Word Fulfilled, The (4 page)

Four

Nineveh, the Temple Plaza

Seventeenth Day of Ajaru

amin lurked in the early morning shadows behind Nabu’s temple. He wiped at the cold sweat on his brow, fidgeted, and glanced behind him. Skulking was not an inborn skill, and he was inept at it, which made him feel vulnerable. But he couldn’t be caught. Not here.

The young Jew’s route from the artisan quarter to the marketplace took him past the Mashki Gate and skirted the temple plaza. From there, it traversed a low bridge over the Tabiltu River, which bisected the city with its murky brown water. On his many journeys past the temple complex, he found his attention drawn to the magnificent Temple of Ishtar. The massive structure to Assyria’s chief goddess dwarfed the lesser temples on the square.

Devoted to his worship of
Adonai
, Jamin was uncomfortable with the allure this heathen shrine held for him. He knew if his relatives were aware of these visits to the plaza, he would hear no end of it. His mind’s ear burned from the nasal barrage Aunt Rizpah would launch. His chest could feel the poke of her stubby finger while she berated him for the curses he had surely brought upon their household. Uncle Hiram would stand to the side, shake his head, and ponder how many purification washings the errant lad should perform to remove the spiritual stench. His uncle would pronounce Jamin’s sandals a total loss, as they had tread over defiled soil. Yes, they would have to be burned and replaced out of Jamin’s own pocket as punishment for his wayward steps. Jamin half smiled at the mental image. He wasn’t concerned about his faith or the temple square’s impurity. After all, the entire city was pagan. What made this particular spot any worse? Besides, his interest was not of a religious nature.

He arrived behind the lesser temple shortly after sunrise. Staying to the shadows, he ducked behind a statue at the southern corner of the steps. The vantage point gave him a direct view across the street to Ishtar’s temple. He leaned against the cool sculpture and let the small woven basket slip from his fingers. Yesterday, when Aunt Rizpah mentioned being short of cumin and coriander, Jamin pounced on the opportunity. He would go to the marketplace for her first thing in the morning. No, it was no trouble. He’d be happy to run the errand. It might take awhile, though, as he would want to shop the stalls for the best prices. He’d probably be gone until, oh, at least midday.

Jamin’s conscience pricked him, but the story was half true. He would return with the herbs. How much time he spent shopping for bargains, though, was a weaker detail. This morning another matter would consume most of his time.

Ishtar’s glorious shrine loomed across the narrow street against the pristine azure of the early morning sky. The brilliant aura from a morning sun lingering just below the roofline outlined its imposing edifice. Despite its beauty, the glare was an annoyance, for it would obscure the object of Jamin’s interest in the recessed shadows of the temple’s portico. He peeked around the base of the Nabu statuary and squinted into the light. He didn’t have to wait long.

A subtle movement bumped up his heart rate. A flash of white glimmered between the columns, then disappeared. Jamin threw another glance down the street before tucking himself against the statue. His pulse quickened, and a familiar knot in his stomach tightened.

First, a few
ishtaritu
and
qadishtu
priestesses emerged, their pastel tunics vivid in the reflection of the sky. Then, one by one, and under the watchful eye of three
naditu
priestesses, the maidens who had not yet fulfilled their initiation rituals, wandered onto the steps to take the fresh morning air. They gravitated into small groups and tittered among themselves. The chatter stopped when three girls with small bundles emerged from between the columns. They hugged each other, several of their peers, then waved to the expressionless
naditu
who stood vigil. After the last of their farewells, the girls hurried down the steps and set off up the road toward the affluent quarter of the city. These, Jamin surmised, were going home, their ritual devotions to Mother Ishtar completed the evening before.

Jamin searched the faces of the girls who still milled about on the steps. He craned his neck and squinted into the glow of the morning sun now poised to top the temple. When it did appear, it would blind him from the shadows of the portico. He prayed she would show herself soon, although he knew she would be the last to emerge. She would also stay to herself and avoid the cliques of prattling adolescents. The group seemed to be complete now, though. No other movement came from the portal leading from the shrine’s inner sanctuary. He let his impatience override his vigilance against exposure and stretched his neck further. A sudden movement at the south end of the porch caught his eye, and he edged back against the statue.

The girl appeared from between the last two columns. As usual, a
naditu
was at her side, the same one who always seemed to be with her. His forehead tingled with another wave of heat. She was the most stunning creature he had ever seen. Her petite form stood out from among the other maidens like the immaculate Morning Star blazing its glory against a backdrop of lesser luminaries not worthy to share the same sky. Ebony tresses flowed across her slender shoulders and splayed over her sheer white tunic. Thin eyebrows drew graceful arches above her almond eyes, which, even at this distance, Jamin knew would be as breathtaking as the waist-long hair cascading over her lissome form. The morning light cast gentle shadows under high cheekbones tinged with blush and glowing through a flawless olive complexion.

As always, the girl remained aloof from the others. A heavyset
naditu
hovered at her side like a bothersome insect. The priestess leaned toward the girl’s ear, her brow knit. Jamin saw the maiden shake her head and move to the end of the porch, her arms clasped across her stomach. The
naditu
frowned and propped her hands on her hips. None of the girls seemed to notice, though Jamin couldn’t be sure, so focused was his attention on her. He soaked in her beauty and uttered a silent prayer of thanks that she held no small bundle to signal her departure. It meant she hadn’t yet completed the ritual. She remained untouched.

Jamin had no idea how long he stood there. Time, like everything else, faded in her ambiance. This was the fourth time he had seen the mysterious girl since he first cut through the temple plaza on his way to market. That first encounter still flushed him with a wave of embarrassment—and thrill.

It was three weeks ago. He chanced to pass Ishtar’s temple after the bevy of initiates had already gathered. He glanced up as a flutter of giggles floated his direction from the temple porch. The girls closest to him glanced away when he looked, and the giggles spiked. He frowned and looked back down at the roadway. He knew who they were—
what
they were, for Ishtar had an even larger temple near his home in Aššûr. Years earlier, his mother and he had walked past it on the way to meet his father. She guided him to the opposite side of the street and whispered into his ear never to look at such girls. Their ritual represented the worst of Assyrian paganism, and to pay them any attention would surely lead a young man into ruin. He nodded but couldn’t suppress a flitting look at the jewel-bedecked, colorfully dressed young women. But he was much younger then. Surely maturity had mellowed the young Assyrian Jew. He was in control. He could handle this.

Of course he could.

Jamin did not intend to look up at the temple. His gaze went there on its own. That’s when he saw her, when his heart took up residence in his throat and hadn’t reassumed its proper anatomical position since. The maiden sat on the stairs, her legs curled onto the riser beneath her. She kept her hands in her lap and fingered the hem of her tunic. His eyes ignored his conscience and lingered on this most glorious of beauties. And he got caught.

One moment her eyes were locked on her hem, the next moment on him. In that instant, her exquisite face burned itself into his heart. She neither smiled nor frowned. She just looked at him. He thought her visage sad—haunted, perhaps, was a better word. Her eyes betrayed neither annoyance nor invitation. She merely looked at him.

It was all Jamin could do to break his stare. Red-faced and, at the same time, heart-stricken, he found it difficult to swallow. He quickened his pace until he reached the end of the next building, where he slipped around the corner and leaned against the wall. He struggled to wrestle his heart and lungs back under control.

What’s happening to me?

Jamin was no stranger to women. He knew plenty of young Jewesses in Aššûr. Several were quite comely, in fact. His father often asked why he had not settled on a suitable maiden, as Jamin had already seen nineteen summers. Most of his friends of the same age were married, many already with children. He usually shrugged off the question with a smile. There would be one someday, he would say.

But he never had a feeling like this before. Jamin fought the urge to steal another look, but it was a battle he lacked any desire to win. He edged to the end of the wall and peeked around the corner. The stair was empty. Disappointment flooded him. The other girls remained in their cliques, chatting among themselves. He couldn’t have imagined her, could he?

Three out of five trips over the past two weeks conveniently planned for the same time of day proved he hadn’t imagined her. Each time she held herself apart from the other girls, and each time Jamin felt himself slip further under her spell. He wanted to speak with her, to find out who she was and where she came from—and mostly why she was still here. One with beauty such as hers should have left with her little bundle long ago. That she was still here meant she remained a virgin. That was important, and Jamin clung to the hope. But how could he meet her without getting caught up in the violation that was her reason for being here?

Jamin leaned back into the shadows of Nabu’s temple. Those questions would not be answered today. His heart heavy, he picked up his basket and trudged along the back wall, away from the road that passed by the Temple of Ishtar.

“He was watching again.”

“I saw him.”

“He’s handsome.”

“Very.”

“I think he was looking at you, Suhru.”

Suhru giggled.

Five

Nineveh, the Artisan Quarter

Twenty-first Day of Ajaru

amin listened to the steady cadence of Uncle Hiram’s and Aunt Rizpah’s breathing. At his suggestion, they retired early that evening in preparation for an early rise the next morning. There was still much to be done before they stopped work for the Sabbath, which began at tomorrow’s sunset. The deep twilight in the house piqued his anxiousness at the hour. He didn’t want to be late.

Satisfied they were asleep, Jamin sat up and pulled a hooded desert cloak from beneath his blanket. The garment hugged to his chest, he slipped through the window above his bed and eased himself to the narrow gap between the house and a small storage shed. He slipped to the front of the house and glanced both ways. The street was empty. Jamin stepped into the road. His head giddy with anticipation and his stomach in a turmoil, he set off at a trot down the cluttered alleyway toward the Mashki Gate.

He had wrestled with the idea for days and ran possible scenarios through his mind countless times before he settled on a plan. So much that was out of his control had to work in his favor. The timing needed be perfect. He would be careful to look like he knew what he was doing, which was far from the truth. Darkness and the cloak would help, so he felt sure he could get close to her. He was less sure what he would do once he was close. He’d sort that out when the time came. His heart left him no choice.

Jamin stopped short of the inner threshold to the city gate. There was no activity, no sound at all. Uneasiness creased his brow. He knew this was the right evening. He’d locked it in his mind as soon as he heard in the marketplace two days ago that a large caravan from Damascus approached en route to the spice markets in the East. They were to arrive this evening, before the gates to the city closed for the night. The western portal should be cluttered with camels and men by now.

Where are they?

Disappointment burned his forehead. The caravan’s approach from the west made the Mashki Gate a logical entry point, but there were other entrances in the western wall. Perhaps the Quay Gate, or—wait! Of course! It didn’t matter which gate they used. Their destination would be the open market square, where they could secure their animals and goods. There the travelers who desired to spend the night away from the stench of the camels could lodge in an inn that bordered the plaza. He would surely find them there.

Hope renewed, Jamin launched himself away from the wall and hurried down the street toward the Tabiltu River bridge. The route was familiar enough that he could set a brisk pace despite the darkness. He glanced to his left and squinted through the shadows at the smoky yellow halo framing the top of Nabu’s temple. The plaza was ablaze with torchlight, a beacon to the ritual pleasures the Goddess of Love and Fertility offered male travelers to the city. Jamin gritted his teeth and quickened his pace.

He cut the corner of the plaza near the Tabiltu bridge and peered again over his shoulder. A hoarse shout averted a collision with two men who had stepped off the bridge.

“Watch your step, eh?” The man raised a forearm in defense.

Jamin halted just in time. “Sorry. In a hurry.” He fought to settle his breath.

“What hurry?” a second voice chortled. “We have all night.”

A wave of laughter rippled through the men close behind.

“Right.” Jamin swallowed. “Sorry.”

“He’s young, Sheron. Give him some room.”

Sheron chuckled. “That it, my anxious friend? This your first time?”

“Er, yes. First time.” Jamin was glad the darkness hid the blush that rose to his cheeks.

“Well, come along, then. Stay close to Rimmon, here. You’ll learn something.” Sheron clapped Jamin on the back, and another chorus of sniggers filled the night air.

Jamin nodded and fell into step behind Sheron and Rimmon. He took advantage of the darkness to slip the cloak over his head.

The men from the spice caravan grew quiet as they trod the incline that led to the square. Torches blazed from stands patterned around the square; others poured out their light from holders attached to the sides of Ishtar’s temple. The flickering yellow glow lent a jaundiced cast to the clay buildings that surrounded the courtyard. When they rounded the corner of Ishtar’s temple, Jamin stopped in his tracks. He had dreamed of this time and time again over the past two days, but nothing he imagined matched the scene before him.

Along the top step of the temple, the virgin maidens stood shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped before them and their heads bowed. Shadows danced over their white tunics, and their delicate forms shimmered in the undulating light. Behind them, the
qadishtu
cult prostitutes clustered atop the risers, prepared for any of the men who did not find a desirable partner among the initiates. The scene sent a bolt of panic up his spine, and his throat went dry.
What am I doing here?

“Go, man!” The hushed command filled his ear as the man behind Jamin stumbled into him.

Jamin lurched ahead, caught between the instinct to stare and his shame at the same impulse. He shook his head. Only one girl mattered. He had to find her before someone else did. Jamin forced his eyes down the line of girls and concentrated on their downturned faces. His fervor, and his anxiousness, increased when he couldn’t spot her. He was sure he’d recognize her, but the dancing torchlight and the silhouettes of the men in front him played tricks on his eyes.

To Jamin’s right, a man mounted the steps. His hand reached out, was met by the tentative hand of a maiden, and the two of them turned and disappeared into the darkness of the temple portico. Jamin began to sweat. What if she wasn’t here?

“By the gods, look at her!” Rimmon’s muted voice two paces to his left shattered Jamin’s thoughts. He heard awe in Sheron’s reply.

“I see her. Can you believe it?”

Sheron started forward, but Rimmon grabbed his arm. “I saw her first. Find another,” he hissed.

Sheron turned on Rimmon. “You didn’t see her first. You just spoke first. Let go!” He pulled his arm free.

Rimmon tried to slip past, but Sheron pushed him back.

“Hoi!
Watch what you’re doing!” A third man pushed Rimmon from behind.

“You watch what
you’re
doing!” Rimmon stiff-armed the man in the chest. The man tripped over his own feet and slammed his back onto the pavement.

The commotion drew the attention of the other men. Some of the girls abandoned the decorum their
naditu
mentors warned them never to break and looked up wide-eyed at the ruckus. Stern hisses from the columns behind them snapped their heads back to a bow.

A cloaked figure slipped ahead of Sheron, who pushed off the man aiming a blow at Rimmon’s jaw. The figure halted before the girl who had caused all the fuss. She remained still, her head bowed, apparently oblivious to the melee. Jamin peered from beneath his hood, his heart in his throat. Here he stood within reach of the splendid maiden whom for so many days he’d beheld in awe from the safety of Nabu’s shadows. And he found himself at a loss at what to do next.

Jamin had no idea how long he stood there. He chastised himself under his breath for not thinking this through. Then he remembered the gesture of the man who had already made his selection. Slowly, he raised his hand toward the girl and prayed she wouldn’t notice how it shook. He waited. There was no response. He wondered if an initiate was permitted to reject an offer and was about to lower it when he saw movement at her side. A graceful arm arced slowly toward his. His heart jumped as the first brush of her fingertips slid across his palm. He closed his fingers around hers. She turned and led him between the columns.

Lll

“Sheron! Will you look at that?” Rimmon shrugged off a man who had grasped his shirt.

Sheron followed his friend’s gaze in time to see the young newcomer disappear, hand in hand with the object of their quarrel. He wiped a dab of blood from his split lip. The two met looked at each other and broke into grins at the same time.

Sheron snorted. “Fast learner.”

“Well, you told him to stay close.”

Lll

Neither of them spoke. She led him down an ornate corridor lined with statues dedicated to Mother Ishtar and her sacred emblems. On one pedestal, the goddess stood with a lion at her feet, the great huntress of the northern cults. Daubed into a niche behind the statue was fresco that featured only her head and shoulders at a window, where she beckoned the viewer with a sensuous smile. A painted border of bug-eyed fish and pure white doves intertwined with oleander blossoms framed the scene. When they reached the end of the corridor, they turned down another passageway. Small doorways, some covered with damask hangings, others with ornate wooden panels, alternated on both walls the length of the hallway. Jamin jumped at a deep-throated laugh that penetrated a cloth partition as they passed. Two rooms further, he caught the breathy gasps of a gentle sob wafting through the fabric. His throat constricted. She led on, seemingly aware of nothing but her destination.

The girl stopped at the end of the hallway and pulled at a leather thong on a door panel. It swung open noiselessly. She released his hand and slipped inside. Jamin hesitated, then followed. The tiny room was bare except for a thick sleep mat, a small goblet, and a ceiling-to-floor tapestry that covered part of the back wall. A scarlet coverlet with an embroidered hem lay draped across the pad. At the end of the mat that abutted the wall, a small tufted pillow completed the ceremonial bed’s adornment.

Jamin stopped by the door, mesmerized again by the maiden’s beauty and seared with guilt for being in the pagan temple. The young girl stooped and lifted the cup. His eyes locked on the delicate hands cupping its bowl. She turned, dipped her head, and presented it to Jamin. He paused, unsure of his part in the heathen ritual, then accepted the cup. The maiden stepped back and eased herself onto the sleep mat. She bowed her head and nudged her shoulder out of the tunic.

“Wait!” His voice shattered the stillness like a thunderclap.

Startled, the girl raised her head in bewilderment.

Jamin hushed his tone. “I mean, wait a moment . . . please.” He stooped and set the cup near the wall, then turned to face the young girl. When Jamin lowered his hood, a flash of recognition crossed her face.

“I’ve . . . seen you.” Her first words brought his heart back into his throat. Soft and lilting, her voice caressed his ears like gentle strands from a golden harp.

“Yes. You have. I’m—”

“You’re the man who passes by the temple on the way to market. You also watch from the shadows of Nabu’s Temple.”

Jamin’s face reddened, and he averted his eyes.

Her brow creased. “What are you doing here?” The strands from the golden harp disintegrated into the crash of a tin gong. Her eyes flashed, and she drew herself up from the bed mat. One quick yank and the sleeve was back on her shoulder. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“No, I—”

“You aren’t here to consummate me, are you? Who put you up to this?” She stepped toward him, her eyes on fire.

“Wait, I can explain—” A sharp crack cut him short as her right hand reddened his cheek.

He raised his hand to his face and stepped backward, his eyes wide. His foot grazed the goblet and tipped it over. The dull crack of silver against stone punctuated her malice, and the cup spilled its contents over the floor as the girl spilled venom into her words.