Quest for Honour (55 page)

Tammuz slipped inside without making a sound. He moved to the edge of their bed and slumped down, exhausted more from the tension than from the physical activity. He felt himself shivering, and couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He’d never killed someone like that, in cold blood.

En-hedu took her time securing the door’s many bolts and braces, working silently so as not to awaken any customers. She finished up by moving a sack filled with dirt against the bottom of the entrance. With luck, that portal wouldn’t open again for months.

Then she stood before him. “Take off your tunic,” she whispered.

He rose and unbuckled his belt. The coins taken from Kourosh’s purse spilled onto the sandy floor with scarcely a clink of metal on metal. En-hedu helped pull the tunic over his head. She tossed it aside, stepped away, and returned with a pitcher of water and a piece of cloth. Taking her time, she scrubbed his face, neck, arms and legs, anywhere blood might have spattered.

“It went well, husband?” No need to ask what had happened. His shaking hands told the story plain enough. Nevertheless, her voice couldn’t conceal how worried she’d been.

“Yes. He never even cried out.”

She continued with her ministrations. In the morning she would bathe him again, to make sure no bloodstains appeared on him. His tunic would be wrapped inside one of her dresses and taken to the river at first light, to be scrubbed clean against the rocks. Any stains that remained would be taken for wine spills, an occupational hazard for any innkeeper.

“Lie down,” she whispered, as she guided him down onto the bed.

He started to tell her what happened, but she silenced him with her fingers on his lips. “In the morning, Tammuz. Now it is time for you to rest.”

She knelt on the floor beside the bed and began kissing his body. For a moment he tried to protest, then to his surprise his penis stiffened into rigidity, and he felt her long hair brush his stomach as she took him into her mouth. His passion raged, either from her deft touch or the murder of Kourosh, he couldn’t tell.

En-hedu kept stimulating him, driving his lust higher and higher, until she felt him throb with desire. She moved on top of him. He couldn’t hold back a gasp of pleasure as he entered her softness, but if any of the inn’s occupants heard that kind of noise, they would just roll over and return to their sleep.

She moved her body against him, and within moments his seed burst inside her with a force he found difficult to believe. Then he slumped back exhausted. En-hedu took him into her arms and held him tenderly until he fell into a deep and untroubled sleep.

Four months later . . .

T
he priests of Marduk, after many long nights consultation with the stars, finally declared the end of summer. Most of Sumeria’s farmers had finished their harvests, and now offered thanks to the gods. As En-hedu knew, that meant spilling a drop or two of ale on the Kestrel’s floor, then gulping down the rest of the cup as fast as possible. Tonight the tavern would be packed with as many grateful farmers as river men.

King Shulgi had ordered the usual three days of feasting, which ended yesterday. Nevertheless, Sumer’s inhabitants continued to relax and enjoy another benefit from the gods – the blazing heat of the season had broken as well, and balmy days and cooler nights would soon be in store.

For En-hedu the time of feasting brought plenty of customers, as the wealthy wives indulged themselves. One of the richest women in Sumer now sighed contentedly under En-hedu’s ministrations.

“Ahhh, that feels so good.”

“Yes, Mistress Bikku.” En-hedu leaned forward, her body’s weight helping move the muscles in the woman’s naked back. A pleasant enough body, En-hedu mused, in better shape than many of her customers. Wives and mistresses of the wealthy tended to possess soft bodies, unused to any physical work. Probably the hardest labor they performed consisted of vigorously satisfying their husbands’ needs in the bedchamber. Unlike Tammuz, whose rod tended to stiffen at En-hedu’s lightest touch, Sumer’s
merchants, even some of the younger ones, apparently required long and strenuous efforts to bring them to arousal, especially after a long night of feasting and drinking.

Mistress Bikku had first summoned En-hedu several months ago, after hearing many and glowing recommendations from Ninlil, wife of Puzur-Amurri, En-hedu’s first client from Sumer’s upper class. Since that first precarious start with Ninlil, En-hedu’s list of wealthy clients had grown to over a dozen.

The pampered wives, both old and young, relied more and more on her massage skills to relax and to prepare for their husbands’ nightly visits. Her customers paid her as many coins in a few days as the Kestrel earned in seven or eight.

To please her new employers, En-hedu had purchased two new dresses that showed her rising status. No woman of wealth wanted to be visited by someone from the poorer classes, no matter what skills she possessed. So En-hedu dressed like the wife of a prosperous merchant or respected craftsman. A porter carried fresh water to the Kestrel each morning, so that En-hedu could wash her body before donning her finery. She scented the water with crushed flower petals, to create a pleasant scent that lingered in her hair.

To her surprise, Tammuz found both the fine clothes and sweet-smelling water exciting, and often when she returned from working on one of her customers, they would retire to their private chamber to relax and make love.

All of the well-off women En-hedu massaged liked to talk, especially to someone of no consequence. The fact that her ministrations were probably more enjoyable than what many received from their husbands also helped loosen the women’s tongues. Most of the wealthy merchants and traders cared more about their own pleasures. They had little time or interest in satisfying their women, who were often relegated to the role of pleasure slave or a symbol of the man’s status within the city.

Aside from the usual gossip such women indulged in, sooner or later the conversation turned to the talk of the coming war. En-hedu had picked up many odd facts, one here, one there, that occasionally added up to a significant bit of information, which soon found its way to the Kestrel and from there to the boats going upriver to Akkad and Lady Trella.

Between the loud banter from the soldiers and other patrons of the Kestrel, and the giggling gossip of En-hedu’s clients, she knew more about
the coming war than most of King Shulgi’s soldiers. The most important facts, however, still eluded her – when and how the war would begin. Rumors had predicted the start of the war several times, and all had turned out to be false.

On the bed, Bikku groaned in pleasure once again. “Your touch is making my loins grow moist, En-hedu.”

“You flatter me, mistress.” En-hedu received many such invitations, but always managed to deflect them. Most of them. At least that’s what she told Tammuz when he asked her about such invitations as they whispered at night in their bed. “I’m sure I’m too clumsy for such things.”

A chattering of women’s voices rose up outside Bikku’s very sumptuous bedroom, saving En-hedu from making further excuses.

“Bikku, are you not finished yet?” Ninlil, her face flushed with excitement, entered the room and rushed to the head of the bed. “Your servant says that En-hedu has been here for some time.” She managed to spare En-hedu a quick glance.

“Don’t shout so.” Nevertheless, Bikku turned her head on the pillow to face her visitor. “En-hedu’s hands feel so good I never want it to end.”

“Who else are you inviting for supper tonight?” Ninlil ignored the last comment. “Everyone wants to come and enjoy your table.”

“Ahhh . . . oh, yes, En-hedu, right there.” Bikku had no need to answer Ninlil’s question. “That’s where it feels so tight.”

“Yes, mistress. I can see your muscles stretching beneath your beautiful skin. This will help you please your husband tonight.”

Bikku was seven or eight seasons older than Ninlil, and first wife to Jamshid, perhaps Sumer’s most prosperous merchant, reputed even wealthier than Gemama. Accompanying her husband, Bikku had dined at King Shulgi’s table seven or eight times in the last six months. Queen Kushanna favored her company, or so Bikku related to any and everyone. The queen of Sumer’s presence and beauty overawed every other woman in the city, and every wife hungered for the chance to dine at Shulgi’s large and impressive residence. Such invitations now marked those in favor with the king, or those who needed to offer more gifts and gold as a sign of loyalty.

“Not tonight,” Bikku said in response to Ninlil’s question. “At least, not until much later in the evening. Only the men are meeting at King Shulgi’s palace, no doubt to drink too much wine and talk business long
into the night. We wives will be dining alone tonight. A simple meal, but my cook promises no one will go home hungry.”

Ninlil laughed, and En-hedu joined in to the extent of a brief smile. She continued her work, kneading the woman’s lower back, occasionally adding a drop or two of warm oil. By now, En-hedu could ask the servants to heat the oil before her arrival, so that it would help soothe the delicate skin of their mistress.

Tonight Bikku’s table would be covered from end to end with delicious food of all kinds, but the women would only nibble at the cook’s grandest efforts. None of these women dared allow themselves to grow fat. They all needed to please their husbands and lovers, at least until they’d delivered a healthy son, preferably two. Which meant, as En-hedu knew from experience, that tonight the household slaves and servants would dine well, albeit on cold food and leftovers, after the guests departed and Bikku finally retired to her bedchamber.

“Are they going to talk about the war? I am so tired of hearing my Puzzi talk about all the gold he’s getting for the supplies he delivers.”

“Of course they’re going to talk about the war, you silly girl. Why else would Queen Kushanna invite them? Do you think she cares to hear their tiresome stories of trading and bartering? My husband says that tonight they go to learn what new demands King Shulgi has in store for them.”

“I wish we could be there,” Ninlil said wistfully. “Imagine, Kushanna will be –”

“Queen Kushanna,” Bikku corrected her younger companion. She reserved to herself the right to call Kushanna by her name. “She rules when King Shulgi is at war or visiting the camps. He returned late last night, and soldiers came and went through the lanes until nearly dawn. We could hear their loud talk from our window.”

“Will there really be another war? Puzzi says it may not be good for his trading business.”

Puzzi’s trade ventures mainly went north on the Tigris. War with Akkad would shut him down, at least temporarily.

“Yes, it will be war. It’s about time those barbarians in Akkad learned their place. It’s because of their threats that Jamshid is forced to pay so much gold. King Shulgi intends to wipe them from the earth, to avenge the insult to his father.”

En-hedu never stopped working, but she kept her ears open. Of course, everyone in Sumer talked about the coming war, but no one knew
anything for certain. The soldiers in and around Sumer had not received the call to arms. Training continued, and recruiters still scoured the countryside, but none of the early signs of war she and Tammuz watched for each day had occurred. No demands for extra cattle to be herded north, no movement of grain from the city’s well-stocked storage places, no large movement of troops out of the camps. Without these and other preparations, war remained only a threat, not something real.

Yesterday, the messenger from Akkad had departed Sumer with little more information than what he’d carried the month before. Still, in the next day or two, En-hedu knew she would learn all about King Shulgi’s dinner. Whatever Shulgi and his half-sister said or did was soon whispered throughout the city.

The conversation between Ninlil and Bikku turned to a new delivery of fine cloth from the east. Nothing more was said about the war, and soon En-hedu finished her massage, thanked Bikku profusely for the privilege of serving her, gathered up her things, and departed, stopping only to collect her fee of two copper coins from the household steward. At least En-hedu had finished the morning massage early enough so that she could look forward to breaking the midday fast with Tammuz. She strolled contentedly through Sumer’s crowded lanes, glancing at all the goods displayed in the stalls and on the tables, and enjoying the warmth of the sun.

A
t the Kestrel, she found Tammuz standing in the doorway, watching the lane. Though he leaned against the door casually enough, she quickened her pace. He seldom waited for her return. Something was wrong. When her husband saw her coming, he disappeared into the inn.

When she stepped inside, her eyes blinking in the dim light, she saw only two skins of ale or wine on the counter. There should have been eight or nine. En-hedu greeted Rimaud, but went directly to their private quarters.

“What’s happened?”

“The docks have been closed since mid-morning,” Tammuz said. He didn’t bother to lower his voice. “Soldiers dragged all the boats onto the shore and posted a guard over everything. No boats of any kind are allowed on the river. Nothing has come down the Tigris since yesterday. I asked the sellers in the marketplace about our goods, but they said all ale
and wine, all food, in fact, is being taken to the king’s warehouses. All the women were ordered to bake extra bread. Almost everything coming into the city now must go straight to the soldiers. Rimaud and I protested to the guards. They knew who we were, and slipped each one of us a skin, just to keep us quiet. But they warned us, there won’t be any more for some time.”