And he stood on the same sand, falling into the same abyss. He could do nothing.
The battle had been won. The host understood that the proposed liaison was pointless, even cruel. NK-2 relaxed.
ENKIDU, DO NOT ABANDON ME THUS. WE HAVE VERY LITTLE TIME LEFT. EVERYTHING THAT HAS SUSTAINED ME HAS FALLEN AWAY AND I AM ALONE EXCEPT FOR YOU. ATEN HAS TURNED HIS FACE FROM ME SINCE I DENOUNCED HIM, YET I THANK HIM FOR BRINGING YOU. WE SHALL NEVER SEE EACH OTHER; WE SHALL NEVER BE CLOSER THAN WE ARE NOW. ENKIDU, FOR YOUR SAKE ALSO, BIND ME TO YOU. WE NEED NOT BE ALONE IN THIS. ACCEPT MY LOVE AND GIVE ME YOURS, FOR I CANNOT ENDURE WHAT I FACE OTHERWISE.
No! NK-2 cried. Too late.
They were united by mud tablet in separate and filthy prison cells, invisible and inaudible to each other, with only the rats for witnesses.
I TAKE THIS WOMAN AMYITIS TO BE MY SECOND WIFE, IN THE PRESENCE OF ATEN, THE MERCIFUL.
He regarded the tablet for many moments, then added: I PUT UPON HER FACE THE VEIL.
He replicated his handfashioned seal and passed the tablet to her. She wetted down a section of the hardened surface with her tears and added her own signature. Below that, he discovered, she had added a line: THY LOVE IS AS THE SCENT OF CEDAR WOOD, O MY LORD…
CHAPTER 12.
NK-2 needled his penumbra to the alternate host, desperate for more information. The host was sleeping. But the second time, some time later, he found Sargan alert and was successful. He waited several hours. Then:
In the room of the water-clock the black hood and the white faced the twinkling frieze. Amalek reported to his superior. “The matter of the pretenders has become most urgent. About the young woman…”
“Do not speak of her!”
“Sir, we must. She has been long in the cell.”
“She recanted fully under interrogation!” Sargan said sharply.
“Sir, are you satisfied that her recantal is genuine? Once the threat of torture is removed—”
“That is the heart of our problem,” Sargan acknowledged. “That is why I have not dared dispose of her.”
“Yet even in her cell she could backslide into belief. Should she die with Aten’s name on her lips—”
The white robe jerked. “You did not tell me she was ill! We must get a doctor—”
“She is not ill, so far as I know. But prisoners long away from the sunlight can sicken and die suddenly. She is an extremely dangerous pretender. We both know that there is only one possible way to dispose of such a one, distasteful as it is.” He paused, but Sargan did not respond. “Two offers have been conveyed to us.”
“Her status here has not been advertised!”
“The merchant Gabatha has ways of knowing.”
A bitter laugh issued from beneath the cowl. “I chose Aten because he is a god of life and light and gentleness. Little did I reckon, when Aten chose me, that I should be required to sell human beings to feed the lusts of such animals.”
“All these transactions involving pretenders are distasteful,” Amalek agreed. “Yet better dishonor to ourselves than to our god. The only sure way to destroy her power over Aten is to destroy her spirit before her physical death.”
Sargan had spoken similarly many times before, but the concept seemed empty now. “From whom is the other offer?”
“From the keeper of a house of call on the Euphrates.”
“Then both offers are from Gabatha,” said Sargan tonelessly. “He owns most of those brothels. A shame he doesn’t patronize them himself and dissipate his lusts that way. It galls me mightily to cater to him, particularly in this case.”
“I well understand,” Amalek agreed softly.
“What of the other pretender?”
“The scribe? He has been in isolation many days, and I have shown him the instruments of persuasion, but he does not weaken. He grows more certain of himself, not less. It is as though—”
“As though Aten were with him,” Sargan finished heavily. He sighed silently. “What of Ishtar?”
“The priestess has been most persistent. She has put her marriage-tablet on display in Ishtar’s temple, and she says that unless her husband is freed by the time of the Harvest Festival, she will descend into Hades to rescue him herself.”
“As Ishtar descended into the nether region in quest of her lover Tammuz,” Sargan muttered. “How carefully she calculates. Think you she cares one rotten fig for the pretender as a man?”
“A woman like her?” Amalek smiled grimly. “She is kin to Gabatha in spirit!”
“What a nuptial that would make!” Sargan said, smiling momentarily. “The queen of sex and the lord of lust!”
Amalek almost laughed. Then he became serious again. “She has long searched for a lever with which to pry open our secrets. In this scribe she has found it. This marriage tablet of hers bears the seal of a priest of Marduk as witness—an honest priest. She is now mobilizing her women. She will fortify them with spiced liquor, then inflame them at festival by the re-enactment of Ishtar’s descent—and then lead them screeching to batter down our gates. This would not be the first mystery sect to fall before such an assault.”
“I am aware of the danger,” Sargan said. “The wrath of all Babylon will fall on us if a single one of those holy whores is injured. Yet we cannot release this pretender until he recants.”
“There is also Cyrus.”
Sargan shook his head. “Our problem thus becomes fourfold. Two pretenders, Ishtar, the Persian…”
The priests looked at the wall, and it was as though the surface became a sparkling map, showing the rich valley of the paired rivers criss-crossed by life-giving canals. Already the supposedly impassable northern fortification had fallen to Cyrus, sacrificed by the inept son of the king, Belshazzar. Soon Babylon itself would come under siege for the first time in a hundred years. The city was defended by a series of barricades that even the most powerful forces could hardly hope to storm, but an extended siege would not be pleasant.
“Babylon is impregnable,” Sargan said. “But the Ishtar rabble rouser may use the Persian presence outside our walls to further inflame her women. I am therefore arranging to have most of the temple treasures removed tonight to a secret place outside of the city where they will be safe for the moment.”
“Outside? Impossible.”
Sargan turned to face him. “What do you mean?”
“He is here already. Cyrus. He is encamping beyond the outer wall. The bridge is up and no one is permitted to enter or leave the city.”
“So? Cyrus moves swiftly.”
“The temple and its treasures are vulnerable so long as the pretender remains in his cell.”
“We must act, then,” Sargan said reluctantly. “Tell Dishon to prepare the chamber tonight, and heat the oil. He shall begin on the pretender at dawn.” He stared deep into the wall. “May Aten grant he recant promptly. Only he can save this temple from desecration.”
Amalek nodded. “And about Gabatha’s offer?”
“I knew Gabatha as a boy. Animals feared him. He used to shred the wings of butterflies.”
“Shall I proceed with the arrangements to deliver the young woman into his hands?”
“No!”
NK-2 had picked up enough. If he were to save his primary host at all, he would have to do it within a day. Enkidu would have to recant. After that, he would see what developed. Local events—such as the coming of the Persian conqueror Cyrus—might change the situation. Should the enemy host be killed by the ravaging Persian troops…
Enkidu woke to the spilling light of a stone-oil lamp. The bars against the door banged upward and the cell became bright. Enkidu scrambled to his feet, shielding his eyes. For an instant he had a wild hope that his rescue had come at last.