Wives of the Flood

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”

  He strummed his harp as he put on a doleful face.

  It was her turn to laugh. “There’s no cure for you, little brother. Now tell me, did he suspect your prodding?”

  “No. A word here, a raised eyebrow and Uruk soon thought it was his idea.”

  She frowned.

  “You should be delighted,” Minos said. “This was what you wanted.”

  “I am. Opis won Gilgamesh’s heart, but I can still make her life miserable.” Semiramis took her brother by the arm. “Let us go somewhere else to celebrate alone. It will be a boring evening if you stay with them. A feast is to be held and a discussion among the Mighty Men concerning war.”

  “It has been decided upon then?”

  “Long ago,” Semiramis said, “but Nimrod still has to go through the rituals.”

  13.

  It was late at night on the upland plain of Nineveh. The moon had set and the stars twinkled. Bats returned to their lairs and wolves, gorged on game taken that evening, slunk to their dens and lay down to await the dawn.

  A door creaked. The sound ceased. A shadow, a blot of darkness that had moved, now stopped. The head of the shadow bent forward. The door inched open, the creaks loud and poignant in the gloom. The shadow stepped into the log cabin and closed the door until the latch clicked.

  Using all the skills learned over the years, Hilda crept to her bedroom. Her mind boiled. Odin had begged once again for her to be his wife and escape with him to the Far North. How she yearned to say yes and flee this doomed place. She almost agreed. She worried about her father, though. How he would react to her departure?

  She stopped and listened. It seemed—she froze. Someone was in the room, someone awake.

  No, no, she told herself. Her father slept in his room. Why would he be up this late at night? She waited. The feeling grew. She held her breath and listened harder.

  She could have sworn a moment ago that she had heard someone breathe. Oh, how she wanted to stop this subterfuge and call out. But what if her father sat up and waited, and what if even now he watched her in the darkness? He wouldn’t be able to see her, of course. But if he sat up, holding his breath, also wanting to call out— Her stomach whirled. She loved Odin. She wanted to marry him. But she didn’t know if she could leave her father all alone, after all the terrible things that had happened to him. She hated it when he looked at her in the morning, so sad, so…

  She took a step. The floorboard creaked. Gradually, creak by creak she moved to her room, opened the door and slipped within, shutting her bedroom door behind her.

  In the darkness of the main room, in the corner, Beor let out his breath. He vowed that, come what may, he would slay this imposter Odin who tried to steal his daughter from him.

  14.

  Ham rubbed his eyes. His arms ached and his fingers had grown stiff from hours of slinging and archery. Hay-backed targets stood thirty paces away. Splotches had appeared in his vision so he could no longer make them out.

  “Let me help you,” a lad said, the one who had been fetching arrows for others.

  Led by the hand, Ham soon sat on a bale.

  “Food has always helped before,” the lad said.

  Ham accepted bread, mechanically tearing it, stuffing the pieces into his mouth. He swilled cold mountain water, wishing it were ale.

  “Should I find Odin before he sneaks off to Hilda?”

  “Does everyone know about it?” Ham asked.

  “Everyone but Beor,” the lad said. “Well, none of his band knows, either. People want to see her married and are secretly praying for Odin’s success.”

  “Ah, that’s better,” Ham said. He could see again. He tousled the lad’s hair. With a grunt, he rose and picked up his bow.

  Snowcapped hills stood to the north, mere blurs for him, although he could make out the palisade-ringed hill to his right. The palisade wasn’t a town in the Akkad or Babel sense, just Assur’s first line of defense. Rocks and boulders littered the undulating terrain, stands of pines here and there and a stream that had detached from the Tigris. It meandered until it reentered the main river several leagues from here.

  To the north and west of the hill fort, lived the majority of Shem’s clans and a few of Japheth’s. Some Shemites had migrated to Babel along with many Japhethites, and now Japheth himself had gone. The numbers were three to one in Nimrod’s favor. Worse, except for Beor and his band, there was nothing like Nimrod’s Mighty Men. Few here owned bronze armor, although many had fashioned leather coverings and practiced with the bow or spear.

  “Patriarch,” the lad said. “Here comes Assur and Shem.”

  In the process of tying on a leather bracer, Ham glanced at the blurry hill-fort. Of course, he saw nothing. “Where are they?”

  “Halfway down the hill.”

  “Walking?”

  “Riding donkeys.”

  First rubbing his eyes, Ham squinted at the targets. The bracer on his left forearm protected the flesh from the slashing string of the bow. Whenever he released, the string scraped the wrist, and after continued shooting, the bowstring would cut and made his skin bleed without the protection. He tested various bows.

  Most of those owed by the Shemites were short bows, usually drawn to the chest. Few men had huge, six-foot bows like Beor. Few could have drawn the string of Beor’s bow to their cheek. The usual tactic with the short bow was to sneak up close and shoot from hiding. Long distance shooting demanded a bow like Beor’s. Close-set ambush tactics, Ham felt, wouldn’t work against Nimrod. So he looked for the right combination of bow that shot far but didn’t need a truly strong man. It seemed for what he envisioned that slings were better. The only problem was that slings took years of practice to use well.

  Ham plucked an arrow out of the ground and notched it. His shoulders ached and his fingers stiffened. “Steady, old man,” he whispered. The arrow hissed and the heavy smack told him he’d hit the bale.

  “It’s in the circle,” the youth shouted.

  Ham grinned, but the hint of a splotch in his eyes and a twinge in his shoulder convinced him he had pushed himself to the limit. He unstrung the bow and told the lad to gather arrows. Then he ambled to his bale, awaiting his brother and nephew.

  Assur was tall, lean and had a curly black beard almost down to his waist. He had wise eyes and a broad forehead. He judged disputes between his siblings with a wisdom that had earned him the title: the Just. Shem, riding a donkey, looked much as he had when they built the Ark. Shem savored his words as always, prayed every morning at the family altar and chose a different cabin each day to visit. The great-grandchildren loved to crawl over him as he told them Jehovah-centered stories.

  “Good afternoon, Uncle,” Assur called.

  Ham waved.

  The Shemites hobbled their mounts and strolled to him, Assur in his disjointed stride and Shem in his leisurely pace.

  “How goes the target practice, Uncle?”

  “In truth,” Ham said, “my eyesight could be better. I’m debating having Odin fashion me a spear and begging Beor for a suit of armor.”

  “You never change,” Shem said. “I remember how you practiced diligently before facing Ymir. Do you remember that night?”

  “This time we don’t face giants. Just men like us.”

  “Where’s Odin?” Assur asked.

  “I want to talk to you about something,” Ham said. “It occurred to me while I practiced and it concerns the coming battle.”

  “Maybe Nimrod won’t come,” Shem said.

  “You’re the one who prophesied it,” Ham said. “Have you lost faith in what you saw?”

  “I meant he might not come this year.”

  “That’s right,” Assur said. “I still don’t understand your certainty about this year, Uncle. Wouldn’t Jehovah have given us the prophecy with enough time to get ready? Just like He warned Noah about the Flood in time to build the Ark?”
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  “Maybe Jehovah means for you to take advantage of Odin’s idea,” Ham said. “The Earth is vast and devoid of people. Why not gather our clans and march far from here?”

  “We’ll do well enough in a fight,” Assur said.

  “You don’t train together,” Ham said. “You don’t armor yourselves and you lack a real chariot arm.”

  “Perhaps,” Assur said. “But Shem seeks the mind of Jehovah. There lies our true strength, a foil to Nimrod’s deceptions.”

  Ham bit his lip. He didn’t like arguing spirituality. But today— “I’ve wondered about that, too.”

  “Oh?”

  “Jehovah said to spread out, to fill the Earth,” Ham said. “So what have you done? Why, come in clans and clan groupings to the plain of Nineveh. That’s practically as disobedient as my children. You know what Jehovah wants and yet you don’t do it. Why then do you think Jehovah will protect you?”

  “I disagree that we’ve been like Nimrod,” Assur said. “If people now did as Jehovah commanded, each family or clan would be at Nimrod’s mercy. We settled the plain of Nineveh as a counterweight to Babel.”

  “Weren’t you listening?” Ham asked. “The world is vast. Trek far enough away and Nimrod won’t ever find you. Your argument is that since King Nimrod and his people have disobeyed, you’re forced to disobey for your own protection.”

  “Assur knows how I feel about his thinking,” Shem said. “It’s sheer sophistry.”

  Assur’s shoulders tightened.

  “Why do you think you’ll win?” Ham asked.

  “We’ll be fighting for our homes,” Assur said, “like bears in a cave. It will make us ferocious.”

  Odin walked up and sat on a nearby bale.

  “Nimrod outnumbers you.” Ham said. “And he has more trained fighters. Who can face the Mighty Men? Surely not Beor’s handful or your mob.”

  “The Mighty Men are just like us,” Assur said. “They’re prey to the same fears.”

  “That’s why Nimrod has trained them these long years,” Ham said, “why these seek dangerous beasts.”

  “We’ve hunted the same beasts,” Assur said.

  “Your people have driven off the occasional wolf or stray lion. That’s another thing entirely from remorselessly hunting them day after day, challenging them in order to build your courage. Why do you acclaim Beor such a valiant warrior? Because he sought out and slew a great sloth in single combat. Who else has done that?”

  Assur frowned.

  “Farmers and shepherds cannot face warriors in the open,” Ham said.

  “So we should hide behind walls?” Assur asked. “Or forge more armor suits?”

  “What you need is something else entirely.”

  “Brimstone balls?” Assur asked.

  “Let him finish,” Shem said.

  Assur dipped his head. “I’m sorry, Uncle Ham.”

  Ham waved aside the apology. “I’ve thought about this a long time, and it may already be too late. But you need a new mode of war that counters Nimrod’s plan. I’m devising a method of long-distance battle, to harry them and to make life miserable on the march. I propose that a band diligently search for horses. Once we train them, you must construct new style chariots to my specification.”

  “Chariots like Kedorlaomer once had?” Shem asked.

  “Exactly,” Ham said. “And new archery and slinger tactics.”

  Assur threw up his hands. “Why not ask for the moon? If Nimrod marches soon, as you keep predicting, we don’t have time for that.”

  “So send an emissary to Babel and ask for terms,” Ham said. “Beg if you have to and let them send out governors. Meanwhile, you send out searchers, train in these new ways and once you’re ready, throw off Nimrod’s yoke.”

  “You’re full of trickery,” Shem said.

  Assur began to pace. “Nimrod may or may not march this year. If he does, we’ll fight harder than he expects, harder than you believe. Beor and his band will practice their harrying tactics while the hill-fort will act as a breakwater against which they must either storm or siege. Then our massed might shall fall upon them in surprise.”

  “What if they bring the onager and use brimstone?” Odin asked. “Your hill fort’s walls are made of wood.”

  “What if Beor drives one of his three foot shafts through Nimrod’s chest?” Assur asked.

  Odin nodded sagely. “Kill Nimrod and you win. That’s the best strategy.”

  Assur turned to his father. “It’s time we headed for Uz’s settlement. I want to inspect their arrow supply.”

  Shem and Assur said their goodbyes and soon mounted the donkeys.

  “How did it go with Hilda?” Ham asked.

  Odin brooded. “Do you really think there are horses somewhere?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why doesn’t Nimrod search for them?”

  “Searching for horses would send out wandering teams everywhere. It might give his Mighty Men the wrong idea.”

  “I didn’t see any horses in the Far North.”

  “So we know where not to look.” Ham shrugged. “It’s just an idea. Anything to give us hope of victory.”

  “That hope died when Japheth and Gomer migrated to Babel.”

  Ham rolled his shoulder, testing his sore muscles. “Do you think you can fashion me a spear like Gungnir?”

  Odin shook his head. “Stick to what you know this summer. If Nimrod still hasn’t shown by fall, I’ll think about it.”

  Ham stretched, and that made his eyes splotch again. He hoped he wasn’t going blind. That was all he needed.

  15.

  Summer passed, and in Shinar and on the plain of Nineveh, men and women harvested the crops. Then Nimrod summoned his warriors.

  On donkey back came Gilgamesh, Enlil and Erech’s two other champions. Opis also came. She rode on donkey back, wrapped in a white cloak and an impenetrable reserve. The peak of her beauty had vanished, and there was a haunted cast to her eyes. Already a slight woman, she had grown thinner, gaunter. She no longer smiled, although at times, a kitten or a puppy wagging its tail brought a faint upturn of her lips. Whenever she looked at Gilgamesh, and he wasn’t watching, a longing came over her. She yearned to hold him, to have him know her as of old. But whenever he touched her, her skin crawled. It was an involuntary reaction.

  “Not yet,” she would whisper.

  Now he no longer tried. It made her ache and her heart wilt.

  A day’s journey from Babel, as he slept on a mat beside her, she rolled over and gazed at him in the moonlight. She reached out, willing herself to touch his handsome face. She fought herself, moving her hand closer, closer.

  His eyes opened. He had an almost preternatural sense of danger.

  “I hear something,” she whispered, as she drew her hand back.

  He looked into her eyes, and then he rose, picking up his lance, striding into the darkness. When he lay back down later, she pretended to be asleep, even as she damned herself for being a coward.

  Later, in another week, she told herself, she would be better, and she truly believed her lie.

  The next day, the city rose before them. It was so much bigger than Erech. The Tower, with the fifth level completed, dominated the skyline. Babel seemed to seethe with people.

  Gilgamesh took her to Menes’s two-story house. He spoke pleasantries with her grandfather and then asked if Opis could remain here during the campaign. A pause before the “of course” and “we’d be delighted to have her” made Opis squirm. In a few more minutes, Gilgamesh rose, saying he had to report to the palace. Opis felt as if he wanted to flee her presence, as if he couldn’t wait to get away.

  Because the others watched, she endured his kiss. His smile was pained. Then he turned and marched away, Enlil forced to jog to keep up with him.

  “He’ll be back before you know it,” her grandmother said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  Opis flinched. Then she smiled apologetically. “You startled me.” />
  Her grandmother patted her shoulder, a slight frown on her face.

  Opis caught a last glimpse of Gilgamesh, with the swirl of his military cloak and his loping stride. A terrible feeling of doom filled her, and she wondered if Gilgamesh would ever return to her.

  16.

  Uruk stood in the throne room as Gilgamesh entered. Heat flushed across Gilgamesh’s face. His knife-hand twitched and there was a roaring sound in his ears. All his secret plans vanished as a snarl of rage came from deep within his throat.

  Only when powerful hands grasped his arms did Gilgamesh regain his senses.

  Nimrod stood before his throne, with his face flushed and rage in his eyes.

  Gilgamesh blinked repeatedly, trying to work out what had happened. He saw that he held a knife. He let go with surprise. The clatter of bronze on tiles was loud in the silent room.

  Mighty Men looked upon him in wonder. Uruk was pale.

  Thebes held one of Gilgamesh’s arms. Enlil held the other.

  “Well?” Nimrod asked.

  Gilgamesh licked his lips. He happened to glance at Uruk, at the great ape in armor. A roar erupted from Gilgamesh’s throat and he struggled to free himself. At Nimrod’s command, Mighty Men dragged him from the room.

  He panted in the antechamber.

  A moment later Nimrod walked in. “Leave,” he told the others.

  The warriors scattered.

  The king approached as he held his baton. “Old friend, what is the meaning of this?”

  Gilgamesh fought for self-control. He gave Nimrod a shaky smile. “Your Majesty—”

  “No,” Nimrod said, as he swept the air with his baton. “I want no formality from you, Ghost Stalker. I want to know why you have murderous rage against my War Chief.”

  Gilgamesh struggled with himself. He’d made an oath to Opis never to reveal what had happened. He also understood that if he told Nimrod about the oath, that the king might choose between Uruk and him.

  “Mighty Hunter,” Gilgamesh said, “this is a private matter between Uruk and me.”