Lion of Ishtar E-Book

Guido Schenk

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 309

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Mesopotamia, 3rd millennium BC For generations, Akkad has been at war with the neighboring realm of Subartu. Behind the two Mesopotamian powers stand the sun god Marduk in Akkad, while Ishtar, goddess of the night, love, and war, reigns in Subartu. The thunder god Addad exploits their never-ending, unwinnable war to his own ends. Subartu´s Queen Semiramis travels in secret deep into hostile Akkad to win over King Sargon and form an alliance to defend the holy city of Nineveh from an impending attack by the thunder god. But even before Semiramis can offer her alliance to the Akkadians, the sinister helpers of the thunder god strike. A race against time begins, threatening to end in the subjugation of all mankind.

Leseprobe

Contents

First Chapter: Prologue

Second Chapter: The Foreign Ship

Third Chapter: In the Akkadian Encampment

Fourth Chapter: The Paths Part

Fith Chapter: By the Great River

Sixth Chapter: On the Caravan Route

Seventh Chapter: On the Way to the Border

Eighth Chapter: The Border

Ninth Chapter: The Dam of Nimrud

Tenth Chapter: The Ambush

Eleventh Chapter: Mari

Twelfth Chapter: The Duel

Cast of Characters

Akkad – Kingdom of Marduk

Sargon....................................................King of Akkad

Nintinugga.........................................Royal Bodyguard

Gusur..................................Eldest Son of King Sargon

Senezon..............................................General (Šagana)

Ezira...................................................General (Šagana)

Enna-Dagan....Duke of Mari, Brother of King Sargon

Subartu – Kingdom of Ishtar

Semiramis.........................................Queen of Subartu

Sanherib.............Captain (Gal-ug) of the Royal Guard

Mesopotamia in the Third Millenium BC

First Chapter: Prologue

The paths of humankind are manifold and in constant flux. A child is born, grows, learns, and dies. Every person, in their short time on earth, experiences life like no one before and no one after. They live in the north, in lands where the snow never melts and the sea freezes in winter. They live in the south, where the sun burns the ground and only the hardiest plants and animals survive. They live in the east and in the west, always different and yet the same as their neighbours. And the gods Marduk and Ishtar watch over them.

Since time immemorial, Marduk has ruled the day. He is a fickle ruler. His dark shaggy hair hangs heavily over his broad shoulders as he walks. It frames a tense face, the god’s stern gaze knowing no rest beneath his dense eyebrows. His body is covered to his knees with coarse fur like a wolf’s and he wears a leather belt around his hips. In his right fist, he carries a flaming sword, the thrust of which splits the earth, causing redhot lava to gush forth. Alert at Marduk’s side lurks the mušḫuššu, the strange, horned creature with its snakelike head, the clawed forepaws of a big cat, and the legs and talons of a bird of prey, above which sways a tail tipped with a scorpion’s sting. When Marduk moves through the world, people sink to the ground, exhausted, and the heat of his sun keeps them from rising. Their skin turns red and flaky where the fur of his cloak touches them. No living creature has ever truly seen Marduk, for his form appears in dazzling light. And woe betide any who try to look upon the god, for the searing rays will blind the unwary in an instant.

But Marduk, powerful as he is, rules only one half of human life. Ishtar, goddess of the night, claims the rest for herself, and her powers are no less potent than Marduk’s. Ishtar is a ruler of eternal beauty. Her hair is long and light and caresses her pale body, clothed in its silky wisps as the moon is veiled by the gossamer mist that rises from the river in the morning. When Ishtar walks the earth with the light step of a dancer, the world takes its well-deserved rest. Her element is darkness. Though none have ever seen her face to face, she reveals herself clearly at night to those able to sense her. Her veil heals the wounds seared by the day, and her song closes the weary eyes of man and beast, that sleep may restore them to life. Ishtar’s voice carries the magic of love into the world, and her breath gives friends the strength to stand together in difficult hours. But Ishtar is also the goddess of war. When she is angry, the night becomes ice-cold and cruel. The land freezes beneath her stern blue gaze. Plants curl, animals seek shelter, and people huddle closer, longing for day.

In the morning, the appearance of Marduk makes the goddess take flight. When his fiery sun rises, Ishtar hastily retreats from the earth, taking the stars with her and waiting until the sun god’s powers are spent. Marduk frees life from its icy prison, then roams the world in flames. When his powers wane, goddess Ishtar tiptoes back, her white lions close behind. Her long, flower-white veils glide gently over the earth, deftly wresting it from the baking claws of day. Marduk, meanwhile, retreats into the earth’s depths, where an eternal fire burns. And there he waits, grumbling, for Ishtar’s powers to fade with the end of the night.

Since the beginning of time, again and again, it has happened this way. Day after day and night after night. Neither is able to defeat the other, and they are forced to share the world.

With their unabated fighting, one may wonder why the world is most beautiful exactly when Marduk and Ishtar meet: The sky turns as red as the blossoms of the trees, and the earth and all that lives on it glows in the most glorious colours in the flattering light. The meeting of day and night has long ceased to be a confrontation. It has been transformed into a celebration, one that people today call the dusk or the dawn.

For centuries, Marduk and Ishtar waged bitter war with each other. Neither could bear the other, and both sought again and again to destroy their rival. The gods’ battles caused the people of that time unspeakable suffering. Heatwaves were followed by months of darkness, and the people’s crops either spoiled in the heat or their plants withered long before they bore fruit. The gods were exceedingly powerful. They were able to destroy everything in the world—except their own kind.

One day, after a failed attack on Marduk, Ishtar had an idea. If the goddess could not destroy the day by herself, perhaps she would succeed with a helper. And so she created Uras, an immense woman formed from the heaviest rain clouds, but as nimble as the wind. Uras could use her powers to turn day into night by darkening the sky and depriving Marduk of his sight of the earth. Ishtar used her helper against her enemy, and at first Marduk was taken by surprise. Uras weakened the sun god’s power tremendously, her masses of water robbing the day of its power of heat. Afflicted, Marduk created an acolyte for himself to hurl light and flame into the night: Anum, the lightning-casting berserker. Anum’s lightning could set fire to the land when the sun had set, and he soon became a serious threat to Ishtar. The balance of power was soon restored, and once again, neither god could defeat the other. And so the battle went on relentlessly.

But the destructive powers of the new helpers were soon turned against their creators. Besides the water and the wind, Ishtar had also endowed Uras with the envy women used to compare themselves with each other. But while Uras was powerful, the goddess made sure her creation knew her place.

One day, Anum and Uras met on the battlefield. Ishtar had been driven back and Marduk was resting from the exertions of battle. Uras had learned the arts of seduction from her mistress, and with a flattering tongue she seduced Anum and made him betray his creator.

The first victim of the traitors was the goddess of night. At that time, Ishtar was planning to expand her influence along the banks of the Tigris. She instructed Uras to darken the sky with her clouds and make the waters flood their banks and wash away the earth. At first Uras did as she was told. But when the goddess appeared to seize the new land, Anum leapt out from behind a rock and hurled wild lightning bolts. Behind him came Marduk with flailing arms to disperse the clouds. Fearless Ishtar confronted her enemies—with her lions and Uras, she was sure she would prevail. Uras, however, used her skills to stay behind her mistress and the lions and finally attacked them herself from the rear.

Ishtar, deeply shocked by Uras’s betrayal, was barely able to defend herself against the advancing sun god and had to fall back beaten. Marduk’s joy at his enemy’s defeat, however, was short-lived. The clouds had soaked up all of his power, leaving him easy prey for the traitors. He had to realise the painful truth: his forces were not sufficient to defend himself against both Anum and Uras, united now in attacking him. Grievously wounded, Marduk was forced to retreat from the battlefield.

Thus did the erstwhile servants triumph over their old masters. From that day forth, the traitors held to the boundaries between day and night, where neither god was strong enough to defeat both their new enemies and their old adversary.

The union of Uras and Anum did not last long. Uras, after a long night of drinking and to ensure Anum’s powers continued for all time, bedded the berserker and gave birth to Addad, the thunder god. Endowed with the powers of both his parents, Addad grew up with the wild bulls that wandered the fields in their hundreds. Uras loved her son above all else, and jealous Anum watched as the bond between mother and son grew ever closer. Addad was raised in the care of a woman who gave everything for her son. But like any child, Addad soon began testing his limits. He roamed the world for weeks at a time, playing with the elements of storm and water with which his parents had raised him. More and more, he enjoyed frightening both people and animals to win their respect. Temples soon began to be built in his name, and he was worshipped like the gods of day and night. His parents watched the young god’s deeds with concern, but were too busy battling Ishtar and Marduk, and so neglected to chastise their growing child.

One day, Anum grew tired of Addad’s misdeeds. The young god had once again thrown the bull herds of the palace into a panic with his lightning bolts. In their terror, the mighty bulls had trampled his father’s beloved garden. All Anum’s long-stifled anger and jealousy erupted in a furious quarrel. Addad provoked Anum so much that he began to hurl lightning bolts at the youngster. This was too much for doting Uras, who stood protectively before her son. Addad saw his chance and paid his father back in kind. Mortally struck by lightning, the berserker sank to the ground, blood pouring from his wounds and joining the glowing streams of the earth. From that day on, Addad took his father’s place in the battle between the traitors and Ishtar and Marduk. Armed with the weapons of both parents, he was soon able to stand up to the gods alone. Uras followed his growth with maternal pride but also, increasingly, with concern. She followed his steps closely and kept him in line. But in time, Addad grew weary of his mother’s lectures and restrictions. One day, the seed of betrayal that his parents had planted in him bore terrible fruit—Addad decided to stop sharing power with the mother who had given him life. He lured her into an ambush and struck her down with lightning, just as he had killed his father.

At the moment of her death, Uras put a curse on her treacherous son: to hold him accountable for his parents’ murder forever, Addad would never be able to leave the mountains. With the last word of the curse on her lips, she departed the world. In the years that followed, Addad tried to overcome the curse and leave the mountains. In vain. His anger grew beyond measure. In time, people and animals alike learned to avoid the thunder god’s lightning and steered clear of the high regions. When Addad finally realised the hopelessness of his attempts, he directed his energies to another venture to expand his sphere of power. With the help of the glowing streams of the earth, he built high mountains to widen his empire. It took centuries, but immortal Addad had time. When the work was complete, his mountains stretched the length of the known world.

At that time, Ishtar and Marduk were looking for new helpers in their perpetual war. They had learned from their mistakes and would treat their new allies better—but also do a better job of controlling them. And so, at roughly the same time, both devised the idea of enlisting a tribe of humans to help them.

Marduk, who lived in the hot south, chose the nomadic people of the kingdom of Akkad as his tool and helped them to rise above their neighbours. The Akkadians proved skilful in expanding their influence along the great rivers. They learned to build cities and to cultivate the land, but remained a warrior race, fearless and wild. Marduk made their empire great—and in return, the chieftain’s family were dedicated to him. Each year, Akkad’s ruler was tested by the high priest to see if he had been worthy of the god Marduk. And because the kings invariably passed on their rule to the eldest son, Marduk also took care of his upbringing. From generation to generation, the power of the dynasty of princes was to grow, until one day their armies would be ready to do battle with both Addad and the goddess of the night.

Ishtar, however, found a tribe to her liking in the north, in the realm of Subartu. The goddess did not trust men to be faithful followers, so she made a woman chieftain of the kingdom, and the throne was passed to the eldest daughter, generation after generation. The goddess—like Marduk in the south—also saw personally raising and educating this daughter. While the gods had similar plans, the two tribes were as different as night and day. The warriors of Akkad in the south seldom lived in their cities but criss-crossed the desert on their wild horses to the very borders of twilight. Their weapons were the short sword and spear. Law and justice in the tribe were embodied in the power of the king, who himself passed judgements and carried them out.

But it was quite different in Subartu. The seat of power of the Northern Queen, as she was known, was in a castle near the mountains.

She had representatives in every province whom she trusted and who advised her. The power of her empire grew from the wealth generated by trade. The queen sent envoys to the peoples in the west, where the best iron and wood were to be found, and traded with the tribes in the east, who were said to have mystical powers and who offered precious stones and spices, and fabrics as fine as spun cobwebs.

Subartu’s armies, although not large, were feared by their enemies. The typical weapon of the north was the short curved knife and the longbow. The soldiers relied less on great strength and more on perfected technique and physical control. Subartu’s fighters were more resilient and more skilled than any of their rivals. Akkad’s armies, by contrast, relied on brute strength and the element of surprise—and their soldiers were also masters of the weapons they used.

It was not long before their expansion brought the two empires face to face. Even in their first encounter, much blood was shed, as in the countless battles that followed. But the armies of the two realms, like their gods, were incapable of destroying each other. And in the battle against Addad, both were hopelessly outmatched. The thunder god watched with amusement the mortals’ pitiful attempts to conquer the world. Now and then he sent his own warriors to terrorise the servants of Ishtar and Marduk and ravage their fields. Addad’s henchmen—half-man, half-horse—wreaked havoc among the people, who lamented in vain to their gods in the temples. Belief in the power of Ishtar and Marduk waned, while the thunder god spread his clouds ever further over the world.

Many generations passed in this way. Addad wrested completely from the people the sight of their gods. Ishtar and Marduk, in their endless conflict, no longer found the strength to repel the thunder god. The people had resigned themselves to their suffering. Nothing suggested that this cycle would ever end.

Until the day a mighty ship docked in the harbour of the city of Akkad, in the heart of King Sargon’s empire. The ship had never before docked in this harbor.

Second Chapter: The Foreign Ship

Few had ever even seen it, and fewer still with the sun burning on the waves of the river. The dark vessel embodied the power of the fleet of Semiramis, queen of Subartu. Its immense hull of precious timbers glided silently past the small reed-covered fishing boats that bobbed in the channel. Fishermen in their boats looked up in amazement, as did the people ashore toward whom the strange ship was steering.

Two rows of oars protruded from its midnight-black hull, but apart from the oarsmen there was no one to be seen on deck. As if helmed by magic, it found its way to a free mooring. Only the flag on its main mast, fluttering noisily in the wind, disturbed the ship’s majestic calm. When a gust struck the fine fabric, people in the other boats believed for a moment that they saw the coat of arms of Subartu, the enemy to the north—a golden wave before a black moon.

A crowd gathered at the quay as the ship docked unimpeded. The port was the gateway to the heart of Akkad. Sargon, king of Akkad, was not in his capital just then, but his horsemen, swifter than the desert wind, could appear anywhere in the empire at any time. Akkad and Subartu had been at war for generations, but in recent years, the weapons had fallen silent, the regents of both empires only waiting for the other to provide an excuse to resume fighting. A ship with the flag of Subartu daring to dock in Akkad might be reason enough.

Curious onlookers crowded to where the mysterious ship had tied up, although no one dared to approach too closely. On deck, only the naked torsos of the rowers were visible. Then a small group of hooded figures broke from the crowd and ran onto the quay. Hawsers were thrown from aboard the ship, which they deftly caught. Not a word was exchanged. Quickly they tied the huge vessel to the pier, then they vanished into the narrow alleys of the harbor before anyone could stop them.

From that moment on, nothing moved on the ship. The rowers had disappeared behind the gunwales. The silence was soon broken by the tread of heavily armed soldiers from the city barracks approaching the landing stage. Akkad’s soldiers used their spears to carve a path through the crowd, pushing the curious back from the quay. Still nothing stirred on deck. The troop leader posted guards at the bow and stern of the ship, which lay at its mooring seemingly deserted. No one appeared on deck, and no gangplank was extended. The soldiers were waiting for orders to board. Messengers were on their way to King Sargon, and until his decision, the troop leader confined himself to guarding the vessel. Even when dusk fell over the harbor and lightning and rain beset the earth, no one on board showed themselves.

As the moon bathed the strange ship in its wan light, a small rowboat approached, unnoticed by the guards on the jetty across the river. Hooded figures deftly scaled the ship’s side and crept silently across the deserted deck towards the cabin at the stern. None of the soldiers on shore noticed the movements on board.

Below deck, a woman sat studying a map, sparsely lit by the pale moonlight that fell through a narrow window. She was already expecting her visitors. The woman did not need candles to see in the dark. Her family’s eyes had been accustomed to moonlight for generations and if there was one person who could be rightly said to have the keen eyes of a cat, it was her: Semiramis, queen of Subartu, supreme ambassador of the goddess Ishtar on earth. No movement, however slight, escaped her eyes. Nor did they overlook the slow movement of the latch on her door.

Quietly, she said, “Come in, Sanherib. I have been expecting you.”

The door swung open almost silently and a hooded man entered.

“My queen’s eyes miss nothing,” he whispered, sinking to his knees in front of her and pressing his forehead and palms on the planks of her chamber. He held his long arms outstretched, his slender fingers reaching almost to the queen’s bare feet. Semiramis accepted his greeting and motioned to him to rise. He straightened his upper body but did not stand. Long dark hair, until this moment hidden beneath the hood, fell to his strong shoulders. They framed a well-proportioned face from which beautiful brown eyes gazed thoughtfully at the queen. They carried a mixture of fear of loss and great relief at seeing her again—a look that Semiramis had seen in his eyes since his childhood. Images of the past returned to her mind. To her, he still looked like the shy little boy her servants had brought to her court long ago.

“How many years have you been in my service now, Sanherib?” she asked gently.

The young man flinched in surprise. Cautiously, he replied, “It will be fifteen years in the summer, my queen.”

“Fifteen years,” Semiramis repeated thoughtfully. She looked at him for a long time and noticed the growing fear in his eyes. The same look he had then, she thought. The way he looked at me when he was led into the great throne room. Even in those days, the shy child stood a head taller than other boys his age. He had a lean, athletic body that had now assumed its consummate form after years of abstinence and disciplined training. His shoulders were broad, and his stomach had remained flat, unlike the men who indulged too often in beer. The women at court were now casting undisguised desirous glances at Sanherib, but none had been able to reach his heart, surrounded as it was by a wall of fear.

“It is time for you to marry, Sanherib,” the queen stated. “It would be a terrible shame if you did not give our goddess beautiful children.” Abashed, the gal-ug, as Semiramis’s captain was called in Subartu, looked down at the floor. The subject clearly made him uncomfortable. Some time ago she had heard him complain that men grew soft after they married. The women of Subartu would always take the role of head of the house while the men degenerated into lackeys, sires of offspring and nothing more. After only a few years of marriage, they would grow fat and spend their days bragging to each other about their supposed heroic deeds of earlier days. Sanherib feared the confines a woman would impose.

Nevertheless, he knew his queen would tolerate no contradiction. “I will obey your command and marry, my queen,” he said reluctantly. Semiramis knew him well enough to understand what his voice implied: he did not wish to discuss the matter. She bent forward and gently stroked a strand of hair from his face with her right hand.

“It is not an order, Sanherib. It is my wish. Family is the refuge of happiness. I want to see you happy.” She wanted to reassure him as she had back then, when he’d been orphaned in a cruel attack. Semiramis had taken him into the palace and from that day forward had treated him like a son. In the depths of his gratitude, he had accepted her every order without argument and had never let her down. Sanherib’s loyalty and sacrifice for Queen Semiramis had become almost proverbial in the empire. Now he was gal-ug of her bodyguard and one of Subartu’s best fighters. He had mastered every existing weapon, even the longbow, which was usually the preserve of women in the army.

Beneath his dark cloak, Sanherib wore the light leather armor of the Subartu equestrian brigades. A war sword protruded from his belt, the buckle of which was embossed with the dark moon. His long, strong legs were covered by black trousers and high riding boots. On his back he carried a special leather bag that concealed his bow and a quiver of arrows. To reach the boat so quickly, he must have ridden fast along the river from their hiding place north of the city, Semiramis thought. Her own ship had been carried rapidly downriver by the current and the efforts of the oarsmen. Coming from Nimrud, they had reached the city unmolested in less than three days. Semiramis was pleased to know that her gal-ug had already reached them on the same night they docked. No doubt he did not rest along the way either, she thought, looking at the rings beneath his eyes.

“We’ll take care of your marriage when we return to the palace,” she said, closing the matter and choosing a new topic. “Where are the others?” she asked.

“Lurs and Ikmer were with me on the boat. Turl-an is on the rooftops, watching the soldiers on the quay. There are only twenty of them. She has enough archers with her to take care of them should they try to board your ship. If more troops come from the city, she will signal us and your ship will be able to leave in time.”

Semiramis nodded. She did not expect an attack, but her gal-ug’s precaution was reassuring. They were in Akkad, the enemy’s capital, after all.

“Is King Sargon here?” she asked.

“No. I saw many men wearing his coat of arms at the palace. Akkad’s barracks are full.”

“And where is Sargon camped now?”

“He has pitched his tents a half day’s journey from here, at an oasis to the west.”

The queen nodded with satisfaction. She had expected that. Unlike his father, Sargon had always been a man of the desert. She had heard of his aversion to walls blocking his view. Semiramis looked out the small window, and the bright moonlight bathed her face in pale light. Her skin shimmered faintly, like that of a statue. It had been a long time since she had seen a sky as clear as the one that glowed so graciously over Akkad that night. Ishtar is close, she thought. “Then he will know by now that I’m here,” she said softly, more to herself than to her gal-ug.

Her decision was made. The moonlight of her goddess filled her with confidence.

“Get me ten riding horses and five pack horses by morning and find out the fastest way to Sargon’s camp. After that, get some sleep. I want to leave here only when the sun is at its highest.”

“At its highest?” asked Sanherib, as if he had not understood.

“Yes. We do not want to make it appear as if we are sneaking into his country. If he is half a day’s ride west, we will reach his camp at nightfall. That will cancel out his advantages.”

“Do you think the desert king will let you walk into his camp unchecked?”

Semiramis smiled. “He will wonder why I am coming. He may be a savage, but he will at least be curious enough to meet me in person.”

“He will take you prisoner,” Sanherib protested.

“I am sure he wants to. But the trail brings us to him. If Addad also leads his muskil to war against us, then sooner or later they will defeat us. I am not risking as much as you think.” Since time immemorial, the thunder god Addad had been exploiting the power balance between the goddess Ishtar and the sun god Marduk to expand his own power. His clouds now shrouded the sky every night. Without the admonishing glow of the moon before their eyes, people were gradually forgetting Ishtar. Now, apparently, Addad believed he was strong enough to attack the cities of Subartu.

Sanherib stroked the hilt of his sword with one hand. He was clearly troubled. “My queen, allow me to speak freely. We only have your assumptions and a few shards of the clay tablets, and they may mean something else entirely. I am not willing to simply throw you into this lion’s jaws.”

“You will not throw me into anything, Sanherib. You will be coming with me.”

He looked at her, puzzled. “Is that your order? Would it not be better for me to follow with a rearguard and if necessary to set you free?”

The queen shook her head.

“No. Sargon would not overlook that. A rearguard would only make him suspicious. My plan will stand or fall on getting him to trust me. I pray that Ishtar will give me the persuasive powers I need.”

“For an alliance with her enemy?”

“Sargon is not her enemy. He can no more harm Ishtar than a dog can harm a lake. If a dog bites a lake, all he does is make ripples that vanish again in a moment.”

“The dog could drink the lake dry, though.”

Semiramis had to smile at the image.

“And he would certainly choke on it, don’t you think?” she said, continuing the comparison. They had chatted like this all the time when Sanherib was a child. He loved playing with animal comparisons. Today, however, was not the time. The queen grew serious again. “You have my order. Now go, and return tomorrow at noon with eight of your fighters, eight whom you trust blindly. They may meet old enemies in Sargon’s camp. I must be sure that none of them will lose their nerve. They must be eight volunteers.”

“No one with any honour would abandon you, my queen. You know that. And no one like that deserves to be in your service. Our entire army would follow you into the Akkadian encampment.” He had clenched one hand into a fist. Clearly, he disliked the plan. But even if his queen decided to go to her death, he would not leave her side.

Semiramis nodded gratefully. “For this mission, I need only you and your eight fighters. Tell the captain to set sail immediately after our departure and return to Subartu without stopping. She is to await my arrival on the other side of the border. That is all.”

Sanherib bowed, stood up, and left Semiramis alone in the chamber, bathed in the moonlight of her goddess.

At that same moment, a man was pacing nervously back and forth in his tent. Pacing, in the past, had always helped him sort out his thoughts, but today he found no answers to his questions.

Long, dark curls tumbled into his angular face, where the sun and many battles had left deep marks. A simple gold crown, fastened at the back of his head with a leather strap, was all that indicated his royal rank. Sargon was not enamoured of ostentatious jewellery, which would only hinder him in battle. He wore leather armour, which he never removed even in the protection of his own camp. Tucked into his belt was a sharp knife, its handle as scarred as the face of its owner. His dark legs with their powerful calves ended in sturdy feet in sandals strapped to his knees. Sargon was in constant motion, always moving here or there. With two big steps he crossed the tent.

“And you are certain it was their flag?” he asked the messenger who had conveyed to him the news of the foreign ship’s arrival in Akkad just moments before.

“As sure as I live, Majesty. I know the flag only too well from the great campaigns.”

Sargon stopped and stared into the fireplace inside the tent. Firelight flickered across his face. “What is the witch up to? She knows perfectly well I have over two hundred soldiers in Akkad. Sending a single ship is plain foolhardy.”

“Sir, perhaps it is a trick? Maybe she is not on board at all but sneaking in from the north instead,” the messenger speculated.

“Out of the question!” the desert king snapped as he began pacing the tent again. “She would not entrust such a valuable ship to anyone. And the Subartuans only raise their flag in the presence of their queen. What is she up to?”

One of the bodyguards entered. “Sir, Nintinugga wishes to speak to you.”

“Send her in. And you, Tuvor, may go. Wait outside for my instructions.”

The messenger bowed and left the tent. A moment later, a young woman entered. She was about twenty years old, but her age was hard to read from her face, as was true of many daughters of the desert. A coarse lion skin covered her body to just above her knees and was tied around her waist with a braided belt that held a small pouch and dagger. A quiver of feathered arrows hung from her shoulder, and she held the large bow loosely in her left hand.

“Semiramis has arrived in Akkad,” Sargon announced, and he watched her reaction curiously.

Normally, Nintinugga was even more impulsive than her king, but this time Sargon was disappointed. The slight twitch of a facial muscle was all that betrayed her surprise. Did she already know? he wondered irritably. He liked the whole matter less and less. The young woman sat on one of the skins laid out in the tent and remained silent. Nintinugga had a sense for when her king expected no comment.

Sargon strode to a table where a large map was spread. He picked up a cup and studied it from all sides, as if he could find an answer there. “She docked around noon. Since then, no one has shown their face on deck.”

“What do you think it means, my lord?” she asked.

He smiled. The warrior-woman knew him well enough to guess his thoughts. Nevertheless, he put them into words. “She is clearly trying to provoke me into storming the ship, which would give Subartu an excuse to declare war against us. But is such a great sacrifice worth it? Semiramis is on board, there’s no question, and she could not have brought more than forty men with her. Nizâm ul-Mulk is only waiting for my order. He has over two hundred soldiers ready. Why should I not capture her?”

“Sir, when you say ‘he is waiting,’ it means you have not given the order. Why hesitate? Do you think it is a trap?” Nintinugga asked.

“Simply offering herself like this would be far too clumsy and obvious for Semiramis. Her threads have always been more finely spun.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow. What else do you think you might do?”

I have to do something, of course, Sargon silently agreed. This woman will never forget the deeds done, he thought appreciatively. Brooding does not help me here.

“Send a messenger to Senezon immediately. I want him and his men to set up a chain of guard posts to the south.”

“So you do think it’s a trap,” Nintinugga concluded.

“It is a precaution,” the king corrected her. “Semiramis must know that we are watching every move on her ship. She cannot surprise me from there. The Elam, however, have been a little too peaceful for my liking in the last few weeks.”

The Elam were a warlike tribe that the Akkadians had pushed back to the mountains from the great rivers in the south of the empire. They had never been fully defeated, but had come to realise that their families had more to lose from fighting than Akkad’s troops did.

“Šagana Senezon is personally securing our border, my king. Withdrawing him could give the Elam a chance to invade.” Although she and the general had known each other for a very long time, she always spoke of him with his military title.

Sargon himself attached little importance to rank. He heeded her objection—and had to agree with the young woman. “You’re right. Senezon should put the border on alert, and only then leave for camp. Ezira can see to the guard posts in the south. He’s with Senezon now, if I remember correctly. Make sure the messenger leaves right away.”

The archer bowed to show that she had understood the order. She turned to leave the tent, but Sargon had another order for her. “After that, ride to Akkad with a few soldiers and watch Semiramis’s ship. Talk to the people in the harbour. I need information. But take no direct action! There will be no attack without my express order. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, but hesitated, reluctant to leave.

Sargon guessed what she was thinking. “You will be back in camp in time if I need you, Ninti. Now get going. I expect your first report after you get to Akkad.”

“What should I do if someone leaves the ship, sir?”

Sargon thought for a moment, then said, “No ship can carry more than forty soldiers. We have more than five times that number in Akkad. If anyone should indeed leave the ship, have them watched closely. Do not take them prisoner without my order.”

Nintinugga bowed again and left the tent to carry out her orders, but when Sargon was alone again, he found no peace for a long time. What is Semiramis up to? he wondered. Something strange is going on.