Kimash came up to the banks of the canal. Donkeys in gilded harness drew him in his chariot, which was likewise adorned with gold leaf. With his armor and helmet also gilded, he glittered almost—almost—like a god. Cupping his hands before his mouth, he shouted across the canaclass="underline" “Go home, men of Imhursag! Go home, god of Imhursag! You are not welcome here. You have seen you are not welcome here.”
Sharur cheered. So did the rest of the Giblut drawn up along the canal. Mixed with the cheers were jeers for the god of the rival city, and also jeers for the men who fought at his command.
“You Giblut are mad!” Enimhursag shouted back. “You should be slain like mad dogs, lest your madness infect all the land between the rivers.”
“We have beaten you,” Kimash replied. “If you dare set foot on Gibli soil once more, we shall beat you again.” The Giblut raised another cheer. Enimhursag shook his great fist at them, but remained silent. The lugal went on, “Stay on the soil that is yours, and we shall have peace. You may ransom prisoners we have taken; those not ransomed will be sold as slaves in the usual way. The booty from your encampment is ours, of course.”
Enimhursag’s scowl was fearsome, but still the god said nothing more. Ereshguna murmured, “Kimash, it seems, does not wish to cross over into Imhursaggi land. It is good.”
“I suppose so,” Sharur said, “though, thinking on it, Engibil might be happy and busy and distracted if he had to begin to rule new lands we had won for him with spear and sword.”
“He would not do the fighting, though,” his father replied. “He would not battle alongside us as Enimhursag has battled for the Imhursagut. He would merely enjoy the benefit of our labors. As I say, I am contented with the way things have gone.”
“Perhaps you are right, Father,” Sharur said. “And whether I am contented or not, it is the way things have gone, and I must accept it.”
No sooner had he said that than Enimhursag turned his back on the land of Gibiclass="underline" the god also accepted the way things had gone, whether it contented him or not. Recognizing that, some of the Giblut cheered. Others jeered again, loudly and lewdly. Enimhursag’s great shoulders slumped.
Suddenly, the god’s gigantic form disappeared. Some of the men of Gibil exclaimed in surprise. “Has he perished?” someone near Sharur asked.
“No,” Sharur said in a loud voice, so many could hear. “Usually, the god sees and speaks through one of the Imhursagut, picking the man or woman best suiting his purpose at the time. The rest of the Imhursagut will obey such folk, knowing Enimhursag inhabits them. That he no longer wears the great body proves he intends to fight no more.”
“It is over,” Ereshguna agreed. “It is over, and we have won the day.”
Sharur and Ereshguna took no part in the plundering of the Imhursaggi camp on the way back to their own. “I would sooner not quarrel with men of my own city over trinkets,” Ereshguna said. “Let others squabble over them; chances of finding anything worth trading or keeping are not good now. I would sooner return to our own encampment and drink dry a pot of beer.”
“It is good,” Sharur said, and went on with his father.
Tupsharru and Habbazu went in among the abandoned tents to see what they could find. In addition to the precious prizes he had already gained, Habbazu came back with a gilded helm, a fine bronze sword, and a dagger with a hilt inlaid with silver. Tupsharru carried an ax with a handle similarly inlaid back to the Gibli camp.
“Perhaps we were wrong,” Sharur said to Ereshguna, eyeing the plunder with admiration.
“Perhaps we were,” Ereshguna said. “But I have beer in my belly. I have bread in my belly. It is not perfect, but it will do.”
Habbazu, who was dipping up a cup of beer for himself, bowed to Ereshguna. “ ‘It is not perfect, but it will do,’ ” he repeated, cleverly mimicking the master merchant’s intonations. “There speaks a man who has lived in the world and taken its measure.”
“I have lived in the world,” Ereshguna said. “Whether I have taken its measure is for others to say, not for me. What I will say is that, over the years, the world has taken my measure: taken my measure, aye, and cut and trimmed and pounded me to serve its purposes.”
“That is the way of the world.” Habbazu glanced over toward Sharur and Tupsharru. “Your sons, I think, are still too young to agree in fullness.”
“Likely you are right.” Ereshguna also glanced toward Sharur and Tupsharru. His gaze was affectionate, not calculating.
Sharur said, “What I think is that Burrapi the Zuabi mercenary should disappear from this camp, and disappear soon. I think someone who answers to a different name should go down to the city of Gibil and take up lodging above a tavern or with a family that will let him use a room for pay. I think it would be best if he did this before the servitors of Kimash the mighty lugal come asking questions concerning that mercenary.”
Habbazu inclined his head. “You may be young, son of Ereshguna, but you give good advice. I have seen this before. I now see it again.” He drank down the beer, got to his feet, and bowed again to Ereshguna and then to his sons. “I shall not wait a moment. It shall be as if Burrapi the Zuabi mercenary had never been. With the loot Burrapi the mercenary has won, someone who answers to a different name will take up lodging in the city of Gibil. In Gibil, a stranger will call on the house of Ereshguna. Perhaps, though, he will seem somehow familiar.” He bowed once more, to all the men of the house of Ereshguna together, and then went off whistling the tune the fluteplayer in the square in front of the temple of Engibil had played as an accompaniment to the dancing girl’s lithe swaying.
“That was indeed a good notion,” Ereshguna said. Sharur beamed, pleased at the praise.
How good a notion it was, Kimash showed within the hour. Two of the lugal’s largest and burliest retainers appeared before the tent Sharur, Ereshguna, and Tupsharru shared. The bigger of the two growled, “Kimash the mighty lugal requires the immediate presence of the Zuabi mercenary named Burrapi. No excuse will be tolerated.” To emphasize that, he set his right hand on the hilt of his sword.
Ereshguna said, “I must offer an excuse nonetheless: he is not here. I have not seen him since the battle ended.”
“He was seen in the battle,” Kimash’s guardian said. “He was seen after the battle, plundering the tents of the Imhursagut.”
“If he found enough booty to satisfy him, he is likely to be on the way to Zuabu by now,” Sharur said. “He fought for gain, not for love of the city.”
“Did he ever speak of a man named—?” The first guard turned and whispered with the other, then nodded. “Named Habbazu, that was it.”
Solemnly, Sharur, Ereshguna, and Tupsharru shook their heads. The second guard spoke for the first time: “His silence proves nothing. The two Zuabut could have been plotting together, plotting for the benefit of Zuabu, plotting to harm Gibil and the interests of Gibil.”
“I had not thought of that,” Ereshguna said, solemn still. Kimash’s conclusion was close to the mark, but not on it.
“That is why Kimash the mighty lugal rules Gibil,” the first guard said. “He is a man who thinks of everything.”
“No doubt you are right,” Sharur said. Kimash’s retainers spoke of him as if he were a god. Even Inadapa, steward to the lugal, spoke of him that way—and Inadapa was clever enough in his own right to understand perfectly well that Kimash was a man like himself. Most rulers in Kudurru either were gods themselves or were men through whom their city gods spoke. To rule in his own right, Kimash had to ape divinity.