CHAPTER TWELVE - LAND OF LIONS

Sjerub rode through the Northern Gate, exiting the walled confines of canal-rich Uruk and entering the sprawling, ever expanding shanties that started from the city gates.

Here there were no waterways, no grand estates.

Dry reddish dust and filth-mud had replaced the gardens. Masses of imported slaves and a steady stream of immigrants attracted by Uruk’s riches had forced the city to grow beyond its protective walls. Far-reaching slums stood in parallel to the northern road.

Sjerub pulled the hood of his traveler’s robe over his head, a gust of coarse dust from the western sands blasting over him and his horse.

The shanty streets were filled with rag clothed people that stared at him with hungry eyes.

‘Begone, dogs!’ Sjerub yelled, forced to slow down Mardu. The horse shook his head in a bid to escape the reigns but his master kept a tight grip.

Hearing the Hurrian’s angry voice the people slowly moved out of the way.

Sjerub shook his head at their gaunt faces. Food seemed to be a problem for Uruk, especially outside the great walls. Its people grew in number every day, multiplying, while its food supply did not. Nothing grew on the barren soil of Uruk. Meat and bread was acquired with coin, which these people did not seem to possess, though Sjerub felt no pity for them. If you want bread you can fight for it.

He ignored the malnourished people at the side of the road that sought to sell their daughters to him, nearly trampled a young child that stood in the way, then finally left the nauseating and cramped misery of the slums and entered dry open country.

The stink of people, animals and their accumulated filth was replaced with fresh air; sandy but clean. The land of Uruk came into his view, and it was a dry arid land.

The soil was hard earth cracked and scorched by sun, an oker-orange hue reaching to the horizon. Another gust of dust from the west covered him, pricking his eyes before depositing red sand over the salt-caked fields.

The melancholic emptiness was split by the great river. It approached from the north to feed Uruk and continued further south in an endless ribbon of sparkling blue. Reed grew thick and high at the waterside, the light-brown stalks rippling in the dusty wind.

In parallel to the reeded riverbank an empty road led north. It was used little, and on this burning sun-bathed day there were no fellow travelers.

The day was hot, scorching hot, and Sjerub felt the sweat trickle down his back. A droplet ran down his nose.

Mardu was keeping a good pace, a cloud of dust emerging under his powerful hooves. Sjerub looked over his shoulder at Uruk, both the vast red walls and the slums before them gradually shrinking.

He was sweating, already thirsty, and dust pricked in his eyes. A smile formed on his face; He was serving his mistress again.

‘Take the road at your own peril’, the city guards at the gates had told him. ‘-This is a land of Lions.’

So Sjerub watched the land. The barren plains were empty as far as the eye could see, the salt-flats hazy in the hot air. The reeds could hide creatures however, even a lion - crouching low between the moving stalks. Perhaps its predatory cat eyes were fixed on him this very moment.

The Hurrian grimaced. Today every stalk danced to the tune of a warm western-wind. Any bestial movement would be concealed.

Bones were scattered in the sand. He encountered an old broken wagon at the side of the road with ripped curtains. Further along, skulls lay half buried in the dirt. It was clear it were the lions that ruled over Uruk-outside-the-walls, and they hunted the men; the traveler, the caravaneer and the exile.

His pale mount galloped loudly over the dirt road. Mardu seemed as joyed as his master to be out of the cramped city and its tight streets, but his crashing hooves and furious breathing, as well as the long plume of dust steadily growing towards the sky in their wake, would signal their approach to any awaiting predator.

Was that a movement? Sjerub asked himself, seeing a branch sway at his reeded right flank.

He wasn't going to take any chances and pulled on Mardu’s reigns. The fast horse kicked and buckled but Sjerub ignored its protests. Gradually Mardu came to a halt, breathing discontentedly.

Sjerub’s hand held a long wooden lance, the star of Eneduanna waving just below the bronze spear-tip. He lowered the weapon in preparation. Mardu staggered but Sjerub kept control, grey eyes fixed on the reeds. Come then, beast.

He waited, and waited - patiently. A lone cloud crossed the blue heaven and nothing came forth. Sjerub swallowed and continued the journey.

The laws of Uruk had been made very clear to him; This was the land of lions. The great cats were considered sacred animals, personal property of the High-Priestess, and were forbidden to hunt, forbidden to kill - even in self-defence.

But Sjerub would not let himself be clawed down and dragged into the maws of those predatory cat-beasts. No, when the time would come, Sjerub would defend himself; Break of his lance into the hide of that holy beast and not even beg Inanna for forgiveness. He was not a commoner, not a nameless traveler, he was Sjerub; Eneduanna’s command.

Eneduanna. A faint desire in his heart. When would he meet her again? If he had to he would slay a hundred lions just to be with her again. The tall woman...

Sjerub rode on, enveloped in his own thoughts until the sun dropped low.

A descending dusk in the desolate west, casting its last red light on the surface of the waters.

Sjerub steered the reigns to the left, forcing Mardu from the road and into open land.

He rode towards the setting sun, finding the ground steadily rising into hill-country.

In the red twilight of dying day he noticed old weathered tree stumps dot the hills; the remains of an ancient forest, cut down ages ago.

Sjerub raised his nose into the air and breathed in deeply; Earthy, no scent of cat. He halted Mardu and dismounted. His wobbly legs took a moment to regain their strength, and his back ached from a long day in the saddle.

He made sure to tie down Mardu to a stake in the ground; he didn't trust the pale horse for a heartbeat to stay loyal.

He collected brushwood and dry stalks, roots if he had to, and chipped away at the tree stumps with his dagger, finding enough to start a small fire.

As Sjerub ignited the campfire the thought came to him that perhaps, Uruk’s sacred lions had learned to search men by their lights. But he kept the flames alive; If he was to face a great holy maned man-eater he was not going to do it blind.

He sat down with legs criss-crossed and placed his sword in his lap and his lance besides him.

Sjerub stared into the flames. His travels led him to the city of the Isines, Uruk’s northern neighbours. He was Eneduanna’s envoy. Her eyes, ears and hands.

Sjerub’s mouth became a thin line when he realized the gravity of his task. There would be no failure. Anything less than a complete success might spell his end. His mistress had given him mercy once, he doubted he would receive it twice.

He took out Heabani’s scroll from Mardu’s saddle. The brittle paper creaked as it was unrolled again. For a moment the black-inked symbols of the Riverlanders danced before his eyes, taunting him in the light of fire. Then the lines and squiggles turned into words and sentences:

‘Sjerub of Aratta, bound Hurrian, servant of the Revered one - blessed is her name,

You are sent to Isin, Realm of King Kalbi the beekeeper. It stands at the banks of the same river as Uruk, three days ride upstream.

The Revered one wants you to make the following demands to the King of Isin:

She wants the permission to build a temple to the Queen of Heaven within the walls of Isin, with her Idol placed within.

She also requests the lifting of any and all restrictions on the movement of her priestesses in an out of Isin, and his entire Kingdom.

With those simple conditions met the High-Priestess of Uruk offers friendship and protection to Isin.

Isin will not follow the fate of Larsa. Isin will prosper.

Ensure that Eneduanna’s commands are followed by any means necessary.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

Good luck to you Hurrian, may Inanna give you safe passage through her land.’

The message ended with Heabani’s seal: a red-waxen signet of the songbird.

Sjerub rolled up the scroll. A temple for Eneduanna. Priestesses in Isin. It seemed simple enough, but he had to admit he had no idea how feasible the demands were. He had never been this northern Kingdom. What if the Isine King said no? His stomach churned; He would fail the High-Priestess. What then? Challenge his champion to a duel? Terrorize the Isine countryside until he was hunted down? Return with his tail between his legs back to Uruk? What then….

A faint roar in the distance shook the Hurrian from his thoughts. The echoes faded through the dark barrens. He wished it was a trick of the wind, but he knew one of her sacred beasts was roaming the land.

Mardu’s pale muscles bulged as the horse pulled on its binds, teeth gnashing with foam at his lips.

‘Calm now Mardu, calm now.’ Sjerub said as he reached for the lance.

A muffled sound behind him made his ears prick up, followed by a discomforting tingling over his spine. In an instant he spun around, spear-tip ready to strike into the darkness.

Sjerub’s eyes widened to collect the sparse light of stars and he braced his legs.

Tap. tap. tap.

It was directly in front of him.

‘Come then, beast.’ The Hurrian uttered into the darkness.

Tap. tap. Tap.

A little frog jumped between his feet, ignoring the Hurrian warrior looming over him.

Sjerub sighed a breath of anxious relief and lowered his weapon. He shook his head in disbelief; what was this little amphibian doing in these arid hills? The frog stopped, moist eyes glancing at him, then smugly leapt past him back into the darkness.

Sjerub found himself alive and unscathed at dawn. Mardu was still there, though it glared at him with open hostility. It neighed, pulling again on the rope, as if urging him to get going again.

Sjerub watered and fed his horse, collected his possessions and remounted. Soon he was riding over the river-side road again.

By midday he noticed Eneduanna’s familiar form awaiting him. Her tall body twisted in the heat of the road. He had reached Eneduanna-to-the-north; An identical idol of the High-Priestess at the northern reaches of Uruk.

Here Uruk ended and Isin began. The soil beyond Uruk’s borders had the same orange-brown colour, but the landscape was dotted with large boulders and rocks, as if a wandering giant had collected great stones from a quarry and one by one they had slipped from a hole in his bag. Around these stones purple flowers grew from dry bushes, and small golden-coloured bees buzzed from petal to petal.

Sjerub halted at Eneduanna-to-the-north, the tall statue standing on a weathered granite block peering out to the stony lands to the north. She was dressed in red, cloth somewhat faded. Her marble skin was painted tanned, moulds and marks added like the real Eneduanna possessed. Her eyes were flickering onyx stones. Brown human hair swayed from the statue’s head.

The idol seemed displeased and Sjerub cast down his eyes. He galloped away and crossed the border.

A chiseled black borderstone on the Isine side read:

Lions to be sentenced to death.

City of Isin stood in the land like a shining pearl. It was elevated on a tell, and Its protective walls were plastered white to reflect the sun. The hill-top city was the main citadel of a small but prideful Kingdom. From here shepards led out their herds back and forth to villages in the stony countryside.

From certain parts of the city, plumes of smoke rose behind the walls - the fires of Industry; the famed glassmakers of Isin.

Like at Uruk, the grand wide river flowed past on the eastern side. A merchant’s quarter had been built outside on the riverbanks, simple clay huts and buildings and a few mooring docks.

Isin sold medicinal herbs, honey and glasswares, much of it ending up in Uruk. Small plots of farmland surrounded the hill-city, and across the river was a growth of palm trees and dense brushwood.

Sjerub forced Mardu to greater speed as he reached the approaches of the white hill-city.

In Sjerub’s hand was raised the banner of Eneduanna, the eight pointed star of Inanna.

People in the fields halted their works and fled towards the city. Sjerub continued unabated, charging towards the city in a roar of dust and thunderous hooves.

Further ahead he saw the gates of Isin being closed hurriedly, while a small mob of frightened peasants forced themselves in through the last gap.

Sjerub halted, and besides a displeased neighing, the horse complied. He gently tapped Mardu’s black-maned neck. It seemed his mount was getting accustomed to him.

A dozen helmeted heads watched from above, the rinkling of armour audible as more soldiers rushed into position.

Sjerub’s hard Hurrian face stared back. ‘Your manners remind me of the Larsans.’ He taunted. ‘Is your fear so great for Uruk that you would close the gates for a single rider?’

‘Uruk from the south is always trouble. Dont blame us for precautions. State your business truthfully or see yourself riddled with arrows.’ A bald soldier demanded. His men raised their bows.

Sjerub smiled. ‘I bring words for your King from the Revered one, High Priestess Eneduanna of Uruk.’

‘Very well.’ The soldier replied. ‘We will inform our Lord. Patience now, envoy from Eneduanna. Do not say we are Larsans, we have no war with Uruk. Let there be peace between us, but you are a stranger to our Kingdom and your admittance is not my decision to make.’ The bald soldier disappeared behind the battlements.

Sjerub dismounted, planting the banner in the soil before the gate. He took a swig of water and wiped the dust from his robes. He ensured his armour was fastened properly to his body and checked the edge of his sword. His right hand rested on the blade’s hilt, his left held onto the banner.

He awaited wide-legged before Isin.

The gates soon ground open again, and the lone Hurrian was faced with a host of Isine warriors. They wore lamellated bronze armour and their shields depicted dogs and bees. Sjerub ignored their unfriendly eyes and fixed his attention to an old, frail-looking man in their midst.

The man wore a long white robe and a crown of gold was perched atop his short cropped depigmented hair. His skin was pale, with a yellowish hue, and two milky brown eyes stared out from deep sockets. His gaunt cheeks led to a thin strip of mouth that barely showed lips.

‘I am King Kalbi, Lord of this domain, whom they call the beekeeper. I see a red-lion at the doors of my house whilst our law is to put lions to death. The air of my Kingdom is clean. But from the south-east comes the stench of charcoal and death.’

‘You smell Larsa.’ Sjerub replied. ‘Their fate had been their own to choose. They chose cruelty.’

‘And are you here to give Isin that same choice?’ The King’s voice rasped.

‘The High-priestess brings you a more generous offer than Larsa received. I am Sjerub of Aratta. Once I served under Lord Enmerkar of Larsa. I fought Uruk and Tall Eneduanna showed me mercy. Now I am envoy of the High-Priestess. I am sent here to speak Eneduanna’s words to you. Will you admit me into your city?’

‘Tell me, was it easy for you to betray your previous master?’ The old King asked, ignoring Sjerub’s request.

‘I am Hurrian. A Hurrian never breaks loyalty. I was the last man to fight against Uruk. Larsa was already slaughtered under the light of the black sun. Only by the sight and command of The Revered one I bowed. Have you ever seen her?’

‘I have not.’ The King warily replied.

‘You will see her if you do not speak with me. She will be carried to your gates and you will be offered mercy or cruelty. But the fine flower should not wither under the feet of soldiers, let us talk, Lord of Isin.’

The King gestured to one of his men, who stepped forward and reached for the red star-banner.

‘Do not touch Eneduanna’s standard.’ Sjerub warned coldly.

The soldier continued and sjerub swung his blade at the man’s throat, halting just an inch before the pulsing jugular. More men came forward, drawing their own weapons.

Sjerub spat on the dry soil. ‘I am Eneduanna’s envoy. I am her eyes and ears.’

‘Leave the lion.’ The old King sighed and his men fell back. A seat was carried forward and Kalbi sat down before the gates of his city. A servant brought a cup of wine. Sjerub was offered nothing.

‘Very well, Hurrian, say what you have to say. Over the years I have dealt with many stray packs from the south; be they red-clothed men or lions. Lets see if something else is able to cross your border save trouble and hardship.’

Sjerub put his sword back in his scabbard and unrolled the scroll.

‘’The High-Priestess wants the permission to build a temple to the Queen of Heaven within the walls of Isin, with her Idol placed within.’ He proclaimed

‘-She also requests the lifting of any and all restrictions on the movement of her priestesses in an out of Isin, and your entire Kingdom.

With those simple conditions met the High-Priestess of Uruk offers friendship and protection to Isin.

Isin will not follow the fate of Larsa. Isin will prosper.‘’

The King was silent for a moment. He looked at the star banner besides Sjerub, following the ripples the wind mae in the red fabric as if it were an oracle.

‘If I refuse?’ Kalbi asked.

Sjerub frowned. ‘You will force her to come. Her army is great. Larsa was subdued with minimal losses. With a sea of red around your citadel she will offer mercy or cruelty. Your Kingdom is fine, Lord of Isin, let it remain so. Eneduanna offers you peace if a temple stands within your walls and her priestesses may attend it. She will not break her word. Her word is sacred law. No packs will stray into your land. No other Kingdom will dare attack you. A crown will remain on your head. Refuse and you risk war with Uruk.’

‘I am old, dear Hurrian.’ The King spoke slowly. ‘With age comes wisdom. Knowledge. Instinct. You will realize that the world is not ruled by absolutes. Uruk is known for its merchants, so it should not be surprised by negotiations. Your Mistress might see a small Kingdom at her northern borders, but Isin has friends. I urge the HIgh-Priestess to look more carefully at her neighbours. Larsa may be ruined, but there are more Kingdoms. And these small kingdoms are frightened. They are forging blades and fletching arrows. They are sending each other messages and signing pacts. Great Ur stands at your south, and they have offered me coin and soldiers. Eridu, Kingdom of the Carps, has called for its men to serve. And I, Lord of Isin, have hunted lions all my life. My men are seasoned, acquainted, and now they wear new armours and wield new weapons. My coffers are full of gold and many mercenaries have shown interest in earning what I possess. There are even a few bands of Larsans that have managed to reach my borders. Uruk must reassess its relationship with Isin. I sit comfortably where I am. I fear not the power of Uruk, for I am not alone.’ The King sipped his wine and seemed to savour its taste.

‘But please, envoy, listen well. I offered Uruk the option of negotiation. LIke you, I prefer peace to war. I, Kalbi, Royal master of Isin, keeper of bees and dogs, will allow the Idol of your mistress into my city, - if she pays for its stay. Eneduanna’s weight in gold and her priestesses are free to come and go. I will not war against Uruk when the others ask me to. If Ur and Eridu march out against Uruk, my warriors will not burn the property of Uruk. There will be lasting friendship between our domains. I have heard your words, turncoat Hurrian, now bring my words back to Eneduanna.’

Sjerub grimaced. His mistress would not be pleased. ‘You are risking your life, and mine, with this proposal. Are you sure this is the path Isin will take?’

‘I'm quite sure.’ Kalbi replied coldly. ‘Uruk has no friends outside her own walls. How will the city fare if all her trade-routes and roads are blocked, and armies will stand at every direction it looks? My offer is genuine, but any agreement between Isin and Uruk must be based in reality.’

Sjerub shook his head. He already imagined the burning palaces and lamenting populace as Eneduanna’s cruelty would descend upon this place.

‘If you are sure of your decision let the Gods show favour. Send out your champion to me, and we will test your wisdom against the swiftness of the blade. You should not have trouble with a bit of blood, because it is what you will face in thousandfold when you send me back with these terms.’

‘But who will bring my words to the High-Priestess if you lay bleeding on my soil? No, I think that will not be the right message. Indeed quite the risk. Go, Hurrian, out of my domain. If she has a reply to my proposal I am eager to admit you again.’