them.
Misery and disgrace for the men of Ashur.”
There was silence for a moment. The headman
looked embarrassed, as if afraid his cousin’s words had offered an
insult to his guests.
“And that it not all,” Tudi went on, looking
only at the fire, speaking as if with some inner voice. “The king
has set his heart against his brother, the Lord Tiglath Ashur,
whose name all men know, who is a brave and blameless man and much
loved by the gods. I say it is an evil thing when brother turns
against brother and the king in Nineveh is unrighteous to one whom
the gods favor.”
“Men have heard of this—even here,” said the
headman, clucking in disapproval. “Then has the king slain his
brother?”
“No. This he feared to do, lest he be
consumed by the god’s wrath. He banished him. He made him to
wander, a nameless man among strangers. Yet all may know him from
the sign of the blood star upon his hand, token of Ashur’s special
favor.”
I cannot hope to describe the sensation these
words produced in me. The mark with which I was born seemed to burn
on my palm. I did not dare to look at anyone out of fear that I
would find them staring at me.
Yet I could not stifle the flush of pride
that welled up in me like new blood. To these people I was a figure
of myth—beyond death and weakness and the corruption of time. And
as such I might live forever, forever the god’s favorite, forever
the shadow in which the king my brother must live his life.
“I saw the Lord Tiglath at Khalule,” Tudi
said, sitting up a trifle straighter, as if he had uttered a boast.
“It was his first battle, and he no more than a boy, yet he killed
great numbers among the enemy and received many great wounds. There
was a soldier!”
His eyes fell on me as he spoke these
words—whether because he noticed some resemblance or because a man
must look at something while he speaks, I could not have said. Not
then, at any rate. I merely glanced away, wishing I were back in my
tent, asleep and dreaming of the dead past.
“Many say it was the god’s will that the Lord
Tiglath be king, that there was treachery,” said another finally,
breaking a silence that threatened to grow awkward. “Yet Lord
Tiglath honored his brother’s claim and stood aside, though he
loved his brother’s wife, the Lady Esharhamat, beautiful as the
dawn.”
So they knew all this—all that Esharhamat and
I had struggled to keep hidden in our own hearts. What fools we had
been, when all our secrets were known even here, in a cluster of
mud huts at the edge of the empty earth!
“Yes—he stood aside. He paid public homage to
his brother on the steps of the king’s own palace. And what was his
reward?” Tudi looked about him, as if daring anyone to be
impertinent enough to answer. “Banishment. His brother cast him out
of the land like an unclean leper. The prince was set to wander,
every man’s hand turned against him for the price in silver shekels
the king has put upon his head.”
“Yet few, I think, will hazard the attempt to
collect it.”
The headman reached out his hands to take the
beer pot from one of his sons. He stirred its contents with the
reed straw and then took a long pull while everyone waited
respectfully for him to have done.
“You think, then, this Lord Tiglath has gone
where none will find him?” Kephalos asked at last. It was the first
time that evening I had heard him speak.
“It does not matter where he goes,” the
headman answered, looking from one to another as if to have his
opinion confirmed by everyone present. “He lives under the
protection of the god, who has given him a mighty sedu —as
the impious Dinanu learned to his sorrow.”
“Dinanu? You mean the garrison commander at
Birtu?” Hiram of Latakia appeared suddenly to come awake. His eyes
brightened as he seemed to wait to hear something amusing. “I know
him—he is a thief and scoundrel but not bad company when he is
drinking. Has something happened to
Misery and disgrace for the men of Ashur.”
There was silence for a moment. The headman
looked embarrassed, as if afraid his cousin’s words had offered an
insult to his guests.
“And that it not all,” Tudi went on, looking
only at the fire, speaking as if with some inner voice. “The king
has set his heart against his brother, the Lord Tiglath Ashur,
whose name all men know, who is a brave and blameless man and much
loved by the gods. I say it is an evil thing when brother turns
against brother and the king in Nineveh is unrighteous to one whom
the gods favor.”
“Men have heard of this—even here,” said the
headman, clucking in disapproval. “Then has the king slain his
brother?”
“No. This he feared to do, lest he be
consumed by the god’s wrath. He banished him. He made him to
wander, a nameless man among strangers. Yet all may know him from
the sign of the blood star upon his hand, token of Ashur’s special
favor.”
I cannot hope to describe the sensation these
words produced in me. The mark with which I was born seemed to burn
on my palm. I did not dare to look at anyone out of fear that I
would find them staring at me.
Yet I could not stifle the flush of pride
that welled up in me like new blood. To these people I was a figure
of myth—beyond death and weakness and the corruption of time. And
as such I might live forever, forever the god’s favorite, forever
the shadow in which the king my brother must live his life.
“I saw the Lord Tiglath at Khalule,” Tudi
said, sitting up a trifle straighter, as if he had uttered a boast.
“It was his first battle, and he no more than a boy, yet he killed
great numbers among the enemy and received many great wounds. There
was a soldier!”
His eyes fell on me as he spoke these
words—whether because he noticed some resemblance or because a man
must look at something while he speaks, I could not have said. Not
then, at any rate. I merely glanced away, wishing I were back in my
tent, asleep and dreaming of the dead past.
“Many say it was the god’s will that the Lord
Tiglath be king, that there was treachery,” said another finally,
breaking a silence that threatened to grow awkward. “Yet Lord
Tiglath honored his brother’s claim and stood aside, though he
loved his brother’s wife, the Lady Esharhamat, beautiful as the
dawn.”
So they knew all this—all that Esharhamat and
I had struggled to keep hidden in our own hearts. What fools we had
been, when all our secrets were known even here, in a cluster of
mud huts at the edge of the empty earth!
“Yes—he stood aside. He paid public homage to
his brother on the steps of the king’s own palace. And what was his
reward?” Tudi looked about him, as if daring anyone to be
impertinent enough to answer. “Banishment. His brother cast him out
of the land like an unclean leper. The prince was set to wander,
every man’s hand turned against him for the price in silver shekels
the king has put upon his head.”
“Yet few, I think, will hazard the attempt to
collect it.”
The headman reached out his hands to take the
beer pot from one of his sons. He stirred its contents with the
reed straw and then took a long pull while everyone waited
respectfully for him to have done.
“You think, then, this Lord Tiglath has gone
where none will find him?” Kephalos asked at last. It was the first
time that evening I had heard him speak.
“It does not matter where he goes,” the
headman answered, looking from one to another as if to have his
opinion confirmed by everyone present. “He lives under the
protection of the god, who has given him a mighty sedu —as
the impious Dinanu learned to his sorrow.”
“Dinanu? You mean the garrison commander at
Birtu?” Hiram of Latakia appeared suddenly to come awake. His eyes
brightened as he seemed to wait to hear something amusing. “I know
him—he is a thief and scoundrel but not bad company when he is
drinking. Has something happened to
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