Watson, Ian - Novel 16 (32 page)

 
          
To
Thessany’s bower, at some hour approximating midnight, Alex duty crept; feeling
his way up dim stairs, then along a dark corridor.

 
          
He
slipped through the door without rustling the reeds, and immediately met a
heavy inner curtain which Thessany must have hung to baffle any sounds that
might leak out. Once beyond, he could see clearly enough: the bedding laid upon
the floor, the shape beneath the blanket. The blind was up, and a gibbous moon
approaching full painted the part of the room near the window ivory, the rest
as a grisaille.

           
‘I’m here,’ he whispered.

 
          
No
response. She was asleep.

 
          
But
it was Thessany, right enough. (The suspicion had faintly occurred to Alex that
Thessany might instruct one of the maids to use her mistress’s bed, while the
mistress herself slept up on the roof bathed by moonbeams . . .)

 
          
What
to do next? He dropped his kilt and undid his loincloth. Naked, he knelt and
pressed one hand over her mouth.

 
          
Her
body squirmed beneath the blanket. He pulled this aside and pressed his body
against hers. Her hands roved over him, though avoiding his back. She made no
effort to free her mouth. Releasing his hold, he replaced the pressure of his
palm with the pressure of his lips. She kissed, deeply.

 
          
To
his surprise (considering that she was being ravished) she contrived to roll
over and straddle him. He lay beneath while she held his cock and, with some
fumbling, mounted it; and sank down wriggling, enclosing him. She panted as
though in childbirth already - until soon she drew up into her the quick, hot
fountain of his seed. She slumped upon him and they played softly for a while,
she humming at him, he throbbing throatily, two cats purring.

 
          
He
felt wetness. ‘It runs out,’ he whispered.

 
          
‘On
to you. My bed won’t betray me. Now that you aren’t so full of juice, take me
from behind like a beast.’

 
          
So
he did. He stayed with her for an hour, by which time she was dozing. As he
disengaged himself she held on to him, mumbling protests. He kissed her ear. ‘I
must go, or I’ll sleep. Moonlight will fool me. I’ll not know when it’s
dawning.’

           
He dressed and tiptoed through
darkness back to his own pallet beneath the fig tree in the pearly courtyard.

 
          
The
next night he visited her; and the night after. By then he knew without doubt
that they were not merely having sex together; they were making love.

 
          
By
day the house wasn’t quite as hectic as it might have been had Muzi still been
due to take up residence there with his own little entourage; not forgetting
his black hunter-stallion Galla, named for those devils which pursue their prey
relentlessly.

 
          
Even
so, Ningal-Damekin was forever scratching lists on beeswax and striding hither
and thither as stiffly as if saddle-sore. Tradespeople called to deliver food
and wine and to decorate and stack trestles and boards in the yard - the dining
room couldn’t possibly accommodate all the guests. Wedding gifts began to
arrive and were displayed in the dining room: a Chinese dragon vase, a jade figurine
of an imperious lady, twelve cubits of silk, two amphoras of Chian wine, a
handsome leather saddle, a throwing spear; and so on. Gupta sent two mirrors
hinged so that they could look at one another for ever, like the happy couple.
From the temple of Marduk came a bag of gold as dowry.

 
          
The
courtyard and entry had to be swept repeatedly; the chapel must be spruced. In
the kitchen Mama Zabala laboured amidst steam and smoke, generating a mound of
refuse to be hauled away and spread along the street.

 
          
Meanwhile
Mistress Thessany mostly sat in her room, ignoring the fuss and bother,
conceiving - so she told her fraught aunt - a poem.

 
          
The
night before the wedding, as they lay in bed together, Alex asked Thessany,
‘Are you really composing a poem?’

           
‘Yes. But in my head. It’s to be
called
The Whores of Babylon
.’

 
          
‘Will
you recite it to me?’

 
          
‘It
isn’t finished, Alix Phallix. It’ll take nine months.’

 
          
‘Oh,
I see. You can’t
know yet.'

 
          
‘If
I believe strongly enough, that’ll encourage my womb not to shake the true
fruit loose. Incidentally, I ordered Aunt Damekin to invite Gupta to the
wedding. If Gupta’s to be my guru of invisibility, Muzi had better get used to
the sight of him.’

 
          
‘Will
your father attend in person?’

 
          
‘After
all the useful tips I gave him? I should be offended if he didn’t. And Lord
Gibil would feel insulted. Are you wondering, by any chance, whether the new
Zarpanit will be acompanying her spouse?’

 
          
‘Quite
honestly, I’d rather she didn’t.’

 
          
‘She
probably will.’

 
          
She
did.

           
Marduk and Deborah-Zarpanit arrived
at the front door last of all, riding in triumph in a four-wheeled carriage
escorted by three magi and a small squad of soldiers. Courtyard and dining room
were already crowded. The bridegroom and his father were circulating, with
Ningal-Damekin angularly at the latter’s elbow. Thessany was still upstairs,
having her wedding wig bouffanted. In the chapel the magistrate who would
marry the couple was holding court; city gentry were ingratiating themselves,
if they happened to be involved in lawsuits. Alex had been busy replenishing
wine-cups but was now only pretending to, while Gupta chatted to him.

 
          
‘Since
I’ve been honoured by this invitation, I presume that your mission was crowned
with success? But do not tell me what it was!’

           
‘I shan’t, great guru.’

 
          
‘Ha
ha. A very private guru, to one noble lady alone who wishes to slip from her
house unseen. I must take care I don’t become a plaything to a lively lady:
someone on the fringe of society, who will perform dubious missions which no
wise man would stick his neck into - errands which ensure that he must perform
more of the same in future!’ The Indian scrutinized Alex. ‘Have I just hit a
nail on the head?’

 
          
Gupta
as the new Moriel - if he wasn’t careful? Was that the real deep reason why
Thessany wanted him as private visiting guru? With lessons in the art of
invisibility as a mere pretext, a front? Lately Thessany seemed to have
reformed emotionally, but old tricks die hard. Maybe such tricks were vital to
survival - or at least success - in such a milieu as this.

 
          
Gupta
chuckled. ‘Alex, even branded with a lion to distract attention your face is
the least secretive of faces! Don’t worry for my sake. Once you have truly
charmed a cobra of the animal kingdom you can charm most human snakes, even the
most insinuating. We’re all potential cobras down at the base of our spine -
but that’s a long way from the brain, which often fuddles rather than sharpens
instinct by trying to be too clever. The Lady Thessany will learn
more
than invisibility. She will need
to learn clarity. That’s the first essential of invisibility: to become a
transparent pane of glass without blemish. When that happens, you who love her
may also learn clarity.’

 
          
‘Be
quiet! What do you mean?’

 
          
‘If
I’m silent, how can I tell you? Not that I need to! Nor need I be any Pandarus
of your love . . . not when you dwell in her house, and I only visit.’

 
          
At
that moment the god-priest himself strode into the courtyard, arm in arm with
Deborah-Zarpanit, cloaked but not veiled. Three magi followed; two soldiers
stationed themselves at the entrance. From the street you could hear the neigh
of horses and voices of other soldiers.

 
          
Deborah’s
gaze did cross Alex as she accompanied her husband towards the chapel; she
obviously had no notion who he was other than simply a slave. Even if Alex got
close enough to whisper, later, he did not intend to open her eyes to the
truth. To her, he thought, I am invisible. He felt a surge of joy. In that
moment he felt her image vanish from his heart, becoming that of a stranger.

 
          
Thessany,
dolled in white satin and puffed pompa- doured wig, her face painted silver and
gold, descended into the courtyard.

 
          
When
the festivities came to an end, a procession set out. The home which Lord Gibil
had purchased for the newlyweds - a home unseen as yet by Thessany - was in the
new city over the water.

 
          
Thessany
and Muzi rode in one slow chariot, the Gibil parents in another. Anshar, Mama
Zabala, Alex, and a couple of maids followed on foot. Behind trundled carts
and sledges loaded with personal possessions and wedding gifts, pushed or
pulled by hired porters; while an escort of soldiers brought up the rear to
guard such rich pickings from robbers. The soldiers were those who had come with
Marduk; he and Zarpanit had driven back to their temple, accompanied only by
magi.

 
          
Praxis
would stay behind in Scribe Street as major- domo of the empty house, and would
hire a few extra staff to keep it ticking over. Lord Gibil had appointed his
own choice, Muzi’s valet, to Praxis’s position at the new residence. Gibil had
also selected a doorkeeper, since Lady Gibil feared that daily sight of a lame
black man might cast some fatal shadow over Thessany’s womb. The exact future
of the old house was still undecided, though with its secret passage it must
obviously remain Marduk’s. Ningal-Damekin (also remaining behind) declared that
she would use the place as her town house, should she ever reluctantly feel
compelled to tear herself away from country sports.

 
          
Also
in the procession was a Greek doctor, Cassan- der. He had come to the wedding
as Marduk’s guest, leather medicine satchel slung over his shoulder, along with
the libation jar and censer of his calling. Cassander was silvery-locked,
clean-shaven, benign, avuncular. But he had a hook of a nose like some tool for
carving maggots out of people’s feet. During the reception Thessany had engaged
Dr Cassander in flattering banter, to which he seemed amenable, becoming quite
garrulous with wise anecdotes. Propitiation by prospective patients obviously
softened him - so long as his own diagnoses were not doubted; opposition might
bring his stern hook into play. This, then, was the dispenser of the male-child
potion. This was the surgeon who would cut Thessany open to remove her baby
boy, and sew her back together again. He was paying his first house-call, to be
sure where the new house was.

 
          
The
procession made its way to the river road and along past the Euphrates Gate of
Marduk’s temple to the bridge. On the way, from his chariot Muzi tossed
occasional coins to beggar boys who scrambled and scrummaged while their
benefactor shouted, ‘Go to it! Block, and tackle! Down! Dead coin!’

 
          
Once
over the river they made their way along the
Adad Road
which would lead eventually to the westerly
Adad Gate, the gate of storms. At the crossroads with Larsa Street the
procession turned south. Unlike central city properties which were crowded
together directly abutting on to streets, with garden courtyards inside, here
in the suburbs gardens - with high spike- tipped walls - surrounded homes.
(Beyond the west wall of the new city were poor relations of these suburbs,
with mere picket fences of sharpened stakes or thorn hedges protecting
vegetable gardens and mud shanties.)

 
          
The
new house, on a lane some way off Larsa Street, compromised between suburban
living, passable proximity to the heart of the metropolis, and a convenient
exit from the city for Muzi when he would ride out a- hunting - by way of
southerly Larsa Gate, and then the Borsippa Ferry.