Chapter Two - Feast of Lions

‘Move, maggot!’ A stick hit his leg, striking out pain as he continued climbing the hill. One hand grabbed his long hair, dragging him along even further.

Sjerub growled, feeling the bounds on his wrists behind his back, unable to respond to the constant aggression of his guards.

The sun had started its descent and there was a foul smell in the air.

‘Faster, slave!’ A hairy hand smacked his face. A few more steps and he reached the top of the hill.

The High-priestess awaited him above, barefeet, wind pulling on her scarlet dress, pressing it against her skin and revealing her figure.

Sjerub’s guards pushed him forward again, using unnecessary violence as they drove him towards the tall woman. They wanted to force him in submission with their fists and kicks, attempting to bring him to his knees, their eyes constantly seeking approval of the High priestess. But Sjerub would not bow, he would not fall, and with bruised face the guards eventually left him alone before the tall woman.

As the warriors left she offered him an earthen cup. Seeing it filled with wine he accepted. His hand trembled as he tried to bring the red liquid to his lips.

At the base of the hill the battlefield started. The plain was covered in dead. Countless bodies lay broken on the field, their number stretching out into the distance. After the eclipse the sun had returned, but its rays brought no blessing to Larsa; only simmering heat that bloated the rotting corpses. The stench of death now reached Sjerub with strength.

The army of Larsa was scattered, crushed; no more. A few scavengers looted the dead for valuables, cloth before their faces, working swiftly as the stench of rot increased. Large numbers of dark coloured birds came flocking towards the barren fields, thousands of them. Sitting on young boys and old fathers. Great heaps of men discarded. The maggots and flies soon omnipresent, writhing and multiplying in the rotting flesh.

Sjerub watched the dead landscape and felt the eyes of the High-Priestess burn on his skin.

Enedduanna was her name, he could not forget. For the sake of himself, for the sake of the others. He finally succeeded in sipping the wine but he could barely taste anything, the smells of the dead too overpowering.

How tall she was, Sjerub thought, watching the tall woman from the corner of his eye.

Her towering presence came closer until she stood beside him; calm and unbothered by the smells and the horrid sights stretching out before them.

As he watched Sjerub realized not all were dead. Some moaned, mortally wounded, dying with their guts cut open, clutching their festering wounds. He saw one man crawl away as his already fallen kinsmen were set upon by vultures. The carrion feeders eagerly followed him, and he resisted weakly as they started picking at his eyes. When his arms would not lift anymore he could only scream as his eyes were pulled out by sharp beaks.

At the edge of the plain black flocks flew up in thick clouds as a new beast arrived. Powerful jaws with teeth the size of daggers, limbs muscular and clawed. A lone lion with black manes, attracted by the mounds of rotting flesh whose scent reached far across the barrens. His powerful roar carried far as he started his feast. The lion ripped apart bodies and tore off limbs, while the birds continued their work of blinding the fallen.

The High-Priestess forced him to watch until she decided the trembling mercenary had seen enough.

‘You understand the power of Inanna now?’ She asked.

Sjerub finally looked up. ‘I understand.’ He said.

He felt sick to the stomach as he gazed upon her but he couldn't avert his eyes either. Her length terrified him, no human tribe he knew was as tall as she was. Even he, a lengthy mercenary from the north, felt like a child in her presence. Despite her elevation she was not broadly built, instead her features were delicate and feminine. Long elongated digits landed on his shoulder and she lowered her head to meet his gaze.

He looked into her large brown eyes and there was sudden desire; an unexpected stirring in his heart. A strange feeling when surrounded by death, with veins pumping blood still filled with rage of war. It mixed with fear, muddying his judgement, hazing his mind.

He was stuck in those captivating almond eyes. They held a swirl of different browns ranging from copper to dark timber. They seemed to glow, as if an orange flame burned behind the shining surface.

Her mouth was wide, resting atop a slightly jutting jaw that lead to a dimpled chin.

He noticed her full lips opening in a hungry smile, before being led back to the drowning pools of her eyes.

Sjerub felt his senses overwhelm and he forced himself to turn away.

Desire disappeared like the ebb and flow of the seas. The next tide brought fear, pitch black, clinging to the strains of his thoughts like tar. Sjerub was nauseous, his mind tossed between emotions and moods.

Again before him the stretched out plain of dead filled his vision, growing until it crawled at the edges of his perception. Moans of the dead and dying found their way back to his ears in melodies of escaping gas and agonizing screams. His limbs began shaking, the mercenary warrior losing control over his body despite his best attempts.

‘Why do you tremble? Have you so much fear in your blood?’ Eneduanna gently asked from above. She looked at his feet. ‘Will I see the piss drip down your legs when the knife is put on your throat?’

Sjerub’s eyes remained fixed on the dead. They called out to him. Larsa was dead and he still lived. Their heads turned, spines cracking, empty eyes accusing him. Bloated bodies stirred.

Dead men dont move, he told himself but his throat clenched in unease.

‘Its not right.’ He spoke with difficulty.

‘What is not right?’ Eneduanna asked maliciously.

Sjerub shivered. ‘They need to be buried.’

‘They marched against me. There will be no burials, no prayers for the dead. They will be consumed by the beasts and their names forgotten. May their souls be stuck forever in these barren fields.’

The High-Priestess took up an earthen jar and refilled Sjerub’s cup. He drank eagerly now, anything to dull the senses.

‘What is your name, Hurrian?’

‘Sjerub.’ He replied, bowing his head towards her. ‘-High-priestess of Inanna.’

She gave a wide smile, revealing rows of white teeth. ‘High-priestess of Inanna.’ She repeated.

‘You are quick to bow and speak correctly now the army you have fought for has fallen...’

The smile faded. ‘But in your position correct words are not enough to buy life.’

Sjerub attempted to speak, but something in her gaze forced him to remain silent.

‘I have considered making you a eunuch and gifting you to the brothels. A fitting fate for defeated men.’ She wrinkled her nose in disgust, then shook her head. ‘You deserve not to live, but I will make you an offer; a token of my boundless mercy. I want to… purchase you. That is how it is done right? Soldier-prostitute; I pay you gold and your fate is mine.’

Prostitute. It took a moment for his tired mind to reply. ‘You wish to Hire me?’

‘Are you not the master of the Hurrians? Were you not the one that wisely gave command to lay down arms? I see a Northern mercenary, his fate hanging by a fine thread held by a southern Queen.’

Her gaze intensified and his mind became clouded again. Slowly his vision traveled to her wide lips. They moved again, - Slowly, like a spell. He saw her tongue and white teeth. Her mouth weaved time, stretching it out.

‘I want you In Uruk.’ Her voice was amorous, good hearted, slightly hoarse.

A long finger trailed affectionately over his arm, crossing an old scar. Sudden pain from the wound flared up, and the milky thoughts became sharp again.

He was silent as he contemplated his answer. This tall woman, this High-priestess was dangerous. A witch the Larsans had called her, cursed her name a thousandfold. He had to tread carefully here, but he was a Hurrian. Hurrians dont break oaths it was said, and the sayings rang true. He gathered his bravery.

‘It depends.’ The words trailed off. Weak, isolated. They felt like a mistake, sadly unretrievable from Enedduanna’s ears.

Her large, almond shaped eyes reduced to narrow slits. ‘Depends- on what?’ Her warm voice turned cold. Sjerub grimaced, shaking off a creeping sense of panic.

‘Does the king of Larsa still breathes?’ The Hurrian asked carefully. ‘You have seen the moon on our shields. Symbols of Kusuh, Lord of oaths and promises. A Hurrian God. There is a reason our reputation is one of unbroken loyalty. When we signed contract with the chief of the Larsans we also signed it with the Lord of truth. He keeps the faithful safe, the honest, the dedicated. All the men of Larsa are dead, but I still live. I could not break the oath when day turned into night and my allies, to whom I swore my loyalty, were already dead.’ He glanced quickly at the High-priestess, seeing the displeased pull of her mouth release some tension, and he quickly continued.

‘Please do not seek to destroy this bond. Hurrians cannot break oaths, not if sworn on the moon and bound in blood. So I ask if the King still breathes. The contract loses its power with his death. Please, understand that this loyalty also extends to you, were I to swear the same oath to you.’

‘I see.’ The priestess spoke, some of the warmth returning in her tone. Her hostile expression turned to calmness again. ‘The Hurrian reveals himself the negotiator. Very well, I will indulge in your practices.’ She nodded. ‘Yes the King of Larsa still breathes. I hold him in chains for now. I am bedding him with one of my priestesses. Their offspring I proclaim to oversee Larsa in the future. Once the King’s seed has been sown, he will die.’

Sjerub glared over the fields of dead. Clouds had arrived from the north, carried on a strong wind that brought coarse sand and pushed the stench up the hill even more. Under the fast-approaching cover of thickening clouds the land turned shadowy once more, just a few rays of golden light still breaking through the heavens above. The ground it illuminated only showed corpses, a hint of bronze glinting amongst fallen banners.

‘Then if you would permit us to wait until the act has proceeded we would be grateful.’ He said and the High-priestess gave a sigh, losing interest in the mercenary warrior besides her. She waved her hand carelessly. ‘I’ll grant it.’

‘My gratitude, High-priestess of Inanna.’

‘You can leave.’ She said flatly.

No warmth, no coldness; No emotion spent on him, and Sjerub felt distraught by it. An urge arose within him to earn her approval, but it would not be today. He bowed and left, leaving Eneduanna gazing out over the valley.

Sjerub stumbled down the hill - on the side of the living, not the dead.

A group of Urukian warriors awaited below, hulking figures leaning on their spears, their eyes following his every step down. A man with a golden crown stood amongst them; the King of Uruk. Strong arms held blood covered weapons and two dark eyes peered out under thick wolfish eyebrows. The King’s face was shrouded behind a great beard, black like ink, curls rolling over the lower half of his face. Nostrils flared out of a flat nose, snorting like a bull. The eyes held only contempt, and the sliver of mouth visible under the dark beard was displeased. Two red robed warriors surged forward and dragged the Hurrian down the last stretch, pushing him to his knees before the black haired King.

‘If it were my decision to make I would kill you on the spot.’ The King of Uruk said, placing his morningstar atop Sjerub brown hair. The heavy weapon weighed heavily on his head. ‘Know that I am your conqueror. When I pass you cower in the dirt; low, so I dont have to see you. Oppose me and I shall crush you like an insect.’ The morningstar retracted. ‘Know my name, foreigner. It is Kitun.’

The King spat on Sjerub, a thick wad of slime dripping down the mercenary’s cheek.

‘You and your filthy kin I command to go to the barren fields. Bow amongst your fallen allies, and pray to our Lady war, Inanna, and praise Enedduanna’s name till nightfall. Let the Revered one hear gratitude that she has spared your lives.’

Kitun snapped his fingers, and a line of Hurrian prisoners came in to view, tied together with ropes. Thirteen men; all that remained of their brotherhood. They were covered in filth, still wearing their blood-spattered armour, eyes exhausted, stumbling as the whip lashed out.

Kitun grabbed Sjerub’s long brown hair, yanking him closer and speaking directly into his ear. ‘No time to waste, insect. Lead your men into the carrion fields and sit amongst your dead brothers.’

He gave the Hurrian a push, and Sjerub started walking.

With Urukian warriors at his flanks he moved around the hill, the miasma of death covering him again like an eager lover.

They passed the first bodies, slain in terror mere hours ago. Crows flew up, screeching discontentedly as the Hurrian prisoners disturbed their meal. The concentration of bodies thickened until the ground under was no longer visible, only rotten flesh, half eaten-eyes and damaged armour left to walk on.

‘Here is good.’ Kitun stated with disgust, coughing as he covered his face with cloth.

‘-Kneel and pray.’ The King wheezed and he pointed back at the hill. ‘She is watching.’

Sjerub turned his head, seeing the tall figure of Eneduanna atop the height. Her long hair and robes waved in the wind, but she remained rigid and unmoving.

‘Down I said!’ Kitun growled, kicking Sjerub behind his knee. The mercenary fell down, collapsing onto the dead that stared at him with wide hazy eyes. The flesh was weak, rotten, their skin bursting where his hands landed. Pale maggots crawled over his fingers. Sjerub gagged, then vomited over the corpses as he pushed himself up. He heard the sounds of rope being cut, and saw the other Hurrians being released from their bounds.

‘You do as you’re told. Till nightfall you praise Inanna, till nightfall you thank revered Eneduanna. I assume she will enjoy hearing her name being spoken by such renowned warriors.’

Kitun left with his men as the Hurrians started warily lining up amongst the dead.

‘Praise!’ Kitun yelled over his shoulder.

They started slowly, fearful voices speaking the names they were told.

‘Inanna, Enedduanna, Inanna, Enedduanna…’

Sjerub crawled over the corpses, past the murmuring mercenaries. One grabbed his arm.

‘Are we going to die my Lord?’ The warrior whispered, tears in his eyes.

‘We are not.’ Sjerub replied firmly, and he continued. Dead hands grabbed his ankles, they moaned as he moved over their swollen bodies. Long shadows started forming under the orange glow of sunset.

Birds flew overhead, black feathers slowly drifting down. When he turned his head Sjerub still saw Eneduanna standing on the hill. He yelled at the others kneeling amongst the dead.

‘Louder men. Louder! If you want to live let that tall priestess hear you. Enedduanna is her name, and her Goddess is Inanna. She wishes our oath and our blades, but we need to do penance first.’

A cry as one of their fallen brethren was recognized among the mass of dead, causing the other Hurrians to swarm together in mourning.

‘Keep saying her name!’ Sjerub ordered. ‘Our mourning will come tonight.’

They remained amongst the dead as days light’s diminished. At the onset of darkness different creatures came to feast. Yapping, howling sounds replaced the screeches of birds and the roars of the lion. Packs of Hyenas, laughing in hysterical yelps as they too started to devour.

Tired voices muttered the names. Their voices were added by the incessant scuttling of insects, spiders and scorpions as they burrowed their eggs in the dead. Last light scattered from a faded red horizon.

‘Cease your voices.’ Sjerub decided. ‘This is death’s storehouse. Let us not disturb them further.’ They rose from the wet rotting corpses and left.

At the edge of the barren fields a small figure awaited them. His silhouette was black against the setting sun, now a dim red half orb swallowed by the horizon.

‘Hurrians!’ A gentle voice called out, no traces of aggression or threat within the melodic tones.

Sjerub squinted his eyes, his hand moving to his knife.

‘Best not approach oathless Hurrians.’ He called back. ‘Tell me your name stranger.’

‘Come here Hurrian, there is less stench of the dead this way. We can speak in better places, I have waded too close already to that sea of rot.’

In the last dim rays of the day Sjerub discerned who was addressing him.

Before him stood a small figure with a large head, as if his torso was somewhat undeveloped. Although bearing the face of a man, somewhat fattened, the figure was dressed and decorated like a precious wife. Sjerub decided to move closer, not recognizing a threat in the lone man-wife.

As he got closer he saw the stranger’s face whitened by powder, and a small black dot painted above a small red painted mouth. On his head was a voluminous orange-coloured wig whose long curls were held back by golden pins. Chrystals sparkled from droopy earlobes, saggy and elongated by too much weight over too many years.

‘They call me Heabani the beautiful; the flower of the Euphrates. Eneduanna’s eunuch, overseer of the affairs of Uruk.’ Heabani spoke with a soft melodic voice, occasionally rising to high pitched tones. The little eunuch seemed self-content and proud.

The Hurrian commander before him, caked in filth and drenched in bodily liquids, only kept a frown over his deep-set grey eyes.

‘Eneduanna’s eunuch.’ He stated dismissively. ‘If I knew what a eunuch was I would be impressed. What do you want, flower-man?’

Heabani’s soft body repulsed him. No muscles, no rigid form, no power was visible under the eunuch’s dress; A body accustomed to luxury, with excessive decorations to compensate for the effects of time.

‘A eunuch is a man that has been parted from its genitals.’ Heabani replied. ‘In my case at a very young age. Keeps the voice in eternal youth.’

Sjerub snorted uneasily. ‘Have you been sent to us to show what fate awaits? I’d rather choose death than degenerate into a form such as yours.’

Heabani’s kohl-lined eyes hardened.

‘Dear Hurrian.’ He spoke softly. ‘It seems you do not fully understand who you are speaking to, so allow me to learn you a very valuable lesson.’ Heabani’s soft almost boyish voice gained a sharp impure edge.

‘I am Eneduanna’s personal eunuch. Each and every man, woman and child of Uruk moves at my command. Never again will you underestimate me. Your body may be tenfold stronger than mine, but let's be clear, would I want you dead your life will cease. I am Heabani, the collector of whispers. Knives and poisons rest on my lips. Ropes for strangling, weights for drowning; I carry them all on my tongue. Now you remember that name, and know it to be one of the most loyal and trusted servants of Revered Eneduanna.’

The eunuch gave an irritated sigh, taking up a handkerchief and wiping a few droplets of sweat from his reddened forehead.

‘Eneduanna has taken an interest in you and thus I must deal with you.’ He continued on calmer tone. ‘Certainly it has become clear to me your level of etiquette and cultural understanding is profoundly lacking, and needs to be improved.’ Heabani’s eyes squinted at the silent Hurrian. ‘Have you understood anything I have just told you?’

‘I understand your words.’ Sjerub replied. ‘You are Heabani, eunuch of Eneduanna. I am Sjerub, Chief of the Hurrian band. I hail from the throne of Mount Aratta.’

‘Oh, I know very well who you are.’ Heabani smiled, a small pink tongue flicking between his red painted lips. ‘I'll have you know that I'm the one that whispered to Eneduanna to save you lot; That you might be to value to her. Thankfully she saw the wisdom in my words. No need to thank me.

Let me tell you about our lady Eneduanna. There are things you must understand if you are to - participate - in our society. It is not without reason she is High-priestess of Uruk. Eneduanna is blood of the Gods, will in the flesh of the queen in heaven. Give her the respect and veneration she requires or you will be killed. You will not go against her demands, or you will be killed. The people of Uruk worships the ground her feet have walked on. Do not speak ill of our most Revered one, not even in unguarded moments, for they will tear you apart limb from limb in the streets. I won't repeat these words so I hope you listen well.’

‘Eneduanna is to be treated with respect.’ Sjerub affirmed.

‘Eneduanna is to be worshipped, like a Godess, because she is Divine.’ Heabani corrected.

‘The Revered one has decided she wants you.’ The eunuch gestured his ringed fingers dismissively at the other mercenaries. ‘The others can go, and I propose they leave quickly, because the men of Uruk like to hunt. They take trophies in the way of ears. During day-time they would have pursued immediately, but night gives your kin a few hours to increase the distance. Tell your men to go now.’

Sjerub nodded and ordered the others to leave; Harsh, quick tones. Another command out of many.

Without any difficulty the remaining Hurrians turned away. Focused like a pack of wolves, too tired to give hearty greetings. They carried their meager possessions and showed their backs, immediately moving back north, to the upper hill-country and far away white peaks from where they had come.

Heabani gently placed his hand on Sjerub’s arm. ‘With some luck they might even survive. Now, you are alone, isolated, a ripe exotic fruit ready to pick by Eneduanna’s sacred hand. From here we will march East, into the Kingdom of Larsa - now defenceless without its men. In a few days I expect us to reach the grand river Euphrates. Around the same time the cycle of the moon will be completed. I expect, now I cannot give this as a guarantee, but I indeed expect all conditions for your service to be completed at that time. In the light of the full moon you will bind yourself to the Revered one. You can do it in your own customs, but please try to make it somewhat exciting for the High-priestess. Plain men do not survive long, remember that you will get the full attention of this earth’s Divine. From there she will decide what to do with you.’