Wives of the Flood

by Vaughn Heppner

  Anger flared in his eyes. “Nimrod once told me I must choose whom I serve. I adore being a Hunter, being a captain. But I refuse to let it stand in our way.”

  She couldn’t believe that at last he saw reason.

  “You’re trembling,” he said, lifting her chin. “Oh, Opis, this only reaffirms my decision. We’ll trek to Mount Ararat. There, Noah will marry us.”

  Her gladness sank. Instead of reason, he planned new madness. “You mean marry against my father’s wishes?”

  “I have my stone of jet, and I’ve traded many skins for copper bracelets and a gold ring, but that isn’t even half of what I need. Besides, Uruk will always outbid me no matter what I lay at your father’s feet, and your father will take from the highest bidder. You’re priceless, my love. What can I truly give you but my life for yours? So I’ll leave the Hunters and we’ll live—”

  “Where will we live? We’ll be outlaws, castaways.”

  “Don’t you want to marry me?” He sounded crestfallen.

  “Oh, yes, yes, you know I do. But I also want to live here among my family. Must we take this awful step? I know how much it means to you to be a Hunter. I can’t ask you to give that up for me.”

  “I want to give it up.”

  “Now you say that, but what about three years from now, ten years? I don’t want you to learn to hate me.”

  “I’ll always love you.”

  “Oh, Gilgamesh, is there truly no other way?”

  He brooded. She knew he hated altering his plans, his flights of fancy.

  “It’s still a week before I leave,” he said. “If a miracle happens before then…”

  She bowed her head. She had learned that, at times, if she disapproved but didn’t argue too hard, he might drop a plan. “I’ll do as you think wisest, Gilgamesh.”

  Seriousness enveloped him. He nodded, and he looked up sharply.

  The other girls no longer laughed.

  “Opis?” shouted one. “Are you all right?”

  “Call out,” he said.

  “I’m fine,” Opis said, parting reeds, waving to the others as Gilgamesh ducked out of sight. He was uncanny when it came to sneaking around. Without moving any of the reeds, he disappeared into them while she returned to her laundry.

  3.

  Several days later, Semiramis strode out of the Barracks, glancing about. Clouds hid the morning sun and a chill breeze whistled through the practice yard, swirling dirt and making chickens run clucking to the hen house. She cocked her head, hearing harp strings.

  Bundled in a bear-fur cloak, Semiramis hurried across the yard and to a stable. On its wind-sheltered side sat her brother, Minos, leaning against the mud-brick building. He shivered in his finery, his woolen tunic and long cape. Stray gusts tossed his dark curls and his ringed fingers plucked strings.

  “Why aren’t you inside where it’s warm?” she asked.

  Minos kicked his footrest, an overturned bucket, to her. She hesitated before sitting across from him. He played. She closed her eyes, the tension draining out of her. As he hummed, a smile crept on her face. She felt…free, like a gull soaring on his tunes.

  He quit playing.

  She opened her eyes, finding him studying her.

  “You’re not happy,” he said. “You haven’t been for a long time.”

  “Perhaps. But it’s better now that you’re here.”

  He dipped his head as if that’s how it should be.

  She laughed. “You’re so full of yourself when really you’re nothing but a handsome fool, a buffoon aping manliness.”

  It was his turn to laugh. He had perfect teeth and a strong chin, and only a hint of shiftiness in his eyes, a touch of guile that warned the wise that something might be rotten in his core.

  “Let’s go inside,” Semiramis said.

  “I cannot.”

  “Oh?”

  “You called me a fool, and perhaps I am. Yet I’ve seen those wives in there watching me as I play. All their husbands are rough men with callused hands and harsh voices, used to ordering hounds or bellowing as they slay lions or wild dogs. Those pretties inside the Barracks all sigh at me when I play, batting their eyelashes. Soon, in sheer sympathy for their plight, I’ll sing to them and, as it surely must happen, I’ll lie with them afterward. Then those rough men will chase me with their hounds. That, Semiramis, is why I play out here.”

  “You should be out hunting with the men,” she said. “You’re a Hunter now.”

  “Thanks to you, my sister. Not even Nimrod, it seems, can resist your nagging tongue.” Minos plucked strings, concentrating, before he looked up and said, “I’d hunt, but today my leg aches.”

  “You say that everyday.”

  His eyes seemed to darken. “Oh, yes, that’s what I say. The reason is that every dawn before I wake, a nightmare in the guise of Beor haunts me. He roars foul threats, shaking his javelin as I run. Just as I’m about to dive behind a tree, he throws his dream dart, driving it through the meaty part of my thigh. Then I’m dragged aboard his chariot, where he pummels me until I awaken bathed in sweat.”

  “Did he truly beat you?”

  “‘A judicial beating,’ he called it, telling me that his fists were more merciful than a dagger.” Minos shuddered. “Is it any wonder that my leg aches each morning, prohibiting me from joining your illustrious husband?” Minos strummed the harp. “Although I must say that this is better than Japheth Land. There I had to sit on a rock in the wilds, prey to wolves and lions and the basest elements.”

  “As you watched your flock, you sluggard?”

  “A dirty task, I assure you, far beneath my abilities. Here it is more to my liking, for here I play for the most beautiful and exciting woman alive, my unhappy sister.”

  “Despite the agony of your dreams, Minos, you cannot keep doing nothing. Nimrod demands that you learn a modicum of skills even if you’re only pretending to be a Hunter.”

  “But I’m not a Hunter. I’m a poet in a barbaric age, caught between the two most savage warriors of this era, both of them wretched sons of Ham. One wounds me for life and the other wields a whip to lash me to tasks I deplore.”

  “Perhaps you bear a scar, but you don’t limp.”

  “A poet composes phrases for impact, dear sister, if not always for dreary reality.”

  “You’re a poet, you say?”

  He strummed the harp.

  “Maybe a foolish poet’s heart can help me solve a riddle that none other has been able too.”

  “Semiramis, not even I can give you Gilgamesh.”

  She stared at her foppish but sometimes-clever brother. Several of his cousins, Thebes and Olympus among them, had also joined the Hunters. She had seen to it, as well, that her grandfather Javan had been well received in Babel. Although the truth was that Kush and the others were greedy for warm bodies, for anybody willing to work.

  She said, “Reckless tongues have ways of being rooted out.”

  “I thought that was for wagging tongues.”

  “I’m giving you fair warning, Minos. Do not bait me in affairs of the heart.”

  He set aside the harp. “Trapped as I am in this barbaric age, I’ve been thinking about your quandary.”

  “Oh?”

  “There might yet be a way for you to ensnare Gilgamesh.”

  Her gaze bored into his.

  “You’ve seen the amber necklace, I presume?”

  “You know that I have,” she said.

  “Isn’t Gilgamesh called the Ghost Stalker?”

  Her gaze hardened, becoming more searching.

  That seemed to turn his feature bland and indifferent. “Why not encourage Nimrod to send a team of Hunters into Japheth Land? Or more precisely, to Magog Village, where presently Beor Peg-Leg resides.”

  She regarded him. They had always seemed to understand each other too well, as if they could read each other’s thoughts. “Send a band to Japheth Land with Thebes, Olympus and you to guide them, eh? And ambush Beor fo
r his treachery. Murder him, in other words.”

  “Self-defense isn’t murder. For you must understand that Beor plans to kill Nimrod and take you again for his own. As incredible as it seems, Beor still loves you. In fact, his unrequited love probably saved me from death.”

  “And while you’re there to kill Beor,” she said, thinking aloud, “Gilgamesh slips into their home and spirits away the amber necklace for me, is that it?”

  “More or less.”

  She seemed to look inward. “I understand your motives and mine, but why would Gilgamesh do this?”

  “That’s the easiest part of all. Because you’d pay him in silver and gold so he could buy Opis.”

  Her look became serpentine.

  “Dearest sister, you can’t believe that you’ll ever divorce Nimrod. He would throttle you even if he learned to hate your sight. No man but him may touch you, for otherwise his glory would be tarnished.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That you must think long term. You must weave a web around Gilgamesh until he pants for you. Then you’ll have your life and your lover, and too, you’ll have the amber necklace.”

  “What about you, brother, what will you have?”

  “The tender satisfaction of seeing you happy.”

  What her dear silly brother meant was that he’d dance on Beor’s warm corpse, no doubt, kicking and spitting on it.

  “Is it not a clever scheme?” he asked.

  Poor Minos lusted for vengeance that he dared not attempt by himself. “For a poet, it isn’t bad. I must think it through and find the flaws. Yet perhaps you’ve stumbled onto a workable plan. I applaud you.”

  Minos bowed. “I accept your applause, for, as a poet, that is indeed what I most crave.”

  4.

  Gilgamesh stood in Semiramis’s bedroom, his face stony and his insides whirling. Semiramis sat with her back to him as she brushed her hair. It was shiny, long and lovely, and she studied herself in a round, bronze mirror. She spoke so easily of theft, of an exchange of gold and silver for the amber necklace. Theft. By him.

  She set the mirror down and shifted on her stool, regarding him. “Don’t look so glum, Gilgamesh. I don’t want the necklace for myself or because Minos was wounded because of Hilda.”

  The turmoil in his gut increased. Wisdom told him to back out now and never enter this lair of seduction again. He loved Opis, even if strange stirrings moved him whenever he stepped inside this room. Hadn’t Nimrod long ago told him to keep Semiramis company? “You’re the only one I trust alone with my wife,” Nimrod had told him years ago. Yet she had Minos now. He hated to admit that he thought of that time in the wilds when she had slipped a love draught into his drink, when her arms had wrapped around him and she had told him—He shook his head. That was the other reason why he wanted to flee to Noah: to escape this awful temptation before he succumbed to it.

  “You don’t believe me, Gilgamesh?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “You shook your head when I said I don’t want the necklace for myself.”

  He ran a hand across his brow. “I can’t help you gain vengeance on Beor.”

  “Is that what you think this is?”

  “Beor wounded your brother,” he said.

  “Yes, and you wounded Beor once, firing an arrow into him. Does Beor have a right to hunt you?”

  His forehead furrowed. Perhaps he owed Beor bloodguilt for that shot. Yet where would he get the means to pay for bloodguilt and also pay Lud?

  Semiramis said, “Look what the necklace did to Hilda. It embroiled her in a terrible plight. It corrupted her into luring my brother and his friends into an ambush set by her father. I’m glad that Minos is here, of course. But I was once Hilda’s stepmother. I want to see her grow up into a good woman. That will never happen as long as the necklace is in her possession. It will continue to fire her vanity and lead her down a dark path. That is why you must remove the temptation. For that deadly risk, I’m willing to help you gain your true love. You do love Opis, don’t you?”

  “Everyone knows I do.”

  “Yet you don’t have the means to acquire her as a wife.” Semiramis smiled. “Gilgamesh, if I can’t help my best friend in his most trying hour, then what good am I to you?”

  “I’d be a thief.”

  “Don’t say that. You’d be helping Hilda and, by that, helping Beor. Don’t you owe Beor a debt?”

  He blinked at her.

  “You’re the quickest witted among the Hunters. Surely you see the truth of what I’m saying.”

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s called self-delusion.”

  She rose, smiling, swaying to him and draping her arms onto his shoulders. “I want to help Hilda. I want to help you. Bring me the necklace, and you will have Opis as your wife. Minos has already agreed to guide you. Thebes and Olympus will also help.”

  He felt himself weakening, even though this was an evil plan. “What would I tell Nimrod?”

  “I don’t care what you tell him. Tell him you want to apologize to Beor. The point is that there’s no one else I can turn to. Won’t you help me help Hilda and, at the same time, help yourself?”

  He took her arms from his shoulders and stepped toward the door. He felt hot, and sweat seemed to leap onto his face. “Yes,” he heard himself say. “I’ll get you the necklace.” Then he stumbled out of the room and down the stairs, wondering if he would ever be able to escape this feeling of loathing.

  5.

  “Whatever you do, don’t tell Gilgamesh that you plan to kill Beor,” Semiramis told Minos the next day. They stood on the practice yard, Minos sending arrows into a hay-backed target. “Gilgamesh is too noble to stoop to assassination.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Minos said. “He’s willing to steal, why not judicial slaying? Besides, we can’t keep this secret from him. We’ll need his help to kill that monster.” Minos aimed. With a twang, released an arrow, which caromed off the target. “Beor isn’t like other men.”

  “Nor are you an archer.”

  Minos frowned at the bow. “It has a warp in it, I swear. It’s a cheap trinket.”

  “You fool. I gave you one of Nimrod’s own, crafted by Put himself.”

  “Put is overrated as a bow-maker. Either that or he cheated your husband.”

  “If you’re wise, you’ll keep such opinions to yourself.”

  Minos grunted, drawing out another arrow. “I know what you mean. These sons of Ham all think themselves master craftsmen, better able to build anything than anyone else.”

  “That’s because they do build better. They’re all like Ham that way.”

  “Nobility of thought is what I crave,” Minos said, aiming carefully, sending this arrow thudding into the target.

  “Your high ideals are to your credit,” Semiramis said. “Just don’t tell Gilgamesh your plans concerning Beor or you’ll lose him and then I’ll lose the necklace. And for heaven’s sake, don’t tell him he’s stealing the necklace. He’s removing temptations from Hilda.”

  “Hard-headed Gilgamesh believes that?” Minos asked.

  “No man is hard-headed in matters of the heart.”

  “I am.”

  “Yes, and you’re not a man. You’re a spoiled brat with an angel’s face.”

  “Please, I’m growing faint from you praises, sister. Mercifully heap no more upon me.”

  “Was there anything else you wanted to ask?”

  “Yes. What do we tell Nimrod? Why am I returning to Japheth Land?”

  “Because you wish to visit some of your cousins and convince them to move to Babel,” Semiramis said. “He’ll believe that because his father lusts after every soul he can pack into the city.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Kush is secretive,” Semiramis said, “so I’m not sure. But I think it has something to do with the angel.”

  Minos looked troubled. “Tell me truthfully, did Nimrod really see an angel?”

  “Can you doubt
it?”

  “Sons of Ham aren’t fanciful enough to devise such a tale, I’ll grant you,” Minos said. “But what I don’t understand is why Jehovah would send an angel to Nimrod.”

  “Because Nimrod is a man amongst men,” Semiramis said, “which is why we can’t tell Nimrod our plan. It wouldn’t fit with his ever-changing concept of nobility.”

  Minos gave Semiramis a strange look before he drew another arrow and fitted it to the bowstring.

  6.

  All the Hunters and twenty other young men marched north along the Euphrates. They moved through a bleak plain as winter winds howled upon the pack train of donkeys and flanking hounds.

  With his head bent against the wind, Gilgamesh led a string of plodding beasts. Enlil trudged beside him, listening as Gilgamesh unburdened himself concerning the amber necklace.

  Enlil finally shook his head. “Your plan is flawed.”

  “Normally, I’d agree,” Gilgamesh said. “The difference is what I bring to the task. I’m the Ghost Stalker.”

  “Yes, in the fields during a hunt, but not in a house as a feat of thievery. A house, Gilgamesh, and then into a girl’s bedroom. And not just any girl’s bedroom, either, but Beor’s daughter. You’re mad if you attempt this.”

  “The madness of it is my strength.”

  “That’s irrational,” Enlil said. “If you stopped for a moment to listen to yourself, you’d realize the meanness of planning a theft has corrupted your thinking.”

  Gilgamesh spun around. His eyes were bloodshot, his features haggard and drawn. In a torrent, words spilled out of him. “I can’t turn back now, Enlil. This is my last chance. My last hope. I must dare, be audacious, bold.”

  “Boldness, yes,” said Enlil. “But the only reward for this sort of lunacy is an early death.”

  Gilgamesh’s eyes seemed haunted. “Will you help me? I need someone I can trust.”

  “If you asked me to ride a boat again and sail to Dilmun and there face the leviathan, I’d say yes. But to creep into a village as a thief…”

  “I take no pride in this,” Gilgamesh said. He made a bony fist, staring at it. “I can slay Uruk, that’s an option, too. Yet he is a Hunter, a brother of the spear, even if I hate him. This theft, as you say, it stays my hand from a greater evil.”