Enkidu was trapped. If he refused, he stood exposed; if he accepted, he would have to participate. Either way, Amyitis would die horribly. Gabatha had maneuvered him very neatly.
“I’ll consider it,” he said finally.
The merchant stood ponderously. “Those irons should be ready by now. Right this way.”
Enkidu could do nothing but follow, filled with gloomy forebodings.
NK-2 tried to extend again, but the enemy presence was even stronger. This was increasingly hopeless. The host would not be diverted from his futile quest, and NK-2 could not even verify whether the girl supported an entity. At this point it made very little difference: TM-R was drawing near, and would not let him escape a second time.
At the end of the hall an armed eunuch guarded a blank door.
Amys’ new cell.
At Gabatha’s orders the guard quickly unbarred the cell entrance. What, Enkidu wondered sourly, would civilization ever do without eunuchs?
A brazier glowed within, its light smoke suffusing the room before winding its way up through a ceiling vent. Beyond that hole Enkidu saw the faintest twinkle of a few early stars. He wondered briefly whether the star of Ishtar was among them. No, the angle was wrong; but he did seem to hear a faint clamor of female voices. Probably Gabatha’s harlot slaves carousing elsewhere in the building.
Glowing iron shafts were embedded in the fire of the brazier, in easy view of any prisoner. Firelight danced upon the walls. Across the back wall of the chamber were spikes and crude metal chains. Gabatha was rich indeed; there would be no running about or prying of loose bricks in this cell!
A single prisoner was there. The one Enkidu had been afraid to look for. She was dressed in a simple gray tunic. She knelt on the paving blocks, her hands suspended at the height of her shoulders by manacles fastened on her wrists and connected to the wall by the short chains. Her head was bent forward; the dark hair fell over her face and bosom. Enkidu was able to detect the gentle motion of her breathing, but she neither reacted nor responded in any way to their entrance.
Was this his wife, then? His lovely Amyitis, she of alert mind and sensitive spirit, passed from one prison cell to a worse one in so brief a time? Who now hung her head and let her long tresses touch the floor rather than look upon the instruments that her legal owner now planned to use on her?
How could Aten—her god!—how could he brook her delivery into this?
And if her own god had passively surrendered her into this evil place, then how could any lone mortal man hope to extricate her—or himself?
Steady. It would be an irretrievable blunder to betray his feelings now. He had to win the merchant’s confidence.
Enkidu took hold of one end of a hot iron and pulled it out. The thing had a wooden sheath on the handle—another expensive innovation. Naturally the torturer wouldn’t want to be singed by his own poker!
A youthful slave dashed in from the hall. “Master!”
Gabatha fixed his servant with a one-eyed glare that made him cringe. “Idiot! Haven’t I given all of you standing orders never to disturb me when I’m educating a troublemaker?”
The boy cowered. “Sir, the priestess is at the door. She says her—her husband Tammuz—she says he’s here.”
“Ishtar?” When the servant nodded, Gabatha said: “Bar the door against her.”
So Tamar had followed him! She must have started out shortly after Enkidu himself had. She was going to help after all!
The slave backed away but did not leave. “Master—we cannot!”
Gabatha hefted another iron and brandished its glowing end at the boy. “Cannot? Do you value the nose on your face?”
The slave retreated further. “The bar—she got it loose before we could—already she is—”
“May Ishtar be fornicated by a leprous camel! Well, brace the furniture against the inner door for now, ostrich-head. Don’t let that lioness past!”
The youth disappeared. Gabatha wheeled on Enkidu. “So that was your mischief? Worm your way into my house to spy out my valuables while your slut-queen follows! Well, my silver is locked away where neither of you will get your greedy fingers on it!”
“I don’t think she’s after silver,” Enkidu said. He had just realized with a chill that Tamar might have come to torture Amyitis herself. Her jealous fury—“As for this spitfire,” Gabatha said, looking at the prisoner, “I will not be made a fool of in my own house! You will take that rod and strike out her eyes—both of them!”
Enkidu stared at him with the cold courage of desperation. He replaced the rod in the brazier. “Don’t order me about! What my wife does is her concern.”
“Get on with it—if you don’t want your own eyes forfeit!”
Was the merchant angry—or nervous? He and Tamar hated each other—and she was now invading his house. Maybe Enkidu could still turn this situation to his advantage, and save Amys!
Enkidu grunted, put his hand on another rod, turned it in the brazier. Its end was white. “Her face is down,” he complained, looking up. “Her hands are too close. How am I supposed to get at her eyes?”
“We’ll take care of that.” Gabatha snapped his fingers and the eunuch stepped in silently. Enkidu wondered if the man’s tongue had been cut out, to preserve the secrets of this chamber. “Remove those chains and hold her up!”
Remove her chains. Some god was smiling on them!
“Master!” another messenger called, stumping in from the hall. This was an elderly man. Apparently these slaves took turns with bad news, so that Gabatha’s wrath would not be concentrated on any one person. “The priestess is disrobing. We cannot stop her!”
“Well, tie her in my bed after she finishes and I’ll stop her!” Gabatha roared, still brandishing the rod. “With this hot iron…”
He gestured obscenely with it.
“Master! She has the Ishtaritu with her—many of them. They are all screaming and disrobing—”
Gabatha clapped his free hand to his forehead. “Bless me for a winged bull, must I do everything myself! Tell the household guard to set up a skirmish line in the first courtyard and skewer the first slut who shows her face—or anything else. What does that woman think my house is?” he muttered as the slave took off.
“Hades,” Enkidu answered.
The eunuch had freed Amys and stood her upright. Enkidu’s breath stopped. She was slim and fair and firm under the tunic. Almost unconsciously Enkidu reached out to touch the long black hair that still flowed across her face.
“Don’t bother with the hair,” Gabatha advised. “That will burn away. Just go for the eyes. Now!”
Enkidu hefted the rod.
Noting Enkidu’s hesitation with impatience, Gabatha put his own hand on the iron. Enkidu jerked it away.
“The rod will cool!” said Gabatha with exasperation.
So Enkidu replaced it in the coals. “How can I be sure this is Sargan’s daughter?” he demanded. “I don’t want to blind an imposter!”
Gabatha was red with anger and impatience. “Do you suppose I’d buy the wrong girl? This is the one.”
The girl spoke for the first time, from behind the black hair. Her voice was surprisingly pleasant, considering the surroundings. “I am the butterfly.”
Enkidu measured the distance between Gabatha and the eunuch. He would have to deal with both of them.
“Master!” a third messenger called. “Ishtar stands naked, and the guards won’t shoot her. They just stare—”