“And I greet you in turn,” Kimash said. “You are welcome here. You will drink beer with me.” He clapped his hands together. “Inadapa! They will drink beer with me.”
“Yes, mighty lugal.” Inadapa clapped his hands together. A lesser servant came running. Inadapa pointed to Sharur and Ereshguna. “They will drink beer with the mighty lugal.”
“Yes, steward.” The lesser servant hurried away. Soon a slave came in with a pot of beer and three cups.
After libations and thanks to the gods, Kimash, Sharur, and Ereshguna drank. Setting down his cup after a deep draught, Kimash said, “I am glad you have come home safe from the Alashkurru Mountains, son of Ereshguna; I am glad no harm befell you.”
“I thank you, mighty lugal,” Sharur said, less comfortably than he would have liked. He could see the track down which the caravan of this conversation was heading. A lion lurked at the end of the track. It would leap out and devour him unless he turned the conversation aside—and he could not turn it aside.
Kimash said, “I have not heard how your caravan fared in the distant mountains. With most caravans, I know this before they come into Gibil. But the house of Ereshguna holds its secrets close.” He smiled at Sharur’s father, more approvingly than otherwise.
Yes. There was the lion. Sharur could hear it roar. He could see it lash its tail. Very well. He would cast himself into its jaws. He said, “Mighty lugal, my father and I have come before you on account of what passed with the caravan in the mountains of Alashkurru.”
“Good.” Kimash leaned forward in his high seat. “What offerings have you that I can lay on the altar of Engibil? What strange things, what rare things, what beautiful things have you? The god has been restive of late; the god has been hungry. I must show Engibil I can sate him; I must show the god I can satisfy him. I do not wish to risk his anger.”
Feeling the lion’s teeth close on him, Sharur exchanged a glance of consternation with Ereshguna.dTis father nodded slightly. He knew what that meant: better to be eaten all at once than to have chunks bitten off him. His own thought had been the same. But oh, how bitter, oh, how empty was the truth: “Mighty lugal, I have no strange things, I have no rare things, I have no beautiful things for you to lay on the altar of Engibil. I have brought back no offerings for the god; I have brought back no profit for my father. The Alashkurrut would not treat with me, for their gods have come to hate and to fear the men of Gibil.”
Kimash scowled. “I feared it might be so.” His voice was heavy. “When a caravan returns successful to the city, it blares forth the news with trumpets. When a caravan returns with profit, it blares forth the word with drums. Failure is wreathed in silence. But so, sometimes, is success extraordinarily large. So, sometimes, is profit extraordinarily great. I hoped that might be so. Tell me now why it did not come to pass.”
As Sharur had for his father, he spun out the tale for the lugal. When he finished, he asked, “What are we to do? The gods are stronger than we men. If they will that we fail, fail we surely shall.”
“If all the gods will this together, and it stays in all their wills long enough, fail we surely shall,” Kimash replied. “But the gods are contentious, no less than men. How could it be otherwise, when we are created in their image? Therein lies our hope: to wait out this flood until their anger against us recedes within its banks and the sun shines on their quarrels once more.”
Ereshguna said, “Mighty lugal, your words are as pure as a nugget of gold. Great Kimash, your words shine like polished silver. From the anger of all the gods we may yet win free, as a hare may chew through the noose of a snare if the hunter is lazy and does not return soon enough to his trap. But Engibil presses on us always. How shall we escape the wrath of the city god?”
“I had hoped to ease his spirits with gifts from the Alashkurrut; I had hoped to soften his heart with presents from the men of the mountains,” the lugal answered. “Master merchant, you press on the wound where it is sore. Now I shall have to find some other way to appease Engibil. If I do not...” He let out a long, harsh sigh. “If I do not, things shall be as they were in the days of my great-grandfather, and of his great-grandfather before him.”
“May it not come to pass,” Sharur exclaimed. “May you rule us, mighty lugal. May Engibil remain content with worship and presents.”
“That is also my desire, I assure you.” Kimash’s voice was dry.
“It is the desire of all within Gibil, mighty lugal,” Ereshguna said, covering the eyes of his amulet to hinder Engibil’s senses. “We see the god-ruled cities around us, where men are toys or at best children, from whom obedience is required and who are punished without mercy when they obey not. You are a man. You know men. We would sooner have your judgment and your guidance.”
And Kimash the lugal inclined his head to Ereshguna. “For your generous words I thank you, master merchant. Generous they are, but not, I believe, altogether true. Merchants and artisans: yes, you would sooner a lugal or an ensi ruled you than a god. But the peasants? Who can say? A god gives certainty. A god gives not freedom of thought but freedom from thought, in the same way as does the beer pot. Have you never known men who found this desirable?”
“My heart is heavy within me, for I cannot deny what you say,” Ereshguna replied. “I wish I could show you speak falsely. Then my spirit would rejoice.”
“But what are we to do?” Sharur broke in. “How are we to keep Engibil content to rest lazily in his temple?”
Kimash cocked his head to one side. Then, to Sharur’s surprise, he smiled. “The ghost of Igigi my grandfather says he managed it when Engibil was less used to rest and more used to rule than he is now. My grandfather’s ghost says I had better manage it as well.”
“Your grandfather was a wise man, mighty lugal. No doubt his ghost remains wise,” Ereshguna said. “Does the ghost tell you how you are to accomplish,what you desire?”
“Oh, no.” Kimash smiled again, this time wryly. “He simply tells me what I must do, not how I must do it. Such is the usual way with ghosts in my family. Is it otherwise with yours?”
“No, mighty lugal,” Sharur and Ereshguna said together. Both of them were resigned to the way of ghosts.
“I heard that,” Sharur’s grandfather’s ghost said sharply. “I heard that! I don’t care for your tone of voice, not even a little bit I don’t.”
As best they could, they both ignored him. Sharur said, “Mighty lugal, what are we to do? Do you know how to appease Engibil even without the strange things, the rare things, the beautiful things I should have brought back from the mountains of Alashkurru? Do you know how we Giblut can trade if the gods outside our city remain united against us in hatred?”
“I can appease Engibil a while longer, I think,” Kimash said. “It would have been easier, son of Ereshguna, had your caravan succeeded. You know this as I know this. But I can go on. To answer your second question, we Giblut cannot trade if the gods outside our city remain united in hatred against us. Our hope must be that they do not remain united in hatred against us. Our prayer must be that they cannot remain united in hatred against us.”
“Thank you, mighty lugal, for showing my son forbearance,” Ereshguna said. “Bless you, mighty lugal, for showing him kindness.”
“I know the worth of the house of Ereshguna,” Kimash replied. “He is your son, master merchant. Had he been able to do more, he would have done more. I wish he had done more, but against the gods a man contests in vain. Now let us all think on how we may yet profit ourselves and satisfy our city god.”
He nodded to Inadapa, signifying that the audience was over. The steward led Sharur and Ereshguna out of the palace through the maze of halls by which they had come to the lugal’s audience chamber. When Sharur reached the entranceway, the sudden strong sunlight made him squint and blink.