Pretender

CHAPTER 17.

Pale dawn was upon the city. The inebriate throngs were gone at last. Persian troops patrolled the streets instead. An empire had fallen during the night!

He probably ought to care, Enkidu thought. But now there was pain in his hand, as though he had blistered it in a furnace; he remembered only vaguely how that had happened. Babylon’s subjection seemed as unreal as all the rest that had happened this night.

How strange that there were no stones or spears or flaming arrows—yet the Persian had conquered. No slaughter of citizens, no razing of buildings, no sacking and looting and burning, no impalements. It hardly was a proper war!

As he started across the bridge to the new city, the tradesmen began to appear. There were many Persians here, too. A cart loaded with foodstuffs lumbered across the bridge, causing the skittish horse of a trooper to whinny and rear. Enkidu dodged back, then had to catch himself from falling over the edge. The rider cursed at Enkidu, thinking him to blame. Otherwise he was ignored.

In the growing light the river bed showed as an almost solid bank of mud.

But he had to keep going, lest his sudden, precious faith that Amys lived be lost. Let the mighty Euphrates sink to nothing; that hardly concerned him. Certainly the river was overrated. Could it ever have been very impressive! Why construct such a massive bridge?

He paused, startled by something obscure, then bent over and stared down. No, he had not been mistaken; the great river had fallen, even since he saw it last. The muddy pylons reached up out of gray muck festooned with weeds and rope and debris. Small boats were moored far from the tiny trickle of water remaining. A stale, tainted odor rose from the new mud flats. What had happened?

First the Persians had appeared mysteriously inside the impregnable city. Then the river had dried up. Twin mysteries. Could they be linked? Was Babylon truly cursed, as the Kebar Hebrews had eagerly foretold?

He stared out at the vanished river as in some nightmare between sleeping and waking, while another level of his mind pondered Amyitis and his certainty that she lived.

Abruptly everything fell together. The world jumped into focus.

The host had finally caught on. NK-2 could not stop him now, and had no need to. As soon as this business was finished, they could depart Babylon…

He was running despite his weakness, fighting the jostling horses, the cursing men, dodging between a farm wagon laden with cackling poultry and the donkey pulling it, while the wagon’s driver struck at him with a whip and the poultry set up an awful din of squawks. Enkidu untangled himself from the traces, scarcely aware of the commotion, and pressed on forward. He slipped around a herd of baa-ing sheep being driven into the city by shouting shepherds and barking mastiffs. He pushed wildly past or around or through all the slow-moving obstacles. On towards Gabatha’s house.

Aten must have given him that faith in Amys’ life—until his own observation and logic augmented it.

Close enough to the truth, this time! NK-2 thought. Maybe he was the spirit of a deistic entity…

“I have business within,” Enkidu informed the Persian soldier who challenged him outside Gabatha’s house. It was amazing how rapidly Cyrus’ host had multiplied in the past few hours.

The trooper’s hairy face broke into an unpleasant grin. “A guest of Gabatha’s? Enter, enter!”

Though the sun had barely cleared the horizon, the house seethed with activity. Servants rushed about bearing jars and baskets and there was a steady commotion within. The great courtyard swarmed with bearded Medes, and with women making them welcome. The fat merchant must be providing a banquet, sparing no expense for the invaders. Trust him to ingratiate himself with the prevailing powers!

But, oddly, most of the soldiers seemed more attentive to the preparations afoot in the center of the court than to the wine and the women. Enkidu looked where they were looking—and went sick inside.

Gabatha himself stood with feet planted in the middle of the court, directing the placement of a very long stake into a freshly dug hole.

“Set it loose,” the merchant directed a couple of sweating slaves, “so that it can easily be taken out again once we fit it. Once we get our chief entertainer for today skewered, then you can set it up again and tamp it in solid… assuming you are not already on it.”

Both slaves blanched. So did Enkidu, though Gabatha had not noticed him. What gruesome entertainment!

The stake set to his satisfaction, the merchant turned his eye to a group of slaves assembled at the far end of the court. He beckoned genially.

“Our Persian friends have expressed a desire for a skewering,” he informed them, smiling. “Old-Assyrian style. What man of you will step forward to oblige our good friends? No volunteers for this simple task? You will not even have to stand on your feet, and you will have a lofty view of all the proceedings…”

Enkidu rubbed his rear as he always did when thinking of impalement. He couldn’t help it. Obviously Gabatha had someone in mind… did he realize Amyitis remained alive? “Then I shall have to make the choice, I suppose. Now which one of you worthless servants can I most easily dispense with? Hul, step forth!”

Hul stepped forth, most reluctantly. He was a young boy with a scared face. Enkidu had seen him last night, bearing the first message… so that was how the merchant dealt with those who annoyed him by bringing bad news!

Gabatha eyed the boy appraisingly. “I have always wondered how you would look when elevated to your proper station. This is an excellent occasion to find out, don’t you agree?”

The boy’s Adam’s apple dropped. The Persians guffawed—somewhat more heartily than the jest called for, it seemed to Enkidu.

Gabatha paused until the merriment subsided, then sighed with mock regret. “Alas, you are needed in the kitchen. Go!”

Hul did not need a second order.

“Azor, step forth!”

Azor was the elderly man who had brought the second message of distress. What a memory the merchant had for grievances, however trifling! But obviously he was only teasing these poor slaves for the entertainment of the guests. He knew who would grace that stake…

It seemed, after leisurely preliminaries, that Azor was needed to see to the stabling of the Persian horses. He, too, vanished.

The faces of those who remained as Gabatha dismissed a third to his household duties were a study in quiet terror. The last to be queried… would not be dismissed.

Encouraged by his guests’ pleasure, Gabatha continued his cruel game. No one paid any attention to Enkidu.

He stepped quietly into a side hall and hurried toward the back. A guard stopped him in the first hall.

Enkidu wanted to shove the man aside and rush on by, to Amys. But this would be folly. It was one thing to get to this house, but another and more difficult thing to get to Amys… without betraying her life to Gabatha again.

“I have to—to see someone.”

The guard took his arm in a grip of stone. “Yes you do, citizen. Right this way.”

Perforce, Enkidu accompanied the man down the hall into a second and smaller court, where a monstrous Persian was directing Gabatha’s servants in preparations for what was evidently to be an all-day feast. Servants scurried between the courts bearing huge platters of savory mutton and stuffed poultry and wines and breads. The guard propelled Enkidu to a Persian officer who sat at an improvised table dictating to a scribe. Apparently he was taking inventory of their host’s very substantial properties. To see that none were molested?

“A man who has to see somebody,” the guard reported, shoving Enkidu to a halt in front of the table. The officer looked up.

He was an older man than any of the other Persians Enkidu had noticed here: at least fifty, clean shaven, gray at the temples but with a predatory sharpness of feature and thick graying eyebrows.

“What is your business?”

What should he say? Enkidu decided to misconstrue the question. “I am a scribe—”

“Excellent! I can use you! Pick up a tablet and stylus. I will pay you one shekel a day for good notes.”

Had Enkidu bluffed about his occupation, this sharp soldier would have made short work of him! But the last thing he wanted was to be detained in this place. “I—I mean to depart Babylon within the hour.”

The officer lifted the tablet from the hands of his own scribe, holding it up for Enkidu to see. “Read—or you may depart this life within the hour!”

Enkidu read: “SLAVES, HOUSEHOLD—23. SLAVES, BROTHEL—42. PROPERTIES—”

The officer lowered the tablet, having verified Enkidu’s ability. “Friend of our host?” he inquired casually.

It meant trouble, Enkidu knew. But he was through with temporizing, and he saw that little could be concealed from this pragmatic Persian. “Gabatha is no friend of mine! I came inside his door only to rescue someone from his dungeon.”

The officer smiled bleakly. Enkidu suddenly realized that the man had been drinking, though he had himself well under control. “We saw to his dungeon. He had no prisoners there.”

Enkidu’s breath stopped. Then he remembered the tapestry that hid the entrance to the water room. The Persians would not know about that.

“So I cannot believe you, Babylonian,” the man said, belching formidably. “Surely an enemy does not visit this house on such a happy occasion! Come—my men are weary with slogging in the silt of the river, since the garrison neglected to open the gates for us. The merchant is our esteemed host. He is our dearest friend. He loves all Persians—Medes, too. I insist you join us in enjoying the hospitality of this house.”

Enkidu decided he might as well be speared for a crocodile as for a lizard. The Persians would not let him go, anyway. “I will never feast under this roof! Gabatha is your friend, not mine!”

“Are you implying you don’t like Persians?”

“I care nothing for politics, or who rules Babylon. I don’t have any feeling about Persians. But never will I associate with this murderer, this traitor, this refuse—this Gabatha! Only let me do what I came to do and I’ll depart.”

The Persian sat back and appraised Enkidu. His head nodded slightly from the drink he had taken. “You sound almost as though you dislike our esteemed host.”

Was there any way he could extricate Amys without revealing to this man that he had come for a woman? “Yes.”

A servant brought the Persian a large jar of ale. He blew off the foam and quaffed the brown fluid from a mug. Presently he said: “He had two eyes, Gabatha, when he visited Ectabana twenty years ago. He was my house guest, and he used those eyes to spy out my most valued relics. You may guess what followed.”

“Yes. He grew richer, you poorer.”

“But when Cyrus came, he had need for educated officers, and so I prospered after a fashion. Now it seems I am Gabatha’s house guest, though he does not yet remember me.”

What would have happened to him, had he professed friendship for the merchant? Enkidu realized that he had had another narrow escape. “How long will you permit this man to impale his slaves for the amusement of your troopers?”

“Citizen, I suggest you come to this party.”

Enkidu declined. “I have no stomach for impalements, least of all wanton ones.” Then he paused, comprehending. “Gabatha!”

“Our chief entertainer for the day, naturally,” the Persian confirmed. “Are you sure you don’t want to see his face when I impart this marvelous news to him?”

A cold shudder worked its way through his bowel. “I—it is fitting, but—I think not. Just let me release this prisoner and I will go away before—your ceremony.”

“The prisoner within the empty dungeon,” the Persian murmured over his ale. “Your mind is a boat that floats a narrow channel, citizen. Who is this person?”

He had been foolish to hope he would not be asked this question. “Amyitis.”

“Ah, a woman. Our host has already provided us with a number of these convenient articles. Ishtar also has been most kind. But I assure you the tally checks; the merchant held no woman out. Are you certain she is not among the celebrants here?”

“The merchant thought her dead, and perhaps he is correct. That depends on how high the water level of the Euphrates was at the time she was flung into his water chamber.” He decided to put the question more directly. “That is how you got yourselves into the city, isn’t it—by lowering the river in some way, so you could pass under the barricades?”

The man grinned. “Let’s just say we felt the need to fill the ancient northern reservoir—in case of drought. We had very good Hebrew labor—it was almost as though those slaves wanted Babylon to fall!” Then his voice became sharp. “Citizen, we have spun this story out long enough. You had better be able to show us where this woman is.”

“I—she is my wife!” Enkidu burst out desperately.

Something moved behind the officer’s eyes. “Gabatha took your wife?”

Unable to trust his voice, Enkidu nodded. Would the conquerors have any respect for local marriage?

The Persian shook his head. “He took mine, too. He obtained her in partial settlement of his claim. Later I learned he had hired her out as a prostitute at one of his riverfront establishments.” He summoned a soldier. “Take this man where he wants to go, to release a woman—and see that they get safely out of this house. Move!”

Meanwhile the officer started purposefully for the banquet court. He turned at the door to speak once more to Enkidu. “Are you sure you don’t want to witness at least the beginning of this day’s entertainment?”

“Not unless my bride is dead.”

The Persian shrugged and Enkidu departed with the trooper in somewhat reluctant tow, for the hall of the tapestry.