“Hell is larger even than the world. He could be anywhere.”
“You will find him.”
“If you knew how I have searched for him—”
“You will find him. That I know.”
Gilgamesh shook his head. “If Hell is a place of torment, then this is mine, that I will never find him again. Or if I do, that he will spurn me. Or raise his hand against me.”
“This is not so,” said Schweitzer. “I think he longs for you even as you do for him.”
“Then why does he keep himself from me?”
“This is Hell,” said Schweitzer gently. “You are being tested, my friend, but no test lasts forever. Not even in Hell. Not even in Hell. Even though you are in Hell, have faith in the Lord: You will have your Enkidu soon enough, um Himmels Willen.” Smiling, Schweitzer said, “The emperor is calling you. Go to him. I think he has something to tell you that you will want to hear.”
Prester John said, “You are a warrior, are you not?”
“I was,” replied Gilgamesh indifferently.
“A general? A leader of men?”
“All that is far behind me,” Gilgamesh said. “This is the life after life. Now I go my own way and I take on no tasks for others. Hell has plenty of generals.”
“I am told that you were a leader among leaders. I am told that you fought like the god of war. When you took the field, whole nations laid down their arms and knelt before you.”
Gilgamesh waited, saying nothing.
“You miss the glory of the battlefield, don’t you, Gilgamesh?”
“Do I?”
“What if I were to offer you the command of my army?”
“Why would you do that? What am I to you? What is your nation to me?”
“In Hell we take whatever citizenship we wish. What would you say, if I offered you the command?”
“I would tell you that you are making a great mistake.”
“It isn’t a trivial army. Ten thousand men. Adequate air support. Tactical nukes. The strongest firepower in the Outback.”
“You misunderstand,” said Gilgamesh. “Warfare doesn’t interest me. I know nothing of modern weapons and don’t care to learn. You have the wrong man, Prester John. If you need a general, send for Wellington. Send for Marlborough. Rommel. Tiglath-Pileser.”
“Or for Enkidu?”
The unexpected name hit Gilgamesh like a battering ram. At the sound of it his face grew hot and his entire body trembled convulsively.
“What do you know about Enkidu?”
Prester John held up one superbly manicured hand. “Allow me the privilege of asking the questions, great king.”
“You spoke the name of Enkidu. What do you know about Enkidu?”
“First let us discuss the matters which are of—”
“Enkidu,” said Gilgamesh implacably. “Why did you mention his name?”
“I know that he was your friend—”
“Is.”
“Very well, is your friend. And a man of great valor and strength. Who happens to be a guest at this very moment at the court of the great enemy of my realm. And who, so I understand it, is preparing just now to make war against me.”
“What?” Gilgamesh stared. “Enkidu is in the service of Queen Elizabeth?”
“I don’t recall having said that.”
“Is it not Queen Elizabeth who even now has sent an army to encroach on your domain?”
Yeh-lu Ta-shih laughed. “Raleigh and his five hundred fools? That expedition’s an absurdity. I’ll take care of them in an afternoon. I mean another enemy altogether. Tell me this: do you know of Mao Tse-tung?”
“These princes of the New Dead—there are so many names—”
“A Chinese, a man of Han. Emperor of the Marxist Dynasty, long after my time. Crafty, stubborn, tough. More than a little crazy. He runs something called the Celestial People’s Republic, just north of here. What he tells his subjects is that we can turn Hell into Heaven by collectivizing it.”
“Collectivizing?” said Gilgamesh uncomprehendingly.
“To make all the peasants into kings, and the kings into peasants. As I say: more than a little crazy. But he has his hordes of loyal followers, and they do whatever he says. He means to conquer all the Outback, beginning right here. And after that, all of Hell will be subjected to his lunatic ideas. I fear that Elizabeth’s in league with him—that this nonsense of looking for a way out of Hell is only a ruse, that in fact her Raleigh is spying out my weaknesses for her so that she can sell the information to Mao.”
“But if this Mao is the enemy of all kings, why would Elizabeth ally herself with—”
“Obviously they mean to use each other. Elizabeth aiding Mao to overthrow me, Mao aiding Elizabeth to push her father from his throne. And then afterward, who knows? But I mean to strike before either of them can harm me.”
“What about Enkidu?” Gilgamesh said. “Tell me about Enkidu.”
Prester John opened a scroll of computer printout. Skimming through it, he read, “The Old Dead warrior Enkidu of Sumer—Sumer, that’s your nation, isn’t it?—arrived at court of Mao Tse-tung on such-and-such a date—ostensible purpose of visit, Outback hunting expedition—accompanied by American spy posing as journalist and hunter, one E. Hemingway—secret meeting with Kublai Khan, Minister of War for the Celestial People’s Republic—now training Communist troops in preparation for invasion of New Kara-Khitai—” The emperor looked up. “Is this of interest to you, Gilgamesh?”
“What is it you want from me?”
“This man is your famous friend. You know his mind as you do your own. Defend us from him and I’ll give you anything you desire.”
“What I desire,” said Gilgamesh, “is nothing more than the friendship of Enkidu.”
“Then I’ll give you Enkidu on a silver platter. Take the field for me against Mao’s troops. Help me anticipate whatever strategies your Enkidu has been teaching them. We’ll wipe the Marxist bastards out and capture their generals, and then Enkidu will be yours. I can’t guarantee that he’ll want to be your friend again, but he’ll be yours. What do you say, Gilgamesh? What do you say?”
Across the gray plains of Hell from horizon to horizon sprawled the legions of Prester John. Scarlet-and-yellow banners fluttered against the somber sky. At the center of the formation stood a wedge of horseborne archers in leather armor; on each flank was a detachment of heavy infantry; the emperor’s fleet of tanks was in the vanguard, rolling unhurriedly forward over the rough, broken terrain. A phalanx of transatmospheric weapons platforms provided air cover far overhead.
A cloud of dust in the distance gave evidence of the oncoming army of the Celestial People’s Republic.
“By all the demons of Stygia, did you ever see such a cockeyed sight?” Robert Howard cried. He and Lovecraft had a choice view of the action from their place in the imperial command post, a splendid pagoda protected by a glowing force-shield. Gilgamesh was there, too, just across the way with Prester John and the officers of the Kara-Khitai high command. The emperor was peering into a bank of television monitors and one of his aides was feverishly tapping out orders on a computer terminal. “Makes no goddamned sense,” said Howard. “Horsemen, tanks, weapons platforms, all mixing it up at the same time—is that how these wild sons of bitches fight a war?”
Lovecraft touched his forefinger to his lips. “Don’t shout so, Bob. Do you want Prester John to hear you? We’re his guests, remember. And King Henry’s ambassadors.”
“Well, if he hears me, he hears me. Look at that crazy mess! Doesn’t Prester John realize that he’s got a twentieth-century Bolshevik Chinaman coming to attack him with twentieth-century weapons? What good are mounted horsemen, for God’s sake? A cavalry charge into the face of heavy artillery? Bows and arrows against howitzers?” Howard guffawed. “Nuclear-tipped arrows, is that the trick?”