Tamar’s voice, once she recovered it, was hoarse. “You had better do it without my help. If I rescue her for your pleasure, I will bring her breasts to you on platters. I will knot her hair around your—”
But Jepthah was back with Enkidu’s tunic. The slave seemed to have a real talent for appearing at interesting moments. “She’s already at Gabatha’s house. Better hurry.”
Enkidu looked at Tamar. She was standing with arms folded, legs spread: naked, glorious, unashamed.
“I must have your help!” he pleaded. But he knew it was useless.
Nebuchadnezzar’s ovens raged in her eyes.
So long, bitch! NK-2 cried, extending his battered penumbra just enough to make contact.
The responding blast of fury was amazing!
Get out of here! he prodded his host. Fortunately this was exactly what the host had in mind, now that he had the tunic.
It had been a close call—and TM-R would surely pursue, just as soon as the priestess could be managed. But now he could run!
CHAPTER 15.
Can you show me the way?” Enkidu demanded as he stepped out of the house.
“Yes,” Jepthah said, keeping pace.
“How many shekels?”
“No charge. You made my mistress madder than I ever could! That’s payment enough. Anyway, I hear Amyitis is Hebrew, so I have to help her if I can.”
Enkidu decided not to discuss Amyitis’ various changes of religion. She might, indeed, be worshiping Adonai again by this time.
The clamor outside assaulted his ears. Apparently no resident of Babylon remained inside; all had crowded out into the streets to take part in the festivities.
Jepthah guided him out of the wealthy residential section near the temple of Ishtar and on toward the Euphrates. They crossed the Processional Way westward. Even on this great avenue the citizens had set up cooking pots over smoking scraps of palm-wood and dry animal dung, and were heating entrails and joints of rare meat in offerings to their gods. The priests ate best of all, sampling any pots they came across.
Down Adad Street, toward the river; and now they came in sight of Esagila, Marduk’s temple, with its gold-leaf cupola dazzling in the last rays of Shamash as the sun-chariot entered the nether world. From Esagila’s course to the south came the beat of kettledrums and hand cymbals, and above that the thin music of pan-pipes. Enkidu also made out the sweet notes of the harpists and cithern-players. If Babylon were about to be conquered, the music-makers didn’t know it!
The middle of the street was blocked by lines of dancers facing each other, advancing and retreating in approximate time to the music, while spectators cried and clapped. The wine jugs were passing freely from mouth to mouth.
The two sober persons skirted the main dance and moved rapidly on down Adad—only to be held up again. A stool had been set up, and on this stool stood a naked girl holding a lyre. She was attempting to play the instrument and dance, but the precarious balance of her perch and her dubious sobriety demolished her efforts and left her simply wriggling suggestively. A man in a short tunic crouched with a tambourine, shaking it as he pushed his legs out in a clumsy dance.
Amazed, Enkidu stopped. It wasn’t the sight of the bare girl that shocked him, though in other circumstances that would have been sufficient. These clods were trying to emulate one of the sacred dances of Marduk! But here there was no feeling of sacredness. Every drunken motion was obscene.
As he watched, the girl lost her balance and fell off her pedestal. With a cry of glee the man sprang up and caught her in his arms. She screamed coquettishly and plastered herself against him while he growled and explored her body with his big hands. The ring of spectators emitted laughs and hiccupy cheers as he dragged her squealing into an alley.
Another tipsy woman doffed her tunic and mounted the stool. Enkidu shook his head and pushed on. Dance, orgy, or sexual stimulant, this was the interpretation the common folk put on the ideals of the priests and priestesses. Tamar might talk of the glory of the worship of Ishtar—but this was what it really came down to. A drunken man spreading a naked girl on the filthy streets of the city.
The Euphrates—and parading torches were reflected from the low, smelly waters. Coracles clustered at the edge, round basket-boats fashioned of plaited rushes, flat-bottomed and shallow, but caulked watertight with earth and bitumen. It took a clever sailor to propel these keel-less craft without spinning helplessly or getting swamped by occasional waves.
The boy led him on to the famous bridge of Babylon, one of the marvels of the modern world, that crossed the entire width of the river. Five great piers of tapered stone supported the monstrous wooden span. The bridge stood high above the water—much higher than Enkidu had imagined—and the lower planks bore water marks considerably above the present level.
At the bridge’s near end yet another throng of people clustered round a collection of divinators, astrologers and tellers of dreams. Jepthah spat contemptuously. “Charlatans! Don’t consult them. Real astrologers do their computations in temple offices, not in the streets! Always the frauds trade on the earned reputations of their bet—”
“Hurry!” Enkidu shoved the boy along, though he was already dizzy with fatigue. He had needed far more rest than he had found. “How much farther?”
“Other side of the bridge.”
From the center of the bridge the dark waters were visible far to the north and south, with the myriad wharfs of the waterside market projecting into the river—or rather, the mudbank that was its fringe. Anchored to the ends of the wharfs were the large kelek rafts, of strong reed and wood, inflated goatskins attached in clusters to their under surfaces. Such rafts, Enkidu knew, could carry considerable weight—but only downstream. Many of these would be poled on down to Kish, Nippur, Uruk or Ur. Persian siege permitting. The others would be dismantled, the valuable wooden portions sold locally, the skins deflated and packed on the backs of asses and camels for the return caravan north.
“How far is this residence of Gabatha’s?” Enkidu demanded as Jepthah led him south beside the river. They were now in the new city, the smaller segment of Babylon west of the river, protected by a single moat and wall—but still impregnable.
“Very near,” the boy assured him. This part of the city was almost deserted. The sound of the revelers drifted hollowly across the river.
They came at last upon a large estate, its main building extended by walls and closed passages to protect a large central courtyard. Enkidu could see palms rising from its center. The walls marched down to the water’s edge; no doubt the merchant maintained his own dock for the shipment of precious wares.
Somewhere in there was Amys—now one of Gabatha’s properties.
They were now at the main door: a solid plank of handsome imported wood. “Good luck,” Jepthah said, and vanished.
NK-2 extended his penumbra, hoping to check the girl Amyitis, who might be host to the Station A-10 representative. But he encountered TM-R’s ambience immediately, and could not reach far. The enemy was already coming after him! If this mission of his host’s took too long, he would be trapped again—and no jealousy-ruse would work a second time!
Enkidu’s determined banging summoned a timid slave girl. He fixed her with a wild stare and intimidated her into letting him in. He was shown down a long hall, through elaborate rooms and exotic courts, and into the presence of the merchant Gabatha as he sat at supper.