Watson, Ian - Novel 16 (30 page)

 
          
However,
the ruffian stirred. ‘Hey, you! What’s the hurry?’ Two shakes of a lamb’s tail
later, the man was confronting Alex. ‘Look at me!’

 
          
‘Buzz
off, beggar. I haven’t a bean for you.’

 
          
‘There’s
something wrong here. You remind me of . . . Why were you walking along so
jaunty-like, when you’ve obviously been whipped within the week? Run away
again, have you?’

 
          
‘Certainly
not. I have permission from my mistress.’ Alex fumbled for the tablet;
encountered the knife, which Thessany hadn’t taken back. His hand froze. ‘It’s
here somewhere.’

 
          
‘Why
should you show a beggar your permission?’

 
          
‘To
save you a whipping for making a stupid mistake. Whippings hurt.’

 
          
‘Naw,
you know who I am all right. You’ve disguised yourself as a slave. Hell, you’ve
been branded. What happened to you? Why didn’t you come to the palace? Why are
you pretending?’ There was still a note of doubt.

 
          
‘I’m
not whoever you suppose. But
that's
my mistress’s mansion which you’re spying on! I think you’re a thief; I’ll
raise hue and cry.’

 
          
‘Don’t
waste your time and mine.’ The ruffian delved in his rags and produced - not a
knife, but his own tiny clay tablet inscribed in Greek and cuneiform, stamped
with the royal seal of Alexander. ‘See this? Palace police.’

 
          
‘Stolen,
no doubt.’

           
‘You’re a rum one. It
is
you, isn’t it? If it weren’t for that
damn brand!’

           
‘I am
not
- ’

           
‘What about the scroll?’

           
‘What scroll?’

           
‘You know very well.’

           
‘Some play by Sophocles, perhaps?’

           
‘You
know what’s in it.’ The ruffian’s emphasis suggested that
he
didn’t know. Whatever subsequent enquiries had been conducted in
the bowels of Babel must have run into a brick wall.

 
          
‘This
is quite absurd. I shall report you.’ Alex walked on, his back naked to any
knife; however, he reached the doorway safely.

 
          
‘Doorkeeper!’

           
The lame black man stomped out from
his cubbyhole. ‘Well, I don’ know. The brazen cheek of it!’

           
‘I was . . .’

           
Accosted.

           
The ruffian had vanished; doubtless
up the alley. ‘Summ’ning me out as if you’re some fine gen’l’man! You get your
ass in here and no nonsense.’

 
 
          
In
which Belle and Shazar feast, though
 
the writing is on the wall

 
          
Since
Marduk’s wedding celebrated the annual spiritual renewal of the city,
festivity spilled from the temple as from a fountain. The whole of the huge
courtyard was filled up with dancing devotees of the god, drunks suckling on
free wine and beer, family parties picnicking, the roasting of oxen and pigs,
barbecuing of pheasants and peacocks, many bands of musicians, marquees of
Ishtar, tents of Sin, booths of Shamash, satyr players and off-duty soldiers,
as well as with a mini-exodus from Babel: of tipsy Chinese poets, lithe yogic
Indians, Phoenicians who worshipped Marduk as Baal, Hittites, Egyptians,
Italians, Huns. The ramps of the ziggurat were so crowded that the edifice
resembled a sports stadium of the distant future. By tradition only the Jews of
Babylon stayed away, conducting a day-long anti-celebration of their own on the
quayside.

 
          
Thessany’s
group arrived a full double hour before the noontime start of ceremonies. (This
was to be a day of no siesta; good Babylonians should not sleep through the
period of renewal.) Thessany herself walked arm in arm with Ningal-Damekin,
both robed in pink silk and painted up to the nines. Praxis and a groom
preceded, armed with sword and club. Anshar and Alex brought up the rear. The
abuse done to Alex’s back had faded by now. Concealed under his kilt were: the
little scroll, and Gupta’s magic word of invisibility.

           
Progress was slow. When they reached
the first level of the ziggurat, guards scrutinized the tablet of invitation
carried by Praxis and admitted three to the balefully lit red cavern: Thessany,
her aunt, and Alex. Praxis, Anshar, and the groom would amuse themselves
elsewhere. Together with other guests and retainers, Thessany, Ningal-Damekin,
and Alex descended to the vast chamber below, the Hall of the Bull.

 
          
Today
hundreds of torches and lamps were lit; and in the man-size holders on either
side of the bull two leg-size candles flamed steadily. No fire yet burned below
and inside the bull, but kindling and sandalwood logs were in evidence, as
were pots of oil to speed combustion.

 
          
Trestle
tables bowed under cheeses and cold joints of venison, bowls of dates and figs,
whole fishes in aspic, wine and sweetmeats, hills of bread. Many stools were
already claimed. No one was eating as yet, but drinking had commenced. Great
was the rumour of conversations, though not noisy enough to drown the beat of
the kettledrums from the gallery, the ripple of harps, the whistling of
ocarinas.

 
          
On
a throne before the bull sat a red-headed woman, glamorous and shapely in a
green gown. Her cheeks were painted silver; the bush of fire which was her hair
supported a diamond coronet. A twin throne beside hers stood empty. Most of the
time she gazed radiantly at the assembling guests; occasionally a sour,
mournful expression crossed her face. She was last year’s bride, Mrs Marduk of
the past twelve months, the goddess Zarpanit enjoying the final hour of her
reign.

 
          
It
was she, at the height of the feast, who would rip all the veils from the new
Zarpanit, stripping her naked - briefly - before the eyes of all beholders.
Marduk would snatch the coronet from his ex-consort; immediately she would
hasten off, bound for the Underworld. The god-priest would crown his new queen
and goddess and throw a cloak around her. The feast would continue.

 
          
Below
the altar slab a small laden table awaited, with two carved chairs as yet
unoccupied but reserved for Shazar, priest of Sin, and for the bride-to-be.

 
          
‘If
only there were ushers to assure us a place of honour!’ Ningal-Damekin
complained.

 
          
Thessany
said distractedly, ‘Everywhere’s a place of honour today, Aunt. Even my slave
could sit with us, if I gave leave.’

 
          
‘I
want him to. Very wise! Otherwise we might have greedy neighbours. I think . .
. over there! By the baron of beef. Come along.’

 
          
Thessany
resisted. ‘Slave,’ she told Alex, putting a peevish malice into her voice, ‘you
may
not
sit with us. Go and stand by
the wall.’

 
          
‘How
perverse!’ exclaimed Aunty.

 
          
Alex
bowed and filtered away through the crowd.

 
          
Magi
were strutting about making final arrangements. Temple slaves with the lion
tattoo on their foreheads were conveying more wine and last-minute dishes,
aided by slaves who must be Shazar’s since their tattoo was a crescent moon.

 
          
With
a polite, ‘Pardon me, Lord,’ Alex lifted a plate of candied quince and carried
it off so as to look busy.

 
          
For
what seemed an undue hollow volume of time he loitered at various points along
the wall beneath the gallery, mingling whenever possible; till at last he saw
the black-bearded, beehive-turbaned Shazar emerge from behind a far banner,
leading a figure heavily veiled from head to foot. For a while now no

 
 
          
more
guests had been descending the grand stairway. Alex sidled to the nearest
trestle-top and deposited his plate. As the priest of Sin and the hidden
Deborah seated themselves in the carved chairs, a gong boomed from the gallery.

 
          
Hoping
he wasn’t acting precipitately, Alex burrowed for Gupta’s bit of paper, broke
the seal, and read aloud:

 
          
‘Ziggy-Zaggy-Zu,

           
No
sight of you!’

 
          
His
body twitched electrically. His flesh squirmed as though hairy caterpillars
were crawling all over him. Wriggling and shimmying, he scaled the steep stairs
leading to the gallery. He writhed his way past harpists, drummers and ocarina
players. How odd that no one batted an eyelid, when he felt like a victim of
Saint Vitus’s dance.
That's because I'm
invisible. Nobody can see me. I must have faith.

 
          
Next
to the gong-percussionist stood a mage, his attention on events below. Just
beyond was a decorative wall-boss which Thessany had assured Alex would
conceal the piece of
tekhne.
He
twitched past and examined the boss. Three holes burrowed into it. He stuck his
fingers into these and twisted. The boss came loose.

 
          
Then
the gong boomed - BOONG! - and his heart thumped like a drumskin. The din was
so close!
Boong
,
boong
,
boong
, went the
gong as if striking the hour.
Boong
,
boong.

 
          
He
risked a glance. Marduk was striding towards his throne.

 
          
The
last gong-beat died slowly. The whole hall was quiet.

 
          
Alex
heard Marduk’s voice hailing his guests, but he no longer looked. In the hollow
behind the boss was
tekhne
familiar
from some misty future age. He fingered a black plastic surface, a cassette
slot. He delved for the little scroll, thrust it into the mouth within. And
crouched, harking to Marduk. His whole body continued wobbling.

 
          
‘.
. . shall be a holy sacrifice
^!’

 
          
A
gasp rose from the audience; and chatter, quickly stilled.

 
          
‘.
. . child of Babylon shall burn within my bull . . .’ No, Alex was none too
soon! He jabbed a button and a little red eye glowed.

 
          
Hastily
he replaced the boss. Mage and gongman were even more intent on the spectacle
below. Alex let his body jiggle him away.

 
          
He
missed much of the apparition; he was still shivering his way past musicians,
then squirming downstairs. He heard a much greater gasp, then a louder,
thunderous voice crying woe.

 
          
As
he slunk away from the curtain which hid the stairs, all backs were turned to
him. Everyone was staring transfixed at a radiant, giant Marduk who stood by
the bull, dwarfing his human counterpart by a head and shoulders.

 
          
‘.
. . without abuse of power!’ proclaimed the godhead. Did the voice issue from
inside the bull close by? ‘Bear this sad victim away unburnt, and let there be
joy!’

 
          
A
cowering mage was holding a slumped child in his arms; a boy of four or five.
The boy must have been drugged, but he wasn’t unconscious; his head lolled from
side to side. By now Alex’s own palsy was abating.

 
          
‘No
one god shall dominate the council of the gods by blood! I am but the first
amongst equals! Rejoice! Renew our city.’

           
Thessany’s father had adopted a
bland, attentive look. Deducing that the harangue was finished, he bowed to the
apparition. At the same moment the
holographos
vanished so that he was left bowing to thin air.

 
          
Gossip
and rumour welled in a flood tide. Quickly Marduk spoke to the mage, who
hurried the floppy boy away; then he gestured up at the gallery. The gong
hoonge
d, silencing most guests.

 
          
‘Our
god has shown himself to me,’ Thessany’s dad cried out. ‘This sacrifice was
ordered by the god to test obedience to his will. Now the god has interceded
mercifully. Marduk is the stern ruler, but he is also generous. Did he not just
tell you to rejoice? Begin the feasting! This next year will be fruitful!’

 
          
The
guests, who had been working up an appetite with wine for ages, needed little
encouragement to commence gorging themselves; though they talked as they ate.
How they talked, chewing over the scandalous mystery!

 
          
Marduk
took to his throne beside his consort, soon to be deposed. He drank; he
consulted with magi - suddenly a kerfuffle occurred in the gallery, though
harps and ocarinas carried on playing. He waved Shazar over; they whispered
together. Then Shazar returned to his table and ate lustily. Deborah’s veils -
and perhaps nervousness - prevented her from partaking. Soon Marduk perked up.

 
          
Alex
kept an eye on the whereabouts of magi and temple slaves so as to avoid
encounters if he could. Hardly anyone was using the grand stairway, otherwise
he might have tried to sneak up it, and out. Lose himself in the crowds.

 
          
What,
leave before the main scene of the wedding? He had almost forgotten about it. .
.

 
          
The
wood under the bull was drenched with oil and lit. Furnace light blazed from
within; smoke issued from the nostrils - but no screams of agony from anyone
penned in the bronze beast’s back.

 
          
Dancers
cavorted, snaking rainbow ribbons and white veils behind them.

 
          
Within
fifteen minutes the tables had been stripped as by locusts. Lack of a stool at
table deterred none of the stand-up spectators from raiding the boards - Alex
spied Ningal-Damekin in hot altercation with one hungry wolf who had descended
on her fold. But it might attract attention if a branded slave began snatching
food. It took only one Aunt Damekin to kick up a fuss. So Alex merely moved his
empty mouth from time to time as if munching. He lurked by one or other of the
massive pillars, though never for too long. He mingled whenever a sizable knot
of people gathered. He noticed Lord and Lady Gibil and Muzi seated nearby, and
avoided them.

 
          
A
mage carried a black cloak to the altar. Marduk rose. The gong boomed. Shazar
stood and ushered his veiled companion forward. The red-headed woman rose from
her throne, one hand caressing it lingeringly in farewell.