Creation (15 page)

Just inside the first gate, Mardonius was greeted by the city’s actual governor and his retinue. For obvious reasons, the identity of Xerxes and myself was kept a secret. We were simply the companions of the third month’s governor.

After the ritual offering of bread and water, we were escorted along the processional way. This impressive avenue is paved with well-fitted slabs of limestone. On either side of the processional way, the walls of the buildings are covered with enameled tiles depicting lions.

To the left of the processional way is a temple to some devil-god; to the right is the so-called new palace, built by King Nebuchadnezzar in fifteen days, according to the local people. The last of Babylon’s hero-kings, Nebuchadnezzar drove the Egyptians out of Asia; he also conquered Tyre and Jerusalem. Unfortunately, like so many Babylonians, he was religion-mad. I daresay he had no choice: the priests of Bel-Marduk control the city, and no king of Babylon is really king until he dresses up as a priest and takes, literally, the hands of Bel, which means he must grasp the hands of the golden statue of Bel-Marduk at the great temple. Cyrus, Cambyses, Darius and Xerxes each took the hands of Bel.

Most of Nebuchadnezzar’s last days were engaged in religious ceremonies during which he often pretended that he was the sacrificial goat. On one occasion he got down on all fours and ate grass in the high gardens. But unlike the usual goat, he was never actually sacrificed. Some fifty years before our visit in Babylon, he died, raving mad. I have never met a Babylonian who did not enjoy talking about him. He was their last true king. Incidentally, he was of ancient Chaldean stock as is—I am as certain as one can be without any proof at all—the family of Spitama.

Thirty years after Nebuchadnezzar’s death, Cyrus was welcomed to Babylon by the antipriest party, an association of international merchants and moneychangers who had deposed the last king, a dim figure named Nabonidus. Because this very odd sovereign was interested only in archaeology, he was usually to be found not at Babylon but out in the desert, digging up the lost cities of Sumeria. Because of the king’s total absorption in things past, the priests assumed charge of things present. They governed the state, and let it go to ruin or, properly speaking, to glory, since it went to Cyrus.

We were assigned splendid apartments in the new palace. Directly beneath our quarters was the stone bridge that connects the left and right banks of the city. Each night the wooden sections of the bridge are taken up so that thieves may not cross from one side to the other.

Under the river, Nebuchadnezzar constructed a tunnel. This remarkable work of engineering is about twenty feet wide, and almost as high. Because of constant seepage from the Euphrates, the floor and walls are alarmingly muddy and the air is foul not only from the oxen who draw the carts but from the smoking pitch torches that each traveler is encouraged to rent as he enters. I was short of breath by the time we got to the other side, and Xerxes said that he felt as if he had been buried alive. Nevertheless, the tunnel has been in use for half a century without incident.

Our apartments were at the top of the new palace, some four stories above the city. From a central loggia we had a fine view of what the Babylonians call a ziggurat, or high place. This particular ziggurat is known as the House of the Foundation of Heaven and Earth. It is the world’s largest building, dwarfing even the greatest of Egypt’s pyramids—or so the Babylonians like to tell you. I have never been to Egypt.

Seven enormous cubes of brick have been set one atop the other. The largest cube is the base; the smallest the peak. A staircase goes around the whole pyramidal shape. Since each level is sacred to a different divinity, each is colored accordingly. Even by moonlight we could make out the ghostly shining blues and reds and greens of the various sun and moon and star gods.

Close to the ziggurat is the temple of Bel-Marduk, a complex of huge mud-colored buildings and dusty courtyards. The temple is of no particular external beauty save for the tall bronze doors to the room of the god. In fact, there is only one remarkable thing about the temple: it is supposed to be in no way different from what it was three thousand years ago. The true god or spirit of this city is immutability. Nothing is ever allowed to change.

It is a pity that so few Athenians ever visit Babylon. They might be able to learn humility at the thought of time’s long duration, and of the shortness of our own petty days—not to mention works. In the presence of so much history, it is no wonder that the black-haired people live so entirely for pleasure in the here and now. All in all, Babylon is a place well calculated to depress the ambitious. Certainly none of our Great Kings ever really liked holding court there. It was Xerxes, finally, who discontinued what had been an annual practice since Cyrus.

The governor of the city had prepared a banquet for us in the gardens on top of the new palace. These celebrated gardens were created for Nebuchadnezzar. First, the engineers built a series of colonnades strong enough to support earth six feet deep. Then, trees and flowers were planted to make happy a queen homesick for—of all places!—Ecbatana. Finally, mechanical pumps were installed. Day and night, ceaselessly, buckets of water from the Euphrates nourish the high gardens. As a result, even in the heat of high summer, the gardens are always green and cool. I must say that to sit in a grove of pine trees on top of a palace surrounded by palm trees is a pleasure like no other.

For the first time in our lives, we were free men, and I remember that evening as one of the most magical that I ever spent. We reclined on couches beneath what looked to be by moonlight solid silver wisteria. To this day, I can never smell wisteria without recalling Babylon—and youth. No, Democritus, the sight or feel of silver does
not
stimulate memory. I am not a merchant or a banker.

The city’s governor wore a gold turban and carried a staff of ivory. Although he knew who Xerxes was, he managed to contain that terror which the Great King and his sons so often inspire. A most solicitous host, he produced for us a dozen girls, well trained in the arts of Ishtar.

“The satrap Zopyrus is at his house upriver, young lords,” said the governor. “He has been ill for some months. Otherwise he would have greeted you himself.”

“Send him our compliments.” Mardonius played with gusto the role of governor, while Xerxes and I pretended to fawn on him in the best court tradition. Later we agreed that it was a lucky thing that we had not been received by the satrap, since he would be obliged to kiss the Great King’s companions, and Zopyrus, of course, had no lips—or nose or ears.

When Darius laid siege to Babylon the second time, the city had withstood him for nearly two years. Zopyrus was a son of one of The Six, and an officer in the Persian army. Finally Zopyrus asked the Great King how much the possession of Babylon meant to him. A somewhat simple question, I would have thought, after nineteen months of siege. When Darius acknowledged that the city was all-important to him, Zopyrus said that he would make the Great King a present of Babylon.

Zopyrus called in a butcher and ordered him to cut away his ears, lips and nose. Then Zopyrus defected to the Babylonians. Pointing to his ruined head, he said, “Look what the Great King has done to me!” He was believed. In that condition, how could he not be?

Eventually Zopyrus was taken into the high counsels of the priests who governed the city. When food was in short supply, he advised them to kill most of the women in order to leave sufficient food for the soldiers. Fifty thousand women were killed. Then, one night, when the Babylonians were celebrating one of their religious ceremonies, Zopyrus opened the Nannar Gate and Babylon was conquered yet again.

Darius’ justice was swift. Three thousand men were crucified outside the walls. A number of. gates and a part of the outer wall were torn down. In order to repopulate the city, Darius imported thousands of women from various parts of the world. At the time of our visit the foreign ladies had already done their work, and most of the city’s population was under sixteen-years of age.

As custom required, Darius took once more the hands of Bel and became—once more—legitimate king of Babel, as the nation was known. He then made Zopyrus satrap for life. Curiously enough, I met his grandson only a few days ago in the Agora. He is a merchant, he told me, and “no longer a Persian.” I said that he would always be the grandson of the man Darius called the greatest Persian since Cyrus. Well, we are not responsible for our descendants. Ironically, this grandson is called Zopyrus; he is the son of Megabyzus, until recently Persia’s finest general.

“Where is the treasure of Queen Nitocris?” Mardonius was in a playful mood.

“I swear to you that it is not in her tomb, Lord.” The governor’s manner was so serious that we could not help laughing.

“As the Great King discovered.” Xerxes drank cup after cup of beer. He could drink more than any man I have ever known, and show it less. I should note also that at nineteen, he was remarkably beautiful, and that evening, by moonlight, the pale eyes resembled moonstones and the new beard was like Scythian fox fur.

“How,” I asked, “was it possible for a woman to be the ruler of this country?”

“Because, Lord, certain of our queens used to pretend that they were men, in the Egyptian fashion. And of course, the goddess Ishtar is a man as well as a woman.”

“We shall want to see her temple,” said Xerxes.

“Perhaps the famous treasure is hidden there,” said Mardonius. Looking back, I now realize how well Darius had understood the youthful Mardonius. The joke that Darius had made about the possible acquisition of a fortune in a month’s time was seriously intended. The Great King knew even then what it took me years to learn—that my friend Mardonius was a most avaricious man.

Xerxes wanted to look at the queen’s tomb, which is above one of the city’s gates. On the inner wall of the gate is carved the sentence: “Should any future ruler of my land be in need of money, let him open my tomb.”

Since Darius always needed money, he had ordered the queen’s tomb opened. Except for the queen’s body, preserved in honey, there was nothing in the sepulcher except a stone tablet on which she had written: “Had you been less greedy and importunate, you would not have turned graverobber.” Darius personally threw the queen’s body into the Euphrates. This was not a tactful thing to do; but he was very angry.

The governor assured us that the treasure of Nitocris was simply legend. On the other hand, though he did not mention the fact, what looked to be most of the gold in the world was on view in the temple of Bel-Marduk.

Years later Xerxes removed all the golden objects from the temple, including the statue of Bel-Marduk. He then melted everything down in order to make darics—gold coins—to pay for the Greek wars. Predictably, modern-day Babylonians like to say that Xerxes’ later troubles were due entirely to this sacrilege, which is nonsense. As it was, Cyrus and Darius and the young Xerxes made far too many concessions to the numerous local gods of the empire. Although our Great Kings shrewdly allow the people to worship local deities, they themselves ought never to acknowledge any god other than the Wise Lord. Half-Truth is equal to whole Lie, said Zoroaster.

Zopyrus proved to be the perfect host. He remained in his house upriver, and we never saw him. Disguised as ordinary Medes, we were free to explore the city. Needless to say, the guards were never far from Xerxes; Queen Atossa had seen to that. In fact, she had even gone to Darius and begged him to keep Xerxes home. But since a promise made by the Great King, cannot be unmade, Atossa insisted that she at least be allowed to select Xerxes’ guards. She also made me swear to keep an eye on Mardonius. She thought him capable of killing Xerxes, and nothing that I could say would convince her to the contrary. “The boy’s father is Gobryas. The boy’s nephew is Artobazanes. That’s enough. This is a plot. The moment my son is alone in Babylon ...” But for once, Atossa was wrong. Mardonius was devoted to Xerxes. More to the point, he disliked his father and felt nothing for his nephew Artobazanes.

Like every visitor to Babylon, we went straight to the temple of Ishtar, where the women prostitute themselves. According to an ancient law of the land, each Babylonian woman is required to go, once in a lifetime, to the temple of Ishtar and wait in the courtyard until a man offers her silver to make love to him. The first to offer her the money gets her. In other temples to-the goddess, young men and boys act as prostitutes, and the man who goes with a temple catamite is thought to have earned himself the special blessing of the goddess. Luckily for the Babylonian male, he is
not
required once in a lifetime to be a temple prostitute. Only the ladies are so honored.

Wide-eyed, the three of us stood at the edge of the outer courtyard. Perhaps a thousand women of every size, shape, age, class were seated on the ground in the hot sun. There were no awnings. The portico at the far end of the courtyard is reserved for the languid temple eunuchs, who see to it that the visitors do not stray from the lines which have been drawn on the ground. Each man is obliged to keep to a given line. Otherwise the confusion would be too great. Between the lines, the women sit.

Strangely enough, Babylonian men seldom visit the temple. I suppose that they are used to it. Also, they must experience a certain embarrassment at the sight of their wives or sisters or daughters serving the goddess. Fortunately, a sufficient number of strangers come from every part of the world to help the ladies achieve Ishtar’s blessing. In single file Xerxes, Mardonius and I followed a line that led through a flock of seated women. We had been warned that those who appeared to be enjoying themselves are actual prostitutes, pretending to serve Ishtar yet again. Attractive as they sometimes are, these women are to be avoided. To be preferred are the women who look rather soulful and grave, as if they have somehow detached themselves from those bodies that they are offering up to deity.

Since most of the men who come to the sacred precinct are singularly unattractive, I can see what a joy it must be for an ill-made baker, say, to get for one piece of silver the beautiful daughter of some distinguished lord. As it was, even for a handsome trio of Persian princes—I inflate my rank—the situation was highly pleasurable. Also, because we were young, we got many appealing glances.