Except for a few women servants to wait upon him, Abdimilkutte was alone in the room, reclining on a couch. It was only the middle of the afternoon, and every appearance suggested that he had already been at table for a few hours at least. The dishes before him were many and of gold, an extravagance even for a king, and most of them were already nearly empty, but the king himself gave the clearest indication of what progress he had made in feasting—his eyes had already taken on that glazed look, as if they might burst from their sockets at any moment, which is often the first hint of drunkenness. The Lord of Sidon, it would appear, was something of a debauchee.
He dipped his hands into a bowl of hot, scented water, drying them on the hair of one of his women. His fingers, even his thumbs, glittered with rings, and his short black beard was shiny with oil and elaborately curled. He was as elegant as any woman and his face showed signs of intelligence, yet his body was soft and heavy, as if he had given over his whole existence to voluptuous delights. Such a life is dangerous for a king, for the constant and easy gratification of the senses nurtures not only weakness but pride, and pride clouds the mind. I did not envy the Sidonians their master.
I bowed and sat down and allowed a cup of wine to be poured for me. I could see that Abdimilkutte was waiting for me to ask his will, and how he had known who I was, but I saw clearly enough that I would have all the answers without asking. He was so looking forward to telling me.
“You have been so many years away from your own land,” he said finally. “Everyone imagined that you were dead. And now the gods choose this moment to bring you to my city. It is as clear a sign of their favor as I could have hoped for.”
There are instants of time, and this was one such, when a man has the sickening premonition of having stumbled into a disaster.
“Is the king of Sidon in need of providential signs?” I asked, smiling, mocking him just a little, for all that my bowels were turning to water.
“I was speaking of the honor you do us, My Lord. And you of all men, who has come through so much treachery and covered yourself with such glory, should know how to value the favor of the gods. As a friend I welcome you.”
As a friend? Yes, of course—why hadn’t I guessed sooner? The Arabs had a proverb: “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” And the king of Sidon was in rebellion against the king of Ashur.
There was a pile of figs on a dish just at Abdimilkutte’s elbow. He took one and split it open with a small silver knife.
“I offer you my protection as well,” he continued, after he had scraped the flesh away from the tough green skin. As I watched him eat I had the impression that he rather resented this intrusion of business upon his pleasures. “We live in a world where a brother’s loyalty does not always have its fitting reward, and the favor of the gods can take many forms.”
“My Lord, what is it you want of me?”
He appeared startled, as if no one had ever had the effrontery to ask him a direct question before. His eyes widened and he set the little silver knife down on the table in an absent-minded manner that suggested he had forgotten why he was holding it.
“My Lord, I cannot help you in your quarrel with the king of Ashur. My alliance is worth nothing.”
He smiled. It seemed I had made a jest.
“I see you have a soldier’s directness,” he said, opening his hand, palm up, as if to weigh the usefulness of such a virtue—it did not appear to be much.
“I have not been a soldier for many years.”
“Perhaps it is time to be one again.” He smiled once more, not very pleasantly. “What would you answer, My Lord, if I offered you the command of the army I have garrisoned within these walls?”
“Against what enemy?”
“The one we both share—your brother, the Lord Esarhaddon.”
“Then I would say that the people of Sidon should lament, for their king has gone mad.”
He laughed at this. At least, he laughed until he saw that I was not laughing with him.
“Am I so mad to resist a despot, then?”
A man reclining on a couch has a difficult time looking martial and defiant, but Abdimilkutte made the attempt. I could almost have pitied him.
“My Lord,” I asked finally. “How many men have you under arms?”
“Eight thousand.”
“If Esarhaddon comes against you, it will not be with less than fifty thousand, and probably many more.”
“He will need them if he attacks this city. You forget the wall.”
“The soldiers of Ashur are very skilled in siege warfare. Do not forget, they took Babylon. They can take Sidon if it is their will.”
“They could enclose Babylon—Babylon did not face the sea. The men of Ashur are not, I think, a race of sailors.”
“These eight thousand, are they mercenaries or citizens?”
“Three thousand Sidonians, the rest hired from Lydia.”
“You cannot depend on mercenaries if things begin to go badly.”
“It is also possible that not all of Esarhaddon’s soldiers will remain loyal to him.”
The smile had taken on a fixed quality by this time, as if he imagined he had answered every possible argument—as if everything were understood between us.
“Yes, of course,” I said, feeling in but little humor to smile. “You imagine that my presence here will divide the armies of Ashur against themselves. It is a device which others have tried.”
“Yes, of course—and perhaps, by this time, the Lord Tiglath Ashur will have learned enough to make it work.”
But it was not Abdimilkutte who spoke. I turned toward a curtained doorway, from which the voice seemed to come, and saw there my royal brother, the eunuch Nabusharusur.
XIX
On the plain at Khanirabbat, it is said, the grass grows waist high, nourished by the corpses of the men who died there. Yet cattle that feed on it sicken. No plow breaks the soil, for the people have all been driven off into the barren night by the wailing of ghosts. So it is said. I have never been back, not since the day of the battle my brother the king fought there against his enemies, but I can believe the ground is under a curse.
Esarhaddon had relieved me of my command, thinking to shame me before the armies of Ashur, yet he did me a kindness. In the years since, I have not had to remember how I raised my sword against the men of my own race, the companions of my young manhood, soldiers who had fought at my side in better times. I merely had to witness the slaughter, for the king’s heart was bitter towards those who had rebelled against him.
Among these had been Nabusharusur.
“Did Esarhaddon ever find out that you gave me that horse and let me escape?” he asked in his reedy voice as together we dined in his rooms at the palace of the Lord Abdimilkutte. “Is that the reason he banished you?”
“Had he found out, he would have killed me. I have often wondered why he didn’t anyway, since he regards me as even a greater traitor than you.”
“Yes, that wound goes deeper. I may have raised the rebellion against him, but he never loved me.”
Nabusharusur smiled. As so often with him, looking into his smooth face, on which no beard would ever grow, I could not tell if he mocked me or not.
“How did you come to this place?” I asked.
“Oh, it is not a very exciting story.” He shrugged his thin shoulders, as if to dismiss the idea that one such as he could ever pretend to heroism. “I simply rode hard enough to keep ahead of any news of the battle. I told anyone I met that I was a courier in the king’s army—I was dressed as a soldier, so they had no reason not to believe me. I sold off my jewelry as I needed money. The horse, by the way, dropped dead on the road to Hamath, but I was able to buy another. I was in hiding here in Sidon when the king renounced his allegiance to Nineveh, so I offered him my services, from which he has been profiting ever since. I have risen very high in favor here, for Abdimilkutte values my counsel. These people are not as clever as they would have the world ima
gine, or, at least, this one is not.”
“I congratulate you, then, on your good fortune in finding this place of refuge. The Sidonians, no matter what you think of them, seem to have timed their defection for your particular convenience.”
My words had been spoken partly in jest, but Nabusharusur did not take them so. He shook his head.
“Fortune had little enough to do with it,” he said. “There were rebellions in half the states in the empire after Esarhaddon took the throne, and he has spent most of the years since quelling them. It is so with every new king, for these foreigners seem not to bear our yoke lightly. In our father’s day it was Tyre that led the revolt of the Phoenician cities. This time Sidon has taken her place while Tyre, out of pique, remains loyal. We have conquered the world, we men of Ashur, but if we hold it at all it is only because each of these little states hates its neighbors even more than it does us.”
It was early evening, but Nabusharusur had dismissed all his servants and we were alone together in a large room that had a view of the harbor. We spoke in Akkadian, but my brother was a cautious man and doubtless did not care to have our conversation overheard. He ate a sparing meal, picking disdainfully at the dishes before him, yet he did justice to the wine—this seemed to be a habit he had acquired in exile. We had been friends as children, but much had come in the way since then and I had to keep reminding myself that I hardly knew this man.
“Will the king persist in his rebellion if Esarhaddon takes the field against him?”
“A sensible man would not, but Abdimilkutte is not a sensible man.” Nabusharusur smiled again, that smile which spoke so eloquently of his contempt for the whole race of men. “A sensible man would make an arrangement for perhaps a lower rate of tribute and count himself fortunate, but the king of Sidon is not that man. He is not like his subjects, who think only of profit. He dreams of glory, of the old league of Phoenician states, with himself at its head. I, of course, foster these dreams, for if he comes to terms with Esarhaddon my head will certainly be part of the bargain. But I think I am safe enough for the time being—they are neither of them sensible men. Esarhaddon burns and slaughters wherever he goes and by his own lack of moderation stiffens the resolve of the likes of Abdimilkutte. I am not the only one who fears for his head.”
“If Esarhaddon brings an army here, you would both do well to settle your affairs. You know how he is. He will resent the city’s defection as a personal affront, and he will not rest until it has been punished.”
“This is true—I count on it to be true.”
The smile, by this time, had taken on the fixed character of a mask. It revealed nothing now, not even contempt. With great delicacy Nabusharusur lifted his wine cup to his mouth and then set it down again. It was like a ritual, a statement of confidence before the gods.
“What game are you playing, brother?” I asked, wondering if I did not already know the answer.
“What game? The same one I have always played.”
He offered me a plate of glazed plums and I took one, hardly knowing why. I did not even eat it but set it down on the table in front of me.
“I have come to believe, Tiglath my brother, that truly you must be favored by the gods. The world is an evil and corrupt place and you are an honest man who has never learned guile. Yet you seem to survive every catastrophe. I think, finally, you will outlive all of us. And I believe that your presence here, in this city, at this precise moment, is a sign from heaven that my designs will prosper. For, you see, I intend to destroy Esarhaddon, and I shall use Sidon as my instrument.”
“You are mad,” I said, with something like awe. “I think perhaps you have always been mad.”
“You think so? Perhaps. But life itself is a kind of madness, and thus I am counted as a clever man.”
“Then what will you do?”
“Wait—stiffen Abdimilkutte in his purpose, and hope that Esarhaddon is as great a fool as I have always believed and swallows the bait.”
He raised his arm and made a sweeping gesture through the air, seeming to encompass not only the room where we sat but the whole city.
“You are a soldier, Tiglath, so you know even better than I that a besieged city cannot be taken so long as it is well provisioned. We are not a sailing race. Esarhaddon may be able to hire a few warships to patrol in front of the harbor, but the Sidonians have a vast fleet and will keep themselves supplied no matter what. Let Esarhaddon come—let him camp beneath the walls of Sidon, wearing himself out until the army grows so weary of his obsession that they cut his throat.”
“It will not succeed, brother. Esarhaddon may be a fool, but he is a good soldier. He will find a way.”
“You had best hope he does not,” he answered, leaning towards me, grinning like a demon—yes, of course he was mad. “I have spoken to Abdimilkutte, and you will not be allowed to leave the city until he has settled with Esarhaddon. If Esarhaddon triumphs. . . Well, brother, I leave it to your judgment. How long do you think you will survive once the king of Ashur has you in his hands again?”
. . . . .
“How did he know, so quickly, that you were in the city?”
“Who can tell? Perhaps he saw me. Perhaps he did not need to, for Nabusharusur is the sort of man who will find out anything of interest to him.”
Kephalos shook his head in perplexity and alarm. At that hour of the night, and with me summoned away by the king’s herald, he was deep in wine. I did not blame him.
“And he can keep us here,” he said. “Indeed, he can keep us here. The city is a trap if he chooses to make it one—the harbor is patrolled and there are only three gates through the wall, all of them guarded. He has us sealed inside like wine in a jar.”
“He has me sealed inside,” I corrected him. “Get out while you can, my friend. Take ship to Greece. No one will trouble to stop you and you can do me no good by staying here. Take Selana with you.”
“Selana will not go.”
I had not seen her standing there in the doorway of my room. She looked pale and shaken—I wondered how much of our conversation she had overheard.
“You do not know what you are saying,” I told her, with some asperity, for I was in no temper for girlish heroics. “If the worst happens, and the Assyrians take the city, you will be carried away into slavery—always provided, of course, that you have not starved to death or been massacred first. Go with Kephalos while you have the chance.”
“I am your slave already.”
“You are my slave only because it is your perverse humor to call yourself such. If you are carried out of Sidon as war booty, you will find it is a very different matter. I should not like to think of you growing old as a tavern harlot in Nineveh.”
“Master, is the king of these Assyrians really your brother?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject. I knew these tactics of old.
“Yes, he is my brother. And the man who stands at the right hand of the Sidonian king is also my brother. And both of them hate me as much as they hate each other—I do not expect much benefit from my family connections. Will you go, Selana?”
“No, I will not go. My Lord is a great fool even to think it. A slave’s place is with her master.”
“A slave’s place is to obey, and it is my will that you should go. If need be, I will have Enkidu carry you aboard the ship in a leather sack.”
“Enkidu will not go either. You know that.”
“Then you must go without them, Kephalos.”
But the worthy physician, made melancholy from drowning his fear in too much Lebanese wine, could only raise his hands in a gesture of despairing resignation.
“What am I to do, Lord—am I to be shamed by the courage of a child? No, the little bitch has sealed all our fates. I too will stay. Perhaps, after all, it will all come out right.”
He did not believe it himself. There was sweat in the creases of his face and his eyes were damp with panic, but, as he had in all the many crises of my life, he meant to
stay and do what he could for me. The gods were kind to grant me so loyal a friend, for I never deserved it.
“Perhaps,” he went on, “perhaps the Lord Esarhaddon will not even come.”
But we had not been in Sidon half a month when the first reports began to be heard. An army, numbering between eighty and a hundred thousand strong, was on the march down the northern caravan route from Kadesh.
“You see?” Nabusharusur was almost beside himself with triumph. “He comes. Of his own will he sticks his head into the noose. I knew this was a temptation Esarhaddon would never be able to resist.”
Because, of course, no nation save the Land of Ashur, not even the Egyptians, could have fielded so many men. And if the cities by the Northern Sea were to be brought to heel, Esarhaddon was not the ruler to sit quietly in Nineveh and let his generals steal the glory of it. He was a soldier long before he was a king, and he had waited all his life to command great armies. My eunuch brother was right—he would never be able to resist.
“Yet we shall see, at last, whose head is in the noose.”
Nabusharusur only stared at me, as if he hardly believed I could be such a fool. They were both mad, both of them—hatred and the taste of power had turned their wits. Neither of them cared what they did, or how the world suffered for it, so possessed were they by their private demons.
Thus the siege of Sidon began.
I suppose what surprised me the most was the calm with which her people greeted the approach of this the mightiest army on earth. To them it seemed almost a matter of routine—after all, this was not the first time foreign invaders had camped beneath the walls. There was not even a sense of urgency.
The men of Ashur were still four days’ march distant when the villagers from the surrounding countryside began streaming through the city gates, the men leading small flocks of goats and the women carrying great bundles balanced on their heads, usually with a child on one hip and another, a few years older, clutching a handful of skirt as they trailed behind. I wondered, as I watched them arriving, how many of Esarhaddon’s spies were mixed in with these crowds.
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