Chapter Three - Soldier of Sin

On the sounds of grunting and groaning, with the penetrant scent of sweat under her, Eneduanna’s heavy brass throne was carried forward. It was a large construct, with steps leading to the elevated seat. The ends of the armrests were imprinted with eight pointed stars, dusk and dawn, and the backrest was embedded into a pair of golden wings that arched up behind the High-Priestess. At the sides of the throne, bronze hand grips were added for the twenty male carriers.

Eneduanna sat upright, heaving up and down on the backs and hands of naked muscular men, their sweating bodies shining in the silver light of a full moon.

Her dark brown hair was loose and flowed down her shoulders in long curls. Her face was stern, strong chin raised, wide mouth a sliver of contempt.

But her brown almond eyes, reflective black in night, glinted with expectation. She looked up at the moon.

Lord of oaths; she remembered the mercenary’s sworn Deity and shook her head dismissively. Allowing this Hurrian to even indulgence in his former traditions felt like a mistake. She had given in to his wishes; A sign of weakness.

She reminded herself that she was Eneduanna, High-priestess of Inanna. Uruk lay at her feet, desperate masses worked to carry out her commands, thousands struggled and toiled for her pleasure.

Her throne dipped slightly, accompanied by a dozen groans, as one of the servants collapsed. The others hastily took over the weight and it became level again. Eneduanna glanced over the side, seeing a lifeless body stretched out on the dry soil. The other carriers bowed their heads, keeping their straining sounds to a minimum with clenched jaws.

Eneduanna hummed attentively down at her servants. ‘H-m-m-m.’ Contently she read the voluntary suffering in their wavering bodies, exhausted limbs keeping her raised nonetheless.

This was the way she ruled Uruk, and this was how newcomers should behave.

Eneduanna asked herself why she was spending precious time on this lone Hurrian warrior.

Something instinctive urged her not to waste him. There was something about this one, a rare spark in his grey eyes perhaps, maybe his scent, but was unsure what it was. A strange feeling; Uncertainty. Uncomfortable and, ultimately, unacceptable.

Yet here she was, actively moving to collect the Hurrian into her service, giving him the honour of her personal attention. There must be something worthwhile, she decided.

Perhaps she would grant him a lifetime of toiling under her seat. She did require a new carrier. There he would work until his heart would give out and discarded at the side of the road like a broken wheel. A high-priestess, a daughter of Inanna, ought not to be concerned with the lesser.

She noticed his lone silhouette in the distance, a shadowy figure standing at the riverbank. He had not fled, yet, like captured men occasionally did in their foolishness.

Sometimes her presence was too much for their feeble minds, her figure too intimidating for the uninitiated. Instead of bowing and praying like the others the fools ran like deer, only to be hunted down with joy by her subjects. This one had not ran, but she remembered how he had trembled when she first met him.

First the fear, then the love, then the worship, Eneduanna thought. She would bind him- to -her and make the Hurrian a slave in all but name; Voluntary servitude. Once she was done with him he would willingly die for her. And he would.

Men created destinies, lights both small and great dancing through the weaving of fate. They came and went, scattered, wandering to where the wind blew them. But around her was a storm, a vortex, a swirling mass of destinies circling ceaselessly around her tall form. Their energy served her, and she used them as the resource they were.

As her throne was carried closer to the awaiting Hurrian she decided something was wrong.

The mercenary was not awaiting on his knees. He was armed with shield and spear, a sword at his hip. A second knife in his belt, and heavy bronze armour covering his body. Instead of staring at her feet this one did not avert his eyes.

Men had been executed for lesser infractions, yet this one stood upright - without respect and ready to murder. A moment the High-priestess hesitated; the command to halt on her lips.

She could safely stand back while sending her devoted to stab the lone man to death, riddle his body with arrows, sever it and tear it apart. But she said nothing and under trembling exertions of her carriers she was carried forward the final distance.

Sjerub. He had managed to make his name known to her, who commanded thousands of nameless men.

He wore no helmet and his face was illuminated by the moon. He had unkempt dark hair that showed a hint of gold. His fierce grey eyes peered out of shadowy sockets, intense and uncompromising.

With every heave of the carriers she could see more of the Hurrian.

His face was sharp, hard, and well defined. A murderer, with the occasional scar pulling on elongated eyebrows, tempered in battle.

Now that she could see him up close, without the filth and grime of battle, she realized he was surprisingly youthful, only faint stubble the unblemished skin of his cheeks. Who are you? You stranger that has washed into my hands on the tide of blood and rotting brothers.

His eyes showed little devotion. There was a splash of awe, and a sprinkle of well-hidden fear, but mostly she read predation. A weighing, calculating gaze, assaying her for opportunities and threats; just as he would look upon any other. She searched further, crossing the lines and tiny grooves in his face. There; deep, at the depths of those grey eyes, she found a certain undefined sadness. A hurt, lonely sadness that could easily turn into uncaring mercilessness.

Eneduanna smiled. This was not the first of such men she had encountered. More rare perhaps, but not unique. They were the subjugators and conquerors of untamed stock, those that against all odds still remained standing at the end of the day, even if they were all that was left.

She nodded to herself, already enjoying the prospects of domesticating this one. Would he, given the chance, attempt to overpower her? Force himself upon her?

Time would tell how he would bear the yoke of submission. Her inclination would be that he would bear it badly. But therein lies the challenge. She would break Sjerub of the north, toy with him, she would train this one until the sad Hurrian would be a meek lamb.

She inspected him in silence for a while, only the blowing of the wind audible as it rustled through the river-side reeds.

‘Bow down!’ She ordered suddenly, raising herself up on the throne. From high she looked down on the man, who reluctantly sank to one knee.

She shook her head. ‘Have you not been instructed properly? Has Heabani not told you? By birthright I am the utmost servant of Heaven. I am High-Priestess of the world! Even the elements love me. The wind and the river and the soil tremble when I pass them. And here you are, one that has received my mercy, defiance flashing in your pretty eyes. Are you that eager to die, dear Hurrian?’

‘I stand here before you as requested. How I will serve you is not for me to decide, but do not ask me to be chattel.’

Eneduanna said nothing. This one did not fear death, but there were worse things than death. She could make sure of it. With her long slender arms she raised the polished wooden box resting at her elongated feet and tossed it carelessly before the half-bowing mercenary.

‘Open it.’

The Hurrian pulled the wooden box closer and opened the lid:

Inside, placed on red velvet, was the head of Enmerkar, Lord of Larsa. The skin of the slain King had turned grey. His mouth hung open and his eyes gave an empty stare. Will you fight for me, Hurrians of the North?

Sjerub said nothing, glanced up at the tall Eneduanna, and closed the box again.

‘Does this please you?’ Eneduanna asked sweetly.

‘I am no longer bound to the fallen King of Larsa. I am free to serve.’ Sjerub replied.

With a snap of her fingers Eneduanna’s heavy brass throne was carefully lowered to the ground. Eneduanna heard the sighs of relief from her carriers as she stepped onto the dirt with her bare feet, placing them before the kneeling Hurrian. He did not kiss them, nor made motion to caress them. She curled her toes in the sand, then walked past him, long legs moving slowly to the river’s edge. Her large, slender feet made deep imprints in the wet sand. As the water of the Euphrates washed over her toes she looked back over her shoulder.

‘Come.’ She invited innocently, before wading deeper into the river. Her scarlet dress soaked and clung to her skin. The High-priestess continued until the water stood just under her hips.

The Hurrian followed her over the wet sand into the river. Moonlight silver rippled on the surface as the mercenary disturbed the dark nightly waters.

Enedduanna gave a content smile as the man joined her in the river. She held out her hand. ‘Sjerub, come closer.’

And so he went into the river, the water soon reaching to his waist, seeping through his armour and clothes, weighing him down. His feet stepped over slippery rocks but he kept balance.

The High-priestess stood a few paces deeper into the river, though her length was still above his.

‘We share the river together. Its waters carry life and the flowers of devotion. Do you feel it?’

She saw the Hurrian fight with the pull of the river, bracing himself so he wouldn't be dragged along and drowned in his heavy suit of armour.

‘This river is mine.’ Eneduanna continued. ‘It loves me and eagerly flows past my skin, and it will lead me to all I need to conquer. Will you become mine, oh Hurrian from the North? Will you carry my banner to the enemies of Inanna and will you place the heads of the unwise Kings at my feet? Come closer so I can hold you.’

Sjerub took a step deeper, the current increasing.

‘I, Sjerub, son of Mount Aratta, will serve you, High priestess Enedduanna,…’ He struggled, the water now reaching his lower chest. ...‘I will fight for you with the full blessing from the Lord of truth, for I have completed my previous oaths and you respect the customs of my race.’

The Hurrian lifted a dagger from the waters and Enedduanna felt a sudden hint of fear; an uncomfortable feeling that tingled in her fingers and toes.

Then his other hand raised through the surface and he placed the dagger on the palm of his hand, making a swift deep cut. He allowed silver illumination of the moon to touch the bleeding wound. ‘Light of the moon read the truth of our bond. Kusuh, Eternal Lord of oaths, ensure my destruction if I betray my master. Blessed be those that are loyal. I am now yours, Revered Eneduanna, and all those against you are my enemy.’

He spoke without eagerness, but truth was seldom cause for joy.

Once again Eneduanna noticed a sadness lingering over the Hurrian. His emotions tasted bitter-sweet on her tongue; the essence of life. She leaned forward with ignited passion.

Her slender fingers reached for him under water and pulled him closer. The water rose, but he complied. She wrapped her arms around him as if in loving embrace, feeling his armoured body against her.

And now you come with me. Enedduana stepped backwards, dragging him deeper. She kept her gaze fixed on him and he could not avert his mesmerised eyes. Another step, and the waters came to his chin.

Mine, mine, and mine alone. Another step and the river flowed at the edge of his lips. He was at her mercy and she smiled. ‘In our tongue the name of your truthkeeper is Sin; The Lord of the moon, so visible this night. Let him lend his power to my cause.’

She took another step backwards, submerging him in the river. He resisted as she pulled him under, but her long arms held him below water. He was blind in the darkness, water rushed past his ears. His lungs pressed, then started screaming.

She held him down, baptising him, enjoying his increasingly desperate attempts to escape her hold. His heavy armour filled with water and he was helpless.

When his movements weakened and struggle ceased she pulled him back up, the Hurrian immediately breaking through the surface. He gasped for breath as water streamed out his nose and mouth.

‘Kill for me, Soldier of Sin.’ She whispered in his ear, kissing him gently.