“Who forbids it?” asked the astrologer.
The innkeeper shrugged. “No one forbids it. The deserted temple belongs to no one and everyone—common property, they say. But nobody goes there—because of her.”
My ears pricked up. “Who are you talking about?”
Finding his Greek inadequate, the innkeeper addressed the astrologer in Parthian.
Mushezib’s face grew long. “Our host says the temple is … haunted.”
“Haunted?” I said.
“I forget the Greek word, but I think the Latin is ‘lemur,’ yes?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “A manifestation of the dead that lingers on earth. A thing that was mortal once, but no longer lives or breathes.” Unready or unable to cross the river Styx to the realm of the dead, lemures were said to stalk the earth, usually but not always appearing at night.
“The innkeeper says there is a lemur at this nearby temple,” said Mushezib. “A woman dressed in moldering rags, with a hideous face. People fear to go there.”
“Is she dangerous?” I said.
Mushezib conversed with the innkeeper. “Not just dangerous, but deadly. Only a few mornings ago, a man who had gone missing the night before was found dead on the temple steps, his neck broken. Now they lock the gate, which before was never locked.”
So this was the nocturnal menace Darius had warned me about, fearing even to name the thing aloud.
“But surely in broad daylight—,” began Antipater.
“No, no!” protested the innkeeper’s wife, who suddenly joined us. She was almost as big as her husband, but had a scowling demeanor—another type suitable for the stage, I thought, the innkeeper’s irascible wife. She spoke better Greek than her husband, and her thick Egyptian accent explained the Alexandrian delicacies among the Babylonian breakfast fare.
“Stay away from the old temple!” she cried. “Don’t go there! You die if you go there!”
Her husband appeared to find this outburst unseemly. He laughed nervously and shrugged with his palms up, then took her aside, shaking his head and whispering to her. If he was trying to calm her, he failed. After a brief squabble, she threw up her hands and stalked off.
“It must be rather distressing, having a lemur so nearby,” muttered Antipater. “Bad for business, I should imagine. Do you think that’s why there are so few people here at the inn? I’m surprised our host would even bring up the subject. Well, I’m done with my breakfast, so if you’ll excuse me, I intend to return to our room and spend the whole day in bed. Oh, don’t look so crestfallen, Gordianus! Go out and explore the city without me.”
I felt some trepidation about venturing out in such an exotic city by myself, but I needn’t have worried. The moment I stepped into the street I was accosted by our guide from the previous day.
“Where is your grandfather?” said Darius.
I laughed. “He’s not my grandfather, just my traveling companion. He’s too tired to go out.”
“Ah, then I show you the city, eh? Just the two of us.”
I frowned. “I’m afraid I haven’t much money on me, Darius.”
He shrugged. “What is money? It comes, it goes. But if I show you the ziggurat, you remember all your life.”
“Actually, I’m rather curious about that temple of Ishtar just up the street.”
He went pale. “No, no, no! We don’t go there.”
“We can at least walk by, can’t we? Is it this way?” I said.
Next to the inn was a derelict structure that must once have been a competing tavern, but was now shuttered and boarded up; it looked rather haunted itself. Just beyond this abandoned property, a brick wall with a small wooden gate faced the street. The wall was not much higher than my head; beyond it, I could see what remained of the roof of the temple, which appeared to have collapsed. I pushed on the gate and found that it was locked. I ran my fingers over the wall, where much of the mortar between the bricks had worn away. The fissures would serve as excellent footholds. I stepped back, studying the wall to find the easiest place to scale it.
Darius read my thoughts. He gripped my arm. “No, no, no, young Roman! Are you mad?”
“Come now, Darius. The sun is shining. No lemur would dare to show its face on such a beautiful day. It will take me only a moment to climb over the wall and have a look. You can stay here and wait for me.”
But Darius protested so vociferously, gesticulating and yammering in his native tongue, that I gave up my plan to see the temple and agreed to move on.
Darius showed me what he called the Royal District, where Semiramis and Nebuchadnezzar had built their palaces. As far as I could tell, nothing at all remained of the grandeur that had so impressed Alexander when he sojourned in Babylon. The once-resplendent complex, now stripped of every ornament, appeared to have been subdivided into private dwellings and crowded apartment buildings.
“They say that’s the room where Alexander died.” Darius pointed to an open window from which I could hear a couple arguing and a baby crying. The balcony was festooned with laundry hung out to dry. The surrounding terraces were strewn with rubbish. The whole district smelled of stewing fish, cloying spices, and soiled diapers.
If there had ever been an open square around the great ziggurat, it had long ago been filled in with ramshackle dwellings of brick and mud, so that we came upon the towering structure all at once as we rounded a corner. The ziggurat had seemed more mysterious when I had seen it the previous night, from a distance and by the beguiling light of sunset. Seen close up and in broad daylight, it looked to be in hardly better shape than the mound of rubble that had once been the Hanging Gardens. The surfaces of each tier were quite uneven, causing many of the swarming visitors to trip and stumble. Whole sections of the ramparts leaned outward at odd angles, looking as if they might tumble down at any moment.
Darius insisted we walk all the way to the top. To do so, we had to circle each tier, take a broad flight of steps up to the next tier, circle around, and do the same thing again. I noticed Darius pausing every so often to run his fingers over the walls. At first I thought he was simply admiring the scant remnants of decorative stonework or glazed brick, but then I realized he was tugging at various bits and pieces, seeing if anything would come loose. When he saw the expression on my face, he laughed.
“I look for mementos, young Roman,” he explained. “Everyone does it. Anything of value that could be removed easily and without damage is already removed, long ago. But, every so often, you find a piece ready to come loose. So you take it. Everyone does it. Why do you frown at me like that?”
I was imagining the great temples of Rome being subjected to such impious treatment. Antipater claimed that the ancient gods of this land were essentially the same as those of the Greeks and Romans, just with different names and aspects: Marduk was Jupiter, Ishtar was Venus, and so on. To filch bits and pieces from a sacred structure that had been built to the glory of Jupiter was surely wrong, even if the structure was in disrepair. But I was a visitor, and I said nothing.
The way became more and more crowded as we ascended, for each tier was smaller than the last. All around us were travelers in many different types of costumes, chattering in many different languages. From their garb, I took one group to be from India, and judging by their saffron complexions and almond-shaped eyes, another group had come all the way from Serica, the land of silk. There were also a great many astrologers, some of them dressed as I had seen Mushezib that morning, and others in outfits even more outlandish, as if they were trying to outdo one another with absurdly tall hats, elaborately decorated robes, and bizarrely shaped beards.
On the sixth and next-to-last tier, I heard a voice speak my name, and turned to see Mushezib.
The astrologer acknowledged me with a nod. “We meet again.”
“It would seem that every visitor in Babylon is here today,” I said, jostled by a passing group of men in Egyptian headdresses. “Is that a queue?”
It appeared that
one had to stand in line to ascend the final flight of steps to the uppermost tier; only when a certain number of visitors left were more allowed to go up. The queue stretched out of sight around the corner.
Mushezib smiled. “Shall we go up?” he said.
“I’m not sure I care to stand in that line for the next hour. And I’m not sure I have enough money,” I added, for I saw that the line keepers were charging admission.
“No need for that.” With a dismissive wave to Darius, Mushezib took my arm and escorted me to the front of the line. The line keepers deferred to him at once, bowing their heads and stepping back to let us pass.
“How do you merit such a privilege?” I asked.
“My costume,” he explained. “Astrologers do not stand in line with tourists to ascend to the summit of Etemenanki.”
A warm, dry wind blew constantly across the uppermost tier. The sun shone down without shadow. The view in every direction was limitless; below me I could see the whole city of Babylon, and from one horizon to the other stretched the sinuous course of the Euphrates. Far to the north I could see the Tigris River, with sparkling cities along its bank, and in the distance loomed a range of snow-capped mountains.
Mushezib gazed at the horizon and spoke in a dreamlike voice. “Legend says that Alexander, when he entered Babylon and found Etemenanki in lamentable condition, gave gold to the astrologers and charged them with restoring the ziggurat to its former glory. ‘The work must be done by the time I return from conquering India,’ he said, and off he went. When he came back some years later, he saw that nothing had been done, and called the astrologers before him. ‘Why is Etemenanki still in disrepair?’ he asked. And the astrologers replied: ‘Why have you not yet conquered India?’ Alexander was furious. He ordered the whole structure to be demolished and the ground leveled, so that he could build a new ziggurat from scratch. But before that could happen, Alexander took ill and died, and Etemenanki remained as it was, like a mountain slowly crumbling to dust.”
He gestured to the center of the tier. “This space is vacant now, but in the days of Nebuchadnezzar, upon this summit stood a small temple. Within the temple there was no statue or any other ornament, only a giant couch made of gold with pillows and coverlets of silk—a couch fit for the King of Gods to lie upon. Each night, a young virgin from a good family was selected by the priests to ascend alone to the top of Etemenanki, enter the temple, and climb upon the couch. There the virgin waited for Marduk to come down from the heavens and spend the night with her. When she descended the ziggurat the next day, the priests examined her. If her maidenhead was seen to be broken, then it was known that Marduk had found her worthy.”
“And if she was still a virgin?” I asked.
“Then it was seen that Marduk had rejected her, to the eternal shame of the girl and her family.” Mushezib smiled. “I see you raise an eyebrow, Gordianus. But is it not the same with your great god Jupiter? Does he not enjoy taking pleasure with mortals?”
“Yes, but in all the stories I’ve heard, Jupiter picks his own partners, and woos them a bit before the consummation. They’re not lined up and delivered to him by priests to be deflowered, one after another. Jupiter’s temples are for worship, not sexual assignations.”
Mushezib shook his head. “You people of the West have always had different ideas about these things. Alas, for better or worse, Greek ways have triumphed here in Babylon, thanks to the influence of Alexander and his successors. The old customs are no longer practiced as they once were. Virgins no longer ascend the ziggurat to lie with Marduk, and women no longer go to the temples of Ishtar to give themselves to the first man who pays.” He saw my reaction and laughed out loud. “You really must learn to exercise more control over your expressions, young man. How easily shocked you Romans are, even more so than Greeks.”
“But what is this custom you speak of?”
“In the days of Nebuchadnezzar, it was mandatory that every woman, at least once in her life, should dress in special robes and place a special wreath upon her head, and then go to one of the temples of Ishtar at night and sit in a special chair in the holy enclosure. There she had to remain, until a stranger came and tossed a silver coin in her lap. With that man she was obliged to enter the temple, lie upon a couch, and make love. No man who was able to pay could be turned away. All women did this, rich and poor, beautiful and ugly, for the glory of Ishtar.”
“And for the enjoyment of any man with a coin,” I muttered. “I should imagine that the young, beautiful women were selected right away. But what if the woman was so ugly that no man would choose her?”
Mushezib nodded. “This was known to happen. There are stories of women who had to stay a very long time in the holy precinct—months, or even years. Of course, such an embarrassment brought shame upon her family. In such a case, sooner or later, by exchange of favors or outright bribery, some fellow was induced to go and offer the woman a coin and lie with her. Or, in the last resort, one of her male relatives was selected to do what had to be done. And at last the woman’s duty to Ishtar was discharged.”
I shook my head. “You’re right, Mushezib—we Romans have a very different way of thinking about such things.”
“Don’t be so quick to judge the customs of others, my young friend. The so-called wanton nature of the Babylonian people was their salvation when Alexander entered the city. He might have destroyed this place, as he had so many other cities, but when the wives and daughters of Babylon gave themselves freely to Alexander and his men, the conquerors were not merely placated; they decided that Babylon was the finest city on earth.”
I sighed. Truly, of all the places I had traveled with Antipater, this land and its people and their ways were the most foreign to me. Standing atop the so-called Foundation of Heaven and Earth, I felt how small I was, and how vast was the world around me.
Mushezib recognized some fellow astrologers and excused himself, leaving me on my own. I lingered for a while atop the ziggurat, then descended the stairway to the lower tier, where Darius awaited me.
As we made our way down, level by level, I repeated to Darius my conversation with Mushezib, and asked him what he knew of the old custom of women offering themselves at the temples of Ishtar.
“Astrologer he may be, but Mushezib does not know everything,” said Darius.
“What do you mean?”
“He tells you that sooner or later every woman satisfied a man at the temple and was released from her duty. Not true.”
“Surely no woman was kept waiting at the temple forever.”
“Some women had no family to rescue them. There they sat, day after day, year after year, until they became toothless old hags, with no chance that any man would ever pay to lie with them.”
“What became of such women?”
“What do you think? Finally they died, never leaving the temple grounds, cursed by Ishtar for failing her.”
“What a terrible story!” Suddenly, all that I had seen and heard that day connected in my thoughts, and I felt a quiver of apprehension. “The ruined temple of Ishtar near the inn, and the lemur who supposedly haunts it—do you think…?”
Darius nodded gravely. “Now you understand! Imagine how bitter she must be, still to be trapped in the place of her shame and suffering. Is it any wonder that she killed a man who dared to enter the grounds a few nights ago?”
“Let me make sure I understand—”
“No, speak no more of it! To do so can only bring bad fortune. We talk of something else. And when we go back to the inn, we do not walk by the temple again!”
My curiosity about the ruined temple and its supernatural resident was more piqued than ever. Darius read my face.
“Do not go back there, young Roman!” he said, almost shouting. “What do you think would happen, if the old hag sees a virile young fellow like you, barely old enough to grow a beard? The sight of such as you would surely drive her to madness—to murder!”
Darius had become so agi
tated that I quickly changed the subject.
We spent the rest of the day walking all over Babylon, and I found myself growing more and more dispirited. All the proud structures that had once made the city great were in shambles, or else had vanished altogether. Many of the citizens were in a ruined state as well—I had never seen so many people crippled by lameness or deformity. Apparently these unfortunates flocked to Babylon to take advantage of the charitable institutions maintained by the astrologers and sages, whose academies were the main industry of the city, along with the thriving trade in tourism.
At last, as twilight fell, we wended our way back to the inn, with Darius leading the way. I noticed that our route was slightly different from the one we had taken heading out that morning; Darius deliberately avoided walking by the ruined Temple of Ishtar. To reward him for serving as my guide all day, I could do no less than offer him dinner, but to my surprise Darius declined and hurried off, saying he would return the next morning, when Antipater would surely be rested and ready for his own tour of the city. Could it be that Darius feared to be even this close to the old temple after dark?
As soon as he was out of sight, I turned aside from the entrance to the inn and walked up the street, past the derelict building next door, to the low wall that surrounded the old temple. It was the dim, colorless hour when shadows grow long and merge together, swallowing the last faint light of dusk.
It was not as easy to study the wall as it had been earlier in the day, and the first place I chose to make my climb proved to be unscalable. But on my second attempt, I found a series of toeholds that allowed me to reach the top.
My feet secure in their niches, I rested my elbows on the top of the wall and peered over. The temple was indeed in ruins, with not much left of the roof and gaping holes in the walls. Any decorative tiles or statues appeared to have been removed. The wall of the derelict building next door and the city wall along the river enclosed the courtyard next to the temple, which was entirely in shadow; all I could see were some withered trees and fragments of building blocks and paving tiles. But amid this jumble, as my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I saw a row of waist-high objects that looked like the circular drums of a column—low-backed chairs carved from solid blocks of stone too heavy for looters to carry off.
The Seven Wonders: A Novel of the Ancient World Page 23
