Closer to the city proper there were houses and cross streets, the overflow of the original establishment. Traffic increased: tradesmen in yellow tunics, ragged loafers, men on the backs of tall half-wild asses. Two chariots of the city garrison swept grandly by. Enkidu stopped in his tracks to admire the magnificent black horses with their flying manes. A merchant’s cart clattered abruptly around a corner on two wheels. Enkidu jumped back, avoiding a leather-bound wheel by a finger’s breadth. Ah, commerce!
He looked down when he felt the surface change under his sandals. Large flagstones of fine limestone and red breccia formed the pavement now, and every slab bore an inscription. He squatted, heedless of the jostling, to read the angular wedge-writing: NEBUCHADNEZZAR, KING OF BABYLON, SON OF NABOPOLASSER, KING OF BABYLON AM I. THE BABIL STREET I PAVED WITH BLOCKS OF SHADU STONE FOR THE PROCESSION OF THE GREAT LORD MARDUK. MARDUK, LORD, GRANT ETERNAL LIFE.
Enkidu smiled. Marduk was master of Babylon, as surely as Ishtar was its mistress. But was it for the glory of the god that this inscription had been imprinted, or for that of the former king? This was the beginning of the Processional Way. His heart quickened and his eyes strained eagerly ahead.
The Way stretched before him—magnificent, incredibly wide, lined with temples and what must be palaces. The structures were white and gold and the broad earth between them was alive with red and yellow and green paintings, all laid out in leisured order. The sky above looked even bluer here than elsewhere. Truly, this was a city the gods themselves might proudly inhabit. But where was the temple of Aten?
He had realized before he came that Aten’s temple would not be great and showy like Shamash’s or the others. Yet he was vaguely disappointed to have his expectation confirmed.
But he really couldn’t afford disappointment until he was sure. There was still time to search out the temple in the city proper. Perhaps it was farther along on the Processional Way, and perhaps it was grand after all…
The renowned inner fortifications rose to the height of twelve tall men and more above the water level of the moat—a massive wall of sun-baked brick, with a roadway on top along which charged a chariot of the garrison. Already he could see what must be the famous lions, and above them frequent towers reared over battlements three times the height of a man. Archers at their summits could peer down some ninety feet. This resembled a mountain chain more than it did any human structure!
Pilgrims and tourists squeezed around him as they crossed the moat. The river wandered to the right, but straight ahead loomed the north entrance to the great city. The Processional Way, he could see, passed into and directly through the gate of the goddess of battle and fertility. The Gate of Ishtar.
It would traverse Babylon’s center, he knew, this most famous avenue in all the world. It would be garnished by ornate temples inside; but first it had to feed itself into the tiny mouth of the fortress wall. On each side ran a magnificent enameled frieze with sculptured lions. They looked about to jump out of their bas-relief—some enameled in white, with yellow manes, and others yellow with red manes. There were some sixty on each side. Their jaws were open in macabre welcome to the stranger entering the city.
Enkidu took it all in, hard pressed to keep from running ahead like a puppy to sniff out new wonders. There would be time for such touring, he knew—after he had found the temple of his god.
The ramparts thrust up again, mound on mound, tower on tower. Square. Powerful. Beautiful. At last: the Gate of Ishtar itself. He pressed on in, and found himself between two close walls.
This interval was lighted by sunlight from above. Enkidu looked up—and spied silhouettes of enormous kettles hanging beside myriad narrow slits. He shuddered: in time of war those frightful vats would be filled with boiling oil, and skilled archers would be stationed behind the embrasures. What army would dare to come against these ready instruments? Woe to the soldier who invoked the wrath of Ishtar, most powerful and temperamental of goddesses!
The walls below the skylights were at least forty feet above the stone pavement at the ground level. Enkidu felt like a toy figure in this lofty enclosure. The bricks were glazed, and superimposed on them were fantastic sculptures in relief: great snorting bulls, life sized, brilliantly enameled and seeming to charge out at the intruders. Alternating with these were dragons, their sinuous bodies writhing out, nostrils flaring, fangs threatening. Rank on rank of these captive animals lined the walls, dozens of them, sixties of them, each an individual masterpiece of decoration.
The inner door stood open—solid planks of cedar, covered at the edges with copper, with strong bronze hinges embedded in its surface.
Beyond this door lay Babylon.
And Aten.
Yes, it was impressive, NK-2 agreed. It was amazing what substantial edifices could be constructed of such crude base materials. Yet this society remained at least a millennium from the development of true space travel, unless phenomenal breakthroughs occurred.
He was tempted to extend his penumbra and check for Station A-10 directly—but as always the spectre of enemy presence inhibited him. He would be vulnerable when extended, and an enemy infiltrator would be well versed in detection and combat techniques. Better to stick well within the anonymous shelter of his host until he was quite certain of the station.
It wasn’t as though this host lacked incentive. It would be impossible to stop the host from searching for A-10 at this point! NK-2 could well afford to ride. What was a few more hours, after sixteen years?
By evening Enkidu had not come upon Aten’s temple, but his eagerness had not abated. There was so much to see! He still paused many times to stare up at Etemenanki, the towering ziggurat of seven colors that dominated the city’s sky. His footsteps had taken him to the Temple of Marduk the Creator, richest of shrines—and on past it. Time enough later to present himself there. This day he would step up to the shrine of Aten himself, and Aten’s would be the first temple in Babylon that he would enter. Yet where was this shrine? Merkes?
The Merkes was a closed residential district, the oldest part of the city. It had been planned in spacious squares—but the ancient builders had not reckoned on its now-teeming numbers. It was packed to overflowing with citizens.
Enkidu gaped at the houses. He had seen double-level dwellings before—but these were three and four stories high, with small walled gardens and, he presumed, deep wells in their courtyards. As he strode on in his quest, the houses became poorer. Some of their walls had partly fallen in, exposing the sunbaked bricks beneath the higher quality facing, and the roofs looked long unclayed. Could Aten’s temple possibly be amid such debris?
He became aware that fewer people jostled him. The streets were clearing as men and women disappeared behind their red doors. It was late, and he was tired, and still he had not come upon the temple of his god!
He stepped onto an alleyway paved with flagstones well worn but firm, and saw that it led toward a temple. His spleen glowed once again with hope and he hastened his steps.
The altar faced the entrance. This was not Aten’s temple! Alluring priestesses stared at him discreetly from beside it. This had to be the temple of Ishtar of Agade. Enkidu looked at it in mingled appreciation and consternation, feeling foolish. He resumed his search.
Lost in the city’s splendors, exalted with his inner purpose, Enkidu had taken little thought for his night’s lodging. He had expected to find the temple within this stupefying city, and now that he had failed he was out of sorts. His feet were sore from hours of walking on hot hard pavements. How could the day have fled so swiftly?