Coming back one day from the market square—a square where, increasingly, Giblut bought from and sold to and traded with other Giblut alone—Ereshguna said, “Commerce has long been the lifeblood of this city. Now all the blood seems to drain out of Gibil, and none comes in. How can we lead the land between the rivers if commerce goes elsewhere?”
“Zuabu prospers, I hear,” Sharur said. “Even Imhursag prospers, I hear. How can the Imhursagut prosper while we falter? Having their god bellowing in their ears all the time makes them stupid.”
“Our god may be bellowing more and more in our ears,” his father answered. “If Kimash the lugal cannot keep Engibil happy, the god will find a way to make himself happy. Then we and the Imhursagut shall be just alike.”
“May it not come to pass,” Sharur exclaimed. Engibil might make a better master than Enimhursag; as far as Sharur was concerned, Engibil could not possibly make a worse master than Enimhursag. But Sharur was used to being a free man, or a man as free as any in the land between the rivers. He did not want a god to rule his life.
Engibil did not care what he wanted. He had already seen that.
“May it not come to pass, indeed,” Ereshguna said. “You and I say this. We are men who know freedom. We are men who do not want Engibil twisting our lives with his hand. But another in Gibil says this louder than you or I. Another in Gibil says this louder than you and I together.”
“Kimash the lugal,” Sharur said.
“Kimash the lugal,” Ereshguna agreed. “We are men who do not want to be ruled. Kimash is a man who already rules. How would it be for him to have to give back to Engibil full mastery of this city?”
“It would be hard,” Sharur said.
“It would be hard, yes,” Ereshguna said. “And it might well be more than hard. It might well be dangerous. What will Engibil do, after three generations of lugals have kept him from full rule over Gibil? What will he do, after Kimash and Kimash’s father and Kimash’s grandfather have ruled in his place?”
“I do not know the answer,” Sharur said. “I am only a man, so I can not know the answer, not ahead of time. Even Kimash the lugal can not know the answer, not ahead of time. But I think, Father, that if I sat in Kimash the lugal’s high seat, I would be a worried man.”
“I think you are right, son, and I think Kimash the lugal is a worried man today,” Ereshguna replied. “What will he do? What can he do?” The master merchant plucked at his beard. “I do not know what he can do. I wonder if he knows himself what he can do.”
Inadapa stood in the doorway to Ereshguna’s establishment and waited to be noticed. As a man, he was not very noticeable. As a power in the city of Gibil, he was noticeable indeed. “It is the steward to Kimash the mighty lugal!” Ereshguna said, bowing himself almost double.
Sharur bowed, too. “The steward to Kimash the mighty lugal honors us by his presence,” he said. “In his name and through him we greet his mighty master.” He bowed again.
“Enter our dwelling, steward to the mighty lugal,” Ereshguna said. “Drink beer with us. Eat onions with us.” He clapped his hands. A slave came running. Ereshguna pointed to Inadapa. “Fetch a pot of beer for the steward’s refreshment. Fetch a basket of onions for the steward’s enjoyment.”
“You are generous to me,” Inadapa said, drinking sour beer. “You are gracious to me,” he added, eating a pungent onion. “By the honor you show to me, you also show honor to my master.”
“So we intended,” Sharur said, “for where you are, there also Kimash the mighty lugal is.”
Now Inadapa bowed. “You are well spoken, son of Ereshguna. You are polite, master merchant’s son. It is no wonder, then, that my master, the mighty lugal Kimash, ordered me to bring you with me back to the palace of the lugals, that he might have speech with you.” .
“Did he?” Sharur stole a quick glance at his father. “I obey the mighty lugal in this, as I obey him in all things. When you have drunk, when you have eaten, you will take me to him.”
“When I have drunk, when I have eaten, I will take you to him,” Inadapa agreed.
“Does the mighty lugal also desire speech with me?” Ereshguna asked.
Inadapa shook his bald head. “He spoke only of your son, master merchant.”
“He is the lugal,” Ereshguna said. “It shall be as he desires, as in all things here in Gibil.”
Inadapa said nothing to that. Neither did Sharur. Had everything in Gibil been as Kimash desired, the lugal would have had no need to summon him to the palace.
After finishing his beer and onions, Inadapa declined more of either. “Let us be off,” he said to Sharur. “I am glad to eat and drink with you, but I do not wish to make the mighty lugal anxious for my return.”
“By no means.” Sharur gulped down the last of his own beer and rose from the stool on which he sat. “Lead me to the palace. I am your slave, and the mighty lugal’s slave as well.” Better either of those than being Engibil’s slave, he thought. He would never, ever say that aloud.
Inadapa rose, too. “We go, then.” He bowled to Ereshguna. “Master merchant, your house is never to be faulted for hospitality.”
With the steward, Sharur walked up the Street of Smiths toward the lugal’s palace. As he walked, he sometimes got glimpses of Engibil’s temple. The temple was larger than the palace. Most of it was older, dating from the days when Engibil had ruled his city: before there were lugals, some of it from before there were even ensis. But Kimash, and his father and grandfather before him, had not altogether neglected the god’s house, either, though they gave more presents than they did building. Their hope had always been that greater luxury would compensate the god for losing power. For three generations, that hope had been realized. Now...
Now Sharur groveled in the dust before Kimash on his high seat sheathed in beaten gold. When he rose, the lugal asked, “Do I hear rightly that Engibil holds your oath tight to himself, and will not release you from it even to pay bride-price for your intended?”
“Mighty lugal, you do,” Sharur answered. Neither he nor his father nor, so far as he knew, his grandfather’s ghost had noised about the god’s command. If Dimgalabzu had spoken of it to the lugal, however, the smith would certainly have been within his rights.
Kimash frowned. “The god uses you harshly,” he observed. The frown got deeper. “All the gods use Gibil harshly these days. Our merchants return empty-handed from their journeys; no merchants from other cities, no merchants from other lands, come into our market square to trade their wares for ours. Our city suffers.” He drew in a deep breath. “Did Engibil take it into his mind to cast me down from this high seat, many in Gibil would celebrate. Did the god take it into his mind to cast me out of this palace, many in the city would rejoice. Under Engibil’s rule, they would reckon, trade would return. Under the god’s rule, they would reckon, profit would grow.”
“And they would become as the Imhursagut are,” Sharur said. “Who among us would care to live as the Imhursagut live, with Engibil speaking from our mouths as Enimhursag speaks through theirs?”
“Who cares to live in a city without trade?” Kimash returned. “Who cares to live in a city without profit? Fewer men than you would suppose, son of Ereshguna.”
“I would not care to live in a city without trade,” Sharur said. “I would not care to live in a city without profit. But still less would I care to live as the Imhursagut live.”
“It is because this is so that I have summoned you,” the lugal told him. “Along with me, son of Ereshguna, you and your house stand to lose the most if Engibil should come to rule this city once more as well as reigning over it.”