Stealing Sacred Fire (35 page)

Melandra described her teenage
years defensively, although Tiy offered no comment. At the end of
it, she merely patted Melandra’s arm and said, ‘All that fire and
energy poured into a desire to kill. You have much fire, Melandra
Maynard, and one day we shall all see its flames.’

Melandra hesitated, then said,
‘You know why I’m here, Tiy. I am sworn to kill the Fallen
One.’

Tiy sighed. ‘Yes. We are
friends talking across a fence.’

Friends? Melandra hadn’t
thought of that, but realised that over the last couple of weeks
she had spoken to Tiy more than she’d spoken to anyone in her life.
Here was the grandmother she had never known. It was most peculiar
and certainly inappropriate. Tiy was little more than a
devil-worshipper. Why then did her words make more sense to
Melandra than anything her teachers had ever said to her? Tiy’s
opinions gave her new insight into her past. Tiy did not say so,
but Melandra could tell the old woman thought she had been treated
very badly. There had been no love in her life, no excitement, no
childish happiness. These revelations disturbed Melandra greatly,
although she strove to ignore the needlings of doubt that now
pricked her mind. Tiy’s careful words attacked the citadel of
Melandra’s schooling and conditioning, but as yet the walls
remained unbreached. Babylon might act as a narcotic upon the
senses, lulling Melandra into a dreamy state of unreality, but
bitterness still burned hot within her. Tiy would never understand
the reason for it. Melandra knew she would always feel that
Shemyaza had shamed and polluted her to an extent where her own
survival now meant far less than the destruction of the Fallen One.
After what had happened to her, she doubted she could ever return
to the life she’d once had. Here, in the wilderness of the world,
she might hide her dishonour, but among other Children of Lamech in
the States, she felt her defilement would be burned upon her brow
like the mark of Cain. She could never forget the violation in
Istanbul, no matter how dim — or changed — her memories of home
might become.

It was clear to her that
Shemyaza was not yet in the city himself, and she resolved to use
the time before he arrived to ingratiate herself with the
Babylonians. In some way, she must become part of their society, so
that, to a degree, she would become invisible. Perhaps it was no
longer important for her to speak to the king. She realised that at
some point in the future, Tiy might well try to obstruct her work.
Melandra shrank from dwelling upon the consequences of that. It was
not inconceivable that Tiy too might have to be killed. I should
not get too close to her, Melandra thought, but it was difficult
not to respond to the offered warmth and confederacy.

Under any other circumstances,
Melandra might have enjoyed the exotic luxury of Babylon and
treated her stay there as an unusual holiday. She knew there was a
queen and a princess in the city, but never caught sight of them.
Their quarters lay behind cyclopean doors at the end of a wide
corridor roofed in green glass. Melandra was free to wander around
the areas of the palace where the servants, musicians and
companions of the queen were housed, but soon discovered that
guards at the doorways leading to other regions of the palace would
not allow her to pass by. Effectively, she was a prisoner.

In the women’s quarters, she
had her own room. It was of modest size but opulently appointed
with drapes and cushions and a private bath-room. There was a phone
she could pick up to order food or drink, like room service in a
hotel. Outside the long windows to her room was a cloister that
surrounded a pleasant water garden, where the women would sit under
canopies in the late afternoon, brushing each other’s hair, or
painting delicate patterns with henna upon their hands and feet.
The Babylonians were respectful to Melandra, if distant, and
although the women were fond of whispering together and giggling
whenever she was present, they always offered her sweetmeats or
hashish or wine, all of which she refused. She was not invited into
their circle, but they smiled at her, watched her, discussed
her.

Melandra liked exploring the
labyrinth of the women’s quarters. It was decorated with ancient
art — statues and wall paintings — which despite their heathen
nature were fascinating to study. One of the more mature women
noticed her interest and confided to Melandra a secret. Thus, she
discovered that the women had access to a maze-like system of
corridors that wove like a secret web through all the levels of the
palace. Her benefactress told her in halting English of a story
associated with these secret ways. She said that when King
Nimnezzar’s Magian priests had invoked the djinn to help build
Babylon, Queen Amytis and Tiy had trapped one of the elemental
spirits, and ordered them to give the women of the palace entry to
all the places from which the men would bar them. The woman said
that even to this day, Nimnezzar and his male staff were blind to
these ways and were unaware the women watched them in all they did.
Melandra found the story amusing, but gave it little credence. To
her, Babylon must have been built by very human hands. Still, she
was now able to explore the palace more fully and marvel at its
eccentricities and indulgences.

The secret passages led to
screened balconies high above ceremonial chambers, where presumably
the women were free to watch in privacy, without fear of rude male
interruption, whatever proceedings took place there. Whenever
Melandra went exploring, the rooms below her were always empty.

Most impressive of the secret
places was the gallery that ran along one entire side of the
palace’s throne room. Behind its filigreed screen, lay a miniature
hanging garden. Fountains made soft music in ivory pools and
languid ferns hung down to the marble flag-stones. The gallery’s
presence must be entirely obvious to anyone in the room below who
happened to look up, thus proving to Melandra that Nimnezzar
himself must have commissioned the secluded balconies and walk-ways
for his wife. Still, the legends were compelling, and she could
understand why the pagan, superstitious women of Babylon would
prefer to believe in them rather than plain fact.

Melandra had noticed that the
palace itself had moods, which were affected by the lives of those
who lived within it, or perhaps even vice versa. She soon realised
she didn’t have to hear any sounds of activity to know that
something momentous was going on. She could simply feel it.

One morning, she awoke with an
intense feeling of oppression that seemed to have fallen upon her
like a fog some time during the night. After bathing, she wandered
into one of the communal salons, where some of the women were
sitting on cushions, whispering together. They ceased speaking when
she entered the room, their gaze sliding furtively around her.
Melandra smiled, uttered a bright greeting, and went to help
herself to a breakfast of fruit, milk and nuts, putting the women’s
behaviour down to some petty intrigue or quarrel. Perhaps a storm
was brewing, which was affecting everybody’s mood.

Later, as the morning
lengthened, the feeling of oppression lifted somewhat, but was
replaced by a tension. Melandra eventually asked one of the girls
what was going on, but she only shook her head, apparently unable
to speak English. For once — perhaps no coincidence — Tiy was
nowhere to be found.

Melandra prowled the secret
corridors, peeking through lattices, peering round drapes. There
seemed to be fewer people around than usual, but those she did see
hurried about their duties. She knew something was about to happen.
The air was full of the scent of incense, which drifted in enormous
clouds from across the city. Melandra climbed out onto the only
roof to which she’d found access. It was wide and flat and
presumably covered the servants’ quarters, because over a dozen
long washing-lines were stationed upon it, from which a colourful
assortment of laundry hung. Melandra shielded her eyes to gaze out
over the city. She could see the enormous ziggurat of the temple a
mile or so away, its summit shrouded in dense smoke. Tiy had told
her it was the Tower of Babel, and despite her despising of its
purpose, Melandra could not help but be awed by its construction.
It was like an enormous stepped pyramid, its slope punctuated by
wider terraces at certain levels where the entrances to shrines
were situated or outdoor altars. Even from where she stood, the
incense fumes were strong enough to make her eyes sting. She heard
male voices raised in an eerie, wailing chant and a cacophony that
sounded like the cry of goats. A couple of drops of moisture fell
onto her bare arms from the sky, but there were no clouds.

Melandra sensed a presence
behind her rather than felt it, and turned round quickly. A woman
stood behind her, looking as if she’d stepped down from one of the
wall paintings of ancient times. Her apparel, Melandra deduced,
must be a copy of the original Babylonian costume; a long, closely
fitting robe of shimmering green cloth, whose golden fringes
rippled in the slight breeze. Her black hair was squarely cut in an
almost Egyptian style; its braids tipped with brightly-coloured
beads; it could have been a wig. Her arms and throat were adorned
with heavy gold jewellery. The woman was perfectly still and
regarded Melandra through hooded black eyes. Melandra stared back
at her.

After a few moments of intense
mutual scrutiny, the woman spoke. ‘You are the American,’ she
drawled, speaking the words as if they were an insult.

Melandra made no response but
turned back to studying the Tower. The woman came up beside her.
She was shorter than Melandra but was surrounded by an air of
confidence and power that gave an effective illusion of height.

‘What is an American doing
here?’

‘Seeking Shemyaza,’ Melandra
answered shortly. She had no wish to converse with this woman; her
aura of voluptuous sexuality made Melandra feel uneasy.

‘We both know there is more to
it than that.’

‘I don’t think that’s any of
your business,’ Melandra said. ‘I’m here as a guest of the king. If
I have anything to say, I’ll say it to him.’

‘And I am Nimnezzar’s queen. I
am Amytis.’

Melandra’s eyes widened in
surprise. She was annoyed that this intelligence impressed her and
fought an instinct to treat the woman with more respect. She must
use this meeting with care, although she had no idea what honorific
title was due to the queen, or even if it was expected in this
barbarous country. ‘Why won’t your husband see me?’ she asked. ‘I
have come a long way.’

Amytis shrugged. ‘He is a busy
man. Very busy.’

Melandra paused, then forced a
smile. ‘Is there anything you can do to help me obtain an
audience?’

Amytis glanced up at her with
disdain. ‘You must wait until he is ready. He is the Great King,
American woman.’

Melandra abandoned this train
of conversation before she became impatient with it. ‘What has
happened today? It’s obvious that something’s going on.’

Amytis walked to the very edge
of the roof, her sandaled toes hanging over its edge. ‘Why do you
ask? I think you know as well as I do how a woman may learn things
here.’

‘What do you mean?’

Amytis flashed her dark eyes at
Melandra and smiled. ‘Well, as you creep around my corridors, I
follow you. You do not know that I am there. I watch you. I see
your mind working, planning. You think you are dangerous, American
woman, but you are not. You know not in what you meddle.’

‘I know well enough.’

Amytis laughed; a display of
full-throated hilarity, hands on hips. ‘Tiy tells me of you,’ she
said. ‘You intrigue us with your strange, misguided thoughts.’

Melandra realised the futility
of responding to this affront. It would be pointless to rant about
how Shemyaza was the ultimate evil. These pagans were too ignorant
ever to understand that. They were waiting for him to come to them;
their dark god.

Melandra swayed upon the roof
as if the intense blue sky was pressing down upon her. A terrible
loneliness surged unbidden through her mind. She felt abandoned by
God, by Jesus. They were not present in this nest of infidels, but
shut out by unbelief. Melandra could not even remember the last
time she had prayed. How effectively this whore of cities had
drugged her mind. She had eaten of its lotus and lost the memory of
her faith. These revelations came to her as if she’d just awoken
from an intoxicated sleep. What am I doing here? she wondered. How
did I get here? She was so far from home, so far even from what had
happened in London. It was as if she had been led into a desert by
a seductive mirage, only to come to her senses and find nothing
there, with no way of getting back to the point from which she’d
started. She shivered in the hot air. How would she kill Shemyaza
here? Babylon was an alien world, and she no longer had a gun.
Women here would use poison, snakes and scorpions to kill their
enemies. They would use knives, perhaps, or a twisted skein of
their own hair. She was not like the women of Babylon.

Amytis turned to face her. ‘I
have decided to take notice of you,’ she said, and held out a slim,
dark hand whose fingernails were lacquered in dark, shining green
like insect carapaces. ‘Come, we shall go and see what my husband’s
people are so excited about.’

Melandra looked at the hand for
a moment, then saw her own hand within it, enfolded in fingers.
Somehow, she had reached out and been taken.

Nimnezzar sat upon the peacock
throne, his courtiers arrayed around him; the Magians a black
presence in dark-blood robes in a line beneath a canopy. This was a
court of men; no women were present to witness the judgement upon
Shemyaza, seducer of all women.

The men of Babylon were dwarfed
by the immensity of the throne room. Twenty foot statues stood to
attention along its walls, some of them pillaged from the ancient
sites Nimnezzar’s archaeologists had excavated. Some had been
commissioned and represented Nimnezzar and his family.