Read Online Day of the False King by Brad Geagley - Free Book Online

their wealth to every king and
prince in Asia for centuries. If the women were to go bankrupt
tomorrow, the entire region would collapse — they’re that powerful.”
    “And it’s this trade in bitumen that’s
brought them their wealth?”
    “Hardly. Bitumen is just one of their
interests. No, they’ve become wealthy because they’re scientists,
Semerket — masters of astrology.”
    Marduk told him that the gagu’s predictions
were so astonishingly accurate that kings and satraps from around the
world consulted with them. No one was more adept at divination than the
women of the gagu, Marduk swore, and their every business decision,
every loan, investment, and purchase was first subjected by them to the
prism of heaven, the true reason for their success.
    As Marduk spoke, Semerket abruptly sat up
straighter in the boat. Something familiar had caught his eye. What had
it been? He again scanned the long line of donkeys and the women who
drove them.
    There…!
    A woman walked beside a big two-wheeled cart
piled with chunks of dried bitumen. Shrouded like the others, there was
nevertheless something oddly familiar about her — the way she walked,
how she held her head, the curve of her hidden leg beneath the shroud.
Taller than the rest, certainly less compact (for he was beginning to
notice a certain stockiness common to Babylonians of both sexes), the
woman possessed a distinctly Egyptian stance.
    Semerket stared after her. His mouth dried
up. His heart beat a fierce rhythm. His lips suddenly parted, for he
was going to shout — to scream — “Naia!”
    His throat ached from the effort it cost him
to choke back her name. He turned away, fiercely telling himself that
the last thing he needed to be doing was imagining Naia in every likely
woman that passed. If he continued to do so, he realized, he ran the
risk of failing to recognize her when she was truly there.
    “What are you looking at so intently?” asked
Marduk.
    “At…at the baskets on the donkeys. They’re
full of bitumen, aren’t they? It must be heavy stuff.”
    “On the contrary, it’s very lightweight.
That’s why it’s so perfect for the gagu to handle — a woman can easily
manage a load of it.”
    Semerket looked sharply at Marduk. Had he
not noticed the way the bags sagged over the donkeys’ backs — how the
hardy little beasts seemed almost to stagger under their weight?
    “Yet…” Semerket fell silent. So the gagu
indulged in a little smuggling. What merchant guild did not? It was
none of his business what those women were up to, and such speculation
would only cloud his mind with irrelevant detail. Perhaps he had only
imagined it, anyway. In his mind, he heard again the deep voice of
Elibar, warning him of the perils of Mesopotamia. He would see things
that were not there, and become blind to things that were…
    It was late afternoon when their little
round ship finally squeezed past the bridge and found a place to moor
on a distant riverbank. Only the donkey seemed sad to see him go,
reaching out its head to forlornly nuzzle his hand. The wine merchant
and his son raised loud cries of lamentation to see Marduk depart,
however, bowing before him abjectly and kissing his hands, fervently
asking for his blessing. Marduk at last extricated himself from their
embraces, and led Semerket forward into the city.
    Babylon possessed eight gates, each named
after one of the city’s chief gods. In fact, Marduk said, the name
Babylon itself actually meant “The Gate of God.” Semerket and Marduk
entered through the Ishtar Gate, the grandest of them all. It was one
of the few mud-brick structures glazed in expensive enameled tiles, and
its deep blue color was sacred to the goddess. Trying to look less a
bumpkin at his first festival, Semerket obediently stepped into the
customs line and forbade himself to gawk.
    “You must do the talking for both of us,” he
whispered to Marduk. “Don’t give them my name — I don’t want anyone to
know