The Mammoth Book of Historical Whodunnits Volume 3 (The Mammoth Book Series)

by Mike Ashley

  “I do, sir,” I replied, turning my head slightly so Uncle could hear, and relating what I had been told thus far.

  “Who is this man? What does he want?” Telemachos asked.

  I repeated these questions in Akkadian.

  One of the guards struck me down with his spear.

  “Enough!” came the order. “Withdraw, all of you.”

  “But . . .”

  “Let them be seated. Then leave us.”

  The stools were unpadded, but they were immeasurably easier on our limbs than that tile floor had been.

  “I am Ashur-Akhi-Iddina, son of Sin-Akhe-Eriba,” the voice intoned, a hint of pride floating upon the air.

  I sat suddenly upright.

  “The Great King!” I hissed to Uncle.

  “What?” he spat.

  “Esarhaddon! The new king!” I said again between clenched lips.

  “Yes,” came the reply, “by right of succession and by conquest, but not legally until I enter the walls of Nineveh, which I must do soon, on a day and at an hour that the priests deem propitious.

  “But I have a difficulty. My glorious father, contrary to popular report, was murdered. I have questioned my two rebellious brothers most vigorously (they did not escape), but they deny any complicity in the death of their sire. I believe them. Someone else in my father’s court was responsible for his death, and I need to know who it was before I enter upon my patrimony.

  “My son says that you Greeks have a strong sense of justice, and have been trained to discern fact from fiction. He also tells me that you desire to establish trade between your city and our empire. Therefore, we each have something to gain from the bargain.

  “I give you seven days to find the culprit, no more. If you are unable to do so, you may depart in peace, but thereafter we will see no more of you within the boundaries of our kingdom, upon pain of death. If you succeed, you will have our blessing upon your enterprise.”

  All the while I was translating his words for Uncle Telemachos, who paused before replying with my voice.

  “O great and mighty king,” he intoned, “we are simple merchants, with no experience of crime beyond that of ordinary citizens, but we will do what we can to help. We will need the assistance of one of your men as intermediary, and will also require your authority to enter into any place at any time to question anyone.”

  I do not think that the Great King was pleased with Uncle’s reply, but he finally said, “My son will accompany you.” Then, “This interview is over.” He clapped his hands three times to call his guards.

  We were escorted from the building and back to our horses, where we could feel the warmth of the winter sun, Great Eos, shining down upon us once again. When our blindfolds were removed, the first person I saw was my friend, Banu.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I am the son,” came the simple reply, and suddenly much that was murky became very clear to me.

  The next day we held a council of war, and Uncle expressed reservations over what we might accomplish.

  “Will not the Great King kill us if we fail this task?” he wondered.

  I translated this.

  “Father will not break his word,” Banu replied.

  “Who can help us while being discreet?” I asked Banu.

  “My Turtanu,” the lad replied. When I expressed some puzzlement over the word, he elaborated, “Erishum is my, well, you might call him my chief ‘officer’. He manages my household and provides security and anything else I need.”

  “I was not previously aware of his presence,” I indicated.

  “That was deliberate,” came the reply, “but he is trustworthy.”

  Uncle Telemachos said, “We must see the place where the crime took place.”

  “The temple has been sealed since my grandfather’s death,” Banu said. He clapped his hands once, and a short, bearded man appeared at the doorway. He was armed with a long knife or short spear. “Erishum,” the prince indicated, and the man bowed. He sent the Turtanu to fetch the guards who would open the way for us.

  We soon set out for the House of Nisroch, the god of wisdom. I had not previously heard his name, and so indicated to Banu.

  “He is called Marduk in the south,” the prince explained, “being reckoned there as king of the gods of Babylon.”

  “But not here,” I emphasized.

  “Here Ashur is king,” he repeated. “That is why Nisroch dwells in such a small house.”

  The temple was a square building near the Halzi Gate, decorated with the huge images of winged bulls pacing around the outside walls. A troop of soldiers flanked the sole entrance. They came to attention when they spied the prince approaching.

  Banu presented the stone cylinder of his father’s authority to the officer on duty, who identified himself as Captain Azizu. The prince had specifically asked for him to be present.

  Azizu broke the clay seal linking the two massive cedar doors, and pushed them open. His guards rushed in to light the torches flanking either side of the hall.

  My first impression was of the shifting images of a herd of great beasts ready to devour us if we stepped inside. Lining the inside of the structure were the images of the Assyrian gods and goddesses, culminating in the toppled stone statue at the other end.

  “You were in charge that day?” the prince asked.

  “I was,” came the reply.

  “Tell us about your procedure,” Banu ordered.

  “Whenever the Great King wished to talk with the god,” Azizu indicated, “I or Captain Ukin-Zer would gather a squad of thirty men, whoever happened to be on duty at the time, and would proceed to the temple. There the Great King would wait outside while I and ten others searched the interior of the hall, clearing out anyone who might remain. Usually, the Great King visited during my night watch, after his appointments had been completed, when no one else was present.”

  “And that night?” the prince pressed.

  “We found no one. After my men had cleared the changing rooms at the rear of the hall, I searched them again before allowing the Great King to enter. Then I stood duty just inside the entrance, as I always do, so that he was never left unattended.”

  “No one was there?” Uncle asked.

  “No one,” came the reply. “I swear. The temple was deserted.”

  “Then what happened?” Banu asked.

  “The god toppled over on him without warning. I could do nothing, although I rushed to help as soon as I saw what was happening. When I reached the Great King, he was already dead, crushed beneath the stone. We removed the body, as required, but everything else was left as you see it now.”

  “Did you search the hall again?” I inquired.

  “Twice again we searched the rooms and the statues and the alcoves. No one was there. No one!”

  This was very puzzling. Now Uncle led us into the interior, directing me to take notes of everything that we saw. Banu and Azizu and Erishum followed, the others remaining outside. We searched each of the rooms in turn before returning to the main statue.

  The image of the eagle-headed god Nisroch had been partially shattered by its impact with the tile floor and the Great King’s body. The face and wings of the god were separated a small distance from the rest. We saw a dark stain upon the stones where the Great King’s life blood had flowed across the floor. Uncle knelt by the base of the statue and examined it closely. He took out a short knife, and probed slowly around the edges.

  “Look here!” he suddenly exclaimed.

  We gathered round. There were indications of tampering, both at the front and at the rear of the base, and signs that some of the alterations had been patched over with a light veneer of plaster.

  “This was no accident,” he stated. “This work was accomplished over a long period of time.”

  Someone must have known of the Great King’s nocturnal habits, and planned accordingly.

  “But how?” Azizu protested. “We searched th
e temple thoroughly, before and after. Even if someone had undermined the statue, how could it have been toppled at just the right moment to kill the Great King?”

  “We must look at the underlying motives to help discover the answer to that question,” Uncle said. “Who stood to gain? We should talk first with the rebel princes.”

  “My father will not approve,” the prince stated.

  “If the Great King wants us to solve the unsolvable, then he must bear with us,” Telemachos replied. “I was very proud then of your son, grandsire. He demonstrated why the sons of Meles are renowned throughout the Mediterranean for their vigour and intelligence.”

  Banu looked at the spot where his grandfather had perished. “I will see what I can arrange,” he finally replied. “But I can promise nothing.”

  The next morning, however, Banu appeared at our apartment in the city with his Turtanu to tell us that an interview with the two rebels had been arranged. We exited the city once again, and rode for an hour until we came to a fort constructed out of mud bricks. We were led to a small, squat, windowless building in the compound.

  The guards conducted us to a room empty save for a table and stools. The first prisoner was brought to us.

  “This is the high and mighty Prince Arda-Mulishi,” Banu stated, “he who once called himself Great King of Assyria.” He spat on the ground and made a sign which I later learned was a curse, but the prisoner never reacted.

  Indeed, it was clear that the man had been greatly abused. His eyes were puffy and dull, his limbs bruised, his spirit largely broken. His once fine clothes were tattered and stained with blood and dust.

  Telemachos: “Did you kill the Great King?”

  Prisoner, finally looking up: “Who are you, stranger, to question a prince of Assyria?”

  Uncle: “I speak in the name of the Great King.”

  Banu slipped his father’s seal from around his neck; it was tied to a cord threaded through a hole that pierced the green stone. He displayed it in his open palm.

  Prisoner, glancing at Banu: “Spawn of that foreign bitch, Naqi’a.” It was his turn to spit and laugh. The Turtanu struck the rebel on his back with the blunt end of his spear, sending him to his knees.

  “I see you share your father’s winning ways, boy,” Arda-Mulishi stated. Erishum raised his weapon again, but Banu held up his hand.

  “Half-uncle,” the prince intoned, “you may make this day difficult for yourself or not, as you choose. But you will answer.”

  Prisoner, still smirking: “What was the question?”

  Telemachos: “Did you kill your father?”

  Then the rebel prince turned to Uncle for the first time, looking him straight in the eye.

  “No,” he said. I did not need to translate.

  Telemachos: “Do you know who did?”

  “No.”

  Banu: “Why did you make yourself Great King in contravention of your father’s will?”

  Arda-Mulishi said nothing for a very long time, and then sighed: “When the Great King died at the hand of the god whom he had dispossessed from his rightful place in Babylon, the people of Assyria knew that the gods had turned against them.

  “All of you who were there know of the turmoil of those days. The state was in danger of collapsing. Esarhaddon was far away in Armenia.

  “The Great King Sennacherib told me the month before his passing that I would be restored to my rightful place in the House of Succession on New Year’s Day, two months hence. I was the eldest surviving son after my senior brother, King Ashur-Nadin-Shumi, whom the Babylonians sold to the Elamites twelve years ago. My mother was First Queen to the Great King. She was Assyrian, not Phoenician. She kept her own name, and did not have to change it to something else.

  “This was my birthright once, and would have been again, and so I seized what was mine. But I failed to consult with the gods, and the gods were still angry with Assyria. The real killer betrayed me, whomever that person was. I could never find out, although I tried. There was no time to continue in the midst of crisis.”

  Telemachos: “You investigated the death of your father? How?”

  Arda-Mulishi: “I ordered the Turtanu who saw the murder, Captain Azizu, to interrogate those who were likely to benefit from my father’s death.”

  Telemachos: “What did he report?”

  Arda-Mulishi: “He had no time to report. Shortly thereafter, I had to join the forces being assembled to meet Esarhaddon’s advancing army, and I never saw Captain Azizu again.”

  That was all he would say. I later learned that he had been executed not long thereafter.

  We next interrogated another son of the deceased Great King, Prince Nabu-Sharru-Usur, who had supported his brother’s rebellion, and for whom the present year had been named. The difference in appearance between the two men was striking. Nabu was clean and well-dressed and had not been abused. I raised an eyebrow at my young friend.

  “He has to present my father to the gods when he takes his rightful place upon the throne,” Banu said. “He still has a role to play.”

  Nabu-Sharru-Usur: “Yes, I do.” His voice was high and thin, like a woman’s, and I suddenly realized that this was a man who would never have to shave again.

  He gathered his robes about him, and sat down on a stool with a sigh. “Get on with it,” he blurted out.

  Telemachos: “Did you conspire to kill the Great King?”

  Nabu-Sharru-Usur: “He was my father. He made a place for me among the highest nobles of the land. You see what I am. I could never be the Great King because of that. I had a good place at court, a life of beauty and luxury and power. Why would I give that up?”

  Telemachos: “For greater power?”

  Nabu-Sharru-Usur: “What greater power? Already I had the Great King’s confidence. Aready I lived as I pleased. There was nothing else I wanted. Because of his death, all of that is gone. I must play my little role for my half-brother, and then exit history. Isn’t that true, nephew?” He looked down at Prince Banu.

  Banu: “I wouldn’t know.”

  Telemachos: “Who murdered your father?”

  Nabu-Sharru-Usur: “One of those Babylonian scum. We did everything for them, and do you think they were grateful? Not a bit. Always complaining, always moaning about this and that. Yes, one of the Babylonians killed him. I have no doubt whatever. They all hated him for razing their city.”

  Telemachos: “Your brother said he was about to be renamed Crown Prince.”

  Nabu-Sharru-Usur: “Everyone knew that my father had changed his mind again about the succession. It was Nisroch, you see. The god told him that he needed to make amends for stealing the deity from his ancestral home. Mortal man may not interfere with the immortal gods. Nisroch wanted to be Marduk again. He would not be propitiated. Father refused, and the god killed him.”

  Telemachos: “The statue was tampered with. A man killed the Great King.”

  Nabu-Sharru-Usur: “The gods work through men to achieve their ends. It was the judgment of the gods.”

  We learned nothing else from him.

  Later over dinner, we talked about our next step.

  “We must locate one or more of the guards who were on duty that day,” Uncle stated.

  “Why?” I asked. “We’ve already talked to Captain Azizu.”

  “Yes, but having a different view of the same event might help us discover what actually occurred. Also, we should interview Queen Naqi’a.”

  Prince Banu did not think the latter would be possible, but agreed to inquire about the guards.

  That was the end of the second day.

  The next morning was cold and drizzly, but we felt we were making good progress, at least until the young prince appeared.

  “They’re all gone!” Banu exclaimed as he entered our apartment.

  “Who?” I inquired.

  “The guards who were on duty that night. They were all sent to the army shortly thereafter, and have not returned. Most are probably dead
. However, I found a friend of one of the sergeants, and he may be able to tell us something.”

  This was Sergeant Iqisu, a rough-hewed man in his forties, waiting just outside our door. We brought him in.

  The prince took the lead: “You knew Sergeant Yari?”

  “I did,” came the reply. “We trained together years ago, and we were assigned to the same squads throughout our careers.”

  “Tell us what he said about the Great King’s death.”

  “Well, prince” – he bowed at each of us in turn – “it was all passing strange. A half-month before the, uh, incident, Cap’n Azizu brought in a bunch of new recruits, really green under the gills, if you know what I mean, and gave them to Sergeants Yari and Banba to train. Yari complained about it at the time. These novices didn’t know one end of the spear from the other. They had to be taught everything. Usually, we get only the best. But they hardly understood Akkadian.”

  “Did the guards follow their usual procedure that evening?” I said, translating Uncle’s words.

  “Yes, sir,” Iqisu said. “Yari said they searched the place quite thoroughly, as usual, and found no one there, before or after.”

  “Can you see normally inside the temple when the Great King is present?”

  “No, sir. The doors are partially kept shut to give him space to talk with his god. Only the officer remains to watch over the Great King.”

  “What about the captain?” I posed. “Is he visible?”

  “Those of us stationed near the front of the temple can often glimpse his back, but we’re usually watching for danger outside, if you know what I mean. It’s curious, though: Yari said he called to the cap’n once for assistance, when a drunk tried to enter the temple, and it took him a moment or two to respond.”

  “What happened to the squad who was on duty that night?” Uncle asked.

  “Two days after the Great King’s death, they were all drafted into the army. Men were being pulled from around the city to help face the threat from the north-west.”

  “Were any of your other guards reassigned?”

  Iqisu shook his head.