Enkidu might have questioned this last—had he not been dazzled by the splendid body of the priestess. Ishtar had been thrown into a cell in Hades and tormented by every imaginable disease; her gallant rescue operation had succeeded only in making herself a prisoner. In this manner had the first winter come to Earth, for without the goddess of love and fertility nothing could flourish or reproduce.
But Tamar had stripped—figuratively and literally—the pretense from their relationship. What remained was the worship of Ishtar—Ishtar’s way.
Enkidu pulled her body to the couch beside him, heedless of the sudden pain of his burns. Again he felt that magic tingle of contact. His lips reached hungrily for hers, and she was warm and lithe and eager.
It was the death-struggle: invasion of host. TM-R had tried to bargain with him and had failed; now the enemy was out to destroy him.
NK-2 had the immense advantage of operating within his own host, whose byways and foibles were familiar to him. But TM-R had such sheer, raw power that tactical nuances became irrelevant. He was being driven back—He made a desperate effort to invoke a negative reaction in the host, to throw off the enemy host. This failed. He cast his penumbra out, searching for help he knew was not available. TM-R’s penumbra was there first, foiling even that effort. All he could do was fight… until he died.
The curtains parted to admit yet another figure.
Jepthah, the Hebrew slave, stood over them, not missing a detail. “I had no idea Ishtar was so tired,” he observed. “How nice of you to let her rest upon your pallet.”
Enkidu, keenly embarrassed, jerked away and dived for his towel. Tamar rolled over on her belly, furious but not in the least ashamed. “I will have you flayed a sliver at a time,” she muttered, and for a moment Enkidu wasn’t certain whom she was addressing.
The boy, already demolishing a banana from the platter, was not alarmed. “I would hardly be able to redeem my purchase price, then,” he pointed out. He dropped the yellow peel on Tamar’s left buttock.
“I will use your skin for an offertory bowl!”
The boy selected an apricot. “I suppose you aren’t interested in the juicy Kebar gossip I bring…”
“Oh?” Tamar’s wrath abated miraculously. She was insatiably curious.
“Please,” Enkidu said, still glowing with embarrassment, “could you bring me a tunic?”
“Immediately,” the boy said, turning to leave.
“Hold!” yelped Tamar. “What gossip?”
The boy paused, savoring the moment. “Cyrus is outside the walls. Or at least his army is. Right outside, I mean. The Persian will have Babylon by morning.”
“Ridiculous!” she exclaimed. “The city cannot be taken by siege!”
“Who said anything about a siege?” And without explaining himself further, he turned to Enkidu. “Amyitis has been sold.”
Enkidu jumped. “To whom?”
Tamar sat up. “What do you mean—no siege? And who is Amyitis?”
Jepthah smiled. “Five shekels.”
“You Kebar thief, I own you!”
“Three shekels, then,” he bargained, smirking.
She puffed up like an overfilled wineskin, but changed her mind before bursting. “Three shekels—but I’ll add it to your sale price!”
“His wife,” the boy said.
She looked blank. “What?”
“You asked who Amyitis was, so I told you. For three shekels.”
Now she did explode. “Pig of a Hebrew! I meant the Persian!” And to Enkidu, dangerously: “Your wife… husband?”
“His second wife,” Jepthah explained helpfully. “Prettier than his first, I hear.”
Tamar hurled an apricot at him. It occurred to Enkidu that she would never have put up with such insolence from a slave unless she wanted to. “Who bought her?” he demanded again.
“Three shekels—remember?”
“Give him three shekels, wife,” Enkidu snapped. What could he lose?
“Three shekels,” she agreed. Enkidu didn’t like the sudden intensity of her interest.
“Gabatha.”
Enkidu had been afraid of this. The pit of his stomach felt like a stone. “Get me a tunic!”
“Stay where you are!” Tamar cried, and the boy stopped in his tracks. “Why no siege?”
“Because the Persian enters by the nether gate, tonight.” The boy left as he spoke.
Tamar wheeled to face Enkidu. “I demand an explanation!”
“I don’t know. They must be tunneling under the walls. Though how they could do it with no noise—”
“The wife!”
NK-2 saw that TM-R’s host was not entirely docile. She had drives of her own. And now he realized how he could force a separation of the hosts. Jealousy!
Tell her! Tell her! NK-2 urged the host. He was weak from the ravage of the enemy’s invasion, but there was no point in conserving his resources now. If the two hosts made contact again, he was finished. Tell her! Tell her! Tell her!
Why not tell her? She would learn the whole story soon enough anyway. Maybe, just barely maybe, she would help. “In the nameless temple I took a second wife.”
“A concubine? You took a concubine—without my approval?”
“You were not available for consultation,” he pointed out. But he knew he had to avoid antagonizing her any further if possible. Tell her! Tell her! Tamar said, “Her name is Amyitis?”
He nodded. Why was he so eager to confess, when he knew it would only infuriate her?
“Well, I’ll forgive you, I suppose,” she said graciously. “A concubine is easily spared, and I’ve been known to dally with a man or two myself. As a matter of fact, after this hour with you I’m going to be quite busy with temple affairs. I will buy you the prettiest maidens you can imagine. We’ll just have time to—”
Enkidu was amazed at her tenacity. Even knowing they would be interrupted in the act, she—but of course, this was her normal business. Doubtless she had performed in public many times, and united with Marduk himself in the Ziggurat temple during the new year’s festival.
“I’m out of the mood,” he said lamely. “Gabatha will torture her.”
“No doubt. Gabatha is a monster. He’s cost the temple many a shekel by his illicit competition, undercutting our prices. Who is this girl?”
“Sargan’s daughter. Stepdaughter, really.”
“Sargan—head priest of the nameless temple?” She knew that name, of course. “That’s right—he does have a daughter. And—” Here her eyes lighted as she remembered. “She must be the one who poked out Gabatha’s eye! I couldn’t have done better myself!”
Enkidu nodded, hardly daring to hope. Had his little shedu voice advised him correctly? If Tamar also hated Gabatha, she might be willing to help the girl who had maimed him!
“Well, sometimes a little torture softens a girl’s nature. Makes her more pliable. I, of course, have never been tortured.”
“I assumed as much.”
“But you’ve no doubt had the best of her already. You wouldn’t want her after Gabatha finishes with her. You’ll find that variety is—” Enkidu’s expression stopped her. “Such sentiment! Was she really so beautiful, then?” she asked softly.
“I never saw her at all!” Enkidu burst out. “I married her while we were both imprisoned. We—corresponded.”
Tamar’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You never embraced her?”
He nodded innocently.
“Never saw her face, her body?”
Assent.
“And her you choose over Ishtar!”
Enkidu looked into her face. Better his head had fallen into the river beside those of the sacrificial sheep! But he blurted out, “I don’t think I can get her back without your help. I—”