Somehow Soulai managed to grab the fallen tablet before Mousidnou’s beefy arm lifted him to his feet and steered him toward a shaded bench alongside the palace wall.
“Now,” the man growled when Soulai had surrendered there in a slump, “where in the name of Nergal have you been for the better part of a week and where’s my other horse? I’ll not lose my head to Habasle because some thickheaded stableboy decided to go off on a gallop. You’re lucky he hasn’t come to the stables since his lion hunt.”
“But he has,” Soulai protested. He lifted the cylinder seal off from around his neck and handed it to Mousidnou. “He’s the one who took Ti—after dark. Habasle said the ashipu was trying to kill him…and Ti, too, for a sacrifice and—”
“Wait! How did you get to be a part of all this? Did Habasle order you along?”
Soulai flushed. “I was worried about Ti. And Habasle was leaving so fast that I didn’t have time to throw a rug on one of my ten. I just grabbed the chestnut and rode him without even a bridle. I wasn’t stealing; I was looking out for Ti.”
Mousidnou studied the carved blue pendant in his palm with a doubtful frown. A horse’s piercing whinny made Soulai jump up again. He was certain it was Ti.
“That’s him! We have to help.”
Skeptical, the stable master cocked an ear. There was no subsequent call. “If the ashipu has chosen the horse for sacrifice,” he said finally, shrugging his round shoulders, “then perhaps that is the best use for him. You heard the charioteer: he’s been ruined for the hunt or for war.” He looked past Soulai and sighed. “That stallion you favor isn’t the first one to be cast aside as useless. And on a day like this, with every man sharpening his knife for battle, a quick slit across the throat sounds better than being left behind to rot within city walls.”
“But Ti’s not useless,” Soulai argued. “He has Ninurta’s mark—the hawk, you saw it—god of the hunt and of war. He’ll prove himself; I know it. We have to stop the ashipu,” Soulai pleaded.
“We?” Mousidnou repeated with a sneer. “Who has such power? The ashipu makes the stars move in the skies.”
“Habasle says he can make the moon come and go.”
“Then where is the all-powerful Habasle? If he cares so much for this horse, where is he?”
“Do you know a place called Dur Sharrukin?”
Mousidnou narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly.
“Habasle’s waiting there; he was too sick to ride so he sent me.” Soulai paused. “At least, I think he’s still waiting. The ashipu said just now that Habasle’s dead. He said he read it in the stars.”
For what seemed like a long time Mousidnou stroked his beard and studied Soulai. Finally he said, “I guess I’m sorry to hear that. I had no love for the boy, but I feel less for that red-robed monster. He’s got plans for all of us, some say.”
The stable master’s words surprised Soulai. “But what if Habasle isn’t dead?” he argued. “What if the ashipu is wrong? Naboushoumidin gave me the cure for his sickness—it’s right here.” He showed the tablet to Mousidnou, who gave it a cursory glance.
“And just what is my part to be in this?” the man asked.
“I need a horse…two horses, to bring Habasle back.”
“Do I wear the look of an ox?” Mousidnou shouted. “Are you calling me stupid to my face? A stableboy steals two of my horses and sneaks off in the middle of the night and now I’m to give him two more and open the gate?” He shook his head in disgust. “If the ashipu says Habasle’s dead, you can believe it. I’m not risking necks—of people or horses—to bring back a corpse. There’s plenty of those on the way.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Medes are challenging our borders. That’s why everyone is preparing for war. The word is all over the city.”
Soulai nodded. “That’s what Habasle said. He made a drawing on a rock—”
“Everyone on watch,” interrupted a palace runner. “A lion’s loose from the zoo. One dead already.”
Both Soulai and Mousidnou looked back toward the marketplace. The stable master became more agitated.
“Look here. I’ve horses to protect, if nothing else. So I suggest—no, I order—you to return to your work. You’re to make up for the week’s worth of chores another has had to do in your place. Now go. Go!”
Soulai moved toward the stable, shuffling at first, then picking up speed as he came up with a plan. He’d promised to save Habasle, and that’s what he was going to do. Besides, Habasle had said he had something that the ashipu needed. He prayed that that would somehow save Ti.
The instant he entered the stable, Soulai retrieved two sets of tack, chose a horse from his ten, and set about readying him. He was just tightening the girth when Mousidnou came stomping down the aisle.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Riding back for Habasle,” Soulai answered firmly. “He’s the king’s son and it’s my duty to save him.”
Mousidnou scowled. “When was the last time you slept?”
“That doesn’t—”
“You’re in no condition to ride; you’ll fall into the first moat and drown.”
Soulai’s fingers halted as he matched a determined stare with the stable master’s.
“Plague it! You’d better be right,” the man growled. Handing back the blue cylinder seal, he slapped his stomach and his demeanor changed. “It’s been a great many years since this belly’s been astride.” He grinned at Soulai’s stunned expression. “They’re all getting ready to ride off to battle, thinking I’m too old, or too fat, maybe, to join them. Well, I’ll show them. Now light a fire under your feet, boy,” he roared, “and take the rug off this gray horse; he’s a spine splitter. Find me an older one, with a soft back. That small gelding will do, the one with the chewed-off tail.” He indicated the horse and Soulai quickly moved the rug and fastened the bridle.
Another horse was tacked for Habasle. “I’ll bring back his body one way or another, I guess,” Mousidnou said. “Now, you’re sure the source of all this trouble is still at Dur Sharrukin?”
Soulai nodded. “He was inside the gatehouse of the main entrance when I left him. Here’s the tablet with the cure against his sickness. Naboushoumidin said to boil a lizard in milk—I was thinking goat’s milk would do—and make Habasle drink it.”
A broad grin lit Mousidnou’s face. “Gladly. Now,” he said, a stern look extinguishing the smile, “you are to polish the hooves of your horses as well the ten on either side of yours. I want every mane combed out and every forelock and tail braided. They’re going to war soon and they’ll need to look like the king’s chariot horses.”
Stableboys peeked out from everywhere to watch Mousidnou balance on the edge of the water trough in order to climb onto his horse. While he was respected as a knowledgeable horseman, no one had ever before seen him ride. Astride and waving like a boy off on an adventure, he headed out of the palace. Just before he disappeared beneath the shadows of the lamassu, his final, oath-laden shout sent the stableboys back to their work.
All except Soulai, who waited alone in the courtyard, listening for Ti’s whinnies. None came. I have to sneak away and look for him, he thought. But images of slashing claws and bloody fangs suddenly filled his mind—there was a lion loose in the city and he could be anywhere—he could be watching the stable at that very moment. Soulai felt his palms grow damp. He looked at the terraces above, tried to take a step toward them. Dusk was already falling. Maybe he’d have better luck finding Ti in the daylight. Hating himself for his cowardice, Soulai fled inside the stable.
20
Waiting in the Shadows
He managed to polish maybe half a dozen hooves before a dizzy fog fell over him. With his head throbbing and his throat bruised and aching, Soulai fought to stay awake. But by nightfall, he was barely able to crawl to the spot near Ti’s empty tether, where he collapsed. He sat, staring at it with tear-filled eyes, until his lids closed, and he felt himself pl
unging into a blackness that he both feared and embraced.
He awoke with a start. Lying there in the pitch dark, heart racing, he thought of the lion. Gradually he recognized the familiar sounds of the horses chewing and nickering, and he breathed easier. He was so thirsty, though, that he pushed himself from the floor and stumbled toward the courtyard.
The waxing moon painted the tiles silver and black. All the palace, in fact, was sharply defined by moonlit terraces and steps, and their connecting panels of shadow.
He hesitated in the doorway. His tongue was so dry it had swelled in his mouth. But wasn’t that something over there in the darkness, a shadow moving within a shadow? For a long time he waited, squinting into the night and shivering. One, then two bats skimmed the trough’s surface. All remained silent. Ti was out there, he scolded. If you can’t brave the darkness for a drink of water, how are you going to come by the bravery to rescue him? But the nagging fear that one of the shadows had the shape of a lion held him captive inside the stable.
Heaving a sigh of misery, Soulai looked up at the stars. The great bird was there and yes, he had followed it back to Nineveh. The huge horse of stars galloped behind, just the way he’d galloped Ti. Probably to the stallion’s death, he thought with a guilty pain. He dug his nails into his clenched palms. I’ll search for Ti at daybreak, he promised.
Night finally gave way to morning, and Soulai, anxious to complete his morning chores so he could look for Ti, was the first in line with his grain basket. Although each step shot pain through his ribs, he hurried to deliver the barley hay, then began leading the horses to the watering trough.
Death was the topic there. Two more bodies had been found, the stableboys said, mauled by a mad lion. By the time Soulai had led the next horse to the trough, the count had risen to three. Then five, even six. Could it be the uridimmu? Habasle still had the blue amulet, he thought. But maybe the creature couldn’t find Habasle. Maybe it had followed Soulai to Nineveh in the shape of a lion.
He was just tying the last horse and preparing to start his search when an unmistakable figure in a long red robe came prowling along the stable aisles. Hatred raged inside Soulai as he watched the ashipu stride up and down the rows of horses, obviously looking for something.
The man suddenly glanced in Soulai’s direction. Recognition flickered across his face. “Where,” he spat with disgust, “are the other horses?”
Soulai wanted to lunge for the man’s throat, but he held himself back. “At the armory,” he stated as evenly as he could. “Or the watering trough.”
“And they are all returned here eventually?”
He forced himself to breathe. “By sunset.”
“Tell me—and don’t think I don’t know who you are—is there any other place a horse would be taken in the palace…or the city? Outside the city, perhaps?”
Soulai’s face remained expressionless as a flicker of hope took hold.
“If a horse required close attention,” the man continued, “for example, from injury or illness, where would it be taken? And before you answer, remember who I am and what I can do to you.” The threat ended in a guttural snarl, like a dog preparing to attack.
“All of King Ashurbanipal’s horses are stabled here,” Soulai responded. He ignored the threat; in fact, he had to restrain a smile. For why would the ashipu be searching for a horse when the only horse in which he was interested was Ti? Could it be that Ti had escaped him?
The ashipu loudly sucked in his breath and drew himself to his full height. “I require a red horse now, a blood-red one. And one black as the night. The parti-color stallion that you and your master tried to steal from me was only the first of my sacrifices.”
His black eyes fastened on Soulai’s own. Sensing it was a test of some sort, Soulai forced himself to show neither fear nor surprise. Their stares held for a dozen pounding heartbeats. The ashipu finally exhaled, blowing a rancid wind into Soulai’s face. Muttering a curse, he spun and strode out of the stable, his long red robe swishing about him. Soulai let out a long breath as well and allowed himself a brief shiver. Then he smiled. Ti was alive; he had to be. All I have to do now is find him, Soulai thought.
Sneaking out of the stable as soon as he could, he searched those areas of the palace he thought might be big enough to hide a horse. Mindful that he was a slave, he tried to look like he was on important business; but he was so certain he’d discover Ti at the next turn that he had to purse his lips to keep from smiling. With light steps he hurried through the granary and the warehouse full of chariots, he poked through the debris-filled courtyard with the broken carts. Growing worried, he tiptoed through the kitchens and their storehouses of foodstuffs. Finally, dejected, he peeked inside two temples and even paused outside the gate to the harem. There were just so many places he couldn’t enter.
The sky was deepening to lavender and a dry chill had invaded the palace by the time Soulai returned to the stable. He fed and watered his horses, then slumped in the aisle opposite Ti’s tether. His certainty that the stallion was alive had disappeared, and as he gazed at the empty tether it all but reached out and struck him. It’s all my fault, he moaned. All my fault. Ti’s dead because of me. He buried his head in his hands. Better that I’d never been born.
With the glimmering of the evening’s first stars, the clip-clop of hooves announced an arrival. Mousidnou had returned; Soulai dutifully stood. The stable master rode right up to him, leading a horse on which Habasle, looking sick and disheveled, was hunched. Soulai noted his own slave tag resting prominently on Habasle’s chest.
Before his mount had even come to a stop, Habasle slid to the ground with a pained groan. He took a step, handed the reins to Soulai, and fell forward into his arms. Soulai nearly collapsed from the unexpected weight. He struggled to drag Habasle away from the startled horses.
As Soulai helped him lie down, Habasle whispered, “Is he…?”
Soulai swallowed. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “The ashipu and his men got him away from me yesterday. I’m sorry. But he was back this afternoon—the ashipu was—looking for a horse. Maybe—”
Habasle held up his hand. He nodded weakly. “Send for Naboushoumidin.”
Soulai relayed the message to Mousidnou. The stable master groaned and stiffly twisted around, enough to lift a leg over his horse’s rump. He dropped to the ground. Soulai feared he was going to crumple as well, but the man laid a hand on his lower back and slowly straightened. Complaining with every step, he tottered down the aisle.
While Habasle dozed and awakened in turn, Soulai untacked and fed the two horses. He was grooming the second one when Habasle mumbled something and beckoned him to his side.
“My identity. I want it back.”
Soulai hesitated, then removed the blue cylinder seal from his neck and placed it in the open palm. Habasle had trouble pulling off the clay slave tag, so Soulai bent over to help. Before he slipped it over his own head, though, Habasle touched his arm.
“I didn’t know if I could trust you back there.”
Soulai felt the blood drain from his face. He nodded.
“You’ve proven yourself to me. I owe you my life.”
As Habasle’s eyelids drooped, Soulai fitted the clay tag around his own neck. I deserve nothing more than slavery for the rest of my miserable life, he sighed. He took up guard over Habasle until Naboushoumidin came running up the aisle in a manner that belied his years. Mousidnou trailed behind. The scribe’s quick eyes surveyed the scene and he clapped his hands together. Curious as a child, he knelt and poked at the stained tunic. Habasle moaned. “Did you give him the cure?” Naboushoumidin asked.
Soulai looked at Mousidnou, who nodded.
The scribe sniffed and grimaced. “Worse than the wind of a sick dog. The worm may have been chased away, but its hole needs attention. I’ll find an asu.” As quickly as he had come, the man disappeared.
Half the night seemed to pass while they waited in silence. Mousidnou leaned his weight
against the wall, grunting occasionally, though refusing to sit. Soulai knelt beside Habasle, longing for him to awaken and devise a plan to rescue Ti.
At last, Habasle stirred. “What night is it?” He searched blindly around him, finally settling a hand on one of his two pouches. When he fumbled with the opening, Soulai leaned forward and tugged it wide. Habasle reached in and carefully lifted out a palm-sized clay tablet. He cradled it to his chest. “What night is it?” he repeated. “What night?”
“It is the fifth of Tisri,” Naboushoumidin answered loudly from down the aisle. The same bald-headed asu that had attended Ti’s wounds followed uncertainly in his footsteps. “And the moon is straying from its calculated time.”
“No,” Habasle groaned. “It must be there, or—”
“—or there will be an invasion of a mighty city.” Naboushoumidin finished the omen for him. “Yes,” he continued, “the stars are spinning in the heavens, the warriors are gathering at the borders, the power is”—he cupped his hands together—“hanging like a nut from a tree and those who think they are the tallest are jumping to grab hold of it.” He smiled as if enjoying a staged entertainment.
With great effort, Habasle straightened. He leveled a solemn stare at the gray-haired scribe. “How is my father preparing to battle the Medes?”
“By fasting in the darkness.” A thinly veiled note of sarcasm colored the response. “The ashipu says he has read in the stars that King Ashurbanipal must prepare for war by fasting in seclusion: all day in the darkness, fasting, no meat; emmer but no meat.” The familiar words rang in Soulai’s ears, the same ones Habasle had mumbled at Dur Sharrukin. “Yes,” Naboushoumidin said, “the ashipu is holding the reins to your father’s kingdom.”
“What’s going to happen?” Soulai blurted.
“Ah! The power of the story: What’s going to happen?” Naboushoumidin threw up his hands. “I don’t know exactly—though I expect Habasle does.”
To Ride the Gods’ Own Stallion Page 15
