Gilgamesh Immortal (Chronicles of the Nephilim) (15 page)

But more important than all that was the fact that these so-called gods had no idea what was actually going on. Shamash had maneuvered himself politically before the assembly of gods by lying about Ishtar and nobody knew the difference. Shamash knew nothing of Gilgamesh’s dreams or sacrifices to him as patron deity.
He had not heard Ninsun’s intercessory prayers to him either. And nobody knew about Ishtar’s trip to Sheol, until now.

Enkidu listened with
loathing. What kind of gods knew so little and quarreled so much? Were they really worth obeisance, or were they just another petty kingdom of power to fight against for superiority over the land?

Gilgamesh knew that a confrontation between these rival heavenly powers was inevitable, and that Ishtar would no doubt try to deceive him with her wiles to gain his confidence. She wanted to know what the gods were up to and she probably wanted to take it over. He was starting to wonder if he would make it out of this alive, let alone achieve the immortality he sought.

But right now, he just wanted to get out of his filthy garments and have his first bath in weeks.

“My gods,” said Gilgamesh, “I beg your leave. Enkidu and I will retire to our bathhouse now to clean up. It has been a long and grueling journey for us.”

“Certainly,” said Ishtar. “My Gilgamesh is deserving of a celebration of his great and mighty deeds! We must throw a party!”

During the few hours that Gilgamesh and Enkidu bathed themselves and put on clean garments, Ishtar and Ninsun organized a celebration feast in the palace main hall. Enkidu managed to slip away for a conjugal visit with Shamhat before he was required to meet Gilgamesh at the town square for a triumphal entry through the city streets of Uruk.

As they lay in each other’s arms, Shamhat listened quietly as Enkidu described the events of their journey. As he drew the narrative to its end, she gently probed into her lover’s mind and heart.

“Do you also seek this immortality?” she asked him.

He thought a moment, then answered, “No. But I love my king and I am his loyal follower and devoted friend.”

It was a bond of love between men that even the love of a woman could not attain. To have journeyed together, looked into the Abyss, and cheated death was an experience that
Enkidu considered may even be unrivaled by the most intense oneness that he could achieve with Shamhat.

“Well,” she stated, “
I will never understand you men and your need for death defying quests and slaying giants. I am just glad you are home, because I love you, my Enkidu.”

“And I love you, my precious songbird,” he replied.

Enkidu joined Gilgamesh in the town square and they rode Gilgamesh’s war chariot pulled by mighty horses through the streets teeming with citizens of Uruk. They sported the
rotting head of Humbaba on a pike as a trophy of victory. The masses roared with praise and worship of their demigod king, the Scion of Uruk, and his mighty Right Hand.

Afterward, they retired to the palace main hall to feast. Everyone in the palace court was there in their royal finery. Enkidu sat at the right hand of Gilgamesh as usual. Ishtar sat on his other side, pushing Ninsun away from her rightful seat beside the king. Ishtar degrad
ed her with every opportunity she could get. Shamhat was beside her husband, and Sinleqiunninni was there in his pudgy robe and clay caked fingernails from too much tablet handling. Ninurta stood sentinel behind the king’s chair just out of sight.

Choice lambs and
boar’s head were roasted with vegetables and fruits beyond the capacity of the baskets and platters. Wine and beer flowed heavily. Enkidu had gotten into a drinking competition with Ishtar. She may have been a god, but these gods had digestive systems and Enkidu could drink anyone under the table. He decided to see how far he could push her. They kept the empty goblets at the table and received new ones with each refill. The pile before each of them increased steadily like mini-ziggurats as they pretended not to bother noticing the other’s collection.

As usual, Ishtar dominate
d the party with her loud and boisterous braggadocio.

“Tell me, Gilgamesh,” spouted Ishtar, “However did you manage to wriggle out of the wrath of the gods for slaying their Guardian?”

“Well for one thing,” crowed Gilgamesh, “We discovered that the giant had a digestion problem, which resulted in gigantic flatulence that dwarfed even Enkidu’s gastral magnificence. So the gods actually thanked us for clearing the air!”

Everyone burst out laughing. Even Ishtar was drunk enough to
chuckle.

Gilgamesh added through tears of laughter, “Truth be told, Enkidu had a significant hand in the matter.”

Joyful eyes all turned to Enkidu. But he was ready. “They were as impressed with the king’s size of intellect as they were with the size of my loins!”

And the crowd erupted with laughter again.

Enkidu added a hearty, “Ho, hurrah!” to milk the punch line.

Ishtar asked Gilgamesh, “And what was your impression of the assembly of the gods?”

Gilgamesh thought for a second, then said, “Not too bright for governing deities.” He smiled and announced, “Present company excluded, of course.” Some chuckles peppered the crowd.

He continued, “I think I would rather be governed by the first seventy names of
plebeians on the Uruk census register than the seventy gods of the divine council.”

More laughter erupted.

Ishtar dropped a wet rag on the joking through slurred lips, “Do you realize that you are only the second human to have ever experienced the privilege and lived?”

Enkidu did not take kindly to the insult of being ignored. She knew full well he was with the king.

“Who else has done so?” asked Gilgamesh.

“A giant killer named Enoch. Now
there
was a feisty one. Whooshed right up to heaven before we could get our hands on the little bugger.” And then Ishtar realized that she had said too much. She had better stop drinking. She changed the subject.

“Nevertheless, congratulations are in order,”
said Ishtar, “to the ‘Wild Bull on the Rampage’ and his trusty dog.”

Now Enkidu was stone faced. Shamhat next to him was both embarrassed for him and ready to jump
up and scratch Ishtar’s eyes out. But she knew better.

The festive atmosphere of celebration vanished as everyone in the room fell silent in uncertainty of the direction the confrontation might take.
Gilgamesh took the opportunity to turn it onto Ishtar while she was not as guarded. “I have been meaning to inquire of you, Queen of Heaven. I see you have been busy in my absence, planting a massive Huluppu tree in your garden.”

“Indeed,” said Ishtar. “I plucked the tree, a single Huluppu tree, from the river Euphrates, and I brought it to my holy garden. And there it grew with the Anzu in its branches, and a serpent in its roots. Do you like it, Gilgamesh?”

The Anzu bird was a gigantic thunderbird that had the face of a lion and the talons to match. It was a mythically potent avian that inspired awe and fear in most Sumerians. The Huluppu tree was its natural home.

“It is a tad unsightly, though its phallic size does remind me of Enkidu’s loins.”

Everyone broke out in laughter at the humor back into the conversation.

Ishtar was not amused.
“It is a link from the great above to the great below. Consider it a throne for the earth goddess and a bed for earthly souls.”

“I take it I am also to congratulate you for filling the clay pits
for swimming instead of brick making?” said Gilgamesh with a touch of sarcasm.

Ishtar said, “Oh,
that
. Well, the workers accidentally hit the water table and ‘bloooosh!’ Instant puddle of the Abyss.” Ishtar laughed. But now she was the only one doing so.

And then to rub salt in the wound, she added, “I hear Dumuzi was a good diver.” She chortled through tight lips trying not to laugh. The frivolity of the feast had been completely deadened by her drunken callousness.

Ninsun could say nothing about the truth that was being hidden from Gilgamesh. She would be instantly killed if she made one peep. So she sat sullen in her chair, longing for her stolen dignity.

But Ninsun
did not have to tell Gilgamesh anything. He could figure it out for himself. And he was burning angry.

“Well, I hear that the gods are not
very good swimmers themselves,” he growled. “Shall we arrange for lessons, O Queen of Heaven?” He said it with venom staring right at her.

How did he find out about our weakness?
Ishtar thought. But she could not think very straight with all the alcohol in her gut.
The little maggot is threatening me.

It was true. The divine council were supernatural beings, but they were created beings and every created being has weakness. The gods lost their superhuman power in water, became vulnerable. It was the curse of Elohim on them. She tried to dodge
it with the unpredictable: self-deprecation.

“Well, as you can see, we gods are also not too good of drinkers. So I think I shall retire for the evening.”

Ishtar stood to leave. Everyone else stood in obedience. She waved them back down and stumbled out of the room. The fact was, she was exaggerating. She was not that drunk. But any display of pretended weakness that would inspire a traitor to take advantage would actually give her an edge. Even in her current tipsy state, she could slaughter everyone in the room and bath in their blood — excepting Ninurta of course. But that would be for another day.

Enkidu watched Gilgamesh
as he looked at Ninsun. Her sad eyes said it all. Enkidu knew there was an unfolding darkness that would only get worse. And he hated Ishtar with all his heart.

Gilgamesh had retired to his bed chamber after the late night feast. But he could not sleep. He was getting used to
Ninurta’s shadowing presence everywhere, but sometimes it still disturbed him knowing this cold blooded creature watched over him like a divine reptile. Unblinking lapis lazuli eyes, frightening twisted muscles of power, emissary of the gods. Trust for these inscrutable and calculating creatures did not come easily.

Gods did not sleep, so
Ninurta would find a corner in a dark shadow out of sight to stand sentry through the night over Gilgamesh.

Gilgamesh turned to the dark corner and said, “
Ninurta, go do some training in the desert. I want some time alone.”

Ninurta
slipped into the light from the fire in the hearth.

Gilgamesh said, “I
do not need you every second with me. I can take care of myself you know.”

Ninurta
would not argue with him. He said, “I will be back before dawn.”

He gathered his bow, sword, mace, and javelin and jumped out the window down to the earth fifty feet below.

Gilgamesh wondered if he had gotten in over his head with this monster. Ishtar was intemperate and volatile, histrionic and emotionally unstable. But this one had a different kind of frightfulness about him. He was a cold and silent killer. No emotional display. Like a heartless crocodile in the water that suddenly snaps with jaws of iron, or a cobra that stands swaying until it strikes with death. In some ways that was more blood curdling to him.

He went to the window to look out into the night, hoping to see
Ninurta’s shadow at play under the moonlight. But he was already long gone.

Then Gilgamesh’s blood ran cold. He turned to see Ishtar standing by his bed, her eyes watching him like a snake. But this was a charmed snake. All her drunkenness was gone, her impatience soothed, her sensuality heightened. She seemed to move like a wisp of undulating smoke. She wore exotic makeup and her head hosted a most beautiful headdress of gems and feathers.

Gilgamesh was entranced with her. The thought occurred to him that she might be using enchantment, but that left his head as quickly as it had entered. He found himself aroused.

She removed her robe to reveal lingerie of satin, leather, and lace. And she was not without heels. Ah, the high heels that gave the female figure such elegance when moving.

And when she spoke, it was not her usual terse and condescending voice. Gone was the impatience and spite, and in their place was soothing sensuality and libido.

So she really did live up to her name
, thought Gilgamesh. And he found his deepest desires start to surface.

“Gilgamesh,
I am sorry for my — lack of self-control — this evening,” said Ishtar. “I was entirely inappropriate. It was your night of celebration and I stole it with my impertinent jealousy. Please forgive me.”

Gilgamesh said nothing. He stared.

Ishtar gave a seductive little smile and writhed closer to him. But not too close. She was unsure of his willingness. She had to woo him.

“I will not lie to you,” she said. “I am the goddess of war and sometimes that means I am ridiculously excessive in my outbursts. I
will not deny that. But I am also the goddess of sex, and that includes ridiculously excessive eroticism.”

She shimmied just a little closer, so he could see her better. All his senses were attuned to her. He
did not trust her of course, but he could not deny his attraction. He could not deny her raw sexuality.

She whispered amorously, “Gilgamesh, you are a giant with a giant’s hunger. You are more than man. You are part god. I could see when I first met you that you had the needs of a god. I know you are restless and I know your passion is barely satisfied with the most lascivious extremes that the temple hierodules can come up with.”

She was right. He could not deny it. She was a treacherous megalomaniac, but she
was
a goddess. And she knew his unsettled soul with pinpoint perfection.

She continued her breathless whisper, “You are not like other men. You are a king,
and a god. Your appetite is insatiable. It can only be fulfilled by a god.
I
am the goddess who can fulfill your desires.
I
can satisfy your hunger and quench your soul.”

He believed her. He absolutely believed her. She had all the danger of a den of cobras, but she was not lying to him in this moment. His pulse increased. His breath shortened. She smiled. She could feel his senses heightened.

“I am not here to seduce you, Gilgamesh.” The comment jolted him out of his fog. “You are far too great a man for that. No, I am here to make a rational offer of much more consequence than one night of pure ecstasy.”

Gilgamesh came
fully back to his senses. He glanced out the window into the night, wondering when his protector would return.

“A covenant if you will,” she said.

“This is the most reasonable you have sounded yet,” said Gilgamesh.

“Oh, everything I do has a reason,” she said smiling.

Indeed. She was the most calculating creature he had ever met. More calculating than even him. Well, maybe not. But close.

“What is your offer?” he said.

“Marriage,” she said. “I offer sacred marriage between us.”

The surprise threw him. He had not anticipated this. He
did not know what to say.

“I will not lie to you, Gilgamesh, it is an arrangement for me to get what I want but also for you to get what you want. This is not about love. This is a fair and even exchange for mutual benefit.”

“I just have to let you in on the plan of the gods,” he said, uncovering her true desire. There was no way in Sheol he was going to risk his life for
that
.

She
responded with vulnerability, “It is no secret that I am not well liked in the assembly.”

He gave a look that said that was the understatement of the millennium.

“But I know the pantheon, because I was its original archon,” she said.

He looked surprised at her.
He knew she must have been a leader, but the original? That changed things.

She continued, “Along with another archon, who is at this time, shall we say, ‘indisposed.’”

Anu was indisposed all right. Deep in the heart of the earth somewhere in chains until judgment day.

“The original plan was mine,” she said. “To mate with human women and breed our offspring the Nephilim as a divine human hybrid that would exist in two planes at once. You are one of them. You are a Naphil.

He could not believe it. “I am a giant, the offspring of a goddess, but were not these ‘Nephilim’ wiped out in the Flood?”

She said, “Yes, but not entirely. You are one that carries their blood in your veins. You are in the lineage of the seed of the Serpent.”

“Nephilim had twelve fingers and twelve toes. I have ten each,” he said.

“Look at your hand, Gilgamesh,” she said. “Do you see the scars where the sixth digit would be? Your mother cut them off when you were born.”

Gilgamesh felt sweat beading on his skin. She was right. He had scars on both his hands and his feet where a sixth digit would be. He wondered about that as a child, but Ninsun always said it was just a special birthmark of his deity.

She said, “I know that the pantheon sees in you a great and mighty leader to help them in their plan. I know because I see it too. We are trying to unite heaven and earth.”

He would not respond to her. He was bound by oath not to.

She said, “They have
offered you immortality if you unite with them to accomplish their purposes.”

She was right. She was completely right. This was no scam of trickery on her part. She could figure out most of their plans. But not everything. She
did not know everything.

She continued, “I just want to be in on the plan. And if I marry you, I will be. I do not hide that intent. But if you marry me, in
addition to your bequeathed immortality, I will fulfill my part by satisfying your Nephilim appetite. There will be no ‘love,’ and no emotion. It will be purely and simply animal sexuality to heights you have only dreamed of. You will be my ‘wild bull’ and I will never let you go.”

She waited only a moment, then continued, “Imagine the power we could attain together that we cannot achieve apart.”

“But I already have a deal with Enlil and the pantheon,” he said.

“
Do not be foolish, Gilgamesh” she said with unusual calm and empathy. “Do you really think that once Enlil has what he wants that the gods will not discard you?”

She was right again. Betrayers could sniff out other betrayers as easily as he could spot royalty in a crowd.

“With me as your queen,” she said, “they cannot dispense with you. And I need you as much as you need me to stay inside the plan. Alone, we are at the mercy of the pantheon. Together, we are a force to be reckoned with.”

“And what of
Ninurta?” he asked.

“Ah,
Ninurta,” she sang. “He protects you now. But later, what will protect you from him?” She paused to let it sink in. “I can. And I would be bound by a covenant to you. He would not be.”

She knew the pantheon and its protocol better than anyone. If he married into the godhead, then he would be more protected than he would be in his current status as an instrument of the gods. Marriage would afford him rights. Rights that
might very well protect him from the capricious will of these gods.

“Come, Gilgamesh,” she said, breaking his concentration, “be my bridegroom and I, your bride. You will ride a chariot of gold and the world
will bow down before you — kings, nobles, and princes.”

This made sense on every level to him. It was a perfect balance of interests. Protection of the one from the many. An uneasy
alliance, but the only one that kept at bay the worst that could be done to him.

The only problem was that the offer was being made by Ishtar.

He turned to her and said, “If I take your hand in marriage, will I be treated with the enduring affection of your other lovers?”

She had not anticipated this. He had blindsided her.

He continued, “Where is Dumuzi now? You fell in love with the shepherd, the keeper of herds. Yet you made him drink the muddy water and made him a substitute for you in Sheol. Now perpetual weeping has been ordained for the mother of Dumuzi, for your ‘Tammuz.’”

Ishtar stiffened. He was accusing her of betrayal and she could not deny it. It was like a dagger inside her belly. And then he turned the knife.

“And what of Ishullanu, my gardener?” said Gilgamesh. “You snuggled up to him and tasted his vitality. Then you planted him in his own garden.”

She could not deny it. This Gilgamesh was cunning. He added just enough poetic flair to his words to avoid outright hostility. In a way, it was a sharper blade with which he was cutting her. She felt her bile rising up within her.
This little cockroach.

Gilgamesh finished twisting the knife, “It would not be wise for me to embrace your offer, Queen of Heaven, as I would not wish to accept the consequences of those who are unlucky enough to have garnered the intimate attention of the goddess of war.”

Ishtar started to tremble with anger as they slowly circled one another. “You ungrateful maggot. You dare question my integrity from my actions with a couple of worthless plebeians?”

Now his back was to the window. The moon was shining in her eyes. She stepped closer and stopped when she saw the large silhouette of a mighty being rise behind him in the window sill. It
was Ninurta returned. He stood behind Gilgamesh, pumped up and ready for war. In her focus of rising anger, her attention had been distracted from sensing the approach of the storm god. She had let her emotions get the better of her, and now he was here, and she was not ready. This was not the time.

Ishtar hissed to Gilgamesh, “You have insulted me and slandered my name. And now you hide behind this
— muscle-brained boor?”

Ninurta
was not offended by the insult. He cared nothing for words. He respected only power.

She stared at
Ninurta. Two mighty gods ready to spring like lions on one another. But it was not going to happen tonight.

Ishtar said, “Remember, Gilgamesh,
Ninurta protects you
for
the pantheon. But who will protect you
from
the pantheon?”

She slipped out the door and vanished.

Gilgamesh sighed for having barely dodged a death blow. “Next time do not take such a long workout, will you?”