Gabatha was obesely huge. He wore a short red linen tunic and over it an elaborate open robe, richly embroidered. Around his bulging middle was tied a colorful twisted scarf. The fringes of both tunic and robe were embroidered with metallic thread.
His hair was long and dressed in the shape of a fez, tied back by a knotted cloth. His beard was peculiarly cut; Enkidu realized that it was shaped to take an additional false beard when the merchant went forth on formal occasions. But the face was dominated by what it lacked: the left eye.
This was certainly the man. Enkidu wished there had been more time for him to think out his strategy. Here he stood: alone, weak, without weapon or money. What should he do?
Gabatha was no man to let another carry the conversation. He pushed away the remains of the stuffed duck on his platter and belched loudly. He picked a candied locust off a skewer and popped it into his mouth. Slaves cleared the table and retreated. “Well?”
“I—I have come from the temple of Ishtar on business—”
Gabatha yawned. “I have no dealings with the bitch of Ishtar or her minions.”
“If you mean the priestess Tamar,” Enkidu said angrily, “she is my wife.”
Gabatha scratched his nose, but his eye did not waver. “Ten thousand men have wived her,” he said agreeably. “I myself have—”
“She wouldn’t touch an animal like you!”
“—often seen the clients lining up before her offices,” Gabatha continued imperturbably. “But she and I do not get along. Now: your business?”
“I want to buy a slave from you.” He knew even as he said it that this was not going to work. If only he had been able to enlist Tamar’s help, instead of infuriating her! But there was so little time—if he were not already too late.
Gabatha’s right eyebrow lifted. “For this insignificant matter you disturb me at table? Come to me during business watches, young man, and you can look over my stock.”
“This one is special,” Enkidu blurted out, and realized that this too was a blunder. The events of the day had dulled his wits, on top of everything else. Was it only this morning he had exchanged his last tablet with Amys? He was living in some dream world, where things happened with impossible swiftness, before he had time to think anything out.
“A special slave?”
There was no way of recovering her without identifying her. “Amyitis.”
Gabatha’s eye did not narrow, but Enkidu recognized the same too-gentle reaction he had seen in Tamar. “Amyitis,” Gabatha mused. He tugged at a corner of his beard. “Daughter of Sargan?”
“The same.” Woe, woe!
“Sold to me at public auction just this afternoon by order of the nameless temple. Now just what would your interest be in such a girl? Your special interest—when you did not see fit to bid for her?”
Enkidu, hopelessly unskilled at this sort of thing, thought it prudent to remain silent.
“You are husband to Ishtar—you claim. She did have a tablet posted—but her victim, it seems, was hidden away in the nameless temple.” He studied Enkidu with new interest. “Your name?”
“Enkidu.”
“Of Calah?”
Startled, Enkidu nodded. The merchant had a merchant’s mind for names and places.
“So you are the one that that priest of Marduk…” Gabatha broke off, snorting with laughter. Some moments passed before he suppressed his private mirth enough to resume speech. “Yes, I begin to see a connection.”
Did he guess at Enkidu’s real relationship with Amys?
“What do you want with this chattel?”
…Still Gabatha could have no proof. The marriage tablet was hidden away safely in a hole in a dark wall. No—to this man revenge was more important than silver. Enkidu must school himself accordingly.
“I have a score to settle with Sargan’s house.”
The merchant’s face became as blank as newly-erased clay. “Really?”
“I was Sargan’s prisoner in the nameless temple.”
Gabatha’s eye became a slit. “So?”
He had to make this speech convincing. “It should be quite plain, sir. Sargan had me imprisoned and tortured—even though he knew I had committed no offense whatever against him or his house. He owes me for the damage he has done me. I have no clay tablet to avouch this debt. Therefore I must collect my payment from his house in whatever way presents itself. You are an intelligent man; surely you have some notion why I want his daughter.”
“You are ready to pay out silver to me—and call that repayment against Sargan?”
“The debt is not of silver.”
“You intend to hire her out?”
Enkidu managed to answer without a quaver. “No. I will send her body to Sargan.”
Gabatha leaned back comfortably. “I see. Your idea has its merit. But you need not purchase her from me to achieve your end, since my intent is the same.”
“It isn’t the same. Vengeance is a personal thing. I must torture Sargan’s daughter myself.”
“She isn’t really his daughter,” Gabatha said. “The old fool was obviously enamored of her. He even went so far as to teach her scribe-lore—obviously a waste of effort on a female.” He faced away as though dismissing the intruder. “My facilities are undoubtedly superior to yours.”
“How so?” Enkidu demanded challengingly.
“I have special quarters for rendering willful slaves docile, and a water-chamber if all else fails. I had that constructed the moment this eye of mine was healed enough for me to attend to such matters. Do you know that I came close to losing the sight of the other eye also? Still, I am a reasonable man.”
“You’ll sell her to me, then?”
Gabatha appeared to consider the matter. He seized the dangling end of the scarf at his waist, rolled it between thumb and fingers to wipe off the grease. Enkidu had once seen a playmate throttle a bird with that same motion. His ringed hand reached; the black fingernails closed like a hawk’s talons on a medlar. “Patience, young man.” He bit delicately into the fruit. Satisfied of its ripeness, he took a large bite, savoring it thoughtfully. “I have waited for this day much longer than you have. Even so, I might sell this hellcat to you instead of finishing her off myself.”
Enkidu had to say something, lest his face betray him. “I appreciate your unselfishness in this matter.”
Gabatha looked at him closely. “Your score is with Sargan, and only secondarily with his daughter. Mine is directly with her. You could waylay Sargan as he leaves the temple, or hire Kebar thugs to do it. Why should you come instead for his fair daughter? You think to spare her, don’t you?”
Enkidu was taken aback by the merchant’s abrupt and accurate suspicion. “I have never set eyes on the wench. If she is attractive, so much the better; she will not remain so for long.”
“Ha! You expect me to believe you have the stomach to do the job, when you can’t even lie effectively? You fail by a good margin to look the part.”
“You judge by appearances?” Enkidu made his voice angry. “Then see this!” He stepped to the table, pulled open his tunic.
Gabatha eased forward to examine the welts on Enkidu’s belly. “Expert work,” he remarked.
“These are the marks I bear from Sargan’s torture-master. How do you suppose I entertained myself while I smelted the sizzle of my own flesh?”
“How?” Gabatha asked with some interest.
“I could stand the pain only be devising in my mind some worse and longer agony I would inflict in return, on Sargan and all his household. First those he holds dear—then, when he knows what is coming, Sargan himself. Amyitis would be far more fortunate at your hands than at mine.”
Gabatha seemed impressed—almost. “Very well, then. I’m not one to deny another man his just entertainments. Let us compromise. We’ll attend to her together. That way you’ll save the price of her, and I’ll have the benefit of your superior devisements.”