Wives of the Flood

by Vaughn Heppner

  “The instant you step into my presence, you whip out your dagger and charge my War Chief. I understand the two of you don’t get along. Why, the two of you have feuded from the beginning. And that entire sordid episode over the girl…” Nimrod studied him. “What happened when Uruk came to Erech?”

  Gilgamesh bowed stiffly. “Your Majesty, I beg forgiveness for my actions. I-I didn’t plan this.”

  “I know you didn’t. You’ve always been the one under control. But when you set eyes on Uruk…” With the baton, Nimrod scratched his cheek, and he began to pace.

  Gilgamesh swallowed painfully. He was still surprised at himself.

  “I had hoped to hear your proposals, to listen to your counsel versus the others. I miss you, my friend. Believe me, I understand this feud. It was a difficult decision sending you to Erech.” Nimrod frowned. “Being king is harder than I thought. Everyone vies for my attention, wishing to sway me to his way of thinking. Soon men—and women, too—stop telling me the truth. Then I have to shift through every word in order to discover the truth. Now I find that the one man I trust, whom I’d believed could still honestly tell me what he thought, now he too has left me. Ah, Gilgamesh, it is a lonely thing to be king.”

  “Nimrod,” Gilgamesh said, taking one of the king’s broad hands. “I would tell you on the instant what makes my gut boil, but I have made an oath to another, an oath that I dare not break.”

  Nimrod studied him. Finally, he withdrew his hand. “It doesn’t take a Mighty Man to understand what could cause such a quarrel between you and the War Chief. I will not ask you to join the meeting tonight.”

  “Please, don’t send me home.”

  “You’re too important for that. Your mind is keen, your judgments swift and sound.” A smile crept onto the king’s face. “Perhaps there is another task for you. I need a herald to sound out our foes, to judge their reactions and to be courageous enough to give them my words. Are you willing to do this?”

  “I am yours to command, Sire.”

  Nimrod’s grin turned crafty. “Before Ymir attacked anyone, it was the Nephilim’s policy to send a herald to his foes. I have tried to understand the reason. I now believe that it was unnerving to his enemies, and I think the herald spied out their defenses and resolve. You’re the perfect choice. I want you with me on the day of battle. But I cannot have you in camp with the War Chief, or not in camp for very long. You and Uruk have become like two vicious hounds that hate one another, yet both are needed to take down a terrible lion.”

  “Is this war truly necessary?”

  The grin left Nimrod, and his manner changed. “The decision grieves me. It is why I wish to hold a council with all my Mighty Men. The former elders will come and Lord Japheth.” Nimrod put a hand on Gilgamesh’s shoulder. “Your question strikes close to my heart, old friend.”

  Gilgamesh nodded. Nimrod had already decided on war, and as king, he now played a part. For just a moment, Nimrod had let down his guard. Now the moment had passed. How lonely indeed it must be to be king. Gilgamesh pitied his old friend, and he determined to speak honestly to Nimrod, even if he was the last man to do so.

  17.

  In armor, an ermine cape and with his helmet in the crook of his arm, Gilgamesh ducked and entered a large tent as raindrops drizzled against the oiled leather. Sitting on mats waited clan elders, Shem, Ham and massive Beor scowling as he stood in back. Two youths wearing wolf caps entered behind Gilgamesh, his guards.

  One of the wolf-capped guards said, “This is Gilgamesh, the governor of—”

  “We know very well who he is,” Ham said.

  The youth with the wolf cap blushed.

  “You may go,” Shem told them.

  The two youths hurried out the tent.

  “Won’t you sit, Gilgamesh,” Shem said.

  “Thank you,” Gilgamesh said, spotting the mat reserved for him. Despite his uneasiness, he unpinned his cloak, with water droplets falling from it. He hooked it to a nearby stand, placing his helmet at the foot of the stand.

  “You look very martial,” Shem said. “You look indeed like the herald of Babel.”

  As Gilgamesh sat, he noted faces. Beor looked hostile. Not that he blamed the big man, but Beor’s presence made him uneasy. Many of the sons of Shem seemed to hold their judgment about him. What Ham and Shem thought, he couldn’t tell.

  “I journeyed here to bring you the king’s words.”

  “Just get on with it,” growled Beor. “Give us Nimrod’s lies.”

  Gilgamesh’s mouth turned dry. For a brief moment, he wondered if Nimrod hoped to solve his problem with Uruk and him by having the enemies of Babel slay him.

  “Before I relay the message, I want you to realize that these aren’t my words,” Gilgamesh said. “Some of them, perhaps, might seem…well, I don’t want to get into what the words might seem like to you. I represent the King of Babel, but I am not the king.”

  “Do you claim then the Antediluvian sanctity of herald?” Ham asked.

  “Exactly,” Gilgamesh said.

  “Shall we grant him that immunity, brother?”

  “Of course,” Shem said.

  Ham nodded to Gilgamesh. “You may rest easily among us, Herald.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It took courage to come alone,” Ham said. “The least we can do is respect it.”

  “You are kind,” Gilgamesh said.

  “I’m afraid,” Shem said, “that what you have to tell us won’t be so kind.”

  “They’re not my words,” Gilgamesh said.

  “Yes, yes, we know,” Beor said, from the back, still standing. “These are Nimrod’s words. Please spout them, so we can end this farce.”

  Ham turned toward the back. “Don’t you think it was brave of Gilgamesh to come alone among us?”

  Beor scowled. Then he seemed to consider. After a moment, he said, “Yes. It was brave.”

  “Then give him the honor due a brave man.”

  Beor nodded stiffly. “I ask your pardon, Gilgamesh.”

  “I freely give it,” Gilgamesh said. “And I want you to know that I hold no ill will against you for the time you held me prisoner.”

  Beor grunted.

  “This is all very seemly,” Assur said. “But perhaps we could get to the matter of this meeting.”

  Gilgamesh sat straighter. Nimrod had coached him on the message, and he had insisted that Gilgamesh uphold the majesty of the King of Babel. First clearing his throat, Gilgamesh began to speak.

  “These are King Nimrod’s words: ‘I ask for tokens of your good will, men of Nineveh. Send us Ham and Rahab and Shem and Ruth, and bind Beor with stout cords. Then you must send his daughter Hilda to Babel. I wish as well that Odin, a traitor to the Mighty Men, be strongly bound and sent to me. In return, I, Nimrod the First of Babel, Erech, Akkad and Calneh, will give you political unity and delivery from want. Mankind, as you know, faces many dangers. Drought and famine are a constant worry. Wolves, lions, leopards and the dreaded dragon prey upon humanity. In uncounted numbers, these beasts roam where they will. Pestilence and disease threaten the weary, and fear in its many guises only heightens these dangers. Together, however, in an empire spreading across the Earth, we may act in one accord and bring relief to each other. Warriors of note even now journey to you and will help you exterminate these terrible monsters. With the warriors are wagons full of food and drink and precious gems and rare perfumes. I bring the bounty of Babel to all that embrace mankind’s empire. And I bring the sword and the spear to those whose evil and treachery plot disunity, disharmony and therefore destruction upon the embryonic civilization built upon the sweat and labor of those who so recently escaped the awful doom of Jehovah. Some of you will come to Babel to help finish the Tower unto Heaven; some will stay on the plain of Nineveh to help build glorious cities with protective walls of stone. I, King Nimrod the First, march to you and hope to find a peaceful and loving embrace. Yet in my hand, I also hold the sword. Choose wisely, son
s of Shem and those of Japheth, and a long and fruitful life will be yours.”

  “Tell him we’ll fight!” Assur said, leaping to his feet.

  “Is that wise?” asked his brother, Arphaxad.

  “I wonder that too,” Elam said, another brother. “According to his herald, Nimrod only wants to help us build cities. And is there not strength in unity?”

  “What are you saying?” cried Assur. “Nimrod doesn’t worship Jehovah, but Bel and other demons. If we follow him, he’ll lead us into idolatry.”

  “Maybe those claims are exaggerated,” Elam said.

  “I assure you they’re not,” Ham said.

  “But that makes no sense,” said Elam. “I’ve visited Babel. It was magnificent, and the Tower they constructed awes the imagination. If Nimrod led them in demon worship, I don’t believe Jehovah would reward such treachery. Surely, plague, and death by beasts, would have winnowed them to a frightened mass. Instead, confidence and plenty and healthy sons and daughters are their lot. We must consider this offer carefully.”

  “Who here dares to bind me?” asked Beor.

  “No one,” Assur said. “We will fight.”

  “And start a war?” asked Elam.

  “They’re the one invading us,” Assur said.

  “That isn’t what Gilgamesh says.”

  “Nimrod is full of smooth words,” Ham said. “Never doubt that those who come from Babel march as conquerors.”

  “What do you think, Father?” asked Elam.

  Shem regarded his sons and he glanced at Gilgamesh. “We must fight.”

  “Yes,” Assur said, sounding relieved. “Tell Nimrod he will face our full might.”

  Gilgamesh stood and bowed. “Is that what I should say?”

  “Do not seek our disunity,” Shem said. “Otherwise, you might lose the rank of herald and be called a spy.”

  “May I ask a question?” Gilgamesh asked.

  Shem made a smooth gesture.

  “What does Noah say to all this?”

  No one answered.

  “May I speak with Noah?” Gilgamesh asked.

  “Not today,” Ham said.

  “May I ask why not?” Gilgamesh said. Above all else, Nimrod wanted to discern if Noah helped them.

  “No, you may not ask Noah why,” said Ham. “He doesn’t feel like speaking today. What you may do is return to Nimrod and give him our decision.”

  Gilgamesh pinned on his ermine cape and marched from the tent with his helmet in the crock of his arm. He marched into the drizzle, knowing now that war could no longer be averted.

  18.

  Pine trees whispered in the night. A sly foot missed a step and cracked a pinecone.

  Odin peeked from behind a mossy rock, spying a silhouette. “Hilda? Is that you?”

  A soft sigh told him yes.

  He slipped from hiding, embracing her and kissing her sweet lips.

  “My father suspects us.”

  “Then why isn’t he here?” Odin asked.

  “What makes you think he isn’t?”

  Odin let go, glancing everywhere but seeing nothing in the darkness.

  “Oh, my brave darling,” Hilda said. “Do you think so poorly of my father that you believe he’ll club you from behind?”

  “Your father hates me.”

  “No, my darling,” Hilda said, while stroking his cheek. “He can’t stand the thought of losing me. I’m all he has.”

  “What about his hatred for Nimrod? Isn’t that his true possession?”

  “I’m the counterweight to it. It’s the reason I can’t marry you.”

  Odin clutched her fingers, holding them against his chest. “Listen to me, Hilda. The Shemites can’t stand against Nimrod. You know that, I suspect so does your father.”

  “What if my father kills Nimrod?”

  Odin smiled sickly. “That’s not so easy, my love. He’s the Mighty Hunter for a reason.”

  “He’s still human, still killable.”

  “Yes, but—”

  She freed her fingers, holding his face and kissing him. “Poor Odin,” she murmured. “Life is unfair and cruel. I want to marry you. I want to do as you ask.”

  “Hilda!” he said, crushing her to him. “Run away with me.”

  “Flee from Nimrod?”

  “Yes! Let us run far and fast, to the Far North where no one will ever find us.”

  “What would we do there?”

  “Build a tribe as Adam and Eve once did. Train our children in the way they should go.”

  “It has never worked before. Why would it for us?”

  “If we stay,” Odin said, “Nimrod will slay me and rape you, keeping you as his whore. You can’t want that.”

  “He’ll find that he’s taken a viper to his bosom.”

  “Bold boasts, my love. Perhaps he’ll impale your father before you. No. Flee while there’s time.”

  “I thought you were brave,” Hilda said. “Now I find that you’re a coward.”

  “Those are cruel words, unworthy of you. I’ll fight as hard as any man.”

  “Only because you’re doomed, it seems.”

  “Run away with me, dearest. I beg you.”

  Hilda pulled away, her head bent in thought. “I want to do what you ask, but I cannot desert my father.”

  “He deserted you for his hatred. You don’t owe him anything.”

  “I’m sorry, Odin. I can’t do it.”

  He clutched her arm. “Why should I let the Mighty Hunter have you? What if I dragged you away?”

  “Then you would be just like Nimrod.”

  Her words cut, and Odin let go despite his resolve, despite what he’d told Ham this evening. Though it tore his heart, he said, “Very well. I release you.”

  She smiled sadly, touching his face. “Maybe my father will kill him. We can always hope. We still have that.”

  Odin nodded, but defeat gnawed at his heart and left him speechless.

  “I must go,” she said. “My father suspects.”

  Odin let her go, and he sat in the dark.

  Thirty paces away in the moonlight, Beor eased the tension from his six-foot bow. Thoughtful, and as silent as he’d come, the big man withdrew from the forest.

  19.

  Beor’s Scouts spotted Nimrod’s host as it marched onto the Tigris uplands. The Babelites had twenty chariots, half as many wagons, maybe two hundred men all told.

  “So few?” Assur asked. “We can marshal three times that number.”

  They stood against a cliff, beside a bonfire. They were a scouting band in a clearing surrounded by pine trees.

  “All two hundred of Nimrod’s warriors have armor suits,” cautioned Ham. “How many of ours do?”

  “My band does,” Beor said. He wore bronze links and a massive bear cloak.

  “They can’t conquer us with two hundred,” argued Assur. “Even armored in bronze they can’t.” He turned to Yorba. “Are you sure you counted right?”

  Yorba swore that he had.

  “Then we have him,” Assur said. “We must return and summon everyone to the standard. By his arrogance, King Nimrod falls.”

  As the others hurried to their donkeys, Beor halted Ham. “Two hundred picked men. These are Nimrod’s elite, sworn no doubt to defend him to the death.”

  “Assur doesn’t understand,” Ham said.

  “It doesn’t matter. The key to this war is slaying Nimrod. Then the danger passes.” Beor grimaced. “Hilda won’t drive me into battle.”

  “What?” Odin asked. He’d stayed with Ham.

  “I’ve forbidden it,” Beor said. “So I’m in need of a driver, someone fierce, determined and with supreme skill. Grandfather, will you drive against Nimrod?”

  “My eyesight is dim,” Ham said.

  “But your skill isn’t and I’ve no doubt of your courage,” Beor said.

  “I’d be honored,” Ham said.

  Beor turned to Odin. “I’ve seen the skill with which you wield Gungnir.
Will you ride with us?”

  “I’m not good enough for your daughter,” Odin said, “but I’m good enough to die for you?”

  Beor tugged at his black beard. “Perhaps you have cause for what you say. But you haven’t answered the question.”

  Odin spat at the ground. “Yes. I’ll die with you.”

  “I have no intention of dying,” Beor said. “But I will deal death.”

  20.

  Ham shifted in his bronze links, the armor heavy on his shoulders and constricting his movement. A thick leather cap studded with bronze knobs protected his head. Fear tightened his belly and a strange tingling in his arms made it hard for him to feel his fingers.

  Their ten chariots waited to attack, the wheels creaking as nervous donkeys eased them back and forth. Beor stood beside him in the cart as he scanned the enemy across the rock-strewn field. Nimrod’s elite stood at the bottom of a gentle grade. The rocks weren’t a great advantage, but it was one nonetheless.

  Days of maneuvering for position had led to this confrontation. The hill fort stood a league to the rear of the enemy’s wagon lager. Sunlight glittered off the spear-points of those watching on the fort’s ramparts. Perhaps eighty archers stood behind the wooden walls. They were useless now for the coming battle unless they filed out this moment and sprinted all the way to the site. If they followed Assur’s orders, they wouldn’t do that, although Ham suspected it might be a good idea.

  In the wagons were the bulk of King Nimrod’s supplies. The wagons stood in a circle about three hundred paces behind the enemy shield wall.

  Nimrod’s Mighty Men waited in perfect array before them. Each warrior wore burnished armor, a heavy helm and gripped a spear with a razor-sharp point. He held a vast figure-eight-shaped shield that protected his entire body. They appeared like a wall, a hedgehog with dangerous spines. Eagle, lion and dragon flags waved and snapped in the breeze. Drummers to the rear pounded out a martial beat. Nimrod in golden armor stood in the front and center of his spearmen, with huge Uruk on one side of him and Gilgamesh on the other. Their twenty chariots were divided into two squads, one on either side of the shield wall. Scythes—curved bronze blades—jutted from the center of each of the enemy’s chariot-wheels.