Gilgamesh’s seal was of a man stabbing a roaring lion. It symbolized the help he had given Nimrod against Black Mane. Other seals left different images. Menes, the grandfather of Ramses, had one that showed a man watering a tree with a shaduf. Nimrod’s seal showed a man shooting an arrow at a dragon. Ramses’s was of a hero chasing an ostrich. Since seal cutters used hand tools and different shapes and sizes of stones, no seal was exactly alike another, thus they became signatures.
The cylinder seals had quickly become the rage in Babel and in the three new towns. Everyone knew that people had used papyrus scrolls in the Old World. Ham, Shem, Japheth, and even Noah had several such scrolls. To date, however, no one had discovered papyrus reeds to make new scrolls. A few people laboriously made parchment. It took careful cleaning, stretching and smoothing of the skins of sheep and goats. The trouble was ink, which came from octopuses. That meant fishing in the Bitter Sea or in the marsh’s delta mouth. The ink brought over from the Old World had finally run out.
Then Kush discovered a new medium. As a priest of Bel, he gave praise to the angel of the sun for the idea. It was simple and it used an unlimited resource: mud. With a sharp reed styles on a flattened lump of clay held in his palm, Kush wrote Antediluvian ideograms. He dried it in the sun and now had a permanent record. Soon thereafter, as an easy signature, Lud devised the cylinder seals.
Gilgamesh rolled his cylinder on each report he sent to Babel. When Opis become suspicious of her maid, she tied a cloth over the mouth of the oil jar and covered the string with clay. Before the clay hardened, she rolled her seal over it. If the seal broke, then she would know if anyone helped herself to the oil. Gilgamesh sealed the temple door. That was a command from Babel, the tablet verified by Nimrod’s seal. Clay and seal had quickly become a lock and key.
“It is to be war,” Ramses said, as they two of them walked together.
“War?” Gilgamesh asked. They had been speaking about old times, how they had dashed from Festival and to the great southern marsh, searching for Opis. Each claimed as they hunted this afternoon that in those days, they had been in much better shape. “What possible reasons are there for war?”
“Do you want to hear the real reason or the one Nimrod gives?”
“First tell me what Nimrod says.”
“That the others have grown jealous of the Tower,” Ramses said. “Why else have they preached against it? It can’t be because the Tower is evil. If that were so, says Nimrod, why has Babel been so blessed these past years? Cylinders seals and clay tablets, faience, better ways of smelting, ship building improvements, a central governmental that improves justice and new revelations about Bel and Ishtar, all these gifts of civilization have been granted because Jehovah smiles on Babel’s endeavors.”
“Potent arguments,” Gilgamesh said.
“The king is no fool.”
“Why does he want war?”
“I’m unsure,” Ramses said. “I don’t know if it’s because Nimrod yearns to lead the Mighty Men in conquest, or—did you know he’s studied the campaigns of Ymir and Laban?”
“Studied how?” Gilgamesh asked.
“He acquired a scroll from Ham before Ham left. It was a history of Antediluvian Arad. In it are descriptions of Ymir’s conquests and several of Laban’s. In the past, Nimrod also spoke at length with Ham about those times. I don’t know if you’ve heard this, but Patriarch Japheth has arrived in Babel. Nimrod now speaks with him about Antediluvian times.”
Gilgamesh shook his head.
“Japheth and Europa, together with Gomer and his entire clan, have moved to Babel,” Ramses said. “They mean to stay.”
“Does Japheth tell the king all he wants to know about old times?” Gilgamesh asked. “Or is he reticent the way they said Ham used to be?”
“My grandfather says Japheth is flattered by the attention,” Ramses said. “Five of Gomer’s great grandsons have already enrolled in the Mighty Men.”
Gilgamesh nodded.
“It is my belief,” Ramses said, “that Nimrod wishes to emulate Ymir, to outdo the Nephilim.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Oh?” Ramses asked. “Tell me. Who has ever conquered the entire world?”
“Ah.”
“The king will send for you,” Ramses said. “Nimrod will want all his heroes with him.”
Gilgamesh nodded thoughtfully.
“Look at me,” Ramses said, as he patted his paunch. “I live too well in Babel. But you…you’re still lean like a wolf, still able to race down gazelle and stab them with your lance.”
Gilgamesh laughed, pleased by the compliment. “Come now, my friend, we’re not at court in Babel. This is Erech. We lead simple lives here. You have no need to flatter me.”
For a time they paced in silence, and the blood of the slain gazelle soaked through Gilgamesh’s tunic and wet his shoulder. An uneasy feeling bit him then, an odd stirring in his gut.
“Do you believe in premonitions?” he asked.
“When I’m hunting,” Ramses said. “Why, do you think the war will turn out badly?”
Gilgamesh tested his stomach. Had he eaten something disagreeable?
“Perhaps you’re turning into an oracle,” Ramses said. “Semiramis claims to be one. She sits in the temple and sprinkles a strange weed into a brazier. She breathes the smoke and goes into a trance. Then she gives oracles of the future, many of which have turned out correct.”
Gilgamesh nodded toward the smudge on the horizon, the walls of Erech. “Let’s hurry.” He broke into a jog, seemingly preoccupied.
11.
As they neared the city, Minos strode toward them.
“Why is he in Erech?” Ramses asked.
Gilgamesh had no idea, and his uneasiness grew.
Minos wore a rich, blue robe and a crown of garlands. He smiled, and he carried a jug. He strolled from the gate, which faced the plain and was opposite the river. It had no wall, simply wharves that jutted into the Euphrates.
The last time the dhow had come with Minos and the Singers, Nimrod had been with them. The king had been festive and had taken Gilgamesh downstream to taste of the delight of his Singers. Opis had complained afterward. Gilgamesh had vowed never to join the Singers again. He didn’t want to see that look of pain cross Opis’s eyes, that he had betrayed her with Semiramis’s Singers.
“She wishes to corrupt you,” Opis had told him afterward. “She’s a wicked woman.”
The brother wasn’t much better, Gilgamesh knew.
As he approached, Minos smiled, with his long robe trailing in the dirt. “Hail, Gilgamesh,” he shouted, raising his right hand.
“Hail, Minos, brother of the queen.”
Minos nodded, with his smile wide. “She sends you greetings and worries about you.”
Gilgamesh and Ramses drew nearer.
“I don’t see anyone else,” whispered Ramses.
“What?” Gilgamesh asked.
“Look through the gate. No one is about.”
“Where’s Enlil?” Gilgamesh asked.
Minos laughed as he lifted the jug. “Here, drink.” He tossed the jug.
Gilgamesh caught and uncorked it, sniffing. Palm wine, strong and potent. He corked the leathery jug and handed it to Ramses.
“No thanks,” Ramses said, as he patted his paunch.
Gilgamesh tossed the jug back.
“Aren’t you thirsty?” Minos asked.
“Where’s Enlil?” Gilgamesh asked.
“Drinking with his friends,” Minos said.
“You came by ship?” Gilgamesh asked.
“Of course.”
“And the king,” Gilgamesh said. “Did he come?”
Minos shook his head.
“Who captains the ship?”
“I almost forgot,” Minos said, as he set down the jug. He drew a square piece of clay from a pouch, handing it to Gilgamesh. “Notice the seal.” Gilgamesh saw the picture of a man shooting a dragon. It was Nimrod’s seal. Wi
thin the thin clay envelope would be a baked clay tablet. He’d have to break the envelope to open it.
Gilgamesh handed it to Ramses.
“It’s addressed to you,” Minos said.
Gilgamesh nodded.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Minos asked.
“First I want to know who captained the ship.”
“Ah,” Minos said, and it seemed as if his smile lost a bit of its shine. He retrieved his jug, pulling the cork, taking a swig, wiping his mouth and corking the jug. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some? This is an excellent vintage.”
Gilgamesh patted the water skin at his side. “Why don’t I see any people in the streets?”
Minos turned, looking back through the gate. He gazed up at the sun. “It’s a hot day. I suppose there is the reason.”
“Listen,” Ramses said.
Gilgamesh cocked his head. He heard drunken men singing from within the city.
“It looks as if you had good luck hunting,” Minos said, indicating the gazelle.
Gilgamesh shrugged.
“Work on the Tower goes well,” Minos said, in a conversational tone. “They’re almost finished with the fifth level. But I imagine that Ramses already told you that.”
“No,” Gilgamesh said. “He’s too worried about the coming war.”
“Yes,” Minos said. “It’s sad. But the others have become unpredictable. For the good of all they must be freed from the old ways and brought into harmony with the rest of mankind.”
“That isn’t the reason he’s going to war,” Ramses said.
Gilgamesh shook his head at Ramses, and now it was his turn to smile at Minos. With the razor-sharp tip of his lance, he touched the front of Minos’s garland. “Who captains the ship, my friend?”
Minos laughed, stepping back.
Following him, Gilgamesh let the tip drop, and he touched Minos’ cheek. “I’m weary of word games. What are you hiding?”
“Nothing,” Minos said. “I came to deliver Nimrod’s message.”
“Tell me what it is.”
“He said to let you read it.”
“Fair enough,” Gilgamesh said. “Now I want to know—”
A bell clanged. It seemed to come from the other end of town, from the wharf perhaps.
“There’s my signal,” Minos said, as he backed away.
“Signal for what?” Gilgamesh said.
“It was a quick trip,” Minos explained.
“You’re not leaving already?” Ramses asked, surprised.
“I’m afraid so,” Minos said. “The king wants everyone at home, you see. War comes. We must be ready for anything.”
“Who…” Gilgamesh said.
But Minos hiked up his robe like a woman, exposing bare legs, and he turned and ran through the city gate.
Gilgamesh glanced at Ramses.
“What strange behavior,” Ramses said. “He didn’t seem drunk.”
Gilgamesh dropped his gazelle and jogged after Minos.
“What do you think is wrong?” Ramses said, running after him.
“It’s that premonition,” Gilgamesh said. “Something feels wrong.”
“You’re no priest,” chided Ramses. “No oracle.”
“Gilgamesh!” Enlil shouted. He and two others had been leaning against a smithy. Well, two of those three lay slumped against the smithy. They must have been drinking for quite some time to be that far-gone. Enlil staggered to them, with a jug in his hands.
“The others left when the bell clanged,” Enlil slurred, “and now I drink alone. That isn’t right. Drink with me!”
Gilgamesh pushed Enlil aside. “Run,” he said to Ramses.
They ran down the empty dirt street. A flash of blue showed Minos darting around a home and toward the wharf.
Gilgamesh left a panting Ramses behind. He saw Minos pound down the wooden wharf and leap aboard the ship, which had straining Mighty Men pushing poles from shore.
“Ahoy the ship!” shouted Gilgamesh.
He saw Obed and Zimri, close friends of Uruk. He saw Thebes, another friend of Uruk. Finally, he saw the biggest Mighty Man of all, the new War Chief.
“Uruk!” shouted Gilgamesh.
The big man turned sharply. He stood on the stern deck, the only deck on ship. He held the tiller in his big hands. Uruk grinned meanly. “I delivered the message. Now the king needs me back at Babel.”
A wind caught the triangular sail, sending the ship faster from Erech’s wharf.
Gilgamesh stopped on the wooden planks. He frowned, not understanding any of this. Ramses halted beside him, panting, out of breath.
“Why are they hurrying?” Ramses asked.
Gilgamesh shook his head. A shout caused him to turn. His Mighty Men, Enlil and two others, bleary-eyed, staggered toward them while waving jugs. They hollered to the men aboard ship.
“We just got started drinking!” roared Enlil. “Come back!”
A dreadful feeling came upon Gilgamesh. He shaded his eyes and looked at Uruk. The big man smiled. He seemed…
“Where’s my sister?” Ramses said, glancing about. “Opis should be here.”
Gilgamesh made a strangled sound, turned and sprinted to the palace, the two-story house beside the equally high city temple.
Gilgamesh burst through the front door. “Opis!”
Silence.
He ran into the house, shouting his wife’s name. Despite the heat outside, it was cool within. He hardly noticed. Furniture was sparse, as in most homes. They had low tables, cane-backed armchairs, mats and stools.
He found Opis in the bedroom. She sat on the bed. It was low-built with a frame of wood. His wife sat staring, seeming unaware of his shouts.
“Opis,” Gilgamesh said, moving closer.
She didn’t seem to hear him.
Puzzled, with the bad feeling worse than ever, Gilgamesh noticed that the room seemed…
A vase was overturned and had cracked. The nightstand lay on its side. The bed sheets…
“Opis, speak to me,” he said, kneeling on the bed beside her.
Her head whipped up. She stared at him, wild-eyed.
“Opis?” he whispered.
She had draped a gown over herself, but in turning, it fell from her shoulder. A blue bruise, like a handprint, marred her shoulder.
“Opis, what happened?”
Tears dripped from her eyes, and she moaned.
Gilgamesh touched her.
She shrieked, flying back from him. “No! Don’t touch me!”
“Opis,” he said, bewildered.
She backed into the corner, shivering, moaning, no longer willing to look at him.
A sick feeling filled him. “Did, did Uruk—”
Hatred welled in her eyes as her head snapped up.
Then it became clear to Gilgamesh why Minos had held him up at the gate. Why the bell had clanged and all the friends of Uruk had gone running to the ship. It made sick sense now why Enlil and the other two Mighty Men had been given drink, and why no people where on the streets—they had been scared off.
Uruk had raped his wife.
12.
Semiramis strolled down a narrow corridor. She wore a scarlet gown and a crown of fish-eyes. Behind her trailed a Singer with a smoking torch and another with an ostrich feather fan.
She moved to a curtain and peered into the throne room. It was crowded, stank of sweaty men and jingled with the sounds of armor. They loved to pose. The rugged warriors who often mocked women strutted in front of each other like a roomful of fighting cocks. They jested, quaffed wine and toasted her husband on the throne. She spied Minos in his blue robe, carrying a harp. He seemed uncomfortable, although probably only to her eye. Minos strummed, humming tunes, nodding whenever a warrior shouted to him.
When Minos looked her way, she waved so he grinned. He began to weave his way through the preening crowd. Finally, he glanced over his shoulder and then slipped past the curtain into the corridor beside her.
&n
bsp; She motioned the Singers to move back before whispering, “Did he do it?”
“Now that was a chore,” Minos said. “Sailing the Euphrates with the Mighty Men is nothing like being with the Singers. They’re gruff, high-strung oafs who raise their fists at the slightest perceived insult.”
“I not interested in listening to you whine.”
Minos studied her until he frowned. “Your eyes are glazed from black lotus. You’re stilling using it?”
She ignored the question. “Tell me. Did the new War Chief achieve his dream?” She meant Uruk.
Minos plucked a string.
She dragged him deeper into the hall. “Don’t play the clown with me, little brother.”
He laughed. “Poor Semiramis, trapped amid riches and yet powerless.”
“I have power enough to wring your neck.”
“No doubt, no doubt. But then you would be alone among these muscle bound boors. Where would you gain your diversion?”
“Perhaps I’d fashion a troupe similar to the Singers, composed of handsome young men.”
“Nimrod would allow this?”
“Is it fair that he frolics with the Singers and has nothing left for his wife?”
“Semiramis, that’s drool.”
She gripped his shoulder. “Did Uruk do it?”
Minos nodded.
“In her own house?” Semiramis asked.
“On her own bed. He claimed to be brutal. And of that I have no doubt.”
“He didn’t suspect your motives?”
Minos laughed. “The War Chief?”
“Don’t underestimate his cunning.”
“Yes, Uruk has low animal craft.”
“And strength and murder-lust to see him through,” Semiramis said.
Minos shrugged.
“Oh, you are a fool,” she said. “You think you’re clever. You laugh at them, even though any Mighty Man could smash your skull. It’s the fact you’re my brother that you’re still alive. You’d do well to remember that.”
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