Day of the False King (31 page)

Semerket began to feel uneasy. He sensed
that something strange, even profound, was taking place within the
palace. His sense of discomfort increased with the arrival of several
couriers from the south. They rode their foaming mounts at full gallop
into the palace courtyard, dismounting before their horses had even
stopped. They ran swiftly into the palace, clutching their
important-looking leather pouches, not even pausing to wipe the dirt
from their faces.

“They’re from King Shutruk,” said Shepak,
recognizing their livery. He attempted to hail the next courier in
Elamite, but the man simply barreled passed him and into the palace
without even looking at him.

Semerket, who had his own vital reasons for
not wanting to stay, was on the verge of suggesting that Shepak should
meet alone with Kutir. He did not need to be present when they locked
Menef and the Asp away; Shepak, as former commander of the garrison,
was no doubt admirably versed in the detention of prisoners. At that
moment, however, a steward approached, saying that Kutir would see them.

He and Shepak entered the throne room, where
huge carved bulls’ heads topped thick square pillars. The Gryphon
Throne itself sat on a dais of intricately carved ivory panels. But
Kutir, Semerket noticed, did not sit on it. Instead, he was at the
corner of the room, in close conversation with Queen Narunte. They both
raised their heads to stare at him as he approached.

Fear shot through Semerket, particularly
when Shepak was detained by the chamberlain at the edge of the hall.
Semerket squinted into the dim light, trying to read the expression on
Narunte’s face. He expected rage, guilt, even shock that he had
survived the Insect Chamber, but her reaction to his presence was of
the most casual indifference, as if he were some stranger she had not
met before.

Courtiers moved aside as Semerket came
forward alone, his footsteps echoing loudly on the malachite tiles. Was
this an ambush? Was he once again to be cast into the Insect Chamber
for what he had discovered?

He genuflected before the royal pair.

“Semerket,” Kutir said quietly. “I must tell
you, as representative of Egypt’s Falcon Throne, that King Shutruk of
Elam, my father, has mounted his golden chariot.”

Semerket looked up, staring blankly. “What?”

“He’s dead, Semerket,” elucidated Kutir
tersely. “Couriers brought the news today. After a meal of pigeon pie
and figs, his bowels turned to a bloody flux and he was struck dumb. He
succumbed a few hours ago without speaking another word.” Kutir’s voice
broke, and he began to weep, though Semerket believed his tears were
only for show. “He may have been poisoned, my spies tell me. Can you
believe it? Who could ever commit such a terrible deed against Elam’s
greatest king?”

Without thinking, Semerket glanced at Queen
Narunte. She was not afraid to meet his glance. Her silver eyes did not
glitter; Semerket could read nothing in their pale depths, not even
satisfaction. Nevertheless, he knew the answer to Kutir’s question
stood at his side. What a career lay ahead of Narunte, he thought in
wonder — provided she avoided the strong brew that loosened her tongue.

“I am grief-stricken, Sire,” Semerket
mumbled. “As I’m sure Pharaoh will be when he receives this dreadful
news.” Semerket hoped that his words were adequate to the situation. He
could not help but think that the entire world — and especially his son
— would breathe easier now that the old tyrant was dead.

“What will you do now, Sire?”

“I must return to Susa. I must go there
before my brother can raise an army and stake his own claim to the
throne. But…”

The king fell silent, looking at Semerket
helplessly.

Yes, indeed — but! Semerket knew that with
the Isins hidden in the city, with the food stocks gone and the Elamite
fleet destroyed, there was little chance of Kutir’s reaching the border
with his armies intact. The king could, of course, easily escape the
city in disguise, but what good would it do him to enter Elam without
his armies? If he pursued so rash a course, he would be able to count
his life in moments.

Well, Semerket thought, these were the
occupational hazards of being an invader in a hostile country. It was
none of his affair, or Egypt’s. Though Semerket had not found Kutir to
be the savage despot he had been led to expect, neither was he
particularly fond of him. In addition, if he were being truthful with
himself, he much preferred it if his friend Marduk ruled in Babylonia.

So much for Egyptian neutrality, Semerket
thought grimly.

It was then that the idea occurred to him.
He coughed politely, and spoke.

“YOU MEAN HE’LL LEAVE
— just like that?” Marduk was incredulous.

“I mean exactly that.”

Semerket was once again in the tunnels
beneath the city. He sat in the small dark room off the cistern that
Marduk and his generals called their headquarters.

The tall Isin from Mari made an angry
gesture. “Don’t believe him, my lord. The Elamite king sent this
Egyptian to tempt you into some kind of trap.”

Semerket rolled his eyes. “How can it be a
trap, you moron, when it was my own idea?”

The Isin struggled to dispute him, finally
muttering, “Because everyone knows that Egyptians can’t be trusted.”

“Semerket can,” said Marduk flatly. “But I
must admit that I’m finding it difficult to believe Kutir’s telling the
truth. I mean, after all the men he’s lost, all the supplies and
treasure — to believe that he’d simply abandon this misbegotten war of
his…”

“He knows he’s trapped in the Royal Quarter,
Marduk. The only way he can leave is for you to agree to this truce. If
you don’t, you’ll face a siege that might last for months, even years.
Kutir’s brother will seize Elam’s throne and Kutir will have no kingdom
except what he can manage to hold on to here. Wouldn’t you rather let
him go now, when he has another kingdom to go to, rather than create an
enemy who knows that he has nothing to lose?”

The Isins erupted into loud, angry debate,
saying that they must punish Kutir for his invasion of Babylonia. “We
have a chance to kill him,” said the tall Isin, pounding his fist into
his palm. “And then we will be the ones to march into Elam! With Kutir
and his armies slaughtered, Elam can only drop into our hands like a
ripe fig!”

“And so it begins all over again…” Semerket
muttered darkly.

“Semerket is right,” Marduk said. “For the
first time in almost three centuries, a native-born Dark Head will sit
on the Gryphon Throne. We’ve achieved everything we set out to do;
let’s not risk the gods’ anger by asking for more. We will let the
Elamite invader and his armies leave peaceably. Besides,” he continued,
smiling craftily, “these Elamites will soon be engaged in a long and
bloody civil war. At the end of it, they will be weak and spiritless.
What better time to sweep in and seize that ripe fig? Time is on our
side, gentlemen — we can afford to be generous for once.”

Mesopotamia never changes, Semerket thought
in disgust. Thus it had been, and thus it ever would be — a succession
of “strong men” seizing power from one another. He took that moment to
slip away into the little room where Kem-weset waited with Rami. The
boy’s eyes were open and they brightened to see him.

“No fever?” Semerket asked Kem-weset.

“Not under my care!” said the physician
forcefully. But he added in a humbler tone, “The gods were kind.”

“To us all,” Semerket agreed with unusual
enthusiasm. He turned his black eyes on Rami. “How do you feel, boy?”

“I have a headache.”

“Headache or no, it seems that you won’t be
standing in front of Osiris anytime soon. So you didn’t have to ask for
my forgiveness, after all. It simply wasn’t needed.”

Patting Rami’s hand in farewell, Semerket
then took himself into the outer hallway. Marduk soon joined him.

“You look very morose,” said Semerket. “I’d
have thought you’d be ecstatic.” Semerket even laughed aloud. “You’d
best be careful, Marduk. People might start mistaking you for me.”

Marduk sighed before he answered. “All my
life, I’ve been trained for one thing — to struggle for my heritage. I
had prepared myself to die for it, just as my own father did. But
thanks to you, Semerket, my struggle is over.”

“And that makes you sad?”

“The truth is, life prepared me only to
struggle, never for the victory.” He shook his head impatiently. “I’m
talking nonsense. You can’t possibly understand what I mean.”

Semerket smiled. “Maybe I’m the only person
in the world who can.”

Later that day, after many trips on
Semerket’s part between the various levels of the city, a truce between
the two rivals for the hand of Babylon was announced. Heralds went into
the cities of the plain, proclaiming in an edict from King
Marduk-kabit-ahhesu, the first king of the second Isin dynasty, that he
would allow the Elamites to leave Babylonia unmolested. Marduk
dispatched the Isin troops themselves to escort the retreating armies
to the border, not only to protect them from any unwarranted violence
on the part of a people who had suffered so much at their hands, but
also to make sure they well and truly left the nation.

AS THE ELAMITES
were making ready to depart, Semerket found Shepak in the garrison
compound.

“You saved my life,” said Shepak simply.

“You saved mine.”

The two men stared awkwardly at the ground
for a moment, and then spoke simultaneously:

“If ever you’re in Elam…”

“If you’re ever in Egypt…”

They laughed. Embraced.

“Say goodbye to that goddess friend of
yours,” said Shepak. “Tell her that had it been another day, another
time, she might have been the woman I took back with me to Elam.”

Semerket, biting his tongue, promised that
he would convey the message to Nidaba. Then Shepak mounted his horse
and put on his helmet (which had been stripped of its grisly body
parts, lest such mementos incite the Dark Heads into final acts of
revenge). The last Semerket saw of him, Shepak was riding at Kutir’s
side through the Ishtar Gate.

Only then, at last, was Semerket able to
attend to the penultimate task that awaited him. There were no more
international disputes to settle, no more crypts to search, no foul
insect chambers to escape. Semerket’s step was light and confident as
he made his way for the second time to the gagu.

AS DETERMINED AS HE WAS,
difficulties beset his short journey. Upon learning the news that the
Elamites would vacate the country, a spontaneous festival erupted on
the streets of Babylon that night; people left their homes for the
first time in two days to converge on the temples and palaces, eager to
make their devotions to the gods and perhaps catch a glimpse of their
handsome, dashing new king Marduk.

By the time Semerket at last arrived at the
gagu, it was well after dark. Its drawbridge was down, and Semerket
walked across it and into the courtyard without asking permission to
enter. For once, none of its women were loading donkey trains, nor did
he see the smoke of melting bitumen rising into the night skies.

Yet, just as before, the women guards once
again surrounded him, spears leveled. Even in times of celebration, it
seemed, the gagu women never lost their wariness of men.

“What do you want, Semerket?” the guard
asked.

He raised his brow in surprise; at least
they knew his name. “I would see Mother Mylitta.”

This time they did not run to Mylitta to ask
if she would condescend to receive him. Instead, they took him directly
into the gagu, once again delivering him to the base of Mylitta’s
soaring observatory tower.

“Doesn’t she ever come down from up there?”
Semerket asked forlornly as he set his unwilling foot upon the steps.

Slowly, hugging the tower, turning his face
inward, he crept up its long height. At the top, Mother Mylitta was, as
ever, peering through her tubes of bronze and making her notes on
tablets of clay. She did not even look up as Semerket stepped into the
enclosure.

“Good news,” she said in her deep, masculine
voice. “The Seshat star has turned forward in its arc again, and will
soon be back in its proper place above Egypt. It seems you weren’t the
evil it predicted, Semerket. In fact, I’m beginning to think that
you’ve brought great fortune to Babylon instead.”

“Had you bothered to read my horoscope,
perhaps you might have known that.”

“You fool,” she said, not unkindly. “Do you
think I hadn’t?”

He looked at her, his black eyes suddenly
flaming like melted bitumen. “Then why didn’t you tell me who the woman
truly was?” he whispered fiercely, unable to keep his emotions in hand.

“I take it you mean the one who came here
after the raid?”

“You know I do. The one dressed as a
princess.”

“You have to realize, Semerket, that the
gagu exists not for the sake of trade, as most people think, but for
the protection of all women who suffer at the hands of men. Why do you
think I went out to the plantation that night? After what I learned
from the stars, it didn’t matter if the princess was an Elamite, a Dark
head — or even an Egyptian. A woman in peril will always find a home
with us as long as we exist.”

“But it was cruel to let me go without
telling me that night I came here; savage. If you’d read my chart,
couldn’t you see my love for her in it?”

“Yes, I saw it there. I don’t think I’ve
ever seen anything like it in the heavens before. It’s almost as strong
as your love of truth, your desire to see all things clearly. Both
traits impel you equally through your life.”

“Then why did you let me leave? I almost
died afterward! I might never have seen her again!”

Her voice was harsh, without emotion. “It’s
precisely because of what I saw in your chart that I couldn’t tell you
who she was.”