Day of the False King (6 page)

In the enforced idleness of the backwash,
Semerket raised his besotted eyes to the public buildings that lined
the river. A note of pride crept into Marduk’s voice as he saw Semerket
gazing at the immense city walls. “Are they not impressive, Semerket?
Why, they’re so wide,” he boasted, “that four chariots can ride atop
them — abreast!”

Semerket was about to churlishly remark that
surely with such thick walls Babylon need not have surrendered to the
Elamites so hastily. He still hoped to goad Marduk into revealing the
reason for his bitterness. But distant tinkling bells stopped his words
before he had a chance to speak them, and he turned in the direction of
their sound.

A train of donkeys was leaving the city,
going to the north. The asses bore baskets across their backs filled
with chunks of what looked like glistening black rock. Semerket saw
that the drivers were women — undoubtedly the members of the mysterious
gagu Marduk had mentioned earlier. Though the women were clad from head
to toe in shroudlike woolen cloaks, allowing only a glimpse of their
eyes, there was no mistaking them for men. Even the train’s guards were
females, though they were sensibly clad in practical leather armor.

“Do these gagu women make a success of their
livelihood?” he asked.

“They’ve lent their wealth to every king and
prince in Asia for centuries. If the women were to go bankrupt
tomorrow, the entire region would collapse — they’re that powerful.”

“And it’s this trade in bitumen that’s
brought them their wealth?”

“Hardly. Bitumen is just one of their
interests. No, they’ve become wealthy because they’re scientists,
Semerket — masters of astrology.”

Marduk told him that the gagu’s predictions
were so astonishingly accurate that kings and satraps from around the
world consulted with them. No one was more adept at divination than the
women of the gagu, Marduk swore, and their every business decision,
every loan, investment, and purchase was first subjected by them to the
prism of heaven, the true reason for their success.

As Marduk spoke, Semerket abruptly sat up
straighter in the boat. Something familiar had caught his eye. What had
it been? He again scanned the long line of donkeys and the women who
drove them.

There…!

A woman walked beside a big two-wheeled cart
piled with chunks of dried bitumen. Shrouded like the others, there was
nevertheless something oddly familiar about her — the way she walked,
how she held her head, the curve of her hidden leg beneath the shroud.
Taller than the rest, certainly less compact (for he was beginning to
notice a certain stockiness common to Babylonians of both sexes), the
woman possessed a distinctly Egyptian stance.

Semerket stared after her. His mouth dried
up. His heart beat a fierce rhythm. His lips suddenly parted, for he
was going to shout — to scream — “Naia!”

His throat ached from the effort it cost him
to choke back her name. He turned away, fiercely telling himself that
the last thing he needed to be doing was imagining Naia in every likely
woman that passed. If he continued to do so, he realized, he ran the
risk of failing to recognize her when she was truly there.

“What are you looking at so intently?” asked
Marduk.

“At…at the baskets on the donkeys. They’re
full of bitumen, aren’t they? It must be heavy stuff.”

“On the contrary, it’s very lightweight.
That’s why it’s so perfect for the gagu to handle — a woman can easily
manage a load of it.”

Semerket looked sharply at Marduk. Had he
not noticed the way the bags sagged over the donkeys’ backs — how the
hardy little beasts seemed almost to stagger under their weight?

“Yet…” Semerket fell silent. So the gagu
indulged in a little smuggling. What merchant guild did not? It was
none of his business what those women were up to, and such speculation
would only cloud his mind with irrelevant detail. Perhaps he had only
imagined it, anyway. In his mind, he heard again the deep voice of
Elibar, warning him of the perils of Mesopotamia. He would see things
that were not there, and become blind to things that were…

It was late afternoon when their little
round ship finally squeezed past the bridge and found a place to moor
on a distant riverbank. Only the donkey seemed sad to see him go,
reaching out its head to forlornly nuzzle his hand. The wine merchant
and his son raised loud cries of lamentation to see Marduk depart,
however, bowing before him abjectly and kissing his hands, fervently
asking for his blessing. Marduk at last extricated himself from their
embraces, and led Semerket forward into the city.

Babylon possessed eight gates, each named
after one of the city’s chief gods. In fact, Marduk said, the name
Babylon itself actually meant “The Gate of God.” Semerket and Marduk
entered through the Ishtar Gate, the grandest of them all. It was one
of the few mud-brick structures glazed in expensive enameled tiles, and
its deep blue color was sacred to the goddess. Trying to look less a
bumpkin at his first festival, Semerket obediently stepped into the
customs line and forbade himself to gawk.

“You must do the talking for both of us,” he
whispered to Marduk. “Don’t give them my name — I don’t want anyone to
know I’m Pharaoh’s envoy. Tell them I’m a merchant seeking spices, or
some such thing, and that I can’t speak Babylonian. I need to explore
the city on my own before any officials know I’m here.”

He had decided not to announce his arrival
to Babylon’s new king until he had completed his own mission. Only then
would he begin negotiations to bring Bel-Marduk’s idol back to Egypt.
In the meantime, he meant to work far away from the attention of great
ones, for he had begun to suspect, given the Elamites’ weakened
position, that if the native Babylonians knew he was close to Kutir
more doors would close to him than open.

Marduk did not answer him, but merely
averted his head, and began to follow a few steps behind, cringing and
gawking like a simpleton. Semerket smiled to himself, marveling at
Marduk’s endless mutability. He was a true shape-shifter, able to blend
into any crowd, enact any role.

However, when they came to the Elamite
immigration clerks and tax gatherers, Marduk remained silent, still
affecting his empty gaze. He hung his head and seemed confused and
intimidated by the Elamites’ sharp questions.

“What’s the matter with you?” Semerket said
in Egyptian. “Answer them.”

But Marduk only peeped dully at the men from
behind Semerket. Drool began to string from his mouth. The customs
clerk turned his head away in disgust and addressed all his questions
to Semerket, refusing even to look at Marduk.

In the end, Semerket had to declare himself
to the authorities, for they had searched his pack and found the
tablets bearing his name. They then exclaimed and bowed low before him,
showing him a list of expected foreign dignitaries, with his own name
placed among the most prominent. Instantly, a palace clerk appeared to
usher Semerket and Marduk away from the others and into a private room
located within the gate itself.

“You are most welcome, Great Lord,” gushed
the clerk in precise Babylonian. “We will send a courier to inform the
palace that you have at last arrived.”

Semerket was appalled. “But I don’t want
that!” he blurted out before thinking.

The Elamite clerk stared at him, taken
aback. “But…but what will I say to the king when he asks why you don’t
present your credentials?”

Semerket hastily improvised, with no help
from Marduk. “You may inform the king, of course, of my arrival. But
tell him…tell him that before I present myself at court, I must first
purify myself through prayer, to thank the Egyptian gods for my safe
arrival.”

Semerket knew that the Mesopotamians
regarded Egyptians as religion-mad, and hoped the Elamites would accept
his excuse, suspicious as it was. The clerk looked doubtful and began
to shake his head.

“Or perhaps I should return to Egypt?”
Semerket asked darkly.

“Oh no, sir!” The clerk held up his hands in
a supplicating manner. “King Kutir would be extremely disappointed —
angry, in fact — if you were to depart from Babylon now. His troops
would find you, in any case, for he is anxious to hear Pharaoh’s
greeting from your own lips.”

Semerket considered quickly. Either Kutir
must possess a formidable network of spies, or Pharaoh’s instructions
to Ambassador Menef had been extremely thorough. Either way, he had to
find a way to gain some time.

“Before I kneel before his throne,” he
continued to insist, “I must first kneel to my gods.”

The clerk’s voice was weak. “When do you
think you will be content to present yourself at the palace?”

Semerket answered obliquely. “I will give
sufficient warning before I come. Meanwhile, my slave and I will look
for accommodations in the Egyptian Quarter.” Semerket shouldered his
pack decisively.

“But rooms are waiting for you at
Bel-Marduk’s temple hostel, Great Lord! It will be my pleasure to
escort you there myself.”

“The rooms won’t be necessary.”

The clerk’s face succumbed to his anxiety at
last, crumpling into a mask of abject fear. He confessed that a
lingering death in the Insect Chamber would be his fate if Semerket
vanished within the city. He begged Semerket to see reason, and spare
him so terrible an end.

Cursing his luck, furious at Marduk for his
silence, Semerket reluctantly agreed to follow the hapless clerk to the
hostel. There, Semerket knew, the priests would spy on him, reporting
his every movement back to the palace — exactly what he had hoped to
avoid.

The clerk mopped his brow, relieved. “And if
you wish, the priests can surely furnish you with a proper valet.”

“I already have a servant.” Semerket tersely
indicated Marduk, who reached out to grab, entranced, at a passing fly.

“Forgive me, Great Lord…but…but is he quite
right in the head?”

“He’s new,” Semerket said, lips thinned with
suppressed anger, “recently purchased. I haven’t broken him in yet.”

The clerk nodded. “We have a saying in Elam,
Great Lord — one must turn a slave inside out before they become a
proper servant.”

“A sage piece of advice,” said Semerket
ominously, narrowing his eyes at Marduk. “And one that I will certainly
try.”

From the Ishtar Gate the trio walked down
Processional Way, a wide boulevard paved in stone on which the city’s
massive celebrations took place. Semerket attempted to speak to Marduk
in whispered Egyptian, demanding to know what possessed him, but Marduk
continued to affect an idiot’s shuffle and refused to speak. Semerket
grew increasingly frustrated; all his plans for seeking Naia and Rami
from the shadows were in ruins, thanks to this stubborn man. He
deliberately turned his back on Marduk then, listening as the Elamite
clerk pointed out the city’s wonders with a pride born of recent
acquisition.

“And its walls are so wide,” the man
concluded with a flourish, “that four chariots can ride atop them!
Abreast!”

Semerket murmured appreciatively.

The hostel was a massive six-story affair
situated along the Processional Way. Semerket’s rooms were on the fifth
story, as sumptuous as any he had seen in Pharaoh’s palace. Skins
covered the tiled floors, and a wide doorway led out onto a terrace
overlooking the city. Gazing down from its ledge, seeing the people
congregating so far below, Semerket suddenly felt a wave of profound
dizziness overtake him. Never having been so high up before, he was
astonished that his reaction could be so immediate, and so acute.
Semerket retreated hastily into his rooms, to stand as far away from
the terrace as possible. At that moment, he heard a cry from the
Elamite clerk, who had discovered the final and most amazing of the
suite’s luxuries — pipes that conducted hot and cold water into his
indoor privy. Diverted, Semerket crossed the room to pull at the silver
taps, first with timidity and then with delight, allowing the water to
spew forth into bronze basins.

“Come see this, Marduk,” Semerket called,
forgetting his irritation. “Tell us how it’s done!”

But no answer came. Semerket grew angry
again, tired of Marduk’s pretense at simple-mindedness. He turned, a
scowl on his face — but Marduk was not there.

A quick examination of the rooms told the
rest of the story. Marduk had slipped away while Semerket and the clerk
marveled at the gushing water. Even the priestly servants who waited in
the hallways had not seen Marduk leave.

Semerket smiled ruefully to himself. He
should have expected it; Marduk had never promised he would stay.

For the first time since Mari, Semerket was
alone. As he gazed out to the darkening city, careful to avoid the edge
of the terrace, he saw Babylon’s myriad cooking fires begin to light up
the sky. It was only then that he truly appreciated the city’s
immensity, for it gleamed in front of him like a blanket of rubies
without ever seeming to end.

Sweet Osiris, he thought, how was he ever to
locate Naia and Rami in such a place?

DAWN FOUND SEMERKET
on his way to Babylon’s Egyptian Quarter. A man was following him, he
noticed, a rather disreputable-looking fellow with a sparse beard and
ponderous belly. Semerket turned to stare at him, and the man halted,
overcome by a sudden urge to study the contents of a nearby vegetable
stand. Semerket almost laughed aloud. Did his pursuer really think he
was being subtle — that Semerket did not know him for a spy?

Semerket decided to confront his pursuer,
striding pointedly toward him. “Since we seem to be headed the same
way, stranger,” Semerket said, bringing his face close to the man’s,
“perhaps you can tell me: am I on the right path to the Egyptian
Quarter?”

His spy at first pretended that he did not
understand Semerket’s accented Babylonian, and glanced about. To
Semerket’s repeated inquiries, the man simply turned on heel and fled.
In his haste to get away from Semerket, however, he made the mistake of
peering to the rooftops.