Books by Maggie Shayne (316 page)

And it happened. She swallowed.

Nathan lowered the glass and grabbed a napkin to dab her mouth clean again. “That was very good. Very good. Do you want to try something a little more solid?”

Nothing. He dipped up a spoonful of the oatmeal and carried it to her lips. Her mouth worked, accepting the food, moving convulsively to take it, grind it, swallow it. Oatmeal dribbled down her chin. It didn’t matter. She needed nourishment.

This was not lucidity. Swallowing was a reflexive action. Her body was hungry, and her brain knew how to accept food. But it was progress. She was reacting, in physical ways, if not mental ones. It was progress.

By the time the bowl was empty, Nathan thought there was as much oatmeal on the outside of Nidaba as on the inside. It stuck in the long tangles of her hair, and coated the front of the hospital gown.

It was high time he get her out of that thing anyway. He’d done some shopping in preparation for her visit. The closet was well stocked. He set the rest of the food aside and hurried into the bathroom to insert the stopper and turn on the faucets of the claw-footed bathtub. The water flowed, covering the bottom and slowly climbing up the sides.

There was no one here to help him with this, he thought, knowing full well that Sheila would probably disapprove. George certainly couldn’t deal with the task. No matter, though. It wouldn’t be the first time he had bathed Nidaba. Only the first time in ... forty-some-odd centuries.

Besides, maybe it would help pull her back to reality. Something had to. Because he damned well wasn’t going to lose her again. Even now, the memory of the first time he suffered such a loss brought him close to despair.

The message had been brought to his chamber early in the day by a temple servant. Eannatum had read the still moist clay tablet inscribed in Nidaba’s unmistakable hand, signed by her own seal, which she wore around her neck. But he didn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it. She loved him. She’d told him so, and by the heavens, he would make her tell him so again.

He threw his robes on haphazardly and ran through the halls of the palace to the rear doors, and through those to the worn roadways of the city. He didn’t stop, not until he stood outside the temple doors, hands braced on his knees, panting for breath, his heart pounding like a
lilis
drum.

He caught his breath and stiffened his spine. She would see reason. He would only need to kiss her once to make her admit the truth. Tugging the doors open, he strode inside, only to be met in the entry corridor by the priestess Lia. She was as pale as a demoness, dark circles beneath her eyes, her skin drawn and taut. She rose from the chair in which she had been sitting, and said, “I have been expecting you, my prince.”

“Where is Nidaba?” he demanded.

Lia’s head lowered and her eyes never met his. “I am sorry. She is gone, Eannatum.”

“Where?” She said nothing, until he gripped her arms and held them hard. “Tell me where she is, by the Gods!”

“I cannot. She refused to tell us where she would go, only that she would serve the Goddess as priestess in another temple, far from here. She took with her a tablet, with the mark of the High Priest Lathor, attesting to her rights to take the final initiation as a priestess of Inanna. And that is what she intends to do, my prince.”

“No.” He let go of the woman’s frail arms and turned slowly away from her. “This is wrong. How could she leave Lagash on her own? I don’t believe it. She couldn’t have struck out on foot, into the desert, alone!”

“There was a caravan passing last night, my prince. She took a mule and rode out to join them.”

He had not wanted the explanation to be so simple. Drawing a breath, closing his eyes, he asked, “Which way was this caravan moving?” His voice was softer now.

“East,” Lia said, after a slight hesitation.

He looked over his shoulder at the woman and wondered if she was lying. And if so, why? “She will not leave me,” he stated. “I will find her, and it matters not how far she has gone. I will have her with me again. And I vow, I will marry none other.”

“I fear it is too late for that, my prince. I only wish it could be as you say.”

“It can be,” he said. “It
must
be.”

But it wasn’t. Oh, he tried. He ordered soldiers and messengers to every corner of Sumer in search of Nidaba. But to no avail.

He could barely tolerate food. Refused to take part in any revelry of any kind. Rarely slept. All he truly did was train for battle, and that simply because it was his only means of exhausting himself to the point where he was too tired to feel the pain. He trained with a sword until he could best every man in his father’s army. He trained until his body looked like that of the mighty one of old, Gilgamesh, who some claimed was half god. And still the pain of losing Nidaba ate at his gut.

One day a trusted soldier, just back from yet another fruitless search, saluted Eannatum with his fist to his palm, bowed his head, and said, “I am sorry, my prince, but this journey, as all the others, has yielded no word of the woman you seek.”

Natum frowned as suspicion tickled at the back of his mind. It had been weeks.
Weeks.
“How is it,” he asked slowly, “that the most powerful army in all of Sumer can expend so much time and energy in such an extensive search . .. only to find nothing?”

“Prince Eannatum, I—”

“No, no. Look up at me, face me as you speak,” Natum commanded.

The soldier, Garon, was his own age. They’d attended
edubba
school together. Garon had been one of the few boys who’d tried to be Eannatum’s friend when the others had shunned him. He knew this man well.

“I do not know how to answer your question,” Garon replied. But when he said it, he looked away, just a quick flicker of his eyes toward the expanse of room behind him, and the doorway at its end.

He feared someone was listening! Eannatum realized it with sudden, startling clarity. And he would fear only one man above his prince.

His king. Eannatum’s own father.

Realizing the danger to Garon should he press him here and now, Eannatum nodded slowly. “I am only frustrated at being thwarted. I know you and your men are doing your best. Go, Garon. Go on home to your pretty wife and your children.”

Garon’s lips pressed together tightly, and he couldn’t seem to look Eannatum directly in the eye as he nodded, saluted again, and turned to leave.

An hour later, when Garon stepped out of his small white house with a water pail in hand, Eannatum was waiting. He stepped out of the shadows near the well, directly into Garon’s path.

The soldier’s head came up fast, and he sucked in a breath.

Eannatum held up a hand. “It’s all right. We are alone now, my friend. No one listening at any doors, or lurking in secret palace passageways. You may speak freely.”

Slowly Garon closed his eyes. “I am sworn to your father, Eannatum. I cannot betray him.”

Eannatum shook his head. “I believe it is my father who has betrayed me,” he said softly. “I believe he conspired to have Nidaba sent away, so that he could more easily convince me to play along with his ambitious plans. All of this is clear to me, Garon. The only thing unclear is where he has sent her.”

Garon licked his lips, glancing from side to side nervously.

“If I were to lead a troop myself, Garon, which way would I lead them?”

Nothing. Silence.

Eannatum impaled the man with his eyes. “I have trusted you above others, Garon. I’ll be king soon. And I’ll need to know who of my men I can trust so fully. I believe you are one of the few. Prove to me that my faith has not been misplaced.”

The soldier bowed his head, expelled his breath in a rush. And finally he spoke. “I have always heard tell that the city of Mari, far to the north, is a sight to behold, my prince. If I were to travel, I believe that would be my destination.”

Nodding heavily, Eannatum closed his eyes. Mari. The temple of Mari was’ one of the most heavily guarded in all of Sumer. It housed great treasures, riches beyond compare. And it was a favored target of Sumer’s enemies.

“Thank you, Garon.” He clapped a hand to the man’s shoulder. “No one will ever know of this meeting. You have my word.”

“They may very well know already, my friend. For I’ve no doubt you were followed from the palace.”

“You give me too little credit. I wouldn’t risk you that way.”

“Not even for her?” Garon asked, looking up. But then he smiled bitterly and lowered his head again. “By Enlil’s wings, Natum, I can’t even blame you. I’d have done the same.”

That he’d slid into the old habit of addressing Eannatum by his casual name seemed to signal a shift in the conversation. A dropping of the pretenses and formalities of soldier and sovereign, a return to the conventions of two young friends.

“I promise that you’ll be rewarded Garon, for your loyalty to me,” Natum told him. “Tell me what you wish, and I’ll see that it’s granted.”

Garon sighed as he looked Natum in the eye. “Fool that I am, I’ve but one wish, my friend. Take me with you on this journey north. Let me bring my regiment. You’ll need us if you hope to return alive.”

Eannatum tipped his head to one side. “Things are that bad in the north?”

“That bad and worse. Ummamite hordes have been gathering for months, just beyond the borders. They prepare for something momentous, Natum. And in the meantime, they amuse themselves with midnight raids on defenseless villages. Mari has had to become a veritable fortress to keep them at bay. The outlying areas have not been as fortunate.”

Eannatum frowned. “Nidaba is not safe there.”

“For a prince, your vision is narrow, Eannatum.
No one
in Sumer is safe just now.”

Was this soldier chastising his future king? No, Eannatum thought slowly. No. This old friend was advising his comrade. And he was right. “My father has told me these things, but I thought he exaggerated the danger... better to persuade me to fall in with his plans.”

Garon nodded. “I can see why you would mistrust him after all he’s done, Natum. But while he’s guilty of a great deal, on this score at least he gave you the truth. The situation is dire.”

“We’ll find a way to eliminate the threat of the Ummamites. Just as soon as I’ve found Nidaba and brought her back to Lagash.”

Garon pursed his lips, as if he had more to say, but refused to say it. “As you wish, my prince.”

Eannatum turned and left him there, his thoughts on his woman, not his country. Not invading hordes and not the security of his people. He was glad Garon had held his tongue, because he didn’t want to hear what the man had to say. Deep down, he knew it full well.

The regiment, some fifty soldiers strong, marched northward with the dawn, much to the consternation of the king. For days they journeyed, marching on foot, a few mounted on the domesticated camels that were becoming an increasingly valuable mode of transportation, though they were still extremely rare in Sumer. Eannatum rode a camel. Garon rode beside him.

The journey was dusty, dry, hot. They crossed vast expanses of barren desert, too far from the shores of the blessed twin rivers to enjoy the life-giving kiss of their waters. By the time they neared Mari, Eannatum’s dark skin had burned, even through the robes he wore. His lips were as parched as dried dates, and each time he blinked he felt sand scratch his eyes. And even then, he smiled when he saw the gleaming walls of Mari rise up in the distance.

“It is late, Eannatum,” Garon said. “The men are tired, and the city gates will not open until dawn. Let us make camp here. There is a small village nearby. That means water, and perhaps even a meal of something besides hard bread and dried meat.”

He stared at the walls ahead. So close. He wanted to ride to that city, to climb those walls and go to her. And yet fear gnawed at his belly. What if she really had left of her own volition? What if she really didn’t want him?

He swallowed hard, refusing to believe it. Gods, it had been so long since he’d tasted her lips. He could almost taste them now.

“Eannatum?” Garon said.

Natum licked his parched lips. “We’ll do as you suggest. It’s a good plan.”

Garon angled his camel toward a stand of
hashur
trees, where a spring bubbled with life. Then he held up a hand and shouted an order. The parade of men came to a halt, and the weary soldiers began to make camp.

It was near midnight, and the men’s bellies were full, their thirsts sated, their tired limbs resting at last, when Eannatum
felt
something. He wasn’t certain at first just what it was. Not a sound. The only sounds were those of the desert night. A jackal, yipping incessantly. A night bird’s cry. The all but silent flapping of a pair of giant wings. The squeal of a bat. The bubbling of the spring. It wasn’t a sound that woke him, made him sit bolt upright, frowning. It was something else.

A sense.

Then a vague vibration of the ground. As if a great thundering herd of cattle were pounding over it some distance away. He nudged Garon with his foot, and the soldier was on his feet instantly.

Only then did the sounds come. Shouts, battle cries, screams. Flickering torches took form in the distance, some arching through the night as they were flung.

“The village!” Natum shouted. “It’s under attack!”

Garon’s men came awake at once, as Garon shouted orders, and as one they rushed to defend the village. Of that battle, Eannatum remembered very little. He armed himself with a massive spear, a heavy shield, a club, and he surged into the fray. He recalled darkness, dust, smoke, fire. He recalled a wall of men, Ummamites, too many of them to number. And he recalled the blow to his head that rendered him useless.

He woke to the dawn.

Blinking his vision into focus, he managed to take stock. He was on his back on the ground, with the desert sunrise searing his eyes in their sockets. He was assailed by the scent of blood, of death. He looked around, and saw them, villagers, soldiers, women, children—bodies were scattered in every direction. The village was gone, except for smoldering remnants of what had been serene homes.

He heard sobbing, wailing, saw an old woman holding the lifeless body of a child to her breast.

“Eannatum, you’re alive!”

He turned toward the sound of Garon’s choked voice.

The man limped toward him, his face black with soot and smeared with blood. “I seem to be,” Natum said, as Garon grasped his hand and pulled him to his feet. “And I’m glad to see you are as well. But this ...” He looked around again at the horror surrounding them. The anguish of the few survivors was heavy—a sodden blanket weighing him down, thickening the very air. They were his people, and their pain, his pain.

“This is happening daily up and down the northeastern borders of Sumer,” Garon said, his voice grim.

More voices reached him now, and Eannatum saw a group of people approaching from Mari. Men, women, priests and priestesses. They fanned out among the dead and wounded to help the survivors. And at last, he saw the face he’d dreamed of nightly for so long—the beautiful, sculpted features of Nidaba, as she broke away from the others and ran toward the old woman who cradled the dead child. He heard her cry out. Heard the pain in her voice clearly, and felt it even more vividly in his heart.

His eyes burned as he watched her embrace the old woman and gently take the child from her arms. “See to your wounded, Garon,” Natum said softly. And he moved forward until he stood behind Nidaba.

She lay the child down on the ground, her back to him, and she gently reached up to smooth a lock of dark hair away from the girl’s still elfin face. “She did no wrong, this child! She did no wrong.” Kneeling, Nidaba tipped her face skyward and opened her arms to the heavens. “Go in peace, child. Go into the bosom of Inanna, and there find healing and love. Go now. Linger in this pit of death no longer.”