Perforce, Enkidu accompanied the man down the hall into a second and smaller court, where a monstrous Persian was directing Gabatha’s servants in preparations for what was evidently to be an all-day feast. Servants scurried between the courts bearing huge platters of savory mutton and stuffed poultry and wines and breads. The guard propelled Enkidu to a Persian officer who sat at an improvised table dictating to a scribe. Apparently he was taking inventory of their host’s very substantial properties. To see that none were molested?
“A man who has to see somebody,” the guard reported, shoving Enkidu to a halt in front of the table. The officer looked up.
He was an older man than any of the other Persians Enkidu had noticed here: at least fifty, clean shaven, gray at the temples but with a predatory sharpness of feature and thick graying eyebrows.
“What is your business?”
What should he say? Enkidu decided to misconstrue the question. “I am a scribe—”
“Excellent! I can use you! Pick up a tablet and stylus. I will pay you one shekel a day for good notes.”
Had Enkidu bluffed about his occupation, this sharp soldier would have made short work of him! But the last thing he wanted was to be detained in this place. “I—I mean to depart Babylon within the hour.”
The officer lifted the tablet from the hands of his own scribe, holding it up for Enkidu to see. “Read—or you may depart this life within the hour!”
Enkidu read: “SLAVES, HOUSEHOLD—23. SLAVES, BROTHEL—42. PROPERTIES—”
The officer lowered the tablet, having verified Enkidu’s ability. “Friend of our host?” he inquired casually.
It meant trouble, Enkidu knew. But he was through with temporizing, and he saw that little could be concealed from this pragmatic Persian. “Gabatha is no friend of mine! I came inside his door only to rescue someone from his dungeon.”
The officer smiled bleakly. Enkidu suddenly realized that the man had been drinking, though he had himself well under control. “We saw to his dungeon. He had no prisoners there.”
Enkidu’s breath stopped. Then he remembered the tapestry that hid the entrance to the water room. The Persians would not know about that.
“So I cannot believe you, Babylonian,” the man said, belching formidably. “Surely an enemy does not visit this house on such a happy occasion! Come—my men are weary with slogging in the silt of the river, since the garrison neglected to open the gates for us. The merchant is our esteemed host. He is our dearest friend. He loves all Persians—Medes, too. I insist you join us in enjoying the hospitality of this house.”
Enkidu decided he might as well be speared for a crocodile as for a lizard. The Persians would not let him go, anyway. “I will never feast under this roof! Gabatha is your friend, not mine!”
“Are you implying you don’t like Persians?”
“I care nothing for politics, or who rules Babylon. I don’t have any feeling about Persians. But never will I associate with this murderer, this traitor, this refuse—this Gabatha! Only let me do what I came to do and I’ll depart.”
The Persian sat back and appraised Enkidu. His head nodded slightly from the drink he had taken. “You sound almost as though you dislike our esteemed host.”
Was there any way he could extricate Amys without revealing to this man that he had come for a woman? “Yes.”
A servant brought the Persian a large jar of ale. He blew off the foam and quaffed the brown fluid from a mug. Presently he said: “He had two eyes, Gabatha, when he visited Ectabana twenty years ago. He was my house guest, and he used those eyes to spy out my most valued relics. You may guess what followed.”
“Yes. He grew richer, you poorer.”
“But when Cyrus came, he had need for educated officers, and so I prospered after a fashion. Now it seems I am Gabatha’s house guest, though he does not yet remember me.”
What would have happened to him, had he professed friendship for the merchant? Enkidu realized that he had had another narrow escape. “How long will you permit this man to impale his slaves for the amusement of your troopers?”
“Citizen, I suggest you come to this party.”
Enkidu declined. “I have no stomach for impalements, least of all wanton ones.” Then he paused, comprehending. “Gabatha!”
“Our chief entertainer for the day, naturally,” the Persian confirmed. “Are you sure you don’t want to see his face when I impart this marvelous news to him?”
A cold shudder worked its way through his bowel. “I—it is fitting, but—I think not. Just let me release this prisoner and I will go away before—your ceremony.”
“The prisoner within the empty dungeon,” the Persian murmured over his ale. “Your mind is a boat that floats a narrow channel, citizen. Who is this person?”
He had been foolish to hope he would not be asked this question. “Amyitis.”
“Ah, a woman. Our host has already provided us with a number of these convenient articles. Ishtar also has been most kind. But I assure you the tally checks; the merchant held no woman out. Are you certain she is not among the celebrants here?”
“The merchant thought her dead, and perhaps he is correct. That depends on how high the water level of the Euphrates was at the time she was flung into his water chamber.” He decided to put the question more directly. “That is how you got yourselves into the city, isn’t it—by lowering the river in some way, so you could pass under the barricades?”
The man grinned. “Let’s just say we felt the need to fill the ancient northern reservoir—in case of drought. We had very good Hebrew labor—it was almost as though those slaves wanted Babylon to fall!” Then his voice became sharp. “Citizen, we have spun this story out long enough. You had better be able to show us where this woman is.”
“I—she is my wife!” Enkidu burst out desperately.
Something moved behind the officer’s eyes. “Gabatha took your wife?”
Unable to trust his voice, Enkidu nodded. Would the conquerors have any respect for local marriage?
The Persian shook his head. “He took mine, too. He obtained her in partial settlement of his claim. Later I learned he had hired her out as a prostitute at one of his riverfront establishments.” He summoned a soldier. “Take this man where he wants to go, to release a woman—and see that they get safely out of this house. Move!”
Meanwhile the officer started purposefully for the banquet court. He turned at the door to speak once more to Enkidu. “Are you sure you don’t want to witness at least the beginning of this day’s entertainment?”
“Not unless my bride is dead.”
The Persian shrugged and Enkidu departed with the trooper in somewhat reluctant tow, for the hall of the tapestry.
CHAPTER 18.
Impasse.
The host had at last united with his love, and the two would surely exist for many years in the rapturous and quarrelsome relationship that was native marriage. Both were scribes in a world that needed scribes.
DS-1 remained in control of Station A-10 and its galactic apparatus. The repair craft would soon arrive, but NK-2 would not be able to make contact, and DS-1 would let it think that the stranded galactic had perished before reaching the station.
Meanwhile the enemy TM-R remained, too powerful to eliminate individually, too dangerous to ignore. TM-R would discover the location of his craft and take it over and destroy it, if he attempted to return to send warning.
The natives were all too ready to interpret galactic and extra-galactic entities as deities. As if the situation wasn’t complicated enough already!
NK-2 paused and went over that thought again. He could not accomplish his purpose directly—but suppose he went at it indirectly, using that same deistic tendency of the natives? Building a real religion around Aten, the compassionate god—whose adherents would be bound to oppose the influences of the false god Ishtar, by whatever guise she appeared? Good against evil?