“But what about the defenders on the walls, the soldiers? No army could pass—”
“The mercenaries? The Persian troops got around the wall somehow, and not by tunneling. Maybe they turned into birds and flew in. They’re here, anyway, and the cone-heads on the wall are not breaking their legs rushing out to get themselves skewered, either. Not for townspeople who show no interest in defending themselves and who probably aren’t good for their next wages. I daresay the wallkeepers will have to go to work now—for Cyrus.”
She was still slinking toward him, and he was still retreating. They were a good distance down the street now. “You’d better see to your women,” Enkidu suggested. He just wanted to be left alone with his grief.
“I thought we might—” she began, but broke off when she saw that she wasn’t going to catch him. So, with another easy about-face, she pulled her half-open robe about her. “Yes. I’m going to be terribly busy now. All those Persian soldiers hot from the campaign… we’ll have to put the temple on double shift. A—a husband would only obstruct things now. I’m afraid I’m going to have to divorce you—”
If she expected that threat to change his mind, she was mistaken. “I understand,” Enkidu said dully. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with your religion.”
For an instant total rage distorted her face. Then, so quickly that he wondered if he had imagined her anger, she was smiling graciously and waving an affectionate parting to him. She moved back up the street with her women in tow.
Perversely, now, he was sorry to see her go. It could have been a memorable experience…
But not so soon after his real love had died! He must respect the worship of another person, however sensual and self-interested… but that did not require him to bury his love for Amys in the arms of the priestess of Ishtar.
His aspirations had been small as the world reckoned such things, he thought grayly as he tramped without destination up one New City street and down another. He could still hear the inebriated celebrants of the Harvest Festival. Those people would have an extremely sober awakening tomorrow!
Harvest Festival… the harvest of his aspirations would have involved the death of no person, the conquest of no city. He had wanted only to commune with his chosen god and to honor that god in the conduct of his life. He respected the ambitions of other people; if only others had seen fit to respect his! Even slaves, most of them, had choice of god and woman—both denied to him forever.
Why?
One god or another had smiled on the ambitions of Cyrus, and of Nebuchadnezzar before him, and of the old Assyrian kings before that…
NK-2 was safe for the moment. But his job was not done. He had to locate the galactic representative of Station A-10, and formulate some initiative to eliminate the enemy. The repair craft was due soon, and if TM-R intercepted that…! In fact TM-R might have let him go again, deliberately, planning to pounce when he went either to his own craft or made contact with the repair mission.
TM-R had enormous leverage, for the host Tamar could influence almost any man in Babylon, including the Persian commander. He would have to do whatever was necessary here, then get out of the city before the enemy finally moved to eliminate him. If he found the other galactic, he could take him away too. Possibly together they could make an effective counterstroke, perhaps by investing Cyrus himself and having him execute Tamar for sedition.
His host was walking aimlessly when time was precious. It was time for new motivation. He had to check the nameless temple thoroughly, exploring everywhere with his penumbra.
But that was the last place Enkidu would want to go! How could he reverse that inclination, at least for an hour?
Perhaps through the man’s own grief, unkind as that was. Unless he helped mitigate that sorrow at the same time—Yes. There was a relevant concept!
…Yet no god had seen fit to intervene to prevent the imprisonment and slavery and death of a young and gentle girl who had worshiped a god of mercy. Indeed, her road to oblivion had begun at the point where she expected her god to honor his commitments.
Could he have saved her by holding out against the torture? Would Aten then have intervened, however belatedly, on Amys’ behalf?
No. A man had to do what he felt was right, and Enkidu had done that. If the genii were by their magic arts to give him back the last few days, he would renounce his god as quickly as before, and for the same reason. The only change he would make would be to fetch a dagger along for his visit to Gabatha, that he might slay the fat merchant before the beast slew Amyitis!
But how could that be justified in the name of mercy?
Was it thus that mortals were broken—by the worship of gods whose principles no mortal could fathom or honor?
He put this cold enigma aside. There was a single muddy marriage tablet imbedded in a prison wall that was worth more to him than all the machinations of—The tablet!
She had been alive when she drew her signature and then passed the document back to him, pledging their union. That was all he could ever have now of Amys—the words of love she had written while near him, though prisoner.
THY LOVE IS AS THE SCENT OF CEDAR WOOD…
He must recover it!
A Persian soldier stood outside the nameless temple. Other curly-bearded troopers guarded other places of value. Cyrus had indeed taken over the city. Would this sentry let him enter, or would he take Enkidu for a looter?
Enkidu rose to the occasion with a cunning he had not known he possessed. He marched boldly up. “What are you doing here?” he demanded with authority. “I do not know you.”
The guard was impressed. “Go about your business, citizen.” He had a heavy accent.
“My business lies in the temple. I am a Pretender,” he said, making it sound important. “You—you’re foreign, aren’t you? A mercenary?”
“I am a Mede,” the man said haughtily. “In the service of Cyrus the Conqueror. Just be glad I bother to speak your decadent language!”
“But Cyrus is outside the walls!”
The man fingered his beard. “That situation has changed.” He reached impatiently for his dagger. “Be off, before I forget my orders to treat you natives courteously.”
Enkidu backed off—toward the temple door. “But no one has breached the walls,” he protested, hoping the soldier would unriddle the mystery. “Babylon is impregnable.”
“Was impregnable,” the Mede said. “Now go! I can’t have you getting underfoot.” He waved his long dagger, and Enkidu retreated through the temple door.
The Persian troops, he realized, were good ones—well disciplined and not overbright. But how had they penetrated the city? This was a most unusual conquest!
He felt his way along the dark interior passage. Soon, traveling with more confidence as the terrain became familiar, he found the inside stair leading to the dungeons. The long period in these cells had educated his feet and fingertips. Less than a day and a night had passed since his residence. He passed the silent clock room. Presently he found the door to Amys’ old cell, then his own. The very closeness of the atmosphere seemed homey now, almost pleasant. Certainly it was familiar! This was the place where love had come to him. Through this wall he had conversed with her, had come to know her…
He loosened the key brick, fumbled for the tablet. His questing fingers discovered only ordinary bricks. Anxiously he removed them, first from the outer layer and then from the inner.