The Blood Star (15 page)

He made an expansive gesture with his right
hand, seeming to invoke the whole world as his witness.

“No, Prince Tiglath, that is not the
reason.”

“Then what is?”

“We have met before.”

He opened his tunic and, pinching up a fold
of skin over his rib cage, displayed a ragged scar, as long as a
man’s finger.

“You gave me this,” he said, grinning like a
demon. “At Khalule, when we were both no more than boys.”

He paused, as if waiting for a reaction, but
I made no answer. I did not wish to—what could I have said?—yet I
am not sure I even had the power. The blood was running through my
heart as cold as melting snow. In my mind formed the words to the
ancient prayer: “Lord Ashur, deliver me from the vengeance of my
enemies. . .”

But Sesku merely laughed again, bringing his
hand down sharply against his knee, relishing the jest.

“You took me clean off my horse,” he cried
merrily, reaching across to jab with his fingers the corresponding
spot on my own breast. “A boy just come from the marshes, I dare
say I wasn’t much of a rider. I fell straight back over the damn
beast’s tail. At first I thought I had only been thrown, but then I
saw that lance of yours sprouting up out of my chest like a
bulrush--by the gods, what a moment! I can remember lying there on
the ground, staring up at the cloudless sky, half convinced I must
be dead already—such was the end of all that day’s glory—hah!”

He leaned forward. He even put his hand on my
shoulder to draw me towards him. It seemed he was about to impart a
confidence.

“You see, I had run away to join King
Kudur-Nahhunte’s army as a mercenary. My father, the Lord Hajimka,
was a jealous fool who hated me for not being a weakling and
favored another of his sons to succeed him because he took pleasure
in the boy’s pretty voice, the old. . . Ah well, perhaps it is best
to speak as little ill of one’s ancestors as possible, hey? So, I
planned to cover myself with glory among the Elamites. I saw one
battle, and got skewered like a rabbit for my trouble, yet I
returned to my father’s
mudhif
a hero. A man’s reputation is
the greater for having illustrious enemies—this wound was the
making of me, I promise you. When the old king died, I cut the
throat of that effeminate nightingale my brother and took his place
as heir. No one voiced the slightest protest. So, you can see how
it was. I can hardly make myself responsible for the death of one
who has done me so singular a service—you saved my life, Great
Prince. You are the foundation of all my prosperity! Hah, hah,
hah!”

Once more his retainers joined his laughter
and once more the reed mats covering the ground danced under the
blows of their canes, although but few could have had any notion
why. It was expected of them, and so they laughed.

I did not laugh. To laugh would have been
unseemly and, besides, my memories of that battle were perhaps less
agreeable.

“And yet,” I said, pausing to let the
laughter die away, “and yet you sent out men to capture me, as if I
were a quail to be snared in a net.”

“Yes, of course—you must not be offended,
Great Prince.” With his own hand he refilled my cup from a goatskin
bag that rested beside him. “A king must be seen to be a king in
his own domain. You will appreciate it was a question of
prestige.”

“So you had me dragged to your camp like a
captured woman and now, having asserted yourself, you can afford
the luxury of mercy.”

“That is it precisely. I see, My Lord
Tiglath, that you are truly a king’s son, for you understand the
arts of rulership.”

“Then I hope your mercy will extend to my
companion.”

“No—he will die.” He said this quite calmly,
not even glancing at me. “You have committed a trespass, and
someone must be punished for it or my people will imagine me
weak.”

“Did you not see the notch in his ear? He is
a slave, my property, and I sit at your feet as a guest. Your
people will imagine nothing except that you know what is due to a
visitor in your house.”

“There is no notch in his ear.”

“Out of vanity he keeps it hidden with
colored beeswax, but it is there.”

“You permit a slave vanity?”

“He is also my friend.”

Sesku watched me through narrowed eyes, as if
he did not quite believe me, and then shrugged his shoulders
dismissively.

“Very well—it shall be as you say.”

When they dragged Kephalos inside, a hemp
noose still dangling from his neck, he stumbled forward as if his
knees had turned to water. His face was a pale gray and his eyes
glittered with terror. I was certain he would have collapsed if
Sesku’s retainers had not been supporting him by the arms.

They led him to the back of the mudhif, among
the children and servants, and when at last they released him, he
dropped down to his hands and knees, gazing about like a caged
animal. They put food before him, but he merely stared at it as if
he had forgotten its proper use.

“You will pardon me,” I said, rising, “but I
must speak to him.”

Sesku dismissed me with a bored wave and I
made my way among his guests, who sat in tangled knots on every
available cubit of the reed-mat floor, until I could crouch beside
Kephalos. I put my hand on his shoulder. He glanced up with a
start, as if surprised to see me.

“You must not be afraid,” I murmured in
Greek. “These savages have no idea of killing us. They have decided
that we shall be their honored guests.”

“Then they have peculiar notions of
hospitality,” he answered finally, when at last the words no longer
stuck in his throat like splinters of bone.

“Take some food—it is wisest not to offend
them.”

He looked at the bowls of rice and cooked
lamb before him and at last picked one of them up only to set it
down again, his hands trembling, his face, if possible, even a
shade paler than before.

“I am afraid I might gag on it,” he said. And
then, as if an idea had just occurred to him, he clutched my arm.
“You are sure they will not murder us?”

“For the moment they are disposed to
friendship, yet men who are a law onto themselves can be fickle.
Eat the food they offer.”

I began to rise, and then remembered
something.

“I fear I was forced to make you a slave
again,” I said. “I beg your pardon for it, but it was only on such
terms that their king felt inclined to spare your life.”

Kephalos reached up and plucked out the
little triangle of wax that filled the notch in his ear, throwing
it to the ground like the discarded husk of an orange.

“Think nothing of it, Lord. At least they are
respecters of property—I will find what safety I can in that.”

Immediately he took a bowl of rice and began
scooping the contents into his mouth with his fingers. I knew then
that he would be well enough.

I returned to Sesku.

The feast continued until nearly dawn. The
Halufids were not a people much given to drunkenness. Indeed, the
cheapest date wine, or even beer, was enough of a luxury among them
that even a king would hesitate to offer it to every guest who
entered his
mudhif
, and thus, because it is only a pleasure
to grow flushed with drink when all partake of it, and there are no
sober witnesses to disapprove, the celebration of our arrival was a
relatively decorous affair. Perhaps that was why their revels could
wear out the night.

As a special treat, Sesku had provided for
professional entertainment, in the form of a
dhakar binta
, a
boy from another village who had acquired great local fame for his
dancing. He was indeed very skillful, almost more an acrobat than a
dancer, but I found his performance, for which he was dressed as a
woman, even to padded breasts, rather repulsive. He wore his hair
to his waist, had painted his face, and his gestures and carriage
were those of an expensive harlot. Indeed, as Sesku informed me,
the boy would offer his backside to any man who could meet his
price.

Kephalos, I noticed, watched the dance with
great interest. I remembered Ernos, the boy who had once been a
slave in his house, and wondered if perhaps the
dhakar binta
had not found a new patron.

Yet Kephalos himself, as it turned out, was
an object of much admiration. Several hours into the evening, an
enormous woman wearing a red tunic, with gold bangles tinkling from
her heavy arms and a gold ring in the side of her nose, entered the
mudhif
and sat down next to Sesku. Her presence somehow
changed the whole atmosphere of the feast. Gaiety appeared to die
away as men who had been singing and laughing only the moment
before fell into uncomfortable, murmured conversation. It was only
after she had come among us that I noticed the absence of other
women from the feast.

She was of sufficient years to be considered
elderly, although, from her manner, I rather suspect she would have
resented being called such.

“My mother, my father the king’s most beloved
wife, the Lady Hjadkir,” Sesku announced, by way of
introduction—almost, it seemed, by way of apology. He then spoke to
her in her own language, and at last a faint smile crossed her
heavy face and she nodded. Had I been presented to her as anything
less than a foreign prince, I doubt I would have received even so
much as that.

“She enjoys the gift of prophecy,” he said,
turning once again to me. “She is foolish, like all women—more
foolish, perhaps, than most, for even my father was hard pressed to
control her. Yet sometimes the gods are pleased to speak to her
through dreams, and this blessing must be respected. I have been
saved from disaster more than once by listening to her warnings.
And, of course, she is my mother. My Lord, what reverence does a
man not owe to his mother?”

I made some reply, enough to satisfy my host
that I did not think it a weakness in him thus to honor the Lady
Hjadkir, and the matter was allowed to drop.

And gradually, as it will in the presence of
even the greatest evil, the natural cheerfulness of men reasserted
itself. Sesku’s retainers apparently decided to ignore his mother’s
intrusion, as no doubt they had on other occasions, and they took
delight once again in the music of the flute and drum, the dancing
of the
dhakar binta
, and each other’s company.

Gradually, however, I became aware that the
Lady Hladkir and her son were having what sounded like an argument,
and several times I saw her point toward my servant. At last Sesku
turned to me to explain.

“My mother wishes to know for what price in
silver shekels you would sell that slave of yours,” he continued,
fixing me with his gaze almost as if he dared me to laugh, yet at
the same time admitting to the ludicrousness of this infirmity in
one of his own family. “He was caught her fancy and she wishes me
to buy him for her.”

His eyes narrowed slightly—some question of
family prestige was involved here, but of what sort I could only
guess. It was a difficult moment.

After a time I found courage enough to make
the only possible answer.

“Were he in honor mine to dispose of,” I
said, “I would take pleasure in making your lady mother a present
of the rogue. But he is not. He has served me faithfully since I
was a boy, and has made my exile his own. He must serve me or serve
another only as his heart pleases.”

The king of the Halufids translated my reply
for his mother and, strangely, it did not seem to anger her. She
appeared to consider the matter for a time, and then her gaze
returned to Kephalos, who of course was unaware of the impression
he had made. As she studied him her eyes glazed over with
passionate longing.

Again she whispered something to her son, and
then she rose and left us. As soon as she was gone, Sesku began to
laugh.

“You are to send this slave to her tomorrow
night,” he told me finally, when his laughter would allow it. “She
says, as she is a woman, he will never again leave this place of
his own will. For all that he is only a slave, I pity him—and yet,
what would I not give to witness that evening’s entertainment. Oh,
it will be a delicious thing, hah, hah, hah!”

Thus began our sojourn among the
Chaldeans.

“You cannot reach the Bitter River while the
season of flooding is upon us,” Sesku told me. “There is so much
water that even parts of the desert are covered. And there are
storms that appear without warning—it is a bad time. Besides, I
must make arrangements with the kings of other tribes that they
grant you safe passage through their lands. Be patient, and when
the floods subside I will send guides with you all the way to the
Arab trading ports, if that is your wish. But no one would be so
foolish as to guide you now, and alone you would die among the
reeds.”

But in the meantime we were accepted quite as
if we had lived among these tribesmen all our lives. I was honored
as their king’s friend, and no restraints were placed on our
movements.

Unlike the Aryan of the Zagros Mountains, the
Chaldeans hardly yet thought of themselves as one people. So far
they had not found a king like Daiaukka, a man to tell them it was
their destiny to rule the wide earth, and they still worshiped the
humble gods of their ancestors, praying to these for luck in battle
or for a good rice harvest. So when they cast their eyes north to
the Land of Sumer—and this they had done for hundreds of years—they
saw not the empires they might build there one day but only such
plunder as a man might carry home with him after a raid, to be a
rich man all his days.

Not yet, for the armies of Ashur were still
too strong, but one day, when we seemed to falter, this savage
people would find its will in the voice of some great leader and
they would pour out of their marshes like a plague of locusts,
devouring all before them.