed for what he did.”
Interesting, and perhaps even better than some ignorant villager who probably knew little about the raid. “Lift up his head.”
One of the guards grabbed the man by his hair and twisted it back until the man’s mouth hung open, and his Adam’s apple bulged
toward her. His eyes lost the wild look, replaced with fear.
“Listen to me, Dilse. I care nothing about whatever you’ve done in the past. But I want to know everything about the raid on Carnax. If you tell me what I want to know, you’ll be set free and even earn a few coppers.” She waved her hand at the guard, and he released his hold on Dilse’s hair. “Now speak.”
“My queen,” he gasped, “I know nothing about any raid. I’m just a caravan guard who became separated from my master. Please . . . I’ve done nothing.”
A child could have recognized the lie. “You should not try to deceive me, Dilse. Perhaps some time with the torturers will help loosen your tongue.” She turned to the guards. “Take him outside and cut off his fingers, one by one, until he’s ready to speak.”
For a moment, Kushanna enjoyed the look of horror on the man’s face. Then she turned away.
“No . . . I’ll tell you what I know! Please! Mercy!”
She ignored the cries for mercy. The guards knew what to do. They’d cut off one or two fingers before dragging the prisoner back, no matter what he promised. She walked across the room to the balcony. “Come with me, Sohrab.”
“Yes, my queen.’”
“Tell me what you learned.” She gazed down into the courtyard. The two guards soon appeared, jerking Dilse along between them. A small table set against the outer wall held several small knives and other implements.
“I spoke with several farmers who lived nearby. They knew little of what happened that day. It was almost four years ago. Those who lived too close to the village were all murdered. Apparently, there was a power struggle among Carnax’s elders. A trader named Fradmon sought vengeance for the death of his son, executed for murder by the village elder. This Fradmon hired some bandits, and they attacked the village at night. The village elder, a man named Ranaddi, perished at Fradmon’s hand. Ranaddi had a trusted advisor, and he had a grown son and a young daughter named Trella.”
“It’s not that uncommon a name.”
