Twenty nine - Enemies of URUK

They say that the great river never stop flowing except when it nears Uruk. There it swirls and turns, daring even to halt. Looking up from the surface it sees the splendid towers and domes rising over the walls, it hears the music dance over its waters, and then happily notices that there is an entrance for the river too. Enticed by the best pleasures of the world they enter the canals to spy upwards to what reflects on their nightly surfaces. Under the sign of the evening star they spend the night and under the sign of the dawn star their journey is continued.

Soon the river loses sight of the grand city and a desolate land of stripped opportunities remains. The river stays not long in these outstretched barren lion-gardens. Compared with the magnificent opulence of Uruk, the dust and long lost trees are far too sad for the river. It should be said that rivers do not like sadness, they are given too much sadness already and like to avoid it. So the currents accelerate, the waters flows faster until they see again something that reminds them of their time at Uruk. They have reached Eneduanna-to-the-South, the edge of Uruk’s territory. A figure of the HIgh-Priestess stands there, tall and painted identical. She watches to the south. This figurine is the object of veneration of passing travelers, so the river also venerates. It cannot give sacrifice like the other travelers do, so instead the water makes a small prayer in her name. The river splits here, and the waters want to go into neither passages, because to the right lie the swamps of Eridu and to the left the Kingdom of Ur and neither of those cities are called Uruk.

In Eridu’s waters live many carps, and its people are kind to the river, but the currents are muddy and stale.

In Ur’s waters, at the bottom of the river, lie wrecked ships and lost cargoes, as the people of Ur are traders. The river finds in those sunken holds unopened amphora of wine and talents of silver. The river drinks the wine and disregards the coins, and both streams eventually lead into the great ocean.

Forced along the currents and hurled into the sea, the waters prayed that Eneduanna could one day reflect on their surfaces again. Older, calmer waters of the deep tell the troubled waters to be silent. They had followed the same course in their youth, when there had been no Uruk and when there had been no Eneduanna...

***

Cheers rose up in the sky as the statue of the High-Priestess was pulled to the ground. Eneduanna-to-the-south had fallen, and no response came from Uruk.

A horde of warriors surrounded the toppled idol. Their feet shuffled in the dry soil of Uruk and their weapons were raised in celebration. They came from many different towns and cities, serving under different crowns, their skins ranging from light to dark. What bound them was their universal fear of the red city, a fear that gradually abated. Confident in their numbers, self proclaimed champions strode around the fallen statue and openly mocked the Goddess of Uruk. Drink was passed, song was played. The soldiers crowded around and spat and pissed upon the image of Eneduanna. Seeing no judgement come upon them, drunken soldiers turned their minds to destruction. The idol was struck with clubs and curses until it shattered.

The great host continued, marching through the barren lands of Uruk, eying the red city in the distance. Their backs burned from the sun and dust circled up from their many feet. But on the horizon were clouds and shadow, and they saw the dark storm that hung over their destination.

***

Kitun barged towards the gate of the inner-city dressed in long black and gold robes, golden crown on his head, beard curling strong. A force of warriors around him, shields held close, bronze spearheads flashing in weak grey light from above. Rain softly trickled on their conical helmets which made them drip from the rims.

‘Damned rain.’ Kitun mumbled as he wiped droplets form his eyelashes. ‘-Never this much rain in autumn. The world is changing.’

His warriors did not reply; that was not their job. Instead they held their weapons at the ready and pushed the commoners out of the way.

The streets and canals leading to the inner-city were crowded and filled to the brim, every inch of dry land covered with filthy feet, packed so tightly that not even the rats could get through. The canals around Eneduanna’s walled gardens had filled likewise with a navy of boats. Lanterns illuminated the azure walls of the Inner city, hoping for a glimpse of their Revered one, but Eneduanna would not show.

Kitun understood their concerns. Uruk’s markets stood empty, the traders had stopped coming. Their grain and animals were absent, and famine ravaged the red city. Worse, news of great armies marching upon Uruk from the south. Rumors of great forces sighted to the north. Enemies were coming in from everywhere, but his men would not dare face them. They refused to leave the city without Eneduanna’s blessing, they begged him not to war without the High-Priestess consent. It wouldn't be long until the invader would be at their gates. All their enemies, all the hunted tribes and clans and peoples that had feared the Revered one now crawled out of their hiding and marched upon them. Led by the royal banner of Ur, strenghtened by the ancient banner of Eridu, supported by the proud banner of Isin. And where was the Revered one?

Kitun forced himself down the central causeway over the water towards the temple, intent to gain answers. He barged through the crowds without slowing. His armoured guard shoved the commoners out of the way and a fountain of men and women splashed into the canals in parallel to the approaching King. The rain increased and it seeped into the King’s robes. Nearing the gates, Kitun pushed the last praying devoted way with an angry scowl.

‘Open!’ His deep voice demanded. The rags-folk looked at him with renewed hope and increased anxiety; Even the King was here to ask for Eneduanna.

Kitun resisted the urge to smash his large fist on the gate. That would be irreverent, he thought, wiping back his wet black hair.

‘Open!’ He commanded again. The rain spattering in his face only increased his irritation. From above priestesses looked at him, red hoods over their long hair. The women had hard faces and held bows in their hands.

‘Enemies prowl the barren lands around the city. No men shall be admitted into Eneduanna’s garden.’

‘I am King.’ Kitun replied. ‘I need to see her. We all are desperate to know. If I can only assure them -’ He gestured at the mewling masses clutching at the steep azure walls from their boats. ‘-things will be better.’

‘The council of priestesses has decided. The Revered one’s safety is paramount. You cannot disturb her.’

‘Uruk needs guidance. If…’ He halted, tired of calling upwards like a commoner. His face darkened. ‘Open the damned gate, or I will have my men batter it down. They will do anything to serve and protect their Goddess, and there is a lot of uncertainty in their hearts. A dangerous thing in the mind of a man!’

Multiple strings croaked as they were pulled back, pointing arrows at the King. The eyes of the priestesses were cold and threatening. They cared not for his title nor his crown.

Kitun spread out his arms, unafraid and feeling a vein at the side of his head readily pulsing with anger. Behind him his guards raised their shields.

Another voice came from above. Calmer, softer, feather light and pure. Heabani urged the priestesses to lower their bows.

‘By decree of the eunuch of the most holy, allow the King to enter.’ Heabani’s plucked eyebrows angled down. ‘No weapons. No guards. And come swiftly, lest you take the entire city with you.’ Heabani cast a worried glance at the masses of unwashed wet humans stretching out in all possible directions.

Kitun entered quickly. Behind him the gates’ bronze intricate mechanisms fell shut, cutting off the desperate pleas and prayers.

‘Come with me, King.’ Heabani said, and Kitun followed the little eunuch into the garden.

‘I had thought myself to be chief, strongest of men, strongest of Uruk. Still I was standing there at the gates begging like any other commoner. But with one word of your bird-like voice the bows of even those dry harlots lowered. When exactly did you become the most powerful man in Uruk?’ Kitun shook his head in disbelief.

‘Firstly, I am not a man.’ Heabani noted with raised finger. ‘Not anymore at least. Perhaps therein lies my secret. But I dont see myself as a powerful one. Rather like a mule carrying heavy load for the Revered one. I'm an active tool, nothing more. Talking about power whilst she walks the earth with us is a pointless exercise.’

They entered the vast gardens of the inner city, and during the few times Kitun had been admitted inside he had enjoyed the sights of it. But now it was a dark place, paths disfigured by possessive overnourished roots, walkways a labyrinth, and thorns and branches pulling at the passing King. A lone black kettle stood on a field, slowly filling up in the dreary rain.

‘Can you stop weeping?’ The King asked the sky. ‘Youre not making things better. Your tears make our swords brittle and our banners sag.’ An audible ripple in the clouds, a stir in the dark grey mass, and the rain increased in intensity.

Drenched and dripping they came at the doors of the Temple. At its entrance fallen rose petals accumulated in ponds, the delicate and sweet scent of red and white roses mixing with the decay of rot.

‘My commanders have come to me in tears, crying at my feet as they begged me not to send them out against the invader. They think certain death awaits if they go without seeing the Revered one. Heabani, speak to me truthfully: Why is Eneduanna hidden away?’

‘You will see for yourself. Now silence, not a word.’

They entered the temple where only rain from outside was audible in the cold halls, patting down on the glass dome above; casting the images of flowing water on the floor. Priestesses watched from the galleries.

***

Eneduanna’s chamber was bright with candles, and a lake of molten and coagulated wax surrounded the High-priestess’ large bed. There she lay, like a statue fitting for a temple, motionless and eyes closed.

‘What's wrong with her?’ The King whispered uneasily.

‘She is in ritual. Her soul is elsewhere.’

‘She has been sleeping for all this time?’

Heabani nodded and the black-beard frowned. ‘So when will she awake?’

‘We dont know, she does not respond to our efforts. We can only pray. Now you have seen. A glance you were allowed, now you must go. This is not the domain of Kings. Tell your men to be ready. Goddess willing she will awake soon.’

Kitun cast a final glance at the High-Priestess. ‘The gates are sealed. Our enemies have come from far and wide, frightened by the glory of our blessed mistress and the fate of Larsa. A host of cowardly Kings and rulers, marching into the land they never dared to cross in the past. All the roads have been cut, trade has halted. In one week this city will be starving. Goddess willing indeed, the High-priestess raises from her slumber.’

The two left the sleeping Eneduanna. In her chamber of solitude, an unattended tear seeped out of the corner of her closed left eye.