The Forgotten Tale Of Larsa (37 page)

The priest stared at his hands as if recalling the moment he realised this. The memory was crystal clear, like the Tigris river.

‘On that night, I remember looking into my father’s eyes, seeing myself within them. I told him what I’d done, how I had poisoned him, and how I’d planned to do it for years. I saw his face react, as if he knew already, and as if he were deeply sorry for every moment of suffering I’d endured because of him. But it was too late to be remorseful. Unseen scars can never heal when they afflict the heart and, just like you, I wanted vengeance, not only for myself, but for my mother, who had suffered alone, in silence. It wasn’t enough that he was trapped in a body he could no longer control. So I strangled him. I remember looking at him, seeing his fear, and feeling absolutely nothing as I wrapped my hands around his neck. I kissed his forehead, just as any loving son would, and left, without a flicker of guilt for what I’d done. I may have killed him that night, but I killed my past too – there was nothing left to bind me to anyone, except for my half-sister. I was the one who told the Assyrians. She was another thorn in my flesh, but I didn’t hate her for it, because she was innocent – unlike our father. So, you see, I killed your heart with my own hands and, if I could, I would do it all over again.’

For the first time, Marmicus had lost a battle on which his life depended. The venom had taken over his bloodstream, poisoning every inch of his body until he fell unconscious, his body tired from a world that had betrayed him in more ways than one. If only the Gallant Warrior had known that the princess was alive and that he had been blessed with fatherhood, maybe then he would have chosen to fight for his life …

The Serpent’s work was complete. The young priest looked at Marmicus lying still on the floor. He smiled and grabbed the Sword of Allegiance which lay beside him. He held it in his hands, marvelling at it for a few minutes; it was truly magnificent.

‘Who could ever have imagined that the mighty Sword of Allegiance would be covered with the blood of its keeper?’ said the young priest, raising it. The weapon would be proof of his treachery, showing the Assyrian emperor that he had done everything that had been asked of him. Once he showed him this, he would be in possession of a throne and a kingdom worthy of him. But life is never simple, for where evil conspires, so too does justice. The doors of the chamber were flung open, and guards rushed in, taking up position in every corner of the chamber, making sure that there was no place for the young priest to escape. They were led by one man – a person who had been misjudged, especially by Marmicus, who he had come to save.

The Grand Priest of Ursar rushed to Marmicus, the edges of his robes soaking up the blood that seeped from his injured body.

‘Quickly! Call the Asu; tell him Marmicus has been wounded!’ yelled the Grand Priest. Deep down, he knew it would make no difference. Marmicus was lifeless, his eyelids closed and his chest unmoving.

‘I owe you a great debt of gratitude,’ said the Priest of Xidrica. ‘It’s because of you that Marmicus placed his trust in me. You should have told him of your suspicions from the beginning. You could have saved his life! Now nothing can heal him, for death has already collected his soul.’

‘Silence the traitor!’ yelled the Grand Priest. He lifted Marmicus’s head, placing it on his lap, trying to somehow help him. The colour of his skin had leached away to the paleness of death.
If only I had said something … anything …

The guards grabbed the young Priest of Xidrica, their fury taking hold of them as they manhandled him.

‘What shall we do with the traitor, my lord?’ They all hoped that he would give them permission to make an example of him, but the Grand Priest remained silent for a few moments. For the first time, he thought about what Marmicus would have done in his place.

‘Set him free.’

‘He deserves death. He’s a traitor to our kingdom!’ said Sibius, unable to comprehend such an order. The Gallant Warrior was not only a friend to him; he was a hero, worthy of vengeance.

‘I said, set him free! He may be a traitor, but he sat within the Counsel, and our laws dictate that no man from the Counsel can be killed by his brethren. I know Marmicus would have willed this,’ the Grand Priest replied evenly. Then an idea came to him. ‘But that doesn’t mean someone else can’t kill him for us. Make sure he returns to our enemy – let Jaquzan do what he wills with the traitor.’

None of the guards could believe what they were about to do. Even if the law of the kingdom dictated such a thing, it should have been overridden in these circumstances. However, they were powerless to stop it. Respecting their orders, the guards dragged the young priest away. It was indeed true that the Gallant Warrior would have set him free and returned him to the enemy.

‘Make space – the Asu’s here!’

The guard pushed through the crowd that had formed, trying make a path for the Asu. Everyone looked anxiously at Marmicus’s body, hoping that by some miracle he would wake up.

‘I said move back! Move back!’ yelled the guard again, this time pushing people out of the way.

The Asu rushed to help Marmicus. His frail hands trembled as he tried to heal the one man who everyone depended on for life. He hovered his ear over the Gallant Warrior’s mouth, desperately listening for any signs of breathing, but the commotion around him made it difficult to hear. He could feel no warm breath against his skin. The Asu turned and pressed his hand heavily on Marmicus’s chest, trying to feel a heartbeat through the palm of his hand.

‘His soul is still alive – I can feel his heart beating.’

‘What about the blood from his body? Where’s it coming from?’

‘It’s not from a new wound; it’s coming from his shoulder.’

‘My lord, we have a new problem.’ A messenger rushed in holding a clay tablet which had been sent by the enemy.

‘What is it now?’

‘We’ve received word from the Assyrian emperor! He wants to end this war using one-to-one combat.’

‘That would save the lives of many soldiers,’ said Sibius, grabbing the clay tablet from him.

‘Go quickly and find the best warrior, one who can give this kingdom the greatest chance of victory,’ declared the Grand Priest.

‘I wish it was that simple, but it is not. The princess is alive, my lord! The Assyrian emperor says he is keeping her prisoner, and if the Gallant Warrior does not fight to save her life tomorrow, then she’ll be killed in front of her own people.’

The news was astonishing. How could the princess be alive? It made no sense! They were all stunned, but they had no time to question whether it was true or not. The pressure was mounting. The Grand Priest of Ursar turned to the Asu, wishing for a miraculous answer. There was only one question in his mind: would Marmicus wake up, and if he did, would he be strong enough to fight in tomorrow’s battle? He did not have to say anything for the Asu to understand what he was thinking.

‘Only the power of the gods can heal him in time for tomorrow’s battle,’ said the Asu, shaking his head.

‘Then we’ve lost the battle for Larsa.’

If there ever was a time when the Gallant Warrior was needed by his people, it was now, in this lonely hour when hope and despair stood together, waiting for destiny to decide which one to choose. The news had spread like the plague; some people claimed that the Gallant Warrior was badly injured, though still alive, while others said that Marmicus had died at sunset. Whatever the truth, the people of the Garden of the Gods flocked en masse to the palace. In their hands they gripped flowers and incense, and placed them on the steps to the palace until there was no space left.

Rumours that the princess was alive also circulated around the kingdom, and with them came word that she was carrying an infant within her womb that had been fathered by Jaquzan.

Sulaf fought through the crowds, her heart beating so frantically that she could feel her pulse in her throat. She was fighting to get through, wanting desperately to see Marmicus.

‘Please let me pass. I have to see him! I have to tell him something!’ Sulaf cried over and over again, trying to squeeze through. The crowds kept pushing her back, as a strong wave pulls a small boat back to shore.

‘It’s no use – he’s dead! Our saviour’s dead!’ one woman cried. She began to beat her hand against her chest as if she was mourning her own son; everyone knew that if the Gallant Warrior died, the kingdom would certainly die with him. Sulaf refused to believe her words – she would not let Marmicus leave this earth without him knowing that he would be a father. Everything Sulaf had done to harm him came back to her.

She could hear the oracle’s voice again in her ears, the way she had hissed at her when she spoke about Marmicus and what should be done to free his heart. She felt the fire burn her fingertips again, just as it had when she dropped the golden papyrus into the flames; a missive of pure love, intended to carry the sweet fragrance of hope to the Gallant Warrior. No memory was unvisited in Sulaf’s mind. Every time a memory came rushing back to her, she felt as though stoned by guilt, her skin bruising in shame. How could she have betrayed the man she loved so much?

Somehow she felt that his death was partly her fault. All this time Sulaf had rationalised her actions, believing herself to have committed them out of love for Marmicus, but in reality everything she had done was out of envy and hatred for Larsa. It was only now, in the final hours where hope and despair meshed together like a sunset in the evening sky, that Sulaf realised she had betrayed her friend. Then it dawned upon Sulaf: her father had been wrong all these years – true love could not turn to poison.

Fortunately for Sulaf, two guardsmen recognised her, and let her enter the palace without hesitation. When she asked them if he was still alive, they both ignored the question, choosing not to answer. Sulaf felt the knot in her stomach tighten when they said nothing. She saw them flinch as if they knew the answer, but they refused to say a word. The more Sulaf thought about Marmicus, the more she felt unable to cope with everything she had done to hurt him. Her hands sweated with anxiety. The guards walked at their own pace; they had agreed to take Sulaf to the Gallant Warrior. Sulaf wished they would walk faster: every second was valuable! Then it dawned on her that maybe Marmicus really had already died, and that time had no relevance at all. It was only a short journey to the chamber, but it felt like hours. Not knowing if he was dead or alive made the journey seem to last forever.

Finally the guards stopped outside the doors, pulling them open for her to enter. They stepped away, giving her the space she needed to talk to Marmicus. Sulaf walked through the doors. She could hear herself breathing heavily. No amount of air seemed to satisfy her lungs; she was choking on her guilt. Any hope of Marmicus being alive and well was crushed when she saw his body lying still on the divan.

‘The time is drawing near. You must ready yourself for the greatest calamity,’ said the Asu. He watched her walk towards Marmicus, her lips parting as if wanting to scream but having no strength to cry.

‘Is there nothing that can be done to help him?’

‘I’ve tried everything. Maybe the voice of a friend will have the power to reach him. Nothing else seems to,’ said the Asu. He had given Marmicus the strongest herbs in the largest possible doses; they would have awoken a horse, but they could not wake the Gallant Warrior.

Sulaf looked tenderly at Marmicus’s handsome face, the warmth of his smile lost behind the curtain of sickness. His eyebrows were clenched together as though he was in great pain. He was sweating profusely, his head turning from left to right, than back again, from the fever which his body had developed in trying to combat the poison. The only time Sulaf had ever seen him stricken with illness was when they had been children; even then it had seemed impossible that anything would harm him. Now Marmicus lay powerless, caught in the grip of a sickness that was slowly killing him.

‘I wish to speak to him alone. There’s something important I must tell him.’

‘He may not be able to hear you,’ said the Asu.

‘Let me try for my sake, then. Don’t deny me this final moment, please,’ begged Sulaf. She would not give up now; she needed to tell him of his fatherhood, even if it was too late.

‘As you wish.’

Sulaf watched the Asu leave the chamber, making sure they were left alone before she spoke. At first she did not know what to say; the more she tried to force out the words, the more she choked on them. The knot in her throat became even tighter, drawing the words back. Her suffering was nothing compared to that of the Gallant Warrior, who lay helplessly, as if in limbo, unsure of which realm he should enter. It seemed that his spirit had at last decided, as the rapid movements of his head began to slow down. He was no longer choosing to fight the fever; instead he appeared to have given up altogether.

‘You once said that the smile of a friend is always a blessing in cruel times; I wish that were true. I wish I could smile at you, like the loyal friend you imagined me to be, but the truth is, I’ve been no better to you than your enemy,’ said Sulaf. She took his hand, holding it against her cheek. The smell of his skin was everything she needed to make her happy: how could she live without it now?

‘I know the gods are calling for you, Marmicus. I can hear them too, but you mustn’t go to them – it’s not your time to go. The princess is alive! She’s waiting for you here on earth, and she carries a gift; a baby. You’re going to be a father! I know that’s what you’ve always wanted.’ Sulaf kissed his hand, breaking down in tears. The same thought kept repeating in her mind: if only she had told him the joyous news when he was well, maybe then she would have seen his face react with the beauty of a smile.

‘So, you see, you can’t die now. This is the time to fight, to live – not for your people or for your duty, but for something more important than all of that; this is the time to live for your family. They need you now more than ever before. So fight with your heart, Marmicus, I beg you, fight like you have never fought before. Fight for them and live for them now. No war is worth fighting unless it’s for love. Today, your battle is for love, so fight to protect it and live to embrace it!’