Ten - Triumph of mud

In the land of Uruk, on the dusty plains of orange soil, came slithering a grand red snake. Following the great river, it closed in from the east.

Uruk awaited in the distance; immovable, grand, a towering mountain of bricks, attracting the light from the heavens as it rose from the empty hills of barren dirt that stretched out all around. From within the city music sounded, its tones carried over its high walls by the wind and blindly calling to all who traveled the dusty plains around.

The great red serpent, slithering through the sand, directly made way for Uruk’s grand gates.

Black bearded men came, eagerness in their movements, pointed conical helmets and red robes, carrying spears and clubs and axes and blades and bows. Their flags showed the star of Inanna and were imprinted with the name of the Revered one: 𒂗𒃶𒌌𒀭𒈾

From the warrior’s necks hung fresh ears, rows and rows of them, harvested from the destroyed populace of Larsa. The fresh ears were still fleshy and pink, dried blood on the skin. The older ears, trophied at an earlier time, were dry and shriveled like dark figs.

The men’s eyes smiled at the sight of their home-city, knowing what delights were hidden behind the hard and dusty reddish outer-layer. An earthly paradise awaited them, with sparkling water and hidden gardens, where gold would flow over their hands and all delights were available for purchase.

At the heart of the red snake was carried the High-priestess, the Queen, her brass throne guarded by the massed presence of her violent drones.

In the wake of the Serpent’s coils followed a ragged tail: slaves. Chains running between wounded ankles, bare feet shuffling forward. They stumbled in exhaustion. Some fell to the cracked dirt of Uruk. When they would not rise again by the will of the whip their bodies were left to the lions.

The Red beast halted before the Gates of the East, banners waving in silence.

Shanties and slums had grown in the shadow of the city-walls but its inhabitants had fled before the approaching army. Wisely they knew themselves not to be worthy of the Revered one’s presence.

Groaning and whining the tall doors opened, and in marched the rows of red and bronze.

Images of lions, roses and Eneduanna herself danced over their formations, carried high between the shafts of their spears. Stars re-entered the city.

Once through the gates the Serpent divided itself, its red coils splitting off into the many streets and alleys of the city, where the warriors encountered the wanting welcome of Uruk. Rose petals swirled through the air, soft pink blending with the red of the warrior robes. The awaiting populace was drunk in celebration, already half unclothed and their skin wet with sweat and drink. They danced on the streets that were slippery with wine and flowers, musicians on every corner, and their raw throats filled with praise.

From doorways desiring hands pulled on the passing red robes to lure them inside, the warriors from Uruk departed from home so long, but the armed men would not halt. They steadily worked their way to the heart of the city, where they re-emerged from the many streets again, followed by a celebrating populace. Before them rose the sacred Inner-city, surrounded by broad canals. A central raised causeway led over the water to its doors.

In parallel to the causeway the water was clogged with boats, finely carved vessels holding well-dressed citizenry, musicians aboard and all red-faced drunk like the commoners. The onlookers screamed and praised the warriors now marching onto the causeway, but their necks craned - seeking to catch a glimpse of the Revered one. The warriors had returned, but where was their Godess?

Reaching the doors of the inner city the warriors halted. They were silent and unmoving, like painted statues, deaf to the noise of the impatient masses.

Then came the pure trumpets of the Revered one, finally announcing the arrival of the High-Priestess. In its wake, the noise of the onlookers intensified to frenzied screaming, and then, out of the ragged chaos, a chant began - Eneduanna, Eneduanna, Eneduanna - long before her tall figure became visible.

***

Eneduanna had a sense of superiority etched on her face as her throne was carried through the city. She knew the power she wielded over these people was absolute, uncounted masses audibly begging for her presence. Worshipped as a living Godess their fates were at her command.

The rigid red men on the causeway parted when her throne appeared. Their eyes were fixed on her, bound, unable to break from their tall mistress. They kneeled as she was carried past them over the causeway. Loyal hounds.

Uruk greeted her in all its splendour, the beautiful city, its riches not hidden but eagerly shown to all who would see. Grand facades, decorated walls, copper palace-domes shining in the light of the sun. Brightly painted boats navigated the canals, and the masses stood everywhere chanting her name. City of passion, her seat of power.

She was carried to the gates of the inner-city. The crowned bull awaited her; Kitun, standing alone in front of the now opening doors. The black haired King was a stark contrast with the man she had encountered on the blood soaked steps of Larsa’s temple. His grime covered skin had become clean, slightly tanned. His ink black beard had lost its feral wildness. The royal of Uruk had exchanged his armour for a soft, well fitting black robe lined with gold weaving. And most importantly; he had regained his humility. Kitun prostrated himself before her like the lowest of servants.

She rose from the brass throne, inciting another wave of clamours as the people saw her full length - reassuring them of her divinity.

Kitun looked up from his hands and knees. ‘Most revered one…’ He spoke with a voice between a whisper and groan.

She smiled as she saw the King struggle before her, reading the little storm that raged within his heart.

‘On your feet, royal.’ She commanded, and the King pushed himself up from the ground, wiping the dust from his knees. His dark eyes flickered with uncertainty, then he offered his hand up to hers. He seemed eager, no, desperate, for a positive gesture.

Eneduanna accepted his large hand, broad and thick fingers where hers were elongated and slender. The King’s strong hand, studded with coarse black hairs, held hers tenderly.

Their hands entwined, she dismounted her brass throne and with bare feet she stepped onto the causeway.

Both on an even level, the broadly built Kitun reached just to the height Eneduanna’s breasts. She saw the veins pulse in his neck and the sweat trickle down his forehead.

Eneduanna looked a last time at the celebrating, rabid masses. Then, still holding the King’s hand she entered the inner city. The King would be permitted into the sanctum today. The doors closed behind them.

Inside were great gardens of roses and hedges, a lone old willow tree growing amongst the thorns nearby, cedars and flowers elsewhere. Open fields of comfortable grass were interceded by labyrinths of thick green.

Rising within the gardens stood her temple; its outer shell overgrown with vines, the top lined with a grand dome. Multiple floors with many windows, and golden doors. It was the house of the High-Priestess. Within its protected confines stood an idol of the Revered one, a mirror image perpetually standing in the hazy smoke of incense.

Eneduanna took a moment to enjoy her gardens, smelling the scent of the enclosed, hidden forest. She heard the gentle buzz of bees and the chirping of birds.

Paths led towards the temple, but their tiles were overgrown. The gardens calmed her, finding a sense of familiarity and security within its protective hedges. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. Then she realized the King was still beside her, his sweaty hand clasped around hers.

Her almond eyes opened, her back straightened, and her tall body stirred into motion again.

Instead of moving deeper into the fine gardens she climbed the stairs to the walls.

There was an open unprotected ledge jutting out from the battlements, extending above the gates. She revealed herself to the people again, raising up the hand intertwined with that of the King. The loud noise of the masses greeted her.

Below her the long line of red warriors stood in formation, extending all the way over the long causeway, still holding their arms and banners. She let go of Kitun’s hand, and with arms outstretched she goaded the city to silence.

‘See, your Divine ruler has returned! And see, the victorious men at my command! Larsa has tasted my cruelty! Their people are dead or in chains! I smelled the burning city! I heard their cries of pain! I saw their statues topple! It brought me joy...’

Eneduanna smiled as she was bathed in the praise of her followers. Her red lips parted again. ‘The time has come to rule this world! Next season will come another war! And after that another! I will cause a storm to descend upon the world and when it fades there will be absolute conquest of Uruk over all else! Inanna desires my skin, she desires to walk amongst you - through me! Ten times a hundred thousand voices must pray for her passage! From the first stream in the mountains to the coast where the rivers enter the sea, all must be claimed in the name of the Queen of Heaven!’

She lowered her gaze to the warriors below her. ‘My men, my many husbands, how do you reply?’

The red thousands below all placed one hand on their heart and extended the other towards her; the tall one on the high ledge. ‘Our hearts and our lives belong to you, Eneduanna.’ It sounded from thousands of mouths. The fine hairs on her arms erected as the many rough voices weaved into one.

But it was not enough. It was never enough. A mere triumph of mud compared to what still awaited.

Eneduanna turned away from the masses. Kitun was still there, standing silently behind her.

‘You can leave.’ She said coldly, and the King bowed his head.

As he descended the steps of the walls she scraped her throat. ‘You did well in Larsa.’ She called after him. ‘ I will have more need for you in the future. Prepare my city for war.’

‘Ofcourse, most Revered one. Anything…’

He moved through the gates and returned to the causeway, greeted with excited clamors of the citizenry. In their eyes, the King was blessed, and good fortune would come of his leadership.

Eneduanna moved in opposite direction through the gardens towards the central temple. A host of scarlet priestesses came to her over the overgrown paths.

‘Prepare the ritual.’ Eneduanna told them.

They kissed her feet and guided her back to the temple.

***

Sjerub’s departure from Larsa had been lonely. The High Priestess had not requested any further audiences from him. He had just been one out of many warriors; Countless in fact. And just like the others, he had followed the shining throne when it was carried away.

His unfriendly, half-tame Uruk-bred Horse was taken away by priestesses and he had walked into Uruk with soldiers he didn't know. Moving through the great gates he had been cheered on by people he had never seen before. He had no stomach for their celebrations.

The Hurrian had lustlessly wandered from inns and whorehouses, crowds of massed citizenry had surrounded him, recognizing him to be a warrior. He drank the beer they gave him, but could not stand their presence.

Eneduanna would not have him. Sjerub had seen her on the walls of the inner city, her towering tall body but a small figure in the distance, and he felt that every day only seemed to carry him further away from her.

He longed to smell her scent, like he once did. He had vowed to serve, but in this city there were men without number ready to die for Eneduanna, and one Hurrian wouldn't make a difference. Sjerub feared she had already forgotten him. He emptied another pot of beer and strolled away from a square of festivities. Down, down the stairs his wobbly legs took him. The noise of celebrations dampened and shadows increased.

Vicious creatures stared at him, eyes of the rat and leper and the cut-throat, but he cared not for them. He was sauntering through a muddy, wet alley when he heard the call:

‘Hurrian!’

Slowly he turned around.

In the distance he saw Heabani; carried in an ornate chair by two servants.

Sjerub couldn't help but smile upon seeing the little eunuch, and a flicker of hope reignited in his heart. He ran out of the filthy alley, feet splashing through the mud, and climbed the slimey steps towards the awaiting eunuch.

‘Sjerub of Aratta. The High-Priestess has a task for you. Are you still eager to serve?’

‘I’ll do anything.’ Sjerub replied. His grey eyes were red-rimmed and a faint stubble covered his jaw. He drew his sword an inch from its scabbard, showing the bronze edge sharp and clean.

‘Good!’ The eunuch called from his seat. ‘Youre going to the city of Isin, our northern Neighbours. Although you failed to open the gates of Larsa the Revered one was sufficiently impressed with your attempts.’

Sjerub tried to remain calm. Impressed. It resounded in his mind time and time again, and he had to force himself not to gloat.

‘You are to depart at once.’ Heabani leaned down from his litter, offering a scroll to the Hurrian.

‘Here are your instructions. I assume you can read our language?’

‘I can.’ Sjerub replied, eagerly snatching the scroll from the eunuch’s painted hands.

‘Good luck Hurrian, you know the stakes, do not disappoint the Revered one. Eneduanna hates disappointment.’ With a snap of his fingers Heabani was carried away by the servants, his seat like a miniature throne that echoed the importance of the Revered one.

A displeased neighing besides him, and there stood his horse; Mardu, the pale blackhaired stallion. It was saddled and packed, a bronze bridle in its mouth, facing him in the narrow empty street. Its eyes held displeased fury at the prospects of being mounted again. The beast bared its long teeth and rammed its hooves in the mud.

Without hesitation Sjerub yanked the horse’s reigns towards him. ‘You and I are going on a trip.’ He growled in its face.

His hand touched the brand on his mount’s pale flank;

, Lightning

‘Come Mardu. Lets leave this noisy city and depart for the open plains. Keep me from the lions and raiders, I trust you.’

The horse snorted, but its eyes had calmed and he allowed the Hurrian to climb onto his saddle.