In the Beginning, by D E Austin

In The Beginning

A Novel

By D. E. Austin

Areshen of Isin, military governor of Ur in the seventeenth year that Ibisien was king of Ur and king of the Four Quarters, decided to observe the military spectacle from atop the House of Dry Reeds, one of a dozen fortresses built into the circuit of Ur's city walls. Areshen glanced a moment's curious interest toward several dozen war chariots now maneuvering beneath the city walls, directing a measure of his attention, however, toward the Lianuri, a small crossroads tavern a mile and a half south of Ur's city gates, a tavern popular with soldiers doing active service in the field since the tavern's patron gods, to put it bluntly as Areshen of Isin was wont to do, were cheap, propitiation of the most meager sort all that was necessary at the door.

How pleasant, Areshen sighed, it might have been to pass the rest of the afternoon, perhaps even the rest of the evening over a cup of beer in the Lianuri, the walls of Ur and the problems of the world forgotten.

Areshen glanced another moment's annoyance toward the raucous din beneath the city walls, another Sixty of chariot preparing for maneuvers on parched, barren field a short distance below, glanced then toward the city itself and the king's palace lying in the shadow of the temple. Ibisien, king of Ur and King of the Four Quarters, would be an annoying headache no matter how brief the audience scheduled for later this afternoon. Still, Areshen anticipated no great difficulties or unpleasantries at the king's palace. A great many more unpleasant difficulties and the associated headaches would come later in the evening as soon as Areshen arrived home and set eyes on Setith, his wife, though more accurately, mistress and task master of the Four Quarters of his house.

An amusing little war along the frontiers at a considerable distance from Ur necessitating his prolonged absence from the city would have been an appreciated diversion at the moment.

At least two or three more cups before either Ibisien, king of Ur, or Setith, task mistress of his household, Areshen sighed, turning his attention back to the dry and barren fields beneath the city walls, abandoned pasture land spreading off into the distance. Areshen watched with cautious fascination as the next formation of chariots began its charge. The billowing clouds of thick gray dust raised by galloping hooves and several dozen whirring wheels was an impressive sight indeed, a sight which must certainly strike terror into the hearts of Amuru's barbaric horse soldiers from the west or Gipul's slightly more civilized hordes from Elam to the east. The first of Ur's chariots tore into enemy lines a quick moment later, young, untried soldiers hurling their javelins with maniacal fury. A quick instant after this, however, and Areshen found himself sighing once again, this time in despondent frustration, his one consolation the fact that Amuru's horsemen were indeed far to the west, Gipul's armies of Elam lounging in their fortresses an equal distance to the east. None of those furiously hurled javelins actually hit their targets, stacked bales of swamp reeds sitting in the middle of the open field. One of the younger soldiers, however, managed a precise hit to the rear of a companion's chariot, that chariot's driver startled and unbalanced by an attack from unexpected quarters, its occupants finally ending an inglorious heap on the ground. A quick minute later crews from both chariots stood face to face angrily brandishing swords, preparing to battle not the enemy swamp reeds but each other, might indeed have done so had not the commander of the Sixty to which all four soldiers belonged rushed forward to intervene.

Areshen leaned his elbow onto the fortress walls, his head onto his hand, and once again sought consolation in nothing more than a long, despondent sigh. When certain that the Sixty's commander, an experienced and talented officer with whom Areshen had campaigned in the western desserts, had in fact prevented an untimely battle among his own men, Areshen twisted a laconic gaze about the city of Ur for another few moments. The city, one of the largest and wealthiest in the southern part of Sumer, was still Sumer's cultural and financial center even if Isin had now become the center of Sumer and Akkad's military command, Isin's Shar Dulur fortress of late a quiet and peaceful refuge from the financial and political intrigue so prevalent in the south, a refuge to which Areshen desperately longed to return. But Ur, Areshen sighed, could just not be abandoned to the barbarians from the western deserts, nor even to the slightly more civilized Gipul and Elam, no matter how pleasant and intriguing the thought seemed at the moment. And besides, Areshen groaned, Setith maintained her primary residence here in Ur; Ur sacked and his wife's property looted would be a bothersome ordeal indeed, month's of bitter, stinging invective better avoided if at all possible. Areshen pondered the Sacred Area near the center of Ur for another long minute, its temple and palaces surrounded by walls quite as formidable and massive as those which surrounded the outer city. The temple itself, the view of which dominated not only the Sacred Area but the entire city, was certainly as grand as any such edifice Areshen had ever seen anywhere in Sumer and Akkad, a staged, pyramidal tower hundreds of feet across at its base with some sort of small - shack? - though Areshen wasn't certain what they called it - a shack no larger than his own house stuck on top in which the High Priests and Priestesses of Nanna and Ningal sat waiting for the god and goddess patrons of Ur to put in an appearance.

Who knows, Areshen sighed. He certainly didn't. Areshen gazed another long moment toward the hectic, constant din which was Ur's Sacred Area, then found himself breaking into a soft, idle smile for memories of a recent conversation he had had with Ur's king, a conversation which had occurred in the back of the king's palace just beyond the walls of the Sacred Area, a conversation which had occurred over very large cups of wine.

Ibisien, still smarting because he had not, like his grandfather, been deified during his own lifetime, spent entire afternoons sitting in his palace in the shadow of the Sacred Area's walls denigrating Shubari, the High Priest of the High Priests and Priestesses of Nanna and Ningal, a position Ibisien would himself have occupied had his divinity been recognized.

"Shubari," Ibisien scoffed, "climbs the temple steps morning and night, plops his fat behind down in the Divine Chamber, and then engulfs said chamber with gas emanating from his own fat behind."

"Oh?" Areshen asked.

"He farts," Ibisien declared, reaching for the royal cup once again. "Shubari sits atop the temple and farts; farts, pops, squeaks, rattles, booms which shake the whole temple morning and night. It's a wonder of wonders the temple hasn't collapsed. If you were a god, Areshen," Ibisien had whined on, thrusting his cup toward the nearest wine steward, "a god in search of somewhere to rest your weary feet, and you wandered into your holy temple atop your holy mountain and found that every other response during the course of the liturgy was a fart, would you be inclined to look kindly upon the city? Ur will end a desolate waste, and it will be the High Priest Shubari's fault. All Shubari's fault, I tell you. It will certainly not be my fault."

"Exalted One," Areshen had answered, not really certain if exalted one was currently in fashion when addressing the king in palace, not really concerned if it was not, "if you want to be Nanna's or Ningal's or whoever's High Priest, why not just climb on up the temple steps yourself. Your guard, after all, is more than a match for Shubari's. As soon as the gods show up, tell them that Areshen of Isin recommends you for the job."

Areshen couldn't help but smile again as he remembered the king's shudder, the long pull Ibisien had taken from his cup.

"The idea, military governor," Ibisien had then belched, "is to have my fat behind placed on top of the temple, not have the gods burn the temple down."

Areshen glanced again toward Ibisien's palace, then toward the Sacred Area's fortress like walls rising just beyond, the flat toped temple with its little house for visiting gods stuck on top, and Areshen couldn't restrain another moment's soft, irreverent chuckle. If Nanna and Ningal ever did decide to put in an appearance in the Holy Chamber atop Ur's temple, he was going to be in big trouble.

"Your only hope," the king enjoyed informing him, "is that Nanna and Ningal will be as drunk as you usually are, Areshen. It still, however, might be to your advantage to absent yourself from Ur for the time being, perhaps a small war or two in the western desserts with the Amuru, somewhere where the gods cannot find you."

Areshen glanced a final long minute toward the military exercises progressing on the open plain beneath the city walls, another Sixty of chariot launching a furious charge against the stacked swamp reeds. When Areshen realized that the swamp reeds would be quite justified proclaiming themselves the victors, he pushed himself along the walls' walkway, then toward the steps which led down into the fortress' interior. Descending finally into the shadows, Areshen made his way across the fortress' courtyard, this surrounded on all sides by long lines of storerooms and soldier's quarters. In many places the fortress' interior walls were in desperate need of repair, plaster and the occasional mud brick from which the fortress had been constructed laying in crumbling heaps on the ground. Areshen was quite aware, however, that the garrison commander was not really to blame for the fortress' condition. Nanna and Ningal were gods with voracious appetites, Areshen sighed, and wondered if their bellies were as huge as Shubari's, the High Priest who fed them every morning and night. Areshen, over the twenty year course of his military career, had been assigned to garrisons in cities all across Sumer and Akkad, had been military governor of a number of those cities over the past ten years. None of the resident gods in most other cities seemed to eat as much as the gods with which Ur had been - Areshen would like to have said cursed, but decided not to press his luck. He'd never actually seen anyone struck by lightning, but he'd heard of it often enough.

How, Areshen dared ask himself, however, could so much grain and standing meat and silver and gold pass through the Gate of Judgment into the Sacred Area and then just disappear? Throughout the day solid processions of porters and donkey caravans wound their way through the streets of Ur toward the Sacred Area. A hundred Scribal Priests sat at table across the Sacred Area's Great Court of Nanna meticulously recording the wealth of Ur and it's surrounding farm villages as it was carried through the Gate of Judgment into the temple precinct. And still, the garrison commander of a wall fortress could not afford plaster for the fortress walls?

Areshen shrugged, decided he'd ask this same question of Ur's king during his audience scheduled for later this afternoon, would do so whether or not Ibisien was well fortified by the royal cup. Areshen finally walked from the courtyard into one of the small chambers beneath the fortress walls. Meshduri, garrison commander, sat at a table beneath the chamber's single window through which daylight entered from the courtyard.

"Areshen," Meshduri mumbled in greeting, lifted a damp clothe, and then rubbed it with energetic fury across the small clay writing tablet sitting on the table in front of him. Areshen broke into an amused smile as he watched this act of mischief from a corner of his eye, lifted the god from its niche in the chamber's far wall, tossed it onto the floor, then lowered himself into the niche, not really all that uncomfortable a seat.

"Tudith is watching you, Meshduri," Areshen chuckled as he nodded toward the god laying on the floor. Meshduri glanced up from his work with an expression of distracted annoyance, continuing, however, to rub furiously at the stubborn tablet in front of him, a provisions voucher of some sort, Areshen suspected. A temple or palace scribe caught doing that which the garrison commander of Ur's walls was now doing might loose the offending hand if he was lucky, his head if he was not.

"Tudith," Meshduri finally stated as he nodded toward the god lying at Areshen's feet, "has been in a remarkably lenient mood of late, has not had a great deal to say about anything in quite some time. Haven't, for that matter, heard a peep out of him in weeks."

Areshen returned a soft chuckle as he watched Meshduri lift the tablet in order to examine the erasure, then a reed stylus in order to forge a new line where the old one had been obliterated.

"Do I want to know what you are writing, Meshduri?" Areshen asked.

"No, military governor of all the king's armies, you most certainly do not," and Meshduri bent to his work.

Areshen could not suppress another soft chuckle, both for Meshduri's use of the title he used when in Ur, as well as for the expression of intense concentration now in Meshduri's features as he inexpertly though carefully inscribed the new line of characters onto the tablet. More than likely the tampering was well intentioned, probably an attempt to extort extra rations of grain for the men in his command from the High Priest Shubari's and the Sacred Area's well stuffed granaries. This sort of mischief was quite in character for Meshduri, was typical of garrison commanders in cities all across Sumer and Akkad. Areshen himself had lifted many a damp clothe over writing tablets during the course of his career.

"There," Meshduri finally exclaimed as he lifted the tablet in careful inspection, a mischievous smile settling into his features. "I should have continued my studies and gone on to the priesthood instead of wasting myself in a military career, Areshen. Perhaps today I would be Shubari's chief scribe sitting in a temple palace drinking wine and listening to Shubari's farts echo off the temple walls."

"Perhaps," Areshen chuckled, then jerked a thumb in the air toward the chamber's southern wall. Meshduri lowered the tablet to the table with a long, despondent sigh.

"That bad?" Meshduri asked.

"One of the throwers nailed one of our own chariots. I would commend the young fellow's aim had I thought the target intentional. Had the javelin drawn blood I might have stood and applauded, so beautiful was the sight."

"I doubt the target was intentional," Meshduri continued, nodding toward the south himself. "You were watching Atiduru's new babies, sweet young things their tongues still wet with mother's milk. They've had no time to make enemies among themselves which must be dispatched in training accidents," and again Meshduri released a long, pondering sigh. "The target was not intentional, Areshen. And Atiduru, you can rest assured, will discipline the thrower all the more severely for the fact."

"Is it my imagination," Areshen asked as he leaned further into the wall niche, resting his feet on the god laying on the floor, "or are these children different than we were at their age?"

"I spend most of my time these days contemplating new ways to pry provisions from fat Shubari, hoping he's sitting on top of the temple farting while I'm raiding his granaries. I have little time to spend personally with my sweet young darlings in the field. Atiduru has not changed, however, the same ugly cuss he's always been. He'll wean his pretty little rabble soon enough."

"Judging by what I just saw, Meshduri, Atiduru is going to have his hands full. I swear these children are different today. You and I played with little toy javelins when we were boys. When was the last time you saw a boy chasing his nurse along Ur's streets with his little toy javelin giving her a good jab in the ass?"

Meshduri chuckled, settling then into brooding solemnity when he continued.

"They're all emulating Ibisien today, I suppose."

"I suppose," Areshen sighed. Ur's king, delicately attired and adorned with a pound or two of cosmetics and polish of every costly sort, had probably never touched a javelin, toy or other, in his life. Twenty years ago, twelve and thirteen year old boys on the streets of Ur strutted, most boasting of the commissions they would one day earn in Sumer's armies. Today most boys wafted along with dainty and elegant step, fawning over each other, each, it seemed, another Ibisien weighed down in perfume and polish, many of them, Areshen suspected, Ibisien's personal pets fondled, fretted over, and eventually debauched in one of the palace's back chambers.

"Atiduru," Meshduri continued, nodding again toward the south and the Six Hundred commander in question, "is still confident that he can make soldiers of the majority of them. When he falls to his knees and prays in despair to Tudith, then I will worry."

Areshen chuckled, rolling the god face down on the floor.

"When that happens," Areshen stated, "I want him relieved."

"Quite," Meshduri agreed. "What, to continue with dainty and delicate matters, does Ibisien have to say these days?"

"I see him later this afternoon. Gipul," king of Elam to the east and a perennial adversary, though since the time of Ibisien's grandfather a tributary of Ur, "has sent the king another daughter, a rather beautiful one, the harem master tells me. You can be certain that Gipul has done something which he fears will annoy Ibisien. Gipul is hoping that Ibisien will be distracted by the new addition to his harem."

"He won't be, of course."

"Certainly not by the girl's beauty," Areshen continued. "Perhaps by her cost, particularly should that cost equal a cask or two of his favorite wine. Anyway, I suppose I should scrounge a Six Hundred or two from somewhere and take a ride up to Elam, see what Gipul is up to. Want to come?"

"Tempting," Meshduri answered. "It's been a long time since I've seen service in the field, longer still since I've seen the east," a moment's intrigue in Meshduri's features, frowning resignation, however, a quick moment later. "But I can't, Areshen, not at least in good conscience. Who will keep Nanna and Ningal from eating too much if I'm not here? Every soldier on Ur's walls will starve."

"You're probably right," Areshen answered with an easy smile toward an old friend he genuinely admired. "By the way, the military governorship of Lagash is vacant, and the civil governor is pressing me for someone Akkadian, or at least partly Akkadian. Your grandmother was from Akkad, was she not?"

"That's why I'm so beautiful," Meshduri laughed. "I could be another Ibisien, at least one of his pets."

"Quite," Areshen groaned, rolling his eyes. "If you want Lagash, you can have it. The last thing we need is any more ethnic problems there. Tell the Akkadians you're Akkadian, and Sumer that you're Sumer."

"I'll be rubbing words off tablets all day long keeping that ruse going."

"Well, think about it, Meshduri. It would be one less problem for me having someone in Lagash I could trust."

Meshduri nodded, appreciation in his eyes. Areshen had known Meshduri for twenty years now, did indeed trust him. He and Meshduri had first met when they had laid aside their reed pens and writing tablets in order to accept commissions in the army, two young officers who for the first few months had all but been led about by hand by their Sixty's First Soldiers, grizzled, thick necked professionals who lived their lives in the dirt next to their men.

"Where are you?" Meshduri asked, and Areshen emerged from his reverie.

"Walking into my first military camp, writing clay still on my hands," Areshen shuddered, smiled when he noticed as obvious a shudder course through Meshduri's body as well. Meshduri and every other officer in the armies of Sumer and Akkad had lived the same experience. "I got old Saran, you know."

"I know," Meshduri shuddered again.

"Saran was Akkadian, twenty feel tall, almost as large around, the chest, not the stomach. I felt like a bug crawling into camp. 'Welcome, you sir,' Saran said. Have you ever heard twenty catapults fired simultaneously, Meshduri? That's what Saran's 'welcome, young sir' sounded like. After I picked myself up from the ground, Saran showed me around the camp, three squad of short sword, one of pike, each man just a slightly less ugly version of Saran himself, all of whom, I was certain, thought me incapable of finding my way to the latrine without my nurse. I almost crawled back to school and my writing tablets that same night."

"I saw old Saran a month ago, just as ugly as ever as he praised your name to the gods. He still talks of Ekluru."

"Does he?" Areshen chuckled, remembering the battle in which he had taken a sword into his own hands when his Sixty had been surrounded by Amuru horsemen.

"Officers," the Six Hundred's High Priest had shouted into Areshen's face after the battle, "do not lift swords into their own hands like common soldiers, particularly an officer who still looks like he could find a place in the king's harem. When you're older," the High Priest had bellowed, "you may, though I doubt it, give orders and direct battles. Until then, you'll stand on a hill and look like a beautiful virgin for your men to protect, not act like a fool and destroy Holy Order."

The military governor under whom Areshen had served at the time, however, had been far more tolerant. And old Saran and the men of his Sixty had accepted their new officer far sooner than was normally the case, despite the fact that that officer had endangered the course of the battle by tampering with Holy Order.

"Saran," Meshduri continued, "said something quite extraordinary, extraordinary for him, at least. He's from Uruk, you know, not particularly devout in his worship of Innana; still, he's wary of doing anything which would intentionally and flagrantly disrupt Holy Order. So I asked him if he thought the current high military governor of Ur a danger to Holy Order. 'You is trying to trick me up, isn't you, sir, you and your officer's ways,' Saran answered. He then kicked dust toward the front door of his house, the way old ladies still chase demons away in Uruk, I suppose, and leaned forward in whisper. 'Areshen,' Saran then informed me, 'is one of them there peculiar exceptions to Holy Order. The gods can't find him, and the demons can't get a hold of him. You might say he's outside Holy Order. So,' Saran concluded, 'Areshen can get away with things which would piss off the gods if anyone else did it.'"

"Perhaps that is why I was not struck down by lightning at Ekluru," Areshen chuckled as he pushed himself to his feet and set Tudith back into the wall niche. "The fact that the High Priest could not explain to the military governor why I was not struck down by lightning was the only thing that saved me, you know."

Meshduri rose from the table and reached for Areshen's hand as Areshen stood at the chamber's door for a final long moment.

"Are you happy now, Areshen?" Meshduri asked, quite aware that Areshen was never really happy when duty required his presence in Ur.

"I'll be happier, I suppose, if I am indeed so fortunate as to escape Ur at the head of an army. With luck, Gipul's and Elam's transgressions will have been provocative in the extreme, and I will spend the summer campaigning in the east."

"Ibisien will want to tag along."

Of course, Areshen sighed. Ur's king would whine incessantly until Areshen relented. He would be a nuisance, though not an insurmountable obstacle.

"A month, perhaps," Areshen continued, "to build Ibi a palace sufficient for his wine stewards, his harem, and his pet boys. Once Ibi's safely tucked away behind the palace walls, he will spend his time trading wives for wine, posing for the portrait carvers. Campaigning, Ibisien is his father's son rather than his grandfather's grandson. He seldom concerns himself with the conduct of the war until it is time for him to stand on the victory platform and listen to the High Priests proclaim his heroism and brilliance in that war's conduct. All and all, Ibi is the ideal king, Meshduri."

"Quite," Meshduri agreed with an easy smile and a final embrace of his hand to Areshen's.

Areshen walked from the chamber back into the fortress's courtyard, then toward the gate room which led through the walls. A life sized Tinruduri, Tudith's older brother or some such thing, guarded the fortress from his niche in the gate room's walls. Areshen offered Tinruduri the proper gesture of abeyance, though he doubted anyone in immediate sight would have been scandalized to any great extent had he failed to do so. Two young soldiers, typical of Ur's, their expressions only slightly more alert than the god's, at least corrected their posture as Areshen walked past.

They move a bit more quickly than the statue, Areshen sighed as he climbed down the outer steps, then stood for a short moment gazing up and down the crowded city street. Narrow, less than three paces wide in most places, this street was not unlike most others in Ur. Born and raised in Sannu, a small farm village a half day's quick march to the north of Ur, city streets still seemed oppressively confining to Areshen. The solid, monotonous walls of mud brick buildings lined both sides of the street as far as Areshen could see, most structures one story in height in this part of Ur. Portals at intervals along the street led into small, unadorned entrance chambers which in turn gave access to interior courtyards.

Areshen waited for a small caravan of heavily laden donkeys to pass, then pushed himself onto the street, walking north. Most of the residents in this part of the city were still Sumerian. Areshen glanced down one of a multitude of blind alleys along the street, this particular one an Akkadian enclave into which few Sumerians would dare venture. Idle youths, many of whom were probably servants absent without permission from wealthy Sumerian households, scowled from the alley toward the better dressed passers by walking along the street. These, Areshen sighed, were Ibisien's and the city's problem, not his or the army's.

A short minute later, Areshen approached a small market square perhaps twenty paces from edge to edge. As crowded as the street itself, small shops and taverns fronted all four walls of the square, entrance to which was gained through an arched portal from the street. Areshen stood at the portal for another quick moment glancing toward one of the taverns, allowed a brief image of Setith's features to float about the edges of his mind, and then without a great deal of further mental debate walked quickly and purposefully across the market square toward the tavern. Setith, a very beautiful woman, was a wife Areshen genuinely loved, most of the time, at least, though Setith of late was a bit easier to take after Areshen had paid sufficient, even generous reverence to one or two of the local beer gods who in this particular market square were quite as generous in return.

"Heluth," Areshen nodded with an easy smile as he approached the tavern's door and a very attractive tavern mistress leaning at the serving board propped across the doorway. Naked save for a small waist clothe, Heluth returned as broad a smile as Areshen's.

"Military governor," she began, reaching for the small silver piece from Areshen's hand and setting it one a scale just to make certain. "Sethurisu is pleased, military governor," Heluth stated as she nodded toward the tavern's god sitting in his wall niche, then reached for a pitcher and cup from a table just inside the tavern's door.

"Sethur - " Areshen asked as he reached for his beer, nodding toward the current beer god's predecessors stacked in a row against the tavern's rear wall.

"It was revealed to me last night, military governor, that Cuthi can no longer be the Divine Lady of my tavern," and Heluth began the formal recitation of the current tavern God's liturgy. "Cuthi," the goddess Sethurisu had displaced, probably because Cuthi had not been attracting customers to the tavern in sufficient number, "was bathing in the river down by the docks when Ningal descended the temple steps in order to bathe in the river as well. 'Cuthi,' Ningal said when she noticed that Cuthi had big tits, 'you have big tits, Cuthi.' Cuthi answered, 'yes, I have big tits. I have indeed been blessed with big tits.' Then Ningal said, 'yes, you have indeed been blessed with big tits. Indeed, they are enormous tits, Cuthi. Because of the enormity of your tits, Cuthi,' Ningal then pronounced, 'you can no longer be the Divine Lady of beer for Heluth in Shensulith Square. You have inflamed my jealousy, Cuthi, because you have such enormous tits. What would happen if my husband descended from the temple in order to bathe here in the river?' Ningal asked. 'What would happen if Nanna were thirsty for beer and he saw how enormous your tits are? Then you, Cuthi, with your enormous tits, would be the temple goddess instead of me, and I might find myself nothing more than a common beer goddess. Sethurisu, therefore, shall be the god of beer for Heluth in Shensulith Square.' And thereupon Ningal drove Cuthi from the city of Ur because Cuthi had been blessed with enormous tits. This, military governor, was revealed to me, Heluth, in vision, as I lay sleeping on my bed last night," and Heluth shook her head vigorously toward several elderly matrons who had paused near the tavern's door long enough to listen to the liturgy's recitation.

"Then what will happen, Heluth," Areshen chuckled with a mischievous grin, "if Seth - Sheth - whatever," and Areshen nodded again toward the tavern's reigning god, "if this fellow has a roving eye himself. And Sheth - the old fellow's not that bad looking, you know, Heluth. Goddesses will be flocking around him like flies."

"Areshen," Heluth protested as she leaned closer, "you cost me another god or goddess every time you visit," and Areshen suddenly remembered that it had been at this suggestion that Heluth's former goddess take a swim down by the river in order to attract more customers to the tavern, a suggestion which had obviously not proven profitable. Areshen little doubted, however, that Heluth's anger was affected. The sultry and pleading heat in Heluth's eyes communicated just the opposite as she grasped his arm in gentle, fondling embrace. "I shall go completely out of business, Areshen, because you have driven all my gods away with your blasphemies. I shall have no choice but to sell myself into your household," and Areshen could not mistake the pleading now in Heluth's grasp to his arm.

"Heluth, I'm just a poor soldier," Areshen answered.

Heluth broke into a mirthful chuckle. She was quite aware of who he was.

"A poor soldier," she chuckled again. "Be that so, Areshen, I don't eat much. I would stay in your own chambers and out of Setith's way. And I'm - pretty, am I not, Areshen?" the pleading in Heluth's eyes ever more genuine.

"Well, Heluth, give - ah?" and Areshen nodded again toward the new tavern god in his wall niche, "give the old boy a chance to prove himself first. Who knows, perhaps he'll turn out to be a match for Nanna. Then Ur's new patron will be your beer god, Heluth, which would please me just fine. In that case, I will be your military governor, and the king will be envious of you instead of the High Priest Shubari."

"In that case, Areshen, I shall order you to divorce Setith and marry me."

Areshen chuckled in easy humor, though he grasped the girl's hand in gentle warmth for another long moment. There was no reason why Heluth's frequent expressions of affection for him should not be genuine. Even though he was now military governor of Ur (was a great deal more once he passed beyond Ur's walls) Areshen was still basically just a soldier. If Heluth had been seeking wealth, she would be pursuing one of the High Priests in the Sacred Area's temple palaces or some rich private merchant, individuals who could for more readily afford to keep both wife and concubines. And Heluth, Areshen realized again, feeling another twinge of vanity for the girl's attention, was far and away one of the most beautiful of that multitude of tavern priestesses who sold their wares (and themselves if the tavern's patron deity was pleased with the proffered offering) in small shops throughout the city. Areshen grasped Heluth's hand again, exchanged a final though intimate smile, the words "maybe soon, Heluth," as usual, in his eyes.

Areshen then passed another long minute dividing his attention between his cup and the crowds flowing from shop to shop across the market square, gazing with idle interest toward a scene not far different than might be found in any other city across Sumer and Akkad. Many faces here in Ur's Shensulith Square were Akkadian, pretty young servants owned by wealthy Sumerian matrons, servants sent to the market square because they were capable of carrying the heaviest loads. The scene was not that different, Areshen decided, than it had been in Sannu where as a boy he had tormented the village's sour old matrons with his little toy javelin. Here in Ur's Shensulith Square, however, a hundred inviting targets presented themselves, some of them young, round and firm, others wide and perfect for a younger boy trying to perfect his aim. A hundred targets everywhere he looked, Areshen sighed with disgust, and not one of them under attack. What on earth was wrong with Ur's younger generation? He must, he decided, discuss this perverse and appalling situation with Ur's king during his audience scheduled for later this afternoon.

"Boys painted like girls, not a javelin to be seen," Areshen had groaned during his last visit to Ibisien's palace. "If this is what Ur's younger generation is to be, I should be pleased to abandon the lot to the barbarians. Perhaps Gipul and his horde. Gipul lives to plunder and pillage, rapes if he can find nothing else to interest him."

"Oh?" Ibisien had answered, that which Areshen could only call sultry anticipation in Ibisien's features, features painted and polished for more delicately than any of a hundred wives Ibisien had ignored ever since he had ascended the throne. "Rapes, does Gipul? I wonder if he does so - indiscriminately."

Areshen turned his attention to a small group of junior priests in front of another tavern on the other side of the square, their attire identifying them as members of the Sacred Area's temple of Nanna and Ningal. Most of these young priests stumbled about in varying degrees of mirthful intoxication. Areshen watched with idle interest as two engaged in conversation with a pair of market prostitutes, these not quite as attractive as the Sacred Area's Holy Prostitutes patronized by the wealthier High Priests, though market and wall prostitutes were well within the means of the younger priests. A quick minute later a price had obviously been negotiated, and two of the young junior priests stumbled from the square in riotous laughter, the prostitutes all but holding them to their feet.

The temple, Areshen thought as he once more lifted his cup, certainly seemed an easier life than the army, or so he supposed, remembering youthful conversations in which fellow students had thought him a relic from another age for abandoning the higher level studies of the priesthood in favor of a military career. No one, they said, goes into the army any more. The way to the top is the temple and Shubari. Ibisien, the palace, the army - all passé. Perhaps, but Areshen could not have imagined spending his life sitting at table in the Sacred Area counting sheep and goats and sacks of grain as they were carried into the vaults lining the Great Court. And besides, it's a trivial matter, Areshen had informed the young critics who had questioned his decision to leave school, but I find it difficult to maintain a pious attitude of reverence toward the gods for more than brief and fleeting moments. What in the name of the gods, the aspiring young priests and scribes with whom Areshen had studied had asked in amaze, do the gods have to do with anything? Perhaps of foolish question indeed, Areshen decided as he set his empty cup on the serving board and directed a final quick smile toward Heluth now reciting the beer god's liturgy to another customer.

Areshen's house lay only another few hundred feet further north from Shensulith Square, though as usual his progress along the street was a time consuming ordeal, everyone in a dense, hurrying crowd competing for narrow paths which avoided the worst accumulation of mud and donkey droppings. Areshen sometimes regretted having accepted Ibisien's offer of the military governorship of Ur, had accepted it in fact because no one else with even a reasonable measure of competency had seemed interested in doing so. As unpleasant as life might have been in any of Sumer's cities, it would only be worse if the barbarians from the western deserts or Gipul's slightly more civilized armies of Elam decided to invade. Areshen was quite aware that he was the most competent general officer capable of directing Sumer's armies should this happen, though not, Areshen sighed, because of any extraordinary capabilities he possessed himself. It was nothing more than a simple matter of fact that most other city's military governors these days knew the locations of the brothels and the perfume baths in their cities for better than they knew the locations of the garrisons under their command. Even a few First Soldiers were beginning to look like High Priests and military governors, the girth of their stomachs truly outstanding, though Areshen had seen a slow reversal of this trend since he had obtained the dismissal of those governors who had allowed the most flagrant deterioration in their commands.

"But he's the High Priest's brother," Ibisien invariably whined whenever Areshen went to the king's palace in Ur insisting that another civil or military governor be dismissed.

"Who do you want, king," Areshen replied, "standing on the frontiers the next time the barbarians flood into Sumer? The High Priests? The High Priest's brother? Or me?"

So far Ibisien had always made the correct choice. At least, Areshen sighed, Ibi still had that much of his grandfather in him.

Areshen finally stepped over another pile of donkey droppings laying in the street, then through the portal into his house's small entrance chamber.

"Military governor," old Shathsurinu began as he attempted to push his bent and aged frame from the bench next the entrance chamber's inner door in order to announce Areshen's arrival.

"Sit, old friend," and Areshen lay a hand to the old man's shoulder in gentle restraint, then stole a glance through the inner door leading into the house's courtyard. Several of the household's other servants, like the doorman belonging to Setith rather than to himself, wandered from one room to another across the courtyard, though Setith herself was nowhere in sight. Sighing a measure of relief, Areshen lowered himself to Shathsurinu's bench.

"All right, old man," Areshen began, "give it to me straight, no art, or I'll have you hung by your feet and flogged."

Shathsurinu coughed a long, mirthful laugh, then leaned closer and spoke in a low, conspiratorial voice.

"Actually, military governor, she's in an unusually good mood. The captain of the Erub was here less than an hour ago."

"Is that right?" Areshen asked, the trace of relief settling into his smile. The Erub, one the larger of that grand fleet of cargo vessels Setith owned, had been several weeks overdue. The Erub's loss would not have been a major financial tragedy to someone as wealthy as Setith, though it would have annoyed her, and Setith annoyed was best avoided by husband and servants alike.

"Priests of Nanna and Ningal also visited," Shathsurinu continued, "offering to sell the town of Polanu to the mistress at the price the mistress had proposed. The Lady Setith is now High Priestess of the goddess Kethlicuri, a divine Lady held in high esteem up and down the Pendurum Canal."

"Then Setith has had a good day," Areshen stated, another measure of smiling relief in his features.

"I believe so, military governor," Shathsurinu answered. "She hasn't even kicked me. Not once, all day long."

Areshen chuckled, though only because the old man did so himself. Areshen, however, was not in the least amused with the way Setith treated her servants, particularly old Shathsurinu, a former first soldier who after his discharge had failed as a private leather merchant in Nippur. When Shathsurinu and his family had traveled to Ur and approached Areshen offering themselves for sale and asking that Areshen recommend them to Setith, Areshen had begged Shathsurinu to look for a gentler mistress. Areshen had agreed to intercede on Shathsurinu's behalf only when the old man had repeated his plea, saying that he had been turned down everywhere else, would have to try the temple farms or one of the construction yards along the new canal, a fate even worse than Setith.

Setith's treatment of Shathsurinu's daughter had been a trying annoyance several months ago, one of those few instances in which Areshen had found it necessary to strap on his courage, stand in front of his wife, and just issue his pronouncement. Areshen had been well within his right to stand before Setith and declare, "I have spoken." The house and all of Setith's business ventures belonged to her, but the household, as long as they were married, was his, legally and finally. Issuing orders to Setith, however, was quite as exciting as issuing orders to the hulking Saran had been in his first military camp. In this case, Areshen had found circumstances dictating that he do so, in the end, he supposed, the only real principle he believed in.

Shathsurinu's daughter had spilled wine onto Setith's dress at the dinner table or some such thing. In a rage, Setith had ordered that a wooden post be driven into the dirt in the middle of the courtyard, the entire household then assembled to witness the punishment. The girl's arms had then been tied to the post, her body suspended above the ground. A nail had then been driven through the girl's hands.

Setith had fully intended to leave the girl hanging in the courtyard until she died. Even when Areshen returned home and ordered that the girl be cut down, Setith had protested with all manner of pouting and whining for the next two days, as usual her cries ending with the words, "you do not love me anymore."

Areshen stretched his feet beside Shathsurinu on the entrance chamber's bench for another long moment and wondered. He had loved Setith very deeply twenty years ago when they had married. And Setith certainly carried those twenty years well. Setith was without doubt one of the most beautiful women in Ur, arguably in all of Sumer and Akkad. But there was something about her which had changed. Areshen himself had had to discipline soldiers many times over the past twenty years, had had to do so far more often in recent years from a military governor's throne. But Areshen was pleased to think that his judgments had been dispassionate, rational and just even when the judgment was death. And there was certainly nothing barbaric in standard methods of military execution, a quick flash of the ax, perhaps just a brief instant's physical pain, though certainly no more than was necessary. There just seemed something very needless and irrational about nailing a girl's hands to a wooden post over a few drops of spilled wine.

"It is a perfectly acceptable manner of disciplining servants," Setith had pouted. "It is quite in accord with the dictates of Holy Order. The High Priest Shubari has said so himself."

I'm sure he has, Areshen sighed as he pushed himself form the entrance chamber's bench to his feet. Shubari, sitting on top of his temple, has spoken, probably in between farts. One of these days a few ten thousand servants and canal diggers and farm laborers belonging to the temple were going to start wondering if Shubari and his precious temple were worth having nails driven through their hands. Shubari would once again crawl through the Sacred Area's walls into the king's palace begging for the army's help. And Ibisien, with a wide smirk of pleasure on his face, would ask Shubari if Nanna and Ningal were sleeping again.

"I suppose," Ibisien had stated when Shubari had crawled into the palace several months ago asking that a slave revolt in the canal yards near Nippur be put down, "if Nanna and Ningal, who in their benevolent though mysterious wisdom saw fit to make you, Shubari, rather than me, Ibisien, High Priest, are unwilling or unable to suppress the revolt themselves, I can prevail upon the military governor."

Ibisien had summoned Areshen to the palace a week later, Ibisien in no hurry to see the slave revolt at Nippur suppressed. Anything which was a source of irritation to Shubari and the temple was a source of drunken, giggling delight to Ibisien and the palace.

"Areshen, my sweet," Ibisien painted as delicately as ever had pouted when Areshen had finally arrived at the palace, "Shubari and his servants are squabbling again, in Nippur this time. Something about nails. Be a darling for me and go do something about it."

With his usual shudder, Areshen had turned from Ibisien fondling two of his pet boys, and then set off for Nippur several days to the north. Scrounging a half dozen Sixties of chariot and short sword along the way, all that was really necessary in the situation, Areshen had then chased several thousand terrified canal workers back into the hands of their task masters. In an irritable mood because of the annoyance, Areshen had then lined the taskmasters and the High Priests who oversaw the task masters onto the banks of the canal and demanded to know why it was necessary for the armies of Sumer and Akkad, busy as it was along the frontiers, to waste their time chasing canal diggers back into their camps.

"Have they lost their faith?" Areshen had sneered in anger. "Or have your gods run out of nails?"

"Wonderful speech, Areshen," Ibisien had giggled in delight when Areshen had returned to Ur's palace. "Shubari is livid. The Sacred Area's walls tremble with his farts."

Ibisien, however, had taken care to maintain a sufficient distance between himself and Areshen, Ur's king now and again glancing toward the sky from the palace's courtyard, watching for the bolt of lightning which must certainly strike down Ur's blasphemous military governor one of these days.

Areshen lay a hand to Shathsurinu's shoulder one final time, sighed resignation, and then stepped from the house's entrance chamber into the courtyard, one of the largest in this part of Ur, the building's basic design, however, not far different than most others in the city. Setith's rooms and chambers, a half dozen of the building's largest, lay on the east side of the courtyard, Areshen's, three smaller chambers, on the west. On the north lay the kitchens and stores, on the south the servant's quarters. Areshen stood gazing toward a date palm growing in the center of the courtyard, then spun quickly about when he sensed stealthy movement from behind. Etwabi and Kinshith, very attractive Akkadian serving girls belonging to Setith, both naked, lunged as soon as Areshen turned.

"I'll have you both flogged," Areshen barked, fixing his expression into the arrogant scowl which Setith wore when addressing misbehaving servants. "I'll have you both beheaded," Areshen tried, though quite aware that it sounded more a plaintive cry than anything else.

The girls, giggling in delight, seized Areshen by the arms and pulled him across the courtyard toward his own chambers, then into a small sitting room.

"Flog me first, military governor," Etwabi crooned as she and Kinshith pushed Areshen down onto the floor cushions, then removed his clothing.

"Just once," Areshen sighed in defeat as he lay back, the girls now running damp towels over his body, "I would like to be shown the least little bit of respect in my own house."

"We respect you, Areshen," Kinshith answered, her expression the epitome of dignity and propriety, for less than a second, however. Areshen rolled his eyes in despair as Kinshith and Etwabi broke into mirthful, clearly disrespectful laughter, dipping their towels into basins of water next to the floor cushions and returning to a task both seemed genuinely to delight in.

Sighing, laying back again in defeat, Areshen was quite aware it was his own fault that he couldn't even wash the street dust from his own body in his own house. In fortresses and military camps across Sumer and Akkad even First Soldiers who resembled old Saran, towering hulks their bodies covered with all manner of battle scars, now stood trembling in awe at the approach of the military governor of Ur, the army in its entirety quite aware that its current commander was far less inclined to tolerate lapses in discipline which had grown into acute problems under Areshen's immediate predecessors. But those were free soldiers, Areshen realized as he stole a quick glance toward the girls now engrossed in their work. No one had forced his soldiers to lift sword in hand and pledge their lives to king and palace. They had done so of their own free will, and deserved a military governor who cared enough to insist that discipline be enforced.

Areshen glanced again toward the girls, and could not understand how Setith could treat them the way she did, girls who were absolutely, unequivocally dependent on Setith for everything, including their lives. Etwabi and Kinshith, in particular among Setith's servants, had been loyal and faithful for years now, genuinely respectful whenever Setith addressed them. But the girls were not free. What else did Setith want from them? What, for that matter, did Shubari and High Priests all across Sumer and Akkad want from a multitude of others who worked the temple's farms and dug the temple's canals? Areshen delighted in the light hearted laughter of the girls now washing his body in gentle and caressing touch, was pleased that Setith had not yet broken their spirits. Areshen was quite aware that he could never bring himself to address them with anything other than clearly feigned anger. Areshen would certainly never see the household servants as soldiers. Why do Setith and so many thousands of other household mistresses want their houses devoid of laughter, expressions of dour submission and defeat on every servant's face? This was never Ur, certainly not the Ur of Areshen's youth.

And one more revolt in the canal yards, Areshen decided with a defiant measure of anger, and he was going to lead the first Sixty into the Sacred Area, grasp Shubari's fat face with his hands, and demand to know why all these canal and farm revolts had begun as soon as Shubari himself had been proclaimed High Priest.

"Oh Areshen, my sweet," Ibisien had giggled in the palace, though he had done so, of course, from a safe distance, "you will take me with you when you invade the temple?"

"Are you not worried, king, that Nan - Nin - whoever, will strike you down?" Areshen had asked, sighing then for the dismay settling into the king's features. Ibisien, at least to an extent, was worried, one eye searching the sky for the bolt of lightning.

"Military governor," Etwabi crooned as she drew an affectionate arm about Areshen's neck, "do not frown. It ruins your beauty," and Areshen found himself chuckling in easier humor as Etwabi leaned, her kiss to his cheek something more than gentle affection. Etwabi raised her eyes to Areshen's for another long moment, the same expression of pleading in the girl's features. Maybe soon, Etwabi, Areshen answered in voiceless intimacy. Etwabi returned another moment's pleading with her smile, pleading, Areshen knew, to become his lawful concubine. Kinshith, Areshen noticed, wore little more than gentle amusement in her own features. Kinshith was quite aware that Etwabi was deeply in love with Areshen.

For another long moment Areshen wandered through fortresses and military camps in cities all across Sumer and Akkad, realized again that he would always feel an intense satisfaction for the spontaneous salutes and ovations he received from garrisons on parade, subordinate civil and military governors alike standing with barely concealed expressions of envy as their commands demonstrated their loyalty and affection toward Ur's military governor.

Still, Areshen felt some genuine warmth for the love these two serving girls expressed for him, girls who were obviously not afraid to seize the most powerful man in the world by the arms and fling him onto the floor cushions in his own sitting room.

"That's better," Etwabi crooned when she noticed the gentle ease and humor now settling into Areshen's eyes. "Do you still love me, Areshen?"

"Of course I love you," Areshen chuckled.

Sensual entrancement now in Etwabi's eyes, she leaned again, this time meeting Areshen's lips with her own, a long moment's gentle though searching passion in her touch. Areshen felt just as genuine a love for Etwabi wash through his heart, raising his hands to her cheeks in easy, caressing touch. Kinshith, still smiling amusement, busied herself arranging the towels, would slip away if the lovers failed to emerge from their growing entransement with each other. Areshen released himself to another long moment's growing passion in Etwabi's arms, taking her finally and obviously into a lover's embrace, stealing a glance of appreciation toward Kinshith preparing to leave. Areshen's eyes then settled toward the sitting room's door, his frenzied sensual entrancement dissipating in an instant.

Setith, dressed in all her flowing glory and regalia, swept into the chamber accompanied by three male servants swishing fans and another carrying her portable throne.

"There," Setith snapped as she pointed, and the portable throne was placed against one of the sitting room's walls, Setith installed upon the throne a quick moment later.

Areshen sighed another second's resignation, gently urging Etwabi still writhing in entranced frenzy back into consciousness, chuckling with easy amusement for Etwabi's soft gasp as the girl realized that her mistress sat watching her from six feet away. Areshen then settled his gaze toward his wife for another long moment as two of the male servants arranged the folds of her majestic skirts about her feet, Setith, as usual, scowling a half dozen "you fools" as she directed the procedure. Setith, Areshen realized again, even though her features seemed perpetually twisted into an expression of annoyance and demand, was indeed quite as beautiful as she had been twenty years ago, a stunning, piercing beauty envied from one side of the city to the other. Gone though, perhaps forever, Areshen sighed, was that gentle innocence which had so touched his heart when they had first been married.

"Beloved," Areshen began, "you are looking well."

"You as well, beloved," Setith answered, a hint of the old, gentle warmth still about the edges of her features, perhaps amusement as she gazed toward the lingering sensual entrancement just now fading from both Areshen's and Etwabi's features. Areshen was certain that he still loved Setith, just as certain that Setith still loved him, at least as far as she was capable of loving anyone. Many things which had been of paramount importance to Setith twenty years ago, however, were triviality today, other matters taking their place.

"And you are now High Priestess of Ke - Ka - "

"Kethlicuri, beloved," Setith answered, pride most likely motivating the trace of a smile she now wore. "A respectable little temple."

In other words, as profitable as a hundred other small temples in the southern part of Sumer over which Setith was already High Priestess, and Areshen lay his head back to the floor cushions as Etwabi and Kinshith now ran their towels across his body with professional detachment, the laughter gone from their eyes.

"I am pleased, beloved," Areshen answered, wondering if Setith suspected how little he cared about another temple. She probably did, Areshen decided, the wispy smile in her features concealing a mind as brilliant and as perceptive as any Areshen could imagine.

"Beloved husband," Setith then continued, and Areshen opened his eyes for the sudden note of affection in his wife's voice, hoping that whatever she was going to ask for would not be totally outrageous. "It seems that I have also been noticed by Leshinuthu and Bilthu - "

"Lesh - who?"

"The patron deities of Bathul, beloved," patient amusement in Setith's voice.

"Oh Setith," Areshen groaned. "Bathul - that's a long and dangerous journey upriver. The city pledges, at best, nominal allegiance to Isin."

Indeed, Areshen sighed, a half dozen senior officers attached to his military headquarters currently residing in Isin had advised that Bathul be sacked once again.

"Husband, I must go to Bathul. How can I not? Leshinuthu and Bilthu have called me by name. As I lay sleeping on my bed last night - "

"Yes, beloved, of course," Areshen sighed, wondering why in forty two years he had never once received a nocturnal visitation from any of Sumer's gods himself. "But Setith, Bathul is a city, one of the largest in Akkad - " and Areshen sighed in desperation when he realized that he was arguing against himself. Setith was quite aware that Bathul was a city; her agents and spies probably knew the whereabouts of every last ounce of gold in Bathul's coffers. "And La - whatever, has called upon you to be his - her, whatever, High Priestess, beloved?"

"Yes, beloved," a glint very like a shimmer of polished gold, Areshen decided, flooding across Setith's eyes. "I have received a message from my agents in Bathul confirming the revelation I received from the city's patron deities. The entire temple in convocation has pronounced Leshinuthu's and Bilthu's call authentic. They have called me by name."

In other words, Areshen suspected, finding it necessary to restrain or at the very least conceal his amusement, Bathul's patron gods had been paid off by Setith's agents, the High Priests composing the temple's convocation acting as financial intermediaries between Setith and said gods.

"Well, Setith," Areshen sighed, "I suppose you are as capable and as responsible a High Priestess as Shubari is a High Priest here in Ur."

"Husband, I assure you, you will have far fewer revolts to suppress in Bathul when I am installed there as High Priestess. I shall reside in Bathul's temple palace myself at least four months a year."

"Oh?" Areshen replied, genuine amusement now in his features as he recognized possible advantages in the situation. It was indeed a long and dangerous journey upriver to Bathul. The city itself, however, was prosperous and stable, its civil and military governors reasonably competent men even if they did tend to act a bit independently at times. Still, all Areshen really need do was write them asking that they keep an eye on Setith, dissuade her from anything overtly malicious, overlook that which was mere mischief. And Setith was indeed right about one very important matter - there had been relatively few insurrections in towns over which she was already High Priestess, though Areshen wasn't really certain why. Setith was no one's idea of a gentle task mistress. But the advantages, Areshen again thought, a soft, contented smile breaking across his features - Setith in Bathul four months a year, far, far away Bathul.

"Then you do not object, beloved?" Setith asked when she noticed Areshen's smile.

"No, beloved. You may go to Bathul," Areshen answered, his smile broader still when he realized there would be no reason to listen to Setith's pleading for the next two months. "But Setith, please be gentle with Bathul. It's pledge of submission to me and Isin is hedging and tentative at best. It needs to be sacked again, but I haven't found the time. Don't do anything to aggravate the situation."

"Areshen," Setith replied, protest in her voice, "I am always gentle. Etwabi, Kinshith, am I not a gentle mistress?"

"Of course, mistress," Kinshith replied.

"Yes, mistress," Etwabi replied, sincerity in the girl's voice, perhaps even protest equal to Setith's.

"Please, beloved," Areshen just continued. "I cannot understand some of the things that you do."

"Areshen, you are a soldier, one of unprecedented acclaim, but you just do not understand Holy Order."

"I used to, before the High Priest Shubari became its interpreter."

"Areshen, everyone and everything has its place. That has not changed. Even Shubari, an atrocious lump of lard sitting on top of the temple intentionally farting into the faces of the gods, cannot change Holy Order."

Areshen broke into a soft chuckle. He could never accuse Setith of not retaining at least a measure of her sense of humor.

"And beloved," Setith continued, "you intentionally tamper with Holy Order yourself when you consort with the servants as though they were your equals and your friends. Dear Etwabi and Kinshith, for instance. I'm doing nothing more than looking out for their best interests, would be scandalously remiss in my duty to them did I not order them whipped when they needed it. I know you love the girls, Areshen; I love you all the more because you do. But they are children. You may love them without reservation or restraint, but you must never allow them to presume themselves capable of deciding what is in their own best interest. Nothing would more disturb Holy Order or provoke the wrath of the gods. And beloved, you must take Etwabi into concubinage if you and she are going to continue having sex with each other. You are the only governor in Sumer and Akkad who does not bother to take concubines, Areshen. People are beginning to talk. You flaunt Holy Order. There is a proper way in everything."

"Of course, beloved," Areshen sighed, deciding, however, on one more attempt at irreverent protest. "But Setith, nails through servant's hands? That seems a bit - harsh, at least to me. What perverted god told Shubari that that was a proper means of discipline?" and Areshen twisted questioning eyes toward Setith. As he might have suspected, Setith just gazed down from the heights of her throne with an expression of benevolent tolerance, quite as though she might toward a barbarian from the western deserts who couldn't possibly understand the complexities of Sumer's faith or social customs.

"Beloved," Setith pronounced as she stretched an arm toward one of the male servants who lifted her from the throne, "come visit me tonight in my chambers. We will fornicate with each other, and then we will discuss it all further."

Areshen nodded, watched Setith and her entourage depart, and then settled back onto the floor cushions, his mood not really foul, though as usual after an audience with Setith, not what it had been before. Oh for the days when he and Setith had made love, Areshen sighed. Now that Setith was High Priestess of this and that's temple in towns all across Sumer and Akkad, they fornicated, the act somehow different in Setith's mind, as though forbidden to ordinary people. Now that Setith was High Priestess of Bathul, a throne become in recent years quite as prestigious as Ur's and Shubari's, Areshen supposed he and Setith would be required to put on public performances laying on a temple's altar, a few dozen gawking priest standing in a circle applauding. Not, Areshen decided, on a bet. Holy Order be damned.

Etwabi and Kinshith both released a noticeable measure of tension with Setith's departure, though even their moods now remained subdued.

"Enough," Areshen sighed as he pushed the towels away. "Please," he repeated, gentle vehemence in his voice when they hesitated.

Both Etwabi and Kinshith pushed themselves from the floor cushions, then toward the door. Kinshith passed through the door into the courtyard. Etwabi, however, turned back toward Areshen, the emotional plea clearly evident in her features. Areshen gazed toward a young woman he genuinely loved for another quick moment, as usual impressed with the keen intelligence which darted from her eyes, and then raised an arm toward her. With a gentle sigh of relief, Etwabi pushed herself back to the floor cushions and once more settled herself into Areshen's arms.

Areshen met Etwabi's lips with his own in a moment's soft, affectionate touch. He then reached for her hands, and spent another long moment examining the scars. The flesh through which the nails had been driven was now healed, as much as it would probably ever heal. Physically, the wounds did nothing to diminish the young woman's striking beauty, though Areshen wondered how else they had affected her. Kinshith and most of the younger of Setith's other female servants spent endless hours adorning themselves with all manner of perfume and jewelry and every sort of finery, each hoping that the next young man with whom they became romantically involved would approach Setith asking for her permission to propose marriage. As intransigent as Setith could be in most matters, she never refused her servant's suitors, asking only the original purchase price if the young man could afford it, extending credit at generous rates of interest if he could not.

Etwabi, however, seemed to take no interest whatsoever in the myriad of proposals a young woman as beautiful as she could expect to receive, ignored the young men who flocked about her whenever she was sent to the market square, just came home and insisted she was happy with Setith, still happy with Setith, even after Setith had suspended her from a post in the middle of the courtyard with a nail driven through her hands.

"Areshen - " Etwabi began as she brushed a gentle hand to his cheek, a questioning expression in her features for the concern in his own.

"Etwabi," Areshen began, his own expression breaking from anger into gentle warmth, "I could find you a husband without difficulty. You certainly do not want to remain here with Setith."

"I do," Areshen. At least for now."

"Etwabi - " Areshen sighed, and Etwabi grasped his hands, gentle ease in her features.

"Areshen, the mistress loves me very deeply."

"Etwabi," Areshen gasped, "she hung you from a post - "

"She loves me, Areshen."

"And she said the High Priests told her that it was a perfectly acceptable means of punishment."

"Of course she did, Areshen. She had to. She hated what she had to do to me, but how can you defy Holy Order?"

"Etwabi - "

"Areshen, you do not understand. It was not at all that which it seemed to you. Areshen, will you listen? Patiently?"

Areshen sighed, laying back in defeat.

"The mistress was angry, of course. But it was not from her anger that she acted as she did. She consulted with the High Priests very carefully; she always does when she finds it necessary to punish one of us. The morning of my punishment, the mistress came to me and fell on her knees in front of me crying. 'Oh my beloved Etwabi,' she said to me, 'the gods have lost their minds. I should never have gone to the High Priest,' and I was shocked as I looked at her, Areshen. Even though I am a child, I knew that the mistress should not speak so. She told me the punishment the gods had revealed to the High Priest. 'Beloved Etwabi,' the mistress said and I was terrified by the look in her eyes now. 'Shubari is insane. We will run away together to one of my towns where the gods are not so cruel.' I was shocked, Areshen, and I was frightened. I pled with the mistress and I took her hands into my own. I would never have dared do anything like that before. I begged the mistress not to defy Nanna and Ningal because they are more powerful than almost every other god and would find us no matter where we ran and would then be very angry with the mistress. When the High Priest Executioner came the mistress took me into her arms and she wouldn't let me go. 'I was wrong to come to you,' the mistress screamed at the High Priest Executioner. 'Tell Shubari, that fat, far - ' well, the mistress can speak just like a soldier when she wants to. The High Priest Executioner, however, was a very pious and wise young man. He explained to the mistress and me why we must not defy Holy Order."

Areshen nodded, settling into a long moment's speculative wonder. It had just been too long, he supposed, since he and Setith had spent more than brief and fleeting moments with each other, Setith scurrying from one temple to another seeing to all manner of financial concern, he to fortresses and military camps along the frontiers, a dozen tribes of barbarians a constant, unrelenting nuisance. Setith, defying the High Priest? And doing so on a servant's behalf? Perhaps there was indeed a trace of the girl Areshen had married twenty years ago remaining in Setith. He just couldn't be certain, however, Areshen realized again, little doubting that Setith's invitation to join her in her chambers this evening would be forgotten as affairs of business and temple drove triviality such as sex from her mind. Setith had extended Areshen any number of such invitations to her chambers over the past few years, just the hint of sensual intrigue about the edges of her features. Invariably, however, sometime during the course of the day, a servant would appear with the mistress' apologies, the mistress detained with temple and business matters of one sort or another.

Perhaps, Areshen sighed as he again wrapped Etwabi into his arms in a long moment's gentle silence, perhaps that young executioner priest had indeed been a pious, sincere young man. But what of the High Priest Shubari, and once more Areshen felt the old anger course through his being. So many thousands of gentle, trusting creatures like the young woman he now held in his arms waiting for Shubari to descend from the temple and reveal the latest pronouncement from the gods, and Shubari just farts out, "nails." Yes, Areshen groaned in anger, one of these days he was going to haul that farting piece of blubber off the temple and pound a few nails through his hands. Perhaps Shubari would then decide that he had misinterpreted the latest pronouncement from Ur's - stinking gods. Let the lightning came, and Areshen glared toward the ceiling in anger. Do it now. You might not have another chance.

"Areshen, you're frowning again," Etwabi whispered in a gentle, soothing voice, caressing Areshen's shoulders until she felt his tension subside.

"Etwabi, perhaps Setith is right. Perhaps I do not understand. I certainly do not understand you. Your family's gods are not Ur's gods. You have said so yourself many times, as does your brother every time he visits."

"Teru," Etwabi continued with a soft chuckle, "is a nuisance to you, isn't he, Areshen? He knows you love me. He speaks presumptuously because of it."

"He speaks his mind, Etwabi. He just does not realize that he is wasting it one the person to whom he is speaking. The total of my understanding of our gods could be written on one, single, small tablet. I could never begin to understand his gods as well."

"Teru has only one."

"Who has told him that he and his whole family must leave Ur for the north."

"Yes."

"You should go with him, Etwabi. Setith would not object."

Areshen felt immediately the intimate strength in Etwabi's embrace. He no longer attempted to deny the depth of his feeling for her, however, and again pulled her into his arms.

"Areshen - " Etwabi tried, almost a soft, pleading cry as she met his eyes. Areshen just pulled her head onto his shoulder, held a woman he genuinely loved in warm embrace, and wondered again why he had not just gone ahead and made her his concubine. She had pled so many times now. Setith certainly did not seem to object, had, as a genuine expression of her own love for Areshen, offered to release Etwabi to him at five sixths the price she had paid for her. Other civil and military governors kept as many as a dozen concubines. Both these other governors and Setith thought it exceptionally bizarre that the military governor of Ur, not a wealthy man, but certainly far from destitute, kept none.

Again Etwabi raised pleading eyes to Areshen.

"Perhaps soon, Etwabi," Areshen began in a gentle voice. "Give me a little more time, beloved," and Areshen felt again the intimate strength of Etwabi's arms as she cried for the word.

"I love you, Areshen," she whispered.

"What would your brother say, Etwabi?"

"You know what he would say, Areshen. He would be furious."

"He would be furious if he saw us now, I suppose," Areshen chuckled.

"Stop, Areshen," though he couldn't restrain another soft chuckle, quite aware that Etwabi still felt at least a twinge of concern for the simple fact that she was naked as she lay in Areshen's arms.

"Etwabi," her brother, fanatical in his devotion to his strange god native somewhere to the western deserts, had gasped the last time he had visited, "you are naked."

Areshen, just as naked at the time, had stared back in amusement and confusion. Half of Ur was naked at least half the time. Ur's gods didn't seem to have much to say on the matter.

"Besides," Etwabi finally continued, "Teru will forget me when he leaves Ur. They all will. They'll be far away in the north."

"You will be lonely, Etwabi. And they will take their gods - their god with them. Will you not be lonely without your god, Etwabi?"

Areshen felt Etwabi's soft chuckle, and realized that another woman was staring toward him as though she might toward a barbarian from the western deserts.

"Teru's god does not live in stone, Areshen, or so Teru says. I really don't understand all of Teru's words myself. I suppose that is why he is always so furious with me."

Areshen released a long sigh, deciding to change the subject before the onset of the inevitable headache any discussion of the gods caused him.

"I see Ibisien later this afternoon," Areshen continued in an idle and complacent tone. "Actually, I should be at the palace now, but he can wait."

Etwabi broke into a soft chuckle, quite aware that Areshen held Ur's king in esteem only slightly higher than he held the High Priest Shubari and Ur's gods. Etwabi was also quite aware, however, of where the real power in Sumer and Akkad lay these days. She was holding the man who wielded it in her own arms. Areshen had no pressing need to bow in respect to anyone, though Areshen being Areshen, he still offered the pretense of a bow to Ur's king, at least in public.

"I'm going to ask Ibisien about this nail thing," Areshen continued. "It is quite within the purview of the Assembly to nullify this asinine foolishness of Shubari's, and they are damn well going to do it."

"My brother respects you, Areshen," Etwabi just said, chuckling for the expression of amaze in Areshen's features. "Teru says that you are a decent man, god fearing in your own way, even if you don't believe in god."

"Most people call me 'the man with no god of his own,'" Areshen chuckled.

"Teru disagrees, Areshen."

"Has he been talking to his god again?"

"You really are awful, Areshen. I am certainly going to loose you to a lightning bolt."

Areshen chuckled, glanced toward the ceiling, then chuckled a bit more softly.

"Teru says that it will be his son who talks to god."

"To god?"

"That's how Teru says it. I don't understand Teru either. He also said something very frightening, Areshen. He said that the nails will be gone before the end of the year because Sumer is ruled by a decent man and the nails are an aberration. But Teru says there will come a time, many years from now, when a land even greater than Sumer will rule the world, another land which will use nails against their own people, and they will drive nails even into the hands and feet of our god."

Areshen met Etwabi's eyes in silence for a long moment, genuine concern for her in his own. Areshen could not help but notice the gentle faith in Etwabi's voice whenever she spoke of the gods, or god, as her brother Teru put it. Perhaps that was why he had never made Etwabi his concubine. Teru planned to take his whole family into the north. As bitter as the arguments between Teru and Etwabi had been, Areshen had always sensed a genuine love between brother and sister whenever he had seen them together. Areshen further suspected that Etwabi was far more pious than she would admit even to herself at the moment. If Etwabi did remain in Ur when Teru and his family migrated into the north, Areshen knew that he would never abandon her, would most certainly never allow her to again endure the pain the High Priests had subjected her to. Again, however, Areshen heard the gentle faith in Etwabi's voice, and genuinely doubted that she would be happy remaining in Ur once her family had gone, no matter how much she loved him.

III

Shubari se Kerbi, High Priest of the High Priests of Nanna and Ningal, processed from the Sacred Area's Sacred Palace to the steps of the temple accompanied by the Noble Priests, the Incantation Priests, the Throne Bearer Priests, the Executioner Priests, the Libations Priest, the Incense Priest, the Lower Order Priests, and many other priests, the entire route of the procession across Ur's Sacred Area well protected by heavily armed contingents of the temple guard.

Beneath the towering walls of the temple, Ur's the House of the Unending Union Between Heaven and Earth, another Sixty of the temple guard armed with pike and short sword stood to attention. The High Priest Shubari, outstanding in the midst of a sea of flowing, fluttering robes due both to the fact of the High Priest's massive bulk as well as the ostentatious majesty of his own regalia, stood for another brief moment at the base of the temple's steps gazing with an expression of benevolent concern toward the faithful of Ur now crowded among the palaces, courtyards, and workshops within the Sacred Area's walls. A dozen Incantation Priests, those who would accompany the High Priest the entire distance to the top of the temple, sighed with relief. At least Shubari endeavored to maintain a demeanor of pious solemnity in public. If the manner in which the High Priest Shubari comported himself in the Divine Chamber atop the temple ever became a topic of popular discussion, a far greater percentage of the temple's revenue accumulated in the Great Court of Nanna would have to be expended paying for the guards the Sacred Area would need.

Shubari finally settled his mass onto the portable throne, and a dozen Throne Bearer Priests bent toward gold plated carry poles extending to the front and to the rear of the throne, the priests groaning in strain as they lifted it and its massive occupant onto their shoulders. Followed by those priests who would accompany the High Priest up the slopes of Ur's Holy Mountain, the High Priest Shubari began his ascent to the domain of the gods.

Shubari allowed his features to lapse into apathy as the distance from the admiring crowds of faithful standing at the base of the temple increased. He glanced another long moment toward the roofs of the king's palace just now visible to the south of the Sacred Area's walls. Ibisien, Shubari muttered, his brow wrinkled in annoyance; Ibisien, a lover of boys and men, who was probably sitting in his palace squirming in giggling delight as his scribes, poets, and portrait carvers labored with pen or chisel extolling the virtue and justice of a king who was seldom sober enough to appreciate any of it anyway. Ibisien, however, was by and large harmless, a king, Shubari decided, who reveled in his grandfather's glory and honor, he and his statue carvers completely unconcerned for the fact that he had done nothing himself to merit the glory and honor in which he reveled. The Assembly, at least, was competent enough to realize this as well, had refrained from petitioning for Ibisien's recognition as a living god.

Areshen, however, military governor of Ur, was a different matter altogether, far from harmless. And Shubari was quite aware that the Akkadian city of Isin was now far more than Areshen's military headquarters. How dare that blasphemous apostate with no god of his own, Shubari seethed, criticize the manner in which the High Priest of the High Priests of Nanna and Ningal oversaw the faithful who worked on the temple's farms and dug the temple's canals? What does Areshen, a man without even a single concubine, a man who frolics with his wife's servants quite as though they were his friends and his equals, know of the difficulties the High Priest faced as interpreter of Holy Order, the Sacred Vessel through which Nanna and Ningal spoke to the people of Ur? Perhaps, Shubari decided, when Setith was installed as High Priestess in Bathul, she might be persuaded to pull Areshen back onto his leash. Then again, Shubari sighed, Setith's cadre of agents and spies was quite as extensive as his own. And Setith, Shubari sighed again, was a very expensive bitch.

Shubari's greatest concern, however, was the suppression of any popular movement in which the further privatization of Sumer's farms and factories was again advocated. It had taken years for Shubari to under the damage the present king's grandfather had done when he had wrested so much of the economy of Sumer from the control of its temple and religious institutions, confiscating farm after farm, factory after factory all across Sumer and Akkad and placing them under the jurisdiction of the king's palace, or even worse, into the hands of private individuals. Even today there were dozens, perhaps still hundreds of individuals, the bitch Setith for instance, owned by no one, their wealth and their influence rivaling that of the temple in the city in which they resided, a dangerous and blasphemous situation. People owned by absolutely no one, Shubari mumbled in amaze, people with no one to whip them for the pleasure of the gods. How perverse society had become under Ibisien's grandfather. How fortunate that he, Shubari, had become High Priest when he had. Perhaps, if a few thousand more people were hung from posts with nails driven through their hands, the delicate balance of Holy Order upon which Sumer depended could be restored.

Shubari doubted that Areshen of Isin, even if he did in fact now rule most of Sumer and Akkad form his military headquarters in Isin, felt any great measure of personal concern regarding social or economic matters in Ur or Sumer. Shubari doubted that Areshen, raised according to his spies and informants on a pig farm near Sannu, knew a great deal about such matters to begin with. Areshen was undeniably a brilliant soldier, had completely revitalized the armies of Sumer and Akkad the garrisons of which were loyal to him almost to the last man. But Areshen had one major flaw which Shubari, High Priest of Nanna and Ningal, could not tolerate. Areshen was not afraid to fart into the faces of the gods. I, Shubari seethed, am the only man in Sumer entitled to fart into the faces of the gods.

Shubari sighed in frustration, this time when he felt the portable throne bump to the floor beneath the entrance chamber's pillars, a tall domed structure on the temple's first terrace which gave access through a rear portal to another set of steps leading up to the temple's summit and the Divine Chamber. At the entrance chamber's rear portal stood the half dozen male and female prostitutes who spent their days waiting in the entrance chamber hoping to service Nanna and Ningal should god or goddess appear wishing to be serviced.

With the help of two straining Incantation Priests, Shubari pushed himself from the portable throne and then walked to the chamber's rear portal, glaring with dismay toward the steps which led up to the Divine Chamber, steps, Shubari sighed, which he must climb with nothing more than the shoulders of Incantation Priests for help. Perhaps, Shubari mused, Nanna and Ningal should pronounce that they had granted their permission for the Throne Bearer Priests to carry the High Priest the rest of the way up. No, Shubari sighed again, the fewer who knew what really went on in the Divine Chamber, the better, and Shubari turned to the male and female prostitutes who immediately intoned their liturgies.

"Most noble and exalted High Priest of Nanna," the female prostitutes chanted in unison, "we have waited faithfully and in prayer, beseeching Nanna to come so that we may fornicate with him. He has not come."

"Most noble and exalted High Priest of Ningal," the male prostitutes chanted, the same formula with the appropriate variations, the word "not," as usual, inserted into the final line.

When the holy prostitutes had concluded their liturgies, Shubari stood panting with mouth open for another long moment, though no one in the entrance chamber expected him to deliver the proper response, an ancient liturgy of considerable length and detail. Everyone in the entrance chamber, however, was quite aware of the advantages of keeping their own mouths shut. Only the most brazen and daring of gamblers and risk takers chanced revealing the liberties the High Priest Shubari took with proper liturgical procedure. Most who did so soon felt the bite of the ax to their necks.

Shubari gazed across the submissive and pious faces in front of him, daring them to show the least hint of emotion as he delivered his response to their liturgy. Shubari then thrust his face toward the holy prostitutes, his liturgical response a rasping, thundering belch which echoed off the entrance chamber's four walls for a length of time most present would previously have considered impossible. As usual, the Incantation Priests, particularly those one or two who were devout worshippers of Nanna and Ningal, struggled to control their despondent sighs. Only they would hear similar liturgical responses resounding off the walls of the Divine Chamber atop the temple, responses intentionally directed toward the Holy Couch on which Nanna and Ningal sat, and emanating from a posterior orifice in the High Priest Shubari's body.

In the beginning, there was water. Then An separated the waters above from the waters below, and so there were waters above and there were waters below. It was An who separated the waters above from the waters below.

Then An said to his wife Tiatul, "come wife, Tiatul, let us fornicate," and so An fornicated with Tiatul. Then Tiatul said, "Look, An. I have produced another god because we fornicated."

An then made a man from the clay of the ground because An was fatigued. "I will rest now," An said to the man he had made from the clay of the ground, "because I am fatigued. You shall do my work for me and feed me so that I may rest. I will fornicate with Tiatul and she will produce many more gods for you to feed. Then the earth will flourish with cattle and green things of every kind. Then I shall eat of the produce of the earth which you shall gather for me. There will be many gods for you to feed."

The man had sons and daughters and they lived in the south where two rivers flow to the sea.

Then a flood came, but Gosunuri built a boat and got away.

Then after the flood the king of Epil came and learned to write, and ruled the entire land of Sumer. Then every other king since Epil was king has said, "I am the king of Epil," because the king of Epil was a great king who ruled the entire land of Sumer.

Then the king of Oculu came, but nothing important happened.

Then the king of Ur came who was called Apanada and said, "I will build a temple which will rise up to heaven." Then Epenatu was king of Ur. Epenatu did not die like other kings. Instead, Epenatu and his entire household, his cup bearer and his harp players, his clowns and his butler, his soldiers and his donkeys, his wives and his concubines, all said to each other, "we will not die like other men." The reason they said this, the cup bearer and the harp players, the clowns and the butler, the soldiers and the donkeys, the wives and the concubines, was because they loved their king. "We shall go with the king into his tomb." And so the entire household of Epenatu, the cup bearer and the harp players, the clowns and the butler, soldiers and donkeys, wife and concubines, accompanied the king into his tomb. In all, twenty one men and two hundred and fifty six women accompanied Epenatu into his tomb, and so they did not die like other men.

Then Innana came and leaned against a Tubul tree and looked down on her private parts. "My private parts are magnificent private parts," Innana said to herself, and she admired her private parts. "From my private parts shall flow all the wealth of Sumer, the cattle and the green things of the earth of every kind." That is why the High Priest of Uruk is called the High Priest of Innana, although the people of Akkad say that it was Tursetil who looked down on her private parts in admiration, but it was not. It was Innana who looked down on her private parts in admiration.

Then Mestipal was king of Tagru and he said to the High Priest of Tagru, "you are no longer the High Priest of Tagru, because the people of Tagru have cried out to me. The High Priest of Tagru taxes our cattle, he taxes our beer, he taxes our beds. We can pay no more taxes." So the king of Tagru said to the High Priest of Tagru, "let us climb together to the top of the temple. Have no fear, High Priest of Tagru, for I, the king of Tagru, will certainly not throw you off the top of the temple." So the king of Tagru climbed to the top of the temple with the High Priest of Tagru. When the king of Tagru had climbed with the High Priest of Tagru to the top of the temple, the king threw the High Priest off.

Then Peshenendu was king of Tagru and he gave the temple back to the High Priest when he saw that the gods of Tagru were angry and he realized that it was not right for Mestipal to have thrown the High Priest off the top of the temple.

The kingship passed to Sargon who built his city in Akkad. Sargon conquered the whole world. The Sargon said, "I am a god." And so Sargon became a god. Sargon was the first king who became a god, though the people of Sumer say that Sargon did not become a god. It was Sargon's son who became a god.

Finally kingship passed back to Ur again and Urnammu became king of Ur. Urnammu was king of Ur for seventeen years. Then Shulgi became king of Ur. Shulgi was king of Ur for seven hundred and forty eight years. Then Shuasen became king of Ur. Shuasen was king of Ur for nine years. Then Ulanu became king of Ur. Ulanu was king of Ur for nine years. Then Ibisien became king of Ur. Ibisien is still king of Ur.

After kingship had again passed to Ur, Urnammu who ruled for seventeen years said, "I am the king of the Four Quarters of the world." Then Urnammu wrote down the laws and said, "if a man puts out another man's eye, he must pay that man ten shekels of silver because he has put out another man's eye. If a man promises to deliver five loads of bricks and he only delivers four loads of bricks, then he must deliver one more load of bricks. If two men are fighting and one of them grasps the other man's private parts, the man who grasped the other man's private parts shall have his hand cut off unless he pays the other man five shekels of silver." Urnammu built The House that Rises up to Heaven in Ur.

Then Shulgi became king of Ur. Shulgi who ruled Ur for forty seven years said, "I am the High Priest too." And so Shulgi became the High Priest too. Then Shulgi said, "Now I am a god." And so Shulgi became a god.

Then Shuasen became king of Ur. Shuasen who ruled Ur for fourteen years didn't do anything important.

Then Ulanu became king of Ur. Ulanu who ruled Ur for nine years didn't do anything important either.

Then Ibisien became king of Ur and king of the Four Quarters, but most people say that Areshen of Isin is king of the Four Quarters.

This is why.

The people of Tabru said that Areshen was their king and that Ibisien was not their king because Areshen was their military governor.

Then Ibisien said to Areshen, "you shall be military governor of Oritu instead of Tabru, because the people of Tabru say that you are king instead of me. They name the year as they choose instead of according to my command."

Then the people of Oritu said that Areshen was their king and that Ibisien was not their king because Areshen was their military governor.

Then Ibisien said to Areshen, "you shall be military governor of Susa instead of Oritu, because the people of Oritu say that you are king instead of me. They name the year as they choose instead of according to my command."

Then the people of Susa and the people of Asshur and the people of Dolitu and the people of Nippur and the people of Lituru and many other people said that Areshen was their king and that Ibisien was not their king because Areshen was their military governor.

Then Ibisien said to Areshen, "why do the people of Susa and the people of Asshur and the people of Dolitu and the people Nippur and the people of Lituru and many other people say that you are king instead of me? They name the year as they choose instead of according to my command."

Areshen said, "I don't know, king."

Most people say that Areshen called Ibisien king because Areshen did not want to be the king. Still, Areshen did not say to the cities which called him king instead of Ibisien, "you must not call me king instead of Ibisien," even though Ibisien said that Areshen said to the people who called him king instead of Ibisien, "you must not call me king instead of Ibisien."

Then in the tenth year that Ibisien was king of Ur, the Amuru broke across the wall that Shulgi had built in the north to keep the Amuru out of Sumer and Akkad and the Amuru pillaged Sumer and Akkad.

Areshen went to the palace and said, "king, you must make me military governor of Tabru or the Amuru will sack it."

But Ibisien said, "I will not, because the people of Tabru will call you king and name the year as they choose instead of according to my command. Belslurud will lead the army."

And so the Amuru sacked Tabru.

Then Areshen went to the palace and said, "king, you must make me military governor of Akkad or the Amuru will sack it."

But Ibisien said, "I will not, because the people of Akkad will call you king and name the year as they choose instead of according to my command. Teredu will lead the army."

And so the Amuru sacked Akkad.

Then Areshen went to the palace - (fourteen repetitions of the formula omitted)

Then all the people of Sumer went to the palace and said, "king, you must make Areshen military governor of Isin, because the Amuru have overrun the entire north. The north no longer sends its grain to the south and we are starving. Send Areshen to drive the Amuru back across the walls that Shulgi built to keep the Amuru out."

So the king said to Areshen, "Areshen, you may go to Isin and be the military governor and drive the Amuru back across the wall that Shulgi built to keep the Amuru out, but you must not let the people of Isin call you king and name the year as they choose instead of according to my command."

Ibisien said this because all the people of Sumer went to his palace and grasped his private parts until he said it.

Then Areshen gathered the armies of Sumer and Akkad onto boats. Areshen gathered twenty seven thousand foot soldiers and four hundred and twenty nine chariots onto boats and sailed up the copper river where he slaughtered the Amuru to the last man and then drove all the rest of the Amuru back across the wall that Shulgi had built to keep the Amuru out. Then Areshen said to the Amuru he did not drive back across the wall that Shulgi had built to keep the Amuru out, "you may remain in Sumer and Akkad. The High Priests will give you land to farm. The High Priests will not mistreat you because Sumer and Akkad is a land of law and justice. The laws have been written down." Areshen really believed this. He then showed the chiefs of the Amuru and their horses the laws which Urnammu had written down, and the Amuru and their horses said that they would not sack any more cities because of the justice of the laws which had been written down.

Then Ibisien said to Areshen, "you are not military governor of Isin anymore. You will be military governor of Ur." Ibisien said this because the people of Isin called Areshen their king. The High Priests of Isin also said that Areshen was a god, and Ibisien wanted Areshen to demand that the people of Isin stop calling Areshen their king and their god. Ibisien also wanted the people of Sumer and Akkad to let go of his private parts. But Areshen did not ask the people of Isin to stop calling him their king and their god. Areshen did, however, make the people of Sumer and Akkad let go of Ibisien's private parts.

"You must let go of Ibisien's private parts," Areshen said, "or I will have to pay him five shekels of silver."

Areshen glanced up from the tablet for a quick moment, then gazed through a window into the courtyard of Teru's house, a small private school for aspiring young scribes not far from his own house. A dozen students, most of them very young and the author of the tablet Areshen had been reading most likely among them, were busy at a bench in the middle of the courtyard preparing new writing tablets, picking small pebbles from pales of clay, then packing the clay into small wooden molds.

Teru se Shathsurinu, Etwabi's brother, made a marginal living as a private teacher here in this house, would have done better teaching in a temple school, but for doctrinal reasons Areshen supposed he would never understand, Teru refused to affiliate himself either with the temple or the High Priest Shubari.

Areshen glanced another quick moment toward the young man sitting at table across the room. Twenty five, with bright, intelligent eyes, the resemblance between Teru and Etwabi was striking. Areshen fell again into the warmth of Etwabi's arms, pondering the passionate, urging strength of her embrace. Etwabi, before Areshen had left, had pled yet again to become his concubine, Areshen promising to give the matter serious consideration as he stepped through the door, Ibisien and the palace his ultimate destination. Perhaps, Areshen had then decided, a few minutes conversation with Teru might be settling. Ibisien and the palace, as usual, could wait.

Areshen read again the final few lines on the tablet, then with an easy smile pushed it back across the table toward Teru.

"You will, of course," Areshen stated, "wipe this slate clean."

The young teacher released a soft chuckle, then answered in complacent resignation.

"I will, of course. It seems a pity to do so, however. An eight year old's tablet onto which a measure of truth has been inscribed is wiped clean, while the archives of temple and palace sit undisturbed, the lies therein contained sanctioned and eventually ennobled. Sumer would best be served by it gods," Teru sneered, "should those gods descend from the temple and wipe the officially sanctioned slate of Sumer clean."

"Truth is a dangerous thing in Sumer these days, my young friend. The archives of Isin will tolerate no more of it than will the archives here in Ur. Not only am I god in Isin, but now I am Akkadian as well, nine feet tall, son of the king of Mari."

"You are not?" Teru chuckled, feigned disbelief in his features.

"It serves no one, Isin or Ur, that I was born on a temple farm a few hour's drive from the walls of Ur and am as Sumer as Ibisien or Shubari. Anyway, enough of nonsense. Are you leaving Ur, Teru?"

"You're quite in love with Etwabi, aren't you, military governor?" Teru asked with a gentle smile.

"I want her to know happiness, Teru. I don't want her to suffer needlessly. She says that you will not take your god with you - or cannot take your god with you - " and Areshen hesitated, glanced about the chamber in vain for Teru's god, then just waited for Teru to explain.

"Our god can be taken nowhere, Areshen, because he lives in something which can either be harder than stone or metal, or something which can be far more malleable. He lives in human hearts. He will always live in Etwabi's heart whether or not she remains in Ur," and Teru glanced toward the child's tablet laying on the table. "Did you notice young Tethoduri's dissertation on the flood?"

"Certainly the brevity of it. 'Gosunuri built a boat.'"

"Tethoduri's family are devout in their worship of An. They came from a very ancient town where An still appears first on every list of the gods. 'We are privileged,' young Tethoduri argues. 'We need no minor gods to intercede for us. The god of the sky is our god.' Then Tethoduri stands in wonder as I argue that there is a god even more ancient than An, a god, in fact, begotten by no one, a god who has never had need of wife or consort. 'How can that be?' young Tethoduri asks. 'Did your god not take a consort, there would be not other gods, no people, no nothing. Your god would forever be alone.'"

"And is he?" Areshen asked.

"No, not as long as there are people like Etwabi, and young Tethoduri in the world. And you, Areshen."

"Me?"

"Three months ago," Teru continued with a soft smile, "Tethoduri's dissertation on the flood might have been as elaborate as that of any other of my students, few of whom can fathom my family's retelling of the flood poem, Sumer's, I will argue, a corruption of the original. Nor, I suppose, can young Tethoduri yet understand the complexities, though he is obviously now trying to do so. And I did not tell him to do so, Areshen. I did no more than recite my family's traditional poem of the flood."

"The one that has the promise at the end?"

"I always suspected that you understood more than you would ever admit, Areshen. Yes, the one with the promise at the end. Someone else, as I say, told young Tethoduri to listen. It was not I. Tethoduri is not yet able to understand our - strange god from the deserts, not yet able to expound on truths he suspects lay hidden within that god's poetry. He now finds that something is lacking in Sumer's traditions, however, a lengthy dissertation on its flood poem not worth his time. To conclude, Areshen, our god will still be with Etwabi even if I and the rest of my family leave Ur."

Again Teru broke into a soft smile as the military governor of Ur, the man now proclaimed in most city's library's save Ur's to be the divine king of the Four Quarters of the World, messaged the ache from his head. The only gods who did not give Areshen of Isin headaches, Teru supposed, were the beer gods in Shensulith Square, gods Areshen was known to reverence with considerable ardor.

"Teru," Areshen finally stated, "it almost sounds quite as though you would not be unhappy were Etwabi to remain here in Ur with me."

"I would cry for the distance between Etwabi and me, military governor, not because there would be any distance between Etwabi and god. And the fact that Etwabi continued to reside in the household of Areshen would not be a matter of concern to me. Areshen's dissertation on the flood would make Tethoduri's seem verbose."

"Perhaps that is why they call me the man with no god of his own," Areshen chuckled.

"I would prefer to think, the man with no gods, Areshen."

"Oh? Have you - ah - "

"Been talking to god again? Let me just say that I try to listen."

"Before the battle of Duri Kul, the priests taking the auspices plucked the liver from the sheep, and it was full of worms, the auspices unreadable. 'You must not fight, military governor,' the priests pronounced. 'The gods have spoken.' I fought anyway, and won, a decisive victory. Then before the second battle of Duri Kul, the priests plucked a clean liver from the sheep and slapped it onto the altar. 'The auspices are favorable, military governor. You will vanquish the Amuru today. The gods have spoken.' It rained in the desert; my chariots were mired to their axles in the mud. No one vanquished anyone that day," and Areshen turned a questioning expression of amusement toward the young man sitting across the table. Areshen was quite aware that this and most of his other philosophical musings were sources of considerable amusement to Teru. Areshen was unconcerned for the fact, however. He genuinely enjoyed his impromptu conversations with this intelligent young man.

"I own no sheep, Areshen," Teru just chuckled. "I seldom have the price even of a liver. So I must do the best I can without them."

"And I suppose I must do the best I can despite them," Areshen answered, releasing a long sigh of annoyance as he glanced toward the courtyard, the garish and ostentatious magnificence of the palace's courtyards now on his mind. "I suppose Ibisien will be devastated if I don't put in an appearance today."

"Why do you bother with Ibisien and Ur, military governor? Very few others do."

Areshen chuckled, though Teru's observation was most certainly true. Ur and the palace of Ibisien were now little more than pretense; a great many, for that matter, were not even bothering with the pretense any more. Most other civil and military governors in Sumer and Akkad, a few of whom now refereed to themselves as loyal and faithful servant kings of Areshen, divine king of Isin and king of the Four Quarters, addressed their correspondence to Areshen's military headquarters near Isin rather than to Ur and Ibisien.

"I suppose I still respect Ibisien," Areshen finally answered. "At leas to an extent."

"He does nothing," Teru replied, question in his own features. "He sits in his palace stupefied, a cup of wine in one hand, his latest little boy pet in the other."

"Which leaves him little time to do much harm, Teru. But what of Shubari, and Shubari's sitting on top of temples all across Sumer and Akkad? There seems to have been a rather remarkable renewal in piety across Sumer and Akkad over the past few years, wouldn't you say? The temples are flourishing. People flock into the Sacred Area to pay their taxes without a single visit from the temple guard."

"When the Amuru poured across the walls eight years ago, people began trickling back into the temple here in Ur. When the famine came, the trickle became a flood."

"And now Shubari is old king - what's his name, all over again," and Areshen nodded toward the writing tablet laying on the table. "Half the people in Ur are ready to follow fat Shubari into his tomb, Teru. Those who do so will be very annoyed when the harp and pipe players fall silent and the music blown from Shubari's hind end is all the bounces off the crypt's walls."

"In other words," Teru chuckled, "you are asking how so many people can follow a man like Shubari, his - eccentricities during liturgical services atop the temple known to more than a few."

"It is the same, my advisors and agents in Isin tell me, everywhere in Sumer and Akkad. Even in Nippur, especially in Nippur," Areshen sighed in frustration. The high temple of Enlil, the god Enlil for centuries now supreme in the Sumerian pantheon of the gods, lay in the city of Nippur, a city considered sacred across Sumer and Akkad and the office of its High Priest, ceremonially at least, a position even more prestigious than Shubari's in Ur. Even in Nippur, however, especially in Nippur, Areshen sighed again, the High Priest enjoyed the unswerving loyalty of the city's Sumerian and Akkadian populace, driving nails through their hands one after the other. Nippur, however, had also been the site of the most recent slave revolt by a tribe of Amuru which had been settled there by Areshen after the war, a tribe the chiefs of which had believed Areshen when he had told them that Sumer was a land of law and justice.

"Is it true," Teru chuckled, a moment's mirth in his features, "that you presented the tablets of Urnammu to the Amuru's horses?"

"Old Terthex and Serthos," Areshen chuckled, "feigned ignorance during the treaty negotiations when I showed the tablets to the council of chiefs at the war's conclusion. Both Terthex and Serthos, before they returned to their tribes, reluctantly I might add, were educated in Nippur, are quite as literate as any High Priest. During the negotiations, however, they judged it convenient to forget everything they had learned in Nippur. 'Then I will show the tablets to the most intelligent of the company presently assembled,' I informed them, and carried the tablets to their horses tethered just beyond the council fires."

Areshen sat in pondering silence another moment, vehemence in his voice when he continued.

"The military governor of Nippur has told me that many of the Amuru who have lost loved ones to the High Priest's nails have been found on the roads leading west, fleeing back across the walls. When they arrive home, those who happen to have survived the nails will show their brethren the scars in their hands. 'This is the justice that Areshen promised us when he held the tablets of Urnammu in his hands proclaiming Sumer to be a land of law.' Then another hundred thousand Amuru will pour across the walls, Teru, and none of the chiefs will believe anything I have to say to them. The child writing the next history of it all will just write, 'Areshen slaughtered them all,' and nothing will follow. The child will not write that Areshen allowed some of the Amuru to return home, that Areshen allowed others to settle in Sumer and Akkad. The Amuru will look at the scars on the hands of their brothers and sisters who believed Areshen the last time, and they will say, 'do not believe Areshen. He is a liar. Do not believe him when he tells you that the High Priests are just and gentle. Fight to the death this time.' And that is what they will do, Teru."

Teru wasn't certain how to answer, could not help but notice the anger in Areshen's eyes.

"Nails," Areshen sighed, once again in a thoughtful and contemplative tone, "have also not been written onto the tablets of Sumer and Akkad."

"They are an aberration," Teru answered. "They do not belong in Sumer and Akkad. They will go before the end of the year."

Areshen finally broke into a soft smile once again.

"So Etwabi has said. Has your god spoken, Teru? Will he speak to the High Priests as well?"

"God has spoken, military governor. It will be the military governor, however, who speaks to the High Priests."

"Somehow I suspected you might say that, Teru," Areshen sighed as he pushed himself to his feet. "Come to my house before you leave Ur, Teru. Your god will not object to a short visit, will he?"

"Not unless you demand that I begin paying homage to Eshla," Teru answered with a soft chuckle. Eshla, sitting in her small niche near the entrance chamber in Areshen's house, was duly reverenced by Setith and the household servants. To Areshen, Eshla's head was a convenient place to toss his cloak on a cold winter's day.

"Your god is a jealous god, Teru," Areshen stated, not really surprised when Teru readily agreed.

"He is a jealous god," Teru observed.

"And he seems to take a great deal of interest in the manner in which you conduct yourself," and Areshen aimed a questioning smile toward Teru, a young man who Areshen would readily admit lived his life according to the demands of his god, no matter how strange and bizarre those demands seemed. To Areshen, the gods were a slightly greater nuisance than a family pet. As a child in the small temple village of Sannu, Areshen remembered having to feed his family's gods at the most inconvenient times, his mother forever scolding him when he was tardy. Both of the family's dogs had always seemed far more patient.

"What," Teru began, hesitantly at first, obviously searching his thought, "have the gods of Sumer promised you, Areshen?"

"Promised?" Areshen asked. The question didn't seem to make sense. You feed gods. If you feed them according to schedules annoying in their regularity, they stay off your back until it's time to feed them again. "Your god has promised you something, Teru?"

"That's the one aspect of my family's belief which young Tethoduri cannot understand either, though I believe he is trying to do so."

"Well, my young friend," Areshen concluded as he pushed himself toward the door, "if you are able, write and tell me how it is with you when you have moved to the north."

"I will indeed be able to do so, Areshen. Were I to travel to India, I would still not find myself beyond the king of Isin's influence."

"Teru," Areshen answered, though now with a subtle and yielding expression of amusement, "I am the lowly and humble military governor of Ur."

"A ruse," Teru chuckled, "that will also not last the year."

Areshen stood at the serving board of another street side tavern, deciding to placate one more beer god before placating Ibisien at the palace. Areshen spent another long moment gazing toward the towering walls of Ur's Sacred Area a short distance up the street, another caravan of heavily laden donkeys proceeding toward the south portal. A half dozen other caravans of donkeys and porters proceeded along Ur's streets toward a maze of alleys and cul de sacs which lay in the shadow of the Sacred Area's walls. This a section of the city containing a confusing jumble of factory workshops and warehouses, most of the buildings belonged to the temple, a few to Ibisien and the palace. A smaller number were still owned by private individuals, though most of these contracted to temple or palace as well, bankruptcy the inevitable fate of those attempting to defy the High Priest Shubari by insisting that it was possible to exist denying ownership by the patron gods of Ur.

Areshen gazed again toward the south portal in the Sacred Area's wall, a Sixty of heavily armed temple guard posted near the massive bronze doors, and he wondered what it might have been like spending his life sitting in the Great Court of Nanna counting everything from chickens to sacks of gold, meticulously recording figures onto tabulation tablets collected at the end of the day by the Tabulation Priests.

"Look at this," Ibisien had whined in the palace a few weeks ago, handing Areshen a tablet stolen by one of the palace's spies, a tablet on which a Tabulation Priest's figures were orderly arranged in tidy rows and columns. "Have you ever seen anything so outrageous, Areshen? Cover your nose, Areshen," Ibisien had howled in righteous indignation, "cover your nose, or the lies will leap from this tablet and bite it. I will sue Shubari, and the temple, Areshen. That is what I will do. Shubari is no better than a common thief."

Areshen released a long, pondering sigh as he turned his attention from the Sacred Area's south portal to the equally magnificent entrance chamber which led into the interior courtyards of the king's palace. More than likely Ibisien would spend at least an hour ranting and raving over some further annoyance the High Priest Shubari had caused him. The bickering between king and High Priest seemed incessant, the bodies of spies reporting to one or the other found floating in the river with amazing regularity.

With a final sigh and an amused nod of appreciation toward the beer god, Areshen pushed himself from the tavern back onto the street, glanced a final moment's annoyance toward the walls of the Sacred Area, then made his way toward the palace's entrance chamber. Whatever all the bickering between temple and palace was about, it was quite beyond him. Perhaps it was time to retire to Isin for another month or two, a quiet month or two behind the walls of the fortress he had made his military headquarters. Areshen was quite aware that the people of Isin now called Shar Dulur Fortress the palace of the King of the Four Quarters. He still hesitated to do so himself, however, and genuinely hoped that Ibisien would give him no reason to begin doing so.

Areshen stepped through the arched portal into the palace's huge entrance chamber, a grand and imposing hall as large as his house's entire courtyard in which a dozen members of the palace guard stood to attention. The First Soldier of the guard whose duty it was to protect Ibisien, King of the Four Quarters, turned and approached, then stood to rigid attention when he recognized the visitor, the man saluted by Sumer and Akkad beyond the walls of Ur as the other King of the Four Quarters. A quick, conspiratorial nod from Areshen, however, arrested the First Soldier's salute.

"First Soldier," Areshen intoned in standard formula, "I am Areshen, son of Kuru, loyal and humble military governor of Ur, and beg audience with Ibisien, king of Ur."

"You may pass, Areshen son of Kuru," the First Soldier intoned, wondering if the day would ever come when Ibisien would instruct him to say otherwise. Probably not. Ibisien was an effeminate, perfumed and polished drunken. But he wasn't suicidal. Some of the palace's soldiers were loyal to Areshen as military governor of Ur; most of the rest were loyal to him as king of Isin. Save for one or two fanatics, however, all were loyal to him, and the one or two exceptions had doubtlessly apprised Ibisien of the fact a very long time ago.

Areshen stepped through another maze of entrance chambers, male and female servants of every capacity scurrying here and there along passages which led into the hidden recesses of the palace. Areshen then stepped into the first of the palace's two great courtyards. A hundred feet across and adorned with ornamental stone pools, benches constructed from costly Lebanon cedar, and life sized gods standing in several dozen wall niches, portals from this courtyard led to the chambers of the harem. Areshen crossed the courtyard glancing with idle interest toward a few dozen of Ibisien's wives scattered among the benches and wondered if any of these women, most extraordinarily beautiful daughters of rulers and potentates from across the world, ever engaged in trysts beyond the palace walls. Most apparently did not. There were very few children in Ibisien's palace, and Ibisien certainly didn't make children.

On the other side of the harem courtyard, Areshen passed through another series of entrance chambers in which servants and palace officials of superior rank and prestige tended to the needs of dignitaries from cities which still acknowledged at least the pretense of Ur's and Ibisien's preeminence, most of these cities laying in the southern part of Sumer. Beyond these chambers, Areshen progressed into the palace's inner courtyard, this even more elaborate and ostentatious than the outer, then into the chambers of the palace's inner sanctum, the domain of officials such as the Harem Master, the Chief Cup Bearer, and the Judge of Audiences. In the Great Hall's long, narrow entrance loggia sat the Judge of Audiences himself on an imposing throne near the Great Hall's massive bronze doors, a long line of supplicants waiting their turn to plead for admittance. The old, bearded official on throne shrugged as soon as he noticed Areshen, nothing to report, and turned his attention back to the supplicant currently arguing his case.

Areshen nodded appreciation toward the Judge of Audiences, then toward the young soldier who without hesitation pulled the bronze doors open just enough for his to pass through. Areshen then pushed himself into the Great Hall of the palace of Ibisien, a chamber quite as large as the palace's inner courtyard with massive stone columns rising on either side of a colorfully carpeted central aisle leading toward the head of the chamber and the throne. Areshen edged his way through the crowds of elegantly attired officials without haste, then spent another long minute standing in the shadows beside one of the stone columns a dozen paces from the head of the chamber, though close enough to hear the proceedings at the throne without a great deal of difficulty.

Ibisien, in his early forties, sat with an expression of benign disinterest, head on hand, eyes quite as glazed as they always were, emissaries from Gipul king of Elam pleading before the throne. How, Areshen asked himself, does Ibisien find time to apply that which must certainly be a barrel full of cosmetics to his face every morning and still have time left over to conduct his Assembly? Setith, who spent an hour relining every morning while her handmaids attended to her, looked plain and unadorned by comparison. Ibisien was undeniably an attractive individual, years younger in appearance than his actual age. Ibisien was also the epitome of - delicate charm, Areshen decided, his occasional gesture from the throne delivered with graceful, flowing eloquence, the motions of his hand every bit as - sweet as anything Areshen had seen in the harem courtyard, a courtyard filled with women who had spent their entire lives devoting themselves to the study of feminine poise and allure. Ibisien's mannerisms were certainly not copied from his wives, however, few of whom had ever seen their husband from a distance closer than ten paces.

Areshen glanced another long moment about the crowds of Sumer's officialdom packed into the Great Hall, a sight even more depressing than that to be had on Ur's streets. Urbane, eloquently dressed, everyone in the crowd seemed intent on emulating the king of Ur in the manner of their appearance. None appeared as though he might have jabbed a feminine ass or two with his little toy spear. Most, for that matter, probably emulated Ibisien in the manner of their sexual proclivities, feminine posteriors or otherwise of very little interest to them. This, Areshen sighed, was Ur, at least today. Still, all of this was no great or immediate concern. Perversity was the High Priest Shubari driving nails through helpless servant's hands, and it was the increasing prevalence of this perversity which had compelled Areshen to attend the king's Assembly this afternoon.

Areshen turned his attention back to the emissaries from Elam, an aged man with a long, white beard now pleading before the throne. Beards were a rarity in most of Sumer and Akkad these days, rare also in Elam to the east, were certainly rare in the Assembly of Ibisien. Long popular in Akkad to the north, beards had gone out of style in the south for at least a generation now, though a few older men such as this emissary from Elam and the elderly Judge of Audiences on the other side of the Great Hall's door still wore them.

"Exalted one of Ur," the emissary from Gipul king of Elam continued as he fixed his attention on a half conscious Ibisien lolling on the throne, then turned a quick moment later to one of his colleagues tugging on the sleeves of his robes. Both glanced an instant toward Areshen standing in the shadows a short distance to the rear. The bearded emissary then turned back to the throne, his expression and his voice now exuding poise and confidence as he addressed Ur's king.

"Exalted one of Ur," and Ibisien's eyes cracked open, at least a measure of lucidity now evident in his features, "Gipul of Elam," the emissary continued, "intends no disrespect, nor does the east wish to severe the ancient and holy bond between itself and Ur. Elam merely desires that it be allowed to name the year as it chooses, a privilege, exalted one of Ur, which you have graciously extended to many other cities throughout the world over the past eight years. Perhaps, exalted one of Ur, we could also discuss one or two additional matters of a trivial nature allowing us to decided for ourselves that which is our own best interest -" and the emissary fell silent as Ibisien finally raised his head, his hand thrust forward as though to block further debate. Ibisien searched the Great Hall, found Areshen a quick moment later, and then pushed himself from the throne to his feet.

"My apologies, emissary from Elam," Ibisien intoned, his usual sweet and melodious high pitched croon, "but I too have noticed that the military governor of Ur is now present in my Assembly," and Ibisien bent a beckoning hand toward Areshen. "Military governor, my loyal and faithful military governor, attend your king."

With a resigned sigh, Areshen pushed himself from the stone column to the head of the Great Hall, and then stepped onto the throne platform. The officialdom of Ur crowded about the Great Hall had now settled into silence, dread anticipation on a hundred faces, all wondering if this would be the day the charade came to an end. Areshen, however, studied only Ibisien's exotically polished and perfumed features as he stepped forward, and felt again a grudging admiration for the king of Ur. Ibisien remained every bit the study of poised and confident majesty the stone carvers had chiseled onto a hundred slabs of stone. Nothing in Ibisien's features betrayed the least hint of concern. This, Areshen sighed, is how the degenerate little fruit fly will appear should the day ever actually come. Not today, however, Areshen had already decided. Instead of seating himself on the throne of Ur, Areshen stood before Ibisien, bowed his head in one quick moment of submissive respect, and then watched the usual expression of relief and gratitude settle into Ibisien's eyes, an expression only he was close enough to see. The collective sigh of relief which swept across the officialdom of Ur gathered in the palace's Great Hall, however, was even more audible than it had been last time.

"I must," Ibisien then informed his Assembly, "retire to my chambers in order to confer with my military governor, my loyal and faithful military governor," an emphatic nod of his head toward the emissaries from Elam. "Lushir, my sweet," and Ibisien crooked an arm toward the king's gallery seated beside the throne platform. As Ibisien led Areshen toward the Great Hall's rear portal, a nephew or cousin or some such, certainly not a son, Areshen decided, stepped onto the throne platform. The current heir apparent, quite as delicately perfumed and polished as Ibisien, seated himself onto the throne, then with a graceful waft of his hand toward the emissaries from Elam allowed the debate to continue.

Ibisien led Areshen through the Great Hall's rear portal, across a small courtyard in which alert wine stewards were already trotting, and then into a lavishly decorated sitting room. The first wine stewards had already appeared at the door by the time Areshen seated himself onto an expensively cushioned couch. Ibisien, seated on a couch a respectful distance across the chamber and quite aware that Areshen would just move if he attempted to sit closer, held his cup out toward the wine steward.

Ibisien took a long pull from his cup, a moment's blissful tranquillity descending across his features, and only then turned toward Areshen.

"Did you hear him? Did you hear old white beard, Areshen? One or two trivial matters, says the old farter," the ever present note of whining complaint in Ibisien's voice. "He speaks as though you and I were no longer friends, Areshen. You are still my friend, Areshen, are you not?"

"King," Areshen began, "I want to discuss these nails -"

"Areshen," Ibisien pouted, "tell me you are my friend."

Areshen sighed.

"I am your friend, king."

Ibisien broke into a soft, giggling chuckle, lifted his cup once more, then settled into complacent ease.

"I will never understand you, Areshen. You loathe me, have no reason whatsoever to humor me, and still you will do so by telling me that you are my friend."

"I do not loathe you, king. The word is far too - vehement."

This time Ibisien broke into a long moment's genuine laughter, meeting Areshen's eyes with appreciation in his own.

"They tell me that you do not yet hold King's Assembly in Isin, Areshen. You really must. It is important that a king be seen by his people. They will forget the great victories you have won in battle, and you will only have to fight more battles because of it. You must hold Assembly, and you must have the stone carvers glorify the victories you have won. It would not hurt to become a god in a few more of your cities as well. I should have been a god - but, that's another matter. Setith could certainly assist you when she's installed in Bathul. And when you are king of Ur as well as Isin -"

"King, I have no wish to sit on your throne."

Again Ibisien directed a quick glance of appreciation toward Areshen. Ibisien genuinely believed him. It didn't really make any difference, however, what either of them believed, Ibisien decided. Events would unfold as they would.

"Have you ever heard the name Apitu, Areshen?" Ibisien asked.

"He was your grandfather's military governor, was he not?"

"My grandfather loved Apitu. And Apitu was loyal to my grandfather. Loyal to the point of insanity. Apitu would have followed Shulgi into his tomb as readily as the ancients followed King Epenatu into his. But my grandfather was also quite insane, insanely jealous of his throne, and Apitu was a very capable military governor. 'Apitu,' my grandfather therefore said, 'you must go to Egypt for me. There you will find the magnificent pyramid of Cheops. If you can't find the way, ask someone. There are many stones in the pyramid of Cheops, Apitu. Count them. Count them all. When you have finished, go the pyramids of Manroe, Cherus, Menesa, and any other you can find. Count the stones in them as well. When you have counted them all, you may return to Ur and report your findings.' Apitu, it seems, has been delayed. He has yet to return."

Areshen could not help but break into mirthful laughter as he lifted his own cup. "Am I to go to Egypt, king, and count stones with Apitu."

"Yes. And see what is delaying him while you are there."

In laughter himself, Ibisien gulped the rest of his wine, then thrust his cup toward the nearest wine steward. When Ibisien continued, however, it was in quiet, thoughtful solemnity.

"Send Areshen to Egypt to count stones, they all begged me. Send Areshen to Egypt while it is still possible to do so. No, I answered. Areshen is Apitu, exalted one. But I, I answered, am not my grandfather."

Areshen nodded, appreciation in his own eyes this time as he lifted his cup.

"You do know, Areshen," complacent quiet in Ibisien's voice, "that is was the High Priest Shubari who during the famine eight years ago stood in the harbor refusing to allow the grain ships you sent from the north to birth."

"I suspected as much even at the time, king," and Areshen felt again that same seething anger at the thought of Ur's High Priest.

"'The gods,' Shubari proclaimed, 'have spoken. The grain from the north is poison.' So Ur starved. Sumer starved. But Shubari got fat. He's gotten fatter with every passing year."

"Shubari is the reason I want to speak to you, king. It is no longer sufficient that Shubari and his gods be worshipped by starving people. He now demands that they worship him with nails driven through their hands. The people of Sumer will do so. Many Akkadians will do so. But the Amuru digging canals and working on the temple's farms will not. It is time that you and the Assembly speak to Shubari. If you do not, a hundred thousand Amuru will again cross the western walls in order to do so."

"The temple," Ibisien whined, "will say that I am meddling in affairs which are matters of Holy Order, Areshen."

"I will not."

"An excellent point, military governor, and obviously the one which will decide the issue. I'm still not certain, however, that the Assembly will be favorably disposed to render a resounding ovation in support of a pronouncement against Shubari. Well over half of the Assembly now hold minor priest hoods. Still a greater number are indebted to Shubari. Our noble High Priest made an obscene profit eight years ago selling his own grain rather than allowing the grain you shipped from the north to be sold in Ur."

Areshen sighed in frustration.

"The sue the temple, king. The last time I was here you had advocates waiting in every courtyard for instructions, that over a balance on a tabulation tablet which didn't add up. When I am in Isin, a hundred advocates stand in the corridors of Shar Dulur fortress, each having devised some new scheme hoping to ingratiate themselves with me, schemes which in almost every case involve suit brought against some temple somewhere."

"But those suits do not involve matters of Holy Order, Areshen. They involve, as you say, figures on tabulation tablets which do not add up. No civil tribunal will hear a case involving Holy Order. Such cases are summarily dismissed. They can only be heard in the temple courts."

"Holy Order," Areshen mumbled. "Setith pitches buckets of Holy Order into my face at least once a day," and with a long sigh of resignation, Areshen nodded toward the Great Hall. "Then it must be the Assembly, king. You must put an end to this nail nonsense. I have never seen any of your servants here in the palace hanging from posts with nails driven through their hands."

"No, you have not, Areshen. The fact that I choose not to adopt the latest innovations suggested by the temple is an endless source of farting irritation to Shubari," and Ibisien sat in pondering silence, determination finally settling into his features. "Very well, military governor, I will pronounce in Assembly that nails may not be used in corporal punishment inflicted on servants of any class. I cannot promise, however, a resounding ovation, particularly over an issue such as this. After all, they're - servants," Ibisien shrugged. "And it is no secret these days that unless the ovation my pronouncement receives is at least as resounding as one of the High Priest Shubari's farts, it will be enforced only with a great deal of difficulty, may, in fact, have to be enforced by the military governor."

"But it can be enforced?" Areshen asked. "And the issue will be addressable in the civil courts rather than simply a matter for the temple courts?"

Ibisien broke into a soft smile.

"You have become remarkably well acquainted with judicial procedure over the past few years, Areshen. I believe you are quite adequately prepared to conduct Assembly in Isin. Eshieri conducts your Assembly there at the moment, does he not?"

"Meneturu watches Asch - Esh - whatever, very closely."

Ibisien broke into soft laughter for the thought. A fat little stone beer god now sat Isin's throne. One of Areshen's trusted lieutenants watched the beer god's every move.

Ibisien returned to his wine for another long moment, complacent resignation in his voice when he continued.

"Perhaps I shall retire to Egypt myself when it is time - "

"King, I do not want Ur's throne. I never wanted - " Areshen tried, sitting in silence when Ibisien just waved a fatigued and inebriated arm in the air. "Why Egypt?" Areshen then asked. Why would anyone want to got to Egypt, a land far to the west, admittedly one of fabulous wealth in the distant past, though for centuries now a land constantly at war with itself, barbarians plundering from every side, thieves busily digging into the burial crypts beneath the tombs of its ancient kings.

"I suppose I would like to see Egypt's royal tombs myself," Ibisien continued. "They say they are far more grand than even Ur's temple. Can you imagine it, Areshen, monuments of such size built when Epenatu sat Ur's throne. All of Epenatu's household followed their king joyfully into his tomb. How much more the ancients of Egypt must have loved their king. All Egypt, they say, labored over the king's tomb, many devoting their lives to no other occupation. The ages have changed, Areshen. No one loves their kings the way Sumer loved Epenatu and all Egypt laboring over the tomb loved its king."

"But why would you want to go to Egypt today, king? It has been dead for centuries, has it not? A dozen warlords from lower Egypt contend with another dozen up river over a meaningless throne."

"No longer, apparently. It seems one has prevailed, has ruled for a generation now without anything approaching the conflagrations of the past. Our merchants in the cedar forests of Lebanon are once again in competition with merchants from Egypt."

"Then we are no longer alone in the world?"

"Perhaps not," Ibisien agreed, reaching for a papyrus scroll on a nearby table and removing the ribbon. "Beautiful, is it not?" Ibisien asked as he held the document up for Areshen's inspection. "Chutrinsu," and Ibisien nodded, probably toward the chambers of his chief scribe, "purchased this scroll from a merchant just back from Lebanon. Chutrinsu's first passion remains things Sumerian, literature and artifacts. Whenever someone digs a new tomb, digs any sort of a hole, for that matter, Chutrinsu is there playing in the dirt. You would be surprised what he finds buried in the ground, pots and things from Sargon's time, writing tablets composed in the old script. It is rumored that Chutrinsu is notified whenever someone is planning to rob some old king's tomb. He will offer the best price for whatever the robbers find," Ibisien chuckled, turning finally back to the scroll. "My grandfather was also a collector of these documents. He had nearly four dozen of them at one time, as well as the services of an Egyptian scribe fleeing the latest war to translate them. This scroll, it seems, is a collection of lamentations, some composed eight centuries ago when Snedre sat the throne. By the way, the kings in Egypt are all gods, did you know that, Areshen, all of them gods, the physician's slap to their little rumps as they plop from the womb conferring divinity upon them. I should have been a god - "

Again Ibisien gazed toward the Egyptian scroll in searching thought.

"Listen to the words, Areshen. It seems the calamities through which Egypt lived were the author's inspiration. The words are frightening indeed.

'The mistress says, I am hungry,

'Vile servants eat their fill.

'The king's small son lies naked in the street.

'The butler enters the dressing room like a thief.

'The royal barge is trodden by cattle;

'the king's path by all the people of the village.

'That which was high is now low;

'that which was low is now high.

'The man who laughed now mourns;

'the man who mourned now laughs.

'No seed is sown in the field;

'no one who has been injured receives justice at the gate.

'The widow laments,

'but no one hears her cry.

'The orphan says, I am hungry,

'but no one listens to its plea."

Ibisien lowered the document with a pondering sigh, then reached again for his cup.

"Are you returning to Isin, Areshen?"

"By your leave, king. The Amuru are moving in the west, nothing ominous, raids on cattle farms, that sort of thing. I would like to post another Six Hundred or two along the western walls, however. Is Gipul going to be a problem in the east, king? I have no wish to fight both west and east at the same time."

"Gipul has sent me another daughter, a very beautiful one, the harem master tells me," Ibisien stated with no great expression of enthusiasm in his features. "She is expected, with my assistance, to produce a child for Gipul and Elam with Sumerian blood in its veins, a child who will one day take its place near the head of my Assembly. I suppose if I make such a child for Gipul, we will have no great problems with Elam for at least another generation."

"Do your best, king," Areshen chuckled as he pushed himself to his feet. "Each of us is called upon to make certain sacrifices, to do things we are not ordinary wont to do in order that the greater good be served."

"Areshen, were you not so extraordinarily beautiful yourself, I would have you beheaded."

Areshen passed another week in Ur watching a few more Sixties of chariot hurl javelins toward each other, sighing in despondency as he lowered his head onto his hands atop the city walls. Perhaps, he groaned, Ibisien might prove a bit more competent finding his target, and the king of Elam's daughter would bear a son. At least that would give Ur's younger generation of soldiers a bit more time to prepare.

Areshen descended from the city walls, fought donkey caravans along the streets, then stood idly on the brick peers which surrounded the city's river harbor a short distance from the Sacred Area's walls. Several dozen very attractive young women, probably Akkadian servants, swam naked a short distance away. A half dozen boys not much younger completely ignored them. Ur, Areshen sighed. Perhaps it deserved Elam's king Gipul. Gipul's sons and daughters, according to Areshen's spies, numbered in the hundreds, and that a conservative estimate, the location of a half dozen of Gipul's harems scattered across the hills of Elam still not certain.

Areshen turned in disgust from the women molested by absolutely no one to ponder the boat in which Setith would journey upriver to Bathul, this quite as magnificent as the royal barge tied up a short distance away. Setith and her entourage would pass at least part of the journey beneath billowing white canopies which had been erected near the boat's grand castle, the captain and his crew now scurrying fore and aft making last moment preparations, none daring to be found wanting by their mistress.

Areshen turned from one of a dozen such luxurious vessels his wife owned, and pondered Setith herself now standing a short distance away, the same authoritative scowl in her features as she issued final instruction to several dozen of her senior household stewards who oversaw her various business ventures scattered across the southern part of Sumer.

"Well, I'm leaving," Setith had said early this morning when she had walked into Areshen's sleeping chambers with nothing more than a pair of maid servants in train, a single man servant waving the fan. "You will come and see me off, won't you, beloved?"

"I will miss you, beloved," Areshen had replied when he had pushed himself to his feet, noticing something very strange in Setith's eyes, something which almost looked like emotion. For one very wild and sensual moment it almost appeared as though Setith, a woman of unrivaled beauty, wanted something she had not had time for in a very long time now. Just as she turned to her maid servants with instructions to commence the complicated process of unfastening several dozen catches holding her gowns in place, however, a steward bearing a stack of tabulation tablets decided it was the perfect moment to demand Setith's attention

Setith passed another long minute on the peer issuing final instructions to the posturing, bowing officials who composed her Assembly, her features stern and regal when she finally dismissed them to their individual domains. Setith then turned toward Areshen, her expression dissolving into gentle warmth as she approached.

"Well, I'm off, I suppose," Setith began. Is it really emotion in her eyes, Areshen asked himself? If he strained, he could catch just the glimpse of the sweet young girl he had married twenty years ago, perhaps even the glimpse of a lover like no other he could ever have imagined, a lover in whose arms he had felt that same piercing rapture the last time he and she had - when? How long, indeed, had it been?

"I shall miss you, beloved," Areshen stated again.

"Will you, beloved?" Setith asked, sincerity obvious in her voice.

"Setith, are you all right?"

"This pronouncement by the king in Assembly against the High Priest Shubari was most distressing to me - "

"Setith - nails - "

"Beloved, I feel as relieved as you that the nails are gone. It is the manner in which they came and went which distresses me. How could the gods have allowed even a travesty such as Shubari to have promulgated such a thing in the first place if the promulgation was destined to be overturned by the king in Assembly? No one possessed of the least measure of reason is unaware of Shubari's antics atop the temple. Even so, no one expected a High Priest capable of promulgating anything but the true intentions of the gods. I know I am sometimes not a gentle mistress, husband, but it has never been my intention to act cruelly. I wish only to abide by the principles of Holy Order. It is most distressing, Holy Order bandied about by the likes of Shubari and Ibisien, Shubari's more intelligent promulgations proceeding from his posterior, Ibisien - well, you know all about Ibisien."

Areshen again noticed the sincerity in Setith's eyes. Her concerns were genuine; at least they very obviously seemed so to her.

"I think you know what I think about it all, beloved. Holy Order resides in one's own conscience, not atop a pile of bricks which, since Shubari became High Priest, smells bad."

Areshen waited patiently for Setith's expression of horror over his latest blasphemy to dissipate.

"I do believe the people of Isin are correct, beloved," Setith finally continued. "You certainly must be a god yourself. Were you not, you would have been struck down by lightening long ago."

Areshen released a quick chuckle, then felt a moment's weary concern as he met Setith's eyes again, the very evident note of adoration in his wife's features not affected in the least. Setith was quite aware that her husband was the undisputed master of the armies of Sumer and Akkad, was hailed as divine king in Isin and most other cities in the north, was, ultimately, the ruler of the civilized world. To Setith and the rest of the old nobility of Ur, however, Areshen, even though Sumerian by birth, was just another Akkadian Sargon. He would rule, would effect superficial changes, and would eventually be absorbed by the clearly superior Sumerian culture of Ur and the south. Areshen glanced again toward Setith's eyes, not at all certain that he felt comfortable as an object of her adoration.

"I shall be a good High Priestess in Bathul, beloved," Setith promised.

"I believe you will be, beloved," Areshen answered in all honesty as he walked Setith to the steps leading to her boat. As strict and as unyielding a mistress as Setith could be, her servants genuinely loved her, a fact Areshen again discovered that same evening when Etwabi walked into his sitting room twisting this way and that in order to show Areshen the new dress Setith had purchased for her.

"I did not need a new one," Etwabi stated. "My old dress was in perfectly good condition. But the mistress said that I must have a new one anyway. Look at the clothe, Areshen," and Etwabi bent to lift the hem line at her ankles. "It is exquisite. It comes from the temple looms."

Again Areshen could not help but notice the glint in Etwabi's eyes, eyes so perceptive and intelligent, as she spoke of her feelings for Setith. Etwabi, in her late twenties herself, little more than ten years younger than Setith, still considered herself to be Setith's child, the child of a noble parent exhibiting boundless wisdom and love for her children.

"It is a beautiful dress indeed," Areshen answered with a gentle smile as he watched Etwabi twirl. Again, however, he saw this beautiful young woman hung naked from a pole in the middle of the courtyard, the ropes biding her wrists bloody from the nail driven through her hands. Areshen had walked up and down endless expanses of field after the battle of the Amuru wall, fields on which sixty thousand Amuru lay dead, thousands more of Sumer's soldiers, and Areshen had felt the pathos any other soldier might have felt at the conclusion of the battle. He had never before felt horror, however, until that day he had ordered that a helpless young woman be cut down from a pole in the middle of the courtyard.

But Etwabi had already explained why she still loved Setith. What good would it do to ask her again? Areshen doubted he would understand any more of it now. And he would never understand why servants in every one of Ur's market places still spoke of Shubari and the temple in tones of submissive respect. Even in the holy city of Nippur, its High Priest still showing no signs of complying with the king of Ur's pronouncement banning the use of nails in the corporal punishment of servants, these same servants continued to bow to High Priest and temple. The Amuru slaves working on the temple farms and digging the temple canals around Nippur, however, would not do so much longer. Tempers short to begin with would only grow shorter with the approach of summer, now only a month away. Shubari and his ilk would again drive the farms and canal yards into revolt, would then expect the army to clean the whole mess up.

"Military governor," Etwabi began when she finally settled herself onto the floor cushions beside Areshen, "you are frowning again. It so spoils your beauty."

Areshen lay his lips to Etwabi's in gentle touch for a quick moment, then watched the same smile of entrancement break across her features.

"I talked with your brother last week, Etwabi. He says he would not be unduly distressed were you to remain here in Ur when he leaves for the north."

"He'd scold me for wearing this dress, though. I believe he would rather see me walk the streets naked like an Amuru slave girl."

Areshen sighed, again supposing he would never understand Teru's concerns, a young man who lived life in Ur and took extraordinary pains to remain detached and aloof from its culture.

"Everyone buys the temple's clothe, Etwabi," Areshen just shrugged. The manufacture of such was Ur's principle export, the clothe sold as far away as Lebanon on the Upper Sea. In the past, merchants had traveled ever further west over trade routes stabilized by Sargon and the like centuries ago. Areshen himself thought the temple clothe trade no more than an age old fact of Ur's economic life.

"I really don't understand all of Teru's concerns either," Etwabi shrugged herself. "He says that I am now more Sumer than the people of Sumer."

"So it has been said of Akkadians for a hundred years now. But half of Ur now speaks Akkadian. The other half glory in their Akkadian names, little king Ibi a prime example. What is Sumer and what is Akkad anyway?"

Again Etwabi just shrugged, raising a hand to Areshen's cheek, caressing in gentle, idle touch.

"You are going back to Isin?"

"For a time. Perhaps, Etwabi, I will make you High Priestess of Isin."

"Areshen, stop," Etwabi chuckled, nervously for the blasphemy.

"They have made me a god in Isin. I suppose that must entitle me to a say in the choice of the city's High Priestess."

"What is Isin like, Areshen? Are you happy there?"

"The city is Ur, perhaps a bit smaller, but not so different, temple sticking up in the air over everything else, priests everywhere with whips in their hands, Amuru slaves doing most of the work. I reside in Shar Dulur fortress along the banks of the canal about a mile north of the city."

"Shar Dulur is your palace?" Etwabi asked, easy amusement in her smile.

"The king of Isin's palace," Areshen sighed. He hadn't with any real effort bothered to deny it for some years now, and he allowed a brief image of Shar Dulur's massive, forbidding walls surrounding a half dozen stark courtyards to run through his mind. Dark and functional, the well guarded interior of Shar Dulur left visiting officials from various cities across Sumer and Akkad shuddering with an impression of deep, silent gloom. No harp or pipe players sat in the courtyards of Shar Dulur as they did in most other palaces and even a few fortresses across Sumer and Akkad. No lavishly attired and adorned prostitutes wandered from chamber to chamber in Shar Dulur seeking out wealthy officials soaking in baths of perfume. Well armed infantry proficient with their weapons haunted Shar Dulur's interior, scowling First Soldiers interested only in the condition of their troops equipment.

"Will you take with me you to Shar Dulur sometime, Areshen?" Etwabi asked.

"I doubt you would like it there, Etwabi. Most who are summoned to Shar Dulur are quite anxious to leave again as soon as possible."

Areshen leaned idly into the chariot's rail as the young driver guided it around another lumbering ox cart, then reigned the spirited team of Erubian horse into a quick trot. There then passed another long hour across narrow, dusty roads leading along the banks of the river, another half dozen ox carts, a thoroughly boring afternoon. Proceeding north, now a short distance from the city of Uruk, Areshen glanced with passing interest toward the tiny fishing village of Eredinu, a settlement very different from the temple farms and villages inhabited by Sumerians and Akkadians. The people of Eredinu, not really Sumerian or Akkadian, built their homes from bundled stacks of swamp reeds, the ornate, curving roof of their little Assembly Hall visible for some distance in every direction. A village built from river plants, Areshen thought, certainly construction for more perishable than a temple village built from brick, and yet there still seemed something very ancient in the look of this little village laying in the uncultivated hinterland between Sumer's cities. Areshen glanced another minute toward the village's inhabitants who in turn studied the passing chariot with a small measure of curious interest. Even the people of Eredinu looked ancient. For as long as anyone could remember, these people, and others resembling them, had lived in the isolated pockets of wilderness between Sumer's cities and villages, ignoring and ignored by civilization all around them.

"You will live far more comfortably," the High Priests in nearby cities had informed the chiefs of a few of these villages, "if you work on our farms and dig our canals and sacrifice to our gods."

"Thank you, but no thank you," the chiefs always answered. "Please continue to ignore us."

And so they were ignored. Unlike the Amuru in the western deserts or other large bands of invaders which occasionally wandered down from the eastern mountains, the inhabitants of the swamp villages were few in number, displaying no apparent envy whatsoever toward the wealth of Sumer all around them. Sumer was more than happy to ignore them.

A short while later the chariot was rolling through civilization once again, small brick farm villages, irrigation ditches leading from the river and from small branch canals into cultivated fields spreading from horizon to horizon, carefully tended date orchards here and there along the way. Areshen could easily have pressed on for Shar Dulur throughout the night, obtaining provisions and fresh horses at small, military dispatch stations located at intervals along the road. He decided instead, however, to placate the beer gods in a small tavern shrine across the road from one of the dispatch stations.

The station's first soldier, several years retired from service as a regular in Uruk's garrison though still reasonably fit in appearance, stood at Areshen's side near the tavern door and pointed toward several small farm villages a short distance across the open, level fields.

"That there's Kulden on the right, military governor," the First Soldier continued, sloshing his cup in the air, "Urdunaru on the left."

"And you're from Urdunaru, First Soldier?" Areshen asked, a definite measure of enthusiasm in his voice now that he had three times offered propitiation to the tavern's beer god.

"Yes, sir, but I hires most of my temporary help out of Kulden," and the First Soldier sloshed his cup toward the dispatch station across the road, a small mud brick building, brick stables and mule pens to the rear. "There's not much work here what calls for a big load of brain thinking, military governor, but it's still hard to find anyone in Urdunaru these days what wants to do any honest work, especially the young ones. Crazy old Bathesag, she's High Priestess of the mud house in Urdunaru, says Urdunaru's gonna be the next holy city after Nippur cause her god says so, and everybody's gonna be rich anyway, so why work?"

"Your dispatch station appears to be in reasonably good order, First Soldier, despite your problems."

"Thank you, military governor. I keeps it that way because I knows how to work around the latest pronouncing coming outa crazy old Bathesag's mouth."

Areshen propitiated the beer god several more times over the course of the evening, proffered his apologies to a very attractive serving girl nodding a seductive invitation toward the shrine's rear chamber, and then slept the beer god's generosity off on a small cot in the rear of the dispatch station. Over the course of the following day Areshen reverenced a few more beer gods along the road, finally guiding the chariot himself along narrow paths which led beneath the city of Isin's walls. The young driver who had attempted to match Areshen cup for cup at the last few taverns lay sprawled and snoring on the chariot's floor.

Glancing his usual annoyance toward the staged tower of Isin's temple laying near the center of the city, Areshen finally guided the team at a walking pace along a narrow dirt path which led along the banks of the Indumu Canal north of Isin's walls, a quiet, tranquil scene, slowly flowing water off to his left, a broad expanse of carefully tended orchard off to his right. Areshen had walked from Shar Dulur fortress many times over the past few years in order to stroll this restful stretch of road by himself, glancing with passing interest whenever he did so toward the occasional soldier standing along the banks of the canal working a fishing line, then toward shaded glades nestled among the orchards in which a young couple escaping the confines of Isin for the day might be sitting in each other's arms.

A year or so ago the manager of the orchard had appeared in Isin's temple precinct complaining about the constant trespass of temple property by young residents of the city as well as by soldiers from Shar Dulur Fortress. Isin's High Priest had ordered the trespassing stopped. Areshen had then rescinded the High Priest's order when a young advocate retained by Shar Dulur's Chamber of Judicial Affairs had informed him that suit brought against the temple had every chance of success.

"Why?" Areshen had asked of the young man standing in front of his table in Shar Dulur fortress with an expression of confident anticipation, a recent graduate from the scribal schools hoping for a profitable military contract.

"Because your divinity has been recognized by the temple, king," the young advocate had answered, explaining that such recognition would bolster Shar Dulur's case against the High Priest and the temple in several minor, yet possible advantageous ways.

"Suits brought against the temple," the young advocate had continued, "are rarely successful. The rules of procedure and evidence before a temple tribunal allow the gods certain advantages in order to insure that we do not suffer their wrath should judgment be rendered against them. Now that you are a god yourself, exalted one, I will be able to argue your case unhampered by any number of presumptions normally favoring the temple gods against whom suit is brought."

"Oh?" Areshen had mumbled, glancing again toward the confidence in the young advocate's features, deciding that the young man, at least, knew what he was talking about. "Very well," Areshen had then stated, "get it done."

The massive walls of Shar Dulur fortress, the fortress for some time now acknowledged by most of Sumer and Akkad to be Shar Dulur palace, were visible in the near distance ahead, cold, bleak, forbidding walls surrounding six interior courtyards quite as lacking in any sort of ornamental adornment as were the fortress' exterior walls. With a final sigh of resignation, Areshen reigned the chariot on, promising himself that he would return to the banks of the canal later this afternoon with fishing line in hand if no one in Shar Dulur had anything of consequence to report. Several minutes later, Areshen guided the chariot to a stop in a gate room which provided access to the first of Shar Dulur's courtyards, the First Soldier in charge of the day watch emerging from a small chamber in one of the gate room's walls.

"Name, rank, and unit," the First soldier challenged, nothing in his features indicating that he recognized the driver now stepping from the chariot. Probably newly assigned to Shar Dulur, Areshen suspected, handing the First Soldier a small tablet on which a pictographic design confirming his identity had been impressed.

"Areshen, king's garrison, king," Areshen stated, and noticed nothing more than a slight disruption in the First Soldier's composure. His superiors had most likely warned his to expect this. A military or civil governor from any other city across Sumer and Akkad might have approached Shar Dulur with a mile long entourage of wine stewards and concubines in train. The king of Isin, however, was just as likely to stumble into the gate room sloshing a cup of beer in one hand, holding a line of fish in the other. Areshen had several times contemplating accepting Ibisien's advice and sitting for the portrait carvers, contemplated it seriously whenever he was detained along the roads for any length of time by some ardent young officer who did not recognize him. Another tavern shrine, however, had always demanded his attention on the way to the portrait carver's shops. Fish needed to be caught on a great many more occasions.

"You may pass," the gate room's First Soldier stated as he handed the tablet back to Areshen, then turned as Areshen pointed to the young soldier still snoring on the chariot's floor.

"Do something about him," Areshen groaned, then pushed his way from the gate room into the first courtyard, three levels of chambers towering above him on all sides. Almost a hundred paces across with uniformed soldiers guarding portals leading further into the depths of Shar Dulur, the courtyard was filled with the usual assortment of expensively dressed officials and dignitaries, many from cities across Sumer and Akkad, most waiting to be received by any number of a multitude of similarly dressed clerks and officials staffing the civil departments of Isin's government housed at Shar Dulur. Areshen edged his way through the shadows along one of the courtyard's walls, carefully avoiding those few who might recognize and thus detain him with all manner of tedious supplication he was in no mood for at the moment. He then walked toward a well guarded entrance chamber which led into the military sections of Shar Dulur. Another large courtyard, long, narrow passages and several flights of stairs, and Areshen finally stumbled into a small chamber furnished with table and chairs, a god in his wall niche whose head still lay in one of the chamber's corners gathering dust, the usual stack of dispatches waiting for him on the table. With another long sigh of resignation, Areshen collapsed onto the chair, then reached for a handful of the tablets.

Tell Areshen, King of Isin, King of Sumer and Akkad, King of the Four Quarters:

Shalisu, overseer of the Inilumna Canal says, the retaining wall along the Inilumna Canal which is always collapsing has again collapsed. I have inspected it and believe that it can be repaired without difficulties. The scoundrel Eduburi sent me four loads of bricks instead of seven loads of bricks, even after I said, send me seven loads of bricks, do not send me four loads of bricks. So I asked Eduburi, the scoundrel, why have you sent me four loads of bricks instead of seven loads of bricks? I said send me seven loads of bricks, I did not say send me four loads of brick. Is it because you have not been paid that you sent me four loads of bricks instead of seven loads of bricks even after I said, send me seven loads of bricks, do not send me four loads of bricks. Where are the other three loads of bricks, Eduburi, you scoundrel? After all, I said send me seven -

Tell Areshen, Exalted King of Isin,

Bershorum, military governor of the garrison at Orilim and commander of the Pedulumi reserve says,

the Peldine still have not sent the hundred auxiliaries they promised to send. That was three days ago. So I drove to the edge of the woods and I shouted, where are the hundred auxiliaries that you promised to send and did not? The Peldine shouted back, we will send them tomorrow. That was on the fourteenth, only three days after the eleventh when I shouted, where are the hundred auxiliaries which you promised to send but did not, and they shouted back, will we send them tomorrow. On the fifteen, the very next day after the fourteenth, I again drove to the edge of the woods and shouted, the auxiliaries have still not come. Where are they? And they shouted back, we will send them tomorrow -

Tell Areshen of Isin,

Meshduri, commander of the garrison on Ur's walls who has never erased words from writing tablets says, I am sending you a letter the private scribe Bothlith was hired to write. Bothlith, an agent of the High Priest Shubari's who was caught erasing words from a tablet by my own agents, the unprincipled scoundrel, says that he was hired by a destitute child living in an alley. She must have spent everything she had to hire Bothlith. I could not have afforded him myself. You do not want to know how I came to be in possession of this letter. Unless you object, however, and I do not think that you will, I will use Bothlith, the girl's letter, and the girl, all now in my possession and safe keeping, to annoy the High Priest farting Shubari in way I can.

Areshen reached for the tablet which had been placed next to Meshduri's, wondering what the larcenous commander of Ur's walls was up to now.

Tell Shubari, High Priest of Nanna and Ningal at Ur,

Kitulu, his slave girl says, for eight months now I have carried the baby, but it has happened as I told you it might. The baby is now dead. You did not send me a present. And you have not visited me. Please come and visit me so that I may see my master's face again. My dress is badly torn as well. You said that I would have a new dress but I still haven't gotten it and they won't let me into the temple to see you. Please come and let me look at my master again.

Areshen lowered the tablet to the table with a long sigh of annoyance. The least fat Shubari High Priest of Ur could have done was put the girl to work in one of the temple factories. Leave it to Shubari just to toss her onto the streets when he was tired of her. In this case, however, the girl had been fortunate. Meshduri, his agents always on the prowl for means to annoy Shubari and the temple, would keep both the girl and the letter she had dictated in safe keeping for quite some time. The pittance the girl's maintenance would have cost Shubari was now going to multiply astronomically, a fact Shubari would realize when he discovered that she had fallen into Meshduri's hands, someone who knew that abandonment was an actionable offense and one with a great deal of social stigma attached, Meshduri someone who wouldn't hesitate to confront even Ur's High Priest over the matter. Meshduri would be able to feed the garrison manning Ur's walls for the next six months by the time he finished shaking Shubari up and down by his fat ankles.

Areshen plowed through another stack of correspondence sitting on the table, certainly not the total of that which was received at Shar Dulur, but a representative assortment of those dispatches which his chief scribes found interesting or amusing. A great deal of the correspondence consisted of complaints by merchants against other merchants requesting intervention the palace's Chamber of Civil Affairs, merchants declaring their fellows to be scoundrels, fault laying anywhere but at their own doorstep. Military dispatches, particularly those from governors currently assigned cities in the north and the west, stated that spies and agents had detected a slight increase in activity among various tribes of Amuru, though no patterns of large scale, coordinated movement had been identified by analysts at Shar Dulur. One of the Asshur kings from the distant north had written stating that it would not be necessary for Areshen to post another half dozen Six Hundreds beneath the walls of his palace. The barbarians from the mountains, the Asshur king continued, "are now under control, barbarians who forced me to assume the title King of the Four Quarters, a title which I assure you, true King of the Four Quarters, I assumed by the advise of my advisors which are all scoundrels and it's all their fault, not mine, only to frighten the barbarians away. I shall of course, Areshen, King of the Four Quarters and my very good friend to whom and I am loyal and those who say that I am not are all scoundrels and liars and it's all their fault, divest myself of the title of King of the Four Quarters at my earliest opportunity, should you or the commanders of the Six Hundreds now guarding my palace walls request that I do so. If not, then I shall continue to call myself King of the Four Quarters, in case the barbarians decide to return, and then I will divest myself of the title King of the Four Quarters at my earliest opportunity, even though my advisors, who are all scoundrels and liars and it's all their fault, insisted that I call myself King of the Four Quarters - "

Areshen broke into a soft chuckle as he pushed himself to his feet. So that was why old Meneturu had sent those half dozen Six Hundreds north into Asshur. Areshen made his way through a maze of interconnecting chambers on the fortress' third level, then toward the chamber occupied by Meneturu, a garrison and field commander since the time of Shulgi, though in recent years quite at home behind table in palace.

Areshen stood at the chamber's door in easy amusement for a quick moment, watching as Meneturu, gray streaking his hair though still fit and rugged in appearance, divided his attention between the dispatch he held in one hand and the pretty young palace servant he fondled with the other. Meneturu, finally noticing Areshen in the doorway, turned back to the girl sitting beside him on the chamber's couch.

"Up with you," Meneturu barked. "How many times have I told you not to bother me when I'm working. Put your clothes back on, and then go fetch the king of cup of beer."

With a pouting frown toward Meneturu and a seductive smile toward Areshen as she brushed her hips past him, the girl walked from the chamber.

"Old man," Areshen chuckled as he snapped a chair from the table about, "you should act your age."

"What use would I be to you, king," Meneturu answered with equal amusement, "if I did?"

Areshen laughed with easy mirth as he lowered himself onto the chair. Meneturu was quite correct. Now master of the king's Assembly at Isin and Shar Dulur, and senior officer responsible for seeing that the fat little beer god seated on the throne behaved himself when Areshen was not in residence, Meneturu oversaw the day to day activities of Shar Dulur, both its civil and military departments. Meneturu was still, however, exceptionally capable of donning soldier's attire and leading armies, far more capable of doing so than most of the military governors across Sumer and Akkad now pledging allegiance to Isin and Shar Dulur, these passing most of their time sitting in their palace's perfume baths. "You sent those Six Hundreds up to Asshur?" Areshen began.

"To remind Susilima of his humble origins."

Areshen broke into a soft chuckle. King Susilima of Asshur, "King of the Four Quarters," was another who had been born on a small temple farm beneath Ur's walls. Susilima had been posted to the frontiers of Asshur as military governor by Ibisien's grandfather, and then forgotten. Susilima was now more Asshurian than the Asshurians.

"He always did have a big head," Areshen continued, "very little in it, but a big one nonetheless. Anyway, is he really worse than all the others? Half the civil and military governors you and I campaigned with, Meneturu, now sit in their palace baths dreaming up another grandiose title for themselves."

"Susilima's no wore than the others," Meneturu agreed. "He did build the entire dispatch system in Asshur by himself, almost single handed. He's become a bit muddled in his advancing years, however, lost an entire Six Hundred in the mountains trying to direct a battle himself. I just want to remind the good king that he owes his crown to us, that we can demand it back any time we want to, and will do so if he doesn't stay put in his palace baths and leave the fighting to us," and Meneturu screwed the weathered, battle hardened lines of his face into an expression of annoyance and scorn. "Speaking of delicate little bath lilies, what does Ibisien have to say these days?"

"Gipul of Elam sent Ibi another daughter. Gipul desperately wants to burn Ur down. In his last letter to me, he said 'please.' Perhaps Ibi, considering the circumstances, will adjust to the needs of the occasion and provide Ur with an Elamite son in order to placate Gipul."

"I hope no one is holding their breath," Meneturu scoffed, his features brightening when the serving girl walked back into the chamber with two cups of beer.

"Tiluth, my adorable beauty," Meneturu began, "we are going to send you to Ur, to the palace of Ibisien. If any woman can make a man of that pretty little swamp reed, it is you."

Areshen chuckled as he watched Meneturu, thought by most of his contemporaries a stomping old Akkadian bull who didn't know enough to slow down, pass another long moment fondling the girl, an expression of giggling delight in her features as she twisted away long enough to lower the cups onto the table, her dress back onto the floor. With another measure of delight in her features she then found herself wrenched back onto Meneturu's lap.

"Gipul," Meneturu continued, matters of state still his immediate concern, "is certainly another who feels the weight of the crown on his head. You'll end fighting Elam, Areshen, if you keep playing at military governor of Ur."

"Perhaps," Areshen sighed. "Who's up to what now?"

"Teremdesh has four or five Six Hundreds chasing crazy old chief Berclef and a couple dozen of his cousins back across the river from Sippar. Not much profit in it. Utinari wants to fight a war or two a bit further north which he says need to be fought, those marginally profitable if they're conducted carefully. I told him I'd talk it over with you when you got back."

"I think we need to take a look at something a bit closer to home, Meneturu. I have some nagging concerns about Nippur."

"Nippur? Again?" Meneturu asked, his expression now attentive as he turned from the giggling girl toward Areshen. Wars with the wandering tribes of Amuru to the north and west were a constant nuisance, but had remained a relatively minor nuisance for the past eight years now, were tolerated if the field commander involved had reasonable expectations of a profit from the sale of spoils or slaves. Nippur, however, the Holy City of Sumer and Akkad, lay only two days quick march to the north. Although unlikely, it was not beyond the realm of possibility that contentions over Nippur could touch off a major civil conflagration between the large cities of Sumer and Akkad, the financial consequences devastating to all involved.

"The High Priest of Nippur," Areshen continued, "is rumored to be nothing more than Shubari of Ur's talking mule, is he not, Meneturu?"

"Most say he's the product of one of Shubari's indiscretions in the back chambers of Ur's temple palace."

"Quite likely. That would explain why a High Priest of Nippur would be willing to bow to someone like Shubari. We're still seeing trouble in the canal yards around Nippur, too."

"We are. A half dozen little revolts at the moment, more anticipated."

"The temple in Nippur is still driving nails through the Amuru diggers' hands. Ibisien ordered it stopped in Ur. Shubari farted a few times, but complied."

"Then wrote the product of his indiscretion in Nippur."

"Exactly," Areshen agreed. "Shubari probably said something like, 'little product of my indiscretion, if you do not want anyone to know the circumstances of your origin, do whatever you can to annoy Shar Dulur and Isin. See how much Areshen will put up with.'"

"Why not just make the High Priest of Nippur disappear? Shubari as well, for that matter. Shubari and the High Priest of Nippur have certainly made enough people disappear over the years."

"Shubari has spent a great deal of his time in his temple back chambers with his serving girls. There are plenty of illegitimate Shubari's running around. By the way, Meshduri has one of these girls in Ur, another Shubari just tossed onto the streets figuring she'd be lost in the crowd. Anyway, if we make the High Priest of Nippur disappear, Shubari would just have some other subservient product of his indiscretions installed in Nippur. Temples all across Sumer and Akkad are full of them. No, Meneturu, it's time we placed Nippur under the jurisdiction of a real military governor, not one which is yet another product of Shubari's conceived in a temple palace's back chamber," and Areshen waited attentively for Meneturu's reaction.

"There'll be no turning back this time, Areshen," Meneturu stated after a long moment's contemplative silence. "No more facades, even in the south. The next time you return to Ur, it will have to be as king of Isin rather than Ur's military governor."

"I know," Areshen sighed. "If it were up to me, I'd leave the whole thing to Ibisien and Ur. Despite Ibisien's - eccentricities, I believe he's a reasonable and rational man. He genuinely loathes Shubari. They say, when in Assembly he pronounced an end to the nails, he stood the very image of his grandfather, the portrait carvers summoned to make sketches, though I suppose they will receive specific instructions to ignore the cup in one hand, the pet in the other."

"No doubt," Meneturu chuckled. "But I'll not hold my breathe waiting for Ibisien to crawl out of that wine cup long enough to do anything of consequence."

"Nor will I," Areshen sighed, continuing in grave solemnity. "If nothing is done, little High Priest product of Shubari's indiscretion will just drive the construction camps into revolt once again. If that happens, we're liable to have a couple hundred crazy old chief Berclef's leading their tribes over the western walls in order to help their kinsmen, eight years ago all over again."

"Tebro's military governor of Nippur," Meneturu mused, his brow wrinkled in speculative thought.

"Another puppet of Shubari's, yes. Even Tebro, however, has enough sense to realize that he can only loose in this situation. I received a letter from him while I was in Ur, a letter carried by private messenger rather than sent through the military dispatch. Tebro stated that his garrisons have found ever larger numbers of runaway Amuru on the roads north and west of Nippur, many of them with scars in their hands, anxious to show those scars to their chiefs back home. Meneturu, we either take Nippur away from Shubari now, or we fight all of Amuru all over again."

Meneturu sat another long moment in silence, caressing the serving girl's hand with idle motions of his own, then with an easy grin turned back to Areshen.

"You would proceed against Nippur, Areshen, even were the Amuru not pressing from the west."

Areshen sighed in nodding agreement.

"You would as well, old man. Nail's through helpless servants' hands? This was never Sumer, Meneturu. Not, at least, in my time."

"Nor in my considerably more lengthy time," Meneturu agreed. "Shubari and all his little products running around will say that it's a social and temple issue, you know; Areshen wants to frolic with the servants as equals. The old temple families, particularly in Sumer and the south, call Shar Dulur the palace of holy disorder," Meneturu chuckled. "The king of Isin's household comes and goes as it pleases. They are certain that you will make a dish maid the next High Priestess of Isin."

Areshen broke into soft laughter.

"I offered it to your niece Etwabi before I left Ur. She declined."

"Then it will go to our beautiful Telsik," and Meneturu lifted the girl's hand to his lips.

"The gods will certainly strike both of you down one of these days," the girl answered, a genuine note of complaint and concern in her voice.

"Perhaps," Meneturu chuckled, turning again toward Areshen. "Setith is on her way to Bathul?"

"Where she has promised to spend the next four months," the subtle hint of a grin now crossing Areshen's features.

"Setith will do well in Bathul," Meneturu chuckled. "Her piety, unlike that of some we have been discussing, is genuine. And Bathul is beyond Shubari's influence. I think Setith's gentler nature will emerge in the north."

"Perhaps," Areshen agreed. "Shathsurinu and Teru," Meneturu's brother and nephew, "are well."

"Did young Teru attempt to sweep the demons from your house or anything like that?"

"No," Areshen laughed, quite aware that Meneturu knew as little about his own family's god as he knew about the gods of Sumer.

"Teru's a good boy," Meneturu continued, "a little fanatical at times. But who knows? Maybe our family's god really has spoken to him," though the expression of skepticism remained evident in Meneturu's features.

"He still hasn't decided when he's leaving Ur?"

"From what I understand, it's an old family oracle or some such thing, passed from father to first born son for generations now, and states that the family of the first born son must leave Ur for the north. And for generations now, no one yet has obeyed. I do believe Teru will be the one to do so, however. Every time I visit, he's performing the old liturgies, burnt offerings, a prayer for this, a prayer for that. Gets on your nerves sometimes, though he's not as bad as old Binsut was."

Areshen broke into a long moment's laughter. Old Binsut, a High Priest of Enlil attached to a Six Hundred Meneturu had commanded, had gotten on Meneturu's nerves one time too often. The High Priest and his portable god had gone down the road strapped to the rump of a donkey, the men in Meneturu's command lining the road bent double in laughter.

"I was afraid young Teru would disown me entirely after that act of disrespect for things divine," Meneturu continued. "It seemed only to amuse him, however. You said Meshduri is up to something in Ur?"

"One of Shubari's castoffs has fallen into his hands. Meshduri will use her to extort a ton or two of grain from the temple. I think I'll let Meshduri harass Shubari for or month or two, then pull him up here to Isin. Meshduri is quite adept at eluding the temple's henchmen, but his luck can't hold forever. After Meshduri gets through shaking Shubari up and down this time, Shubari will be scouring every street in Ur for assassins."

"Meshduri will be all right," Meneturu answered. "He has a good head on his shoulders, well attached."

"Quite," Areshen chuckled. "Well, old man, start sounding out a few garrisons. I see no alternative but to march on Nippur again."

"Everyone in the north is loyal to us. Some of them are absolutely useless beyond the confines of their perfume baths, but they are loyal. Uruk and Lagash, perhaps one or two other military governors in the south will decide it is in their best interest to support Isin when the First Soldiers commanding their garrisons have a little chat with them. I'll have a little chat with the First Soldiers, take care of a few other details as well."

Areshen nodded his appreciation, quite aware that he could leave the complicated logistics in Meneturu's hands. Sacking a city the size of Nippur was always a headache, spoils to be divided among the participating commands, property to be reassigned after the city's defeated inhabitants had been slaughtered.

"The Assembly meets this afternoon," and Meneturu nodded toward an entrance chamber in the courtyard below which led into Shar Dulur's Great Hall, this one of the few chambers at Shar Dulur which rivaled the palace of Ibisien at Ur for ostentatious magnificence.

"Have Ishi conduct Assembly, will you," Areshen sighed. "I'm going fishing."

Meneturu nodded, chuckling for Areshen's pronunciation of Eschieri, the fat little beer good which Meneturu would place onto the throne of Isin in Shar Dulur's Great Hall.

VII

A half dozen fish dangling from the line he held in his hand, Areshen walked from the banks of the canal back into Shar Dulur late in the afternoon, walked then through several courtyards and entrance chambers, finally into the palace kitchens and past a half dozen grinning cooks who turned toward the chief cook's table in order to watch the spectacle. Luculsag glanced up from the purchase order tablets spread across her table, a shuddering expression of annoyance creasing the aged lines of her face as Areshen dangled his fish over the table.

"Don't you dare," Luculsag barked. "Give those stinking things to Selthu," and Luculsag waved insistent hands in the air, shooing Areshen and his fish toward a young man on the other side of the kitchens.

"Sweet Luculsag," Areshen called over his shoulder as he handed the fish to an assistant cook, "can I have some beer?"

"Someone get the king a cup of beer," Luculsag bellowed. "And hurry up about it or he'll be here all evening pestering me."

Areshen broke into a soft chuckle, turning to a young female cook who handed him the cup. As usual, Tecuru could not do so without a seductive little smile from a seductive and intimate distance. Wearing nothing but a waist clothe pushed blatantly onto her hips, the girl's stance was an obvious display.

"I finish work in an hour, king," Tecuru crooned, genuine pleading in her eyes as she pushed the waist clothe a revealing distance further down.

"Eshela," Areshen tried, Eshela the young soldier to whom Tecuru had been betrothed, "would not be pleased," though Areshen had no idea whether or not that was true. These young people were very different today, and the city of Isin was certainly different than Ur.

"You are a god, sir. It is permitted," Tecuru answered, then with an expression of disappointment turned toward Luculsag barking from her table.

"Tecuru, stop pestering the king."

Areshen watched the girl mope back to her work, shot a quick glance of appreciation toward Luculsag at her table, then wandered through the kitchen's rear portal with his beer. Another series of long, narrow chambers, a flight of stairs, and Areshen stood sipping his beer on a balcony overlooking the courtyard around which his own and several dozen other sleeping chambers were arranged. Half a hundred people idled at brick benches spread across the courtyard below. Some were palace officials discussing civil matters Areshen preferred to leave in Meneturu's hands whenever possible. Young soldiers sat in the shadows of date palms with their girls, a few of these daughters of senior military officers and palace officials, most of the others palace servants of one sort or another owned by Shar Dulur and working for several dozen Luculsags sitting at their own tables scattered throughout palace and fortress.

Again Areshen allowed Luculsag's perpetually frosted features to float through his mind, contemplating an evening a few months ago when the old chief cook had appeared at the door of his chambers with a deeply troubled expression.

"Manlutib has asked me to become his wife," Luculsag has stated.

"That is wonderful," Areshen had replied, though he could not understand the hesitancy in Luculsag's voice. She and Manlutib, a senior household steward who had purchased his freedom a few years ago, had been united for almost forty years in the consort marriage allowed household stewards.

"When Manlutib comes to you, sir, asking that you release me," Luculsag continued, "you must tell him that you cannot do so."

"Luculsag - " Areshen had stammered, stunned by her request.

"Please, king," the old woman ten years older than Areshen's mothers had pled, "I am your daughter, and your lawful and ritual wife, the greatest gift I have ever received from the gods. I love Manlutib, but I cannot leave you, sir. Please do not let me go, sir."

"Luculsag," Areshen had sighed, "we'll consider it all later," Areshen supposing that the whole thing had something to do with this god business Meneturu had told him about.

"As you wish, sir," Luculsag had answered, standing a quick moment later in stance women across the palace fifty years younger than she assumed whenever Areshen passed. "As long as I am here, sir - after all, it is permitted."

Areshen gazed another long minute across the courtyard below, taking a long pull from his beer attempting to settle himself. In this and Shar Dulur's other courtyards, indeed in courtyards across the city of Isin in which another forty thousand people sat, ultimately in courtyards across the great majority of Sumer and Akkad's other cities, an uncounted multitude were just as certain as Luculsag that they were the king of Isin's ritual and consort wives according to the dictates of a Holy Order Areshen was just as certain was so much nonsense.

"From the Upper Sea to the borders of India," old Meneturu had smirked just a month ago, "pretty little things peek through their door at night dreaming that you have heard of their beauty. They are building two more chambers downstairs in order to process the supplication tablets which arrive every day. Shall I fetch you a barrel or two?"

"Do they really believe that I'm their husband?" Areshen asked in wonder.

"Go ask a few of them," Meneturu had shrugged and smirked. "You will be very busy for a very long time. Since you are now a god, however, you should have a surplus of creative energy to sustain you along the way."

Areshen again sipped his beer, gazed across the courtyard, and admitted to himself the most basic and profound of his beliefs. As hard as he might have tried, at least in his youth, he simply did not believe in the gods of Sumer and Akkad. And still, Luculsag and that multitude of others residing in cities Areshen had never even seen rejected offers of marriage from others in order to remain the king of Isin's consort wife.

"They hope for just one visit," Isin's High Priest had explained, urging Areshen to consummate at least a few of his lawful and ritual marriages whenever he traveled. "Perhaps a dozen a so a night in the city in which you happen to be reposing."

Areshen had avoided both the High Priest and the High Priest's interpretation of his duty for some time, shuddering for thoughts of the last time he had wandered into the city of Isin, then through a portal into a Sacred Area not dissimilar to Ur's in appearance, the same massive walls, the same staged tower with its Divine Chamber stuck on top. The High Priest of Isin, again attempting to explain Areshen's recently recognized divinity, had led Areshen down a long passage beneath the temple and then into two vast subterranean chambers in which another hundred of Areshen's sons and daughters and consort wives labored. Areshen had shuddered just as violently when the High Priest had explained all this.

"It is your tomb, divine king. When it is completed, it will be the most magnificent ever built in Sumer. There will be room for five hundred to accompany you on your journey to the gods when it is time. I have announced today that I will begin hearing pleas from those who wish to do so. I, of course, will lead the procession into your tomb when the happy day arrives," and the High Priest had gazed that which Areshen could only call anticipation toward him. "You've had that cold for quite some time now, haven't you, king?"

Areshen had returned to Shar Dulur and drunk half a dozen large cups of beer in quick succession trying to drown the High Priest's announcement from his mind, words which sounded as though they might have come from the mouths of the ancients marching into old King Epenatu's tomb in Ur. Areshen felt gentle affection for those who with such sincerity in their eyes professed to be members of his household, doubting, however, that anyone today would want of their own volition to just walk behind his body into his tomb. Areshen had then spent the evening standing at the door to his sleeping chamber as one servant after another appeared pleading to be allowed to do so.

"What do you want me to do with these?" a smirking Meneturu had asked, pointing to another warehouse full of supplication tablets.

The tablets and the annoying procession at his chamber door had continued in steady streams for another month until Areshen had finally ordered that work on his tomb be stopped and the doors bricked shut.

"Why?" a devastated High Priest had asked.

"Ali - Enn - "

"Enlil?"

"Yes, Enlil said so. Last night. Showed up while I was shaving. Just popped through the walls and there the old girl was."

"But king, Enlil is - "

"Whatever. It was dark."

Areshen again lifted his cup on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, no longer doubting that those who stole glances upward believed, at least, that they loved him. Do you not realize, Areshen asked the crowd below, that your divine king is a drunk, a pig farmer in his youth who since then has spent his life doing everything he could to dethrone the gods? Areshen chuckled for the thought, realizing again that he had failed rather spectacularly in his efforts to do so. Old Meneturu and a few other members of Isin's Assembly had thought it patent nonsense when certain devout members of the Assembly had petitioned the temple in Isin for recognition of Areshen's divinity. Meneturu, in particular, was quite aware that his younger colleague's character was anything but godlike. Meneturu, however, had carefully guarded the amusement he had felt over the whole thing, was quite aware that a divine king in Isin would gain Shar Dulur every sort of political advantage. Meneturu had even dispatched a half dozen Six Hundreds of horse and short sword to the holy city of Nippur in order to assist Sumer's chief god Enlil with his deliberations on the matter of Areshen's divinity. Enlil sitting in his Divine Chamber atop Nippur's temple had apparently had an excellent view of the chariots ranging in martial ferocity across farmland beneath the city's walls. Enlil, Nippur's High Priest product of Shubari's indiscretions had announced, is pleased to confirm Areshen of Isin's divinization. Shubari, according to Meshduri and other of Areshen's spies in Ur who reported to old Meneturu at Shar Dulur, had nearly blown the Sacred Area's walls apart with his farted shouts of protest when he had discovered that Nippur's High Priest product of his indiscretion had betrayed him.

Areshen swallowed the last of the beer from his cup, then leaned forward toward the balcony's rail. It had been several years now, however, since he had actually had to say anything. Several dozen young women pushed themselves to their feet in heated argument, all but one returning to their benches with sour expressions of defeat when a senior household steward pointed to the winner. Areshen chuckled as he watched her hurry toward the kitchens, then stumbled from the balcony into his sleeping chamber, a plain, unadorned room with floor cushions next to one wall.

Lowering himself to the cushions, Areshen then spent a long minute gazing toward the ceiling and wondering if he was really sane. How, he asked himself, can the master of Shar Dulur feel so little happiness from life? People would certainly think him insane if they knew how he felt at the moment. He was master of the civilized world. Kings and rulers from Egypt and India bowed to emissaries from Shar Dulur. Daughters from the warlords of China had spent years traveling from the furthest reaches of the east in order to become members of his household, hoping for a once in a lifetime visit from Isin's divine king. And the household here at Shar Dulur was certainly happy, Areshen supposed, nothing here of the perpetually dour expression on the faces of everyone in Ur.

Areshen shrugged, settling into a resigned humor, wondering if he might have felt differently about it all had he been born to the palace. Probably not. Ibisien in Ur had lived in a palace when Areshen had fed pigs in the small temple village of Sannu. Ibisien had never seemed to find a great deal of joy in life, had climbed into a cup of wine twenty years ago, even before Sumer and Akkad had abandoned him and Ur for Isin.

Ati stepped through the door into the chamber a moment later carrying a large cup in her hand. Ati was close to Areshen's own age, not as delicately beautiful as Etwabi, certainly not the stunning beauty which Setith was twenty years after Areshen had married her. Ati, however, was as pretty as most in Shar Dulur, gifted with that same light of piercing intelligence in her eyes. The household steward who had made the choice had been quite aware of Areshen's preference. The younger girls who had pushed themselves to their feet in the courtyard had never really had a chance.

Ati stood at the door with her hand on the handle, an easy smile in her features as Areshen nodded. She then pulled the door closed and lowered herself into Areshen's arms.

"You're getting fat, old lady," Areshen began as he reached for the beer. Ati, wearing a small waist clothe, was anything but fat.

"So are you, old man," Ati countered in easy humor.

"And is that another wrinkle I see?" Areshen continued, gazing toward the edges of Ati's eyes.

"Gray hairs, more gray hairs," Ati answered, and Areshen finally broke into easy laughter as he poured half the beer into his own cup, handing the other back to Ati, Ati not the type who concerned herself over matters of delicate, social etiquette.

Areshen gazed toward a close friend for another long moment. If anyone was now the love of his heart, it was Ati. She really is very beautiful, Areshen decided, another who looks ten years younger than her actual age. But it was the emotional intimacy Areshen shared with Ati which he most treasured. Even Ati, on several occasions, had declined offers of marriage, one or two from palace officials of considerable influence and wealth. Areshen sometimes pled with others to stop being foolish and accept the proposals they had received. He had never done so with Ati.

"Who has proposed to you today, Ati?" Areshen asked as Ati took a long sip from her cup.

"You still do not believe that I can be happy belonging to you."

"Ati, any brick from which Shar Dulur is constructed is more pious than you."

Ati broke into soft, quiet laughter.

"You only make my point for me, Areshen. I do not love the horned crown of divinity on your head which you never wear anyway, nor do I love king or master of my household. I love someone who loves me. I am happy being your consort wife. I sometimes feel like your only consort wife in Isin. When we all belonged to Netumuru before you came to Isin, it was very different. Netumuru would sell any of us on a whim, consort wives and servants without distinction. You have never forced any of us to go, Areshen, when we did not want to go. And Areshen, I would like to meet your Etwabi."

"Perhaps I will ask Setith for her soon," Areshen answered, noticing something like pleasant anticipation in Ati's eyes. It had been Ati who explained to him the differences between Ur's and Isin's social customs, though Areshen supposed that a former pig farmer would never really understand the nuances of meaning, a thousand shades of interpretation only those such as Ati who had lived their entire lives in palace could grasp. Etwabi, as far as Areshen understood the whole matter, would also be his de facto consort wife if she came to Shar Dulur, a union to some degree closer than concubinage in Ur. Areshen was still not certain, however, why Ati was so anxious to meet Etwabi. Every female member of Areshen's household both in Shar Dulur and in Isin, and in a hundred other cities across Sumer and Akkad, who was not consort wife to another was by definition Areshen's consort wife since the Assembly had recognized his divinity. And Ati was quite aware that Areshen loved Etwabi in a very real way.

"I suppose I would not feel so alone," Ati explained, "if there were another at Shar Dulur who received a summons to your chambers, Areshen. People here look at me as a curiosity because I am the only wife you ever summon. And you love Etwabi - "

"In a way," Areshen agreed. "Not more - "

"In a way more than you love me," Ati countered in a gentle voice.

"And in a way not," Areshen answered, a note of argumentative vehemence in his voice. Areshen gazed toward a woman his own age for another very long moment. Conversations with Ati, a mature, incredibly intelligent friend, were all that provided Areshen with some sense of emotional balance when he resided at Shar Dulur. In a very real way, Areshen was certain that he loved Ati as deeply as he loved Setith, Setith for so many years now enamored only with the concerns of her temple and business ventures.

"Anyway, Ati," Areshen continued, "I believe Etwabi will leave Ur when her family does. And I will let her go. She believes in her family's gods. You, on the other hand - "

"I am the model of pious virtue," Ati protested in mischievous laughter. "I could have been a temple prostitute. I certainly have the physical qualifications," and Ati drew the cloth from her waste, tossing it aside. Areshen broke into a soft chuckle for the feigned expression of righteous indignation in Ati's features as she stretched her limbs in display, quite as Heluth in front of her tavern shrine in Shensulith Square might have done trying to attract customers. Again, however, as Ati settled back into his arms, Areshen felt the strength of his emotional love for her, something very unique and piercing settling into his heart.

"I will never let you go, Ati," Areshen whispered, the depth of emotion now in his voice, in his eyes as he watched Ati's expression dissolve into radiant warmth. Ati leaned forward, pressing herself into Areshen's embrace without hesitation. Ati, Areshen realized again as he met her lips with his own in kiss the strength of unreserved passion, was the only woman in the world with whom he felt no emotional constraint whatsoever. Setith had wandered off into her own world long ago; Etwabi would do so when she finally found whatever she was searching for. Ati, however, was just Ati, unconcerned about a great deal of anything. Again Areshen felt the gentle warmth of her lips to his own, her kiss every bit the emotional passion his own was, the sensual strength of her embrace just now emerging.

"Perhaps you are a god," Ati chuckled, ease and amusement in her features when she raised her eyes.

"I still love you," Areshen laughed.

"And I still love you," Ati answered.

Again Areshen fell intimately into Ati's eyes, wondering what life might have been like had it just been the two of them on a small temple farm somewhere. Ati had nowhere else to go, nowhere else she really wanted to be at the moment. She didn't have temple farms or business ventures to worry about, nor any personal philosophy remarkably different than Areshen's own. Ati would just delight in spending the rest of the evening in his arms.

"Areshen," she continued in idle, contemplative quiet, "you are father to everyone in Isin, husband to everyone without consorts of their own, yet you spend time only with me."

"Are you displeased?"

"No, of course not, Areshen. But - I am not young."

"I know. You are an old woman."

"And you are an old man," Ati chuckled, digging a hand into his stomach, not a teen ager's, but certainly not a typical forty two year old's either. Areshen watched the easy delight in Ati's eyes for another long moment, then the subtle hint of thoughtful solemnity once more.

"Are you really lonely, Ati?" Areshen asked, taking her hands into gentle embrace.

"When you are away, I am. Everyone looks at me very strangely. No one is intimate with me. How could they be, though, when I sleep with a god - "

"Ati - " Areshen groaned.

"They believe it, Areshen."

"Many men pass their evening with only one woman, Ati."

"The man who call for me rules the world, Areshen."

Areshen sighed, caressing Ati's hands. Again he supposed he would just never understand her concerns.

"Even if I did bring Etwabi here to Shar Dulur, Ati, it still might not be different for you. Etwabi is certain that she is in love with me, but I am not so certain that she knows her own feelings yet. I see no permanence in that which exists between Etwabi and me. I cannot imagine living at Shar Dulur without you, Ati."

"Areshen - " Ati whispered, gentle, emotional warmth again breaking across her features.

"Ati," Areshen continued, urging solemnity now in his voice, "you could become my wife in Isin, my queen - "

The expression of shock flashing across Ati's features was no different than it had been the last time.

"Oh Areshen, no. It would not be right - "

"Setith has always said that she would not mind, Ati. She nags me incessantly whenever I'm in Ur, thinks it ridiculous that Ibisien has a hundred wives and concubines while I have only one."

"Areshen, I am a serving girl - "

"Ati, you are a woman. You are an incredibly beautiful woman, every bit as noble in appearance and demeanor as the daughter of any High Priest."

"But I am not the daughter of a High Priest, Areshen. I spend my life naked, with cleaning rags - "

"Ati, not only are you as beautiful as any High Priest's daughter decked in gowns and lace and gold, but you are so incredibly, marvelously intelligent. Ati, you are brilliant, far more brilliant than any High Priest's or governor's daughter. For that matter, most High Priests and governors, held to you, are imbeciles - "

"Areshen - " Ati just pleaded, and again he felt the tremble in her hands. Areshen just sighed as he wrapped her once more into gentle embrace, quite aware that it was one thing for him to flaunt Holy Order and social custom, another matter entirely for a woman such as Ati who spent her life on hands and knees scrubbing Shar Dulur's floors. Ati, a servant allowed clothing by her overseers only on rare occasions, a servant passed from one owner to another whenever Shar Dulur was. Indeed, no High Priest's daughter or military governor's elder wife displayed half the stunning intelligence and poise which radiated from Ati's features. Even so, the thought of anything beyond that which birth and Holy Order had assigned her seemed to frighten Ati as badly as it might have frightened the superstitious old ladies of Sannu Areshen remembered from his youth, old ladies who spent their days searching the corners of their houses for demons, sweeping them furiously toward the door.

"Ati," Areshen tried, again caressing her hands in gentle though intimate touch, "you know that I started life myself on a temple farm just outside Ur feeding pigs. No other military governor for the past hundred years can boast of origins lower than my own."

"Perhaps," Ati chuckled, a measure of composure returning to her features. "But just because you can defy Holy Order and get away with it does not mean that I will be able to do so."

"Old woman, I've watched you hang scrub rags on top of god's heads all over Shar Dulur. You are no more pious - "

"All right," Ati chuckled, "perhaps not. But I must live in the world, Areshen. People look at me strangely now. Were I to become your lawful and ritual wife, it would only be worse. Me, wearing the robes of a wife - " Ati shuddered. "Wives and daughters of governors would call me an aberration, someone who does not know her own place."

Areshen sighed in frustration, raising his eyes to Ati's when she squeezed his hands with emotional strength.

"Areshen, I'm the consort wife who loves you, the one you say you love. Isn't that enough?"

"I suppose," Areshen sighed. "For now. The High Priest in Isin tells me that it is within my right to take any woman in Sumer and Akkad as my wife, including the High Priest's should I so desire."

"If you love me," Ati answered, "you will make the High Priest's wife your wife rather than me."

Again Areshen held Ati in silent, intimate warmth, sipping beer and glancing toward the walls in searching thought.

If he was king of Isin, then Ati should be Isin's queen. The Assembly had offered the queen's floral crown to Setith. Setith, however, had not as yet even bothered to visit Isin, a city which had been a social and cultural backwater before Areshen, during the war of the Amuru Wall, had made it the center of Sumer and Akkad's military command.

Even today, certain High Priests and hereditary governors in the south with close ties to Ur were still not yet prepared to acknowledge the situation as it was, though very few offered more than a ceremonial allegiance to Ur and Ibisien. Most, for that matter, had ignored Ibisien for ten years now, governors in city after city proclaiming themselves independent from Ur. For the past eight years, however, an increasing number of cities had recognized the obvious, and the obvious pointed to Shar Dulur and Isin. And it was no matter of great concern to Areshen and palace officials such as Meneturu that a few of the governors of the more distant cities now called themselves High Lord and Grand Exalted This and That, just as long as the Grand Exalted This and That in question had enough sense to bow, at least in private, to emissaries from Shar Dulur carrying their marching orders.

Areshen lowered his beer and reached for Ati's hands once more, not really certain if his musings had much to do with his feelings for the extraordinarily intelligent woman of such quiet, confident poise with whom he found a measure of tranquillity, at least for brief and fleeting moments. Most of the noble born women of Sumer who sat thrones beside Grand Exalted This and Thats displayed about as much intelligence as their husbands, husbands almost as intelligent as the average brick and few of whom were allowed more than a ceremonial role directing the military garrisons located near their cities. Areshen would rather see Ati herself standing in a commander's chariot giving orders to First Soldiers than allow military governors in most Sumerian cities to do so. Most First Soldiers, Areshen was certain, would agree. And still, when Ati climbed from his arms in the morning, she would do nothing more than take rags into her hands and scrub Shar Dulur's floors, would feel foolish wearing anything more than a few inches of cloth about her waist, all because Holy Order decreed this to be her role in life. It is little wonder, Areshen thought, that someone such as himself could become the master of civilization when civilization was guided by something as ridiculous as Holy Order.

Areshen raised his eyes to Ati's when he felt new and urging strength in her embrace. Ati leaned forward, her kiss sweet, the warmth of her lips to his own a light brush of sensuality slowly building to the passionate strength of the love they felt for each other. Areshen felt the emotional depths of his love for Ati course again through his heart. He felt as well, however, the first hint of urgency in her kiss.

"Have I driven all the deep, dark thoughts from your mind?" Ati chuckled, gentle mischief now in her smile, the same in her light, teasing caress.

"We march on Nippur soon," Areshen answered. "I am going to place you in one of the command chariots. You will conquer as you have conquered me."

"You are being foolish," Ati laughed. "You have, as usual, had too much beer."

"Be that as it may, you would be perfectly at home in a chariot. You respect Holy Order no more than I do. And besides, there's precedent, the Gutiu queens, for instance," who a century ago had descended from the eastern mountains standing naked and ferocious in their chariots, a great many of Sumer's soldiers captivated, according to the poets, by a magnificent and captivating sight.

"Perhaps I do respect Holy Order no more than you," Ati continued. "Perhaps," she chuckled, "I'd enjoy standing in a chariot screaming with a Gutiu queen's maniacal fury. But Holy Order forbids it, and other people do respect Holy Order. What would there be without it be chaos?"

"What indeed," Areshen sighed, deciding it was enough, at least for the moment, to have Ati in his arms. If Sumer and Holy Order did not recognize who Ati really was, that was their loss.

"Ati," Areshen whispered as he grasped her hands again, both the embrace and his voice betraying the depths of the emotions he felt, "I think you must always be most beloved to me when all else is done. There's really only you."

"Areshen - " Ati whispered as well, intense and pleading strength now in her arms as she curled herself finally into intimate and passionate embrace. "It is enough for me to be your beloved, Areshen," Ati cried, pulling him finally into the only gentle and uncomplicated love he had known for a very long time now.

VIII

Areshen pushed himself straight in the chariot, then gazed across a mile of open farmland toward the walls of the city of Nippur, the Holy City of Sumer and Akkad. Areshen gazed another long moment toward the armies of Sumer and Akkad now encamped on open fields beneath the city's walls.

There was, as old Meneturu at Shar Dulur had stated a month ago, no turning back now, Areshen supposed. Twenty thousand soldiers, the officers and First Soldiers of which swore allegiance to various cities across Sumer and Akkad and then took orders from Shar Dulur, also studied the walls of Nippur, its portals locked and bared. A dozen other commanders had led formations of troops on a tour of the south, parading their commands before garrisons still professing loyalty to Ur, the only city still capable of rallying any appreciable opposition again Isin and Shar Dulur. Ibisien, Areshen's spies in Ur reported, had decided to react to the situation in his usual manner. The king of Ur had retreated into the back chambers of his palace and gotten drunk. Shubari, High Priest of Ur, had sent a few dozen products of his indiscretions from city to city across the south calling on them to march in defense of Nippur, the Holy City now besieged by the blasphemous pretender from Isin. Without exception, however, according to Areshen's staff officers now touring the south, the commanders of those garrisons still professing loyalty to Ur were content to do so behind the locked and bared gates of their fortresses. The second siege of Nippur, Areshen had finally sighed in relief, would be no spark touching off a general conflagration between the cities of Sumer and Akkad.

Areshen gazed from his chariot for another long moment toward the closest of the troop encampments now ringing Nippur, hundreds of tents arranged on either side of a narrow dirt track which led directly up to the city's gates. This military encampment might have seemed an awesome and impressive sight to the uninformed observer, though Areshen was quite aware of the truth. Sumer's real soldiers were still posted along the frontiers holding a hundred tribes of wandering barbarians at bay. The troops now encamped on every side of Areshen's chariot brandishing pike and short sword in practice were by and large levies of reserve called back to service just a month ago, half of them, perhaps, capable of scaling Nippur's walls without falling off the ladders. At least the First Soldiers, Areshen decided as he watched another Sixty of archers loose their arrows, appeared reasonably competent, most of these First Soldiers veterans of campaigns along the frontiers.

Areshen finally nodded toward the young driver standing beside him in the chariot, the driver reigning the horses forward, then for a mile along the narrow, dusty road leading toward Nippur's walls.

As usual, Areshen passed a long moment in tranquil thought of Ati as the chariot rumbled along. Perhaps he would make Etwabi his concubine, perhaps not. He genuinely loved the quiet though passionate young woman residing in his wife's house in Ur, was certain that the affection Etwabi expressed from him was in great part genuine as well. But there remained some subtle hint of distance between Etwabi and himself, something Areshen could not quite explain. My sister, Teru had stated the last time Areshen had visited, is Ur, mostly, but not quite all, at least not yet.

Again Areshen found himself in Ati's unassuming and gentle arms at Shar Dulur, Ati who was just Ati, and Areshen felt certain that bliss would have been spending his life with Ati in a small, one room farmhouse like the one in which he had begun life, armies and political intrigue someone else's concern. Who knows, Areshen sighed. Twenty years ago he had been a young officer with a growing reputation as a successful field strategist, certain that he had found happiness when a young woman from Ur's Sumerian nobility had noticed and then professed her love for him. Areshen still loved Setith, very deeply, he supposed, though he supposed as well that it was now easier to love Setith from a respectable distance, preferably as great a distance as possible.

Would he and Ati, Areshen asked himself again, be able to rest quietly in each other's arms today, certain, as they felt emotional and sensual warmth in each other's kiss, that their hearts beat as one, had he and Ati lived the past twenty years in a one room farm house? Nor, Areshen supposed, would any old farmer living in a one room farm house be likely to tell him. Most such still feared the gods, would tell him what they believed he wanted to hear rather than the truth.

Oh for a beer, Areshen sighed as the chariot bounded along, Nippur's walls looming ever larger in the near distance. Setith, sweet Etwabi in Ur, gentle Ati at Shar Dulur - and even Heluth, Areshen supposed with a chuckle just a bit less strained, wild exotic Heluth standing in front of her tavern's serving board in Shensulith Square chucking unprofitable gods into the corner. How genuine, of late, had the spark of pleading in Heluth's eyes become whenever she stated that she would be willing to forgo the honor of being a minor order priestess in order to sell herself into Areshen's household.

Areshen finally turned his attention back to the walls of Nippur and the earthen ramp which led up to a locked gate, archers standing on the wall towers in both directions for as far as he could see. Areshen lifted his shield as they approached the walls, though he doubted that any of Nippur's defenders would target a single approaching chariot, particularly since no trumpet declaring the commencement of war had yet sounded.

When the chariot's driver had reigned the horses to a halt beneath the city's walls, Areshen glanced with studying concentration toward the soldiers gazing down from above, few of whom appeared a great deal more competent than his own soldiers in encampment now besieging the city. Nippur, the Holy City of Sumer and Akkad, had never before found it necessary to depend on itself for a great deal of anything, its temple of Enlil, Enlil supreme among the Sumerian pantheon of the gods, receiving a share of the produce from every other city across Sumer and Akkad.

Shubari - Areshen sighed in disgust. Nippur's gates were locked and bared because of Ur's farting High Priest. Does Shubari really believe that Enlil is suddenly going to wake up and hurl lighting bolts down on the armies surrounding the city? Areshen sighed annoyance again, pushing himself straight in the chariot.

"Tebro," he finally shouted toward the walls. "Tebro, military governor of Nippur and son of a slobbering, flea infested dog? Where are you, Tebro? Stand up and render an account of yourself."

Areshen could not help but notice most of the soldiers atop the walls concealing expressions of amusement as a pink faced, polished, obese little man waddled forward, Tebro typical of most of Sumer and Akkad's military governors, passing his time in his palace's perfume baths.

"Areshen of Isin," Tebro began, his voice hardly more imposing than a castrate's serving in the city's temple precinct, "we do not fear you. You dare not defile these sacred walls with your rabble. Go away. Lord Enlil will protect us."

"Shit from a constipated, worm plagued sheep, Tebro," Areshen scoffed, his voice almost a sigh of annoyance as it echoed off the city walls. Areshen passed another moment studying a few more of the soldiers atop the walls, tense amusement now in their expressions, those closest to Tebro turning their backs as Tebro glared furiously in every direction.

"Tebro," Areshen continued, "stop playing soldier. You're not cut out for it. Climb down from those walls and unbar the gates now and I will let you waddle back to Ur and your sweet Shubari's loving arms."

"Inumen is High Priest here in Nippur," Tebro answered. "Enlil is our divine Lord."

"Inumen began in one of Shubari's back chambers, Tebro. Most say the same of you. Climb down from those walls, Tebro. I'm not interested in you. I intend to roast the High Priest's liver on the temple's altar. Unless you climb down from those walls and stop making a nuisance of yourself, your liver will roast on the altar beside the High Priest's."

Areshen studied Tebro's plump and polished face for another long moment, the crack in his composure obvious, his attempt to conceal his fright comical. Areshen studied a few more of the amateur archers lining the walls, none of whom would suppose the barbaric nature of his words out of character. Tebro and the garrison of Nippur were hardly competent enough to maintain order even in the Amuru construction yards along the canals. The men in Tebro's command could not be pleased that they now faced a man reputed to be far more barbaric than a hundred tribes of savage barbarians he had defeated in battle along the frontiers.

"Tebro," Areshen continued, the same note of dismissive annoyance in his voice, "you are becoming a bother to me. If you do not climb down from those walls and unbar the gates, I will return with my army. When I am finished with Nippur, Enlil will no long sit on his golden couch atop the temple. He and everyone else on these walls will be relieving their bowels in a mud shit house beside an irrigation ditch. When I am finished with Nippur, no brick will remain standing on another. I and my army will feast on the grain piled in your temple while you and yours are fleeing naked across the western deserts. I will proclaim to the chiefs of every tribe in the desert that you and your men are fair sport, to be taken, spitted, and roasted at their pleasure."

"You frighten no one," Tebro answered, his voice a terrified squeak. Again Areshen glanced up and down the walls, a clear measure of concern now evident in every face. Few of these soldiers were ignorant of the fact that Areshen had indeed razed at least a half dozen towns over the past eight years. Few doubted that the blasphemous king of Isin was capable of doing the same to the Holy City of Nippur.

"Tebro," Areshen continued, deciding on a different approach for his final verbal assault, "a short time ago I had an opportunity to tour the Amuru construction yards along one of the canals near Nippur, and I witnessed the manner in which your High Priests discipline the diggers. In one camp I witnessed a particularly impressive sight, a dozen men and woman suspended from wooden poles, nails driven through their hands. Now that I have been proclaimed a god, I must endeavor always to conduct myself in a manner pleasing to my fellow gods, and I most certainly cannot allow myself to be outdone by the High Priests. I shall therefore erect ten thousand wooden poles beneath the walls of Nippur. Ten thousand of you now standing atop these walls will hang from the posts I will erect, a gift to my fellow gods. As the blood drains from your hands nailed to my holy posts, I will drive past in my Sacred Chariot one final time in order to be certain that you die well, a pleasing and acceptable sacrifice to my fellow gods."

Areshen studied the walls a final long moment, heated arguments now breaking out among small clusters of soldiers, First Soldiers running back and forth desperately trying to reestablish order. Enough for now, Areshen sighed, nodding toward his driver. A quick moment later the driver reigned the chariot about, then back down the narrow, dusting road from the walls of Nippur.

Areshen sat at a small field table a mile from the city's walls, the folds of a camp tent rising about him on all sides, the usual stack of dispatches sitting on the table. With a sigh of resignation, Areshen lifted the first of several tablets on which the king of Ur's message was inscribed.

"They tell me," Ibisien wrote, "that you mean to invest Nippur, Areshen, my loyal and faithful military governor. Please do not invest Nippur, Areshen, my loyal and faithful military governor. The High Priest Shubari has also said that you must not invest Nippur, though it is not a matter of great importance to me what the High Priest Shubari says. Did I say, please do not invest Nippur, Areshen, my loyal and faithful military governor? If not, then please do not invest Nippur, Areshen, my loyal and faithful military governor. The High Priest Shubari came to my palace and said that Areshen, my loyal and faithful military governor, must not invest Nippur, though it is not a matter of great importance to me what the High Priest Shubari - "

Areshen laid the tablet aside. From the sound of the message, Ibisien had probably been held to his feet by one scribe while another copied dictation even more drunken and rambling than usual.

Perhaps Setith had something more interesting to say, and Areshen reached for another tablet.

"Bathul's finances, beloved husband, are reasonably well ordered. The temple's assets are by and large adequately accounted for, though I have found it necessary to insist that the High Priests of several chambers, the chamber of past due accounts in particular, attend to their duties with a bit more diligence. A few temple farms are seriously in arrears, and simply must be prosecuted. To allow the situation to continue unanswered would displease the Divine Lord Leshinuthu and the Divine Lady Bilthu and seriously disrupt Holy Order. But I will, beloved husband, be gentle, just as you asked of me. I will accept as payment for past due accounts owed the temple only single men and women unless the managers or patriarchs of the farms in question wish to offer married men and women, though I will avoid demanding these whenever possible, and I will then accept as payment for past due accounts owed the temple only married men and women unless the managers or patriarchs of the farms in question wish to offer their children, though I will avoid demanding these whenever possible, though I will accept as payment for past due accounts owed the temple single men and women, married men and women, and their children, only if the managers or patriarchs of the farms in question wish to offer them. Some families, however, have indeed offered themselves into my service, a large number from the village of Betulum, for instance, which has been assaulted by locusts for two consecutive years now and has failed. At my palace in Bathul appeared the entire village of Betulum pleading to enter my service as my children, saying that they have heard that I am indeed a gentle mistress, beloved in Bathul having been its High Priestess only a month. This pleased me intensely, beloved husband, so with tears in my eyes, I said to the people of Betulum, only your unmarried men and women shall belong to me for life. Your children shall serve me for three years, and then I will offer those who desire it their freedom at five sixths the usual price. The people of Betulum then sang of my generosity in single voice, those who were to become my children for life falling to their knees in adoration before me."

Areshen lowered his wife's first tablet with an easy smile, doubting none of it, though he would never understand why Setith's thousands of children in towns all across Sumer and Akkad so adored her. More than a few of them had seen Setith cross, genuinely angry any number of times, though the ill feelings between mistress and servant were always short lived. Setith's exactions and punishments were, Areshen supposed, less severe than those inflicted on servants by a great many other mistresses. Even in the one instance when the punishment had been the height of needless cruelty, Etwabi herself had said that Setith had vigorously protested the punishment in front of Ur's Executioner Priests, an act of blasphemy Areshen would never before have suspected Setith capable of.

Areshen lifted the next tablet on which his wife's letter was written.

"I am sorry to have disappointed you, beloved husband, the night before I left Ur for Bathul. I know I promised, but I was called away on an urgent matter which required my immediate and personal attention."

Areshen chuckled for a quick moment, wondering how much silver had been involved in Setith's urgent and personal matter. In a very real way, Areshen had indeed been disappointed when one of Setith's servants had informed him that the mistress would not be available to receive him in chambers. It had been well over a year now since he had really touched Setith with any degree of intimacy, and Setith was still an exceptionally beautiful woman, thought by a great many to be the most beautiful woman in the world. Areshen had wondered if it might have seemed like the first time with Setith.

"By the way, beloved, as to the matter of Shar Dulur," and Areshen released a long sigh of frustration. For a hundred years now most of the assets of Sumer and Akkad had been owned by little more than a hundred people, High Priests, governors, and a few private individuals. The owner of Shar Dulur, palace of the king of Isin and military headquarters of the armies of Sumer and Akkad, just happened to be Setith. With another long sigh, Areshen returned to the letter.

"It seems the current month's payment, as well as those for several previous months, are late. Please be good enough to instruct the advocates responsible for Isin's accounts to see to this matter at the earliest possible convenience. I am certain, beloved husband, that we can resolve this matter without once more finding it necessary to resort to a court of law - "

Areshen lowered the tablet to the table, then glanced up as Meneturu pushed his massive bulk through the tent's flap. Now in military attire, Meneturu appeared fit and formidable despite his years and the gray in his hair.

"Setith's?" and Meneturu nodded toward the tablet Areshen had lowered to the table.

"Yes," Areshen groaned. "We have to pay off Shar Dulur, Meneturu, scrounge or pilfer the money from somewhere. If we don't, Setith will nag me incessantly."

With an easy chuckle, Meneturu lowered himself to a folding chair next to the table.

"My spies tell me there's more than enough grain in Nippur's temple stores to do so," Meneturu began. "We'll have to declare right of conquest in order to get our hands on it, but we'll have to do that anyway in order to dethrone Tebro and the High Priest Inumen. I will never understand why you did not declare right of conquest in Isin eight years ago."

"Meneturu, you've known Setith for years. Would you want to take something away from her without paying for it?"

"I suppose I wouldn't want to be the first to try," Meneturu chuckled.

"You're just back from the walls?"

"Tebro could hardly squeak a word this time. Most of his men appear to be wilting beautifully, far more rapidly than we might have hoped for. I would say that tomorrow would not be too soon to have a go at the walls."

"The troops we have here ourselves are not the sort I'd care to lead toward the frontiers and the tribes, Meneturu."

"They're as ready as they'll ever be. Isime and Shulitu will be the only ones with any real work to do if we proceed according to plan."

Areshen rested in silent thought for a quick moment. Isime's and Shulitu's Six Hundreds, the only two now engaged in the siege of Nippur which were professional and battle hardened, had been pulled from the western frontiers. The resulting hole had been plugged by auxiliaries from the tribes currently in the pay of Isin, not a situation Areshen or Meneturu cared to see continued for any length of time.

"Perhaps," Meneturu continued with a mischievous smile, "we should have brought ten or twenty thousand Su horsemen down here from the east instead of Isime and Shulitu, parade them beneath the walls. Have you ever heard a Su war scream? They'd be scraping shit off Nippur's walls for the next six months. Tebro would drop a considerable load himself."

"Perhaps," Areshen laughed. "But then we'd only have to convince the Su to go home. More than a few of their young princes were educated in Nippur or Ur, would love to set themselves up in a perfume bath somewhere."

"Most likely. By the way, Meshduri is here. He arrived from Ur early this morning. He's already had a quick look at the walls. If there are weaknesses to be exploited, Meshduri is the one who will find them," and Areshen smiled for the curious wonder in Meneturu's eyes, Meneturu Akkadian, a stomping old bull according to his colleagues, who could not understand how the urbane and literate Meshduri, Sumerian by birth, could be such a brilliant tactician when it came to defensive walls, both their construction and their destruction.

"You know, Meneturu, Meshduri and I started out together twenty years ago."

"Yes, but Meshduri's spent most of his life sitting at table hatching plots against the High Priests. He's a better scribe than most scribes."

Areshen shrugged his amusement, watched Meneturu push himself from the tent, and then turned his attention back to several more tablets. Far less competent a scribe than Meshduri, Areshen soon tired of the nuisance, and pushed himself from the tent as well. He then walked without haste along narrow dirt paths winding their way through the military encampments, finally down a road which led along the banks of a small irrigation canal. Areshen glanced another moment toward the city of Nippur off to his right, then toward another series of military encampments spread in open farmland beneath he city's walls. A moment later he turned his attention toward the small brick village a short distance ahead, then toward a narrow bridge which crossed the canal near which several soldiers had reported last seeing Meshduri. Areshen pushed himself onto the bridge, studying quiet, palm lined paths which led along the further bank of the canal toward the village, that a small brick temple farm the buildings and residents of which were owned by Nippur's gods, Nippur's High Priests overseeing the god's property.

Areshen finally noticed Meshduri standing beside a small grove of date palms a short distance from the village. Meshduri stood close to the canal's banks gazing toward the walls of Nippur in silent, contemplative study. Meshduri, Areshen chuckled, indeed looked as much a scribe as he did a soldier. Meshduri was by and large Sumerian, thus smaller in stature than the hulking Akkadian Meneturu, though Meshduri was certainly not an Ibisien, painted and polished more beautifully than any of his wives, was certainly not the plump, boyish, totally useless Tebro squeaking away atop Nippur's walls. And old Meneturu was right; if there were weaknesses in Nippur's walls to be exploited, Meshduri would find them.

Meshduri turned from his study of Nippur toward Areshen, the same intense and studying expression in Meshduri's features which Areshen had noticed a month ago when he had come upon him erasing words from tabulation tablets.

"This is a considerable distance from which to conduct an inspection of the walls, is it not?" Areshen asked in easy humor as he approached.

"Sometimes true inspiration comes from a distance, from the broad view," Meshduri chuckled, pointing toward the towers of the gate beneath which Areshen had stood taunting Tebro earlier in the day.

"Meneturu says the same," Areshen agreed, pondering the same section of the walls.

"I talked with Isime and Shulitu a short time ago. Both have had a close look at Tebro and his shop keepers atop the walls. Isime and Shulitu both say you needn't have pulled them from the frontiers. You should instead have recruited from choirs and castrates in one or two nearby temples."

"They're that confident," Areshen chuckled, glancing now toward the small village a short distance further down the road.

"Isime and Shulitu are that confident," Meshduri answered, glancing toward the village himself, guessing Areshen's concern in an instant. "There's beer there."

"Good," Areshen stated, pushing himself purposefully forward. "Are your wife and daughters safe remaining in Ur, Meshduri? I hear you have been making a considerable nuisance of yourself to Shubari, extorting grain from the temple in unprecedented quantity."

"I paid my regards to Ibisien at the palace before I left Ur, our beloved king well fortified by the royal cup and in a particularly maudlin mood. 'Not you too, my sweet Meshduri,' he cried. 'Everyone is leaving me for Isin.' Ibi assured me, however, that Ur is still a city of law and justice. The households of Areshen and Meshduri will remain under the protection of the palace. Since the siege of Nippur began, it's become very obvious that Ibisien could spit from Ur's walls into territory beyond his control, but he is still the master of Ur itself, and will do all he can to hold Shubari and the temple in check. Ibisien, I suppose, remains confident, at least in a corner of his wine soaked mind, that Isin and Shar Dulur are temporary expedients, that we will all eventually return to the fold in Ur."

"In a beer soaked corner of my mind, Meshduri, I dream of doing just that. I am not - old king what's his name, expecting five hundred members of my household to joyfully walk into my tomb and wait for the grave diggers to shovel dirt down on top of their heads, nor am I Sargon of Agade marching form one end of the world to the other. I've done two things in my life, Meshduri, fed pigs, and fight the tribes along the frontiers. Then I return to Shar Dulur and drink beer with Ati. Sumer worshipped Urnammu because he fought wars and then returned to his palace and wrote laws. I've never written a single law."

"Have you heard the way students in the scribal schools talk these days, particularly those in Ur and the south?" Meshduri asked.

"The army is out of fashion. The temple and Shubari are the way to the top."

"The priesthood, the law," Meshduri scowled, then glanced about the small, mud brick buildings of the village among which they now walked, one room farmhouses, grain sheds, narrow paths leading into the surrounding fields. Meshduri raised a beckoning arm toward a child standing next to one of the sheds.

"Girl, come here," Meshduri commanded, and with less fear in her features than Areshen might have expected, the ten year old child approached, her eyes wide and wondering as she gazed toward two men in military dress, short swords hanging form their sides.

"Turn your back to us, girl," Meshduri ordered, "and take your clothes off."

The girl obeyed quickly, and Areshen winced for the scars covering the child's body from her neck to her ankles. Flogging was a perfectly acceptable means of discipline throughout Sumer and Akkad provided the instrument used was of a standard sort. The scars covering this girl's body, however, had obviously been inflicted by a whip onto the chords of which had been affixed small glass beads with sharp and jagged edges.

"Get dressed, girl," Meshduri sighed, turning again toward Areshen and nodding about the village. "I talked with the patriarch here a few minutes ago. They're Cothculimu, eastern Amuru, settled here after the second battle of Kel Dulur," and Meshduri nodded toward the temple thrusting its way above the city of Nippur in the near distance. "A junior Executioner Priest comes to this village once a week, approaches the patriarch, and orders him to choose someone from the village. Anyone from the village under thirteen years old. 'Why?" the patriarch asks every week. 'What have we done wrong?' The Executioner Priest just says, 'choose. Choose a child. It is the will of the gods.'"

Meshduri turned back to the girl as she crept forward, her hand extended.

"Another?" Meshduri asked, his scowl an obvious affectation.

"You have more," the girl answered in a voice of amused accusation, a bashful smile in pretty Amuru features.

Meshduri pulled a piece of date candy from a fold in his uniform and placed it in the girl's hand. With another soft, bashful smile, she then wandered back toward the shed.

A quick minute later, Areshen and Meshduri stood near the door of the village's small tavern shrine holding cups.

"They worship you in Isin," Meshduri finally continued, "because you do not, in fact, write laws. You spend your time sitting with Ati drinking beer. By the way - "

"She still says no," Areshen sighed.

"She's frightened," Meshduri answered with gentle sympathy, then continued in solemn quiet. "We have very fine laws in Sumer today, all the laws we need, and we certainly have all the High Priests and advocates we need to interpret and enforce those laws. And with all that, Sumer and Akkad have discovered that they need an Isin with a blasphemous Areshen as its king. Meneturu says that he confronted you about all this last month at Shar Dulur?"

Areshen chuckled, taking a long pull from his beer.

"Meneturu informed me that I would march on Nippur even if I could not justify doing so by claiming there to be an external threat along the frontiers, a threat exacerbated by the temple here in Nippur. I informed Meneturu that he would have done the same."

"The old bull would have done the same indeed. Urnammu would not have done so, however. Shulgi would not have done so. Scream he, 'I am a god,' all day long from the top of the temple, Shulgi would not have marched against his own Shubari, and Shubaris back then were no different than it our own beloved farter today."

"Even so, Meshduri, the reason why the blasphemous king of Isin can march on Nippur while the south cowers behind the locked and bared gates of it garrisons is, in fact, a hundred tribes of screaming barbarians along the frontiers."

"That, and the fact that the blasphemous king of Isin with no god of his own is now a god himself," Meshduri chuckled.

"A few months ago when all of this was becoming a problem," and Areshen sloshed his cup toward the walls of Nippur, "I woke up in my chamber in Shar Dulur one morning and decided that I would make the whole thing just go away by snapping my fingers. I snapped my fingers, but the whole thing did not just go away, Meshduri."

Meshduri broke into easy laughter as he handed his cup to the tavern mistress standing behind the door's serving board. Areshen did the same, smiling gratitude when she handed a full cup back.

"The problem did not go away," Areshen again sighed after another long pull from his cup. "I had expected at least a small bolt of lightning when I snapped my fingers. Urnammu and Shulgi probably got a least a small bolt of lighting after they were proclaimed gods."

Again Meshduri broke into easy laughter, enjoying the light spark of slightly intoxicated mischief in Areshen's eyes. As usual, however, Meshduri could not help but notice the ever present hint of strain and fatigue also evident in Areshen's features.

"Your divinization is by and large just political expedient, you know, Areshen. The Assembly in Isin is no different than Ur's, each member fancying himself the epitome of ideological detachment. Each goes home and lives in the real world at night, however, shopkeepers, servants, scribes with their tablets and brick makers with their spades. Sumer and Akkad, high and low, think the king of Isin is a god."

"Meshduri," Areshen stated with abrupt, emphatic annoyance, "the king of Isin is not a god. Not even a small bolt of lightning, remember?"

"Oh?" Meshduri asked, an expression of amused wonder in his features. Areshen laughed with ease, appreciation in his eyes.

"It is the way they express their love for you, Areshen," Meshduri continued. "I see no harm in it."

"Sometimes I wonder, Meshduri. One of the gods does intrigue me."

"Oh?" Meshduri asked again, nothing affected in his expression this time.

"Etwabi's."

"Meneturu's niece?"

"Yes. She has a brother, Teru, teaches in a private school in Ur. He's a very intelligent young man, though he'll have nothing to do with Shubari or the temple."

"A very brilliant young man indeed."

"His god says something that I have never heard any of the gods of Sumer say. Teru's god says that he is the only god."

"I hope Shubari doesn't find out that there is only one god. He'd be out of business if that god didn't happen to reside in his temple."

"An intriguing thought," Areshen answered. "Shubari out of business."

"It probably wouldn't work," Meshduri sighed. "Shubari would find some way of convincing people that he had captured this god who is the only god."

"I somehow don't think that Shubari and this god would like each other."

"That wouldn't bother Shubari."

"No, I suppose it wouldn't," Areshen sighed, vague and ill defined notions of dealing with Shubari using highly unorthodox methods fading from his mind.

"The best we can do for now," Meshduri continued, "is to rid Nippur's temple of Shubari junior and the walls of Nippur of Tebro."

"Tebro, perfumed little bath flower that he is, lawfully remains under my jurisdiction as military governor of Ur. If he survives our assault, what should we do with him, Meshduri?"

"He will survive. He'll be hiding beneath the High Priest's skirts when we climb the walls. Leave him in Nippur. The High Priest as well, for that matter. Restrict them to responsibility for the temple's choir and castrates, then have Isime or Shulitu leave one of their Sixties behind in Nippur to watch them. Sixty real soldiers well placed in Nippur's Sacred Area will be more than enough to dissuade Tebro and Inumen from any more foolishness. Nippur, all of Sumer, for that matter, will just assume that Enlil now favors Areshen of Isin who can afford to be lenient. Inumen dead would just irritate Shubari. Inumen alive taking orders from Isin instead of Ur will infuriate Shubari. He'll blow Ur's temple apart farting his outrage, but he'll be powerless to do more. He cannot send another back chamber product of his assignations to Nippur to replace a High Priest who is still alive."

"Of course," Areshen nodded as he and Meshduri strolled from the tavern, then along the canal road leading back toward the military encampments. "You are as brilliant as ever, Meshduri. That is how it will be done."

Meshduri nodded his appreciation, his features settling into an easier humor as he decided to change the subject to gentler matters.

"So Ati still says no?"

"She belongs on the queen's throne, Meshduri. Instead, she scrubs Shar Dulur's floors."

"Sumer is an ancient culture," Meshduri sighed in sympathy. "Even a king with no god of his own will not change it overnight."

"Ibisien says he is going to retire to Egypt in the west."

"He told me the same," Meshduri chuckled.

"He'd find a quieter time of it among the tribes in the desert, I suspect. You agreed to join me in Isin without a great deal of protest, Meshduri. A month ago you did not dare abandon Ur's walls to the temple."

"Documents well placed with certain of my agents in Ur will hold Shubari and the temple in check for the time being, will also see to the provisioning of the walls for at least the next six months. I do feel uneasy walking away from Ur, but it pleases me to spend time in the field once again. I've been sitting at table for far too long now. And now is certainly not the time to repose quietly at table."

Areshen nodded in grim resignation. The approaching hostilities could only conclude in Isin's and Shar Dulur's favor. Still, this was Nippur, and there was no turning back this time. Undisputed master of Nippur, Areshen would be undisputed master of the civilized world. At the moment, however, the only source of comfort and ease seemed the company of the life long friend walking at his side.

"You're not happy, are you, Areshen?" Meshduri asked, and again Areshen met the eyes of a close, genuine friend.

"No," Areshen sighed when he realized he could not have hidden his feelings from Meshduri anyway. "Lately I dream that I have spent my life with Ati in a one room farmhouse. In this dream I have found happiness. I find a bit more with Etwabi in Ur. I find some," Areshen continued with a soft chuckle, "stumbling into the Holy Chamber located at the back of Heluth's tavern shrine in Shensulith Square. I find, however, very little happiness anywhere else."

"And Nippur will only make it worse."

Again Areshen glanced appreciation toward Meshduri, one of the few regular army officers toward whom he would do so. Their situations could easily have been reversed had one or two lots deciding past commands fallen to Meshduri rather than to himself. And Meshduri, Areshen realized, might easily have handled it all far better than he had himself. Meshduri was probably one of the most brilliant soldiers he had ever served with, his brilliance at times taking turns toward the devious; yet the entire garrison manning Ur's walls ate only because Meshduri was indeed brilliant enough to act deviously and then survive having done so.

Areshen glanced another long moment toward the walls of Nippur now off to their left, then with a resigned sigh turned back to Meshduri.

"It has to be done, I suppose," Areshen sighed again.

"The god of Isin has spoken?" Meshduri chuckled.

"I suppose that's it," Areshen chuckled as well. "It's not that bad being a god in Shar Dulur as long as I stay out of the city, stay out of Shar Dulur's civil chambers."

"A great many, as I have said, love you for reasons which have nothing to do with political or religious expedient. Even Ati would probably follow you to your tomb - "

"Meshduri - " Areshen protested, astounded.

"She would follow you into your tomb for reasons that have nothing to do with Holy Order. She doesn't love a god, Areshen, she loves you. Nor did I leave Ur to be with a god, Areshen. I, however, will not follow you into your tomb. I don't like the taste of dirt."

Areshen chuckled for a long moment, gratitude again in his eyes, then question.

"Do you believe in the gods, Meshduri?" Areshen asked, apology necessarily in his features for a question of the sort.

Meshduri walked in silence for a long moment, his brow wrinkled in searching thought.

"No," he finally answered. "I suppose I don't."

"I didn't think so, Meshduri. I never have. Your emotional balance is far too stable. Only old Meneturu is your equal. Perhaps that is because he believes in only one god, far less of a bother than Sumer's stable full of them."

"Perhaps," Meshduri laughed, though he gazed toward Areshen in searching question.

"Eight years ago," Areshen explained, "I was standing on the Amuru wall with twenty thousand soldiers, ten to my left, ten to my right. A hundred thousand Amuru faced us, Amuru perhaps, but still a hundred thousand of them. We will die together, twenty thousand soldiers pledged, to me and to each other. Had we done so, Meshduri, I would have shed no tears, not for myself, not for them. The average soldier eight years ago was no different than the average soldier today. He respects the High Priest standing at the altar taking the auspices quite as highly as he respects a maggot in a loaf of stale bread."

Meshduri chuckled in easy humor, quite aware that it was true.

"Those soldiers standing on the Amuru wall," Areshen continued, "saw no god when they marched past me in review. Yet they still knew why they were prepared to die. Today, Sumer and Akkad applies to the High Priest of Isin for a place beside me in my tomb. I find no pleasure, Meshduri, no pleasure at all in the thought. I would have led twenty thousand soldiers to their deaths without remorse. I would feel nothing but remorse should twenty servants follow me into my tomb thinking I were a god."

Meshduri gazed back in silence for a long moment, lost, and then just shrugged.

"I do not think you are a god, Areshen."

"Thank you," Areshen just sighed, though in a slightly easier humor, turning his attention finally and fully back to the walls of Nippur. The approaching battle, at least, was a matter of grave concern to no one, the shopkeepers manning Nippur's walls little more than sport for the professional soldiers commanded by Isime and Shulitu. Gathering and dispatching the city's populace would be a logistical nuisance; that, however, was another concern both Areshen and Meshduri could just shrug away. The actual slaughter, in which the vanquished population was offered to the gods, would be directed by the High Priests, those in Isin's service planning the festivities with all the enthusiasm Ur's might have displayed.

Areshen stood straight in his chariot gazing toward the solid lines of infantry now advancing over the open plain toward the walls of Nippur, Isime's and Shulitu's Six Hundreds approaching the tower gate atop which Tebro, military governor of Nippur, no longer stood. Marshaling trumpets sounded periodically from place to place; large flags of various shape and color were raised and lowered by the signal corp communicating last minute orders to the formations participating in the morning's campaign. No one expected anything like a real battle, however. Had either Isime or Shulitu considered it necessary, siege towers could easily have been constructed for the assault on the walls.

"Why bother?" both Isime and Shulitu had asked. "Waste of time. Do our men good to haul themselves up scaling ladders, work up a little sweat."

"They're right," Meneturu and Meshduri had agreed. "Tebro and his shopkeepers cannot stand an hour against real soldiers."

Areshen studied Nippur's walls another long moment. Meneturu and Meshduri seemed to be right. An impressive number of Tebro's shopkeeper soldiers had decided to emulate Nippur's military governor by absenting themselves from their posts. What, Areshen asked himself, can possibly motivate those who chose to remain on the walls to do so? Without doubt, High Priests on both sides had found the gods favorably disposed to their cause when they had taken the auspices this morning. Reports from Meneturu's spies, however, spies for some months now working Nippur's garrison atop the walls, had given Areshen no reason to suspect that the average soldier in Sumer's Holy City was any different than soldiers from other cities, soldiers who rarely considered the High Priest's ceremonies a great deal more than quaint, picturesque rituals from another age.

Nippur's soldiers who did remains at their posts this morning, Areshen supposed, did so for no other reason than the fact that they were indeed soldiers, soldiers who feared falling into disgrace and disfavor with their fellow soldiers far more than they feared retribution from the gods.

Areshen turned a quick moment later toward another chariot approaching across the open fields, Meneturu and Meshduri just now completing a full circuit of inspection around the city. Nothing either in Meneturu's rugged, weathered features, nor in Meshduri's youthful and urbane, indicated that they felt any grave anxiety. For another long moment as Meneturu reigned the chariot at a quick trot along the advance lines of infantry, Areshen gazed toward the two men whose advice and council he most trusted. Areshen still felt amused amazement that old Meneturu proclaimed him as competent a strategists as himself.

"The old bull's quite sincere," Meshduri had stated any number of times. "He says the same of me, then shakes his head in wonder. How can two pretty little Sumerians from Ur be an Akkadian's equal moving armies?"

Again Areshen wondered why the lots had fallen to him instead of Meshduri, a brilliant soldier indeed, and one who with a single Six Hundred could accomplish as much as most of Sumer's military governors could with half a dozen.

Areshen glanced again toward the walls of Nippur as he waited for Meneturu and Meshduri. As usual in moments of idle calm, his thoughts settled again toward Ati, and Areshen wondered if Ati was the love of his heart. Twenty years ago he might never have imagined himself in this situation, had supposed he might eventually take a concubine or two should he attain a rank that demanded such for appearance sake, but had always doubted he would ever really feel compelled to do so. He still loved Setith, genuinely and deeply. Could he, he wondered, cope with two loves of the heart? And then, Areshen cringed, there were Etwabi and Heluth in Ur, Etwabi a gentle and passionate creature owned by Setith pleading to become his concubine, Heluth surviving by catering to customers in the back chamber of her small tavern shrine in Shensulith Square, pleading with all manner of seductive little smiles. Four loves of the heart, and Areshen cringed again, turning finally in relief to the approaching chariot as Meneturu reigned the horses to a stop.

"It would save time," Meneturu shrugged, "if they would just open the gates and let us walk on in. Not a great deal of time, though. Isime's going to start things off, Shulitu behind Isime. Both say that it will take about ten minutes longer than it might have had Tebro left the gates open for us."

"We've certainly given Tebro every opportunity to open them over the past few days," Areshen sighed, turning toward Meshduri standing on the other side of the chariot.

"Tebro's people still on the walls appear a bit more competent than castrates and choir singers. Not much, however. Isime and Shulitu will have no problems. Our first assault will succeed."

Areshen glance again toward the older Meneturu, who in turn shrugged a nodding assent.

"If he says it will succeed, it will succeed," Meneturu's expression of skepticism nothing more than an inability to understand why the pretty little Sumerian standing at his side in the chariot was always right.

Areshen exchanged a quick glance of amusement with Meshduri, then turned toward the First Soldier of signalmen now approaching his chariot.

"All report ready, sir," the First Soldier announced.

For a final long moment, Areshen glanced left and right toward solid lines of infantry and massed formations of chariots stretching into the distance in both directions, entire field groups, their men staring in anticipation toward the walls of Nippur. Some of these soldiers would carry off the grain stored in Nippur's temple warehouses. The military governor of Sippar had been promised the gold which had been extorted from his city a generation ago. A hundred other commanders had arranged pacts of one sort or another over the past month with Meneturu, the negotiations at Shar Dulur tedious and time consuming ordeals in which the orderly and systematic pillage of Nippur had been arranged. The occupation of Nippur, however, was still going to be a chaotic process for several days at least. Daughters of High Priests would disappear from the temple palaces only to be found working as dish maids in cities a hundred miles away. The Assembly at Shar Dulur, possibly Ibisien's and Ur's as well, would be hearing suits for years trying to straighten it all out.

Still, Areshen sighed, all that did not change the reason he had set the process in motion in the first place, and he turned back to the First Soldier of signalmen with a quick nod of his head. An instant later the final flags were raised, the war trumpets sounded, and several thousand more soldiers atop Nippur's walls decided they had better places to be at the moment.

Areshen, by habit alone in his chariot at the commencement of hostilities, reigned the horses forward, then toward the chariot in which Isime stood, this on a low rise little more than a bow shot's range from the city's walls. Just as Areshen brought his own chariot to a stop beside Isime's, the first scaling ladders fell onto the walls, the defenders above attempting to dislodge them felled by an accurate and sustained fusillade from Isime's archers. The wall's defenders, Areshen's realized, would have little chance once the veterans of Isime's Six Hundred reached the top.

"Turn your backs," Isime, a hulking Akkadian very similar to Meneturu in appearance, shouted toward Nippur's soldiers atop the walls. "Turn your backs and run like the craven dogs that you are. If you do, my men will not have to stick you."

Areshen gazed back toward the walls and another hundred of Nippur's defenders who could not possibly have heard Isime's shouted warnings over the tumult of the battle, yet chose to follow his advise all the same. Areshen then turned again toward Isime, a mix of boredom and amusement in the old tribe fighter's features as he stood watching that which was quite obviously developing into a farce. Half a hundred archers atop the walls loosed their arrows toward the attackers, the barrage yielding no result whatsoever. Before they could retreat behind cover once again, however, a clear majority were dispatched by an accurate and deadly volley loosed by their counterparts at the base of the walls.

"I suspected this was going to be easy, king," Isime began, "but I didn't expect a holiday."

Areshen chuckled as another dozen scaling ladders fell onto Nippur's walls, none of which the defenders had yet managed to dislodge. Seconds later the first of Isime's soldiers pulled themselves onto the walls. A few raised swords against the defenders; most just pushed Nippur's shopkeepers out of their way. Only when one of the scaling ladders was finally dislodged, a dozen of Isime's troops toppling back onto the ground, did the veteran Six Hundred commander break into emotion.

"Shame," Isime bellowed, pointing derisively toward the fallen soldiers now picking themselves up from the ground. "Shame on you all. Redeem yourselves, or tomorrow you will be castrates singing in the temple choir."

With expressions of humiliation and anger, the fallen soldiers, most likely ignoring very painful bruises, thrust their ladder back onto the walls. Isime then turned his attention toward another battle atop the walls, glaring when one of his First Soldiers engaging a half dozen defending swordsmen was impaled through the back, dropping headlong from the walls a quick moment later.

"Abirinu," Isime sighed. "I shall miss him. He will be difficult to replace," and Isime's expression settled back into boredom as he turned again toward Areshen. "They say the Runuli Amuru are moving in the west, king, excellent horsemen, crack shots with the bow. I suspect they will be our next real work."

"Meshduri is touring the west when we finish here," Areshen stated. "Half a dozen other tribes may need attention as well."

"You will keep me in mind if something interesting comes along, won't you, king?"

"You will be the first I summon," Areshen answered, as he expected, satisfaction breaking across Isime's features. Nippur, after all, was more an expensive bother for Isime and his men than anything else, the spoils to be divided among a vast number of reserve commanders, much of which would just be tied up in litigation anyway. Along the frontiers, Isime and his fellow professionals operated beyond the jurisdiction of courts presided over by local governors, were subject to order only from Shar Dulur, and disposed of spoils as they saw fit as long as Meneturu and Shar Dulur received an accurate accounting and an appropriate percentage of the profits.

It was not, however, Areshen realized again, an easy life. Very few professional soldiers lived a great deal better than the average tavern keeper, none as well as most junior priests serving in temple precincts across Sumer and Akkad. Areshen himself had had to rely on spoils of war any number of times in the past in order to pay the men in his commands, the army's regular pay mysteriously vanished somewhere between Ur's palace walls and his field headquarters along the frontiers. Most field commanders, however, would readily agree that the situation had improved now that Isin was recognized as the king's city, a former Six Hundred Commander familiar with problems faced in the field recognized as king.

Areshen turned back to the walls of Nippur with an expression of satisfaction when the massive bronze gates beneath the towers cracked open, Shulitu's Six Hundred pouring through a quick minute later. Shulitu's troops by and large ignored the last of the armed shopkeepers cowering in the shadows, pushed instead into the depths of Nippur in search of plunder only a portion of which would be accounted for on a scribe's tally board.

"Incredible," Isime sighed, shaking his head toward his own men now commanding the walls in both directions. "If this had been a training exercise, I would order it repeated. I see no one who can possibly have worked up a decent sweat. Six months ago we sacked Kulondri, a mud hole in a little valley in the eastern mountains with a wooden palisade around it not five hundred feet across. It was a far greater challenge, full of Kulondri Su, best shots there are. It took me half a day and cost me a hundred of my best men," and Isime nodded again toward the walls of Nippur. "I count perhaps a dozen on the ground here, some of those with nothing more than pricked butts."

"You have done well here, Isime," Areshen answered. "I will not impose on you again in the near future."

Isime returned an expression of appreciation, then easy amusement.

"Most of my First Soldiers," Isime began, "were delighted when they found out that we were marching again with Areshen of Isin. We march with the king who has no god of his own, they said, the king who once jabbed a few butts with a sword in his own hand and wasn't even struck down by the gods for doing so."

"They will never let me forget that," Areshen sighed.

"I'll admit, I've been tempted a few times myself," and Isime glanced again toward the walls of Nippur, then toward the ceremonial short sword hanging from his side. "It is ridiculous, you know, king. I am twice the swordsman any of my First Soldiers are, and I'm bigger and uglier than most of them as well, even if I am an officer. I've five heads to my credit in private affairs. What real harm would it do if I whacked off the occasional head or two in battle."

"The gods would strike you down, Isime."

Isime stood in contemplative thought for a long moment, then leaned forward across his chariot, his voice low and conspiratorial.

"You've been a god for over a year now, haven't you, king?" and Isime shot a studying glance toward the sky. "Couldn't you just have a little chat with the other gods, work a little something out. Tell then the first head I whack off in battle - it's theirs."

"I'll consider it," Areshen chuckled, wondering if he should just go ahead and pronounce the innovation.

Areshen stood in silent, searching thought along the raised banks of the canal gazing toward the city of Nippur, the city now emptied of its populace, its temple palaces and streets now patrolled by soldiers under Isime's and Shulitu's command. The former inhabitants of Nippur now appeared an undulating sea of humanity spreading mile after mile across the open plain beneath the city walls, heavily armed soldiers herding the mass in various directions, few in the conquered populace yet certain that their conqueror's pronouncement concerning their fate was really true.

"I have decided to break with tradition," Areshen had informed the Assembly of Nippur this morning, several hundred old men standing naked and humiliated in an abandoned irrigation ditch, their heads bowed in submission as they and Nippur waited for judgment "Nippur will not be put to the sword," Areshen had then pronounced, and a dozen of his senior officers and palace stewards had returned startled expressions of concern for this latest blasphemous pronouncement from the king of Isin.

"Setith," Areshen had then informed Meneturu and Meshduri in his field tent, "has sent messengers from Bathul. She says that she can take ten thousand of them immediately without a great deal of difficulty, will have to house them rather primitively for the time being, but has adequate reserves of grain for them."

Again Areshen raised his eyes toward the open fields surrounding Nippur, an obvious surge among the masses toward the northern edges of the fields where Setith's agents sat at tables taking supplications.

"They arrived from Bathul only an hour ago," Meshduri stated as he climbed onto the banks of the canal.

"What hold does Setith have over them?" Areshen asked. "I drove past it all just a short time ago. Women who passed their days in perfume baths go to Bathul to be Setith's cooks and dish maids, yet they fall to their knees thanking the gods for the favor they have received."

"I suppose I'll never understand it all myself," Meshduri chuckled. "I've spent my life in fortresses and field tents as well. Shulitu reports. Probably two or three thousand still hiding in the cracks across Nippur, no more. Mostly beggars and lunatics. Shulitu assures me that Nippur will be completely empty by this evening."

"Shulitu is still annoyed?" Areshen asked. Shulitu had been among those who had stared in amazement when Areshen had stated that the populace of Nippur would not be slaughtered en mass.

"Astonished would be a better word, astonished that you were not instantly consumed by lightning when you issued the announcement. Shulitu was, I suspect, looking forward to the festivities, festivities in which an officer is free to participate. 'Not a single head to be whacked,' he now mumbles as he mopes about Nippur searching for beggars and lunatics. He's still searching the sky as well, expects lightning from every passing cloud. 'Sparing a mud hole village in the middle of nowhere is one thing, but Nippur - there's going to be repercussions, I tell you.'"

Areshen broke into a soft chuckle, remembering several dozen people who had stepped quickly from his side just after he had spoken this morning, several dozen people glancing with obvious concern toward a clear blue sky. Areshen could only with a measure of difficulty restrain himself from glancing toward the sky now. Still, if the gods sought no retribution earlier in the day for sixty thousand lives blasphemously denied them, he doubted he was in any great danger at the moment.

"Shulitu," Meshduri continued, "also states that he has found the ideal place in which the High Priest Inumen and the governor Tebro must reside. Shulitu states that the High Priest's and governor's new palaces will be ready as soon as his men have finished shoveling the donkey shit from their floors."

"Good," Areshen chuckled. "Where are Tebro and Inumen now?"

"Still groveling in a ditch with the rest of Nippur's Assembly, praising your name in song to the gods. Inumen, at least, is genuinely pious, despite his back chamber origins, and believes you to have found favor with Enlil. Inumen promises to serve you and Enlil faithfully, will smash any tablets he receives from Ur and Shubari. I believe him."

"And Tebro?"

"Will in the future relieve his bowels only when told to do so by Shulitu's soldiers.

Areshen finally broke into genuine and easy laughter as he and Meshduri stepped from the banks of the canal, then set off for the city of Nippur now occupied by their own armies. Meshduri, it seemed, could find amusement in anything. Just as well, Areshen supposed. It would be several days yet before they were done with Nippur, perhaps longer if certain people were slow to understand the new order of things. Meshduri, Areshen realized, was exceptionally capable of providing explanations, conciliatory explanations wherever possible. He was also, however, capable of dealing with the situation the way he had dealt with Shubari in order to provide for the men in his command.

"Extortion?" Meshduri chuckled later in the afternoon as he and Areshen sat in the garrison commander's chambers atop the walls of Nippur. "Perhaps. This from the dispatch corps," and Meshduri handed Areshen another tablet.

"She'll be here within the hour," Areshen sighed, something less than complacent ease in his features.

"It is the perfect solution," Meshduri chuckled.

"Setith seems to agree. Her message was ecstasy in writing. But Setith - High Priestess of Nippur?"

"It's the perfect solution," Meshduri just repeated. "She's proven herself no puppet of Shubari's as High Priestess of Bathul, an extraordinarily proficient High Priestess as well. Only Setith could have accepted ten thousand new dependents on a moment's notice. As High Priestess here in Nippur, Setith will be able to divest herself of any remaining connection to Shubari. Nippur will again be Nippur under Setith, something more than the facade it was under Shubari and his little back chamber products."

"And Setith will be the most powerful woman in the world, Meshduri."

"Trust her, Areshen," Meshduri chuckled. "I think you'll find the girl you married twenty years ago reemerge once Setith is installed here in Nippur."

"All right," Areshen sighed, deciding to trust Meshduri's judgment. "Nippur now?"

"Most of old Nippur has now departed for their new homes. Ten thousand are en route to Bathul; another ten or fifteen thousand will be settled on Setith's farms in the south. The High Priests of Lagash and Uruk have agreed to take a few thousand more."

"And new Nippur?"

"A few have already arrive. Inumen draws lots again in the morning, this time on the temple steps. Since Isime is from Uruk, his men first atop the walls, the best shops and factories will go to Uruk. Several dozen agents and advocates from Uruk are here now. Disputes will be heard in Isin and Shar Dulur for the time being, however. I suggest you preside yourself, Areshen, at least over a few cases, until we're certain that Ur and Shubari are not going to be a problem."

Areshen released a long sigh of annoyance, sighed again for Meshduri's sympathetic chuckle.

"And you," Areshen asked, a clear note of envy in his voice, "are touring the eastern frontiers?"

"Nippur was very expensive. It would be most advantageous if a war or two beyond the frontiers happened to break out. The Liresu would be ideal, not as wealthy a collection of tribes as some, but the chiefs have of late expressed a great deal of interest in a possible war. If I find their bellicose intentions to be genuine, I will write Meneturu immediately."

"Do," Areshen urged, glancing for a quick moment about the small chamber atop the walls of Nippur which already seemed oppressive and confining, glancing then toward the door as Setith, the one person in the world who would dare do so unannounced, flowed majestically into the room, the magnificent and sweeping robes of state she now wore already those of the High Priestess of Nippur.

"Beloved," Setith began, a beaming smile in her features as she bent toward the couch on which Areshen sat, pressing her lips to Areshen's in touch far more intimate than Areshen had been prepared for. To his amazement, their lips actually touched.

"And Meshduri, my sweet, beautiful Meshduri," Setith crooned as she pressed her lips to his cheek, the kiss again something more than her usual lip smacking noise from a six inch distance.

"You are beautiful as well, Setith," Meshduri chuckled as Setith straightened, snapped an arm toward her train of servants, and then lowered herself onto the portable throne next to one of the chamber's walls.

"Go away," Setith then commanded with a regal wave of her hand, and a half dozen bowing servants retreated from the room.

"Beloved - " Areshen tried, question and curiosity in his features. No servants? Who would fan her? It was a very hot day.

"I am so grateful to you, beloved," Setith just continued, her expression breaking into solemn emotion. "I am certain that it was because of your intercession on my behalf, beloved, that Enlil chose me to be his High Priestess. You must have pled passionately to Enlil for me."

"Actually, beloved, it was Meshduri," Areshen answered. And Meshduri had not pled; he had ordered, though this was not something either Areshen or Meshduri were about to tell Setith.

"Meshduri," Setith continued, unprecedented emotion in her eyes. "I am grateful, sweet Meshduri. I have therefor decided that you many deduct an entire half of one sixth from next month's payment on Shar Dulur."

"Setith, that is extraordinary generosity," Meshduri replied, nothing in his features indicating that he felt otherwise.

"I shall even visit Isin if you wish, beloved," Setith continued as she turned again toward Areshen. "You may, if you wish, make me your queen."

"Setith," Areshen answered with an expression bordering on amazement; there was absolutely no profit to be made as queen of Isin. "That is indeed extraordinary generosity," and Areshen pushed himself from the couch, gazed toward the gentle emotion in Setith's eyes for another long moment, and then lowered himself to a chair less than a pace from her throne. "Are you certain, beloved?" Areshen asked. Not only would there be no profit for Setith on Isin's throne, but there very well might be liabilities of many kinds, social, political, and most certainly financial.

"Yes, beloved," Setith answered. "I am certain. I shall be your queen."

"Setith," Meshduri began as he pushed himself to his feet, "you will be considered a social outcast by Sumer's nobility in Ur; your own people, Setith. Ibisien and the Assembly will turn their backs on you. It will be some time before the temple here in Nippur again realizes a profit, Setith, and it has certainly cost you a great deal already to resettle old Nippur. You have nothing to gain by sitting on Isin's throne. As a matter of fact - "

"Meshduri," Setith countered, Areshen listening in wonder to the emotion in his wife's voice, "I will sit at my husband's side on Isin's throne, despite the - liabilities."

"All right, Setith," subtle curiosity in Meshduri's features as he broke into a final smile. "I must see to the walls, Setith. I wish you well," and Meshduri pressed a final kiss to Setith's outstretched hand, curiosity again in his features as he walked from the chamber, asking himself again, Areshen supposed, what had gotten into Setith. Areshen turned again to his wife, asking himself the same question, astounded when without the help of a single servant Setith pushed herself to her feet.

"Help me, beloved," Setith began as she reached for the catches on the bulky robes she wore.

"Let me call your servants - "

"No, beloved," Setith answered, laying a hand to Areshen's as she removed the outer robes. Setith, however, did not stop with the outer robes. A quick minute later as Setith let the last of her clothing drop to the floor, Areshen in complete and final stupor gazed toward his wife as he had not seen her in a very long time. Etwabi and Ati, Heluth, any number of other servants who thought nothing of standing naked before Areshen, were very beautiful women. Setith, however - and Areshen gulped for a word. Setith had no rivals.

"Do you still think that I am beautiful, beloved?" Setith asked, the same gentle emotion in her eyes, the emotion, however, now mixed with something a great deal more, something Areshen had thought he might never again see in Setith's eyes.

"Setith - you are - " Areshen choked. Beautiful didn't ever come close. Setith was just that which most of Sumer and Akkad had always proclaimed her to be, incomparable, as absolutely stunning now as she had been twenty years ago when he had first taken her into his arms. And Setith was - Setith, Areshen realized again, the epitome of Sumerian nobility who would never dream of showing herself to another man. Areshen finally felt something very strange and powerful envelope him as he gazed toward Setith standing before him as any servant might.

Setith broke into a soft smile as she gazed toward the stupor in her husband's eyes, her own giving every indication that she relished Areshen's very obvious display of his feelings. Setith nodded toward the chamber's couch, looked back toward Areshen standing in dazed paralysis, and with a soft chuckle just grasped his hand.

It was, Areshen realized as his confusion and amazement began to settle, indeed like the first time, their love the depth of heartfelt emotion one moment, the strength of burning, urging passion the next. He was holding the first woman he had ever made love to in his arms, a woman who had given herself to him as a virgin twenty years ago. Nor was there anything feigned in Setith's cries of passion as she pulled Areshen into love, her own passion violent and pleading, the woman who for so long now had scowled over tabulation tablets finally gasping in explosive completion.

Areshen finally settled into quiet, gentle embrace beside his wife on the chamber's couch. Only when he had done so did he realize that he had in fact done so. Setith made no attempt whatsoever to fling herself on toward the thousand concerns of business and temple which had dominated her life for so many years now. The last time - how many years ago had it been, Setith had reached for a handful of tabulation tablets laying next to the couch a moment or two after the act had been completed - or had it been a moment or two before that same act's completion. Areshen gazed again toward Setith, wonder once more enveloping him. Her head was buried to his chest, her breath shallow gasps as she lay in tranquil quiet, genuine strength in her arms as she clawed into intimate embrace.

It almost seemed some strange dream to Areshen as he caressed Setith's long, dark hair, as beautiful as she was herself, an entranced ease breaking across her features for Areshen's touch. Areshen gazed with new intensity toward his wife's features, so absolutely, perfectly stunning now that the scowl she habitually wore was gone, Setith now the sweet and gentle girl he had fallen so deeply and completely in love with twenty years ago. With something of a start, Areshen realized that he was still very deeply in love with Setith, just as deeply in love with her as he ever had been. And yet he could still not help but feel that he had just made love to a stranger, someone who for the past twenty years had moved in worlds far different than his own. For the past ten years he and Setith had rarely seen each other save for the occasional rushed and harried meeting in the courtyard of their house in Ur, Setith bound for one or another of her temples across the southern part of Sumer, Areshen to another fortress or military encampment along the frontiers. For the past five years, Setith had urged Areshen to come to his senses and take concubines, at least one or two, perhaps even another wife or two now that he was king of Isin and legally entitled to do so. If, Setith tirelessly informed him, he was ever to have any social standing at all, he must start keeping up appearances. Even Ibisien of Ur, despite preferences concealed from no one, kept up appearances. Etwabi, or Ati at Shar Dulur, Setith had urged. Perhaps, Setith had winked in conspiratorial amusement, that pretty little tavern mistress - Heluth? The one who carried Areshen into the back chamber of her tavern whenever he was too intoxicated to stumble home from Shensulith Square. Any of them, Setith had urged, could easily become a socially acceptable concubine.

A long moment later, Setith opened her eyes to Areshen's, Setith breaking immediately into a smile of amusement for the subtle hint of perplexity in Areshen's features. She's still, Areshen realized with a soft chuckle, as brilliant and as perceptive as she ever was, reads minds on the instant, probably the reason why she owns half of everything in the south not owned by temple or palace. Why, Areshen asked himself, would someone like Setith want to make such sweet and passionate love to someone like him all of a sudden, a soldier, a king who doesn't even own a single temple?

Again Setith broke into a soft smile as she read the depths of Areshen's thoughts.

"I'll explain, beloved," Setith whispered, raising a hand to Areshen's brow in a long moment's gentle caress. Areshen broke into a soft chuckle, supposing there would indeed have to be an explanation for such uncharacteristic behavior on Setith's part.

Setith finally pushed herself up, sitting on the chamber's couch in thoughtful silence for another quick moment.

"Edurub, come here," Setith finally bellowed toward the door, the far more characteristic scowl breaking across her features. Areshen gazed toward Setith in concern, however. She made no attempt whatsoever to reach for her clothing still laying on the chamber's floor.

"Setith - " amusement and amazement in Areshen's features.

"Today I am your servant, beloved," Setith answered, gentle warmth settling again into her features as she turned back to Areshen, pushing herself once more into his arms. "I am Etwabi or Kinshith, beloved, your friend, and yours to command."

Areshen indeed could not help but notice the piercing sensual warmth in Setith's eyes as she once more leaned forward, her kiss totally lacking in the propriety which might be expected of Nippur's High Priestess. With just a little effort, Areshen could indeed have imagined the incredibly beautiful woman sitting in his arms an intimate friend, a servant without self conscious concern.

"I do love you, Areshen," Setith whispered, pausing long enough to breathe, then pressing her kiss again with urging, intimate strength. "Oh, my sweet beloved," Setith cried, her eyes now dazed in blank, sensual excitement as she thrust herself blatantly into Areshen's arms. "I love you so much, Areshen. I really do," and with a soft chuckle, Areshen allowed his wife another kiss without the least hint of restraint, found himself wrapping her back into embrace with equal abandon until one of her servants, a bearded, elderly steward noble and distinguished in appearance stood bowing in the chamber's doorway. Something in old Edurub's eyes made obvious the fact that he had never before seen his mistress in the circumstances or state in which he saw her now.

And Setith, Areshen realized with ever increasing amazement, was totally unconcerned for the fact, blank, struggling passion in her features.

"Setith," Areshen chuckled as soon as he could twist his lips from hers. "Setith," Areshen tried again, nodding toward the chamber's door.

"Edurub," she sighed as she turned, comprehension slowly settling into her eyes, still, however, not the least hint of concern as the old, bearded servant struggled with his demeanor, a spasmodic twitch of his eyes toward a sight he had obviously not been prepared for. "Edurub," nothing more than amusement in Setith's features, "be a darling and bring us some beer."

Edurub effected a clumsy, bowing retreat. Again Areshen couldn't help but release a soft chuckle as Setith's features broke from scowling authority to gentle entrancement as she clawed back into embrace. Every kiss, it seemed, was a bit more passionate than the last. Whatever explanation Setith intended to offer for behavior so out of character, Areshen decided for the moment to just accept the situation as it was, again pulling his wife into intimate embrace when once more it became blatantly obvious that there was nothing affected whatsoever in the passionate strength of her affection for him.

"Areshen, I've always loved you," Setith cried, now lost in sensual abandon as she thrust herself finally into embrace the struggling strength of which made obvious her intentions. And yet again Areshen felt the waves of an old, cherished love envelope him, Setith thrusting her way securely into his heart, her pleading caresses overwhelming him as quickly as they had twenty years ago. Areshen found himself shuddering, an instant away from pulling Setith once more into violent, furious love, then found himself sighing in frustration as the old bearded steward carrying a pitcher of beer and two younger men carrying cups processed into the chamber.

"Setith," Areshen chuckled, laying a hand to his wife's shoulder.

"Please, beloved," Setith cried in blind, pleading entrancement, "just once more."

"But Setith - " Areshen tried again as he nodded toward the door.

Setith turned, obvious annoyance in her own sigh as she glared toward the bowing servants, the younger men's eyes bulging with intensity painful in appearance.

Setith turned back to Areshen, however, something which he could only call wicked mirth in her eyes as she raised a caressing hand yet again to his brow.

"Setith - " Areshen gasped, not yet ready for the public performance the ancients might have given.

"Oh, all right," Setith finally sighed in resignation as she sat back. "Later then?" a final mischievous smile toward Areshen.

"Yes - later," Areshen chuckled, certain, however, that things would now return to normal. Later, if it came at all, would come in another five or ten or even twenty years.

"Beloved," Setith continued, not yet ready to settle completely, "you still love me, don't you. I felt the strength of your love, Areshen. I felt it when you made love to me. I can't imagine a sweeter love, beloved," the same gentle passion washing over Setith's features.

"Yes, Setith - " Areshen stuttered, glancing toward another cherished love, the beer just beyond reach.

"You knew that I needed your love, Areshen, didn't you? You felt my love for you, and you discovered that you are still very deeply in love with me."

"Of course, beloved," and even in the presence of a gaping audience, Areshen found himself falling yet again into the piercing intimacy of Setith's wide, searching eyes, certain that he'd never before seen quite such pleading in her features.

"Oh, Areshen, my sweet beloved, I love you so much," and again Setith curled herself into embrace, her kiss almost driving the beer from Areshen's mind as he once more allowed Setith to bury her lips to his own. Areshen glanced apology toward the servants, doubting, however, that the gesture was really necessary. These, like that multitude of Setith's other dependents, felt a genuine love for their mistress, gentle warmth mixed with the stupor in their eyes as they gazed pretense toward the chamber's walls. Setith, Areshen supposed as he found himself falling into that same dangerous rapture for her kisses, would never understand the inhibitions he felt. After all, the servants were just her children. They loved her and she loved them. She loved them far more than any of the pets which might also have happened to catch her in sensual abandon. And Setith was right. Her servants did look upon her as someone who had no need of inhibitions, not quite a divinity, but certainly a consort of divinity.

Areshen, however, again reminded himself that he was no god as Setith, now fallen completely into sensual oblivion once more, thrust her hands to his body in intimate, urging touch.

"Setith," Areshen chuckled again, still not ready for that public performance as he grasped her hand in gentle restraint. "Setith," Areshen repeated, waited until a measure of rational comprehension returned to her eyes, and nodded again toward the servants.

"Pour, Edurub," Setith sighed, settling into a posture of dignified propriety on the couch. "Oh honestly," Setith groaned when her servants poured an expensive measure of beer onto the floor, their dexterity improved only after she had pulled one of her garments about herself. "Honestly," she groaned again, "you see my handmaids every day."

"But Setith," Areshen tried in mirthful amusement, "you are not a handmaid."

"Thank you, beloved," equal amusement in Setith's eyes as she watched Areshen reach for a cup and indulge finally in the one true passion of his life.

"You are looking well, beloved," Setith finally continued, complacent ease in her features.

"You as well, beloved," Areshen answered, question, however, now in his own features.

"Bathul has been exhausting," Setith began, her voice quiet solemnity. Perhaps, Areshen decided, she was now going to explain. "The temple is in reasonably good order, but there is still a great deal of work to be done. Expenditures still exceed revenue, will do so for some time until I have settled everyone from Nippur. But the situation is improving. Still, beloved, you really should try to notify me a bit sooner whenever you intend to sack a city."

"I will try, beloved. You work too hard as it is," Areshen answered in genuine concern as he grasped Setith's hand. "You never sleep. They tell me you eat next to nothing. You must rest for awhile."

"When I am certain that everyone in Bathul is settled and that Nippur is once again on a sound financial basis, I will rest, Areshen."

"Could you not call for provisions from your temples in the south, beloved?"

Setith lowered her eyes for a brief moment in searching, troubled thought, then turned with annoyance in her features as the old, bearded chief steward cleared his throat.

"Yes, yes, Edurub," Setith groaned. "What do you want?"

"Beloved mistress, you promised me that you would confide in the king your husband. You cannot bear this trouble alone - "

"Edurub, you dog and scoundrel, you are brutal to me. You are an absolute brute. You order me about incessantly, day and night. I should walk over to you at once and kick you, you are such an impertinent scoundrel. I suppose you will not relent?"

"Beloved mistress," Edurub continued, an expression of adoration and affection still clearly evident in the old steward's eyes as he gazed down on Setith, his voice emotional and pleading, "mistress, jewel of my heart, you must confide in the king your husband. If you do not wish to tell him, then allow me - "

"Oh, very well," Setith sighed, and Edurub turned toward Areshen, his bow now an ostentatious and elaborate display.

"Exalted one, Divine King of Isin, Ancient King of the Four Quarters, Holy Consort of - "

"Yes, yes, Edurub, please continue," Areshen groaned. The entire litany took forever, and Areshen could not help but notice the grave concern in the old man's eyes for Setith, was beginning to feel a great deal of anxiety himself.

"The High Priest Shubari of Ur," Edurub began, "has placed a curse of expropriation on the beloved mistress, a curse duly confirmed by propitiation in Assembly which specified that she must never again - touch you. The moment she does, she will be stripped of every office she holds in the south, all her property will be forfeit, and twenty galla demons will cling to her sides."

Areshen flung startled eyes back toward Setith. Setith, forbidden to touch him by that miserable piece of blubber in Ur, had done a great deal of very intimate touching over the past few minutes. And Setith, Areshen realized, had done so with something of a fury, fully aware that she was giving up virtually everything she owned in order to do so.

"Setith - " Areshen gasped as he grasped and squeezed her hand, the tears stinging his eyes, Setith's whispered and urging expressions of love for him over the past few minutes now ringing in his ears.

"It will take me years, I suppose," Setith began with a long sigh, "to challenge this in the courts," and again Setith raised thoughtful, searching eyes toward Areshen. "But it was worth it. I have my husband, and now our marriage has been reconsumated. Edurub, you incompetent scoundrel, did you follow my instructions?"

"Yes, beloved mistress," Edurub answered, avoiding Areshen's studying gaze. "I was standing just beyond the threshold. I can testify that you and the king your husband have indeed reconsumated - "

"What?" Areshen stammered.

"It was necessary, beloved," just the hint of amusement in Setith's eyes.

"Yes - I suppose," Areshen sighed, emotion flooding again into his heart when he once more realized the immensity of Setith's sacrifice. "Setith - " Areshen tried, no longer able to doubt the sincerity of his wife's love for him, realizing how completely and finally Setith had just proven that love. Shubari had obviously been certain that Setith's possessions in the south, virtually the entirety of her wealth, had been far more important to her than her husband. Setith, minutes after she had entered the chamber, had proven Shubari wrong, had done so with a passion violent and frantic in its intensity, had done so, Areshen realized with just a touch of nagging consternation, in front of the required witness. Had he not stopped her, Setith would have proven Shubari wrong a second time, with three witnesses standing a pace from the chamber's couch. That, however, Areshen finally decided, was of secondary importance at the moment.

"Setith - " Areshen tried in a choking whisper as he squeezed her hand, feeling the tears again sting his eyes as he gazed in wonder toward the woman Sumer and Akkad called the world's most beautiful.

"I still have Bathul and Nippur," Setith began as she circled Areshen's hand with her own. "And I shall be your queen, beloved - "

"Setith, that is nothing - you gave up everything for me the moment - Setith - " and again Areshen saw Setith stepping from her clothing. She'd done so with something like frantic desperation and fury in her eyes, as though she could not step in his arms quickly enough, had all but pushed him forcefully onto the couch when he had hesitated.

"Setith - " and Areshen could think of only one thing to say which seemed to serve the moment. "I love you, Setith. I love you more than my own life."

As soon as he spoke the words, Areshen watched the now obviously genuine expression of entranced, radiant joy settle across Setith's stunning, incredibly beautiful features, could no longer doubt, he realized again, the depth of her feelings for him. A quick moment later, however, Areshen saw just as genuine an expression of trouble and concern settle into Setith's eyes as she brushed a hand down her body from waist to hip.

"Beloved," Setith began, "I now have twenty galla demons clinging to my sides. I know you are only a minor god, Areshen, but you will make the demons go way for me, won't you, beloved?"

Areshen again gazed into Setith's gentle, emotional eyes, felt a quick moment's quiet amusement as she once more brushed a trembling hand to her waist searching for galla demons, and again Areshen felt something he had not felt with such intensity for twenty years now. Setith, Areshen realized with a new spark of wonder - his own wife - all along, his own wife had been the one, true love of his heart.

"Yes, beloved," Areshen cried as he wrapped Setith into his arms. "Yes, my beloved. I will make the demons go away. I will never let anything hurt you again."

Areshen leaned at the balcony's rails in Shar Dulur fortress, lifted his cup for a long moment, and then turned his attention back toward Setith sitting in the courtyard below. Standing publicly at his side in Shar Dulur's Great Hall, Setith had become queen of Isin three weeks ago, amusement and some strange little hint of delight in her features for the queen's dress she now wore, a military garment short and revealing which on Setith had left several hundred old men in Shar Dulur's Assembly Hall standing in gaping silence.

Setith had then met Ati, a woman not dissimilar to herself in temperament, Ati perhaps Setith's one equal in poise and intelligence even if Ati had spent her life scrubbing Shar Dulur's floors. Ati had always shuddered at just the thought of becoming queen of Isin; Setith, busy with her temples in the south, had never thought about Isin at all.

Areshen lifted his cup again, then with a soft smile watched Ati walk from a ground floor portal into the courtyard, then without the least hint of hesitation toward the bench on which Setith sat.

When Setith had arrived at Shar Dulur three weeks ago, Areshen had taken her violently into his arms, holding her in emotional embrace day and night until Ati had walked into the chamber one evening carrying the pitcher of beer.

"So this is your Ati," Setith had stated, turning her eyes from the trepidation in Areshen's toward the quiet, gentle reserve in Ati's. Setith and Ati passed a few more tentative moments gazing toward each other, then a few short minutes in quiet, ever more intimate conversation. Neither Setith nor Ati, Areshen supposed, had needed a great deal more. Ati had finally found someone in Shar Dulur with whom she could share emotional intimacy, had probably never suspected, however, that it would be with Setith herself.

"Setith," Areshen had chuckled several days ago as she and he had eaten a quiet meal together, another pastime Setith had not had time for in many years now, "I do believe you are becoming as outrageous an apostate as me. You and Ati sit together for hours in the courtyard, quite as though you and she were equals."

"As apostate as you, beloved?" Setith had asked, amusement, and that same gentle glint of love still in her eyes which Areshen supposed he would never again doubt was genuine. "That is not quite possible, beloved. No one is your rival in blasphemous conduct," Setith had answered in easy humor, her expression dissolving into emotional warmth as she pulled herself again into Areshen's arms. The simple, utilitarian battle dress of a queen still seemed to amuse Setith; she had but to stand and unfasten a single catch in order to remove it, could do so, to Areshen's delight, without the assistance of a single servant.

Areshen glanced another long moment toward Setith in the courtyard below, a sweet, delicate creature one minute, a terror to both husband and servant the next. Again, however, Areshen felt some new and powerful emotion pound through his heart. Setith, Areshen again realized, could easily have returned to Ur and retain possession of her temples in the south. All Shubari and the temple of Ur had asked of her was that she discard any allegiance to a husband who was considered by most of Sumer's old nobility in the south to be an uncivilized barbarian anyway. Setith, according to old Edurub, had turned from the tablet on which Shubari's demands had been inscribed with tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I want my husband, Edurub," Setith had cried. "Take me to Isin, Edurub. Take me to my husband now."

Setith had then stood at the rails of her barge making her way down river from Bathul to Isin, fury in her features as she pled with Edurub and the vessel's captain for greater speed. Setith, a woman of unquestioned piety forbidden relations with her husband, had then walked into a chamber on Nippur's walls and all but wrestled that same husband onto the couch in order to reconsumate their marriage.

For weeks now, stewards from most of Setith's former temples in the south had appeared at Shar Dulur declaring their intentions to defy Shubari and Ur, pleading with Setith for permission to turn away the new High Priests and Priestesses sent by Shubari. Had Setith in fact granted such permission, she could easily have regained her possessions. Save for Ur itself, most of the palaces and garrisons of Sumer and Akkad now answered to Isin and Shar Dulur, answered now, therefor, to Setith as queen of Isin, her office a military command second only to her husband's, the king.

"No," Setith had answered, however. "It would be blasphemous, a serious disruption to Holy Order. We will fight this in the courts," Setith had stated, fully aware that courts in the south would decide in Shubari's and Ur's favor.

"Remember - old king what's his name?" Areshen had chuckled over another quiet dinner a few days later. "He just marched the High Priest up the temple steps and chucked the old farter over the side, then set up shop himself."

"And was dead six months later," Setith had cringed, clawing her way again into Areshen's arms. "Please, beloved, even you could not escape retribution for such blasphemy. I do not want to loose my husband yet again," and once more Areshen had squeezed the breath from his wife in emotional, struggling embrace. If any wife had ever proven the depth of her love for her husband, it had been Setith.

Areshen glanced again toward Setith and Ati sitting together in the courtyard below, one final conversation running through his mind.

"Ati," Setith had stated, gentle amusement in her eyes as she glanced up from the table, "is a very sweet woman, Areshen. I am quite in love with her."

"Yes," Areshen agreed, noticing the subtle hint of mischief in Setith's eyes.

"And Ati is very beautiful," Setith continued.

"Very beautiful," Areshen agreed once again, his eyes snapping wide open when he realized Setith's point.

"Ati and I are very close already, Areshen. Ibisien's queen in Ur has dozens of cowives, Gipul's in Elam hundreds. I, however, have none. Now that I too am a queen - "

Gazing a final long moment from the balcony's rails toward Setith and Ati in the courtyard below, Areshen downed the rest of his beer, deciding he would handle the matter the way he preferred to handle all such matters. He'd ignore it as long as he could.

Dozens, hundreds of wives? Areshen shuddered. He'd take Ati indeed did she say yes. Setith, however, would never rest easily knowing that two other queens could boast of status superior to hers.

For a month, Areshen had then pushed himself from his sleeping chamber every morning, making his way from one courtyard to the next across Shar Dulur in order to receive news of the latest financial disaster from old Meneturu.

"We are completely bankrupt," Meneturu finally sighed. "Tebro and the temple of Nippur follow our orders to the letter, a situation which pleases the chiefs along the frontiers. The only war of consequence is Meshduri's with the Betusun. The spoils, Meshduri writes, will be meager, perhaps little more than the cost of the war. One or two other chiefs, however, are showing signs of belligerence. Perhaps something a bit more profitable will turn up. Meshduri has agents scouring both east and west."

Areshen sighed, felt another moment's piercing twinge of envy toward Meshduri ranging freely along the frontiers, and then turned back to old Meneturu fondling the serving girl sitting in his lap.

"A bit of good news," Meneturu continued. "Setith has agreed to defer another half of a sixth from this month's payment for Shar Dulur, this in addition to the half of the sixth already deferred. She has therefor agreed to defer - " and Meneturu passed another moment fumbling with his fingers, turning in annoyance toward the object of his idle caress.

"A entire sixth," the girl giggled for Meneturu's annoyance. Another, Areshen chuckled, misplaced by Holy Order, a beautiful and intelligent creature who sits naked on the chamber's couch waiting to fetch anther pitcher of beer.

Actually, Areshen chuckled as he made his way toward Shar Dulur's kitchens in order to see if Bathesag had received any fresh stock of beer, Setith's gesture of indeed generous. Reduced to near bankruptcy herself when Shubari and the temple of Ur had confiscated her possessions in the south, Setith had then gone deeply into debt in order to feed the tens of thousands of new residents now under her care as High Priestess of Bathul and Nippur.

Several days later, Areshen stood along the banks of the canal a few hundred feet from Shar Dulur's walls working a fishing line, glancing from a corner of his eye toward an attractive woman walking by herself a short distance down the canal road. A servant, perhaps, naked, escaping the fierce midsummer heat for a few minutes. A quick second later, Areshen turned again, this time with an expression of amusement and wonder when he realized that it was Setith, no servants waving fans, no attendants carrying portable thrones, just Setith strolling without haste along the quiet, palm lined banks of the canal.

"We are certainly in an adventurous mood today," Areshen chuckled as Setith climbed the banks of the canal. "I thought you were presiding over Assembly this morning. You are not - dressed for Assembly."

"I asked Meneturu to have Ishbi, or whatever it is you call that awful little beer god of yours, conduct Assembly."

Areshen broke into gentle laughter for a quick moment as he met his wife's eyes, settling into questioning quiet when he noticed the hint of concern in Setith's expression.

"Setith?" Areshen asked, and watched a final moment's genuine happiness break into Setith's features.

"Beloved, you see into my heart as easily now as you did when you first took a frightened young girl into your arms twenty years ago."

Areshen grasped Setith's hand. For another long moment he felt young as he squeezed in intimate embrace, watching another flash of radiant joy in Setith's smile. She settled, however, into final, sighing resignation.

"My advocates in Ur have written me," Setith began. Areshen now grasped both of Setith's hands, holding with fierce, emotional strength when he heard the distraught, gasping cry in Setith's throat. "I have been declared bankrupt in Ur. All of my property there has been seized by the temple, including the house in which you and I first lay in each other's arms, beloved."

"Setith, I'm sorry," Areshen began, his voice gentle sympathy, though he supposed he would never feel a great deal of emotion over property concerns.

"The household in Ur," Setith continued, "has been removed to the temple, most to the cloth factories. I have even lost your dear Etwabi, beloved husband. They have taken everything - "

"Setith, Etwabi is a very intelligent young woman. She will take care of herself. Most of the household in Ur will be able to do so, at least for the time being. But why do you let Shubari do this to you, Setith? You are queen of Isin, now," Areshen continued, a hint of amusement returning to blatantly sensual eyes. Setith, at the moment, was certainly dressed as a queen might, particularly one of the wilderness queens in the eastern mountains. And Setith was Setith, whether dressed in the flowing magnificence of a High Priestess or not.

"As queen of Isin," Areshen continued, "you would be well within your rights to summon the armies of Sumer and Akkad and march on Ur yourself. Enlil seems to have slept soundly in his temple while I have twice sacked Nippur. I am certain that Nan - Non - whoever, will sleep as soundly in Ur. Why don't you invite a few First Soldiers to accompany you to Ur? It has been many years now since a queen has led Sumer in battle, and every First Soldier I know will be begging to stand at your side in the command chariot," and again Areshen found himself gazing with something a bit more than gentle affection toward the most beautiful woman in Sumer. Every First Soldier who was not blind would be begging to stand with Setith in the command chariot. Setith returned a momentary expression of shock for Areshen's suggestion, her features settling into entranced amusement, however, as she felt the piercing intensity of her husband's gaze.

"I left Ur in dignity," Setith began. "Now, husband, you would have me return like the ancients, better yet, like a Gutiu queen from the eastern mountains standing naked in her chariot, screaming with maniacal fury, her hair flying in disarray with the wind."

Areshen stood transfixed in silent, pondering thought. The image brought to mind by Setith's words was nothing less than arousing, particularly since Setith stood at the center of that image, a cultured beauty born of Ur's Sumerian nobility most would imagine in a palace theater listening to an orchestra of harp and pipe players. Setith standing in a war chariot - naked of course - her hair flying in the breeze - soft, stunning features in maniacal fury - and again Areshen felt something a great deal more than gentle affection for Setith.

"Areshen," Setith sighed, coy amusement in her own features for the wicked gleam in her husband's eyes, "you would be quite pleased to see me standing beside a barbarian campfire in the east, a bow across my shoulder, a sword on my hips."

Again Setith broke into a mischievous smile, quite aware that her words, poetic descriptions of the warrior queens who had sacked Sumer a century ago, had once more impacted with erotic force. Setith smiled again for the obvious arousal in Areshen's eyes, felt a very genuine satisfaction that it was there.

"Husband," Setith chuckled as she grasped Areshen's arm, "come and swim with me," and she led him down the banks of the canal. "I shall be your barbarian queen, frolicking without concern in a mountain stream."

Areshen chuckled himself as he watched Setith lower herself into the water, then decided watching Setith swim would be far more pleasant than swimming himself. For long minutes, Areshen lay along the banks of the canal, enraptured at the sight of his wife gliding gracefully through the water a short distance away. Again, however, he felt a gentle, emotional concern for Setith, wincing for the blows she had endured over the past few months. She had lost everything in the south, then without hesitation had expended everything else she had in order to care for her households in the north, had done so, most remarkably of all for Setith, in defiance of Sumer's gods, their wishes expressly stated by the High Priest Shubari in Ur. Nor, Areshen supposed, would someone like Setith feel a great deal of consolation over the fact that she was now recognized as queen of Isin, thus temporal queen of the civilized world. In Ur and the old southern culture of Sumer, since Urnammu's time the necessary home of anyone aspiring to any position of social or cultural importance, Setith was now an outcast. Setith, a product of Ur's old Sumerian nobility, was now viewed by that old nobility as a queen only slightly more civilized than the Gutiu queens along the eastern frontiers who still, in fact, rode naked in chariots, bows and javelins in their hands. More than a few matrons in Ur probably suspected that Setith now did so herself at least once or twice a day.

And now, Areshen sighed in sympathy for Setith, Shubari had taken from her the one remaining shred of contact with her former life in Ur and the south, her house and her household, and again Areshen heard the soft cry of anguish in her throat, the first time Setith had allowed herself to yield to that sort of genuine, human emotion in many years.

Still, as Areshen watched Setith push herself from the water back onto the grass covered banks of the canal, nothing in her features seemed to communicate anything resembling the total, emotional devastation he might previously have suspected her prone to. On the contrary, she seemed to delight in her present circumstances, discarding the past as easily as she had discarded her bulky, flowing robes of state. Areshen sat enraptured, watching a woman of small stature stroll toward him in careless, easy step. The world's most beautiful woman beyond doubt, Areshen decided, her soft, delicate features radiating both a stunning, absolute physical perfection as well as that same shrewd intelligence which had made her the wealthiest private individual in Sumer, the gold and silver in her jewelry chests measured in tonnage.

An instant later, however, Areshen saw a woman who for years having professed love for husband and servant had uniquely proven that profession true when circumstances had demanded that she do so. Setith no longer had so much as a single brass earring left; she had sold everything in order to provide for her households in the north. And she had had to do so, Areshen realized yet again, because she had refused Shubari's demand, a perfectly reasonably pronouncement from the gods according to Ur's nobility, that she rid herself of a husband who as king of Isin was only slightly more civilized than barbarians along the frontiers.

"Perhaps I, as well, shall be a barbarian," Setith had scowled several days ago in Shar Dulur toward a delegation of creditors from Ur, the gold encrusted robes of state she wore all of value which she still possessed. "No, stand as you are," Setith had commanded, and several dozen old men stood in awkward silence a few feet from the throne casting nervous glances toward the Assembly Hall's walls and the guards thrusting their hands to their weapons in order to be certain that a queen already beloved among their ranks was obeyed.

Setith had then pushed herself from her throne to her feet, something which Areshen and old Meneturu hiding in a corner sipping beer could only call a wicked gleam of defiance in her eyes. Without pause, she had then stepped from her gold encrusted robes, had without the assistance of a single servant torn every last shred of clothing from her body. Shar Dulur's Assembly Hall, normally as noisy and as boisterous as any other, suddenly resounded with mausoleum like silence, several hundred pairs of eyes bulging in painful strain. The serving girl in old Meneturu's lap found herself unceremoniously dumped onto the floor.

Setith had then lifted her clothing for the throne platform and tossed it toward her creditors.

"There," she pronounced. You have it all," and grasping the short sword from a nearby soldiers hilt, she stood at the head of Shar Dulur's Assembly Hall in pose the martial ferocity of which was every poem written in the past hundred years.

"This," Setith scowled toward her creditors, nodding toward the short sword in one hand, her other hand on hip in pose without caution or restraint, "is all that I have left to clothe myself with. It is all, however, which a queen needs. Tell Ur noble and fine, that this is how she shall see me when I return. My husband a barbarian? Tell Ur the queen of Isin is her husband's wife."

Areshen, his beer forgotten, had felt an unspeakable wave of pride for Setith wash through his heart, astounded that he might ever before have thought Setith capable of succumbing to any sort of travail. He had then felt a definite edge of amusement as he gazed toward several hundred statues scattered across the Assembly Hall, perhaps even a sharper twinge of pride when he realized again that the blinding vision at the head of Shar Dulur's Assembly Hall was his own wife, he alone possessed of a measure of immunity to the blinding effects of that vision.

Again, however, Areshen lay on the banks of the canal, the woman who approached human indeed, the frailty of her appearance deceptive perhaps, but the love residing in the depths of her heart for husband and servant alike as genuine as any he could imagine. Areshen pushed himself to his feet as he again felt emotion hammer into his own heart, then wrapped Setith into his arms, pressing the embrace with unrestrained, passionate strength.

"Areshen," Setith began with a gentle smile of intrigue when she finally met his eyes. "You are indeed pleased that I fancy myself a warrior queen who swims daily in the wilds of the mountains."

"A great many in Ur and the south, beloved, indeed believe - "

"I know, beloved," a momentary touch of remorse in her features, erotic delight in her eyes a quick moment later. "Perhaps I was meant to be a barbarian queen, my true kindred still in the eastern mountains. Onto the grass with you," Setith commanded in a voice exuding barbarous vehemence as she pushed Areshen onto the ground and then lowered herself into his arms.

"Beloved - " Areshen whispered, kissing with gentle, emotional warmth for a long moment, then caressing in idle though intimate touch as he searched Setith's eyes.

"Areshen, I am content," Setith answered, laying a gentle hand to Areshen's forehead.

"No one in Sumer has ever proven themselves more honorable than you, Setith. Sumer proclaims itself a land of law and justice," Areshen scoffed, "to protect the widow, to care for the orphan, these fanciful boasts inscribed on a hundred slabs of stone. Would you care to be a widow or an orphan in Ur today, Setith, pleading in vain while Shubari counts his gold in the temple and Ibisien sits drunk in his palace?"

"You will not rest, dear husband," Setith answered in easier humor, "until I stand indeed in a chariot approaching the walls of Ur."

Areshen returned Setith's soft smile, wondering if that was in fact his intention.

"Do you love me," Setith asked, gentler matters obviously on her mind, "as much as you love Etwabi or Ati or your tavern mistress - Heluth?"

"Setith," Areshen answered, sudden emotional vehemence in his voice, "you have always been the love of my heart. To you, only you, I give my life."

Setith rested motionless in Areshen's arms, her hands clawing into embrace, moisture in her eyes. A quick moment later she pressed for Areshen's lips, burying herself in the strength of passionate, searching caress.

"I am happy, Areshen," Setith finally whispered. "For the first time in so many years now I am happy."

Again Areshen felt strange, all pervasive emotion pound through his heart as Setith lay her head to his chest.

"Why Isin, Areshen?" she then asked, complacent quiet in her voice as she nodded toward Shar Dulur's walls.

"Isin?" Areshen shrugged with a soft chuckle. "No particular reason, I suppose. I happened to pitch camp here eight years ago during the war. I've never left. They say the gods cannot easily find me in Isin."

To Areshen's surprise, Setith passed this off with nothing more than a soft laugh, quiet solemnity in her voice when she continued.

"It has been difficult for me, beloved. I have turned my back on everything."

"I know, beloved," Areshen answered, wrapping Setith again into close, emotional embrace.

"Perhaps I shall build a theater in Shar Dulur. I will invite dancers and musicians to perform here," and Setith again twisted her eyes toward the fortress. "And something must be done with those walls. They're bleak, barren, atrocious. A palace must look like a palace, not a fortress."

"As you wish, beloved," Areshen chuckled, pleased that Setith was indeed taking a genuine interest in her role as Isin's queen. Setith, being Setith, it would probably not be long before than queen of Isin's throne was one as prestigious as the throne of any High Priestess in the south. Setith was already reverenced in Isin and most other northern cities, many of which expected Shar Dulur to become that which Sargon the conqueror had made Agade several centuries ago.

"But the walls might have to wait awhile," Areshen sighed. "Meneturu says we're bankrupt at the moment, and Meshduri can find no wars promising of any great profit."

"There are other ways to make money," Setith answered, resting in Areshen's eyes in gentle humor for another long moment, then for one quick instant in urging, sensual warmth. One quick instant was enough. After all, Areshen decided again, Setith was Setith.

"Beloved," Areshen whispered, and pulled Setith finally into complete and passionate embrace. Again he found the girl he had married twenty years ago as she wrapped herself into his arms, the concerns of the world forgotten.

Or most of them, perhaps.

"There are," Setith repeated as she lay back in contented quiet, though now something of the old, calculating, clockwork precision of her mind written on her brow, "many ways other than war to make money."

Areshen just broke into a soft chuckle, doubting that Isin was going to remain bankrupt for any great length of time.

Areshen walked hand in hand with Setith back into Shar Dulur, then grumbling in complaint into Shar Dulur's grand and ornate Assembly Hall, a cavernous chamber quite as spacious and lavish as Ibisien's Assembly Hall in the palace of Ur. For another month, Areshen sat at Setith's side in restless boredom, gazing toward massive stone columns on either side of the Assembly Hall's central aisle, an aisle down which Sumer and Akkad now processed in order to discuss matters of trade and business with the king and queen of Isin. Setith discussed matters of trade and business; Areshen squirmed in boredom at her side stealing covert glances toward his fishing line hidden a short distance from the throne platform.

"The king, my beloved husband, would be pleased to accommodate you," Setith pronounced from the throne at the head of the Assembly Hall, and another merchant or factory manager or something or other bowed in appreciation toward the king of Isin who bowed in return when after a stolen glance toward the queen of Isin he suspected it might be appropriate to do so.

Areshen squirmed and bowed for another month, generally without a great deal of interest or comprehension, as Setith discussed wagon loads of bricks and sacks of grain with Sumer and Akkad. Areshen nodded when told to do so, waited until Setith's back was turned, his wife engrossed in further financial deliberation with another delegation of supplicants from somewhere or other, and then slid from the throne platform toward the small portal at the back of the Assembly Hall. Snatching his fishing line along the way, Areshen then retreated toward a small chamber in which old Meneturu sat.

"What is all that about?" Areshen asked, nodding back toward the Assembly Hall and Setith's voice as he grasped the cup of beer Meneturu's serving girl held forth.

"I'm not certain myself," Meneturu chuckled, glancing toward tablets spread across the chamber's table, then back toward Areshen now lowering himself into the god's niche along the chamber's far wall. "We are, however, no longer bankrupt. Another month, perhaps two, and Shar Dulur will again be in a position to meet its financial obligations toward Setith, will be able to do so only because Setith now sits Shar Dulur's throne. She has raised more revenue in the past few months than has been raised in the past ten years by our armies along the frontiers. And she seems confident that the situation will only improve. Shar Dulur's master of accounts has been informed that the deferral of a sixth part of the monthly payment due Setith will be discontinued beginning next month."

"Setith," Areshen continued after a quick moment's chuckle, "still, however, wears nothing more than a queen's battle dress and simple, brass earrings, Meneturu, came to me the other night and asked if the copper she spent on those was an extravagance. And she has two dresses left. This morning she discovered another hole in one of them, tears in her eyes when she showed it to me. Eight years ago when Ur was starving, the High Priest Shubari processed onto the temple every morning wearing robes ever more weighted with gold embroidery. I never paid the slightest attention to any of it before, Meneturu. There was always another war somewhere along the frontiers," and again Areshen passed a short moment listening with an expression of annoyance to the financial debate continuing in the Great Hall, sighing with restless frustration as he turned back to Meneturu. "Are you certain there's not even a small war somewhere demanding my attention, Meneturu?"

"Meshduri," Meneturu chuckled, "is scouring the frontiers east and west. He promises to report the moment he finds something."

Areshen listened to his wife's voice for another short moment, confusion in his features when he turned back to Meneturu.

"I asked Setith this morning why she has only brass earrings and two dresses, one with holes in it. Setith had warehouses full of dresses when she was High Priestess of every other temple across the south. 'I am no long High Priestess of every other temple across the south,' Setith answered. 'I am the queen of Isin, and I shall be a good queen for you, beloved husband.' Six months ago in Ur when I walked Setith onto her boat bound for Bathul, Setith met my eyes and promised me that she would be a good High Priestess of Bathul. That same evening I sat with your niece Etwabi, Meneturu. She and every one of Setith's other servants in Ur, even those bound to Setith for life, prostrate themselves on the ground, trembling like frightened kittens whenever Setith walks by. If Setith happens to be in an irritable mood, she is just as likely to stop and kick one or two of them, and Setith, despite her diminutive stature, is a very athletic woman, a kick like a mule. An hour later I happen upon these same servants prostrate in front of their gods expressing gratitude that Setith is their mistress. 'Please,' they beg, 'protect the beloved mistress. Let no harm come to her. She is a kind and gentle mistress.'"

Meneturu shrugged, an expression of amusement in his features for the confusion in Areshen's.

"I too," Meneturu stated, "am just a soldier. I would not want to be a servant in Setith's personal service either, not unless some god bigger and uglier than me held me down and poured a bucket of Holy Order down my throat. Even then, it would have to be a very big and very intoxicating bucket of Holy Order. If you will remember, however, we all told you a few months ago that you would find the girl you married once Setith escaped Ur and Shubari's influence. And you seem to have done so, rather passionately," Meneturu concluded with a soft smile, noting the gentle light of adoration in Areshen's eyes at just the mention of Setith's name. "I suspect the whole thing just has something to do with the fact that Setith, as everyone here in Shar Dulur now proclaims, is Setith. I visited Ur once, you know, Areshen, gold benches of polished cedar in every courtyard, silver chalices full of wine everywhere you looked, gold pots, no less, in which more than a few High Priests pissed. And then I turned around and saw people starving, others laying in alleys beneath the walls, women selling themselves for a copper, and that in Ur the wealth of which cannot, they say, be counted. I drove up to Bathul a short time ago, the same mudhole it's always been. But no one standing in front of their mud hovel was starving. Fat little cherubs ran up to my chariot wherever I drove, beaming smiles on their faces as they proclaimed themselves children of the Lady Setith."

Areshen nodded, understanding as much as he supposed a soldier would ever understand, and spent another long moment lost in the sweet ecstasy of Setith's arms. He awoke just as quickly, however, to the shrill sound of Setith's voice from the Assembly Hall, raised in vehement debate over the value of seventy eight and two thirds chariots contracted from a private manufacturer bound for the frontiers.

"Two thirds of a chariot?" Areshen asked.

Again Meneturu shrugged, amusement in his features.

"I don't think I can go back in there, Meneturu," Areshen sighed as he nodded toward Shar Dulur's Assembly Hall. "There must be a small war somewhere. Perhaps an Amuru chief's donkey has wandered across the western walls and shit into one of our irrigation ditches."

Meneturu broke into easy laughter, shrugged his sympathy once again, and watched Areshen push himself from the wall niche.

"Tomorrow," Meneturu's latest playmate crooned as she thrust herself between Areshen and the door, "I go to Isin and the temple, will, if I'm judged worthy, provide service on the Holy Couch in the Chamber of Sanctioned women. King," a young woman almost as beautiful as Setith pled as she placed her arms to Areshen's shoulders, her body to his own in seductive, writhing dance, "could I not come to your chambers tonight, to your holiest of all Holy Couches?"

"Alas," Areshen sighed, "my Holy Couch has been found to be infested with mice," and Areshen twisted himself from the girl's grasp, escaping an instant later through the door. Perhaps, he sighed, Setith was right. A bit more decorum in Shar Dulur might not be a bad idea, a bit less frolicking just as appropriate.

Areshen stole through back chambers leading behind the Assembly Hall and made his way toward the kitchens in order to pester the old chief cook for a few minutes, his well intentioned resolutions forgotten the moment they no longer seemed needed. Luculsag, however, glared only for an instant from the tabulation tablets spread across her table, not in the least amused as she snapped her fingers toward one of the assistant cooks. Areshen nodded gratitude for his cup of beer, turning back toward Luculsag for one more try.

"King, are you frolicking with me? You know it is no longer allowed," old Luculsag pronounced, just the hint of amusement about the edges of her features as Areshen walked away in dejection and defeat. Setith might overlook his absenting himself from Assembly without her leave. An additional count of frolicking with the servants would be pushing matters, however, and with an expression of totally affected solemnity and dignity in his features, the king of Isin processed from the kitchens, wandered then into one of the courtyards looking for something, anything, to do.

The orchestra of harpists and pipe players in the courtyard, another of Setith's innovations within the walls of Shar Dulur, lay their instruments aside and with elaborate gestures of posturing formality bowed from the waist toward Sumer's king, the ceremony yet another of Setith's innovations with the walls of Shar Dulur. Areshen sloshed his cup in the air, glanced annoyance toward a half dozen older officials and military officers struggling to conceal their amusement, and then passed a few more idle minutes listening to the performance. The music was beautiful indeed, Areshen decided; perhaps a touch of genteel civility in Shar Dulur wouldn't do any great harm. And if it pleased Setith, that was all that really mattered. It certainly seemed to please the household of Shar Dulur, a household passionately in love with its new mistress, much of that same household again pleading with Areshen for a place in the king's tomb, preferably of course, a place in the queen's chamber.

Areshen lost himself in the quiet, gentle strains of the music for another long minute, a glimmer of understanding dawning at the fore of his consciousness as he realized how he would feel if he lost Setith now. Setith's personality was a mystery the hidden depths of which he supposed he would never completely understand. One aspect of Setith's personality, however, seemed to dominate all the others, a very basic and simple trait which Setith had always possessed. She was honest, meticulously and scrupulously honest.

"I will never forsake you," Setith had pledged twenty years ago when she had grasped Areshen's hand in marriage. "I will remain your wife be it in wealth or in poverty."

"I will care and provide for you," Setith had pledged to a multitude of others across Sumer and Akkad who with expressions of joy and pride in their features boasted that they were the mistress Setith's children for life.

Had anyone ever kept promises so scrupulously before, Areshen asked himself? Even young Teru in Ur, his "only god" a god Areshen still didn't understand, seemed genuinely to admire Setith.

"You will find, military governor," Teru had stated the last time Areshen had visited the young scribe's school in Ur, "that if Setith must choose between the gods of Ur and the right according to the dictates of her conscience, Setith, when pressed, will choose the latter, even if doing so brings suffering on herself. Setith is another, Areshen, who I genuinely believe will one day discover who and what the gods of Sumer really are, and she will rejoice for the choice she has made."

Areshen glanced toward a few more of Shar Dulur's servants scattered about the courtyard listening to the orchestra, quite aware that he would never understand the depth of the feelings which had grown between them and Setith. No free soldier could ever hope to do so. But soldiers were the only private individuals in Sumer and Akkad who really were free. Save for a few tavern mistresses, minor order priestesses such as the exotic Heluth in Ur's Shensulith Square entertaining customers in their tavern's back chamber in order to survive, everyone else in Sumer and Akkad was bound as dependant either to High Priest and temple, or to king and palace, commitments of service varying only in degree. And without exception, Setith's servants, particularly those bound into her service for life, seemed to feel genuine affection for her.

Setith, Areshen chuckled, broke only one promise she often made to her servants. Those who attended her personally, as soon as they had gained any measure of emotional familiarity with her, pled for something a bit more than emotional familiarity. Setith, with a gentle smile of amusement, would promise to summon them to her bed chambers for the evening whenever she had an evening free. And Ur, being Ur, Setith's girl servants pled quite as passionately as any other, Setith a Lady, certainly a divinity in at least a few of her cities, someone who need not concern herself with standards of behavior considered proper conduct for lesser beings. This was the one promise which Setith never kept, however, affairs of temple and business driving such trivial matters as physical sensuality completely from her mind over the course of the day. Areshen had been the only person who ever received an invitation to Setith's sleeping chambers, and as often as not, at least up until a few months ago, he walked into Setith's sleeping chambers only to find her exhausted and sleeping, usually having forgotten to eat during the greater part of the day. Areshen would pull Setith's head onto his shoulder, her features so sweet and gentle now that sleep had erased the perpetual scowl she wore during the day, and he would believe she was the same girl he had married twenty years ago.

And indeed, Areshen chuckled with amusement and wonder, she was; she always had been.

Areshen gazed a final moment about the courtyard, the orchestra engrossed in its music, palace officials and soldiers alike with expressions of ease and contentment enjoying Setith's cultural innovations. Areshen met Ati's eyes for a long moment, exchanging a smile of close, emotional intimacy, Ati the one woman in Shar Dulur with whom Setith took the time for a genuine, emotional friendship. Nor was the friendship between Setith and Ati somehow an expression of Holy Order, one woman looking toward another with reverential awe. Ati, who hung dishrags from god's heads, was respectful toward Setith, but she was anything but reverent. And Setith was quite aware that Ati was Areshen's one equal when it came to irreverent, outright blasphemous conduct.

"Ati," Setith had repeated in mischievous amusement any number of times over the past several months, "would make you a perfect second wife, Areshen. You and she are both absolute apostates. And she is already a dear friend to me. We are quite in love with each other. We could be no closer were already lawful sisters."

Areshen glanced another quick moment toward Ati, still very deeply in love with her himself. But she had always said "no," could just not conceive of defying Holy Order's social order by marrying the king of Isin.

Areshen sighed for the thought, and wandered off to pester a few more officials sitting at table in various chambers throughout Shar Dulur. An old, bearded official in one chamber might be dictating correspondence to a subordinate king or governor regarding some point of Sumerian or Akkadian protocol; another might be negotiating with a temple factory manager for a load of bricks. The greater part of Shar Dulur's officialdom tolerated the nuisance of a visit from Isin's bored king with grace and genuine humor, a king who sloshed beer over the writing tablets spread across their tables, though a king who seldom expressed a great deal of concern regarding the content of those tablets unless they hinted at the possibility of a small and entertaining war somewhere. Most of Shar Dulur's officials occasionally found themselves sharing their king's hope for that war, at least a small one, as they wiped the beer from their tablets, preferably a war along the frontiers a considerable distance from Isin, a war which would occupy a bored king for a considerable length of time. For the past six months now, these same officials had hit upon a new tactic which had succeeded in driving the king from their chambers when he had made a nuisance of himself long enough.

"The queen," officials across Shar Dulur with genuine expressions of affection and respect stated, "is due any moment to discuss a dozen tabulation tablets with me. It shouldn't take more than two or three hours. Perhaps, king, you might care to join us - " by which time Areshen was already retreating through the chamber's door with unprecedented haste, dispensing entirely with any attempt toward affected solemnity and dignity.

When Areshen had run out of officials to pester, he decided to spend the rest of the afternoon along the banks of the canal working a fishing line, standing in idle conversation with a half dozen First Soldiers doing the same, none of whom, however, had heard rumors of war, not even a small one. Areshen sighed as he gathered his fish, dangled them over old Bathesag's table in exchange for another cup of beer, and then stumbled finally into Setith's chambers.

Setith and Ati sat together on the chamber's couch running combs through each other's long, dark hair, expressions of contentment and affection for each other in their features. They do indeed, Areshen chuckled in idle amusement, look like sisters, glancing again toward Ati as he settled himself onto the chamber's floor cushions. Ati, Areshen realized, despite a strand or two of gray in her hair, was still indeed an incredibly beautiful woman.

"Are you angry with me, beloved?" Areshen asked as he lifted his cup, tentative, apologetic eyes toward Setith.

"No, beloved," Setith sighed. "You sat beside me for almost an hour in Assembly this morning, squirming uncontrollably only for the last two thirds of that hour."

"You are too kind, beloved," Areshen chuckled, watching gentle amusement break across Setith's and Ati's features, quite aware that his present state of inebriation was the source of their amusement. "Besides, you don't need me in Assembly anyway, beloved. You have captured every heart in Shar Dulur."

"Perhaps you are right, husband," though the same subtle hint of remorse, perhaps even a measure of fright, remained obvious about edges of Setith's features.

"Setith, you were always a good High Priestess," Areshen tried, not quite certain that his words made a great deal of sense. Again Setith and Ati broke into gentle expressions of amusement; apparently they did not.

"But I am a queen now, beloved, a queen's office, like your own, primarily a military one. And I fight some very real battles in Shar Dulur's Assembly. Only a queen must do so; only a queen is expected and allowed to do so. You are a soldier, beloved, have always been a soldier. You may squirm in boredom on a king's throne, but you are perfectly comfortable sitting there if you must do so. Despite certain erotic fantasies in which I stand naked, screaming with fury in a chariot as I drive into battle, I am not by nature or education a soldier, and it had been difficult, perhaps even a bit - frightening for me to adapt."

"The advocates," Areshen answered, sloshing his beer in very direction toward the advocates which infested every corner of Shar Dulur, "have tried to explain the difference between temple and palace to me. They have abandoned their efforts to do so in frustration. Without exception, however, these same advocates tell me that you are a queen of unprecedented valor, Setith, as courageous as any First Soldier thirty years in the field."

Setith gazed back in wonder, her eyes dissolving into emotion as she turned toward Ati.

"You spoke only the truth to me, beloved Ati."

"Yes, beloved mistress. You are a good queen, adored, respected, and feared in every chamber throughout Isin and Shar Dulur. First Soldiers thirty years in the field polish brass on their chariots, each hoping that his own will be the one in which you stand should you ever summon the armies of Sumer and Akkad."

So that was why, Areshen chuckled. Without exception, the command chariots of every Six Hundred he had inspected over the past six months had been in unusually good condition. Most chariots assigned to Ibisien's garrisons in Ur stood on blocks, their wheels decrepit and useless, their owners in little better condition soaking in one of Ur's perfume baths.

Setith, again with genuine, solemn emotion in her eyes, pressed her lips with obvious affection to Ati's cheek, then pushed herself from the chamber's couch toward the door, wandering in quiet, searching thought about the rails of the courtyard's balcony.

"She is still very frightened," Ati began as she pushed herself from the couch onto the floor cushions, then into Areshen's arms.

"Setith - "

"She is," Ati chuckled. "She hides it with a soldier's expertise, of course. By night, however, she has time to contemplate it all. She pleads with me to stay with her for hours, sometimes for the entire evening. She is terrified that she appears foolish sitting on a queen's throne. You, however, Areshen, have made her very happy."

"Because I opened my mouth without a great deal of awareness regarding what I was saying?"

"Yes," Ati laughed. "I tell Setith that she is the epitome of valor and courage on Isin's throne and she kisses me, thanks me for my kind words, and believes none of them. These same words spoken by a soldier, however, particularly a soldier who would feel no reason to speak them were they not true, are something very different. And yes, the fact that beer further blunts that soldier's senses will in this case only lend credibility to his words."

Areshen broke into soft, easy laughter himself, gazing then in silence for another long moment toward the familiar features of an emotionally intimate friend.

"You are looking well, Ati," Areshen continued, laying a caressing finger to her cheeks. "Perhaps another wrinkle or two."

"It is time for you to begin polishing the gray from your hair, old man," Ati answered, caressing Areshen's forehead.

Again Areshen gazed toward Ati's gentle, radiant smile, his voice quiet emotion as he spoke.

"I so wanted you to become my queen, Ati. I suppose I did not know what I was asking. I never realized how it would frighten even Setith."

"It would have terrified me, Areshen."

"They tell me, however," Areshen sighed, "that you can still become my wife, Ati," and Areshen grasped Ati's hand with urging strength, preparing himself, however, for Ati's latest rejection. Just as well, he sighed again. Ati still resided securely in the depths of his heart. Over the past few months, however, he had again discovered the depth of his love for Setith. Two loves of the heart would be a very confusing situation for a former pig farmer.

"Yes, Areshen," Ati replied.

Areshen gazed back in questioning, inebriated silence, attempting to comprehend that which at the moment seemed very incomprehensible. Ati's "no" hadn't sounded in the least like all her past no's.

"Yes, Areshen," Ati repeated. "I will become your wife," and she settled into a soft smile of amusement as she waited for a measure of rational lucidity to return to Areshen's eyes, supposing it had when she felt his hand clasp down on her own with fierce, emotional strength.

"Setith," Ati explained with a soft chuckle, "has pled with me to become your wife, and therefore her sister in law and in fact, someone to whom she can empty her heart without reserve. A queen without sisters in Sumer faces terrors almost unimaginable. Should you in fact be called to the frontiers, Areshen, intrigue at Shar Dulur and Isin could well become that which it is in Ur and everywhere else, and would be unbearable for Setith did she have to face it alone. Ibisien's queen in Ur has dozens of sisters; Gipul's in Elam has hundreds. Neither Gipul nor Ibisien rule the world, Areshen. You do," and Ati lowered her eyes in searching thought for a quick moment, her voice the depth of emotion when she continued. "And I do love you, Areshen - dearly. And I adore Setith. When she and I are alone, Setith is just - Setith, sweet, as gentle as a kitten. She has already, in many instances, held me to her heart as a sister, defying Holy Order in order to do so. She will now no longer have to defy Holy Order."

"Setith," Areshen finally began, a measure of ease, and then emotional warmth settling into his features, "speaks of you with such love, Ati."

Ati, to Areshen's amusement, glanced a long moment toward Setith idling at the balcony's rails; Areshen could no longer doubt that Ati's expressions of love for Setith were genuine. Ati then settled back into his arms, and Areshen felt that same gentle calm he'd felt in a hundred quiet evenings with Ati at Shar Dulur, an emotional intimacy which had sustained him for years, the emotion quite as important to him as the easy, sensual warmth he felt holding Ati in his arms. What now, however

"Ati - " Areshen tried, searching as he met her eyes, uncertainty in his own. "You have lived your whole life in palace. I, by birth, am a pig farmer."

Ati broke into the easy laughter Areshen had fallen in love with, grasping his hand in gentle, familiar warmth.

"Nothing changes for you, Areshen. I will just be your wife according to the rites of Sumer instead of your consort wife. I will call you beloved, and Setith will be my sister. My role in life will change, however," and Areshen grasped Ati's hands with strength when he noticed the touch of fright in her eyes, the same fright which he'd seen in Setith's. A quick moment later, however, he realized the full significance of Ati's words, and broke into a soft smile.

"You shall no longer scrub Shar Dulur's floors, Ati? You shall now sit at Setith's side on Isin's throne during Assembly?" And I shall fish to my heart's content along the banks of the canal.

"Yes," Ati chuckled, guessing Areshen's unspoken thought with obvious ease. "Setith, as I say, has pled with me to sit at here side as queen consort. Were it anyone but Setith, I would never have dreamt of it. But Setith and are already sisters of the heart. I cannot refuse to be her sister in the eyes of the law as well."

Again Areshen returned a momentary expression of slightly intoxicated confusion, settling when Ati just squeezed his hand in gentle warmth.

"Only one thing is important, Areshen," Ati continued. "I will be your wife. I will declare my love for you in the future by using the word beloved, and I will call you beloved husband instead of consort husband."

Areshen returned an easy smile of affection as he again wrapped his hand about Ati's, this time leaning forward and exchanging the same gentle kiss they'd shared a hundred times in the past.

Areshen then sat with Ati in close, intimate silence as he returned his attention to his cup, again doubting himself capable of coping with two loves of the heart, possibly more when he considered Etwabi in Ur, Heluth in Shensulith Square, and who else, Areshen sighed, searching the corners of his mind. After all, he had been raised in a small farm village where very few could afford more than one wife. Perhaps Ati was right; nothing would really change, and Areshen glanced for another long moment toward Setith as she stood at the courtyard's rails lost in her own searching, contemplative thought. In the end, Areshen suspected, he just did not understand Setith's fears over her new role in life as Isin's queen, no more than he understood the finer points of Sumer's society and culture in general. He was a soldier who fought wars when told to do so. For the past eight years he happened to be the soldier who decided if and when a war needed to be fought. Anything beyond that, however, Areshen preferred to leave in the hands of Shar Dulur's advocates and scribes, palace and military officials such as old Meneturu, in Setith's hand for the past few months. Shar Dulur's advocates and officials certainly seemed to prefer the situation as it now stood, most of them prostrate before their own gods in gratitude for Setith.

Again Areshen raised his eyes as Setith turned from the balcony's rails and wandered back toward the chamber, determination and resolve, perhaps, once more in her features.

"I must tell her," Ati said, laying her lips to Areshen's in quick, affectionate touch, and then pushing herself from the couch. Areshen watched Setith and Ati greet each other at the chamber's door, Areshen at the moment starkly aware that the palace and its culture were a mystery he little understood.

Ati took Setith into her arms and leaned forward, whispering in her ear. Again Areshen felt a long moment's trepidation; a long pull from his cup didn't even help. He then watched Setith raise her eyes to Ati's, both simply staring at each other, though Areshen was certain that Setith's eyes were now clouded with emotion, still not certain, however, what that emotion was. Neither Ati nor Setith smiled, and Areshen again raised his cup, a definite tremble now in his hand. It was Setith, however, who finally pulled Ati into embrace, an embrace the emotional strength of which was obvious, Setith rocking Ati back and forth with urging intimacy. Areshen finally released a tentative sigh of relief; Setith seemed anything but displeased.

Both Setith and Ati finally stepped back from their embrace, both now breaking into gentle smiles of affection as they grasped each other's hands. Areshen's trepidation returned, he watched them exchange conspiratorial whispers as they walked across the chamber toward the floor cushions on which he lay, Setith lowering herself to his left side in intimate embrace, Ati to his right side in embrace quite as sensually intimate.

Areshen shot a quick, nervous glance left and right, quite aware that Setith and Ati were directing intentional mischief toward someone who at the moment was very vulnerable to the effects of that mischief. Areshen finally released another sigh, this time one of annoyance as he finished his beer.

"We must now explain to the king our husband," Setith began as she met Ati's eyes in mischievous amusement, "how he is to comport himself tonight when we both - "

"Both - " Areshen stammered. "Ati and I have not yet exchanged - "

"Beloved," Setith pronounced, "this is Isin. The vows and the propitiations are simply the formalization of that which has already occurred. Ati is your wife. She became your wife the instant she uttered the world 'yes.' Tonight, beloved, you have duties to perform. We shall - both expect a summons to your chambers when you have prepared yourself."

Areshen gazed in gaping wonder toward Setith, toward his empty and useless up, then toward Ati who had broken into mirthful laughter.

"Areshen, we are just being cruel to you," Ati laughed as she grasped Areshen's cup and pushed herself to her feet. "I will find you some more beer."

"Do, beloved sister," Setith chuckled with equal amusement. "Both at the same time may indeed be perversity, but I am in a very perverse mood. Our beloved husband may indeed require another cup before the night is over."

In ever more raucous laughter, Ati walked from the chamber.

"Beloved, I'm sorry," Setith finally relented with a gentle, emotional smile as she lay an affectionate hand to Areshen's. "I am indeed being cruel to you. I berate you constantly for frolicking with the household, yet Ati and I have been frolicking with you shamelessly. It is just that I am so happy now, beloved."

"Then I am happy, beloved," Areshen answered as he grasped Setith's hand, watching her expression dissolve into emotional solemnity.

"I adore Ati," Setith continued. "I'm deeply in love with her, Areshen. There need be no affection whatsoever between a queen and her sisters. In this case, however, the affection between Ati and me was there before you took her as your wife."

"Then it's - "

"Yes, beloved," Setith chuckled, "it's true, both according to the rite's of Akkad and Sumer. Ati is your wife; she became your wife when she said 'yes.' Ati is already the sister of my heart, however, Areshen. She has been for quite some time now. She is a companion I cannot help but adore."

"Ati, when you were standing on the balcony, Setith, used almost the same words to express her love for you," and Areshen watched Setith's features deepen into solemn, emotional warmth, her eyes distant for a quick moment, searching, Areshen suspected, for Ati. Setith again, however, settled into gentle affection.

"You are still," she continued, "the one love of my heart, Areshen. That can never change. Nothing of fundamental importance has changed."

"Ati's words again. I am beginning to understand why you and she are so taken with each other."

"Yes," Setith chuckled. "Ati is remarkable. And she is brilliant, Areshen. Since you so loathe to sit at my side in Assembly, Ati will do so, and I need her to do so, Areshen."

"She is frightened, beloved."

"She is very frightened, beloved. But we have discussed it all at length. Isin's throne will be far less of an ordeal for Ati than Ur's or Elam's might have been. Isin's throne has been a king's throne only since you have made it such, a throne for which only the most rudimentary sort of protocol has been established."

"I suppose the fault for that is mine."

"Perhaps, beloved," Setith chuckled again. "You have left the throne in the charge of your fat little beer god for far too long. The fat little beer god's neglect has been benign, however. I have found it relatively easy to rectify those few problems which exist, despite the fact that my education and experience has been in temple rather than palace."

"I always thought it just a matter of jumping from one to the other."

"I know you did, beloved," Setith answered in gentle amusement.

"Meneturu says that you alone are responsible for pulling Shar Dulur from financial disaster, Setith. Stewards in every chamber say the same. They all have little statues of you sitting on their tables, statues the casting of which I did not command."

"I know you did not," Setith chuckled again, affection and appreciation in her eyes.

"It has been difficult for you though, hasn't it?" Areshen asked, wrapping Setith's hand once more into his own.

"It will be far less of an ordeal for me now with Ati at my side. She is, as I say, a woman of remarkable brilliance, has, with just a little encouragement on my part, allowed herself to evidence that brilliance. She will now be able to do so without caution. Ati remains," Setith chuckled, "an absolute apostate, your one rival in blasphemous, irreverent conduct. She is a kind and gentle creature, however, will suffer hurt herself before she will inflict it on others. She will become Isin's beloved as readily as she has become mine."

A short minute later, Ati returned with a pitcher of beer, to Areshen's evident satisfaction, a very large pitcher. Areshen was thus able to pass the evening in Setith's chambers in idle ease despite the fact that Setith and Ati passed the evening in conspiratorial whisper with each other. Areshen watched his wives lift their owns cups once more, listened to yet another outburst of mirthful laughter, and decided consolation lay in his own cup. Setith had not, or course, Areshen further decided, been serious. Only when he was incapable of pushing himself from the floor cushions, however, did Areshen finally settle into idle, restful ease, feeling little more than a blunt, undefined concern when some all enveloping warmth surrounded him, a warmth twice that which he had ever felt before.

Early morning light flooded into the chamber when Areshen opened his eyes, as usual nothing more than a dull ache about his temples when he pushed his head from the floor cushions. A quick and confusing moment later, Areshen realized that Setith and Ati were indeed - both holding him in embrace, Setith sleeping soundly to his left, Ati just as soundly to his right. Areshen lowered his head to the floor cushions once again, then with furious, frenzied effort searched the hazy corners of his mind, giving up in frustration when he realized that last night's conclusion was nothing more than a sensual, though undefined blur.

Areshen settled into an easier humor when he decided there probably wasn't anything particularly erotic to remember anyway. Ati, though little more pious than himself, was still the model of absolute propriety in the manner of her conduct. Setith, the absolute model of propriety, would feel all manner of inhibition in front of someone who belonged to her own class, a class to which Ati, now his wife and Setith's sister, belonged.

Areshen pushed himself from the sleeping cushions and glanced down on two very beautiful women in speculative wonder for another long moment, two women who were not just sleeping, but were passed out themselves, something which look very much like contentment in their features.

Impossible, Areshen decided again, and for another month stood along the banks of the canal working a fishing line, wondering, quite aware that both Setith and Ati wold take the secret to their graves rather than admit that there was an erotic little secret to be kept in the first place.

Ati, Areshen finally smiled in ease as he peeked into Shar Dulur's Great Hall during a morning session of the Assembly, seemed to be adapting to her new role in life with her usual poise and charm. Now dressed in robes of state very similar to Setith's, Ati had been genuinely loved by most in Shar Dulur even before Areshen had made her his second wife and thus Setith's consort queen. The situation prior to this, however, had been awkward for Ati. No one had been unaware that Ati was the king's intimate; very few, however, knew how to comport themselves about Ati, so most just avoided having to do so. The ceremony in the city of Isin had changed all that, a ceremony in the Sacred Area during which Ati and Areshen had faced each other, exchanged vows, and then offered propitiation to the gods, certain of Shar Dulur's elite in the crowd of spectators hiding smiles of amusement for the fact that neither of the ceremony's chief celebrants had much use for the gods to whom they were offering propitiation.

Areshen glanced another quick moment toward Ati now at Setith's side on the throne platform in Shar Dulur's Great Hall, trying to remember the title chiseled by stone carvers on a dozen slabs of stone when Ati had ascended Isin's throne at Setith's side several weeks ago. Areshen shrugged; titles and such had always eluded him anyway. Ati was now where she belonged; that was all that mattered, and Areshen stole through back chambers in order to retrieve his fishing line, pondering as he did so the gentle ease which he had detected in Ati's features. Neither Setith nor Ati, now at each other's sides throughout the day, showed the fright which had been so evident in their eyes just a few weeks ago.

"It has indeed been a matter of relative ease," Setith had stated just the evening before, "for Ati and me to adapt to our roles at Shar Dulur. As I told you the evening you made Ati your wife, the roles have never before been defined. Ati and I are free to do so ourselves."

"Beloved, about that evening - " Areshen asked with an expression of hesitant question in his features, had then watched Setith's dissolve into sensual and coy amusement as she just turned and walked away.

XII

Seven months after the second siege of Nippur had ended, Areshen walked into old Meneturu's chamber at Shar Dulur waving a half drained cup of beer in the air, a final measure of boredom and frustration in his features.

"Setith," Areshen began, "particularly with Ati at her side, needs no help from me in Assembly. Nor, old man, have you found anything useful for me to so along the frontiers. I'm going down to the stables, saddling my mule, and I'm going for a ride. A long one."

***

Setith had then pulled Areshen into emotional and intimate embrace, quite aware that it might be some time before she saw her husband again. Areshen had ventured off on his "rides" many times over the years, and Setith, even with the pressing concerns of temple and such to occupy her, had always felt a twinge of lonely remorse watching him depart. This time, however, her emotions had been far more evident. It had still only been six months since Setith had in very traumatic circumstances discovered just how intensely and deeply she loved her husband. Areshen broke into a soft smile of warmth for the thought of Setith's arms clawing into embrace, an embrace the emotional strength of which had again seemed that which it had been twenty years ago, the emotions far more important than the sensuality of the embrace.

Areshen glanced a final moment over his shoulder toward the walls of Isin now some distance behind, then turned ahead and pondered the entourage of the civil governor of Lagash now approaching from the opposite direction, half a hundred ornate carriages, the governor's a gigantic, gold plated palace on wheels. The governor of Lagash, however, still dissatisfied with the division of spoils after the sack of Nippur, was Setith's problem, and again Areshen patted his mule's neck as he urged the animal from the road, then across recently harvested barely fields stretching toward the horizon. Areshen had not fled the noisy tumult of Shar Dulur only to listen to the governor of Lagash' whining complaints along the side of the road.

A short time later, Areshen climbed onto narrow cattle tracks, followed these south, and several hours later approached half a dozen one room farmhouses and a brick water trough in the yard.

"You's the king, isn't you?" an old man asked as he turned from two others sheering sheep near a small byre.

"Yes," Areshen answered. "May I water my mule?"

"Of course, king," the old man answered with an easy smile as Areshen lowered himself to the ground and led his mule forward.

"Mother," the old man shouted, his wife peering from a door a quick moment later. "The king's come a visiting. Bring us some beer. And bring my ribbons."

Areshen sat for long minutes along the edge of the water trough with cup in hand, gazing with genuine interest as the old farmer proudly displayed his military decorations.

"I was with you at Kiulu, king, then at second Imduru Lusecilu," and the old man displayed another of his prizes, the small bronze disk hanging from the ribbon impressed with Areshen's own seal.

"I must be on my way, I suppose," Areshen stated a few minutes later as he glanced across the grounds of the farm, small brick byres behind one room houses, squealing pigs and clucking chickens native to the furthest reaches of the east. One more cup wouldn't hurt, Areshen decided, smiling his appreciation again toward the farmer's wife, glancing then with fond interest about the farmyard, a scene not dissimilar to the one in which he had began his life.

An hour and several more cups later, Areshen finally climbed back onto his mule, his humor considerably improved, his coordination and balance not.

"I'm not right certain," the old farmer commented in a quick moment's parting conversation, "but I think we's here in this village belongs to the Lady Setith herself now that she's queen in Isin," and the old man glanced toward the outline of another village several miles away. "Old Demisub, he's farm manager hereabouts, keeps saying he's going to ask the mayor what's over in Terecsin who we all belongs to now. Most think it's the Lady Setith because Shapulu when he comes outa the temple to tell us how much tax we owe keeps a closer eye on his guards and they don't steal so much, hardly anything at all sometimes. That's why everyone around here says it must be the Lady Setith what owns us. You wouldn't happen to know, would you, king? Isn't no real business of ours to be knowing who owns us, but everyone here says it's the Lady Setith, and I got two full growd hogs bet that it is."

"I will ask the Lady Setith for you the next time I see her," Areshen answered, watched the old farmer nod his appreciation, and then spurred the mule on.

Areshen followed narrow, out of the way farm tracks for several more hours, feeling gentle pride for the fact that tax collectors answering to Setith as queen of Isin felt compelled to perform their duties with at least an increased measure of honesty. Nor did Areshen have any reason to suspect that the old farmer would hesitate to speak his real feelings about the queen of Isin to the king of Isin. For a hundred years now kings of Ur spoke to their queens and to the wealthiest of their wives only in the law courts. The old farmer would probably have been astounded to discover that the king and queen of Isin were intimate friends, would indeed have been astounded had he known that they had passed the previous evening sleeping in the same bed.

Areshen found himself smiling in easy amusement, glanced for another few moments toward the outlines of another dozen or so small farm villages dotting the landscape, and then fell once more into the enrapturing warmth of Setith's arms. Alone with Setith in her chambers last night, a situation which prior to six months ago would have seemed very novel and strange, Areshen had once more found Setith yielding to something she had not had time for a very long time, Setith's love wild, urging abandon, as though she could not pull Areshen closely enough into her arms. Setith had then settled into quiet, intimate embrace for the rest of the night, the world beyond the chamber's door forgotten.

As usual, however, Setith had quickly noticed the wonder in Areshen's eyes.

"I'm a queen from the eastern mountains now, remember? A barbarian," Setith had chuckled. "I can be aroused by no one other than my own husband. Where else would I sleep but in my husband's arms?"

"Some, particularly in Ur, think it extraordinarily bizarre that you and I - I mean, with each other - and in private, for no other reason than the fact that we want to."

***

Sumer's kings and queens, if they were physically acquainted with each other at all, met in the temple precinct once a year during the New Year's festival in which the populace pled for the fertility and fecundity of their fields and livestock. The king and queen were expected to provide a visible manifestation of the god's procreative activities.

"The High Priest of Isin," Setith chuckled, guessing Areshen's concern, "has informed me that ceremonial substitutes will be quite acceptable for the Fornication Rites next year. After all, Ibisien in Ur has been pleased to designate substitutes ever since he ascended the throne. Did Ibisien attempt the rites himself, Sumer and Akkad would be a desert within a year."

Areshen chuckled, turning again in question toward Setith.

"I suppose I'll never understand why people think it bizarre that you and me - I mean, there's little disagreement about one thing, Setith. You are, without doubt, the most beautiful woman in the world," and Areshen had yet again discovered the depth of Setith's feelings for him. Another complimenting Setith for her beauty might have received an idle smile in return, though nothing in Setith's features to indicate that she felt her appearance a matter of any pressing importance. It had most certainly been a matter of less importance to her than were affairs of temple and business. Setith had reacted very differently, however, when Areshen had declared her beautiful. As soon as he had uttered the words, she had broken into emotional tears, her embrace almost frightening for its passionate strength. The awesome fright of the moment, however, just as quickly gave way to gentler feelings, particularly when Areshen opened his eyes a short while later and found Setith still sleeping in his arms, her features quiet and tranquil beauty almost unimaginable. The chamber in which he and Setith slept, Areshen had realized, had at least for the duration of the evening become that once room farmhouse he had fantasized for so long, the world beyond the walls meaningless and unimportant. Areshen had never dreamt, however, at least prior to six months ago, that this fantasy would work with Setith as well as with Ati.

Despite the pleasant fantasy, however, Areshen again realized that the old farmer now several hours behind would have thought it exceptionally bizarre that a king in Sumer was actually intimate with his own wife, particularly his first wife, the queen herself to stretch the point to its absolute limit. For the past hundred years now the king's harem in Ur had been considered by Ur's kings to be one of their more valuable collections, collections perhaps a bit more valuable than those comprising art or wine, although Ibisien had since ascending Ur's throne devoted a great deal more attention to his wine cellars than he had to the harem chambers. More than a few subordinate kings across Sumer and Akkad were quite aware that a particularly rare and valuable cask of fine wine, unopened, could be exchanged for two or three of Ibisien's wives, all of whom were just as rare and valuable, and quite as unspoiled as was the unopened cask of wine exchanged in trade.

Late in the afternoon, now wandering along cattle tracks a short distance north of Uruk, Areshen approached another small cluster of buildings, several one room farmhouses, brick byres, pigs and chickens in the yard. This time Areshen was greeted at the water trough by a young man, a pretty Sumerian wife, and three staring children.

"Of course your mule may drink, friend," the young farmer stated with open warmth in his features. "Beer for our friend, mother," and Areshen decided that "friend," as long as no one recognized him anyway, was quite enough.

Areshen drank his first cup beside the water trough, the difficulty of travel the topic of idle though pleasant conversation for a few long minutes. The young man and his wife, Sumerian in speech and appearance even though the village was located in one of Uruk's Akkadian enclaves, quickly recognized Areshen as one of their own, grasping his hands for a few minutes later and leading him into their house. Areshen lowered himself to the cushions spread across a brick sleeping shelf which served as a couch during the day, smiling with obviously genuine appreciation when the young woman placed another cup into his hand.

"I am bound for the south," Areshen continued as he lifted his cup, declining to say that only his mule knew the ultimate destination. Areshen pondered the house's interior another long moment, a table near the door, several brick shelves built into the far wall, water jugs near the table, the small family god in his niche near the door. Like most small farms a distance from Sumer's cities, the house was lighted by a single oil wick sitting on the table.

Areshen watched in easy amusement as a young boy wearing an expression of annoyance prepared the house god's evening meal, a bothersome task Areshen had performed any number of times as a child in a small farmhouse little different than this one.

"It isn't my turn to feed him," the child mumbled in complaint from the table as he sprinkled carefully measured spoonfuls of grain onto a small piece of dried fish. "Besides, he never eats it all anyway."

"Enough," the young mother scolded, "or Tebrusu will be displeased with you."

"Tebrusu," the young husband mumbled in conspiratorial whisper as he leaned toward Areshen on the shelf, "was a constant thorn in my backside when I was the boy's age."

Areshen and the young husband shared a quick moment's irreverent laughter, then with expressions of righteous denial buried their faces in their cups as the young mother scowled reproving annoyance in their direction.

Areshen, according to Sumerian custom, politely declined each cup of beer he was offered over the course of the succeeding hour, accepting when the offer was insistently repeated, and settled into easy conversation. Most of this centered on polite triviality, the local king's palace in Uruk, another chicken a month added to the temple tax. Areshen was quite aware that he was little better informed than the average traveler regarding matters of local interest on the roads between Isin and Ur. The young man and his wife, however, listened with expressions of eager interest as Areshen repeated whatever gossip he had heard.

"It is dark," the young wife stated some time later, easy humor now in her features as she pondered a good natured, slightly intoxicated Sumerian traveler a few years older than herself. "You can travel no further tonight. You must stay with us."

Areshen politely declined her offer as he pushed himself to his feet, gazed for another quick moment about the pleasant interior of this small house some distance from the city's walls, and waited for the young woman to repeat her offer.

"Please, you must stay with us," she insisted, the warmth and amusement in her eyes genuine as she urged Areshen back onto the shelf. "You must tell us more about the east. You say that you have seen Elam? They say king Gipul has a hundred wives, some say more."

Again Areshen smiled in gratitude as he settled himself back onto the sleeping shelf, passing another few minutes discussing lands far to the east, though he did so speaking Sumerian, the language of his youth, with a young husband and wife who but for minor differences in accent might have been raised in a small farmhouse next to his own in the village of Sannu.

"Sannu is a temple village," Areshen continued, his eyes now bright in genuine friendship, his voice intimate ease with a slight edge of jovial intoxication. "Shubari's tax collectors," Areshen continued with an expression of irreverent conspiracy, "are exceptionally notable scoundrels and thieves."

"Is not one necessarily the other?" the young husband belched as he raised his cup.

Again Areshen and the young husband realized they were pushing their luck, glancing with sheepish apprehension toward the sigh of disapproval from the young wife now sweeping dirt and night demons toward the house's door. When it became obvious, however, that she was struggling to conceal her own amusement, Areshen and the young man released sighs of their own, sighs of relief as they returned to their cups.

"It is just as difficult for us here, I suppose," the young woman admitted when she finally lowered herself onto her husband's sleeping shelf. "The priests in Uruk," she continued as she reached for her own cup, "use one set of scales to collect taxes from us, another to pay their own debts."

"Mother, such blasphemy," the young husband chuckled, indignation affected in his features as he pulled his wife into embrace, genuine, heartfelt affection in his expression a quick moment later.

"We have not until now," the young mother continued, "had to surrender any of our children to the temple," and she nodded toward the three playing on another sleeping shelf a short distance from Areshen's. "We are behind on our taxes, however. I'm very frightened that they are about to declare us delinquent again," and Areshen met the young woman's eyes with evident concern in his own, could not help but recognize the expression of pain and remorse in her features. Areshen, as a child in Sannu, had seen the same expression in other young woman's eyes many times as High Priests from Ur's temple came for their newborn children, the High Priest's guards armed with pike and sword lining the village path.

"The child is now a ward of the gods," the priests proclaimed. "Both you and the child my now rejoice."

The tears Areshen had seen in so many young women's eyes were never tears of rejoicing, however. And the child, if one of average appearance and intelligence, might spend its life cleaning chamber pots in the High Priest's palace, might if it were fortunate, eventually gain employment in one of the temple's factories or brothels.

"We have until the end of the month," the young mother continued, "to produce three full grown hogs or the equivalent in silver. If we are lucky, we will only be evicted and removed to the tin mines in Ceiru. At least we will still be together."

"Have you seen Itinnuru in Uruk?" Areshen asked. Uruk's king, a military governor allowed his title by old Meneturu as long as he refrained from interfering with local garrisons of the regular army, generally behaved himself, bowed to emissaries from Shar Dulur in private, then spent most of his time in his palace's perfume baths.

"We have tried to see him," the young woman continued. "He is never home. His door steward invites us to return in the morning. Always, he is never home."

"Perhaps I can help," Areshen stated, the young couple raising their eyes in hope. "I am the king of Isin."

Both the young man and the young woman made a valiant effort to conceal their disappointment, returning genuine expressions of appreciation for the king of Isin's kind offer of assistance, both very obviously doubting, however, that this travelling king from the north would have any more influence over Uruk's High Priests than would their own useless and ineffectual king.

A quick moment later, however, the young woman's features brightened with a sudden expression of hope and anticipation.

"Isin? Then you are the Lady Setith's consort?" the young woman asked, reverential awe now in her eyes as she pronounced the Lady Setith's name with just as reverential a bow of her head.

"Yes," Areshen answered, realizing just as quickly that the Lady Setith was the answer.

"Perhaps you could plead to the Lady Setith on our behalf, king," the young woman continued. "You are her husband, and a god too, are you not, king? Certainly the Lady Setith would spare you a moment or two."

"I believe she just might," Areshen answered, easy humor now in his voice as he found himself caught up in the young woman's enthusiasm. "Yes. That is the answer indeed. I shall plead on your behalf before the Lady Setith. She knows all about financial matters of this sort."

Areshen again met the young woman's eyes, appreciation in his own as she pushed herself across the room and grasped his cup. Areshen was quite aware, however, that it was only his supposed influence with the Lady Setith which had earned him his next beer. Still, he chuckled, he'd gotten at least one more cup than had the family's god sitting in his wall niche.

With a soft smile of intrigue, Areshen wondered how Setith would react when informed that farm folk in the vicinity of Uruk now referred to her as the Lady Setith, the title Lady reserved for goddesses of considerable rank and importance in the pantheon. Setith, Areshen realized, would probably just return an "oh?" and an idle smile of amusement. Setith had never been particularly vain. A tabulation tablet the figures on which balanced in her favor had always impressed her far more profoundly than had any tablet inscribed with a list of her titles. And a god in any one of Setith's temples who was not pulling his own weight was chucked over the temple's side quite as quickly as unprofitable gods flew from small private taverns all across Sumer.

Setith, however, was still alive, would probably react with a least a measure of gentle emotion when she learned that Uruk and farm folk thought her a Lady. As far as Areshen knew, no one for the past century now, including himself, had been commonly addressed using the divine title Lord or Lady while still walking around in plain sight. Even the young mother, when she placed the full cup of beer in Areshen's hands, referred to him only as king, a military title of genuine respect, perhaps, but certainly not the equivalent of Lord or Lady.

Still, as she met Areshen's eyes a few minutes later, something in her expression now indicated a subtle change in her attitude toward him, not quite the light of absolute reverence she had displayed when speaking of the Lady Setith, but something which was growing closer with every passing minute, something which was no source of comfort or gratification whatsoever. His suspicions were confirmed several minutes later when the young woman, quite as attractive as most in Shar Dulur, again reached for his cup. When she returned with a full cup, however, she stood at Areshen's side, removed her clothing, and then settled onto his, rather than her husband's sleeping shelf.

For another long minute, Areshen pretended idle, complacent conversation, the young husband the same as he tried to conceal the sorrow from his eyes. A moment later Areshen found himself struggling to ignore the young woman's warmth as she edged herself closer, could no longer do so when he felt the brush of her legs to his own.

Areshen turned, meeting her eyes, recognizing the pleading in them as he ran several quick and furious thoughts through his mind. In the end, when the young woman grasped his hand in intimate and undisguised embrace, he just decided to lie.

"It is forbidden," Areshen stated, "while I am travelling. The Lady Setith would be displeased if I did anything contrary to the dictates of Holy Order," that, at least, Areshen decided, certainly true.

The disappointment Areshen noticed in the young woman's pretty Sumerian features was very real. Her husband sitting across the room still struggled to show nothing in his own, though Areshen suspected sincere gratitude as he met the young man's eyes. Foolishness, Areshen decided, Holy order dictating that a young man show no emotion whatsoever as his wife offers herself to a visiting god.

Retreating a least a short distance from the young woman's sensual warmth, Areshen guided the conversation back to pleasant triviality, then spent another long minute lost in his own youth. Kings and queens, Lords and Ladies had been little more than words to him back in that one room farmhouse in Sannu. Life had seemed so incredibly simple, feed the pigs, then the god, then the dogs. In the evening Areshen had watched from his sleeping shelf as his father added oil to the wick plate on the table, retreating then to his own sleeping shelf with cup in hand. Areshen glanced another moment toward the children on the other side of this small farmhouse near Uruk, children now practicing liturgical recitations devoted to Uruk's patroness Innana. Areshen wondered if there was an old, scowling Tinsulag around here who would rap the children's knuckles the way his had been rapped with such painful frequency every time he'd made a mistake reciting boring and bothersome strings of incomprehensible words.

Areshen could not help but remember the concern in his parent's faces whenever they had discussed Ur's temple, the words taxes, delinquency, eviction and the like prominent in such conversation.

"We'll manage somehow," Areshen's mother and father had always concluded, and Areshen had always fallen into sleep on his shelf confident that they would do so. Only when Areshen had moved to Ur in order to attend a small, private scribal school did he realize what "managing' had really entailed, realized further how fortunate he and his family had been that the eviction priests and their armed guards had never visited his family's farm.

Areshen glanced again about the small farmhouse near Uruk, searching for more triviality as he attempted to ignore a very attractive young woman who had once again pushed herself into warm and intimate proximity, and found himself regretting that it been necessary to reveal his identity. The young woman, Areshen realized as he chanced a quick, stolen glance, was indeed attractive, her smile soft and gentle beauty as she sat dutifully prepared to offer herself to a visiting king and a minor god should that personage give any indication that he desired her. Nor did the young wife consider her behavior less than pious propriety, genuine warmth in her eyes as she returned with another cup, this time lowering herself to the shelf beside Areshen in undisguised embrace, her hand an idle, brushing caress as she talked triviality. Areshen found it increasingly difficult, finally impossible, to meet the young husband's eyes, a young man who dare not show the least hint of concern in his own eyes for the fact that his wife might wish to offer herself to a king by definition her consort husband. Areshen had genuinely enjoyed conversation with the young man earlier in the evening when they had addressed each other as "friend," sharing one ribald joke after another in which they had intimated, though of course never explicitly stated, their mutual belief that the gods of Sumer were so much nonsense.

The young man still struggled to maintain a bland and neutral expression, even when his wife returned with three more cups, her stance now showing the effects of her own intoxication as she placed one of the cups on her husband's shelf, ignoring that in her husband's eyes which Areshen might have called as piercing a cry of pain as any he had ever seen. Lowering herself again to Areshen's shelf, she had abandoned all restraint, her giggle amused inebriation as she fell into embrace intimate and complete. Areshen attempted conversation with the wall for another minute, again regretting that he was now something more than "friend" to the young woman at his side, the young husband sitting quietly on the shelf across the room waiting be ordered out of the house. Areshen did not intend to do so, however, decided again that he was no god, and attempted triviality with far less success as he tried to ignore both the young woman's stolen caresses as well as his growing arousal. A quick moment later, however, he felt the young woman's hand surround his own with intimate strength, all pretense now ended when she raised his hand to her breast. Ignoring this was impossible, and Areshen turned, abandon and arousal obvious in the young woman's eyes.

"Please," she whispered, pressing Areshen's hand to intimate, sensual touch, pressing her body to embrace which sent a piercing, urging arousal though Areshen's. He met her eyes again, gave up, and decided he must order the young husband from the house as his wife pushed herself forward, her lips an inch and an instant from his own. Flinging his gaze toward the shelf on with the young husband sat, the words "get out" on his lips, Areshen found that he had thrust himself to his feet, a panic of frantic, searching thought coursing through his mind.

"My mule," Areshen then belched, the first and only thought which came to his mind. "I must see that he is comfortable for the evening," and Areshen glanced toward the tears now evident in the young husband's eyes, the expression in his features, however, one of sudden and growing amusement.

"Your mule?" and Areshen turned back to the young wife, confusion and wonder in her own features.

"Yes, it's - it's a divine mule, the Lady Setith's. She would be very upset and angry with me were I to neglect its comfort." Ridiculous, Areshen realized, but it was the best he could come up with in his present state of less than sober agitation, finding it necessary a quick moment later to grasp the nearest wall.

"I shall go with you to the shed," the young husband now steadying himself next to another wall stated. "The king's mule must of course be comfortable, mother," and the young wife nodded in amused wonder, probably, Areshen supposed, for a northern king of rather bizarre habits and concerns and an intoxicated husband catering to them.

"Thank you, my friend," Areshen stated as he and the young man stumbled through the door. "Demiru, you said, friend?" Areshen asked, emphasizing the word friend and feeling easy encouragement when the young man broke into a sincere smile.

"Yes, I am Demiru."

Then I shall call you Demiru and you shall call me Areshen, and we shall call each other friend," Areshen continued as they approached a small shed a short distance behind the house.

"Yes, I shall call you Areshen and friend," Demiru stated, genuine warmth now in his features as he and Areshen stepped to the shed's door, then stood gazing toward a mule.

"Well, he looks comfortable. Does he not look comfortable, Demiru?" Areshen asked, feeling drunk and stupid discussing a mule's comfort, feeling nothing more than gratitude, however, for the touch of intoxicated friendship in the young man's features.

"He indeed looks comfortable, Areshen."

Areshen gazed toward his mule for another long moment

***

"The Lady Setith's mule," Demiru continued, the hint of awe in his features. "Does it fly?"

Areshen broke into a soft gasp of laughter. This pleasant young man living on the outskirts of Uruk had over the past several hours proven himself no more pious than a countless multitude of other Areshen had encountered in similar circumstances over the years. Still, Areshen decided, Setith was probably right. Only he was an absolute apostate. That touch of awe and wonder in young Demiru's features was very genuine as he gazed toward the Lady Setith's divine mule trying to determine if it could fly.

"Perhaps for the Lady Setith," Areshen answered with another easy chuckle. "It will do nothing more than a quick trot for me," and Areshen spent another steadying minute gazing about the grounds of the small farm, another small house its soft, yellow light visible through a window, another family hoping to be ignored by the High Priests for as long as possible. "I was raised on a small farm very much like this one not far from Ur," Areshen continued, now in complacent quiet.

"You are Sumerian, then?" Demiru asked. "I thought you looked and sounded Sumerian, but everyone says that you are the son of the king of Mari - "

"Another day's story," Areshen chuckled, then continued in contemplative quiet as he met Demiru's eyes. "I shall indeed speak to Setith for you. As far as I know, her temple possessions in the south are still in litigation. She has recently acquired other properties which she holds as queen of Isin, however, properties not subject to the temple tax. Setith's own taxes, they tell me, are far less a burden on her tenants, though she still manages to make money. How is a secret known only to her. She has encountered financial difficulties in recent months, but I am certain she will soon be in a position to purchase more properties."

"The Lady Setith now owns much of Churizim," Demiru answered, waving a hand toward the horizon. "She purchased it several months ago. Its people have celebrated every day since. Veti will rejoice should we become the Lady Setith's children as well."

"Veti," Areshen repeated, the sensual warmth of the young woman's embrace still very fresh in his mind. "She need not offer herself to me, Demiru."

"She is genuinely pious, king, and after all, you are a god and her consort husband, while I am just - her husband. It would not be adultery were you and Veti - I mean - "

Again Areshen felt distance and loneliness, deciding to dispense with all propriety, deciding further that he was quite drunk enough to do so.

"Look into my eyes, Demiru, and tell me that you genuinely believe me to be a god. If you do, fall onto your knees in front of me in worship."

The young man raised his eyes, noted drunken amusement in Areshen's, and broke into an easier humor himself.

"I always thought it just the slander of your enemies when everyone called you the man with no god of your own."

"My friends call me the same. And it is no slander. I tell only my friends this, however, and only when they and I are sufficiently drunk. In this way, every word can be denied in the morning."

Areshen watched Demiru break into genuine laughter, quiet solemnity in Areshen's voice when he continued.

"Tell me, Demiru, it is important for me to know. It would have displeased you had your wife been unfaithful to you, would it have not?"

"But it would not have been unfaithful of her - " Demiru began, standing in silence when he realized that the man in front of him wanted the truth, was obviously a man capable of discerning the truth. "You are right," Demiru admitted. "It would have displeased me."

"It would have displeased me as well, Demiru. I intend to ask certain High Priests in the near future why so many people throughout Sumer and Akkad are displeased these days," Areshen continued in searching quiet, quite aware, however, that the morning and sobriety would rob him of grandiose plots and schemes now floating about the clouded corners of his mind.

"We should return to the house, friend," Areshen finally sighed. "Your wife will worry. If it becomes obvious that she again considers me to be something more than a friend, we will once more visit my mule in order to inquire after his comfort."

"Agreed," Demiru answered in genuine, easy laughter, intoxicated solemnity in his voice when he continued. "It is an honor to call you friend, Areshen."

Areshen nodded in gratitude as they turned for the house, the distance and loneliness fading. No one ever called a god "friend."

XIII

Areshen awoke, turning his gaze toward the early morning light streaming through the house's window, then for another moment shook off the last of his intoxication as he glanced about the farmhouse's interior. Demiru and Voti slept in each other's arms on their own shelf. Apparently, Areshen chuckled, it not been necessary to pay his mule another visit last night. Areshen pushed himself to the edge of his sleeping shelf, searched without success for his clothes, then exchanged a quick smile with the oldest of the three children now awake on the other side of the room.

"You're supposed to sleep all morning," a very beautiful twelve year old girl just now becoming a woman stated with a questioning smile.

"All morning?" Areshen asked.

"Yes," and the girl nodded toward her parent's sleeping shelf. "Whenever you drink six cups, you are supposed to sleep all morning. Why are you not still sleeping?"

"I am from Isin," Areshen chuckled. "We have different customs there."

"Oh. Then you are like uncle Silyu. He was a soldier too, although he wasn't a king. He can drink six cups and he never gets a headache. He drinks six cups every day, sometimes more. Sometimes much more. Yet the headache demons can never find him."

"I suppose I am like uncle Silyu," Areshen chuckled in agreement.

"Yes," a very pretty girl answered. A young woman, however, continued, just the touch of bashful reserve in her features as she met Areshen's eye.

"Will you marry me?" she asked.

Areshen just stared, searching a very long moment for an answer.

"Mother and father say that I must wait another year, perhaps two, before I shall have a husband. I thought you might be my husband," and again the girl's features dissolved into a shy smile, though she continued boldly and without hesitation. "I hope it is you who will be my husband. You are very beautiful."

Again Areshen could only return a gentle smile, attempting gratitude as he searched with a bit more effort for his clothing.

"I washed your clothes," the girl stated as she grasped his hand and led and led him to the table. "Besides, I don't want you wearing your clothes yet. You will sit here and I will make you bread and honey. Then I will get your clothes."

Areshen sat in obedience, could not help but feel flattered as a very beautiful twelve year old gazed toward him with a very obvious note of matrimonial intent in her eyes, did so despite six, at least six cups of beer for more years now than he cared to remember. Nor, Areshen realized, feeling another moment of piercing little vanity, was the girl like her mother staring at a king or a minor god. The expression in the girl's features was nothing of reverence or awe, was something in fact a great deal more earthy.

Areshen further decided, however, that he was not a Gipul of Elam in search of another beautiful young woman for his collection, nor an Ibisien of Ur with a collection almost as large. Setith and Ati were quite sufficient.

A quick minute later, Areshen nodded gratitude as the girl set a plate in front of him, then stood at his side watching him take every bite.

"It is very good," Areshen said with a gentle smile, concealing the amusement he felt for the obvious adolescent infatuation now in the girl's eyes.

"I can prepare all my mother's dishes now," she continued. "And I am no longer a child. I became a woman three months ago. Do you have a house?"

"Yes, but it is not paid for yet," Areshen answered, forcing his attention back to his plate as a very pretty young woman who had decided that she had found a husband stepped closer.

"My breasts will look like my mother's very soon now," she continued as she leaned forward in order to be certain that Areshen noticed.

"You are very beautiful," Areshen agreed as he forced another bite of honey bread down, not quite certain that his words had been well chosen. The girl's expression was now one of entrancement as she leaned again, waiting for Areshen's kiss. Areshen reached for another piece of bread and watched disappointment flash across the girl's eyes, the disappointment, however, no admission of defeat as she continued to watch her future husband eat, standing now in warm and intimate proximity.

"If you have a dozen full grown sheep to give to my father," she continued, "I could become you wife now."

"I will count my sheep as soon as I return home," Areshen answered, and watched hopeful anticipation settle into the girl's smile. It would not be long, Areshen suspected, before any number of suitors appeared at her father's door with a great many more sheep in hopes of winning a young woman as beautiful as this. Again, however, noticing perhaps for the first time how stunning the girl really was, Areshen felt a mix of amusement and vain pleasure, realizing that he would indeed feel a touch of jealousy watching this gentle creature walk away in another man's arms. He, her first love, would be no more than a distant memory.

As Areshen returned to his meal, he passed another long moment lost in thought of two other beautiful young women, his own daughters still living in Ur, two young women now married who were only a few years older than the girl now hovering at his side. Again Areshen heard the emotional cry in Setith's throat when she had informed him that her house in Ur had been seized by the temple, the house in which she and he had raised their daughters. Both of the girls, one the wife of a young junior priest, the other the wife of a physician from an old, noble family almost the equal of Setith's, had written Setith pleading for her permission to join her in Isin, in effect, to join their mother in exile in a city considered by most of Ur's Sumerian elite to be a social and cultural wasteland fit only for barbarians and their overseers. And the girls' requests had been very sincere, Areshen realized with a definite measure of pride for them. When Setith had replied to their letters by stating that "Isin was no place for proper young ladies," both of the girls had written to Areshen in order to repeat their pleas.

Perhaps, Areshen decided, should his mule be amenable to the idea, he would indeed wander south to Ur. It would be pleasant indeed passing an evening with Etwabi, perhaps a jovial cup or two with Heluth in Shensulith Square, perhaps a bit more time with his daughters as well. Areshen had passed many months along the frontiers when his daughters had been children. Returning home after particularly lengthy campaigns, it seemed both girls had grown into two different people when they ran into his arm. And then one day, seemingly without any warning at all, it had been two young women running into his arm.

"You are finished eating?" and Areshen turned from his empty plate toward the farm girl's gentle smile, a smile so like that of his daughters whenever they had walked into his chambers in Ur holding some young man's hand.

"Yes," Areshen chuckled. "I am finished eating. It was very good."

"Then I shall be your wife?" The girl's expression was now nothing less than an emotional plea, something more in her features as she leaned the final distance toward Areshen, pressing for sensual warmth obviously new and strange to her. She was going to be very heartbroken, Areshen suspected, for the next few days at least.

"I must count my sheep," Areshen answered in a gentle voice, watching the moisture form in the girl's eyes. When Areshen realized the answer wasn't enough, he leaned forward and touched his lips to the girl's in a quick instant's gentle caress, just a bit more than she'd ever felt from her parent's kiss. It worked, and youthful entrancement again settled into her features as she wandered back to her younger brother and sister.

Again Areshen found himself succumbing to the vanity. Another would show this young woman just now becoming one the full measure of marital happiness. It had been he, however, perhaps youthful in appearance though certainly far less so in fact, who had given her first brief touch of something beyond the bounds of childhood.

When life's frustrations again threatened to send Areshen into the foul and dismal mood which seemed to have dominated so much of his life over the past few years, particularly since he had been proclaimed a divinity by a bunch of foolish old men in Isin's Assembly, he again sought escape in pleasant memories, this time in Ur's Shensulith Square, Setiluth, his older daughter, grasping his arm in affectionate warmth.

"You are not old, father," Setiluth had argued. "Stop being foolish," and Areshen's mischievous seventeen year old daughter had then proceeded to emphasize her point in a manner quite in character.

"This is my husband," Setiluth had announced to several dozen people over the next hour. "We were married according to the childhood rites."

"He noticed," Areshen had protested. "He noticed," when finally, after two dozen such introductions, someone seemed to notice the difference in their ages.

"A fly was buzzing his head, father," Setiluth laughed. "He noticed the fly."

Not long after this, however, Areshen had again turned his gaze toward his incredibly beautiful seventeen year old daughter, Setiluth almost an exact copy of Setith.

"You have been recognized to be a god in Isin," Setiluth stated, and Areshen met his daughter's eyes in alarm when he recognized, with something like as piercing a sorrow as he had ever felt, just how his own daughter was looking at him. "Please, father," Setiluth had pled, "come to my chambers tonight and have sex with me. It is the tradition of Sumer that a daughter bear a god's first divine child."

Areshen sighed, shuddered, and glanced one final moment about the small farmhouse near Uruk? Why had he ever left a similar farmhouse near Ur so many years ago?

Areshen glanced over his shoulder toward the cluster of farm buildings one final time, patted his mule on the neck, and then prodded the animal along the narrow horse track leading south.

"Remember the name," the young, lovesick girl had stated one final time when she had finally returned his clothes. "It is Eta. You will count your sheep, and then you will come back for me."

Areshen rested in easy warmth for a few more moments as the mule picked its way along, Eta's pretty features clear in his mind as she leaned forward waiting for his final kiss. This time the girl had pressed back with a very real hint of searching intimacy, obviously now aware that a kiss from her future husband was something far different than a kiss from her father or mother. For a very long moment after that parting kiss, Areshen had stepped back and gazed toward a young woman almost as tall as Setith, Eta the same age as a dozen of Ibisien's younger wives, a few dozen of Gipul's. Again, however, Areshen had decided that he was not an Ibisien of Ur or a Gipul of Elam to whom a disparity of age made no difference. There reminded, even between him and Etwabi, a subtle emotional distance, and Etwabi was now in her late twenties.

A quick minute later, Areshen again glanced over his shoulder, then sighed in annoyance, this time for the young farm girl, naked, running after him along the edge of the horse track. Eta most certainly appeared a child now, acting very childishly, and again Areshen sighed his annoyance, would have to take her all the way back to the farmhouse and this time awaken her parents.

"Areshen," Eta cried, trembling fright in her features, and Areshen turned in anxious concern as the girl stood breathless a few steps away. The pain in her features was all wrong, Areshen realized; the situation was not at all that which he might have supposed it to be.

"Eta - " Areshen began, "why - "

"The priests and the sword men came, Areshen," and again it was a young woman who stood before him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "They put my family into a wagon with bars on it. They put all of the animals into other wagons. Then one of the priests took me into the mule shed and took my clothes off. He made me lay on the ground and climbed on top of me so that he could have sex with me, but I kicked him and ran away - "

"Eta - " Areshen gasped as he reached down for the girl's hand and then pulled her onto the mule's back in front of him. In blind anger, Areshen then reigned the animal about, prodding it into a gallop back toward the farm.

Evictions of this sort occurred every day across Sumer and Akkad. All Areshen had been able to do in the past, however, was insist that civil and military governors prosecute those most blatantly abusing their authority, to do so whenever possible in the criminal rather than the temple courts, particularly when there was evidence of criminal misconduct during an eviction.

This eviction was personal, however, involved a gentle farm family he genuinely admired, and Areshen grasped the short sword from his pack as they approached the farm buildings. Areshen felt a cry of hopeless desperation rise into his throat, however. The girl had escaped; her family would not. The eviction priests would never allow witnesses to an attempted rape to live.

Areshen reigned the mule to a stop several hundred feet from the farm, then lowered the girl to the ground.

"Hide in the grass, Eta. Do not show yourself until I return."

When the girl had obeyed, Areshen galloped the final distance to the farm, reigned the mule to a frantic halt, and then with a shudder of anger and despair stepped to the ground. Eta's family lay in pools of blood in the yard in front of the house. Areshen stepped into the farm's other residence. A mother and father and two small children had been beheaded. Areshen pushed himself back into the yard and then gazed toward the byres and sheds. The valuable farm animals were gone.

For another long minute, Areshen could do no more than lean against the still heaving flanks of his mule trying to escape into the past. He stood only for a brief instant, however, along the western frontier gazing with compassionate solemnity toward the bodies of sixty thousand slain Amuru and another three thousand bodies of his own men. Areshen once more opened his eyes to the carnage in the midst of which he now stood, and again as tears stung his eyes, he realized that this was just not the same. Sixty thousand Amuru and three thousand Sumerian and Akkadian soldiers had of their own volition flung themselves into the contest. The war trumpets on both sides had sounded mournful notes of honor for their fallen comrades when the battle had ended. Men wept, but they did so with honor.

What honor is there in this, Areshen cried in trembling anguish as he glanced about the farm? Eviction priests, probably young men the thrill of power coursing through their veins, had led temple guards, most of these little more than armed thugs, one or two probably drunk, onto the grounds of the farm. They would now return to Uruk's temple, to another of Shubari's monstrosities calling himself High Priest, and swear that it had been brigands and bandits who had sacked this farm.

Areshen turned, led his mule back down the road away from the farm, and then knelt in the grass as Eta pulled herself up.

"Eta - " Areshen tried, his voice emotional and cracking as he searched for words.

"They're dead," Eta stated, her voice strong and steady, the terror and the remorse, however, obvious in her eyes, even if just as obviously under control. Had she somehow been prepared for this?

"Yes," Areshen answered. "They're dead."

"The same thing happened last month in Tiuluru," and the girl nodded toward the horizon. "Three months ago they killed everyone in Erodim, cut their heads off. I will now have to go into Uruk and become a prostitute. When they killed Sebrulu's family, she had to go into Uruk and become a prostitute because they took all the farm animals and she didn't have anything to eat."

Areshen gazed another long moment toward the child struggling so valiantly against her tears, and again Areshen felt his heart break as he stood and reached into his pack for a waistcloth.

"Put this on, Eta."

"It is a beautiful gift, Areshen," Eta answered as she pulled the clothe about here waist and hips. "But how can I become your wife now? The gift must be given to my father, and I have no father now. All I can do is become a prostitute in Uruk. Will you take me into Uruk, Areshen?"

Areshen again met a young woman's eyes, quite aware that his were most of the tears shed. Areshen then climbed onto his mule, pulled Eta up beside him, and then prodded the animal from the farm track across open fields toward the closest military highway to the east. Only with distance did a measure of rational and calculating thought return. When Eta finally gave way to tears herself, Areshen wrapped her into close, emotional embrace, deciding that something was very wrong with Uruk's temple. A father does not kill his own children, does he? The child he now held in his arms was a child of the temple. Why was her family dead?

Areshen made arrangements with the local mayor for the care of the bodies back at the farm, and then guided the mule onto the military highway, approaching the first dispatch station a few minutes later.

"It is big," Eta gasped with wide, staring eyes as she twisted her gaze toward Areshen, the anguish in her eyes giving way to a measure of curiosity and wonder.

"Yes, it is big," Areshen answered, forcing a gentle smile into his features. The military installation was in fact a station of moderate size, quarters for a few dozen regulars and clerks, barns, sheds, brick corrals in the rear. Together with the small village on the other side of the road, it was probably the largest assemblage of buildings the girl had ever seen.

Areshen lowered himself to the ground, grasped Eta's hand, and then walked into the First Soldier's chamber.

"A scribe at once, First Soldier," Areshen ordered as he placed the small seal identifying himself as a senior officer on the First Soldier's table. A quick moment later a young soldier carrying a tablet and reed pen rushed into the chamber.

"Tell Meneturu at Shar Dulur Fortress - the gods garbage and all that," and Areshen waited, an expression of impatience in his features as the young soldier inscribed a standard salutation.

"Sir," the soldier then stated as he snapped to attention. Areshen hesitated for a brief moment, law courts, tribunals, the pomp of civilization running through his mind. Again Areshen stood a moment amid the carnage on a small farm not far from Uruk and realized that he was Areshen of Isin, a man not generally noted to be a respecter of law courts, tribunals, the pomp of civilization. That, Areshen supposed, is never going to change.

"Tell Meneturu," Areshen finally stated as he raised his eyes to the military scribe, "sack Uruk. Put every last priest in its temple to the sword. Areshen, military governor - " and Areshen hesitated one brief moment. "Areshen, king of Isin, has spoken."

As Areshen grasped Eta's hand and walked from the dispatch station, he could not help but notice the broad smile of satisfaction on every soldier's face, most of them professional regulars who despised the armed thugs in the hire of the temple. Just as well, Areshen sighed. There's a time for law courts, tribunals, Ibisien's and his grandfather's pomp and ceremony. The time, however, Areshen again decided, was over.

Areshen let either Eta or the mule decide at every road intersection for the next several days, questioning their choices only when the route led any distance from roads served by the military dispatch system, allowing them complete freedom again when a message from Meneturu finally reached him at one of the stations.

"Shulitu," Meneturu's dispatch began, "stands atop the walls of Uruk tossing little pieces of High Priest to the buzzards. The buzzards seem to enjoy High Priest. Perhaps we should treat the buzzards of Ur to little pieces of the High Priest Shubari. Then instead of a fat, farting High Priest, Ur could boast of fat, farting buzzards."

"You are happy?" and Areshen turned from the dispatch toward the questioning smile in Eta's features, the pain in her eyes not quite so all pervasive as it had been a week ago.

"Yes," Areshen chuckled as he lifted her back onto the mule beside him, "I am happy," and Areshen prodded the mule forward, pondering again the lot of a girl in Sumer just become a woman who had neither family nor wealth. Four days ago a maintenance foreman in the canal yards near Lutlul had offered to purchase her. Areshen had glanced for one quick moment toward several dozen other leering canal workers in the maintenance yard, had then just lifted Eta back onto the mule beside him. The day after that the wife of the civil governor of Jenu had made a purchase offer. Areshen glanced toward thirty year old servants in the civil governor's palace, most of them showing evident signs of old age, and again just lifted Eta back onto the mule.

"You love me, don't you, Areshen?" Eta had asked after the incident in the civil governor's palace.

"Yes, Eta, I love you," Areshen chuckled, watching the sorrow in the child's eyes dissolve into gentle warmth as she threw herself into his arms. In a very real way, Areshen realized as he drew Eta into embrace, he did love her, perhaps as Setith genuinely love so many thousands of her children so completely dependant on her for their lives.

"What words did you use when you asked queen Setith or consort queen Ati to become your wives?" Eta asked as Areshen guided the mule along the banks of the Pendurum canal.

Areshen gazed with caution toward the mischief in the girl's smile, composing his reply with care. For the past week now Eta had been laying traps, the word "yes" constantly on her lips.

"I do not remember the exact words," Areshen chuckled, then winced in affected pain as Eta thrust an elbow into his ribs. Just as quickly, however, Areshen again felt Eta's mournful sigh as she wrapped her arms about him. Areshen pulled her head onto his chest once more, resigned, he supposed, to keeping her. Perhaps when she was older he might indeed fall in love with her and make her his wife. Yesterday he had found that he could not even turn her over to the young mistress of a perfectly respectable little roadside inn where they had stayed, the best chance a young woman without family or possessions might have had.

"Do you not still love me?" Eta had cried as she wrenched herself from the inn mistress' arms and ran in tears toward Areshen's mule.

Areshen had glanced down on the tears streaming along the features of the child so sweet and adorable for only an instant.

"Yes," he had then sighed, grasping her hand and once more pulling her up beside him. "I love you," and he continued his wandering tour of the southern part of Sumer with a twelve year old girl in his arms and a mule choosing the way at every intersection.

"We are sleeping along the banks of the canal like soldiers again tonight?" Eta asked as Areshen tethered the mule to a date palm.

"Yes," Areshen chuckled as he pulled the bed roles from the mule's back and then turned toward the excitement in Eta's features. "Just like soldiers," and Areshen placed hook and line into Eta's hands. "Catch a fish, or we will go to be hungry."

Areshen stood in contemplative quiet gazing toward Eta now standing along the banks of the canal working the fishing line, a gentle smile in his features. He then glanced toward the city of Ur now just a half day's ride to the south, a half day, perhaps, if took charge of the mule, a week or more if he continued to allow the mule to decide. The mule, however, had shown him all manner of disturbance in this part of Sumer over the past few days. For a hundred years now Ur had been the king's city, for thousands, as far as Areshen knew, one of the most important centers of Sumer's culture and civilization. But it just wasn't working any more, Areshen sighed. Ibisien sat drunk in his palace fondling his pet boys while Shubari counted gold and silver in the temple. No, Areshen sighed again, tomorrow he must take the mule in charge. Perhaps he would just visit Etwabi and Heluth, perhaps his daughters as well. Then again, perhaps he would do more, and he broke into a scowl of frustration as he glanced toward the outline of Ur's temple just visible on the distant horizon. Tomorrow he would decide, and he turned back to Eta, the fish she had caught now cleaned and spitted over a small fire.

"You will now come and eat my fish," Eta informed Areshen as she grasped his hand. Areshen chuckled in gentle amusement as he followed obediently, lowered himself to the ground beside the campfire, and then tore small pieces from the fish, Eta, as usual, watching with a pleased expression of contentment for every bite he took.

"Does queen Setith catch a fish for you in the canal?" Eta asked, nothing more than innocent curiosity in her eyes. Areshen choked down his last bite with a soft laugh. The thought of Setith, kneeling beside a campfire cleaning and cooking a fish she had caught with her own hands was humorous indeed, perhaps even erotic, Areshen realized as he remembered his last experience with Setith along the banks of Isin's canals, Setith reveling in the guise of a barbarian queen from the eastern mountains.

"Why are you laughing?" Eta asked.

"Setith is from Ur. She does not catch her own fish."

"Oh," Eta answered, and with an anxious expression of wonder glanced toward the horizon and Ur. "It looks like Uruk. But I have never been inside Uruk either. My father has. He says it looked like one big house with thousands and thousands of doors on all sides. The people walk on top of each other during the day, then sleep on top of each other during the night."

"That too is Ur," Areshen answered, pondering the house in which he and Setith had lived. Though as large as most in Ur, Etwabi, Kinshith, and five other of Setith's servants had spread sleeping mats across the floor of a single chamber no larger than a farm house's sleeping shelf, and still had thought Setith generous.

"Most temple households are far more crowded," Etwabi had informed Areshen. "In order to use the chamber pots at night, it may be quite necessary to step over a dozen or more people making your way to the door."

"There are many people there?" Eta asked, glancing again from the campfire toward Ur as she gnawed on a piece of the fish.

"Yes, Eta, many people."

"And we are going inside?"

"Perhaps in the morning."

"I will be afraid. My father said he was afraid when he went inside Uruk."

"But you are not afraid of me, Eta."

"That is because we love each other," Eta answered, certainty in her voice, the same gentle expression of pleading in her eyes. "Sebrulu was fourteen the first time she made love. That is only one and five sixth years older than I am now," and Eta pushed herself toward Areshen in intimate proximity, her posture quite as blatant.

"Then you must wait another one and five sixth years yourself," Areshen answered, restraining the amusement he felt, allowing himself only an easy smile when a very pretty young woman's features dissolved into a childlike pout. Areshen finally gave way to a gentle smile of affection as Eta yawned in gathering fatigue, curled herself into her sleeping roll and drifted into sleep. Areshen wondered if he should just go ahead and make her his wife. It would be several years, if ever, before he could bring himself to touch her. He was just as certain, however, that he could no longer abandon her to others who might still want a beautiful young woman without family or possessions, these not the type of people Areshen would care to see touch her either. And Eta, despite the fact that she was just now old enough to marry in Sumer, was fully aware of that which awaited her should she fail to find a husband.

"When Sebrulu had to go inside Uruk and become a prostitute," Eta had mused several evenings before, "she said most of the men hurt her, especially the priests, even some of their women. The would tie her up with ropes saying they were only playing, but then they would beat her and suddenly they weren't playing any more, especially the women who had their own whips. Then her master made her go to the Libation Priest's house, and twenty seven other priests were there for her too. She cried when it started hurting, but they wouldn't stop. They just kept coming one after the other and they laughed when they hurt her. Sebrulu came home crying after that, and her master sent the swordsmen after her to bring her back. They didn't though, because Sebrulu hung herself. She was fifteen then."

Again Areshen glanced toward the child sleeping next to the campfire, quite aware that there was nothing affected whatsoever in her pleading when she asked to become his wife, something like desperation at times clearly evident in the sound of her voice.

"If you are the king of Isin," Eta had pled, "you must be able to afford me. Most kings have at least a dozen sheep, do they not? Perhaps queen Setith would loan you a few sheep."

With an easy chuckle, Areshen settled into his own bedroll, then stirred on the edge of sleep a few minutes later when again this evening he felt the light, caressing touch to his lips. As he had for the past several evenings, Areshen pulled Setith into intimate, sensual embrace, a moment away from the act of love, then discovered as he opened his eyes that a twelve year old girl rather than Setith was curling herself into his arms.

"You promised me that you would behave yourself tonight," Areshen sighed again, struggling with the arousal he supposed he could never fell comfortable with.

"If you make me your wife," Eta giggled, the same mischievous smile in her features, "I will not try to make love to you for another one and five sixth years. And I will always obey queen Setith and consort queen Ati."

Areshen gazed toward Eta's wide, pleading eyes for another long moment, then released a sigh of resignation.

"Very well, Eta. Be my wife?"

"Yes, Areshen," Eta cried. "Oh yes, beloved, I am your wife," and Eta flung herself back into embrace.

Areshen pulled a very beautiful young woman into his arms for another quick moment, found himself struggling intensely now, and only with difficulty broke the embrace.

"Remember," he began, nodding Eta toward her own bedroll, "a year and five sixths of another."

"Yes, beloved," Eta answered as she pushed herself back into her own bedroll, "I will wait."

"And go to sleep," and a quick minute later Areshen again glanced toward Eta's gentle beauty, an expression of tranquil ease finally settled into her features. Perhaps, Areshen sighed, he would indeed fall sensually in love with the girl someday, would feel comfortable with that love. For now, however, it was enough that he loved her with gentle, emotional strength, the love perhaps similar to that which he felt for his own daughters, even for eighteen year old Setiluth who as soon as he stepped into her house in Ur, would again plead with him to come to her bed.

"Setiluth loves you very deeply," Setith, Areshen's own wife and Setiluth's mother had stated with a mix of mirth and urging in her features. "And Setiluth is a very proper young lady, her sense of piety and virtue commendable. And she is you daughter, beloved. If anyone in Sumer should bear your first divine child, it is certainly your own daughter."

Areshen twisted his eyes toward Ur, though darkness, to his satisfaction, now obscured the temple from sight. Still, Areshen sighed, something must be done about Sumer's gods if he was ever to divest himself of the divinity he had by now come to loathe.

XIV

Areshen awoke, as usual, to Eta's bright, adoring eyes gazing down on him, and felt a moment's easy amusement for the fact that she was not, with all manner of sensual, caressing touch, attempting to arouse the more earthy of his affections for her again this morning. The subject, however, Areshen discovered with Eta's first words, was still at the fore of her mind.

"In Teredu, one need wait only three months after becoming a woman, only a month if she is already married."

"A year and five sixths," Areshen answered, chuckled in easy mirth for the frown in Eta's features, then for her radiant smile when he pressed his lips to her own in touch just a bit more intimate than friendship. "Your husband is hungry," Areshen then continued as he nodded toward the hook and line. "Go catch a fish."

"Yes, beloved," Eta answered, delight now in her features as she pushed herself up and then toward the fishing line.

Areshen stood along the banks of the canal for a long, contemplative moment watching his third wife work the fishing line, again amused that a very beautiful young woman who obviously knew what marital love could be had not thought it necessary to press her request this morning with any measure of urging vehemence. Areshen had come very close to yielding over the past few mornings when he awoke to find her lips pressed to his own in pleading, caressing touch, her arms about him in embrace quite as sensual and unyielding. More than once he had pulled her into close and intimate embrace before realizing that the beautiful young woman in his arms almost as tall as Setith and quite as physically expressive as Setith was not in fact Setith.

"You see, you do love me," Eta had stated, a child's certainty in her voice as she detected with uncanny ease the evident arousal in Areshen eyes. This morning, however, it had again been a young woman gazing down on him, gentle, emotional warmth rather than sensuality in her own eyes, quite as though the fact of marriage was more important to her than the act.

Perhaps Eta could now be a child for several more years, Areshen decided as he watched her work the fish from the canal; perhaps she could be a young wife confident that her husband loved and cared for her even if he did not feel it time to make love to her yet. And besides, midwives in the village of Sannu had always urged that girls wait as least a year after first menses before they attempted to have children, their chances of a successful pregnancy, these midwives stated, far greater if they did in fact sacrifice that year to the gods.

Areshen rested another long moment in fond memories of his own daughters, Setiluth and Martila, as beautiful as Setith even as children, the girls creeping into his chambers and lowering themselves onto his sleeping cushions.

"Mother is in a bad mood again, father. She says we must sleep with you again tonight."

Areshen had held his daughters in gentle, emotional warmth until they too, twelve and eleven years old, had in giggling delight discovered that a kiss on the lips could feel very different than it ever had before. Areshen then chased the girls into Etwabi's and Kinshith's arms in the kitchens, both Etwabi and Kinshith intelligent and insightful young women who had belonged to Setith for many years, young women who would explain to his daughters the meaning of their developing feelings.

"Only Amuru men beyond the western walls," Etwabi had argued, "men who still hunt with stones and live under animal hides, make love to their own daughters."

"But that is not really true, Etwabi," Areshen's daughters had answered, listing several dozen young girlfriends belonging to the Sumerian nobility all across the city of Ur who made love to their own fathers. "Ibisien is the king of Ur; Shubari is the High Priest. Everyone says that the rules are not the same here in Ur."

Etwabi, Akkadian by birth and temperament, had then returned to Areshen with an expression of disillusioned concern.

"It is true," Areshen had sighed. "Actually, my spies tell me that - unorthodox behavior is far more prevalent here in Ur than it is in the west where they still make their tools from stone."

With a dismissing sigh, Areshen sat with Eta along the banks of the canal, ate the fish she had cooked, then pulled his third wife onto the mule and into his arms.

"I am frightened," Eta repeated as they approached the walls of Ur, solid, towering gates now rising in the near distance, massed formations of chariotry maneuvering across the open plain to the south. "Couldn't we got there instead," and Eta pointed to one of a half dozen small temple farms scattered along the horizon.

"Perhaps later this afternoon we will come back outside," Areshen answered as he guided the mule toward Ur's walls, pointing toward a nearby grove of date palms lining the banks of the river. "On some days, all of Ur will pass the afternoon by the river. We will catch another fish, and then we will sit in the shade and eat it."

Eta shrank further into Areshen's arms as he guided their mule the final distance up the ramp toward the gate, towers on either side manned by several dozen archers few of whom exuded the professional demeanor Areshen might have demanded from soldiers posted to the frontiers. Few of Ur's garrisoned soldiers serving atop the walls paid any particular attention to a single mule and its riders.

Areshen gave the mule over into the care of the fortress' stable master, grasped Eta's hand, and then walked onto the streets of Ur.

"My father was right," Eta began as she walked in close embrace. "It is like one big house," and with wide, wondering eyes, Eta glanced down another of Ur's crowed, narrow alleys, one of a multitude of maze like passages winding their way into the depths of the city. A moment later, Eta crouched with Areshen against the walls of the nearest building as another caravan of donkeys plodded along the street, crates and sacks of various sizes and shapes all but spilling from the beasts' backs containing all manner of wealth bound for the Sacred Area and the temple. This much, Areshen sighed, had not changed.

"Ur goes on forever," Eta stated a long minute later, the fright in her eyes gradually giving way to an expression of curious wonder. Actually just half a mile in length, the city would indeed, Areshen supposed, seem a great deal larger to Eta, the streets now crowded with servants who at night in temple households, still the majority of those in Ur, sleep twenty or more to a chamber. Even the chambers of most masters and mistresses, unless they happened to be High Priests and Priestesses of considerable rank, might be little larger than the farmhouse in which Areshen had been born. Temple households were particularly crowded; servants working within the Sacred Area's walls, others working in factories scattered across the outer city, might find themselves sleeping at the master's feet in his own chamber. In recent years the High Priest Shubari had converted ever greater numbers of houses across Ur into factories, three or four temple households packed into a building which might have contained a single household twenty years ago. Etwabi and Kinshith had spoken nothing but the truth when stating that one stepped over two dozen bodies in order to use the chamber pots at night.

"In the household of Emeniradim," Etwabi had mused, "twenty six of us were moved into a chamber twenty five feet long. Fortunately, all twenty six of us were intimate friends before we were moved. We became a great deal more intimate after we were moved. Emeniradim, however, slept by himself in a thirty foot chamber, his wife and her lovers in another chamber of equal size. Twenty six of us sleeping in each other's arms in a twenty five foot chamber wondered if Emeniradim was lonely sleeping all by himself in the master's grand chamber, the adjacent perfume baths his sole consolation."

Ur, Areshen sighed, sixty thousand people sleeping on top of each other, another few thousand sleeping in master's chambers, Shubari the High Priest, and a drunken High Priestess sleeping by themselves in temple palaces fifty times the size of the average house laying beyond the Sacred Area's walls.

Areshen negotiated the streets of Ur around curving twists and sharp corners for a few more minutes, giving way to several more donkey caravans, then to a procession of gaudily attired servants carrying a particularly wealthy mistress through the mud on her portable throne. He and Eta finally approached the house which until six months ago had been Setith's. Instead of old Shathsurinu, however, a temple guard now stood in the building's entrance way, a young man Areshen had no reason to suspect was a great deal more competent than Uruk's temple guards, guards Meneturu and Shulitu had pushed aside in order to feed Uruk's High Priests to the buzzards.

"This house is to be converted into a metal factory," the guard began. "No one may enter."

"Do you know the woman who was mistress of this house before it was seized?" Areshen asked. "I am that woman's husband."

The young man stood in searching thought for a long moment, a very long moment, Areshen sighed in annoyance. When an expression of understanding finally snapped into his features, however, he stepped quickly and deliberately aside.

"Very good," Areshen mumbled as he grasped Eta's hand, walked from the entrance chamber into the courtyard, then stood gazing toward the portals leading to the buildings lifeless and deserted chambers, portals through which Etwabi and Kinshith had in mirthful laughter dragged him by the arms so many times in the past.

"You are sad, beloved," and Areshen glanced toward Eta's sweet and gentle voice, noticed an edge of fright once more returned to her features, and forced an easy smile into his own.

"No, sweet Eta. I am not sad. How could I be sad when you are my beloved wife?" and Areshen felt a long moment's genuine warmth when Eta broke into the same expression of radiant joy, felt easy amusement a quick moment later when she leaned forward, eyes closed, hesitant uncertainty in her features as she waited for her husband's kiss. Areshen met Eta's lips with his own and pressed in gentle touch for a short moment, then when certain that she was answering without fear, pressed his lips to her own with just the hint of searching passion, far more gently than he might have kissed Setith or Ati, though far more intimately than he had yet kissed Eta.

Areshen then raised his eyes to Eta's, returning the fierce and intimate embrace of her hand as she stood in wondering silence, her breath labored gasps as she gazed back with something Areshen could only call dazed and uncomprehending shock in her features. For a quick moment, Areshen feared that he might have pressed his kiss with incautious strength, his fears dissipated, however, when he felt new and unmistakable strength in Eta's embrace to his hand, emotional moisture in her eyes conveying the raptures of love rather than fear.

"Beloved," Eta whispered, "beloved husband," her voice very much a woman's, and Areshen indeed suspected the hint of mature, emotional love in her eyes rather than just an adolescent's erotic, sensual curiosity. Still, a year and five sixths, Areshen promised himself, preferably more. By that time he would probably be certain, though he was already beginning to detect a sense of keen, stunning intelligence about Eta, the one quality in another which had always most attracted Areshen.

"I still believe you are sad, beloved," Eta finally continued, "at least a little. It makes me sad when you are sad."

Again Areshen grasped Eta's hand with genuine, emotional strength when he realized how true was his musing regarding her intelligence. Eta, Areshen suspected, would soon enough be Ati's equal, perhaps even Setith's, as far as matters of intelligence and insight were concern.

Areshen finally stepped from the courtyard back into the entrance chamber, turning toward the temple guard now standing at rigid attention.

"Where has this building's household been taken?" Areshen demanded, and watched a moment's indecisive hesitation in the young man's features, a servant of the High Priest Shubari who would be whipped mercilessly if he answered. A quick moment later, however, the hint of resolve settled about the young man's features.

"King of Isin, Divine Lord of - "

"Yes, yes, yes, continue," Areshen snapped.

"They have been taken to the house of Tarinuduri, the coppersmith."

Areshen nodded, grasped Eta's hand and turned for the street, then, however, turned back toward the guard for another long, studying moment. The young man, Areshen realized, was risking his life by speaking.

"Would you not," Areshen began, "rather be a free soldier on Ur's walls than a slave of fat, farting Shubari, guarding priest's skirts?"

The answer was obvious, and something close to a startled expression of anticipation and joy broke across the young man's features as he stammered a "yes."

"Report to the day commander on the walls," Areshen began as he pressed a small, clay seal into the young man's hand. "Inform the commander that I have purchased your freedom and you are to be enrolled as a free soldier."

"Yes," the young man stammered again, the hint of a tear now in his eyes, and Areshen finally allowed his own demeanor to soften as he spoke in conclusion.

"And soldier, in Ur I am addressed as military governor, nothing more."

Again hand in hand, Areshen and Eta pushed their way along Ur's streets, a slow, time consuming process, delays at every intersection waiting for caravans of donkeys and porters loaded with every sort of merchandise lumbering along in every direction. Near Hameduru Square, a narrow alley lined with popular shops and taverns, the loitering crowd had as usual spilled out onto the street, cups of various sizes and shapes in the hands of householders stealing idle moments from their masters and mistresses.

"They are all happy?" Eta asked as she and Areshen sidestepped their way through something which indeed appeared an impromptu and riotous celebration.

"For the moment they are happy," Areshen chuckled. "Some of them, however, will no longer be happy when their mistresses dispatch the temple guard in order to find them."

Areshen watched the expression of understanding settle into Eta's features, was impressed once again by the girl's keen and insightful intelligence.

"Where are the men?" Eta asked, glancing back another moment toward a crowd the majority of which were indeed women.

"Some are sailing on boats. Others travel in caravans of donkeys to other cities. Still others work in the warehouses we passed outside the walls loading and unloading wagons."

"Oh," Eta answered, and with gentle amusement, Areshen noted the continuing expression of studying curiosity in Eta's features as they picked their way along the street, trash and mule droppings constant obstacles, obstacles which at regular intervals forced pedestrians into single file. When a quick minute later the line in which Areshen and Eta walked was forced to yield against a building's walls to the line proceeding in the opposite direction, Eta leaned closely at Areshen's side, her voice a low, subdued whisper.

"Everyone looks at you, Areshen."

"Yes," Areshen sighed, certain that both Shubari and the temple as well as Ibisien and the palace had by now been informed by any of a multitude of their spies who worked the crowds along the streets. One thing at a time, Areshen sighed again as he grasped Eta's hand and once more pushed himself onto the street.

Long minutes later they finally walked through a narrow portal into another entrance chamber similar to most others, then into a large courtyard, fifty feet square, doors on all sides leading to two levels of chambers.

"It is a palace, is it not?" Eta asked with wide, wondering eyes.

"It is my daughter's house," Areshen answered with an easy smile, a palace perhaps, Areshen chuckled, not Shubari's or Ibisien's, but close. Areshen nodded gratitude toward the servant when informed that Setiluth would receive him in chambers within the hour, and then gazed idly about the courtyard for another long minute feeling no more than a minor touch of annoyance for the fact that he was indeed waiting in line to be received by his own daughter. Setiluth, after all, was Setith's daughter as well.

Setiluth, now eighteen, was Setith in every way that mattered, an exquisitely beautiful young woman who knew the content of every sack and crate proceeding to and from a hundred workshops and factories which she owned from one side of Sumer and Akkad to the other. Setiluth, perhaps, had lost any expression of childlike innocence in her eyes a bit sooner than had Setith in her youth, though Areshen supposed this was only to be expected, Setiluth, he realized again, Setith's daughter, her mother rather than her father in every way which really mattered.

A long few minutes later, another servant led Areshen and Eta from the courtyard, through a reception chamber in which another dozen supplicants waited for admittance, then into Setiluth's throne room, an Assembly rivaling Ibisien's standing in attendance.

"Father," Setiluth began with a broad smile of genuine warmth as she pushed herself from a throne only a bit less majestic than those occupied by Setith. It was not Areshen, however, which Setiluth took into her arms. "And this is your Eta. Oh, she is a little darling," Setiluth crooned, Eta breaking into a soft, girlish giggle as Setiluth wrapped her into close, intimate embrace. Only a long minute later did Setiluth finally turn toward Areshen.

"Mother will be ecstatic, father," Setiluth continued. "Forever you did not bother with even a single concubine, and now all of a sudden you have three wives."

"Setiluth," Areshen answered, his features astonishment and question, "how - I only married her - "

"Father," Setiluth laughed, "you obviously told someone, a stable boy on the walls, perhaps. All of Ur knows by now."

Areshen sighed, finally breaking into a gentle smile of acceptance as Setiluth pressed her kiss to his cheek.

"Mother will indeed be ecstatic," Setiluth continued as she snapped her fingers toward a servant and then lowered herself back onto her throne. Areshen sat with Eta on one of the chamber's couches, waited for his beer, and turned back to the easy warmth in his daughter's voice.

"Mother was so happy when you married Ati, father. Her letter was radiance. 'I feel quite the proper queen now,' mother said. 'Perhaps soon I shall have more sisters to cherish,'" and Areshen broke into a soft smile for the gentle affection in his daughter's eyes.

"Setith still refuses to allow you to relocate your household to Isin?" Areshen asked.

"Mother still refuses," Setiluth pouted. "Mother is impossible. Most of my assets are located in the north anyway. It would be no hardship for me whatsoever to reside near mother in Isin. I am certain that mother is now happy, but still, Isin is Isin. She must feel a touch of loneliness so far from anywhere."

"Isin," Areshen chuckled, recalling Setith's exact words, "is no place for a proper young lady of your breeding and background, Setiluth."

Setiluth broke into easy laughter herself for a long moment, thoughtful solemnity settled about her features when she spoke again.

"I have my best advocates arguing for mother in every court. Three are scheduled to address the temple tribunal in the Gate of Judgement again in the morning. I have had advocates in the Sacred Area for months now, and still the judges will not hear cases regarding even the minor temples the High Priest fat farting Shubari stole from mother. Shubari, vile and loathsome, will concede nothing more than the removal of two of the galla demons clinging to mother's side," and Areshen could not help but notice the tears in Setiluth's eyes, a daughter who as quickly as her mother would break into a visible rash when informed that she was infested with clinging galla demons.

"I have addressed the demons," Areshen began, struggling for solemnity rather than the absolute foolishness he felt. "I have informed the demons that they may no longer reside within the boundaries of Isin."

"Mother so stated in her last letter," Setiluth continued, nothing but adoration in her eyes as she gazed toward a father recognized as a minor god. "Mother says that she has not had a single visible manifestation of the demons since. And father," Setiluth continued, the same pleading now in her eyes which had caused Areshen to stiffen with trepidation and sorrow so many times in the past, "please come to my chambers tonight and have sexual intercourse with me. You have promised to do so for a year now, and still you have not. You promised that I would be the one who would carry your first divine child."

"Perhaps tonight, Setiluth," Areshen sighed, and passed a dozen quick excuses through his mind trying to decide which might be appropriate this time.

"Father," Setiluth sighed, Setiluth quite as perceptive and brilliant as Setith, quite aware of the thoughts running through Areshen's mind, a genuine expression of pleading now in her eyes.

"Setiluth, you are my daughter," Areshen finally answered, the plea evident in his own voice.

"Yes, father, of course," Setiluth answered, as though that "yes" explained it all, and for another long moment silently pled were her father to have sex with her. A quick moment later, however, Setiluth dissolved into an easier humor once again. "Besides, it's not just a matter of piety, anyway. You are still so exquisitely beautiful, father - "

"Setiluth, for the love of the gods - " Areshen groaned.

"Eta," Setiluth laughed, "is not your husband so incredibly, perfectly beautiful?"

"Yes, he is," Eta giggled. "But he believes in the old fashions. He will not have sex with me either for a year and five sixths. I just became a woman three months ago."

"Father," Setiluth laughed, "you are indeed a prude. Even in your old, dreary Sannu the wait is now only six months."

For another hour Areshen sat quietly and contentedly in his corner with cup in hand as Setiluth conducted her court, supplicants from a domain nearly as large as Setith's appearing in a steady procession. During a brief recess, Setiluth again turned her attention to Eta, pulling the girl onto a chair beside the throne platform. Five minutes later, Areshen's eighteen year old daughter and his twelve year old wife were quite in love with each other, both, Areshen realized, sufficiently brilliant to quickly sift through and discard any superficiality in their feelings for each other.

"Eta," Setiluth finally pronounced to the Assembly standing throughout the chamber, "shall live with me in my house until she has waited her ridiculously lengthy year and five sixths," and Areshen gazed toward Setiluth with a mix of irritation and genuine, heartfelt appreciation. It would be far easier to see to delicate, possibly dangerous affairs in Ur over the next few days now that Eta had a safe, comfortable home where she would be loved, a home in which she could live as a child for a few more years.

Areshen lifted his beer, and once more pondered his daughter, a twelve year old child now sitting beside her as the procession of supplicants once more processed into the chamber. It was indeed an ideal solution, Areshen realized. Setiluth, Setith's stern, unyielding scowl now in her features as she discussed wagon loads of bricks and warehouses stuffed with grain, was Setith in every other way as well, and Areshen would never again doubt the depth of Setith's emotional concern for others, a sincere and compelling love which lay beneath the exterior scowl.

Again, however, Areshen realized that he would never understand his daughter's piety, any more than he would understand Setith's; he could most certainly never feel comfortable with Setiluth's piety, and determined to have another back chamber talk with the High Priest of Isin's temple.

"Your daughter Setiluth," the High Priest had stated when he had led Areshen into that tomb beneath Isin's temple, "was the first to apply for a place at your side when the time comes. I traveled to Ur myself into order to explain the ceremony to her. She will place her arms around your body, kiss you one final time, and then she will lift the holy death cup to her lips -

"You will go back to Ur," Areshen had answered, his hands now on the High Priest's robes in a most unceremonious manner, "and you will convince Setiluth that holy death cups are no longer used in Isin. If you have to - lie. If you do not, you will drink from the holy death cup yourself - tomorrow."

Setiluth's house at night was quite as crowded as most private households in Ur, as crowded as many temple households, though Setiluth's servants wore expressions of ease and humor even in their mistress' presence.

"I am not quite the terror that mother can be. I kick people far less often," Setiluth chuckled as she kissed Eta now sleeping on her own bed shelf, then walked with Areshen to a private chamber across the house's courtyard.

"Father, I promise," Setiluth chuckled at the portal when Areshen hesitated. "I will behave myself."

Areshen nodded, allowed his daughter a gentle kiss to his cheek, then followed her into the chamber.

"Eta is adorable," Setiluth continued as she settled onto a couch beside Areshen. "I'm certain she will be the love of my heart one day. I'm not certain that I will be able to give her back to you, father, when it is time to do so. A year and five sixths? Father, that is absolutely ridiculous."

Areshen chuckled his irritation toward a daughter who spoke only the depths of her mind to him, a daughter he loved with passionate, emotional strength because she did so.

"Where is your husband now?" Areshen then asked.

"I'm not certain at the moment. Possibly in Nippur. We have purchased a construction gang there, five sixths of which interest I hold myself. He is a darling, however, and has agreed to inspect it for me anyway."

"You should spend more time with your husband, Setiluth. The years pass quickly. And you do love him, do you not?"

"I love him, father. We passed a whole evening alone in my chambers just a month ago. But there is so much to do, and so little time."

"Make time, Setiluth," Areshen urged.

"I will, father," Setiluth sighed. Areshen released a long, answering sigh of his own, wondering if it would be twenty years before Setiluth and her husband again spent an entire evening together.

"Father, I am not mother in every way," Setiluth chuckled.

"No. You have one or two temples yet to acquire. You are quite as brilliant as your mother, however, quite as - passionate over matters which interest you. I suspect you will acquire those temples within a month or two."

Setiluth broke into a soft laugh, laying her lips to Areshen's cheek in quick, gentle touch, and then met his eyes for another long moment. Areshen felt little more than emotional warmth in his daughter's touch, however, hoped that it would not, as it had so often in the past, turn to something more. Setiluth had pled ever since his divinization, though for some time now she seemed to have resigned herself to the obvious, seemed close to abandoning hope that her father was ever going to make love to her. Setiluth leaned forward again, and for another quick moment her kiss was a daughter's.

When Setiluth raised her eyes, however, Areshen found himself tensing, preparing.

"Father - " Setiluth cried.

"Setiluth," Areshen pled as passionately as he gazed toward a young woman of almost unimaginable beauty, the world's most beautiful woman's daughter. My daughter, Areshen reminded himself with a vehement mental shout as soon as he felt a definite edge of piercing sensual warmth for Setiluth's caresses, these now blatant and undisguised.

"Please, father," Setiluth cried again, leaning forward, this time pressing her lips to his own in urging, intimate touch, curling herself into passionate and unpretending embrace. Setiluth, Areshen was certain, had made a genuine effort to honor her promise. Again, however, Areshen felt the strength of his daughter's lips to his own, her kiss pressed to mature, searching passion. For a blind second, Areshen held only an exceptionally beautiful woman in his arms, shuddering when he felt her hand surround his own, pulling it with abandon to her hip. Such sweet love, Areshen decided, his resistance and his resolve wavering when Setiluth finally buried herself to him in finished passion. Just as quickly, however, Areshen again realized that it was his own daughter who was kissing him now without the least hint of caution or restraint. In another instant, Areshen might have fallen over the edge, could never deny that Setiluth's love expressed physically was almost impossibly irresistible. Drawing strength from some final, hidden reserve, however, Areshen finally lifted his lips from his daughter's. In trembling silence he then met Setiluth's eyes, he pleading for one thing, she another.

"Father," Setiluth whispered as she reached again for his hand, crushing it this time to her breast. "It would not be wrong for you, father."

"Setiluth," Areshen pled in struggling desperation, "you are my daughter. I love you."

"Yes, beloved," Setiluth cried, the tone of her voice conveying the intimacy of her thought. It is perverse for men to make love to their own daughters; for Sumer's only living god, however, it is certainly not perversity.

Perhaps something different this time, Areshen decided, forcing calm and ease into his features.

"This is not Elam, and I am not Elam's Gipul."

It worked, and rational awareness settled into Setiluth's eyes; a choked laugh, and her embrace dissolved from sensual intimacy to emotional warmth.

"I'm sorry, father. I've broken my promise yet again, haven't I?" and Setiluth lowered her head to Areshen's chest, her kiss and her embrace once more a daughter's. With a final sigh of resignation, she continued in whispering calm. "Just before I became a woman, father, I fell madly in love with you. I suspect a great many daughters fall in love with their fathers at one time or another. Even after I became a woman and you tossed me from your bed, it was difficult for me to understand until Etwabi and Kinshith explained. Then I became a wife. It was not until I heard that you were a god that I once again remembered how I felt about you just before I became a woman, and I realized that I still felt the same."

"Do you remember what I said the last time, sweet Setiluth?"

"Yes, father," Setiluth chuckled, a measure of complacent ease settling into her voice. "But it is difficult for me to place myself into your mind. As hard as I try, I can see nothing wrong with making love to you. You cannot commit adultery, and you cannot commit incest, father. It is within your right to take any woman in the world as you own, father."

"So they tell me," Areshen sighed, "even in Ur, even though most believe the king of Isin is an uncultured barbarian."

"A barbarian king is one thing, father, a god another."

"Perhaps I will talk more about it with you mother, Setiluth. Setith, I suppose, is your closest rival in absolute piety."

Setiluth broke into a soft, amused chuckled, her expression easy humor when she noticed the question in Areshen's eyes.

"Father, mother has pulled some very opaque wool over your eyes, over everyone else's as well. Mother, beloved father, is your closest rival in absolute apostasy."

"Setiluth - " Areshen stammered, and stared open mouthed.

"Mother seems pious to you," Setiluth continued, still in easy humor, "because she will indeed break out into a rash when informed that she has been infested with clinging galla demons. In front of the Assembly, mother is quite the expert in presenting a pious exterior. For the most part, however, she believes in the gods no more than you do. Have you ever noticed, however, how mother's dependants so adore her? In back chambers, often to protect her children from some hurt or harm, mother has uttered blasphemies which should have drawn a thousand lightning bolts from the sky. And mother is desperately, madly in love with you, father. She always has been and she always will be. Do you really think she could love someone so deeply were he really the exact opposite of herself?"

"I suppose you're right," Areshen answered, feeling the beginnings of a headache. "Enough of gods. Let's talk about something else. Anything else."

"All right, beloved," Setiluth chuckled. "Have you seen Etwabi or Kinshith yet?"

"No. Perhaps in the morning. They tell me they now reside in the house of one Tarineduri? A temple household?"

"Yes. I have spoken to Tarineduri, a fat, disgusting pig who worships the High Priest Shubari's skirts, he another fat disgusting pig. Tarineduri refuses to sell Etwabi or Kinshith to me, most likely in order to ingratiate himself with Shubari. Both fat, disgusting pigs are quite aware that Etwabi and Kinshith are beloved to us. I have offered a queen's price for them, yet Tarineduri refuses to release them. They now sleep beside a copper furnace with twenty other people on top of them. During the day they shovel sheep and goat shit into the furnace from sunrise to sunset. And they are so thin, father, terribly thin for women almost thirty years of age. I asked my advocates to find out if Shubari has once again reduced the grain ration to temple households. They inform me that it has not been reduced. But why are Etwabi and Kinshith so thin? Everyone in Tarineduri's household is thin, everyone except Tarineduri. And fat, fat Tarineduri, probably selling a part of his household's grain rations on the illegal markets, sleeps in the house's grand chamber by himself. Another chamber contains nothing more than his bath and pots of oils and perfumes. Etwabi and Kinshith sleep on their sides; they must stand if they wish to turn over, and they dare not do so or their places on the sleeping mats will be gone. More than once they have had to sleep with the beggars and the wall prostitutes on the streets. I have found them there twice, brought them home to my house, only to have the temple guard appear and demand their release."

Areshen rested in angry silence for a long moment. Twenty years living in fortresses and military camps, he had never really given a great deal of thought to Sumer's cities, nor to the social issues which might concern people like Setith and Setiluth. Cities, to Areshen, had always been places where he climbed over other people in order to visit someone he knew who happened to live there, were sometimes places which needed to be sacked for one reason or another. After he had visited or sacked the particular city in question, however, he had then returned to the frontiers or the fortresses, the cities forgotten.

Areshen glanced about the chamber in searching thought for another long moment, and then turned back toward Setiluth with a noncommittal shrug of confusion.

"I've raised the subject of Ur with Setith several times," Areshen continued. "I've suggested she climb into a chariot herself and lead a few Six Hundreds of infantry south. As queen of Isin, she is certainly entitled to do so."

"Mother has written to me about these fantasies," Setiluth chuckled. "Some of her letters are very erotic, a barbarian queen standing naked in her chariot with her hair flying in the wind. By the way, Gipul is in Ur."

"Is he?" Areshen asked, intrigued. Gipul, king of Elam, and Setith were very close friends, though Areshen would never understand why. Elam, to the east of Ur and Sumer, was an ancient land, several of its cities rivaling Sumer's in size, were the epitome of culture and civilization. Gipul, king of Elam, was anything but, a towering behemoth from one of the eastern mountain tribes who still wore the same fur garments worn by most of the Su tribesmen he hired as mercenaries.

"One day soon," Setiluth continued in easy humor," I will stand on the walls of Ur and watch mother approach standing naked and screaming in her chariot, Gipul himself most likely at her side, painted Su warriors galloping on their horses behind."

"Perhaps," Areshen chuckled. "I've been sorely tempted to do something about Ur myself. The city would be far better served if someone like yourself, Setiluth, rather than Shubari, sat in the Sacred Area's palace," and Areshen gazed another long moment toward his daughter's soft, gentle features, plots and schemes of various sorts running through his mind.

"Go to sleep, father," Setiluth laughed as she pushed herself from the couch. "I promise I will behave myself," and Setiluth pressed a gentle kiss to Areshen's cheek one final time, perhaps just the hint of passionate warmth still evident in her touch before she stood and walked from the room

A ravishing beauty, Areshen thought, almost Setith herself, yet a member of Sumer's and Ur's nobility who discussed affairs of temple and business with her husband whenever they happened to meet. Setiluth wanted a child so badly; not, however, her husband's.

Areshen kissed his daughter with emotional warmth in the morning, his twelve and a half year old wife with gentle passion just long enough to watch entrancement spread across her features, and then left both women to live their lives in each other arms.

Perhaps Ibisien's palace next, Areshen then sighed as he stepped from the house's entrance chamber onto the streets of Ur. Gipul of Elam was as likely to be making a nuisance of himself there as anywhere else. Gipul king of Elam in Ur was not a matter of grave concern to Areshen, though a quick chat couldn't do any harm. Nor would more than a quick chat be necessary. Gipul was not the type to dance about in all manner of suave and diplomatic half truths, nor did Gipul tolerate prevarication himself. If Gipul intended to burn Ur to the ground, he would probably say something as subtle as, "Areshen, my friend, I intend to burn Ur to the ground." And Elam's armies were indeed capable of doing so.

Areshen stood gazing up and down the already crowded streets of Ur for another long moment, watched several in the crowd quickly avert their eyes, and wondered which of these were Shubari's and the temple's spies, which Ibisien's and the palace's. Perhaps Areshen would visit the commander's chambers along the walls later in the day in order to see if his own spies had anything interesting to say, and with a final, deciding sigh, Areshen pushed himself along the streets of Ur toward the palace.

In the palace's grand entrance chamber, Areshen nodded with appreciation toward several First Soldiers who insisted on rendering the king's salute, informed the First Soldiers that he was still nothing more than the military governor of Ur, and then pushed himself into the palace's first courtyard. Ibisien's wives in assembly appeared as beautiful and as bored as always. In an increasingly foul mood and anxious for his first morning beer, Areshen continued through the second courtyard, nodded toward the Judge of Audiences, then pushed his way into the Great Hall and down the central aisle toward the throne platform. Ibisien, his polish and cosmetics smeared across his face, snored in a drunken stupor on the throne as a minor official currently at the speaker's podium pretended not to notice the new arrival. With a sigh of annoyance, Areshen turned from Ur's snoring king toward the Assembly crowded throughout the Great Hall, each member now pretending quiet conversation with another.

"Where's Gipul?" Areshen just bellowed out, deciding in this instance to dispense with the niceties of court protocol entirely.

Several members of the Assembly murmured Shensulith Square, and Areshen again pushed himself onto the streets of Ur, his mood slightly improved when he realized that Gipul of Elam and his first beer were in the same place.

Another long, irritating walk through the twists and corners of Ur's streets and Areshen finally stepped through the arched portal into Shensulith Square, then stood with an expression of amusement and wonder as a chubby, junior priest in the elaborate, flowing robes of the temple of Nanna and Ningal sailed through the air from one side of the square to the other, bounced, and finally settled to the ground with an impressive thud.

"Twelve paces," Gipul of Elam roared in laughter, "the furthest yet," and the fur clad giant with long, shaggy hair and arms looking something like flowing stone raised a pitcher sized cup up to his mouth. "Fetch me another," Gipul then ordered, and several Su warriors also dressed in fur and almost as massively built as Gipul himself led another junior priest forward, this one's robes already smeared with dust and dirt.

"Gipul, what in the name of the gods are you doing?" Areshen shouted as he watched Gipul lift the chubby junior priest into the air. Gipul turned, rugged, weathered, though not unattractive features breaking into a broad smile.

"Areshen, my young friend," Gipul roared in mirth as he approached, the junior priest still whimpering in fright at the ends of Gipul's arms eight feet in the air, "watch this one, Areshen. He's quite the expert rolling," and Areshen watched another junior priest sail from one side of Shensulith Square to the other. The landing roll wasn't perfect, but it wasn't bad.

"Very entertaining," Areshen sighed. "But if you have a minute - "

"For you, my young friend, anything," and Areshen broke into an amused smile as he watched Gipul turn a final moment toward a half dozen junior priest cowering in front of a wall near Heluth's tavern. "Go back to that piece of fat, farting blubber who calls himself High Priest and tell him he's next," and Areshen could not help but break into soft laughter as the king of Elam snorting like an enraged bull chased a half dozen frantic junior priests around Shensulith Square and then through the portal.

"Ah, it's good to se you again, Areshen," Gipul began, as usual in deep, booming joviality as he reached for his next pitcher.

Areshen exchanged a quiet smile with Heluth at the tavern door, reached for his own cup, and then turned back to Gipul in time to watch another half pitcher of beer disappear in one long gulp.

"You and the High Priest Shubari, I take it," Areshen began, "have not settled your differences?"

"I am going to stuff a goat's penis into his mouth one of these days, Areshen," and Gipul continued in brooding solemnity, or something as close to such as he was ever likely to come. "I've made every effort to placate Shubari, Areshen. Six months ago I sent him one of my most cherished daughters from the Suenelisu harem, a beautiful, adorable child, Shen - Shel - well, a beautiful child. Quite as beautiful as the child I sent to Ibisien. I met both daughters the last time I visited Suenelisu. They bowed to me, did their little curtsy things, perfect little ladies, Areshen, particularly little Shen - Shel - the one I sent Shubari. You would have adored her. 'You shall got to the temple in Ur,' I said, 'to the High Priest Shubari, and you shall live in a great palace. Shubari will be very impressed by you.' A month later I received word from one of my spies here in Ur who told me that Shubari had called the girl an uncivilized little - " and Gipul slammed a fist onto the tavern's door shelf. The tavern shook. "Never mind what that fat piece of blubber called her. A goat's penis, Areshen, right in Shubari's mouth before I'm finished with him."

"Setith, Gipul, would be pleased to receive you," Areshen answered, hoping to calm the towering fury in front of him. Areshen gazed up, quite some distance up, into gentle adoration now settling into Gipul's eyes, realizing that it had worked.

"Another who was such a beautiful child," Gipul continued. "When Setith was a little girl, she would laugh and giggle so as I lifted her into the air. 'Look,' she would cry out to her mother and father, 'I'm taller than a house now.' And she grew into such a beautiful woman, the most beautiful woman in the world. If I were not Gipul of Elam, I might have applied to Setith's father myself. Perhaps I am an uncivilized barbarian, but Elam is not. How dare Shubari - "

"Gipul, go to Shar Dulur and talk to Setith. Perhaps you and she can work something out, a trade embargo against Shubari, or something of the sort. If I remember correctly, when I was military governor of Elam you were despite you appearance Setith's one equal when it comes to tabulation tablets and the like."

"Perhaps that is the way," Gipul sighed. "I visited Ibisien in the palace, drunk as usual, still hasn't paid the least attention to the daughter I sent him. I don't know why I even bother with Ibisien at all."

"I suspected you had been to the palace. The Assembly was remarkably subdued this morning. One or two of its members seemed to be nursing bruises."

"The Assembly chamber, Areshen, is only eleven paces wide wall to wall. The heaviest of those painted, polished swamp reeds will fly twelve if you twirl them by their feet."

In easy laughter, Areshen left Gipul and his Su attendants to finish off Heluth's stock of beer, confident that Gipul would confer with Setith before he did anything more provocative than twirl a few more priests and Assembly members by their feet. The situation between Gipul and Ur was rather ludicrous, Areshen decided as he pushed himself along the streets. Gipul, according to some tablet buried in the temple archives, was required to present himself in Ur once a year in order to renew Elam's pledge of submission. For the past eight years now half the members of Ur's Assembly had written Gipul just prior to his scheduled visit begging him to believe them when they stated that this year's visit to Ur would not be necessary.

"Nonsense," Gipul wrote back. "I look forward to it. It is the highpoint of my year," and at least a dozen members of Ur's Assembly could expect to listen to Gipul's bellowed, "I submit," as they flew from one side of the Assembly chamber to the other, Ibisien, Ur's king, cowering over a glass of wine in some hidden corner of the palace. The entire spectacle, Areshen thought, was indeed a rather sad indication of the respect in which Ur's palace was now held, a palace which for the past hundred years had been the center of Sumer's culture, a palace which was now little more than a joke. Thirty years ago, Gipul would have needed the armies of Elam to conduct himself the way he now did in Ur. Today, even the two Su warriors weren't really necessary. Gipul brought them along with him only to show Ur the character of the warriors who in far greater numbers would be standing beneath Ur's walls should the day ever come when even the facade of submission became unpalatable.

Setith, Areshen realized, would understand the financial aspects of the situation, the reason, Areshen supposed, for the continuing close friendship between Setith and Gipul. If Setith and Gipul ever did approach Ur together, Areshen could find no compelling reason to involve himself in the matter. He did, however, intend to find some high building a short distance from the walls where he would have a good view of the spectacle.

Areshen pushed himself around another sharp bend in the street, asked directions of several passers by, and finally approached the house of Tarineduri the coppersmith. As he walked toward the entrance chamber, Areshen again decided to dispense with the niceties of received judicial procedure. Etwabi was Etwabi, a young woman who had suffered quite enough at the hands of the High Priests. Etwabi would very likely resist when Areshen grasped her hand and led her from the house, would probably do so fearing that some divine retribution must be forthcoming far an act clearly blasphemous. No matter, Areshen sighed. He would just lead Etwabi to Setiluth's house where she would eat a few good meals and would eventually stop staring at the ceiling waiting for the bolt of lightning. Nor would any of Ur's judges be particularly anxious to hear the case when they discovered the identity of the person responsible for the theft. Ur might indeed fear Gipul of Elam, had every reason to fear Setith now queen of Isin. It was only the king of Isin alone, however, who without even a single soldier attending could walk onto the throne platform in the palace and push the current occupant aside if it became necessary to do so.

Areshen made his way through the house's entrance chamber into the courtyard, then stood in silence for a long moment pondering the activity of this small metal factory. Men, women, and a few children quite as emaciated as their parents filled buckets at several piles of dry dung spread across the courtyard, then carried the buckets through one of several portals which Areshen assumed led to chambers containing the furnaces.

A long moment later, Areshen turned toward Kinshith as she emerged, bucket in hand, from one of the portals. Again, for one quick instant, Areshen felt Kinshith's and Etwabi's arms about him as they dragged him in light hearted laughter into his own chambers in Setith's house, pulled him down onto floor cushions, and then ran damp towels over his body in such gentle, affectionate caress. Areshen raised his eyes to Kinshith once more; it wasn't the same woman who now held a bucket in her hand here in this metal factory. Kinshith had aged ten years, not six months.

"Kinshith," Areshen began as he grasped her arm. Kinshith stood in uncomprehending silence for a long moment, recognition slowly settling into dull, lifeless eyes.

"Military governor," Kinshith finally answered, the trace of a forced smile breaking across features which otherwise held nothing more than fatigue and pain. A quick moment later, however, Kinshith's smile was gone, tears now streaking the grime of furnace smoke covering her cheeks.

"Kinshith? Areshen urged in a gentle voice.

"Etwabi is dead, military governor. She died a week ago. She died peacefully in her sleep, however, so the physician pronounced her death the effects of age. She was almost thirty."

Areshen staggered back until he felt himself collide with the courtyard's walls, staring at nothing, Etwabi's gentle features before his eyes for another dazed moment

"There were some very old people living beside me in Duenolu's house," Etwabi had stated that evening six months ago when Areshen had last held her in his arms before leaving Ur. "Several were almost fifty. And Duenolu's was a temple household. Of course that was when I was a child. Still, I can certainly expect to live into my fortieth year even if am I sold back into a temple household again."

The temple, Areshen mumbled as he stepped back onto the streets of Ur, his sight now clouded by his own tears.

Prior to ten minutes ago, Areshen had never intended to set foot into Ur's Sacred Area. The temple, to Areshen, was nothing more than an eyesore, a mountain of bricks marring the horizon from a distance.

"Why, High Priest Shubari," Areshen now intended to ask with his hand securely locked about the High Priest's neck, "does a woman not yet thirty die of old age in a temple household," and Areshen grasped the short sword beneath his cloak. Perhaps Shubari would have an acceptable answer, one which made sense. Areshen, however, seriously doubted that he would.

Areshen climbed the ramp which led up to the Sacred Area's south gate, then for another long moment forgot the waves of searing pain coursing through his mind as he gazed about a scene of madness and carnage in the gate room. Two or three dozen of the Sacred Area's armed guard lay groaning in pain across the gate room's floor. Near the opposite portal which led into the Sacred Area itself Gipul of Elam, obviously the one responsible for the mayhem, knelt on the floor holding a very beautiful fifteen year old girl in his arms.

Areshen approached, and for another quick moment gazed in confusion toward Gipul's rugged, lion like features, features now racked in their own pain.

"Look, Areshen," Gipul began. "Look what that monster has done," and with hands larger than the width of the girl's shoulders, Gipul again grasped her body in gentle embrace, turning her back toward Areshen. The scars were as brutal as those Areshen had seen six months ago on the backs of children near Nippur.

Areshen then turned and gazed through the hall's rear portal, several Sixties of temple guard now rushing onto the processional way which led along the walls of the High Priestess' palace toward the temple itself.

"Gipul of Elam," an authoritative voice shouted from among the temple guard, "the High Priest Shubari commands that you may not enter."

Gipul pushed himself to his feet, roared in anger until his daughter clasped her hands over her ears, and the thrust his massive bulk onto the Sacred Area's processional way.

A hundred members of the temple guard armed with short sword and pike converged on an unarmed Gipul in a half circle. The temple guard, Areshen realized, was badly outnumbered, and he pushed himself forward in order to rescue them.

The temple guard stepped several tentative paces toward Gipul, then stood frozen in place when the king of Isin walked through the portal.

"Get out of the way," Areshen barked in disdain, and walked with Gipul through the sudden hole which open in the temple guard's line.

"We'll talk to Shubari," Areshen stated as he and Gipul crossed the processional way and approached the Gate of Judgement which led onto the temple platform.

"We'll kill him," Gipul shouted, pleading in his eyes.

"We'll talk to him," Areshen answered, and stood in Gipul's path for a long moment in front of the steps leading up to the gate.

Gipul pled again, tears still in his eyes for the scars on a fifteen year old girl's back, and then nodded in one quick motion of submission.

Areshen led the way up to the steps, through the gold plated grand hall of the Gate of Judgement, then onto Ur's holiest ground, the towering walls of the temple which Areshen had never wanted to see this closely now just paces away. Areshen and Gipul strode purposefully toward the base of the temple which led along the temple's walls up to the divine chamber, a hundred archers lining the steps taking aim toward the larger of the targets, then one by one lowering their weapons when the other was close enough to be recognized.

Areshen and Gipul climbed onto the first step, then turned their gaze upward toward the whimpering voice on the temple's first terrace.

"Shoot them," Shubari cried as he peered down, and several archers' arms twitched.

"Do that," Areshen scoffed in annoyance, "and you'll be dog meat in the morning."

Areshen and Gipul pushed themselves up the steps past a hundred archers standing in silent submission, through the entrance chamber, and then strode alone the temple's first level terrace toward the corner where the High Priest Shubari cowered, the last of his armed guard now fleeing around the corner.

"We'll talk to him," Areshen stated one last time. "Please, my friend."

"I'll try, my friend," Gipul answered, then stood with Areshen a pace from the High Priest Shubari.

"High Priest Shubari," Areshen began, his voice stern, though not unreasonable. Certainly, Areshen thought for another long moment as he searched for words, even an old farter like this could be reasoned with.

"This is sacrilege," Shubari belched, pompous outrage in his voice. Areshen raised his eyes in anger, then winced for the sudden thunderous roar from Gipul's throat, amazed, a quick half second later, at the rapidity with which the High Priest Shubari, twice the size of any junior priest, sailed into the air. Areshen watched in ever increasing wonder as the bulky mass of fluttering robes flew in an upward arc for an incredible distance, then almost two thirds of the way toward the ground before impacting against the temple's sloping walls, finally coming to lifeless rest on the pavement below. Areshen watched the crowds far below scream in terror as they scrambled for the temple platform's exits, then turned his curious gaze across toward Gipul, an easy smile of satisfaction in the giant's features, a moment later sheepish apology when he noticed Areshen's attention.

"Sorry," Gipul mumbled, eyes downcast in contrition. "Couldn't help myself."

Areshen sighed, glanced a final moment toward the Divine Chamber at the top of the temple, and then uttered the most profound of his thought which at the moment came to mind.

"I suppose, at the least, it will now be a bit more pleasant up there for Nin - Nan - whoever."

Part II

Areshen strode down the central aisle in the palace of Ur's Assembly Hall and again decided to dispense with established protocol.

"Where is he?" Areshen demanded as he stepped onto the throne platform and gazed down on a gaudily painted nephew or some such cringing on the edge of the throne.

"He - he - he's incapacitated," an effeminate, cowering nephew of Ibisien's squeaked.

Drunk, Areshen sighed, and with a snapping wave of his hand shooed the nephew from the throne. As the pouting young man crawled back to the king's gallery, Areshen studied Ur's Assembly standing in unusually subdued conversation throughout the Great Hall, Shubari's flight from the temple's first terrace most likely the topic of every conversation.

Areshen stepped to the throne, waited until he was certain that everyone in the hall was now pretending not to notice him, and then with a long, final sigh, lowered himself onto Ur's throne. Nothing more than the buzzing of several flies could now be heard throughout the Great Hall, most members of the Assembly gazing toward the floor, a few toward the portals as though preparing to run. No one at the moment, however, moved.

"Don't worry," Areshen finally began, his voice low and strained with fatigue, head on hand nursing the ache both physical and emotional. "I intend only to borrow this chair for a few moments. King's pronouncements," and Areshen paused, waiting for the startled scribes to raise their pens. "Setith, queen of Isin, is reinstated as High Priestess of all temples from which she was removed by the High Priest Shubari, the same who this day past attempted to fly like a bird from the temple's first terrace, and was unable to do so. The High Priestess of Ur, upon discovering that the High Priest Shubari did not, in fact, possess the ability to fly like a bird from the temple's first terrace, does not wish to test her own ability to do so, and has informed me that she would be most pleased to abdicate her throne. Setiluth, therefore, daughter of Areshen, king of Isin, temporary king of Ur, will be installed as High Priestess. Unless a High Priest with the ability to fly like a bird from the temple's first terrace can be found, I see no reason to bother with another High Priest here in Ur. Setiluth will rule alone."

Again Areshen paused, glanced for another long moment about the Great Hall, much of the Assembly now wearing an expression of relief. Most, Areshen supposed, would expect the blasphemous king of Isin to announce the sack of Ur with his opening words if Ur was in fact going to be sacked.

"Why," Areshen then mumbled, his voice, however, still clearly audible in every corner of the Great Hall, "why? A young woman not yet thirty, living in a temple household, was tired, exhausted, and then she died. The master of the house, they tell me, is in his late fifties. I'm a soldier, a barbarian," Areshen barked, his "barbarian" the northern Akkadian word, even the sound ferocious. "I know very little about numbers. But the numbers I have just used seem very wrong to me. My daughter Setiluth knows a great deal about numbers, however. Upon her installation as High Priestess of Ur, Setiluth intends to ask some of you about these numbers, particularly those of you who are heads of temple households. Setith, queen of Isin, who now sits lawfully installed as High Priestess of Nippur, its palace, they tell me, once again as it should be, preeminent in Sumer and Akkad, also knows a great deal about numbers, and Setith's householders to not die in their late twenties, so I suppose Setith may ask," Areshen continued with barked emphasis, "why yours here in Ur do," and again the Assembly stood in trembling silence.

Areshen glared across the Great Hall for another long moment, again rubbed the ache from his head, then pushed himself to his feet.

"Tell Ibi," Areshen scoffed, "that he can have his chair back when he's sober enough to sit in it. I'm done with it - for now. Tell him I'll be on the walls for awhile being military governor if he needs me. Tell him Gipul of Elam is returning home to Elam with his daughters. Gipul, they tell me, also knows a great deal about numbers, has told me that he knows exactly how many bricks there are in Ur. Gipul tells me that he shall not return to Ur unless it becomes necessary to remove every last brick in the city from the one on which it now rests. Gipul of Elam, I suspect, will one day return to Ur unless a great many of you listen to what it is that the High Priestesses Setith and Setiluth have to say about numbers. And Setith, as far as a barbarian such as myself can tell, a lady of unprecedented virtue, charity, and nobility deprived of her possessions without so much as a whimper of protest from this Assembly, is now queen of Isin, rides naked on her chariot in a fury seeking vengeance, they tell me as well. For eight years now you have quaked in terror every time the king of Isin has walked into this chamber and stood next to its throne. I would suggest that all of you turn your eyes toward the queen of Isin instead. She and Gipul of Elam are very good friends. Gipul knows how many bricks there are in Ur; Setith knows all about other numbers. Setith knows to the ounce how much grain is stored in most temple granaries across Sumer and Akkad, and her children do not die at thirty years of age."

Areshen gazed about the Great Hall for another long moment, not certain that any of his words had made a great deal of sense.

"They did, father," Setiluth proclaimed several days later when she was installed as High Priestess of Ur.

Areshen then returned to the walls of Ur and for another month drank beer with other soldiers in the fortress courtyards, sleeping in small chambers beneath the wall towers at night.

Areshen finally returned to Ur's Sacred Area and stood for a long, studying moment pondering the frenzied activity in the Great Court of Nanna. Temple priests, scribes, a hundred warehouse workers carried every sort of merchandise and produce from the backs of donkeys toward storerooms and factories lining all four walls of the Great Court. The scene did not appear remarkably different than it had before Setiluth had been installed as High Priestess, the changes Setiluth had ordered, Areshen supposed, far too subtle for someone such as himself to detect.

From the Great Court, Areshen wandered onto the temple platform itself, then for another quick moment gazed toward another constant rush of activity about another series of workshops and storage chambers lining the temple platform's walls. Climbing finally from the temple platform through the gate of Judgement, the Sacred Area's palaces now dominated the view.

The palace of the High Priestess toward which Areshen then walked was a particularly impressive sight, a fortress like structure remarkably larger than either of the Sacred Area's other palaces, the High Priestess' palace many times the size of any structure beyond the Sacred Area's walls. Guard towers rising into the air on each other the palace's corners were now manned by professional soldiers rather than the old temple guard, would continue to be manned by professional soldiers until Areshen was certain that Setiluth faced no danger from a hundred or more members of the previous regime still occupying priesthoods in the Sacred Area, more than a few of these most likely back chamber products of the late High Priest Shubari's indiscretions, all of whom had been disappointed and disillusioned when the High Priest Shubari had been unable to fly like a bird from the temple's first terrace.

Areshen sauntered through the entrance chamber in the northwest wall of the High Priestess' palace, then wandered through a maze of interior chambers, a large courtyard, another half dozen chambers, and finally realized that he was once more hopelessly lost. Only when one of the serving girls Setiluth had brought with her to the palace grasped Areshen's hand did he finally make his way to the High Priestess' private chambers, another confusing maze of interconnecting rooms now occupied by Setiluth's personal household.

"It took me a year," Areshen began as he lowered himself to the couch and gazed toward his daughter sitting at a table covered with writing tablets, "to find my way around Ur. Shar Dulur was a particular annoyance. This place, however, is worse than either. There's no sense to it, no order."

"Actually there is, father," Setiluth laughed, her gentle smile as stunning as ever.

"Ten minutes ago," Areshen stated as he nodded appreciation toward the young serving girl who delivered his beer, then nodded annoyance toward the chamber's walls, "I walked through a room in which a half dozen doddering old priests were boiling something in a big cauldron, mumbling away at their prayers. I walked through a door, left, right, left a few more times, and ended in another chamber with a big cauldron and mumbling priest, only to realize that it was the same chamber through which I had passed just a minute before, the only difference being that the mumbling priests were now having difficulty concentrating on their prayers. One or two of them, I'm certain, were laughing at me."

"You wandered through the sacrificial chambers of Demenuru, father," Setiluth chuckled. "You are the only person in Ur who could have done so, particularly twice, without ending in one of the towers, under armed guard."

"And the whole place is very crowded, Setiluth, people in every chamber. I've seen as many people in the last few minutes here in the palace as anyone might see in a whole block of buildings out in the city," and Areshen gazed across toward his daughter in gentle concern.

"Shubari," Setiluth continued, "emptied all three of the Sacred Area's palaces. His household slept atop sacks of grain in the Great Court while he and the High Priestess slept in the palaces alone, entire Sixties of the temple guard posted at the entrances throughout the night. I would never be happy, father, sleeping in this palace all by myself."

"But all of Ur now waits in chambers just beyond the door to this one. You deny no one audience, Setiluth."

"That does not really displease you, does it, father?"

"No," Areshen sighed. "I suppose it does not."

"Besides," Setiluth again chuckled, "the rest of Ur can find its way to my chambers without loosing themselves along the way. Even Eta can do so."

Areshen broke into a soft smile for the hint of mature passion he had begun to notice in the touch of his twelve year old wife's lips to his own the last few times they had met, the passion still mild and tentative, though just a bit more obvious than it had been a month ago.

"Eta still spends all of her time with Teru?" Areshen asked.

"Yes, ever since she met him at the rites for Etwabi. Eta is quite taken with Teru and his god, has become an ardent member of the cult. When Eta visited me a few days ago, we passed our time walking together through the palace. I pointed to the chambers of Luebu, a goddess who seems to have fallen from favor with Nanna and Ningal, the chambers by and large abandoned, and I offered those chambers to Teru and Eta. 'No,' sweet Eta frowned. 'God,' she then said, 'does not wish to live with the gods of Sumer, because he is the only god.'"

"Teru has mentioned this belief to me several times, though I've never stopped to consider it in detail yet. The idea, however, is intriguing, one god, instead of a stableful of them, far less of a nuisance."

"Quite," Setiluth sighed with no more than a touch of passing annoyance, contemplative solemnity in her features when she continued. "Eta also informs me that Teru's only god is not pleased with the fact that so many daughters in Ur are bearing their own father's children. Eta and Teru both ask that I promulgate a stop to this."

***

"I may, but it will be difficult to do so. Since Teru's god is not resident in the temple, I will have to search the archives of those gods who are resident, particularly the archives of Nanna. Shubari, it seemed, had commissioned just such a study several years ago, hoping to find some statement by the gods in support of a promulgation increasing the propitiation taxes placed on the heads of households whose primary lovers are their own daughters. It would have been a very lucrative tax in the south, particularly here in Ur. And - well, you know how I feel about you, father. I can sympathize - "

"But you would still promulgate against it?"

"Yes, did I think it contrary to the dictates of Holy Order, though I would hope to promulgate in the Tribunal of Moral Order rather than in the tax courts. As I say, however, it appears that it is going to be difficult to do so. Sumer's gods in residence have had very little to say on the matter. Shubari's study produced very little evidence one way or another. In the end, the case Shubari's advocates prepared questioning sexual relations between fathers and daughters was weak, and the proposal for the new tax was abandoned. Mother has promised to assist me, however. She returns to Nippur for a few days a month from now, and states that she will commission a study there."

"A month ago, you said that Setith's views regarding the gods are not remarkably different than my own?"

"Holy Order," Setiluth chuckled, "is still the foundation for most of mother's beliefs, whether Holy Order be an interpretation of divine command or an expression of cultural values and standards. Mother is most certainly the epitome of the latter."

"I suppose I raised the subject of a promulgation in the first place for - personal reasons."

Areshen watched the expression of amusement in his daughter's features for another long moment. Again, however, he could not help but feel a genuine, pressing concern for her, all of Ur waiting in the outer chambers, the intentions of more than a few most likely anything but honest. And Setiluth was very aware that her life had changed forever; she had trembled quite visibly when she had been installed as High Priestess of Ur. She was now mistress of nine tenths of everything, both within the city itself, as well as in countless factories and farms beyond the city walls. Again Areshen raised his eyes to his daughters, the unspoken question obvious.

"I am all right, beloved," Setiluth began when she noticed the depth of her father's concern for her. "I, at least, have had three years experience as mistress of a household. When Sargon made his daughter High Priestess of Ur, she was only twelve years old."

"You have made very few changes, Setiluth. I would have thought you quite justified had you removed a hundred High Priests' heads from their shoulders."

"I have considered doing so indeed, father," Setiluth admitted. "Gipal and Elam would certainly be pleased were I to do so. I receive letters from Gipul daily, the name of another head added to his list. The removal of so many heads at once would lead to chaos, however. A few would die quickly; thousands more would die slowly, in hunger and in pain. Should I remove the minister of river transport from his post? If his replacement proves to be incompetent, it may take a year to repair the damage caused be said incompetence. Were there to be another disruption in river transport while at the same time a crop failures somewhere, the result could very well be another famine. That is just one case. What of the harbor master, accounts clerks, the housing minister, a hundred others with specialized expertise overseeing the business of their chambers? Actually," and Setiluth sighed a long moment's tense anxiety, "I had genuinely hoped that Eta's and Teru's god would accept my invitation to reside with me in the palace. I need all the help I can get. Teru, however, though he is far too kind to state it bluntly and directly, hints that it is already too late for Ur, the old regime far too entrenched, and urges me to have an escape planned, perhaps on which leads to you and mother in Isin."

"Do you?" Areshen asked with the subtle hint of an intrigued smile.

"If Teru is correct, it will probably be Gipul of Elam who proves him so. If Gipul, who many times has expressed a desire to remove every brick in Ur from the one on which it now stands, appears beneath the walls of Ur with his armies, mother will probably be standing beside him. I will not have far to flee. In order to avoid having to do so in the first place, however, I will try to be that which mother has always been - a good High Priestess," and with a gentle smile, Setiluth lifted one of the tablets from her table. "From mother," Setiluth continued, easy warmth in her expression for a long moment, then Setith's shrewd, piercing expression of intelligence once more. "Mother writes, 'balance the scales carefully, beloved daughter. You, perhaps, are alone capable of doing so, feeding Ur on the one hand, placating Gipul and the east on the other. Remove a few snakes from the nest, not so many, however, that the nest crumbles altogether.' Mother then continues" - and with some amount of effort, Areshen attempted to maintain at least the pretense of interest as mother and daughter engaged in protracted financial negotiation over the division of bricks and sacks of grain and this and that and the other thing from one side of Sumer and Akkad to the other. "'Sweet, beloved Setiluth,' mother continues," a frowning eighteen year old daughter who felt only the most ardent of love for her mother read on, "' your most recent offer for the purchase of Stenuri is a bit closer to that which a well informed person might term reasonable. I must inform you, however, that the cattle of Stenuri are among the most highly valued in Sumer. Perhaps the reason your purchase offer was still a bit low is because you are not aware of their actual worth, your agents scoundrels feeding you every sort of misinformation. I am certain your next offer will be one meriting serious consideration on my part.'"

Areshen raised his eyes from his beer when he realized that Setiluth had paused, her expression mischievous as she gazed back.

"That was all very interesting, beloved," Areshen lied.

Setiluth broke into a soft, accepting smile as she lowered the tablet.

"I won't bore you any further, father. Suffice it to say that the situation in its entirety is similar to that which existed when Sargon made his daughter the High Priestess of Ur. Sargon's queen got the north, his daughter the south. Save for sporadic exceptions, mother and I have agreed to follow their example. Neither Sargon's queen nor his daughter bothered to explain it all to Sargon, however. They say, though I find it hard to believe, that he exhibited even less interest in financial matters than the present king of Isin."

"What of Ibisien and the palace here in Ur, Setiluth? Are they a matter of concern to you?"

"No more than they are to you, father. Since I am your daughter, very few, even here in Ur, doubt that Isin is now that which Sargon's Agade was. The king's palace here in Ur is now little more than just another private residence, a ceremonial allegiance proffered to same by a few elderly people who will always live in the past. Gipul recognizes the situation as it is, and states that it will not be necessary to waste a great deal of his time on Ibisien should he find it necessary to sack Ur. Gipul boasts that he will just take Isisien back to Elam with him as a pet."

"Ibisien, my spies among the palace guard tell me, is already trying to reconcile himself to that which even he now considers inevitable. His poets are busy composing lamentations, numerous versions, his scribes instructed to circulate those which are appropriate in the event of his demise."

"It is very sad," Setiluth answered. "Ibisien's only real crime was that he inherited his grandfather's crown, not quite certain what to do with it. So he did very little with it, far less even than his father and uncle, contents himself with a cup of wine and his sweet little boys. It is for this reason that most of Ur once again belongs to the temple. Had Shubari lived another year or Ibisien become distracted with another of his pets, all of Ur might now belong to the temple."

"Is that good or bad?" Areshen asked.

"By and large, neither. Still, I would not have wanted to live in a temple household under the High Priest Shubari. Etwabi could not even attain her thirtieth year having to do so," and the moisture now in Setiluth's eyes was obvious at a glance. When Setiluth had been a child, it had been Etwabi as often as not who had taken her into maternal embrace.

Areshen felt the weight of his own emotions settle about him, leaned further into the couch, and then just waited for Setiluth.

"I will, as I say," Setiluth finally continued, Setith's fierce self assurance once again in her eyes, "be a good High Priestess. Ur, good or bad, is once again a temple city. Did Epenatu or another of the ancients walk from their tomb onto the streets of Ur, very little would be unfamiliar to them. Ur, an ancient temple city once again, needs a good High Priestess. Shubari, however, is still entrenched in households all over the city. I'm not certain that I can dislodge him as quickly as some might wish, Gipul of Elam to name just one. Should I visit one household a day in Ur, I will in ten years have visited them all. Households belonging to the temple beyond the city's walls would require another thirty years. And for the past hundred years now, ever since Urnammu, Ur has been the center of Sumer's civilization. When I have completed my forty year's work, another sixty will be required to dislodge Shubari from his hiding places all across Sumer."

Areshen met his daughter's eyes in intimacy for another long moment, helpless concern for her in his own.

"I could dislodge Shubari from Ur myself," Areshen finally shrugged. "I would do so in an instant did I think doing so would meet with your approval. Unfortunately, I am a very blunt instrument, not at all given to finesse or surgical precision. I know very little about palace officials and the business of their chambers, next to nothing about tabulation tablets and the like. Were I to remove the snakes from Ur, Gipul wold no longer have to sack it. Ur would already be sacked."

"Give me a little time, father," Setiluth answered. "Gipul seems content to do so."

"Setith will help you, won't she, Setiluth?"

"Mother will do most of it."

Areshen raised his eyes in question, nodding understanding, however, a quick moment later.

"From mother's letters," Setiluth continued in easy humor, "I get the impression that she is beginning to enjoy her role as queen of Isin, taking an almost sensual delight living on the edge of civilization. I'm certain that when no one save soldiers are looking, mother and Ati strip to battle dress, step into their chariots with lances in their hands, and charge about the countryside beneath Shar Dulur's walls screaming like madwomen. I also have no doubt that mother will stand in a chariot beside Gipul should he and the armies of Elam appear beneath the walls of Ur. Gipul adores mother, has loved her ever since she was a child, will march on Ur in fact only after long consultation with mother. Despite the fancies and the fantasies in which mother currently revels, however, she remains that which she has always been, a product of Sumer's old and established culture, unquestionably the most brilliant alive today. Mother, in her letters to me, offers many suggestions. If I possess any brilliance myself, it is only enough to recognize the absolute brilliance in mother's suggestions."

"You love your mother very deeply, Setiluth," and again Areshen returned a questioning expression. At times the adoration in Setiluth's features for her mother was little different than that shown by countless others eager to call themselves Setith's children. At other times, however, particularly when matters of business and financial concern were being discussed, nothing more than Setith's fierce, penetrating scowl appeared in Setiluth's features.

"I indeed love mother very deeply," Setiluth answered with a gentle chuckle, obviously aware of the reason for the question in her father's expression. "I do not stop love mother when a tabulation tablet sits on the table between us, nor do I cease being her daughter. We both love each other very deeply, but - matters of business must be attended to."

"A soldier standing on Shar Dulur's walls may point to any one of a dozen donkey caravans, certain that Setith is fully aware of the contents of the pack straddling any particular donkey's back. For the past month now standing on Ur's walls, I have listened to soldiers say the same of you, Setiluth. My expertise, however, consists of little more than an ability to discern the thought in another man's mind before a battle or a long march or such. I am indeed expert in this, however, and I am certain that Ur's soldiers, particularly those who spend their time pondering tabulation tablets, are well and truly pleased that you are aware of the contents of every donkey pack. Their eyes tell a far different story now than they did when Shubari sat in this palace, as do the eyes of every householder on the streets of Ur. I do not know if satisfaction in the eyes of someone on the streets of Ur is of any greater importance to me than satisfaction in a soldier's eyes before I order him into battle. I don't know if it should be. I do know, however, that both Setith's and your householders seldom die in their twenties, seldom in their thirties, not often in their forties. I cannot help but wonder if the ease I detect in their eyes and their longevity is somehow connected."

"Have some more beer, father," Setiluth chuckled, nodding toward one of her attendants. "It seems to help you think."

"Ordinarily," Areshen chuckled as well, "I have always avoided situations necessitating the exercise. I have of late, however, been unable to do so," and Areshen continued in quiet solemnity. "Eta's family laying dead on their farm, Etwabi, others like her sleeping on the street when their master's house in full. Urnammu, a hundred years back, tried to fix it all by writing laws on stone, 'to protect the orphan, to care for the widow.' It does not seem to me that much has been fixed. We do, however, now have laws written on stone, and well dressed, well fed advocates to argue them."

Again Setiluth broke into a soft chuckle.

"If I successfully convince Gipul, mother, and perhaps even you, father, that Ur need not be sacked, it will not be for any help I received from advocates arguing before tribunals. Advocates today are little different than they were in Urnammu's time, and little more relevant when it comes to the matters we have been discussing. Most spend their days prosecuting a wealthy brickmaker for delivering five, instead of six loads of bricks. Others defend the wealthy brick maker. When either the missing load of bricks has been found or damages have been assessed by the judges, the advocates move on. Ur, however, will not live or die because of them. People who are very poor and die in their twenties never see an advocate. The more wealthy and influential of Ur's High Priests have little more use for them."

"What of the gods, then?" Areshen asked with an idle shrug. "If I understand my Holy Order, it is they who are the actual owners of Ur.

"You are being kind to me, beloved. Seeking someone to blame should Ur fail, you have passed over me and gone directly to the gods. That is not a step very many people would expect you to take."

"Perhaps not," Areshen laughed. "It seems to be a step Ibisien has taken, however, according to several scribes who divide their time between the king's palace and the walls. These scribes tell me that one of the lamentations over Ibisien, a lamentation to be discovered after his demise, assigns the blame for Ur's fall to Nanna. Enlil and the gods, I now quote, 'had turned their eyes away from Ur. So Nanna descended from the temple, walked to his holy boat, and sailed upriver to Nippur in order to plead for Ur and Ibisien before Enlil and the Assembly of the gods. The night before Nanna was to present his case, however, he passed his time drinking beer in Nippur's public squares instead of preparing his case. When Enlil and the Assembly of the gods met the next morning to decide Ur's fate, Nanna lay drunk in the arms of a prostitute, the tablets on which his case appeared sold by the prostitute for an ounce of the pleasant drug. By the time Nanna finally arrived at the Assembly of the gods, Enlil and the other gods had already decided on Ur's and Ibisien's destruction, would hear no further argument from a god who was late for Assembly because he had spent his night drinking beer in Nippur's public square with a prostitute who had sold his legal tablets for an ounce of the pleasant drug,'" and Areshen again met his daughter's eyes, amusement and question in his own.

"This same lamentation has not yet been revealed to me," Setiluth chuckled. "I suppose Ibisien's priests now have had more time to listen to the gods and compose lamentations. The king's palace has by and large withdrawn from the world in order to lament its misfortune. I cannot yet do so myself, nor, I suppose, can I devote a great deal of my time listening to the lamentation priests. I certainly cannot abandon myself to revelries of the senses, such disturbingly common, I am informed, in Ibisien's palace, its inmates debauching themselves and each other throughout the night quite as though the dawn of another day was an uncertainty in their minds. To return to the point we have been discussing, however, if Ur faces danger, it is from the east, perhaps because of the disfavor of the gods, though I suspect such as a missing load of bricks between here and Elam or a few sacks of grain promised and never delivered to a clan of Su tribesmen along the frontiers will also figure prominently in the problems between Ur and the east. And Gipul is never going to forget how Shubari treated the daughters of Elam sent to Ur; because of this, missing bricks and sacks of grain will be a far greater source of irritation to Gipul and Elam. In the past month I have found myself spending far more time looking for lost loads of bricks and missing sacks of grain than I have spent listening to the gods. Perhaps I will never be as good a High Priestess as mother because I cannot do both at the same time."

"You are most competent doing the one, beloved Setiluth. I personally spend very little time worrying about the other."

"I know, beloved," Setiluth laughed.

"And I know very little about either. I do, however, sleep better knowing that it is Sumer's soldiers who stand in the towers of this palace rather than the armed thugs who took orders from Shubari," and Areshen searched his daughter's eyes with studying intensity, attempting to gauge her reaction.

"I am your daughter," Setiluth answered as she pushed herself to her feet, then grasped Areshen's hand and pulled him from the couch. "I am the High Priestess of Ur, an ancient temple city once again, and I am your daughter, father."

Areshen nodded, confusion, however, in his expression.

"Walk with me. I want to show you something, father," Setiluth answered, her smile gentle ease as she led Areshen without haste from chamber to chamber, most quite as crowded as any temple household in the outer city.

"Some of these people are mine," Setiluth began, nodding toward those with Setiluth's gentle and complacent ease in their features. "Others are still Shubari's," and Areshen glanced toward other faces, not really certain. "At the moment, however, everyone sleeps well. That is because I am your daughter. No one here doubts the coming of the dawn, and no one doubts what the new day will bring."

Areshen nodded again, supposing he understood it all as well as he ever would. Areshen then felt the grasp of Setiluth's hand to his own strengthen with intimate warmth as she led him toward the door of the High Priestess' private chambers.

"Stay with me for awhile, father."

Areshen nodded again, searching Setiluth's eyes with renewed caution as she led him into a small, unadorned chamber. When Setiluth promised with a resigned sigh and a gentle smile, Areshen lowered himself onto the floor cushions, his attention for another long moment on the cup he still held. When Setiluth removed her long, flowing gown and sat beside him wearing the plain, unpretentious dress worn by most servants, Areshen could not help but see Setith in his daughter, Setith as he had seen her twenty years ago when they had first married. Setiluth's touch, however, remained a daughter's as she lowered herself into embrace. Areshen took Setiluth into his arms quite aware that she would ask at least once during the course of the night for that which he could not in good conscience give. For some time now, however, Setiluth had usually asked just once, little more than a moment's disappointment in her eyes for Areshen's answer.

"You have slept in the wall fortress for a month now, father," Setiluth chuckled. "Sargon, when in Ur, slept at his daughter's side in this very chamber. Sargon, beloved, gave his daughter a divine child," and Areshen felt the sudden though very apparent touch of sensuality in Setiluth's caress to his hand, the teasing question in her smile.

"Most in the north," Areshen answered, "say that it was not Sargon, but Sargon's son who was a god, do they not?"

"I suppose they do," Setiluth answered with a chuckling sigh, gave up, and lowered her head to Areshen's chest in gentle, emotional warmth. My daughter, Areshen whispered to himself with intentional vehemence, never able to deny the rest. Setiluth, after all, was that which Setith had always been, physical perfection, beauty almost unimaginable. And Setiluth was possessed of all Setith's keen, penetrating intelligence, was quite aware that Areshen now struggled with his feelings, guarding them with intentional effort. She was just as aware that Areshen's resistance could be overcome did she abandon herself to caresses blatant and undisguised. Finally, however, Setiluth was aware that she might loose, if not her father's love, then a very large part of his emotional, paternal affection did she succeed in pushing him into abandon. In the end, both Areshen and Setiluth struggled as they held each other, searching for benign topics of conversation in order to settle themselves.

"You now see even less of your husband, I suppose?" Areshen asked.

"Mother and I are negotiating terms over a wool factory in Oculun. Deturu is there inspecting it for me now. He then travels to Isin in order to conclude negotiations with mother," and Setiluth glanced up toward the annoyance in Areshen's eyes, her voice gentle protest when she continued. "I spent half of an entire evening with him just ten days ago before I was called back to the palace on business."

"Martila has already given Setith and me two grandchildren, and she is a year younger than you, sweet Setiluth."

"Perhaps soon," Setiluth laughed, her expression quiet solemnity a quick moment later. "Are you going to remain in Ur a bit longer, beloved?" and again Areshen felt the pleading strength in his daughter's embrace, even if her emotions now seemed uncomplicated affection.

"You are still frightened at times, Setiluth?"

"A little, father. What mistress of Ur would not be were she possessed of any reason whatsoever? I would tremble uncontrollably where you to leave Ur tomorrow. Perhaps in another few weeks, another month, I will have become accustomed to it all."

"Meneturu writes from Shar Dulur stating that there are no wars of consequence along the borders, not, at least, at the moment. It seems the Amuru are celebrating Shubari's demise with far greater enthusiasm than they celebrated the sack of Nippur. It will be at least another month before I am needed anywhere along the frontiers. Meshduri writes that he will visit his family here in Ur in ten days time."

"Oh, that is not fair. I will loose you to Meshduri now. I've been waiting a month for you to climb down from the walls and spend some time with me, and now you and Meshduri will spend your time wandering from one tavern to the next."

"I will visit Meshduri, then come back to you," Areshen chuckled as Setiluth, with an easy smile, pressed her kiss to his cheek. Areshen allowed the kiss its gentle, possessive passion for a quick moment, and then pulled Setiluth back into the warmth of an emotional embrace.

"When Sargon's daughter occupied these chambers," Setiluth then continued, "it was her father's own troops who stood on both the city's and the Sacred Area's walls. I suppose that must have been a great source of comfort to her, particularly since she was not even from Ur, but like Sargon, from the north. Several days ago the scribes brought me some very interesting tablets, tablets inscribed in several cases two or three hundred years ago, though it is difficult to date some of them with any real degree of precision. Some of these tablets are fascinating, however. The price of combed wool two hundred years ago, for instance - " and with a soft, contented smile, Areshen held his daughter in gentle embrace as she expounded on the financial aspects of the clothe trade as it had existed between Ur and cities far to the north during the time of Sargon. Setiluth met Areshen's eyes every few moments, continuing her dissertation when she assumed the smile he returned at least something close to genuine interest. Areshen found it easy at the moment to hold his remarkably beautiful and intelligent daughter in close embrace, though again he supposed he would never understand why someone as brilliant as Setiluth in fact was wanted so desperately to make love to him. Areshen gazed toward the walls of the small private chamber in the High Priestess' palace for another long moment, then lowered his eyes toward Setiluth as she continued her dissertation on the ancient clothe trade. Areshen could not help but notice the gentle, idle intimacy in the caress of Setiluth's hand to his own. Nor, he supposed again, could he deny how the obvious depth of Setiluth's feelings for him had affected him, all this even more apparent when he pondered his feelings for Martila. Martila was another who genuinely loved her father, perhaps a bit more deeply than most other daughters might. Martila, however, a light hearted young woman with an easy, uncomplicated smile always in her features, seemed to find a complete and sufficient happiness in her husband and children, her embrace whenever Areshen visited her never anything but a daughter's.

Again Areshen allowed his eyes to settle on Setiluth's features, her voice quiet and contemplative, and Areshen again realized how he had responded to the passionate nature of the love Setiluth felt for him. Areshen could just not deny that he had fallen in love with Setiluth as well, a young woman almost an exact emotional and physical copy of Setith.

And having, in fact, to whatever extent, fallen in love with Setiluth, Areshen supposed this at least part of the reason why he had for some time now felt the onset of sensual, physical arousal in Setiluth's arms. Nor were the feelings simply physical and without emotion; they were in fact, Areshen admitted to himself, little different from those he had always felt for Setith, the passionate intensity of which was something a great deal more than simple, physical arousal. And Setiluth, Areshen realized with final resignation, knew exactly how he felt about her, her caress an expression of delight and joy when with some innate sense of the thing she felt the nature and the strength of his love for her in his embrace.

The arousing nature of his feelings was also, Areshen realized with gratitude toward whatever it was enabling him to do so, easily dismissed. My sweet, beloved daughter, Areshen whispered to himself, and the word daughter was more than enough. That must be proof, Areshen decided in easy humor, that I am no god, and a moment later realized that Setiluth, with a glaring frown, was gazing toward the amusement now most likely evident in his features.

"There was absolutely nothing funny about what I just said," Setiluth protested.

"I'm sorry, beloved, ah - the price of combed wool in Sargon's time. Fascinating."

Setith released a chuckling sigh, her embrace gentle warmth a quick moment later.

"You listened to me with genuine interest for quite some time before you finally drifted away. I suppose I should be pleased. Mother tells me that you steal away from Assembly in Shar Dulur with your fishing line as soon as the first brick or sack of grain in mentioned."

"Setith needs no more help from me ordering the finances of Isin than you do, Setiluth, with those of Ur."

"Perhaps not," Setiluth chuckled, settling into quiet thought a quick moment later. As usual, Setiluth was quite aware of the thought toward which Areshen had drifted.

"Father, I'm very deeply in love with you. But you know that. But you're very deeply in love with me, aren't you?"

"I cannot hide it from you?"

"You don't really try to. Not any more."

"No," Areshen admitted. "I suppose I don't."

"I can feel how deeply in love with me you are, beloved. In the west, in Egypt, you could marry your sister, you know."

"I have no sister. And I've never been to Egypt."

Setiluth allowed herself another moment's gentle amusement, searching question again in her eyes when she once more met Areshen's.

"And you will not make love to me, will you, father?"

"If you asked me, if you said the words, perhaps I would make love to you, Setiluth. After all - " and Areshen searched the depths of his mind, that first evening Setiluth had indeed asked a memory never far from Areshen's concern. "If - if you pulled me into your arms again, Setiluth - "

Setiluth struggled as well, quite aware that an instant's urging caress would be more than enough.

"But - " Setiluth tried, the depth of emotion now racking her features, "but it would not make you happy, beloved?"

"No, beloved, it would not. Not - really…"

"Because I am your daughter?"

"Yes. That is far more important to me than the fact that we are in love with each other."

Setiluth broke into an accepting smile, pressing her lips to Areshen's cheek in a long moment's gentle touch, her smile emotional warmth when Areshen returned her kiss.

"Then I will be satisfied with your kiss, father, even if I cannot understand how you feel."

"You were raised in Ur, Setiluth, in Setith's house, something very close to a palace. I was raised on a pig farm in Sannu. I suppose we will never completely understand each other."

"I have tried to do so, have tried to place myself into your mind, but I always settle back into my own. I am your daughter, father, not another's daughter. Because I am your daughter, father, I am therefore also your wife. When I realized that you had fallen in love with me, father, I felt certain that we would finally make love to each other without inhibition; after all, as you say - we will always have that which we gave to each other that first evening I asked for your love. Finally, however, I suppose I must admit that I have made you fall in love with me; at the very least, I have made it easy for you to do so, all the while suspecting that it would be me who would be the consort wife of your heart in Ur. And in legal fact," Setiluth continued with a touch of returning humor, "I am."

"But a kiss will be enough? At least for now?

"Yes," Setiluth answered, meeting Areshen's eyes in quiet, emotional humor. "I've given up hoping for more than a kiss. I am certain, however, that you love me as deeply as I love you. It no longer matters to me how. I am happy, beloved."

Areshen broke into a soft, emotional chuckle himself as he wrapped Setiluth into his arms, doubting, however, that she would ever give up entirely. Launching again into a distracted discussion regarding the financial aspects of Ur's clothe industry, Setiluth curled herself into a daughter's embrace. Perhaps, Areshen suspected, her efforts to honor her promise were genuine. Setiluth would never pass an entire evening, however, without some subtle searching caress in order to be certain that Areshen's feelings for her had not changed, particularly the sensual depth of those feelings. Entrancement in her features, she raised her eyes to Areshen's again; all she need do, she realized, was pull his body to her own, an instant's pleading, and she would have his love.

Areshen met Setiluth's eyes as well, a sigh from the depths of his soul as he prepared to pull her into the final, passionate violence of the love they both knew the felt for each other. A god, so many had told Areshen for so long now, has no need whatsoever to deny that which any other father might feel for a daughter as beautiful as Setiluth.

And with this, Areshen broke into something very close to laughter. Setiluth, as usual, sighed a very genuine measure of irritation, settling gradually into emotional warmth as she rested her head once more to Areshen's chest, settling finally into complacent ease when she realized again that her father's love was never more than an instant away. And she would always have that which she considered the sweetest memory possible, even if that evening she had first pled for Areshen's love had not produced a child.

VII

Areshen wrote old Meneturu at Shar Dulur, and then with ambivalent feeling for the fact that the frontiers were still quiet, passed another idle month wandering the tavern squares of Ur, stumbling some evenings into wall fortresses, others into the High Priestess' palace in order to spend the night. Setiluth had not quite given up, though most of her pleading was light hearted mischief, brief moment's of sensual amusement before she wandered into her own bed chambers.

His daughter, Areshen realized as he stood in front of Heluth's with cup in hand, was very much like himself, brooding in temperament at times, not dismally unhappy with life, though seldom given to displays of ecstatic happiness. Areshen had visited Martila yesterday, Martila Setiluth in some ways, certainly in appearance, though unlike Setiluth, Martila was indeed ecstatically happy with life, her smile one of simple, uncomplicated warmth, as emotionally touching as it had always been whenever she stepped into Areshen's arms. Areshen had then passed a few pleasant, undemanding hours with Martila and his grandchildren, had felt years younger in the company of a daughter who had changed so little since childhood, had then walked back onto the streets of Ur.

Areshen raised his cup again, glanced another long moment about the crowds in Shensulith Square, and finally, as always, drifted back toward Setiluth, the gentle though usually reserved, often solemn expression of her features so incredibly close no matter what the physical distance between them. Areshen spent only a brief moment denying to himself that he was deeply in love with his own daughter, then pondered another minute Setiluth's argument that she had made him fall in love with her. Perhaps, Areshen sighed. He just couldn't decide, not yet, and with a slight, nervous tremble in his hand he drifted further back, to that day shortly after Isin's assinine declaration regarding his divinity. After Etwabi and Kinshith had finally convinced Setiluth and Martila that Sumer's men did not, unless perverse, make love to their own daughters, Areshen had again taken them back into his arms, even after they had become women, never suspecting that an adolescent problem would again become a matter of real concern.

When Setiluth had found out that Areshen had been proclaimed a god in Isin, his divinization confirmed in the holy city of Nippur, she had walked into Areshen's sleeping chambers asking to spend the night. Areshen pulled her into the embrace they had shared many times in the past whenever she had visited, chuckling for the strength of Setiluth's kiss to his cheek, chuckling again when he felt her lips to his own in that which he had thought a brief reemergence of amusing, juvenile play.

"After all, father," Setiluth had laughed, "I've always been your favorite, have I not?"

"Of course," the same mirthful conspiracy in Areshen's eyes.

Setiluth, however, had leaned forward again, something in her eyes which Areshen had not seen for quite some time as she pressed her lips to his own. Setiluth's kiss, Areshen then discovered, was just not ending, nor, he realized with dawning concern, was it anything like the playful, mischievous kisses she had stolen in childhood. Setiluth's lips were buried to his own in mature, sensual caress, her embrace not a twelve year old child's, but a woman's. And then with grave alarm coursing through his mind as he realized how intense was his own body's reaction to the intimacy of his daughter's sensual and ever more blatant caress, Areshen finally raised his eyes in question, his concern evident.

"Setiluth - " Areshen remembered stammering, would probably never remember what else he might have said.

"It's all right, father," Setiluth had answered. "You're a god, now," and Areshen remembered her saying something else about consort wives and god's prerogatives, the constant loneliness he had felt for so long now pressing like a weight for just the sound of his daughter's words.

"Father," Setiluth had then whispered, her intent now obvious as she pressed her kiss again to his lips, not, to Areshen's dismay, with a daughter's gentle affection. Setiluth had then unfastened the catches on her dress, let it drop to the floor, had curled herself back into embrace an instant later, her caress now sensual and unrestrained.

"Setiluth," Areshen had tried again in confusion, completely unprepared as a woman of unimaginable beauty stepped naked into his arms, unprepared for the violent strength of his own arousal as Setiluth pushed the clothing from his body, never really certain why he hadn't been able to offer the least hint of resistance as she did so.

"Please, father," Setiluth had whispered, the depth of emotion now in her features. "I really have always been your favorite, have I not? We've always been so close, father. It was always mother and Martila, you and me. Now that you're a god, father, we no longer have to hide how we really feel about each other. And you and mother no longer - father, it really is you and me now."

Again Areshen felt the intimate warmth of Setiluth's embrace.

"Please," she cried as she fell onto the floor cushions, her arms holding him in the strength of pleading captivity. "You're so beautiful, father. I never knew it could feel like this in your arms. I've never felt like a woman before this moment. I always knew you would be the one to make me happy, father."

Areshen felt again that confusing sense of loneliness, though he couldn't help but feel at the same time the strength of his love for his daughter, even if it did seem a very painful love at the moment, the confusion overwhelming as she once more buried her lips to his own.

"Please, father," Setiluth finally cried in complete abandon. "Please make love to me," and Areshen suddenly felt nothing more than a woman in his arms as she curled herself into embrace, Setiluth's caresses now fierce, unyielding strength, her touch pleading and finished. Areshen gazed with new intimacy into Setiluth's eyes, the pleading now urgent and compelling, and realized, possibly for the first time in his life, how incredibly beautiful she really was. Before he could consider with any measure of rational caution whether or not his observation was proper, Setiluth once more thrust herself forward, her touch now frantic. Areshen finally found himself wrapping her into a lover's embrace.

"Beloved," Setiluth cried in joy when she felt the last of Areshen's resistance fade, the strength of her embrace something Areshen had never felt in a woman before, Setiluth's pleading touch something explosive and unrestrained for a seeming eternity. Only then did Areshen hesitate for a brief, final moment, desperately searching the corners of his mind.

"Father," Setiluth pled the instant she felt his hesitation, "I am your lawful wife."

Areshen still might have hesitated had not Setiluth wrapped herself about him in sexual embrace he finally realized he could not resist, need, he finally told himself, not resist. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps Setiluth was, in some way he couldn't understand, his wife.

Setiluth's love, Areshen then found as she urged her body toward his own, gasping in joy when he finally pushed himself into complete and final intimacy, was something far different than he'd ever before known, a timeless abandon, a completion the essence of wild, irrational sensuality just as timeless.

Areshen finally settled back onto the sleeping cushions, again realizing that he was holding Setiluth, not Setith, in his arms, trying with some new desperation to determine if Setiluth's plea that she was his consort wife made any sense. Obviously, to Setiluth, it did, and Areshen finally raised his eyes to his daughter's, a piercing sense of trepidation coursing through his heart as his own daughter lay in the dazed, sensual entrancement into which he had sent her. The act, for Setiluth, had obviously been something a great deal more than a procreative exercise in which she hoped to conceive a divine child.

Had it been that night, Areshen asked himself, that he had began to fall so deeply in love with Setiluth? Setiluth was absolutely convinced that she was his consort wife, desperately wanted to be his first consort wife, secretly, Areshen suspected, wanted to be his only consort wife.

When Setiluth did not conceive, she returned to Areshen's chambers. By this time, however, Areshen had steeled himself. He had certainly convinced himself that he was no god.,

"Do you not still love me, father?" Setiluth had cried, trembling in terror, her expression one of absolute shock when she realized that Areshen could not bring himself to make love to her a second time.

For many evenings after that, Areshen had pulled Setiluth into a daughter's embrace, her tears and her tremble subsiding only when he had pleaded his love for an hour or more, he desperately attempting to explain his beliefs and feelings, Setiluth's hers, neither ever doing so with any real measure of success. In several instances, Areshen had once more pulled Setiluth into embrace once their emotions had settled, only to find that it had once again become a lover's embrace, Setiluth crying out in joy when she felt the least hint of passion in Areshen's kisses, his resistance once more collapsing as she pled with all manner of intimate caress. Could it really be true, Areshen asked himself all over again? Could she really be my consort wife as well as my daughter? He had never doubted the strength of his love for Setiluth.

"But we're in love with each other now as well, father," Setiluth protested. "You know that it is true, father."

Perhaps; yes, Areshen sighed as he pulled Setiluth into his arms. A moment later, however, he realized why he had used such exceptional care pulling this exquisitely beautiful young woman into his arms. The woman he was a moment aware from caressing with complete and final intimacy was his daughter. Nor, even now, was his inability to do so a physical matter. Resting in embrace and gazing toward the pleading in Setiluth's eyes, Areshen again realized that in a single, unguarded moment Setiluth could arouse something in him which he had never before felt with quite the same intensity. His first act of love with Setiluth, he then reminded himself again, must be his last, no matter how passionately she pled, no matter how intense and all consuming was both the physical and emotional desire she raised in him.

It had been Setith, however, to Areshen's amazement, who had explained the full significance of it all.

"Setiluth is passionately in love with you, beloved," Setith had commenced with a gentle expression of amusement in her features. "In part, she loves you as any daughter might love her father, perhaps a bit more deeply than most. Martila loves you quite as intensely. But Setiluth's feelings for you never stopped there. When she was a girl, Setiluth would come into my chambers, a wistful pain on the poor child's face, and she would inform me that her father was beautiful 'He's certainly the most beautiful person in the world, is he not, mother?' And Setiluth's feelings for you only grew all the stronger for the fact that you spent so much of your time along the frontiers. She dreamt of her love for you in your absence, certain of the mutual strength of it when you returned home and swept her up into your arms," and with an expression of solemn concern in her features Setith had concluded with a statement which had left Areshen feeling an ever greater measure of amazement. "I'm not saying that you must make love to Setiluth, Areshen, if you cannot find it in yourself to do so. It is just that since you are no longer subject to the ordinary standards of morality, Setiluth is again free to release the depths of her feelings for you. She's deeply in love with you, Areshen, and she would be devastated if another bore your first divine child. And in many cities, it is customary for a god's daughter, rather than his wife, to do so."

Areshen had then returned to Setiluth, concealed the foolishness he felt, and promised that it would be she, if anyone, who would bear his first divine child. It worked, or at least it seemed to for awhile. It bought time, if nothing else. Setiluth, however, as emotionally devastated as she had been at the time, was still as brilliant and as perceptive as she always had been.

"I understand now, father," Setiluth said as she met his eyes in intimacy, pulling herself a moment later back into embrace, not a daughter's embrace, though neither one of immediate, sensual passion. "I still want to be your lover, father, but I will wait until you are ready."

Areshen raised his cup again, shared an idle smile with Heluth in front of her tavern in Shensulith Square, and felt certain, he supposed, that he would never be ready, almost as certain that Setiluth, at least to an extent, was beginning to accept the fact. And still, even after all that, Areshen could just not deny the obvious end of it all. He and Setiluth were no longer father and daughter; they were in every way that mattered emotional lovers. There just seemed no other way to explain the feelings. Nor did he and Setiluth make the least attempt to deny or conceal their feelings for and from each other, both finally admitting in whispered intimacy that they had felt something in each other's arms which neither of them had felt before with quite such intensity, at least not in quite the same way. In a very real way, they had come to feel at ease with their feelings for each other, addressing each other with the word "beloved" before either had realized they were doing so. When they finally had realized with what passion the word "beloved" was used by one for the other, they just hadn't bothered stopping.

When Areshen had been unable to pull Setiluth a second time into the act of love, Setiluth had obviously felt something very close to emotional devastation, trembling in terror, certain that her father no longer lover her. Over the past year, however, Setiluth had gradually come to realize how foolish a notion that had been, had with a growing sense of complacent ease come to realize how deeply and completed Areshen loved her indeed. Setiluth now felt little more than a quick moment's emotional pain whenever her half hearted requests for love were not granted, the evening usually ending in easy humor.

"I just cannot convince myself that I'm an Egyptian king," Areshen had chuckled a week or so ago.

Setiluth, as always, gave way to a short moment's somber remorse, genuine amusement in her voice when she answered.

"Perhaps you and I will go on a journey to Egypt together someday, father. Perhaps in Egypt it will be easier for you to imagine me your wife instead of just your daughter."

Setiluth, Areshen sighed again, was genuinely trying to resign herself to the obvious. She still, however, at least in a corner of her mind, hadn't quite given up.

Areshen shared another moment's easy humor with the ever exotic Heluth in front of the tavern, promised her yet again that he would consider making her his concubine if her latest beer god failed to prove profitable, and then hurriedly made his way through the streets of Ur toward the river harbor. The rumors, it turned out, were correct; the queen of Isin's pennant flew above the boat now approaching the brick peer. Areshen broke into a soft smile as he gazed toward Setith standing at the boat's rail, the dress she wore the simple garments of a Gutiu warrior queen covering a very small part of Setith's exquisitely beautiful body, doing very little to cover the rest. Nor was Setith's point lost on the social and cultural elite of Ur which had proclaimed Setith a barbarian little more civilized than the actual Gutiu queens who had descended from the eastern mountains and rampaged across Sumer a hundred and fifty years ago. Much of this same social and cultural elite of Ur had also found some excuse to loiter in the vicinity of the harbor for Setith's arrival, though as Setith's boat drew closer to the peer, one after another lavishly dressed personage retreated back into the depths of Ur, a general rout ensuing when the piercing scowl in Setith's features could finally be seen.

For another long moment, Areshen felt some overwhelming and all consuming pride for Setith. For some time now he had worried that Setith, queen of Isin, might feel compelled to steal into Ur during the middle of the night, shame in her features as she returned to the city and the culture which had shunned her. Areshen broke into a soft chuckle as he again gazed toward the telling scowl in Setith's features, her hands on her hips in a posture of arrogance and defiance, an entire Sixty of soldiers in spotless, shining uniform, obviously the most formidable soldiers Setith had been able to find, standing at her side. Setith, Areshen chuckled again, steals into nowhere in the middle of the night with an expression of shame, would have shuddered with shame at just the thought of doing so.

"So you think me a barbarian queen, do you?" Setith's piercing scowl asked as she glared toward the harbor from which the last of Ur's nobility had now fled, dock and warehousemen alone remaining when Setith's boat finally drew alongside the peer. The dock workers, however, no longer even pretended work as Setith stepped from the boat onto the plank, nor did Areshen bother pretending anything as he watched the woman reputed to be the world's most beautiful walk onto the peer. Dressed in lavish, ostentatious robes of state and listening to an orchestra in the middle of a palace courtyard, Setith was the world's most beautiful woman. Dressed as she was now, appearing quite as though she had just journeyed from the wilds of the eastern mountains, Setith was something a great deal more than beautiful, something Areshen could not even begin to describe. Areshen stepped forward, very very carefully. At the moment, a plunge into the harbor by a careless and inattentive step was a very real possibility. Several sacks of grain and a barrel of something already floated in the harbor, the gawking dock workers who had dropped them quite unaware that they had done so.

A Sixty of Ibisien's palace guard finally trotted through the harbor district's portal a quick moment later. Setith's soldiers, however, stood at ease along the boat's rails, perhaps the hint of cautious attention in their eyes, mischief in their features as they watched the conquest of Ur. The young officer in charge of the trotting palace guard might have flung one, stolen glance toward the invading queen of Isin; Areshen would never be certain. Without breaking stride, he and his troop trotted back out the same portal through which they had entered, each and every soldier appearing quite as though he hoped he hadn't been noticed, several of them practicing limps they would protest were obtained in a valiant though unsuccessful attempt to repel the invading queen of Isin.

"Beloved," Setith began as she reached for Areshen's hand, a gentle smile now replacing her scowl, though a subtle hint of sensual amusement remained evident in her features. Setith seldom wasted a great deal of time on theatrics such as this morning's demonstration of her feelings regarding her banishment from Ur. When she did so, however, she was fully aware of the effect it created, was also aware that her husband, even if he hadn't been the intended target, had nonetheless suffered the effects, though Areshen's reaction was something a great deal different than that shown by most others.

Areshen grasped Setith's hand in return, had recovered enough of his wits to walk at her side along the streets of Ur without stumbling, at least without doing so and ending flat on his face. By the time they walked into the courtyard of their old house, Areshen even suspected that his occasion comment in response to Setith's attempt at conversation made a least a measure of sense. The erotic, fanciful delight he felt at Setith's appearance was beginning to settle, replaced, however, by the still new and all consuming emotional involvement he and Setith had shared over the past year.

Areshen then gazed in silence toward the moister in Setith's eyes as she studied the lifeless, deserted chambers of the house, and again Areshen realized that Setith, his own wife, was the one, true love of his heart. His love for others might be just as real, particularly the strength of the love he felt for Setiluth with whom he had passed the last month. Setith, however, was his first love, had always been so even when he had forgotten it. When Areshen stepped forward and pulled Setith into his arms, she released one short cry of sorrow, burying herself to her husband for a long moment, and then met his eyes with gentle ease returned to her own.

"Setiluth writes me that Shubari had intended to convert this house into a silversmith's factory."

"It would not take long to restore it, beloved."

"No, beloved," Setith answered with obvious conviction. "Isin is now my home. My place is and always will be at your side."

"Beloved - " Areshen whispered as he felt the moisture cloud his own eyes. It felt quite as though something had hammered its way into his heart, as though the depth of his feelings for the woman standing in front of him had passed yet again beyond the bounds of anything he could ever before have imagined possible. Setith broke into a soft smile herself, then stepped back and with one quick, sensual twist of her hips again appeared the essence of an untamed and exotic wilderness queen, delight in her eyes when her husband's appeared something close to blank stupidity.

"Get in here," Setith commanded as she grasped Areshen's clothing and pulled him into the same chamber where twenty years before they had both, both for the first time in their lives, given themselves to each other.

Areshen again pulled Setith into embrace, now in a barren, unfurnished room in a deserted house. Areshen had done nothing since leaving Isin but resist an eighteen year old daughter's and a twelve year old wife's pleadings for passionate love. Areshen now gazed with uninhibited intimacy into Setith's eyes, pulling her finally into complete and unrestrained embrace. Again it felt like the first time. For so many years Areshen had not touched Setith at all. Now it was the first time and so much more, both Areshen and Setith loosing themselves in timeless, senseless sensual abandon.

Finally, even in a cold and barren chamber in a deserted house, Areshen did nothing more than pull Setith back into embrace, resting quietly in her arms as though the world beyond the walls was meaningless, Setith quite as unwilling as Areshen to break the embrace. For a short moment Areshen wondered if he had felt something Setith had not. Again, however, he met his wife's eyes, realizing in an instant that Setith's were quite as emotional as his own.

"Beloved," Setith cried, "I'll never, never let you go again," and once more Areshen felt his wife crush the breath from his lungs. For another eternity, Areshen lay quietly in Setith's arms, the wild fantasy of the moment gradually settling into tranquil ease.

"It must be your new taste in fashion," Areshen finally whispered with a soft chuckle, glancing toward the queen's battle dress laying a short distance away.

"Perhaps in part," Setith answered, gazing toward the wonder in Areshen's eyes, contemplative question settling into her own features. "You are sometimes frightened yourself, are you not, beloved?"

"Frightened?" Areshen asked, not in denial, perhaps in confusion.

"It is for such reason, beloved, that you and Setiluth are so emotionally involved with each other. You both depend a great deal on each other; you certainly did during my prolonged - absences over the years. Martila is still that which she has always been, a wonderfully balanced girl, happy with life. You and Martila love each other very deeply, but you have both to an extent released each other emotionally. Setiluth, however, may be the one person in the world other than myself in whose arms you feel free playing an emotionally submissive role."

Again Areshen returned an expression of question. He could not deny, however, that Setith's thought was the essence of the truth. And he was beginning to understand it all, perhaps for the first time.

"Setiluth," Setith continued, "emotionally and intellectually, is as much my twin as she is my daughter. Setiluth would also have returned to Ur in gesture and dress barbaric and threatening. Setilith might well have stood on boat's castle hurling javelins toward the peer."

"She probably would have," Areshen agreed in easy, genuine laughter.

"As I say, beloved, all this is only a part of it. At times you are able to rest easily in Setiluth's arms, but in truth it is Setiluth and I who are far more dependent on you. But I am not the type of person who will cower behind the curtains of a portable throne as I'm carried quietly and in secret through Ur's back alleys. The fact that I'm not is just one more problem you don't have to worry about."

"It is more than that, however, beloved. A few minutes ago, you said that you belonged at my side," and Areshen once more grasped Setith's hand with emotional strength.

"I will always be at your side, beloved," and Setith reached for Areshen's lips. Areshen returned his wife's kiss with gentle passion, then lay back for another long minute gazing in silence toward Setith's features so perfect in their beauty, unsure, however, if the fact had anything much to do with that which they had been discussing.

"Setiluth will be worried," Setith finally stated, though still at the moment not quite willing to release her embrace. Again Areshen found himself gazing intently toward his wife's features. Setith and Setiluth, Areshen suddenly realized, were twins indeed, were certainly so in appearance. Only if he stared long enough could he detect any appreciable difference. And in most other ways emotionally and intellectually, the differences between them indeed defied detection. But a fundamental difference existed nonetheless. Setith was his wife, Setiluth his daughter.

"I wish there was something more I could say to set your mind at ease, beloved," Setith continued in a gentle voice when she noticed the concern in Areshen's eyes, "but Setiluth is passionately in love with you. She will never completely accept the fact that she cannot be your lover."

"Never completely," Areshen sighed. "I have taken her into my arms several times over the course of the past year as a lover. As soon as I feel her heart next to my own, however, it is in fact her heart that I feel. It is the heart of my daughter, not my consort wife. I say, 'Setiluth, you are my daughter,' and she replies, 'exactly.' I suppose we will never completely understand each other's feelings," and Areshen gazed with intimacy into his wife's eyes for another long moment, an easier humor once more in his own. "By the way, Setiluth tells me that your views, Setith, regarding things divine are not, after all, so remarkably different than are my own."

Setith broke into a soft chuckle.

"She is lying. I shall have her whipped."

Areshen gave way to laughter himself, his voice quiet and solemn, however, when he continued.

"Setith, would you not feel at least a little remorse were I and Setiluth to make love to each other?" and Areshen met Setith's eyes with an expression of apology, not certain if the question tread beyond the bounds of all social propriety, or was just absurd. Setith's answer, however, wasn't really that which Areshen might have expected.

"Yes, I probably would feel remorse, possibly a great deal of it, beloved," Setith answered in a soft, thoughtful voice, grasping Areshen's had with emotional strength as she did so. "I would feel remorse because you would, beloved. Setiluth is correct; my beliefs are not remarkably different than are your own. I do believe, however, that there is a Holy Order of some sort, even if I'm not exactly certain what is or where it comes from. At the same time, however, I find myself uneasy at the thought of you and Setiluth making love to each other. Nor do I know exactly why. I suspect the answer is the simple, rational, and natural one. Setiluth is my daughter as well. It is not difficult for me to understand your feelings, beloved. Setiluth, however, holds far more traditional views regarding the origin of Holy Order."

"While you," Areshen asked with mischief in his eyes, "think the gods so much garbage."

"The gods strike you down," Setith protested, that same expression of scandal and horror in her eyes. Areshen searched a bit closer this time, however, was certain a quick moment later that at least a part of the scandal and horror in Setith's features was that which he now suspected it had been all along, an affectation.

"My apologies, beloved," Areshen answered in easy humor. "How could I ever have doubted your piety - "

"Get up," Setith groaned, a wilderness queen once again as she pushed herself to her feet and then grasped Areshen's hand. "Setiluth is waiting for us. She will be worried."

Again Areshen and Setith walked onto the streets of Ur, Setith, who a year ago might have walked these same streets with a sizable procession of attendants waving fans and carrying portable thrones or whatever else she might have needed along the way, now walking with no one but her own husband at her side, her clothing ever more martial and utilitarian than that worn by Areshen himself. Nor, despite the fact that Setith was no taller than the average woman on the streets of Ur, did she appear any less formidable than an actual eastern queen. Servants and such, Areshen noticed, still glanced toward Setith with that same gentle adoration in their eyes. Ur's nobility, however, Setith's own for most of her life, found excuses to step into the nearest alley at her approach. If Setith felt any regret or remorse for the fact, however, she displayed none of it.

Areshen stole another long glance toward his wife, comprehending finally the profound depths of this thought. For twenty years now he had walked these same streets in soldier's attire and thought nothing of it. Setith, for very long moments, had been just another soldier walking at his side, Meneturu or Meshduri perhaps, the queen's dagger Setith wore at her side strikingly similar in appearance to an officer's short sword. Only then did Areshen stop to think that it was indeed Setith walking at his side, not just another soldier. For a hundred years now most men in Sumer had at least once fantasized a beautiful Gutiu warrior queen stepping from her chariot and pushing his body to the ground, erotic delight in her eyes as she took what she wanted. Areshen stood again in an abandoned house, Setith's hand grasping his clothing as she ordered him to the floor. He had just lived, he suddenly realized, one of the most powerfully erotic fantasies of the past hundred years. And the reality, he realized as well, had been something a great deal more than he would ever have imagined it to be.

"Beloved," Setith began, a mix of concern and amusement in her voice as Areshen recovered from a stumble which had nearly resulted in complete disaster. Setith noticed the expression of entrancement once more evident in her husband's features, ever greater amusement in her own.

"My intention, beloved," Setith chuckled, "was to smite Ur, not you."

"You seem to have done both, beloved," Areshen answered, sufficiently recovered to continue with at least a measure of intelligence. "When we last saw each other in Shar Dulur, Setith, I remember you saying that you were a High Priestess rather than a queen in temperament and education, or something to that effect."

Again Setith broke into a soft chuckle, though a quick moment later a touch of solemn remorse once more settled into her features as she glanced about the city which had been her home and her place of birth, a city which had disowned her because she had refused to give up the husband she loved.

"I will never again return to Ur," Setith continued, the fierce, burning scowl once more in her features, "wearing anything but the plain battle dress of a queen."

Areshen grasped Setith's hand, pride for her, he supposed, dominating his emotions, though once again he found it necessary to lower his eyes to the street, choosing his way with conscious and cautious concern.

Finally climbing the ramp leading to the south portal in the Sacred Area's walls, Areshen suspected Setith capable of adapting to any role in life. Nor, when he considered the situation as it was, did it seem so remarkable that he could walk at Setith's side along the streets of Ur and feel himself the protected as well as the protector. Setith, even before she had been cast out from Ur's social nobility only to find herself sharing Isin's highest military office with her husband, had never required a great deal of protection from anyone. A raving lunatic completely dispossessed of his senses might dare approach Setith in some posture other than bowing submission. Even then, Areshen would feel no great concern for Setith's safety. He had witnessed the skillful, athletic twist of Setith's body any number of times as she directed an infuriated kick toward some unfortunate who had angered her. The younger and stronger the man, the further he flew. A little less than a year ago, Areshen had stood atop fortress walls watching Ur's younger generation in training for soldiers, most a very poor match for the bundled stacks of swamp reeds with which they fought. None would stand the slightest chance contesting their martial abilities against Setith.

Walking now beneath the walls of the High Priestess' palace in the Sacred Area and grasping Setith's hand in gentle warmth, Areshen drifted back to the towering Gipul of Elam for another long, thoughtful moment, supposing the close friendship between Setith and Gipul the result of their mutual brilliance in affairs of business and such.

"That's part of it," the roaring Gipul with arms of flowing stone had stated as the pitcher of beer disappeared down his throat. "In part, however, the friendship between Setith and myself was forged on the wrestling mats in her father's house. I lowered my guard the first time I watched a skinny sixteen year old girl approach. A very big mistake on my part, Areshen. My bruises healed after a few days, and I asked for a rematch, deciding to keep my eyes open this time. I almost won - well, at least my defeat was not quite so ignominious. Setith, however, is slightly quicker than a bolt of lightning, stronger than your average ox, and possesses and uncanny knowledge of the laws of motion and balance. My fourfold advantage in weight was nothing but a hindrance to me. And that was when Setith was a child. Setith is now a woman, no longer skinny, and I fall on my knees in gratitude from time to time for the fact that we are close friends. I still, however, have a contingency plan prepared for the day Setith is observed approaching the borders of Elam with a scowl on her face. My armies will be arrayed in close formation along the road upon which she drives, myself posted prominently to the rear. As soon as Setith comes into sight, I wish my armies luck, turn, and run. I intend to run until I have crossed India, will slow down, perhaps, when I have reached China."

Areshen broke into open laughter as he and Setith approached the High Priestess' palace's entrance chamber, turning toward the clearly evident question and intrigue in Setith's expression.

"I love you, Setith," Areshen just said, and watched gentle adoration settle once more across Setith's features, quite as grateful as Gipul, he supposed, that it was there. Gipul fleeing Setith's wrath might have felt comfortable slackening his pace along the frontiers of China. Areshen had always thought it more prudent to continue on toward one of the warlord's palaces which, according to several of his Chinese consort wives in Isin, lay along the shores of a vast ocean.

"Even then," Areshen had informed Gipul, "I intend to have a boat concealed in the bushes somewhere, just in case."

"Beloved?" Setith again questioned as they walked into the palace's entrance chamber.

"I was thinking about Gipul, beloved," Areshen began in explanation for the amusement in his features. "When he was in Ur, he told me that he may soon be ready for a rematch with you."

Setith broke into soft laughter as she grasped Areshen's arm in gentle, affectionate embrace. A quick moment later they passed from the entrance chamber into the palace's purification room. With a long, despondent sigh, Areshen gazed toward rows of ceramic pots containing the Holy Oils, basins of water near another wall, incense jars, ablutions bowls, a hundred other shining, gold plated utensils of purification sitting on shelves throughout the chamber, all of which for the past month now Areshen had ignored as he trotted into the next chamber, the Purification Priests wearing expressions ranging from amusement to annoyance as he did so.

Areshen turned pleading eyes toward Setith, quite aware, however, that today he would be spending the next hour on a bench in this chamber.

"Beloved," Setith frowned as she removed her own clothing, nodding for Areshen to do the same.

"I washed my feet this morning," Areshen groaned a quick minute later as Purification Priests with basins of water and pots of Holy Oil beside the bench on which he and Setith now sat played with his feet.

Again Setith just broke into a soft smile as she grasped Areshen's arm.

"It is a courtesy to Setiluth, beloved," Setith answered. "After all, she is the High Priestess," and Areshen settled back against the chamber's wall, Setith's words by and large a mystery to him. Areshen then realized that it had been some years now since he, Setith, and Setiluth had sat together in the same room, realized further that he had no idea how Setith and Setiluth would comport themselves greeting each other for the first time since Setith had left Ur for the north.

Areshen found out, however, less than a minute later, as Setiluth hurried through the purification chamber's rear portal.

"Mother," Setiluth cried as she pulled Setith from the bench and into her arms.

"Oh Setiluth," Setith sighed as she lifted her eyes from the embrace, "we were only half way through the purification rites. You of all people - "

"Mother, I couldn't wait. I just couldn't wait. As soon as I heard that you were in the palace - " and Areshen watched with keen interest as two women so close to twins in appearance gazed silently and intimately into each other's eyes. Again they pulled each other into embrace, the frantic, emotional intensity of which was certainly as intimate as any Areshen had ever seen two people share. For so long no, Areshen had seen expressions of scowling irritation in both women's features as they studied tabulation tablets and the like, their scowls, if anything, even more pronounced when it happened to be a tablet sent by one to the other. Perhaps, Areshen suspected, that had been why he had felt concern for this moment, wondering if Setith's and Setiluth's protestations of love for each other had been genuine, or had been spoken just for his benefit. Obviously the former, Areshen chuckled as he watched Setith and Setiluth hold each other at arm's length, tears on their cheeks as though it had been twenty years rather than twelve months since they had last seen each other.

Who, Areshen then asked himself, supposing it the only matter of concern left to ask, was mother, and who was daughter? He'd seen the roles reversed any number of times in the past, particularly when the daughter was as old as Setiluth.

"Now, young lady," Setith commanded, "you have defiled both me and yourself by touching me before I had completed the purification rites. I want you naked and sitting on that bench at once," and Setith stood in scowling impatience, her arm rigidly pointed toward the bench.

"Yes, mother," Setiluth chuckled in submission as she hurriedly removed her clothing and lowered herself to the bench in order to undergo the purification rites.

"On oath to the gods," Setith groaned in annoyance as she lowered herself to Setiluth's side and back into embrace, "you of all people, Setiluth. You're becoming as careless as your father. I raised you better than that."

"I'm sorry, mother," Setiluth answered. "I promise, I'll be more careful," and Areshen gazed blankly toward the Purification Priests ladling Holy Oil onto his feet, suspecting Setith's and Setiluth's conversation very similar to any number of others they had shared in the past in which an apostate husband and father was the topic of concern.

"Mother," Setiluth continued, a light spark of mischief now in her eyes, "father does not even bother to stop in the purification chamber when he comes to the palace."

Areshen once more lowered his eyes to his feet, this time with an obvious measure of alacrity.

"That is your father," Setith protested. "I raised you and Martila to be proper young ladies. How I ever managed to do so with your father living in the same house, I will never know. Were it not for the fact that he was called so often to the frontiers, I might have given up in despair and sent both you and Martila to Egypt in order to be educated."

"Mother," Setiluth chuckled, "we weren't that bad?"

"No," Setith finally sighed, and then raised a gentle hand to her daughter's forehead, emotion once more in her eyes. "And look how you turned out, beloved. No one is more suited to sit the High Priestess' throne in Ur."

Again Areshen could not help but notice the moisture in their eyes as Setith and Setiluth pulled each other into embrace, their kiss a long moment's intimate affection.

"I do not understand," Areshen then asked in amusement as he waved his hand back and forth between Setith and Setiluth. "Does not the defiling still flow back and forth when you touch each other?"

Several Purification Priests choked back laughter. Both Setith and Setiluth turned their gaze from each other toward a barbarian from the western deserts. Big mistake, Areshen sighed as he gazed again toward his feet.

"Is he done?" Setiluth asked, and a Purification Priest nodded. "Go have some beer, father," Setiluth chuckled. "It is the one chamber to which you can now find you way without getting lost."

Areshen nodded, relief in his features as he hurried from the chamber before either Setith or Setiluth changed their minds. Areshen little doubted the current order of submission among the three of them. He, most certainly, was last on the list.

XVIII

The palace household kitchen, as opposed to the larger factory kitchens in which the god's meals were prepared, was relatively easy to find. The chief cook in Ur's High Priestess' palace was in temperament another similar to old Luculsag in Shar Dulur, devoted to Setiluth, and therefore tolerated with easy humor the occasional disruption caused by Areshen's visits. It was Kinshith, however, who grasped Areshen's hand and led him toward the beer casks. For another quick moment, Areshen saw Kinshith standing in the metal factory where Etwabi had died, Kinshith hungry and exhausted herself, tears on smoke stained cheeks as she wept for Etwabi. Kinshith had, at least to an extent, recovered since Areshen had removed her from the metal factory, though still missing was full expression of that youthful, sometimes mischievous light in Kinshith's eyes which Areshen had always noticed whenever she and Etwabi had seized and led him about in Setitluth's house by the arms.

Areshen reached for the cup from Kinshith, returned her gentle smile, and again decided that he could not leave her until he had seen at least a hint of that youthful joy in her features.

"Kinshith," Areshen began, "if has been far too long since you have seized me and led me away in bondage."

"Military governor - " Kinshith chuckled, softly, as though Areshen's words were distant memories of light hearted happiness from another life.

"For too long," Areshen just repeated as he wrapped Kinshith into embrace and then, to the amused delight of everyone in the kitchen, swept her from the floor into his arms. "Therefore it will be me who seizes and abducts you," and Areshen turned toward the subtle expression of amusement in the chief cook's features. "I am seizing and abducting this woman," Areshen proclaimed. "I intend to have my way with her, and then you may have her back," and again Kinshith broke into soft laughter, something far more genuine, as she was carried from the kitchen. The chief cook watched the spectacle with idle amusement for another quick moment before turning back to the purchase order tablets spread across her table. Several dozen other women with whom Kinshith now shared life sighed with expressions of envy.

Areshen carried Kinshith through several small chambers, then chose one which appeared to be unoccupied and out of the way.

"Areshen," Kinshith whispered with obvious concern, "this is the shrine of Tamuz."

"I'll throw the old girl a slab of meat later," Areshen answered as he stepped through the portal, then lowered Kinshith to her feet.

"Tamuz is a he," Kinshith chuckled.

"He - whatever," Areshen answered, tossing several cushions at the base of the altar against one of the chamber's walls, and then pulled a silver chalice from a wall niche next to the one in which a life sized Tamuz stood.

"Oh Areshen," Kinshith again chuckled in despair, lowered herself onto the cushions, and the watched Areshen pour half the beer into the Holy Chalice from which he had just wiped the dust using the sacred, gold embroidered altar clothe.

"Here," Areshen pronounced as he lowered himself into Kinshith's arms and handed her the cup. "I'll use this - silver thing."

"Holy Chalice," Kinshith laughed.

"Holy Chalice," Areshen answered as he lifted the now defiled and useless Holy Chalice to his mouth for a very long drink. "Yes," Areshen then continued, "I do believe the beer now tastes of holiness."

Kinshith finally broke into genuine, unrestrained laughter for a very long moment, her expression settling into the gentle ease Areshen had known so often in the past as she drank from her own cup.

"All right?" Areshen then asked in quiet solemnity as he watched another moment's ease in Kinshith's features, perhaps just the hint of lingering pain and remorse.

"I am now," Kinshith whispered, intimacy in her eyes as she met Areshen's. Both Areshen and Kinshith then wrapped each other into close, emotional embrace. Areshen could not help but hear the soft, strained cry in Kinshith's throat as he cradled her, rocking her back and forth until she finally released the embrace herself, the depth of emotion, though at least a measure of ease now in her eyes.

"Etwabi and I," Kinshith then began in a quiet whisper as she lowered her head onto Areshen's chest, "were sisters ever since we were young children. We lived our lives together, passed our evenings in each other's arms. Whenever we were sold, we somehow managed to have ourselves sold into the same household. We were both devastated when the mistress Setith was declared bankrupt in Ur and we were seized by the temple. Even then, we managed to have ourselves placed together in Tarineduri's house. In this house, Areshen, we had nothing but each other. Our wages were a quarter of that which Setith had paid us. Sometimes the sleeping mats were full and Etwabi and I would have to find a place on the streets for the night. We were together, however. As long as we could feel the warmth of each other's arms throughout the night, we were happy. We never once argued, Areshen. Never once in so many years did we even have a cross word for each other. Neither of us could make it through another day in Tarineduri's house without each other. And now - oh Areshen, never again - " and the soft, strangled cry broke from Kinshith's throat. Areshen just grasped both of her hands with his own, the embrace, however, fierce and emotional.

"Etwabi," Kinshith finally continued, "became very ill. I went to Tarineduri; I fell on my knees pleading. 'She must have more to eat,' I begged. 'At least until she recovers.' Etwabi was a very brilliant woman; you know that, Areshen. But the poor dear was so clumsy, could not carry a cup of wine from one side of Setith's house to the other without spilling it. And Areshen, it was not Setith who decreed Etwabi's punishment when - "

"I know, Kinshith. Etwabi told me."

"Poor Etwabi broke something every other day in Tarineduri's house. The mistress Setith never once withheld Etwabi's wages for breakage. Tarineduri did, every single time. Even when Etwabi became ill, Tarineduri would not relent, no matter how I pled. I begged Tarineduri to release Etwabi's sick wages, but he would not do so."

"Kinshith, you did more than plead. When I found you at Tarineduri's house, you were far thinner than the others. You were starving, Kinshith."

"Probably," Kinshith admitted. "Just before the end, I did not eat for eight days. I gave Etwabi what little she and I had left in desperation, but it was little more than a handful and by that time it was too late anyway; she couldn't keep food down. Then I begged Tarineduri to send for the physicians, any physician, even a junior one. Certainly a junior one would not be too much of an expense. 'You have your wages,' Tarineduri answered. 'If you want charity, go out onto the streets with the other beggars.' By this time neither Etwabi nor I had anything left at all, so I went to the physicians and offered myself if they would come and care for Etwabi. None would. I am not beautiful. So I went back to Etwabi and took her into my arms, Areshen. I cried; I told her I had tried everything. She looked into my eyes and thanked me; she smiled, Areshen, and then she stopped breathing."

Again Areshen and Kinshith sat together in silence, their hands locked in embrace, the tears just falling by themselves as they both gazed toward nothing.

"Tarineduri," Areshen finally continued with an angry, trembling sigh, "no longer sits in a bath chamber barking orders to his tin and coppersmiths while selling his servant's sick wages for another jug of perfume. Tarineduri now wears chains and digs tin with his own hands in the Anulish mountains," Areshen snarled.

"They told me the same three days ago," Kinshith sighed as well, then broke into a soft smile, the hint of conspiratorial accusation in her eyes as she met Areshen's. "It is also rumored that Tarineduri was on his way to the Anulish Mountains to dig tin quite some time before he was convicted of theft and misappropriation in the courts."

"It would not be the first time I have been accused of doing things backwards," Areshen answered with a soft chuckle. "And as far as I know, the palace here in Ur has yet to issue a warrant for the military governor's arrest."

Areshen gazed again toward Kinshith's returning smile, then in silence toward the wall for a long moment, strain and pleading in his eyes when he turned back to Kinshith.

"If I had known, dear Kinshith, I would never had left you and Etwabi in that house for so long - "

"I know, Areshen."

"When Setith told me that her possessions in Ur had been seized, I remember trying to comfort her by telling her that Etwabi and Kinshith would be all right. 'They are both very intelligent women,' I said. 'They will be able to take care of themselves.' I never knew what Ur was, Kinshith. I stumbled through the gates, along the streets, slept in my chambers in Setith's house, and then left for the frontiers again. Shubari should have flown from the top of the temple ten years ago. Now Setiluth tells me that Shubari still lives - "

"Areshen, Shubari will always live in Ur. He always has and he always will. Setiluth, if anyone is able to do so, will hold in check that of Shubari which still resides in Ur. You have done all you can, and you have done that which no one else could have done. Trust Setith and Setiluth, now. Rest, Areshen, until it is time for another Shubari to fly from the top of the temple."

Again Areshen just gazed into Kinshith's gentle eyes for a long moment, a pretty thirty two year old woman with whom he had passed many hours in light hearted conversation, Kinshith never an emotional intimate until he had removed her from the lawless, criminal horror that had been Tarineduri's metal factory, though Kinshith always a friend with whom he could sit in easy, unforced conversation, quite as though, to Setith's oft expressed annoyance, they were equals.

"Kinshith," Areshen asked as he once more raised his eyes, "do you - want to - "

Kinshith broke into a soft, emotional smile as she grasped Areshen's hands with strength, pressing her lips to his own in a brief moment's affectionate touch.

"If you want to, Areshen," Kinshith then answered. "I suppose we do love each other a bit more since - since - "

"Yes," Areshen answered.,

"But we've never really fallen in love with each other. And you're still the man with no concubines," Kinshith chuckled. "The act of love would just be a bother to you without a very strong passionate love. It has always been so for me as well."

"As usual, my brilliant Kinshith, you are right," Areshen chuckled, continuing in quiet solemnity a moment later. "But I could never bear to loose you as a friend, Kinshith, and I no longer entertain the fanciful notion that I can turn my back for more than a brief moment without a Shubari even more vile than the last returning and stealing the life from someone I love," and Areshen lowered his eyes for a brief moment in concentrated thought. There was a way, Areshen suddenly realized, to be certain that another Shubari never dare harm Kinshith.

"Kinshith, be my wife?" Areshen asked, by now quite aware that the word "yes" on Kinshith's lips was all that was required.

Areshen felt the sudden crush of Kinshith's hands to his own, emotional tears on her cheeks as she broke into a radiant smile.

"No, Areshen," Kinshith answered, however, and again pressed her lips to his own in a long moment's gentle touch. "I will be all right, Areshen," Kinshith then continued as she once more lowered her head to Areshen's chest. "The mistress Setiluth, Areshen, is perhaps the one person in Ur who is yours and the mistress Setith's equal. I will be safe living in Setiluth's household. And Setiluth is the High Priestess now. No one in the world can take me away from her. Perhaps in a year or two you might want to ask me again. Perhaps then you might really want me to say yes, and I will be prepared to do so."

"Perhaps you are right, sweet Kinshith," Areshen agreed, and again met a friend's eyes, curiosity and question now in his own. "Tell me, Kinshith, now that I have asked you to become my wife, could you say yes at any time in the future?"

Kinshith broke into soft laughter as she gazed toward the uncultured barbarian from the western deserts.

"No, Areshen, I could not," Kinshith answered when her laughter subsided. "You must ask me all over again when you are ready to do so."

Areshen and Kinshith pushed themselves from the floor cushions some time later, then stood in emotional embrace for another long minute. Again Areshen gazed toward Kinshith's kind and gentle features. "I am not beautiful," Kinshith had said a few minutes earlier. That, Areshen decided, is most certainly not true, though he couldn't be certain why. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that when Etwabi's grain rations had been withheld by a criminal mater, Kinshith had starved as well. Areshen gazed a final moment toward Kinshith's soft and gentle features, her beauty, he finally decided, as radiant as any he had ever seen.

"I think you are beautiful, Kinshith," Areshen felt it necessary to insist, "you beauty that which Etwabi used to say shines from the depths of your soul, and that something given you by that strange god of Etwabi's. I suppose, ultimately, it is foolish to think myself so noble as to be husband to someone such as yourself. Perhaps I was born of and near Ur. I feel little affinity for the place, however. Save for a rudimentary scribal education the subtleties of which I have forgotten or never possessed in the first place, I might indeed be that which so many proclaim me to be - the barbarian from the western deserts. That, I suppose, is how the king of Isin is likely to be remembered, the worst thing that ever happened to Ur and to cultured Sumer."

"Perhaps," Kinshith answered, grave, thoughtful solemnity now in her features. "Who is to say, however, how valid will be the judgements made by our posterity? How valid are the judgements Ur has made regarding our predecessors? The Gutiu kings and queens were by cultured Ur proclaimed barbarians when they descended from the eastern mountains. They were welcomed with rejoicing, however, by a great many people, particularly those ill aquatinted with the niceties of culture and learning. I wonder why. I suppose we'll never know. Great grandmothers fearless in their advancing years tell stories told by their own grandmothers of justice done by the Gutiu barbarians when justice had been denied or not even considered necessary by Ur's own. I find their stories intriguing, though I'd dare say so to no one but you, Areshen. And it is in no way foolish to think yourself a husband to anyone, Areshen."

"Then I can hope for a 'yes,' perhaps - someday?"

"Yes," Kinshith chuckled, "as long as you remain the barbarous king of Isin."

Areshen, at Kinshith's insistence, helped her restore the shrine of Tamuz to its original condition, or at least as close to it was possible. As they walked from the chamber, Areshen grasped Kinshith's hand again, holding in familiar warmth until Kinshith, with a soft, nervous laugh, finally pulled her hand away.

"We shouldn't, Areshen," Kinshith said. "I must return to the kitchens," and Areshen turned another long moment toward Kinshith's gentle, pleading eyes, another Ati, Areshen sighed, a brilliant young woman who dare not imagine that her role in life might change.

"A few minutes ago," Areshen began in easy humor, "we were holding each other very closely when I carried you from the kitchen. No one said anything."

"No," Kinshith chuckled. "But I was on my way to be ravished. I have now been ravished. It is not my place to be seen holding your hand."

Areshen sighed again as he gazed toward the easy humor in Kinshith's eyes. "We never really fell in love with each other," Kinshith had also said. Really? Areshen mused. Are you so certain, Kinshith, and Areshen leaned forward, took her into his arms, and gently met her lips with his own. Areshen did not kiss in friendship, however, but with intimate, soft and caressing touch, his kiss undenied sensual passion defying time and place. As Areshen had suspected she might, Kinshith, even with other people walking past pretending to ignore the blasphemous spectacle in the holy chambers of the High Priestess' palace, quickly found herself lost in the kiss only moments after it had began. When Areshen felt her arms lock about him in the crush of frantic, searching embrace, he finally abandoned himself completely to the kiss, the surrounding world forgotten as he buried himself to Kinshith, pressing forward with ever greater urgency until he felt certain that Kinshith's kiss was one of emotional and pleading intimacy equal to his own.

A long minute later, Areshen finally released his kiss, though he held Kinshith's eyes in certain and unmistakable captivity, waiting in easy amusement until she finally began to notice people walking past on all sides. It took Kinshith a very long minute to do so, quite long enough, Areshen decided as he broke into a gentle smile. Holy Order rubbish, Areshen decided. Both he and Kinshith had just proven it possible to turn their backs on that which others might have considered their proper and polite roles in life, had done so with the administrators of Holy Order walking past on all sides. And not a single bolt of chastening lightning.

"King's promulgation, Kinshith," Areshen then stated. "In your case, the question need not be asked again. You are in the future free to say 'yes' at any time."

Kinshith broke into a soft chuckle, gentle warmth perhaps, Areshen suspected as well, the very real hint of passionate love in her eyes, though most certainly that same obvious and remarkable brilliance.

"A king pronounces, Areshen. A High Priest promulgates. And besides, military governor, you are not king in Ur. Ibisien is."

Areshen sighed, shared a final moment's soft laughter with an intimate friend, and then let her go. Areshen watched Kinshith walk back toward the kitchens for another long moment, certain beyond doubt that he loved her, even if not certain that it was the depth of passionate love. He had, however, over the past two minutes, seen that same playful light in Kinshith's eyes which he had seen so many times in the past when Etwabi and she had cast aside their roles in life and frolicked like children with him in Setith's house. That, after all, had been why he had carried Kinshith from the kitchens in the first place. That, Areshen sighed, at least for now, was enough.

Etwabi, Areshen whispered, and for another long moment just watched Ur pass from one chamber to another in the High Priestess' palace as the pain again stabbed into his heart. It would always do so, Areshen supposed, and fled again from the world surrounding him.

"Areshen," Gipul of Elam had pled when he and Areshen had stood along the banks of the Pendurum Canal the day after Shubari's demise staring toward the walls of Ur, "let me burn the place down, Areshen."

"Give Setiluth a year or two, Gipul," Areshen had answered, and the towering Gipul cradling two fifteen year old daughters in his arms, one with Shubari's scars on her back, the other ignored by Ibisien for the past year now, had released a grudging sigh of submission.

"As you wish, Areshen," Gipul answered. "I suppose if anyone can disinfect the rest of Ur from the rest of Shubari, it is Setiluth, the daughter of Areshen and Setith. But Shubari is a vile, vicious infection, Areshen, an infection which spread from Ur to Elam many years ago. It has taken me the past ten years to purge Elam of the worst of it. Ur is the center of the infection, has been for a hundred years, Shubari the full expression of its filth. Do not let the infection harm your daughter, Areshen. Do not turn your back."

"Gipul," Areshen had asked with alarm evident in his voice, "what is this infection which you name Shubari?"

"The long answer?" Gipul asked, the hint of amusement in his features. "The one involving trade agreements, contract tablets, wagon loads of bricks?"

"You are talking to a brick, Gipul."

"Nonsense," Gipul laughed. "But I'll give you the short answer anyway. On Elam's throne, I hear priests serving a thousand different gods expound a thousand different opinions on a thousand different topics, every conceivable version of Holy Order. It's all written down, tablets a thousand years old. Scribes, merchants, officials in palace, each have their own ways. In the end, however, there are only two ways which seem to make sense to me, right and wrong, good and bad, the just and the unjust. How do you tell the difference?" and Gipul shrugged. "You just do."

"Is it that easy?"

"Yesterday, Areshen, on the steps leading to Ur's temple, you stood in my path blocking my way when I said that Shubari must die. I despaired when you would not let me pass, but only for a moment. Areshen follows the right way. How do I know? I just know. He will let me pass. And you let me pass, Areshen. You let me pass knowing that Gipul of Elam, if provoked by Shubari, would do exactly that which he did. You let me pass because you are a good man, Areshen. Shubari was not a good man."

Areshen nodded, accepting Gipul's words in easy, uncomplicated humor. A moment later, however, Areshen again turned studying, questioning eyes upward toward Gipul's formidable visage, a considerable distance upward.

"At the moment," Areshen began, "my armies stand far to the west along the frontiers, others as far to the east. Yesterday, on the steps leading to the temple, Gipul, I could not have appeared a very formidable obstacle standing in your path."

"This is because you were not seeing yourself through my eyes," Gipul answered, then continued with easy, though sudden amusement in his expression. "I informed Ibisien at the palace that Areshen of Isin will not bar my path when I return to Ur in order to demolish it. 'You, king,' I informed Ibisien, 'because you are Ur's king, will return to Elam with me on then end of a leash. You will be my pretty little pet. I will parade you everywhere. At night you will grovel naked at my feet.' Tears were streaking the polish on Ibisien's pretty little face, Areshen; a shudder passed through his delicate little body. I looked a little closer, however, and only then did I realize that Ibisien had heard words far different that those I had spoken, his tears and his shudder by no means that which I had thought them to be. Ibisien was beside himself with anticipation. 'Oh my giant, massive, brutal Gipul,' Ibisien cried as he writhed on his couch, 'how terrible it will be when you come for me. You will strip the clothing from my body. You will bind my hands and my feet. You will lift me onto your knee - ' He then went on for ten more minutes, Areshen; I swear to whatever god has time to listen, Ibisien catalogued every possible way there is to suffer personal degradation. He expects to lay in my bath while I stand and piss on him."

Areshen had stared with amused wonder toward Gipul along the banks of the Pendurum Canal, stared now toward the walls of the High Priestess palace in Ur. Gipul, Areshen realized, should he indeed return and sack Ur, would most certainly carry Ibisien back to Elam in a cage. Gipul would probably allow Ibisien a comfortable retirement, however. Over the course of his reign as king of Ur, Ibisien had done little more than drink wine and indulge his rather bizarre sexual appetites in the back chambers of his palace. He had certainly done less harm than Shubari, would, if prodded long enough, side with factions in active opposition to Shubari, particularly if the dispute involve tabulation tablets and the like. Ibisien, however, as well as most others occupying the upper echelons of Ur's nobility, had for several generations now done little more than revel in various manner of abandon, perfume baths, banquets and the like their predominant pastime. Did all this have something to do with the disgust Gipul and his sort felt for the place?

Areshen shrugged, decided to dismiss both Ibisien and Gipul as matters of immediate concern, and wandered from the High Priestess' palace onto the streets of Ur, a pretty twelve and a half year old girl's features now on his mind. A few minutes later, Areshen stepped into the courtyard of the house Setitluth owned a short distance from the Sacred Area's walls, then broke into an easy smile as Eta ran into his arms. Areshen kissed his third wife with gentle passion for a quick moment, watched the same entrancement spread across her features, and then held her at arm's length for another minute. Eta, Areshen realized again, had already been close to her adult height when he had married her two months ago. In those past two months, however, it seemed Eta had made something a great deal more than two month's progress toward becoming a woman, mature, finished beauty evident in her features, the same as he gazed from a short distance. Areshen pulled his eyes back to Eta's, promising himself again that he would wait at least another year and a half.

"I am twelve and five sixths years old now, beloved," Eta began, the same light of gentle pleading in her eyes.

"Yes, you are, beloved," Areshen chuckled. "You are still living here in Setiluth's house?"

"I visit Teru every day when he performs our god's liturgies. But you must wear clothes in Teru's house, even inside, even in the hot season. Teru became very angry with me the other day when I walked into his chamber and he was not wearing his long robes. I don't know why. Teru is very beautiful. He is as beautiful as my father was. He is not as beautiful as you are, beloved, but he almost is."

"You must respect the wishes of Teru's god in his house, Eta. It is Sumer's way."

"That is what Teru said you would say, Areshen. I will miss Teru when he leaves Ur for the north, but Teru says that the people of Sumer will never give up their other gods, so god will lead his family to a land where he is the only god. I visit Setiluth in her High Priestess' palace every day to, but you have to sit in that room and be purified for almost an hour before you can get inside."

"I know the feeling," Areshen chuckled.

"Will you take me for a walk outside by the river, beloved? You were supposed to take me for a walk outside a few days ago, remember?"

"Yes, beloved, I will take you for a walk outside," and Areshen broke into a gentle smile of amusement as Eta ran for the waistcloth, her expression of annoyance as she wrapped it around her body little different from that of any other child's close to her own age.

"It does not make sense," Eta complained as she and Areshen walked hand in hand through the streets of Ur, then along a narrow path lined with date palms leading to a popular swimming area a short distance beyond the city walls. "I will only take the clothe off again when we go swimming. Back on the farm, mother would make father put a clothe on in the morning just to walk out the front door, even in the hot season. As soon as father and the other men walked to the plows, they just took the clothes off again. Then father had to put it back on again at night before he walked into the house, and then he just took it off again as soon as he walked through the door and got his cup."

"You are going to be Sumer's chief thinker, Eta," Areshen chuckled. "Setith tells me that when you visit Isin later this year, she is going to make you consort queen on the throne of things never before though about."

"That is what Setith says to me too," Eta chuckled, then turned toward Areshen with a questioning smile. "Setith is very beautiful, Areshen, especially when she wears the queen's battle dress. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. But Setith looks exactly like Setiluth. I still cannot tell them apart sometimes. How can Setith be Setiluth's mother, Areshen, when Setith and Setiluth look like they are twins? I asked Setith this as well. She didn't answer. She just took me into her arms and kissed me - very hard."

Areshen chuckled in easy amusement. So there was a touch of vanity hidden somewhere in Setith after all.

"Perhaps, Eta, that is another question you must ponder when you sit beside Setith on the throne of Isin."

A short while later, Areshen swam at Eta's side for a few minutes, then pulled himself onto the grass. As usual, Areshen could not help but notice the wistful expression of longing in Eta's features as she floated in the water a short distance away, her eyes darting across his body as he walked toward a small grove of date palms. Nor would Areshen deny that he felt more than a little pleasant vanity for Eta's attention. A young woman in love for the first time in her life had a few minutes before in a very matter of fact tone of voice proclaimed him more beautiful than twenty five year olds. These same words on Eta's lips impacted with a great deal more erotic forces than they did when spoken by a hundred others Areshen's own age who over the past twenty years had intimated the more sensual of their desires in all manner of thinly veiled proposition. For most of those twenty years, Areshen supposed, he had considered the fact that his appearance had changed so little since his youth to be nothing more than just that, a fact, perhaps an annoyance at times, though usually one of little more importance to himself than Setith's perpetually youthful beauty was to her.

Again, however, Areshen felt Eta's eyes burning into him, and for another long moment found himself just standing in the palm grove quite intensely enjoying every second of it.

"Act your age," perhaps, shot through Areshen's mind, from where he had no idea, and with a soft, amused sigh, he lowered himself onto the grass beside one of the trees. For a long while, Areshen gazed only toward the river, his emotions gentle as he pondered the strength of the love which seemed to be growing between himself and a twelve and five sixths year old wife. Perhaps the love would become a sensual love in a few years. In a very real way, Areshen genuinely hoped that it would, despite the difference in his and Eta's ages. At moments, particularly unguarded moments, the feelings of sensuality between them were already, without a great deal of doubt, very mature, countless stolen glances one toward the other in which the imagination was given free reign. When they had traveled together on the back of a donkey across the southern part of Sumer, Areshen had found Eta stealing all manner of passionate caress every morning, Eta giggling in delight when still half asleep he had reached up and pulled her into his arms, Eta supposing the fact that he had done so with obvious passionate intent a very important indication of his love for her.

In the past few months, however, Areshen had begun to notice the first blossoming of maturity both in Eta's kisses and in the words she chose to express her love for him. And Eta was indeed a thinker, a remarkably brilliant young woman, another indication, Areshen chuckled, that Holy Order having placed her on a tenant farm near Uruk was a Holy Order so much nonsense. Still, it would be another year and a half, perhaps longer, Areshen supposed, before he could look toward Eta and see only a woman. Areshen glanced again toward the child now swimming some distance away, a child, however, who in a few minutes would climb from the river and then lower herself into his arms, would quite as skillfully and erotically as anyone he had ever known offer to make love to him with all manner of teasing and pleading. And it was by no means an easy matter to resist the sensual pleading in Eta's eyes.

Areshen glanced again toward Eta now walking onto the grass, reminded himself of his promise, and then met the quiet pleading in her eyes. Eta broke into a soft chuckle, however, as she lowered herself into Areshen's arms, quiet solemnity in her voice as she spoke.

"Beloved, should you never feel yourself ready to make love to me, it would not be a matter of any great importance to me. Not really. Before you married me, I had nothing to look forward to but prostitution in Uruk, work emptying chamber pots in someone's house if I was very, very lucky. I love you, Areshen. With my body, yes. But it was not my body which hurt when I thought you were going to leave me with that tavern mistress. It was my heart. You cannot marry every woman in Sumer to make her heart stop hurting, even though you are a person who might want to do so. But you did marry me, Areshen. Now I am your wife. My heart will never hurt again. How can making love compare to that?"

Areshen gazed with gentle amazement toward the piercing intelligence in Eta's eyes, then toward the soft, delicate features of a young woman he was certain that he loved, desperately for another quick moment wishing that he could see into Eta's heart. He must, he decided, give her something of his love, something just a bit more than he had yet given her. Areshen leaned forward, reached for Eta's lips with his own, the kiss as usual one of gentle warmth, perhaps just the hint of sensual strain. A long moment later he once more raised his eyes to Eta's, then his hands to her cheeks in affectionate, caressing touch.

"I love you," Eta whispered, and again Areshen lowered his lips to hers in gentle though caressing and affectionate touch. Again, however, the promise flashed through his mind. As he supposed the brilliant, insightful young woman in his arms might, Eta relaxed the searching passion of the embrace as quickly as he did himself. Areshen then raised his eyes to Eta's once more, a quick kiss to her cheek until gentle, emotional ease once more broke across her features.

"Give it all another year, beloved," Areshen whispered as he spoke his thought to a woman, his voice quite as emotional and intimate as it might have been with Setith or Ati. "A year will pass quickly, sweet Eta," Areshen whispered again as he raised a hand to Eta's cheeks, Eta's hand atop his own in gentle caress.

"I will give you forever, beloved," the depth of searching emotion in her features for a long minute, then that same, light hearted, mischievous smile. "I'll give you forever if you give me just a little more now."

Areshen broke into a soft chuckle, certain now that he recognized the beginnings of passionate, heart felt love, both in Eta and himself, suspecting that he would realize how deeply in love they were well within another year. For now, Areshen decided to give Eta that for which she had asked, reaching again for her lips in gentle, light hearted touch.

XIX

Areshen grasped Eta's hand and walked back into Ur, "inside" as Eta termed it, though Areshen shared her regret having to do so. He still, however, was not yet ready to turn his back on Ur. Nippur, ten months ago, had been well and thoroughly sacked, its populace not slaughtered en mass, perhaps, though dispersed to a sufficiently large number of other cities, robes of state stripped from those who had worn then. Whatever new Nippur became, it would not be the same as old Nippur had been.

The siege of Nippur had been a short one, however, Isime's first and only assault on the walls little more than and hour's work in which most of his men had not even raised a decent sweat. Nine of every ten residents within the walls of Nippur had probably discovered that their city had indeed been sacked only when one of Shulitu's soldiers approached their looms or pottery kilns or the like. Nor, as old Nippur was marched out onto open fields surrounding the city, would a great many have thought to turn and ask the soldier behind them - why, a question most of the soldiers could not have answered in the first place.

Areshen grasped Eta's hand with emotional warmth, quite aware that he was beginning to receive as much as he gave whenever he shared her company. Areshen glanced again about Ur now pressing on all sides, servants, laborers for the most part, very few who might care to ask why. Even now a number of people on the streets of Ur still spoke of Shubari's demise; some knew others who knew someone who had actually seen the High Priest plunge from the heights of the temple. A few people wore expressions of wonder, a few more expressions of amusement asking how fast Shubari was flapping his arms as he attempted to fly like a bird from the temple's first terrace. None, however, to Areshen's curious amazement, displayed any great concern for the matter. Ur, Areshen realized as he and Eta edged their way past another boisterous crowd in front of a small alley shrive, did not appear remarkably different now than it had two months before when he and Eta had first climbed from their donkey's back.

To nine of ever ten people Areshen and Eta now passed, the events of the past two months might have been meaningful only had they been marched by armed soldiers onto the surrounding plain believing themselves to be slaughtered, very few placing much credence in rumors that Nippur's populace had not been put to the sword.

"Most of them," Areshen had commented ten months ago in Nippur as he and Meshduri gazed toward the milling crowds wandering across open fields, "make bricks and empty chambers pots. I see no reason to slaughter them."

"Sack a city without a general slaughter," Meshduri had asked in amaze. "A great many people will consider that a rather radical innovation in both social and Holy Order. Still, I suppose the blasphemous king of Isin could get away with it."

Gipul of Elam, however, was a king who believed in tried and true methods when it came to warfare.

"The only way to ensure that Shubari is completely eradicated from Ur," Gipul had stated, "is to sack it using more conventional means. Fire can be a remarkably effective cleansing agent. It is the only way to remove an infestation from every single niche and crevice in which it hides and be certain that it does not break out somewhere else. Besides, it is only a craven coward who expects to go on living once his king has been defeated. Had I been among the crowds standing beneath the walls of Nippur ten months ago, I'd have run myself through with my sword. No one of those cowards, however, not a single one did so. How sick and perverse society has become, Areshen."

Walking finally into the courtyard of Setiluth's house, Areshen dismissed both Nippur and Ur from his mind, took Eta once more into embrace, then held her at arm's length for a long, final moment. Only with a great deal of effort could he still see much about Eta which resembled a child. Nor, when Areshen found Eta without hesitation and certainly without question taking the initiative in their parting kiss, did he feel anything but a woman's strength in the passion of her touch. Areshen again raised his eyes to Eta's, the portal leading to the chamber where she had several dozen times informed his that she slept, obvious and glaring at the edge of his vision.

"Father," Setiluth had informed him several dozen more times, "you are being ridiculous. Had Eta been taken into concubinage by any other civil or military governor across Sumer and Akkad, she would be expecting her first child by now. And how often have you declared it ludicrous that I, eighteen, have not born you three or four grandchildren already?"

Eta, quite as brilliant as anyone with whom Areshen had shared emotional intimacy, picked the thought from his mind on the instant, a flashing glance toward the bedchamber herself, her eyes suddenly awash with sensual pleading as her hands crushed onto Areshen's. Areshen returned the embrace, quite aware that he was giving up, his resolution collapsed, would lead Eta into the bedchamber, would, he told himself, be gentle, as he consummated their marriage. Again Eta discerned Areshen's thought on the instant, wild anticipation now in her features.

"Beloved, please," she whispered.

Just as quickly, however, Eta found herself struggling with her disappointment as indecision once more settled into Areshen's features.

At least another year, Areshen sighed. Give her one more year to be a child, and gentle acceptance replaced the disappointment in Eta's eyes, a soft, emotional smile as she leaned forward, her final kiss easy, unforced affection.

Only when Areshen had once more pushed his way onto the streets of Ur could he see a child's features in his mind. He loved Eta, affectionately, yes, but he was falling quite as passionately in love with her as well. How in the name of the gods, Areshen finally sighed as he lifted a beer in front of Heluth's tavern in Shensulith Square, had the man who had never even taken a single concubine, fallen so deeply in love with three wives, one of them not yet thirteen years old?

"There's nothing wrong with it," young Teru answered a few minutes later as he stood beside Areshen, a cup in his own hand. "My second wife is only fifteen, just to years a woman. We waited the full year traditional among the steppe tribes."

"It just seems strange to me, Teru. Is there a point in time, a specific season, when she is no longer a child?"

"You will know when," Teru chuckled. "And don't second guess yourself when you've decided. Even after you have consummated your marriage, you will at times still see a child. And Eta is a very brilliant young woman, Areshen, has been a joy whenever she visits my house. And you would be surprised how often it is you who appears a child through her eyes. At times my fifteen year old wife thinks me only slightly more mature than our two month old son, will not hesitate to tell me so when she thinks I may profit by it."

Areshen broke into a soft chuckle, deciding to dismiss all of this until later.

"Does not your god, Teru," Areshen then asked in easy amusement, "disapprove of your patronizing Shetur - Sethur - whoever?" and Areshen nodded toward Heluth's beer god in the tavern's wall niche.

"I have an understanding with Heluth," and Teru exchanged a quick, mischievous smile with the ever exotic young tavern mistress. "Whatever I give Heluth in payment for my beer goes into her own purse, not into Sethurisu's."

"Heluth," Areshen began, an expression of formality and righteous indignation in his features as he leaned forward toward a young tavern mistress with whom he had spent many hours in intimate, usually slightly drunken conversation.

"Military governor?" Heluth asked as she leaned forward as well.

"You are under arrest."

Heluth choked a quick laugh, as usual, however, sensual intrigue in her eyes a quick moment later.

"You will take me into custody yourself, won't you, Areshen? The judges will certainly sell me into your own household for my crimes."

Areshen broke into an easy expression of amusement as Heluth refilled his cup, glancing for a quick moment toward the six foot chamber at the rear of the tavern in which Heluth slept, a chamber in which he had slept himself on any number of occasions over the past few years whenever darkness had caught him still standing at the tavern board with cup in hand. Heluth, Areshen realized as he again lifted his cup and pondered a close friend now in conversation with another customer, was another he would take into his household the instant he thought doing so necessary to save her from some real harm. Like Kinshith, however, Heluth's was an independent spirit.

"I'm doing all right now," Heluth had stated the last time she had carried Areshen to the rear of the tavern, then in mirthful laughter dropped his body onto the sleeping cushions.

"I can find my way home - " Areshen had protested in stammering, drunken apology, grateful, however, when Heluth just pushed him back down onto the cushions. Areshen was quite aware that Heluth, in order to provide an inebriated military governor a place to sleep it off for the night, was doing so at considerable expense to herself. Heluth, far and away the most attractive tavern mistress in this part of Ur, was turning away any number of customers who would pay a temple prostitute's fee for fifteen minutes with her in the back chamber of her tavern.

"You can't even walk, military governor," Heluth just laughed as she lowered herself into Areshen's arms for the night. "How could you find your way home? Besides, I'm tired. No customers tonight. I will just dream of the day when it is you who will own me."

Areshen finally relented, pulled Heluth into affectionate embrace, regretted, he supposed, that he had very little to give her in return for her hospitality. Neither the military governor of Ur's throne nor the throne of Isin were positions enabling the accumulation of any substantial wealth, certainly not to the extent that a High Priest's or Priestess's throne were.

"Heluth," Areshen still proclaimed, "never doubt that if you need to, you can come to me. I could speak to Setith, and she never refuses me assistance - "

"I know, sweet Areshen," Heluth answered with an emotional smile as she caressed his forehead, her kiss, however, tentative, Heluth even after years of emotional friendship still doubting, Areshen supposed, that someone such as he could ever feel genuine sensual affection for someone such as her. For whatever reason, and certainly Holy Order was no reason, Areshen in fact did, the affection he felt for Heluth very real even if he didn't know why. As soon as he felt the touch of her lips to his own, both his own and Heluth's positions in life were no longer of any importance to him whatsoever.

Heluth was another, however, who had said "no" on several occasions, even on occasions when palace and temple officials had issued indebtedness warrants for her arrest.

"Areshen," Heluth had pled in tears that last evening they had passed together a little more than a year ago now, "I owe you too much already."

"You don't owe me anything, Heluth," Areshen had answered, attempting gentle humor. "We both owe Setith - "

"You know what I mean, Areshen," settling amusement in Heluth's voice, the exotic smile for which she was known in and about Shensulith Square. "I do love you, Areshen, but you are still Areshen of Isin. Perhaps in a year or two you will ask me to become your wife again. Perhaps by then I will be able to say yes."

Areshen emerged from the sometimes painful, though usually pleasant memories, then glanced another moment toward Heluth at the tavern door, Heluth now in flirting conversation with a young, expensively attired palace scribe, obviously the next back chamber customer. Areshen lowered his cup to the tavern board and exchanged a final smile with Heluth, felt, as he did so, that same emotional warmth when he noticed the practiced and affected warmth in Heluth's eyes for the benefit of her customer settle into something far more genuine as soon as she turned toward him.

Areshen stepped onto the streets of Ur once more, glanced without feeling a great deal of energetic enthusiasm in both directions, and then turned for the Sacred Area. Teru, several minutes ago in front of Heluth's, had stated that he was scheduled to appear in the Gate of Judgement in order to defend himself against charges leveled by the master of another scribal school a short distance from his own. Teru's god stood accused of harassing the patron god of his competitor's school, a competitor who had lodged similar charges on numerous occasions over the past few years. The lower courts, as usual, had dismissed the case against Teru and his god, Teru's defense little more than a standard reiteration of Sumerian legal precedent and social custom which held that no one should suffer persecution based simply on matters of belief in a particular god. Even when, on several past occasions, the case had been appealed all the way up to the Gate of Judgement by Teru's competitor, Shubari, most likely because there was no profit in the matter one way or another, had simply let stand the decisions of the lower courts in which Teru and his god had been acquitted. Since it was now Setiluth who sat in the Gate of Judgement and would hear the latest appeal, Areshen supposed the proceeding would at least be something to alleviate his boredom for a few minutes, would be an opportunity to see exactly what it was that a High Priestess of Ur did. Before his own daughter had been installed, Areshen had never before been interested in the least.

And old Meneturu in this morning's dispatch from Shar Dulur had with sincere expressions of regret and remorse once more informed Areshen that there were no wars of consequence along the frontiers demanding the king's attention. A few tribes of particularly primitive hunters armed only with stone tipped arrows and spears calling themselves Arunyu had wandered into Asshur from somewhere further to the distant reaches of the north, interesting, perhaps a bit of excitement, but no matter of great concern. The commanders of those Six Hundreds which Meneturu had sent north into Asshur in order to remind another King of the Four Quarters that his title was a titular and honorary one, reported their encounters with the wandering Arunyu to be fascinating, a people who now sought caves in Asshur's northern mountains in which to live, stating that they had been chased from their own caves in the far north by an angry bear spirit or some such thing equally as humorous. Perhaps, Areshen shrugged as he climbed the Sacred Area's south portal, he would drive north himself later this year once he was certain that Setith and Setiluth faced no major problems in the south.

Areshen walked across the Sacred Area in the shadows of the High Priestess' palace, the towering walls of the temple itself now dominating the view. Since the rainy season, which had never come this year anyway, was now over, the High Priestess' throne had been erected on the exterior steps which led up to the palatial Gate of Judgement, a sizeable crowd of advocates and supplicants waiting for their own cases to be called, most in the crowd standing in quiet conversation throughout the Assembly Area.

Areshen glanced toward the throne platform for a quick moment, an expression of keen, intelligent interest in Setiluth's features as advocates argued the current case a few paces from the Gate of Judgement's steps. Areshen then idled toward Setith sitting on a stone bench near the periphery of the Assembly Area, Setith's attire still the simple battle dress of a northern queen, a half dozen soldiers attached to the garrison of Isin armed with short sword standing in close proximity. And on the same bench next to Setith, to Areshen's initial wonder, sat Ibisien, king of Ur, the ever present cup of wine in his hand, the perfumed polish in his features quite as carefully and delicately arranged as always. Ibisien's half dozen male attendants also standing in close proximity were the same perfect study in feminine poise and allure, their eyes constantly and obviously straying in that which appeared sensual admiration toward Setith's soldiers.

"Beloved," Areshen began as he pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to Setith's cheek. "King," Areshen then stated, nodding his head in one quick movement of submission, watching the glint of appreciation settle into Ibisien's eyes.

"Areshen," Ibisien began, that same note of whining complaint in his voice, "you promised that I would accompany you when you invaded the temple. They tell me that Shubari's flight from the first terrace was magnificent. And I missed it. You did not come and get me as you promised, military governor. I will never forgive you."

"I'm sorry, king," Areshen answered with an expression of amusement as he lowered himself onto the stone bench beside Setith, Setith quite purposefully between himself and Ibisien. "The whole thing was a matter of the moment."

Ibisien released a long, relenting sigh, snapped his fingers, and Areshen nodded appreciation toward the wine steward who had appeared on the instant.

"I suppose it was," Ibisien agreed with another long sigh, then turned toward Setith. "But this makes up for it," and in amazement Areshen watched entrancement in Ibisien's features as he reached for Setith's hand, a woman's hand, and raised it to his lips. "The queen of Isin," Ibisien crooned, "is magnificent."

"King," Setith chuckled as Ibisien lingered over her hand, "you are far too gracious."

"Never, my beautiful mountain warrior of such exquisite poise and charm," and Ibisien turned again toward Areshen. "Some day, military governor, it may come to pass that the Lady Setith will appear beneath the walls of Ur with her armies. She will have me tied naked onto her chariot beside her. She will whip the horse into a gallop. Then, her long dark hair flying in the breeze, she will turn toward me, whip in hand, and oh how she will punish me, Areshen. She will not stop doing so until she has carried me all the way back to Isin and into captivity. Then she will lock me behind the walls of Shar Dulur. There she will kick me every night as I beg for mercy at her feet. It will be a cruel fate, Areshen, but I am the king of Ur. I shall suffer that fate nobly, no matter how many times the Lady Setith strips the clothing from my body in order to punish me," and Areshen could not help but notice the shudder pass through Ibisien's frame, something very much like entrancement, however, clearly hinted in his features. Areshen choked back his amusement as he raised his cup, wondering if Ibisien considered the prospect of captivity in Setith's hands as exciting as the possibility of falling captive to Gipul of Elam.

"Perhaps, king," Setith began with the trace of amusement in her own features, "such - cruelty will not be necessary. We have, in our discussions, made a great deal of progress over the past few hours."

"Perhaps not," Ibisien sighed with less than subtle regret in his features as he snapped his fingers, the wine stewards filling his own and Setith's cups this time. "Well, where were we? The village of Ketilum - " and Areshen listened with rapidly waning interest as Setith and Ibisien spoke numbers back and forth to each other. As far as Areshen could determine, Ibisien was selling assets held by the palace of Ur in order to maintain the facade that it was a palace in the first place. In the end, Setith's and Ibisien's discussion became very much a mystery to Areshen, though he couldn't help but notice something genuine in Ibisien's expressions of concern for those who fell under his care, noticed as well Setith's remarks of approval for Ibisien's concerns. That, Areshen supposed, was the reason he had never felt any great concern over the fact that Ibisien, at least when sober enough to do so, sat Ur's throne.

Setith's and Ibisien's financial discussion now unintelligible, Areshen once more turned his attention toward Setiluth seated on the throne platform, a half dozen scribes at surrounding tables meticulously recording the proceedings, advocates with arms raised in all manner of theatrical gesticulation delivering impassioned speeches.

"Write," Setiluth pronounced as the speakers concluded and she turned toward the scribes, "that I find for the prosecution. Next," and a half dozen advocates, both the winners and the losers though Areshen wasn't in the least certain which were which, bowed in ritual formality as they retreated from the throne platform into the crowd, none of them, winners or losers, daring the least hint of dissatisfaction with the High Priestess of Ur's decision. A quick moment later, another half dozen advocates, young Teru among them, emerged from the crowd and approached the Gate of Judgement's steps.

For another very long minute, as far as Areshen could see, nothing very important seemed to be happening at all, and he spent that long minute pondering the north once again, deciding that an excursion into its mountain wilds with a few Six Hundreds of foot and chariot might not be a bad way to pass a few months this summer. It would certainly be a great deal less boring that all of this, Setith and Ibisien discussing bricks and sacks of grain, Setiluth on the throne platform now in quiet conversation with several old, bearded officials Areshen had noticed once or twice during his impromptu wanderings through the High Priestess' palace. Teru and the advocates waiting to present their cases stood next to the tables mumbling back and forth to scribes and priests of one sort or another.

Most definitely not a military tribunal, Areshen sighed an incredible fifteen minutes later when still nothing very exciting seemed to be happening. Sitting behind a field tent conducting a military court, Areshen or any other Six Hundred commander would easily have disposed of a half dozen cases by now, most people in attendance suspecting that the case would be decided in favor of whichever advocate could rattle out the greatest number of words in the shortest length of time.

Finally, Areshen sighed in resignation as he realized he had nowhere else to go at the moment anyway, the bearded officials retreated from the throne platform, and Setiluth waved an arm toward the advocates to her right.

"You may prosecute," Setiluth stated. Areshen again found himself restraining wondering amusement as he watched an elderly advocate of polished, dignified appearance dressed in expensive, ostentatious robes of state step forward, his pace pompous and time consuming. An advocate in any tribunal over which Areshen had presided would have belched out at least a hundred words by now, several hundred more in the time it took this temple advocate at the center of civilization to finish his sweeping and magnificent bow toward Setiluth. Areshen could not help but notice, however, that Setith and Ibisien had suspended their financial deliberations in order to follow the proceedings at the throne. Apparently Teru's case was to be an interesting one.

"High Priestess of Nanna - " the elderly advocate finally began, and continued, a ponderous list of titles, "noble mistress of Ningal's household, beloved daughter of divinity, consort of the gods - " and Areshen found himself shifting his weight on a stone bench made from incredible hard stone, annoyed that neither Setith nor Ibisien seemed to notice how much harder the stone had become over the past fifteen minutes.

When the elderly advocate finally concluded the list of Setiluth's titles, however, his argument against Teru was relatively easy to follow. The god in a scribal school a short distance from Teru's had been found laying on the floor, smashed.

"He," the advocate declared, righteous indignation in features carved of stone as he pointed an accusing arm toward Teru, "is responsible, he and his malicious god. Master Teru makes no secret of the fact that his god refuses to live in amicable accord with the other gods of Sumer. Young Teru refuses to sacrifice to the gods of Sumer. He refuses even to reveal the name of his god," and there followed another forty five minutes of similar discourse delivered in vehement, argumentative tones, the fact that Teru refused to honor Sumer's gods quite obviously the basis for this latest series of suits brought against him. The prosecuting advocate also seemed to consider the fact that Teru seldom participated in Ur's social and cultural life key evidence pointing toward Teru's guilt, the oration concluding with a plea that Teru's school be required to conform to standards mandated for scribal schools affiliated with the temple or be closed.

Areshen glanced from Setiluth on the throne platform to Setith and Ibisien on the stone bench beside him and wondered if anyone else had reached the same conclusion he had reached. Teru's competitor was simply trying to eliminate the competition, a god laying smashed on the floor the means chosen to do so.

"Is this not a very simple case?" Areshen mumbled as he turned toward Setith with hesitant question in his features.

"Yes, it is," Setith agreed, then returned a soft smile for Areshen's pleased expression of surprise, concern, however, in her features a quick moment later. "There are complications, however, the prosecuting advocate chief among them. He is a Shubari, a prominent in the faction. He is not here today to drive a competitor from business. He is here searching for any sign of weakness in Setiluth's composure, weakness which he and his ilk will exploit in the future."

Areshen glanced in confusion toward the polished and dignified prosecuting advocate standing near the scribe's tables, and again pondered the magnificence of the bow he had rendered to Setiluth, his long and eloquent recitation of her titles. In the end, Areshen realized, he just didn't know. Military courts were nothing like this grand and imposing tribunal at the center of civilization. Advocates appearing before military courts dispensed entirely with the trappings of ceremonial formality in order to pack several hundred more words into the time allotted them by a scowling army officer wrapping his knuckles in impatience on the judge's table. If any sort of challenge had been made toward Setiluth by the prosecuting advocate now identified as a Shubari, Areshen was quite aware that would probably have missed it entirely, despite the tortuously slow pace of the proceedings. Setith,. however, would not, and Areshen again turned back to his wife, question in his eyes, understanding in Setith's.

"Nothing untoward," Setith continued, "has yet happened. I've chosen to sit on this bench today in order to be certain that it does not," and Setith lay a gentle hand to Ibisien's arm, the king of Ur's eyes a bit more glazed than they had been a cup or two ago, though still by and large lucid. "And the king, well know to be no admirer of Shubari, very graciously accepted my invitation to sit at my side, no small part of the reason why Shubari the prosecuting advocate and Shubari scattered throughout the gallery are behaving themselves toward Setitluth."

"King," Areshen stated, "I am grateful."

"I suppose," Ibisien answered, the expression in his features once more conveying something far different than did his words, "I will, for my services, be spared one or two lashes from this beautiful creature's whip when she appears beneath the walls of my palace, binds me hand and foot, strips the clothing - "

"Perhaps," Setith chuckled, "perhaps Gipul of Elam will precede me to Ur."

"Yes, perhaps," Ibisien answered, theatrical remorse in his features, erotic delight just as evident in his eyes. "Oh Areshen, have I told you of the cruel and awful fate which awaits me when Gipul of Elam appears with his armies. A terrible fate awaits me, Gipul - so huge and powerful. A cruel fate which I will suffer with kingly nobility."

"Certainly," Areshen just answered, no longer certain how to arrange his own features.

"And my dear," Ibisien continued as he turned back to Setith, "did I not tell you that the king your husband might very well sit at your side this morning?"

"Yes, king, you did," and Setith turned toward Areshen with smiling question.

"I was bored," Areshen shrugged. "Nowhere else to go; nothing else to do."

"Nonetheless," and Ibisien waved a dismissing hand toward the prosecuting advocate and his colleagues in the Assembly Area, "awful, awful Shubari has for once behaved himself exceptionally well," and Ibisien waved an arm in the air, this time sloshing wine toward the soldiers standing on either side of the throne platform. "They still wear my colors. You are far too kind to me, Areshen. Most of them, however, are quite obviously Isin's soldiers rather than Ur's. Look at them, formidable, powerful - " dreamy wonder in Ibisien's eyes. "Oh what a thrashing just one of them could give me. He'd lift me onto his knee - "

Areshen listened in idle amusement, Ibisien gazing toward Setiluth's guard with a deep, wistful sigh, snapping his fingers a quick moment later. Areshen finally broke into a soft chuckle as Ibisien thrust his cup into the air, the wine stewards obviously expected to anticipate its exact location at any given moment, to replenish it no matter how unbalanced and uncooperative the hand holding it. Areshen glanced toward the Assembly Area for another long minute, sighing himself when he realized that no one other than himself seemed in the least concerned for the outrageous length of time which had elapsed since anything important had happened.

"Gipul of Elam," Areshen finally continued in a speculative, searching voice, "also names Shubari that which he believes to be a threat to both Ur and Elam. He tried to explain it all to me," and Areshen gazed with question toward Ibisien and Setith, waiting for either. It was Ibisien, unusual, thoughtful solemnity in his eyes, who answered.

"The law code my great grandfather wrote when he came to power in Ur was, in several of its parts, a rather remarkable innovation in Sumer. Prior to that, Shubari ruled untethered, had ruled so for many, many centuries, and could never never make up his mind, one god with this to say, another with that. The widow and the orphan were provided for if Shubari and company were in a good mood; they starved if he was not. Shubari, however, has always been a very fat man, his granaries stuffed, advocates in every court to guard his stuffed granaries. A hundred years ago, Urnammu with his law codes tried to rescue the widow and the orphan from fat, fat Shubari's whims. As I say, an innovative document, the law code, parts of it applying to everyone no matter what their class. That which was just yesterday, my great grandfather said, is still just today. That which is unjust will no longer be called justice just because Inurumen, Urnammu's Shubari, has changed his mind," and again Ibisien sloshed his cup toward the prosecuting advocate. "He's read the law; he had to in order to become and advocate. But he's still a Shubari, an Inurumen, my great grandfather would have called him. Thank the gods you and Gipul tossed fat, fat, fat Shubari over the side of the temple. Oh how I regret having missed it."

Areshen broke into a soft chuckle, then turned when Teru finally approached the throne platform, Teru's gestures and opening salutations toward Setiluth quite as ostentatious and elaborate as those which had been proffered by his opponent.

"Noble High Priestess of Ur," Teru then continued, "the prosecution's case against me was a masterful and time consuming exercise in pointless triviality. I do not sacrifice to Sumer's gods. I do not participate in festivals dedicated to gods other than my own. I follow my own counsel in the conduct of my affairs and in those of the school I operate. Since when has any of this ever before been called into question? Unless I have missed something along the way, I, a free man indebted to no one, may if I choose to do so, ignore and be ignored by the society in the midst of which I live. Has this not always been Sumer's way? Is not just the thought of imposing one's intentions and beliefs on someone not a member of their own household still repugnant in Sumer? The people of Sumer have built great houses for themselves and their gods, dug magnificent canals, raised powerful armies to defend themselves along the frontiers. But the people of Sumer have never taken anything away from others who live among them. I do not believe, noble and learned Setiluth, that you will take my house and my school away from me. Perhaps in the future the people of Sumer will no longer be a gentle and tolerant people, will indeed try to take away from others that which does not belong to them, justifying such behavior by spouting the sort of nonsense we have all heard a few minutes ago from the prosecution. I do not believe, however, that that day has yet come. Perhaps in the future Shubari may yet prevail, and free people will be forced to conform to standards which are foreign and loathsome to them. Certainly, noble Setiluth, that despicable day has not yet come. And as to a god laying smashed and broken on the floor, I suspect the inattentive hand of a cleaning girl rather than any divine touch the explanation."

Areshen choked back his laughter as Teru bowed and stepped back from the throne, though he suspected the hint of amusement in just about everyone else's eyes as well, including Setiluth's as she sat in a long minute's speculative thought, raising an arm finally toward the scribes.

"Write," Setiluth pronounced, "that I find for the defense. Next, please."

Areshen watched with curious interest as Teru and the other advocates offered their gestures of abeyance toward Setiluth, the same gestures performed by the advocates who had argued the previous case. Only when he became aware of Setith's and Ibisien's quick, startled gasps, however, did he notice that the prosecuting advocate stood erect, a subtle though obvious expression of defiance in his features as he twisting searching eyes about the crowd in the Assembly. When the soldiers who stood at Setiluth's side reached for their weapons, Areshen finally decided that he had had quite enough of civilization at its center, and pushed himself angrily to his feet.

"Do your bowing thing," Areshen shouted toward the elderly prosecuting advocate, said individual's defiance collapsing on the instant when he recognized the king of Isin no longer sitting in the shadows. "Do your bowing thing or you'll do it to me the way Shubari did. Do it now, and then get out."

The sound of droning flies now clearly audible from one side of the Assembly Area to the other, the prosecuting advocate bowed frantically rather than gracefully, and then fled. Areshen settled as he watched the prosecuting advocate followed by several dozen others trot from the Assembly Area, then turned apologetic eyes toward Setiluth on the throne. To Areshen's surprise, however, Setiluth met his eyes without hesitation, ease and amusement in her own.

"Thank you, father," Setiluth stated with a gentle smile, and then turned again toward the scribe's tables. "I will hear the next case, please."

Areshen lowered himself back onto the bench, settling a bit more as he turned in question toward Setith. Setith just smiled. Ibisien, however, once more appeared entranced.

"Perhaps it will be you, Areshen," Ibisien crooned, "who will appear beneath Ur's walls in your chariot. Oh how I shall cower before the ferocious power in your eyes as you strip the robes from my body, as you lift your powerful whip - "

Areshen reached for his cup, took a long swallow, and then with Ibisien's voice still droning in his ears turned again in boredom toward the throne and the tiresome, interminable preparations for the next case. Whatever else happened, Areshen sighed, this, his first visit to a temple tribunal at the center of civilization, was also going to be his last.

"I'd have thought Setiluth might have been furious with me when I started shouting in her court," Areshen stated as he gazed down the long corridor running through the center of the High Priestess' palace, then toward Setith clinging in affectionate embrace to his arm. "Look at this, beloved," Areshen continued, wonder in his features as he gazed up and down the corridors. "It's a street, running right through the middle of this building. There are others along the walls leading to the guard towers. You can walk from one side of this building to the other without ever passing through a chamber or a courtyard. I've seen whole towns in the north with just chambers and courtyards. Only in Ur would you see a building with streets running through it."

Setith broke into a soft chuckle as she lay her lips to Areshen's in quick, gentle touch.

"That is why Setiluth was not furious with you, beloved. Setiluth and I are creatures of Ur, quite accustomed to buildings with - streets running through them. Neither of us will ever be the barbarian from Isin. Neither of us, however, would long be anything at all without you."

Areshen met Setith's eyes in concern, sighing in resignation a quick moment later.

"You know it to be the truth, beloved," Setith continued. "There can only be one true King of the Four Quarters. And you needn't have shouted toward the prosecuting advocate at all. Had you just cleared your throat loudly enough to call attention to yourself, he'd have jumped quite as quickly. Had you not been in attendance, Setiluth would have been able to respond to the prosecuting advocates' insult and challenge without a great deal of difficulty, though in her case, a rather loud and vehement response might have been necessary, even with Ibisien and myself in attendance. You have simple saved her the trouble of having to raise her voice, the indignity, I might add, of having to do so. And Setiluth's throne is very different from my own. A queen's throne, as often as not, can be something very different from her husband's throne. A daughter, however, does nothing more than sit in her father's stead. Setiluth would have had no possible reason to be furious with you when you stood in her defense. Quite the contrary, actually. She was probably ecstatic when you did so."

"But I have very little in the way of advice to offer her, Setith. Whatever Setiluth does on her throne, she does alone."

"Exactly," Setith chuckled. "All the more reason it is important that no one misunderstand the situation as it is. Setiluth's decisions are going to irritate a great many people in Ur, and they are indeed going to be her own decisions. She would never dream of subjecting herself to that which most likely lies ahead were she not certain that a very strong emotional bond existed between herself and you," and Setith turned with curiosity in her eyes. "What did bring you to the tribunal in the first place, beloved? You usually take extraordinary pains to avoid such proceedings."

"I met Teru at Heluth's. He told me his case was going to be heard today."

"Ah," and Setith returned a mischievous smile of accusation, her embrace, however, still one of genuine emotional affection.

"I will never understand," Areshen sighed. "I have for twenty years been an object of derision because I have no concubines. You yourself though it quite bizarre. Why is it adultery between Heluth and me?"

"Heluth is free, without master or mistress, and a minor order priestess."

"Heluth is also - "

"Yes," Setith laughed. "I know, beloved. Most priestesses in small tavern shrines are. It would be very difficult for them to survive without doing business in their back chambers. Unless they are Naditu women, however, pledged to perpetual abstinence, it is an acceptable practice."

Areshen sighed, supposing he would never really understand the city in the shadow of which he had been born, and finally walked with Setith into the High Priestess' chambers.

A short time later, Areshen sat on floor cushions with cup in hand as Setith and Setiluth played with each other's hair on a sleeping shelf next to the opposite wall. Again Areshen could not help but wonder at the uncanny resemblance between mother and daughter. Only when he held Setith in intimate embrace could he detect any appreciable difference at all. And his earlier assumption that Setith was secure in her role as mother now appeared to be wrong. It seemed that circumstances determined who was who.

"I suppose," Setith continued as she grasped Setituth's hands, Setith's posture and expression a child's seeking the safety and warmth of a parent's love, "the temple of Miruli on the walls could put me up. My house is no longer fit - "

"Mother," Setiluth groaned, a mix of annoyance and amusement in a parent's expression as she pulled Setith into her arms, "stop it at once. You are going nowhere. I love you dearly, mother, and you are sleeping right here in my arms," and it was Setith who lowered her head onto Setiluth's shoulder, Setiluth again pulling her mother into a daughter's embrace.

Areshen chuckled for the thought, lifted his cup, and again glanced toward two women, the only two women in the world, he supposed, without whom he would be completely lost. Part of the reason for this might well have been their administrative abilities, Setith now the undisputed mistress of Shar Dulur and the north and thus much of the civilized world, Setiluth mistress of Ur once more an ancient temple city. Still, Meneturu had been perfectly capable of keeping Shar Dulur a pace away from complete financial disaster. And Ibisien in Ur, when pressed, had many times in the past endured sobriety for days at a time in order to hold in check the most outrageous of the measures proposed by the Shubari faction. Areshen realized that he was dependant on Setith and Setiluth for emotional rather than pragmatic reasons. Both Setith and Setiluth proclaimed themselves emotionally dependant on him, though Areshen supposed he would never really understand why or how. He glanced again toward mother and daughter as they released their embrace, both gazing with emotional intimacy into each other's eyes, searching, perhaps, Areshen suspected, their latest declaration of love for each other all that mattered to them.

"All right, beloved," Setith finally stated. "I will accept your gracious offer of hospitality."

"And you are going to stay for a long time, are you not, mother?" Setiluth pleaded, suddenly and obviously the daughter once more.

"It is very difficult for you, Setiluth, isn't it, my sweet baby?"

"Sometimes, mother, it is very difficult. The first thing I do every morning is check with the clerks to see if another letter from you has arrived during the night. If one has not, the clerks scatter in every direction at my approach, certain that I will direct my rage toward them."

"I suppose everyone suspects that the daughter must be the maniacal terror the mother is reputed to be," Setith sighed. Setiluth, however, broke into a soft chuckle.

"Gipul wrote a few days ago, mother, mostly business, a few personal notes, however. He still loves you dearly, mother, but oh how terrified he is of you. In bluster and fury he details exactly how he is going to sack Ur. Then, meek as a lamb, Gipul assures me that he will in fact sack Ur only, of course, after long and careful consultation with the queen of Isin," and Setiluth again broke into soft laughter as she ran her eyes down her mother's body. "Did you really toss Gipul back and forth across the wrestling mats, mother? Gipul is as big as a house, and you're so much slighter than even I am."

Areshen raised his eyes in wonder, quite unable to detect the slightest difference in Setith's and Setiluth's figures.

"Gipul and I are both older now," Setith chuckled. "Those contests occurred a very long time ago."

"Nevertheless, Gipul has certainly not forgotten them," and again Setiluth glanced in close inspection toward her mother's body, this time placing her hands in gentle embrace to Setith's waist. "Mother, please eat. Look at you. It will do none of your dependants any good if you starve yourself. And besides," Setiluth continued with an expression of conspiratorial amusement, "there is no longer any reason for you to retire to your sleeping chambers hungry. My spies inform me that Isin is now quite financially sound, your constant protestations that you cannot afford to accept my perfectly reasonable purchase offers so much nonsense."

"Outrageous," Setith protested, both her and Setiluth's scowls now perfect copies. "Your spies are self serving scoundrels feeding you malicious lies."

"Oh mother," Setiluth groaned, and an instant later, as though two different people now sat across the room from him, Areshen watched Setiluth once more place gentle hands to her mother's waist, Setiluth's expression deep, emotional concern.

"Beloved, please promise me that you will eat. Do not endanger your health."

"Yes, beloved, I promise," and Areshen reached again for his cup, stealing a curious glance toward the emotional affection in mother and daughter's features which a quick moment before had appeared very much like a portrait in stone.

Both Setith and Setiluth, Areshen realized once more, were unquestionably two of Sumer and Akkad's most brilliant women. Perhaps, he chuckled, that had something to do with it all, though he suspected he would never understand the intricacies of their personalities. The first time he had ever seen Setith, she had seemed as strange as any other young woman who came from a wealthy, noble Sumerian family, women who called their own mothers beloved, a very sensual term, kissing them on the lips in a manner far more passionate than one might ever expect to see on the small tenant farm where he had been raised. Before he had married Setith, Areshen's entire world had been a pig farm and military field tents; he'd since then made no great effort whatsoever to understand the finer points of Sumer's social structure, was more than content to leave such matters in Setith's and Setiluth's hands.

Areshen glanced again toward wife and daughter for a long, studying moment, both once more playing with each other's hair in close, intimate silence. Perhaps, Areshen mused, their obvious and unrivalled intelligence was also the reason Setith and Setiluth expressed their hidden fears only to each other, fears he further realized were very genuine and pressing. Both Setith and Setiluth were keenly aware of their roles in life; they understood them, Areshen realized, to a far greater extent than he understood his own place in the overall scheme of things. Every living thing in Sumer and Akkad save for a few free tavern mistresses without social or legal bond to another, soldiers on active service, and a small number of householders still belonging to Ibisien and the palace of Ur, were now dependants either of the queen of Isin or the High Priestess of Ur, two women who now sat across the room from him entranced with nothing more than each other's hair. Neither Setith nor Setiluth, however, were Shubari's, fatter with every passing day no matter how others faired. And Areshen had felt both Setith's and Setiluth's soft tremble any number of times as he held them in supporting embrace, offering whatever emotional comfort he could as they expressed their concerns regarding affairs of state the finer points of which would always elude him. Setith, indeed, after she had been dispossessed of her holdings in the south, had all but starved herself in several month's furious and frantic effort in order to provide for her new dependants in the north after the siege and sack of Nippur.

Only over the course of the past several months during his sojourn here in Ur, however, had Areshen come to appreciate, at least to a small extent, the difficulties Setith and Setiluth faced. For twenty years he had passed his time protecting Sumer and Akkad along the frontiers. For the past eight years as Sumer and Akkad's largely undisputed military master, he had done very little more, relying on old Meneturu and others with similar clerical abilities to keep things in at least some degree of order back home. Save for sporadic incidents such as the sack of Nippur's and Uruks's temples, Areshen preferred to involve himself in Sumer's civil affairs by doing little more than impressing his seal on whatever document Meneturu placed onto the table in front of him, reading that document, perhaps, if the fish didn't happen to be biting that day, a very rare occurrence along the banks of the canal near Shar Dulur.

Glancing again toward Setith and Setiluth, Areshen was quite aware that he could, if he now desired to do so, spend all of his time along the banks of some canal somewhere with fishing line in hand, though he supposed he would feel compelled to do so within a reasonable distance of the nearest military dispatch station, at least until he could embrace both Setith and Setiluth and no longer detect that ever present trace of a tremble in their bodies.

"Mother," Setiluth finally continued in an idle though quiet and solemn voice, "you know Gipul, and you're far better acquainted with Elam and the east. I have told myself that which you have always told yourself, that I will try to be a good High Priestess. But I fear Gipul has already, at least in a corner of his mind, decided that Ur must eventually be sacked."

Areshen raised his eyes in studying attention. Setith, as she drew a comb and fingers through another tangle in Setiluth's long, dark hair, released a deep, contemplative sigh.

"I fear you may be correct, dear. There is uncounted weight of gold and silver in this place, much more in the Sacred Area's other palaces and temples, cups, chalices, statues. It would take years to count it all, forever to determine where it came from and how it came to be here. Without doubt some of it came from Elam, not as much as Gipul and documents throughout Elam might claim, probably more than like documents here in Ur will admit."

"Gipul mentions Lueti's necklace in his most recent letter, mother. The temple of Cestoludi claims that it was stolen by a military governor sent to Elam by Ibisien's grandfather."

"Ur has plenty of necklaces," Areshen decided to interject. "Why not just send this particular one back. One less necklace - " Areshen shrugged, and waited for his wife and daughter to turn and stare toward the desert barbarian, pleasantly surprised when they turned with nothing more than thoughtful, contemplative expressions.

"I have commissioned a search of the palace archives, father," Setiluth began. "If I can find sufficient evidence that the necklace was indeed stolen, I will have little difficulty justifying a promulgation ordering its return. There would be far fewer complications, however," Setiluth continued with a long, despondent sigh, "if the damn necklace were not still around Lueti's horrible little neck."

"Lueti cannot be found?" Areshen asked, and a quick moment later Setith and Setiluth were finally staring toward the barbarian from the western deserts.

"I know exactly where Lueti is," Setiluth chuckled. "You have been sleeping on her for the past month now, father."

"Oh…" and Areshen assumed it mostly stupidity now in his own features.

"She was a High Priestess here," Setiluth continued with a gentle, relenting smile, "a hundred years ago when Elam claims that the necklace was stolen. She's buried twenty feet below the cushions on which year are now laying."

"Oh," Areshen answered, deciding that enough, and returned his attention to something he knew about - his beer.

"Even if I did dig up horrible old Lueti and remove the necklace from whatever is left of her neck," Setiluth continued with another ponderous sigh, "that would solve just one of a thousand issues of contention between Ur and Elam, and the problems have been growing for well over a thousand years now. Several days ago I walked out to the temple of Imurani - that is where most of the archive's older tablets are kept, father," and Areshen smiled as genuinely as he could over the top of his beer for a daughter's gracious explanation to a largely untutored, uninformed father. "Some of the tablets are very ancient, the language Sumerian, but archaic and difficult to understand. It does seem, however, that when Epanatu allowed a hundred of his maid servants to accompany him into his tomb, some of the jewelry they wore came from Elam, as did the jewels in the Holy Death Cup from which the household drank. The daughters of Elam, however, were turned away when they appeared at the tomb pleading to accompany Epenatu into the next world, an atrocious insult to Gurshen, then king of Elam. The tablets do not say why the daughters of Elam were turned away."

"They pled to get into the tomb?" Areshen asked.

"Those were different times, father," Setiluth answered. "In Epenatu's time, there was no word for apostate. And the bond between an ancient king such as Epenatu and his household was far closer than anything one sees today. I was heartbroken when I read the story of the daughters of Elam. How the poor girls must have wept when they were turned away from their beloved's tomb, turned away, no doubt, by some petty, self serving clerk with a grudge against Elam," and something like fury washed across Setith's eyes.

Areshen, however, felt only an old anxiety, quite aware that Setiluth, the epitome of ancient piety, would be first at the door of his own tomb in Isin if he didn't have that miserable hole in the ground filled in.

"Father," Setiluth continued in easy humor, Setiluth pious perhaps, but always brilliant and perceptive as well, "do not worry. You are going to live for a very long time. You're impious enough to outlive all of us just to deny us a place beside you in your tomb. And besides, the High Priest of Isin follows your instructions to the letter. He will not even talk to mother and me."

"Setith - " Areshen began, surprise and annoyance in his features. Setiluth and impressionable, foolish young women belonging to the household of Isin - yes; but he had never suspected that Setith, the model of poise and commanding self assurance, might also have requested a place beside him in his tomb, not, at least, before he natural time.

Setith raised thoughtful, searching eyes. Finally, however, she just released a long, contemplative sigh, uncharacteristic uncertainty in her features.

"I can't explain it, beloved," Setith began. "As I have told you, I believe there is an order of some sort, be it Holy or whatever. When Shubari decreed that my place was not at your side, only then did I realize how absolutely apostate Shubari really was. I cannot imagine myself anywhere but at your side. I never could, no matter what the physical distance between us. Even when our former positions necessitated that we reside for many months at considerable distance from each other, I felt that my heart lay always next to your own. When you begin your journey to the next world, it would be very difficult for me not to accompany you."

"When I begin my journey to the next world," Areshen sighed, "I will go ahead of you. I will leave signposts along the way. You and whoever else wants to can follow along in your own good time."

Both Setith and Setiluth broke into soft laughter.

"I feel nothing but loneliness," Areshen sighed, now in quiet solemnity, "thinking that the living would just walk of their own accord into a dead man's tomb.

"Don't be lonely, father, please," Setiluth cried in urging vehemence as she grasped Setith's hand, both pushing themselves from the bench onto the floor cushions and into Areshen's arms. Perhaps, Areshen mused when he rather abruptly realized that this was the first time in a great many years that he had held both his wife and his daughter at the same time, doing so would seem like the last time. It was Setiluth, however, who pressed her lips to his cheek. For quite some time now, Setiluth had carefully guarded the passion both she and Areshen were quite aware existed between them whenever they touched, Setiluth just as aware that Areshen wished her to do so, or at the very least make a genuine attempt to do so. Areshen suspected that Setiluth would certainly do so at the moment, the warmth of both hers and Setith's arms surrounding him. Setiluth's kiss was gentle ease for little more than an instant, however. When she raised her eyes, it was in close and intimate embrace, Setiluth's features not in the least what Areshen might have expected. Setiluth leaned forward again, this time pressed her kiss to Areshen's lips. Perhaps a quick light touch, he supposed, certainly little more at the moment. Before he could in any way prepare himself, however, Setiluth had buried her lips to his own in pleading sensuality as intimate as any they had yet shared, her arms in touch quite as sensual and intimate.

When Setiluth finally raised her eyes, however, there was little more than ease and gentle humor in her features, the same, to Areshen's amazement, in Setith's.

"I am your wife, father," Setiluth began. "I know you do not believe it, but I do. And if nothing else, I have just proven that I believe it. I have no doubts whatsoever. In the same way, mother and I both believe that our places are at your side, now and forever. Do not feel lonely, father, because of the fact that neither of us could bare to be separated from you even by the tomb's door. It is simply what we believe. It is who we are. And we believe that what we are can no longer be separated from that which you are. We believe that the bond which exists between ourselves and you to be Holy Order's most binding and permanent, far more so than an ordinary marriage bond. The same bond exists between yourself and every other person in Sumer and Akkad, and now exists between yourself and Ur through me save for households belonging to Ibisien and the palace, a dozen or so of which seek to remedy that situation with every passing day."

Areshen gazed both toward Setith and Setiluth, quite aware that his expression conveyed very limited, if any understanding.

Setith, however, just broke into a soft chuckle as she continued where Setiluth had left off.

"It just means, beloved, that all of Sumer and Akkad, most of Ur now as well, is legally entitled to accompany you into your tomb. Setiluth and I are both aware that you are going to allow no one to do so. We both love you, however. We consider ourselves to be married to you both in the ordinary bond of marriage as well as the bond of Holy Order, and we cannot imagine ourselves standing anywhere but at the door of your tomb, hoping that you will relent. Only a fortunate few, however, will be allowed admittance. The rest will have to remain in this world and await their own time."

"Perhaps," Areshen sighed, finally settling despite the close embrace of two women he passionately loved, "perhaps all of this would have seemed easier to me had I been born in Egypt and the physicians had slapped divinity into me the moment I was born."

"What?" both Setith and Setiluth laughed.

"Ibisien," Areshen just shrugged.

"That sounds like something he would say," Setith chuckled, "no doubt after a good many cups."

"A good many," Areshen chuckled, and glanced again toward Setith and Setiluth now embracing him in a posture they obviously intended to maintain for the rest of the night.

"Is it not wrong for a husband to sleep with two wives at the same time?" Areshen asked. "In Isin, Setith, you admitted that it was."

"It is not wrong for you to sleep with your wife and daughter," Setith chuckled. "When Setiluth and Martila were children, all four of us slept in each other's arms many times."

"I see," Areshen answered, then broke into a smile of subtle challenge, doubting that his challenge would be successful, though he decided to try anyway. "Then Holy Order, Setiluth, allows you to transform back and forth between wife and daughter as you choose?"

"Oh father," Setiluth sighed. "I kissed you to make a point. I would never dream of anything more at the moment," and Setiluth broke into a mischievous smile. "Besides, I am neither mother nor Ati. I am far more pious and reserved."

"Setith," Areshen exclaimed as he turned. "You told Setiluth?" and Areshen gazed with straining intensity toward Setith's now mischievous smile as he pondered again that morning in Shar Dulur when he had awoken to find both Setith and Ati in his arms. "What - what did you tell Setiluth?" Areshen mumbled, doubting, however, that Setith would answer.

"Nothing of consequence," Setith mumbled as well, both she and Setiluth breaking into soft, conspiratorial laughter, both grasping each others hands as they settled back into quiet intimacy. "You will love Ati when you meet her, Setiluth," Setith continued, the secret, if there was one, safely locked away in her own, and now it seemed, Setiluth's minds. "Ati is your father in every way, an absolute apostate, but absolutely brilliant as well. I suppose that's why your father fell in love with her, the reason I did so myself. And she was well respected throughout Shar Dulur when she was a cleaning girl. No one scoffed at whatever little wisdom she care to offer. Oh Setiluth, I could never return to Isin and its throne were it not Ati waiting for me on that throne."

Areshen again felt that same hint of a tremble in both Setith's and Setiluth's embrace. Nor did it really feel like mother and daughter in his arms; in a very real way, Areshen realized as the depths of his feelings for Setiluth once more settled into his heart, it felt indeed quite as though he held two wives in embrace, two lovers to draw his thought to its conclusion. And both Setith and Setiluth, now in solemn, frightened moods, seemed to find comfort only in his embrace. This, Areshen decided, was all that was of real and pressing importance at the moment, allowing both Setith and Setiluth to settle into close and intimate embrace.

"Ati," Areshen began, deciding on another amusing little challenge in order to settle everyone's emotions, "makes another point for me in my relentless battle against Holy Order, a Holy Order which set Ati to work scrubbing Shar Dulur's floors. Ati should have sat Isin's throne from the moment of her birth."

Again, to Areshen's amazement and delight, Setith and Setiluth returned nothing more than thoughtful, contemplative expressions. This, Areshen smiled, quite pleased with himself, has been an exceptionally good day.

"Eta, I suppose," Setiluth chuckled when she noticed Areshen's grin, "makes you point as well, father. Born on a tenant farm perhaps, but on oath, father, she is a remarkable young woman. Officials in every chamber here in the palace may smile in amusement whenever Eta visits and offers her little suggestions. As soon as Eta's back is turned, however, these same officials pass Eta's suggestions through their minds once again, running to their scribe's tables a very short moment later with brilliant ideas they've decided to make their own. In the morning, tablets from these same officials sit waiting for me on my own table, and the officials beam with pleasure and pride when I compliment them for their ideas; they are brilliant indeed. They are also, nine times out of ten, various little schemes Eta has told me about two or three days earlier. I shall miss her very badly when you and mother take her to Isin with you."

"Eta tells me," Areshen began in speculative thought, "that she would be just as happy remaining here in Ur with you, Setiluth."

"There is no reason why she cannot," Setiluth shrugged, continuing in amusement. "Gipul has a dozen harems scattered from one side of Elam to the other."

"I do not intent to form harems," Areshen sighed.

"When Gipul visits one of his harems," Setith continued, gentle amusement now in her eyes as well, "he will walk to whatever attractive young woman catches his eye and say, 'you are very beautiful, my dear. Are you my wife, or are you my daughter?' Nine of every ten daughters will answer, 'I am your wife, beloved.' Poor Gipul never realized what was going on until about five years ago. Since then he has required grown daughters to live in separate courts. In his last letter to me, however, he asked if I had any other suggestions. He suspects that daughters are still secreting themselves into the wives' courts whenever he is scheduled to visit."

Areshen broke into a soft chuckle, though he could not help but notice the emotional strength with which Setith and Setiluth now grasped each other's hands. It was very obvious that the love between mother and daughter had never stopped growing, just as obvious that no subject was too intimate for them, secrets of every sort darting one from the other with little more than an instant's glance. Perhaps Setith's remarks concerning Gipul and his daughters had a broader point, though Areshen could only guess as to it exact nature. Did Setith approve of the fact that Setiluth wished more than a father's love from him, or was she trying to express something else?

For the moment, however, both Setith and Setiluth seemed quite content to rest in an embrace of gentle, emotional affection. That, Areshen decided, was for the moment quite enough. Still, he couldn't help but ponder again that subtle expression of wicked mischief which crept across Setith's features whenever he mentioned that strange evening in Shar Dulur when he had awaken to find both Setith and Ati sleeping in his arms. Areshen set his cup aside, deciding he must maintain sober control over his wits for the rest of the evening, must, if necessary, forgo sleep entirely. One erotic little secret was more than enough.

XXI

Areshen wandered from the High Priestess' palace, then strolled without pressing concern across the Sacred Area, idly pondering the busy rush of industry in and about the Sacred Area's other palaces as well as in a few dozen large chambers nestled in the walls surrounding the temple and the Great Court. By and far the majority of those who worked in these factories, it seemed, were women, the looms the principle industry, ceramics shops and the like a close second. At the entrance portals leading into a number of other chambers sat stacked ingots of various types of metals, smoke billowing from these chambers' roofs indicating a forge in operation. Other portals led to chambers housing the Sacred Area's Holy Prostitutes, a particular industry in Ur's temple of Nanna obviously practiced on a far greater scale than in the out city beyond the Sacred Area's walls.

Areshen wandered through the Gate of Judgement onto the temple platform itself, then beneath the temple's towering walls toward the Shrine of Nanna, this Ur's holiest and grandest laying on the northern edge of the temple platform. In a small court in front of the shrine's massive ceremonial doors stood a large assembly of priests attired in flowing, ritual eloquence, two of whom held heavy butchering axes in their hands. Two more led a large, docile bull forward, the animal, Areshen supposed, most likely drugged prior to the ceremony. For another ten minutes a dozen Incantation Priests recited liturgies; Purification Priests sprinkled the bull with Holy Water; Exorcist Priests cleansed it of any remaining demons which might have escaped their attention prior to the ceremony. Nanna, Areshen chuckled when the butchering axes were finally swung, seemed to have a great deal more patience than did the household god which had been his responsibility to feed as a child.

"Exalted One of Isin," a bearded, elderly priest Areshen had encountered in the palace on several occasions began, "the libations are about to be poured. Please honor us with your presence."

Areshen nodded appreciation, then followed the priest through the ceremonial doors into the shrine of Nanna, Nanna himself standing in glorious, larger than life magnificence behind gold embroidered curtains in one of the shrine's larger chambers, Incense Priests attending to their duties in front of a dozen braziers set atop pedestals along the chamber's wall.

"That," Gipul had stated, pointing in scorn to the statue of Nanna following Shubari's demise, "goes back to Elam with me in an ox cart when I sack Ur."

Most likely it would, Areshen sighed as he followed the elderly priest past the Shrine of Nanna's industrial kitchens in which several dozen young women busied themselves preparing the god's morning meal, then into another chamber just as a pair of Libations Priests lifted a large cask of beer from a table near one of the walls.

"From the breweries of Suani," Areshen's guide stated. "You yourself, Exalted One of Isin, are well know to be a devotee of the finer beers, are you not?"

"Yes," Areshen nodded, struggling to conceal something very unsettling in the pit of his stomach as the Libations Priests, chanting their gratitude for the fact that they had been chosen to do so, dumped an entire cask of fine Suani beer into a drain in the middle of the chamber's floor. Areshen glanced toward the table and another half dozen casks of beer from breweries every bit as prestigious as Suani's, feeling quite as though he were attending the funeral rites for a very close friend.

"High Priest," Areshen finally groaned as he watched another entire cask of fine beer disappear into a hole in the ground, "what real harm would there be were you and your fellows to offer this beer to Nen - Nur - whatever, after having made some use of it yourselves. Nan - Nin - whatever, would still get it; he'd just get it from a different spout."

As Areshen suspected might be the case, one or two of the priests struggled to conceal horror. The other dozen or so, however, choked down gasps which Areshen suspected would have been irreverent laughter had they been released.

"Here, let me show you," Areshen stated, grasping a cup and pushing himself deliberately toward the nearest cask. "Come along, come along," Areshen belched after a long pull from his cup, a dozen priests edging tentatively toward the cask, abandoning themselves to blasphemous riot after the one or two staid and pious colleagues had skulked from the chamber.

"Now," Areshen finally pronounced in tottering laughter after a half dozen cups, "we will give Nar - Nen - whatever, his due," and stepping up to the drain in the middle of the chamber, Areshen offered his libation to the gods.

Setiluth, Areshen sighed as he watched a half dozen staggering Libations Priests offer their own libations in drunken, riotous laughter, would be furious. Sighing again, Areshen wandered through the chamber's portal, from the temple platform a quite minute later, then toward the divine king's palace which lay a short distance from Setitluth's, Areshen carefully avoiding the latter.

Setith, at Setiluth's insistence, was now conducting her Assembly in the divine king's palace, several dozen supplicants from across Sumer and Akkad waiting in chambers scattered throughout the palace to be received by Isin's queen.

"Exalted warrior queen of Isin," an ambassador from the governor of Salu continued as he bowed toward Setith on the throne, "my master begs your indulgence, pleading for you to understand why it is impossible for him to be here today. The following explanation, most noble and beneficent Setith, the governor offers. As he stepped from his litter onto the peer in Salu, two large black dogs ran across his path from right to left, stopped, and then began to copulate in the governor's presence. And if that was not bad enough, the gray witch of Salu appeared on the rooftop of a nearby building in demonic frenzy just as a raven flew across the harbor, again noble Setith, from right to left, the raven shrieking, 'doom, doom' as it flew. As soon as all of this happened, the governor was carried immediately back to the palace, the physicians and the exorcists summoned at once. A snake was placed on the governor's bed. A hundred members of the governor's household, most gracious and forgiving warrior queen, are prepared to state on oath, using your own name, that this all happened just as I have said."

Areshen stood in idle quiet next to one of the chamber's pillars glancing toward Setith's gracious and assenting nod; apparently the absent governor's list of excuses was sufficient. Setith's court interesting him for little more than another five or ten minutes, Areshen finally wandered from the palace, through the walls of the Sacred Area itself a quick minute later.

Most people in the outer city, Areshen decided, did not appear remarkable different than those who worked within the walls of the Sacred Area, fewer priests and priestesses, perhaps, more people working than praying. Wages, since Setiluth had been installed as High Priestess, were now the same of both sides of the Sacred Area's walls, masters and mistresses of temple households required to settle accounts with grain rather than solely with silver, though Setiluth, Areshen supposed, understood the significance of all this far better than did he.

"Ibisien," Areshen had commented last night, "is again receiving loud ovations in the Assembly. I do not understand why. The innovations for which Ibisien receives ovations are yours, Setiluth. You are the High Priestess."

"But Ibisien is the king," Setiluth had answered. Setiluth showed no great concern over the matter one way or another, however, so Areshen had just decided to do what he had done all along, plod through it all the best he could without making any strenuous effort toward understanding it.

Areshen finally stepped from the street into his younger daughter's house, then stood for a few minutes in the courtyard with a half dozen patients waiting to see Martila's husband, a physician close to Areshen's own age from one of Ur's old, noble families.

Martila, a year younger than Setiluth and several inches shorter than Setith and Setiluth, though quite as beautiful and far more buoyant and exuberant than either, stepped from one of the chambers a quick moment later.

"Father," Martila began, simple, radiant charm in an uncomplicated smile as she grasped Areshen's hand, "come and say hello to your grandchildren," and Areshen followed his daughter into a small sitting room. A granddaughter a little over a year old crawled onto his lap as he lowered himself to the couch. A grandson a little of two months old slept in a whicker basket beside the couch.

"Any more on the way?" Areshen asked with a contented chuckle as he settled down to play with his grandchildren.

"None expected at the moment," Martila laughed, and again grasped Areshen's hand. "Come on, father."

"I just sat down," Areshen protested.

"The sooner you begin, father, the sooner it will all be over with," Areshen's ever practical younger daughter answered as she pulled him from the couch, then across the courtyard toward her husband's chambers.

"The tooth doesn't' hurt that much this morning," Areshen tried as they approached the portal.

"Father," Martila groaned, "two visits within days of each other? Particularly during Mechusen's receiving hours? Your tooth is hurting. Now be a brave little soldier, father," Martila chuckled as she shoved Areshen through the door.

"Welcome, Areshen," Mechusen, a slightly overweight physician of noble and distinguished appearance dressed in the elaborate robes of his office began as he grasped Areshen's arm with commanding restraint, leading him toward the chair. "It's about time we had our tooth taken care of now, is it not?"

"I suppose it is," Areshen mumbled as he gazed with unfeigned trepidation about the chamber's walls, one a small library of neatly stacked medical tablets, two others with pots, jars, and metal instruments of various sizes and shapes, none of which were particularly pleasant in appearance.

"Well, Areshen, nothing to be gained by delaying matters," Mechusen continued. "We'll begin the examination immediately, shall we?" the examination a thirty minute interrogation into every possible detail of Areshen's life over the past two months in order to determine the cause of his toothache.

Did you eat meat at any time between the eighth and the tenth of the month inclusive, Mechusen asked? Have you slept with a temple prostitute? With any prostitutes? Did a snake happen to fall from the roof of the house in which you were sleeping onto your bed?

Areshen answer "no" to the last question, had answered "no" to most of the questions for that matter, and then waited in anxious, silent concern as Mechusen studied a half dozen tablets spread across his table, his brow wrinkled in concentrated thought.

"It appears to be a simple tooth worm," Mechusen finally announced, "rather than a malicious demon or a vengeful god angered because a taboo has been violated."

"A tooth worm?"

"Yes," Mechusen answered. "A worm has lodged itself in the base of the tooth. Since it appears that no demons or gods have a pressing interest in the tooth, it should be an uncomplicated extraction," and Mechusen pushed himself to his feet, summoning his assistant.

A quick moment later, a younger man dressed in the flowing robes of a minor order priest stood a short distance from Areshen's chair burning incense and reciting liturgies as Mechusen gathered a half dozen metal instruments into a small ceramic plate.

"The worm," the minor order priest chanted in prayer as Mechusen prepared for the operation, "returned to the throne of Enlil in lamentation and complaint. 'You have given me only dirt to eat,' the worm said. 'Is that any way to act toward a holy worm? For I am indeed a holy worm.' Enlil then repented because he had given a holy worm nothing but dirt to eat and Enlil said, 'you are a holy worm. Other worms she eat dirt, but because you are a holy worm, I will give you the teeth of the people of Sumer to eat. You, holy worm, because you are a holy worm, may eat the teeth of the people of Sumer.'"

Areshen turned from the chanting priest back toward Mechusen as he swabbed some sort of bitter tasting liquid from a small ceramic jar onto his gum, working the liquid into the gum itself with a small metal pick.

"Won't be long now," Mechusen stated in idle, though soothing tones as he reached for that which certainly appeared the most viscous of the metal instruments sitting on the plate.

"The Liturgy of Extraction," the chanting priest announced as he lifted another tablet from the table, and for another five minutes the tooth worm was informed that he was about to get his just deserts. By that time, however, the anesthetic had taken effect. When Mechusen finally extracted the tooth, along with the offending worm, Areshen supposed, the procedure was relatively quick and painless, little more than one quick tug by a hand obviously practiced and competent.

"If you like, Areshen," Mechusen began as he dropped the tooth into another small dish, "we will perform the internment rites for you. You may of course, if you wish, take the tooth with you and perform the rites yourself," and Areshen turned toward the subtle hint of jovial amusement in Mechusen's features.

"I'm certain that whatever rites must be performed are far better off in your hands," Areshen sighed. "Charge them to the account's master in any wall fortress."

"I will do so," Mechusen chuckled as he led Areshen toward the door. "Remember now, you must fast for six hours. You much have no sexual relations with any wall prostitutes before nightfall. Avoid black snakes or any other circumstances in which you might encounter bad omens. And no beer for six days."

"What?" Areshen cried out, little disguised grief in his features, then annoyance for the less than subtle amusement now in Mechusen's.

"Did I say no beer for six days," Mechusen chuckled. "I meant, of course, six hours."

"Six hours," Areshen groaned. "I'll try," and he watched a final moment's mirth in his daughter's husband's features as he stepped back into the courtyard. By and large, however, Areshen felt only a grudging respect for Mechusen, a man close to his own age who had treated his daughter well. On any number of occasions over the past few years, despite the fact that Mechusen and Martila were both products of Ur's staid and tradition bound nobility, Areshen had noticed something which appeared very close to genuine, even playful affection in the glances they shared with each other. Martila, always a light hearted, easy natured girl to begin with, would never have married someone without similar qualities.

"Father," Martila began a quick moment later as she again stepped into the courtyard and took Areshen's hand into her own. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I suppose not," Areshen sighed. "Your husband is a most competent physician, Martila."

"Thank you, father," Martila chuckled as she turned toward a young Akkadian serving girl. "Subri, bring us some beer, darling."

Areshen turned toward Martila in momentary concern as she led him into her chambers, decided a quick moment later that he would keep his concerns to himself. Perhaps if he scrupulously observed Mechusen's other postoperative orders, the tooth gods, or whatever, would overlook minor transgressions concerning the order regarding beer.

"Mother and Martila visited for an hour yesterday," Martila began as she sat in Areshen's arms on the couch. "I almost began to tremble when I first saw mother. She looks so like a queen now, just stepped from her chariot, perhaps. All of Ur says the same, even people who have known mother all their lives."

Areshen grasped his seventeen year old daughter's hand in gentle warmth. Martila, in nature and temperament, resembled Eta, his twelve year old wife. Both Martila and Eta, married to men far older than themselves, were well balanced, happy people, though both were emotionally dependant on others, frightened of anything which might disrupt the current, comfortable stability in their lives. Setiluth, Areshen suspect, were it necessary to do so, could survive, even flourish, in an emotional vacuum. Indeed, as far as Areshen knew, Setiluth's own husband was still wandering the northern part of Akkad attending to matters of business, he and Setiluth promising to arrange an evening together in the next few months should such business matters permit. Martila, however, found sufficient happiness raising her and her husband's children in a small yet comfortable house in the middle of Ur, would never, Areshen suspected, have been able to endure the ordeal through which Setith had lived over the past year.

"Setiluth," Martila continued as she returned Areshen's embrace, "seems to be in far better spirits now that mother has returned. Setiluth is desperately in love with you and mother, father. It frightens me to think how she would manage without either of you. I suppose, however, Setiluth being Setiluth, she would manage far more easily than me."

"Sweet Martila," Areshen began, gentle concern in his voice, "what is all this dark humor? This is not you."

"Perhaps not," Martila answered, attempting a soft, thoughtful chuckle. "I suppose I have caught something from mother and Setiluth. They both try so very hard to leave their concerns and the problems of the world on the other side of the door whenever they visit. They can never completely do so, however. Setiluth, most certainly, cannot. As different as she and I are, we are still sisters, have always been very close. There is little more than a year's difference in our ages, and there is very little we can hide from each other. Father," and in one bizarre and startling moment, Areshen caught in his younger daughter's eyes that which he had seen so often in Setiluth's, "you are my husband, father, as well as Setiluth's. No one contests this. No one in Ur or anywhere else."

"Martila," Areshen sighed, "do you really believe that?"

"Of course I do, father," Martila answered, urging emphasis in her voice. "But you will not give Setiluth a divine child. You will not, I suppose, give me one either, will you, father? But I still dream of you all the time, what it would be like with you. You are so very beautiful, father, and - it is allowed."

"Martila - " Areshen began, the same tremble coursing through his soul as he wondered if he must now go through this all over again, this time with his younger daughter.

"All right, father, I'll stop for now," Martila answered with a soft, relenting chuckle. "Setiluth tells me that she must be satisfied with her dreams as well."

"Anyway," Areshen sighed, deciding to try something different, "Ibisien is still king of Ur. It's up to him to produce divine children if any are to be produced here in Ur."

"Ibisien," Martila repeated, a long moment's mirthful amusement in her features. "Father, please," and Areshen gazed another moment toward gentle ease once more in his seventeen year old daughter's features. The thought of reaching for Martila in sensual passion seemed unimaginable, even if the same with Setiluth no longer did. Despite the fact that he and Setiluth had once pulled each other into the full expression of sensual love, had on too many other occasions found themselves locked in passionate, struggling embrace a moment away from repeating the act, Areshen was generally able to dismiss feelings of arousal toward Setiluth with relative ease. In Martila's arms, sensual arousal had never been a problem to begin with. With something close to as despondent a dismay as he had ever before felt, however, Areshen realized that it could be, the dismay deepening when Martila pushed herself into closer embrace, the soft and brushing motions of her hand a piercing arousal he just couldn't deny.

"I suppose there's a part of me," Martila continued, "which feels jealous over you, father. Every woman in Ur fears mother. They all respect Setiluth. Toward you, however, only one thought runs through their minds. You cannot blame me if the same thought occasionally runs through my mind. After all, there has to be one man in Sumer who is husband to everyone, doesn't there?"

"That is a question your mother or sister or the High Priests are for more suited to answer."

"I suppose," Martila chuckled. "I suppose that is why mother and Setiluth are who they are, and I am who I am. For the most part, I can think of you only as my father," though Areshen still felt something in the grasp of Martila's hand which he had never before felt with quite the same strength or intensity, felt quite as though his heart must be breaking when he realized how sensually arousing the embrace of his younger daughter now seemed.

"They say kings in Egypt," Martila continued, "are allowed greater privileges."

"But I am not - "

"I know," Martila chuckled, though quiet and solemn when she continued, not at all the Martila Areshen had always known in the past. "Mother and Setiluth think that I am in perfect control of my life, or some such thing. I am a second daughter. I am supposed to be happy and content with my lot. And I am - for the most part. But mother also speaks of some sort of distance which is assumed to exit between you and me, father, as though we have released each other emotionally. I don't want there to be any distance between us, father. Father," and Areshen realized that his younger daughter had finally released herself completely, the caress of her hand undisguised as she pushed herself from a daughter's embrace into one of close and sensual intimacy. "I have already carried two babies without any problems at all," and Martila raised a caressing hand to Areshen's forehead. "Please, father," she whispered.

Areshen gazed down into his younger daughter's eyes, confused, perhaps even discouraged, longing very suddenly for those days before Isin when as a military governor no different from any other he had been able to return home, pull either of his daughters into his arms, and suspect the sensual intimacy they had began to express toward him nothing more than juvenile play which would sooner or later pass. Again Areshen gazed toward Martila, perhaps just a year younger than Setiluth in fact, though in appearance the difference seemed far greater, at least to him. Martila, not as tall as Setith or Setiluth, certainly slighter in build, had never before seemed anything but a daughter to Areshen. He and Setiluth, Areshen realized again with sudden and new intensity, were indeed lovers, certainly were lovers on an emotional level. There remained very little of father and daughter even in the terms of affection they chose for each other. Holding Setiluth in his arms, he felt little more than a woman's heart next to his own, eve if she was a woman with whom he could never, at least with emotional ease, make love.

And now Martila's embrace, Areshen realized a quick moment later, was no longer a daughter's. Martila had obviously convinced herself that any distance between herself and her father was no longer necessary, whether that distance be emotional or physical. Isin, Areshen sighed as he watched the pleading passion settle into his young daughter's eyes. All this nonsense had started when he had done nothing more than chuckle in amusement as people began to call the military governor's throne a king's throne; when it became a divine king's throne, it had been nothing more than another source of amusement. The whole thing was no longer amusing in the least.

"Father," Martila pled again, her embrace now complete sexual abandon as she pressed herself into Areshen's lap, pressing her lips to his own in mature, struggling passion. Areshen felt his resistance collapse, unprepared for the piercing warmth of the kiss, the same confusion coursing through his mind and body as Martila wrapped herself into urging embrace. He gave up, falling with her onto the couch, the moment a blind and all consuming arousal as the woman in his arms shuddered in gasping, frantic desire, clutching his hands to her body in intimate, unrestrained touch.

Only when Areshen had indeed pulled Martila into embrace a moment away from completion did it strike him that the act was to be passionate, sexual love rather than an exercise in procreative activity. Everyone in Sumer seemed able to justify the latter for him. Areshen, however, could just not justify the former. He opened his eyes, and gazed into those of his daughter, forcing himself to do so no matter the cost. Martila held Areshen's eyes in steady, intimate embrace, finally settling back onto the couch, defeat, Areshen supposed, now in her features.

"I love you, father," Martila whispered, though Areshen could not help but detect the trembling tone of question in her voice. Areshen now felt little more than emotional exhaustion, searching for some way, any way, to convince another daughter that he loved her without having to pull her into sexual love.

Areshen walked back onto the streets of Ur when he again detected nothing but gentle and accepting ease in his younger daughter's smile, though he supposed he could never again be certain. Areshen then waited out the final few hours he was forbidden beer by the tooth gods in front of a small tavern shrine drinking beer - from a small cup. When fairly certain that the time had finally expired, he switched back to a large cup. The beer helped, Areshen supposed as he stumbled toward the next tavern; it helped at least a little. When he had walked from Martila's house, he had felt something like panic, something as close to a helpless desperation as he had ever felt. Now, as he reached for his next cup in front of a small tavern in the harbor district, he realized he was finally beginning to feel nothing at all, even if it had taken him a few more cups than usual to attain this comfortable mental state. A few minutes later, Areshen found himself laughing with careless ease as he shared in all manner of course and obscene language bawdy, sometimes lurid and blasphemous jokes with the sailors who frequented the taverns in this part of Ur. Only between jokes as Areshen pondered in silence the rush of frenzied activity along Ur's harbor district streets did he again, though now only for brief and fleeting moment, succumb to feelings of regret and remorse over the simple fact of his identity.

"King," and the largest of three very drunken sailors with whom Areshen had passed the last hour belched in laughter as he held the other sailors to their feet, "I have reconsidered. For Sumer and Akkad, I will trade not one, but both of these fine fellows. Throw in the rest of the world, king, and I will return to my boat and fetch two more."

"Sold," Areshen proclaimed, hoisting his cup. "Present all four to the account's master in Isin."

"We have a deal, king," and the largest of the drunken sailors holding the other two by the scruff of the neck set off down the street, stumbled the first half dozen steps toward Isin, then decided a mud hole in the middle of the street was a fine place to spend the rest of the night.

In riotous laughter, Areshen drank a few more sailors into mud holes in the middle of the street, amused that he had always been able to do so despite the fact that most of them were a great deal heavier than he. A short time later, Areshen turned at the approach of another reputed to possess similar prowess with the cup.

Ibisien, Areshen chuckled, another king, of course, lolling in blissful inebriation atop his litter. The gods, Areshen chuckled in drunken amusement as he pushed himself from the tavern door, must, along with scepter and crown, bestow some special prowess with the cup. Ibisien, seated atop a portable throne carried by eight Akkadian bearers, held his cup in one hand, his head in the other, blank disinterest in eyes opened little more than a crack.

"King," Areshen belched as he grasped the portable throne's carrying poles, pulling it to a stop.

"Who - what - " Ibisien began as he snapped into consciousness. "Areshen," Ibisien then stammered, recognition and curious wonder in his eyes.

"A bear with my friends and me, king," Areshen urged in drunken joviality as he waved a hand toward the tavern, stumbling into the side of the throne a quick moment later. "Certainly you have time for a quick beer with a fellow king."

"Beer?" Ibisien asked, disdain in his features. "They're sailors, Areshen," Ibisien continued as he leaned closer, something ambivalent, however, now settling into his expression. "They're all very big, very - well endowed sailors, aren't they?"

"That they are, king," Areshen laughed as he turned toward the throne bearers. "Put him down, put him down. The king and I are drinking together," and with expressions of amusement the throne bearers lowered Ibisien to the ground.

"Areshen - " Ibisien stammered with renewed concern as he gazed about a very base and common street scene.

"King," Areshen laughed as he grasped Ibisien's arm and pulled him to his feet, "you spend far too much of your time locked behind palace walls. Show yourself to your people. How often have you told me the same?"

"I said have paintings painted and statues carved," Ibisien answered, cowering at Areshen's side as he was led toward the tavern.

"Nonsense," Areshen laughed. "It is you, king, not your statue, which Ur respect," and Areshen turned toward the assembled crowd of sailors and laborers, quite aware that Ibisien was indeed still respected by most of Ur's working class, certainly more so than Shubari had been. "Who," Areshen shouted toward the crowd, "will offer propitiation for the king of Ur's first cup of beer?"

In jubilant acclamation, the crowd roared in unison, Ibisien breaking into an emotional smile of gratitude as he turned back toward Areshen.

"There, you see, king," and with a common sailor's thump to Ibisien's back, Areshen propelled Ur's reluctant king the final few steps toward the serving board at the tavern's door.

"I will offer propitiation for the king's first cup," the sailor with whom Areshen had passed the last few minutes announced as in drunken and comical movement he attempted a courtly bow toward Ibisien.

"What is all this bowing nonsense?" Areshen belched. "I didn't get any bows from you."

"But king," the sailor protested as he turned back to Areshen, Areshen as usual dressed in common military attire. "He looks like a king," the sailor continued, nodding toward the flowing robes of state worn by Ibisien. "I can't be buying no beer for no king what looks like a king, king, unless I does a bow at him first."

"No, of course you can't," Areshen laughed, turning in amusement toward the pretty young tavern mistress as she handed a cup of wine to Ibisien.

"It's only Demleli, Exalted One of Ur, not the best," the girl apologized, courtly formality to which she as well was obviously not accustomed attempted in her features.

"It is wine, my dear," Ibisien answered in gracious tones, a measure of ease returned to his features following the first long gulp. "It will suit me just fine."

In easy, idle humor, Areshen returned to his own cup as he watched Ibisien express his appreciation to the sailor. The ensuing conversation was as bizarre an any, Areshen supposed, in which Ibisien was a participant.

"Sometimes we gets into fights," the sailor continued. "After all, we're sailors. We's supposed to. But we don't hurt each others, at least not much. We just tosses each other around a bit."

"Toss each other around - " Ibisien crooned, his eyes ablaze as he gazed up and down a well proportioned sailor's body. "You must come to my house this evening and tell me more. Perhaps a demonstration," and Ibisien turned again toward the tavern mistress. "Another cup for this fine young man, my dear. He is coming to the palace tonight. We are going to discuss - tossing each other around."

In easy amusement, Areshen listened to a conversation increasingly more bizarre with every passing cup, and Areshen wondered if he should warn Ibisien that an ordinary sailor, as proficient as such might be with the cup, was unlikely to be accustomed to the sort of drinking which occurred behind the walls of a palace. A few short minutes later a well proportioned young sailor lay flat on his face at Ibisien's feet, Ibisien gazing down with an expression of dismay as he realized that his evening of bizarre and exotic delight had ended before it had even began.

"You bought him too many cups," Areshen chuckled. "They are not used to the potency of the drink one finds in the palace."

"You should have warned me, Areshen," Ibisien whined, a final, wistful glance toward the sailor, then a sigh of resignation as he handed his empty cup to the tavern mistress, consoled when she handed a full one back.

"King," the girl began with a seductive smile as one of the throne bearers, at a snap of Ibisien's fingers, deposited an extraordinary weight of silver, both worked and unworked, on the tavern's serving board, "you are far too generous, king. I will come to your palace tonight," a very pretty tavern mistress continued, a clear expression of seductive sensuality now in her eyes. The girl, Areshen chuckled, like most people on Ur's streets, had no idea what went on in Ur's palace.

"A gracious and tempting offer, my dear," Ibisien lied with fluent eloquence, "and one I find most difficult to refuse," though Ibisien release a long sigh and did so. "I would no longer be entertaining company. Perhaps another evening, my dear," and Ibisien glanced with passionate regret another quick moment toward the sailor snoring at his feet, glanced then with annoyance toward Areshen. "You really should have warned me," Ibisien repeated.

Areshen broke into a soft chuckle, Ibisien's sigh relenting when he spoke again.

"Well, what is it, Areshen? Something is bothering you. I've known you too long not to notice."

"King," Areshen sighed as well, though he now met Ibisien's eyes with a measure of appreciation in his own, "I find no joy whatsoever in being a king. I certainly do not want to be Ur's king as well."

"I believe you, Areshen. I believed you the last time you told me the same."

"I do not even know what the word king means. My daughters do, though. At least they seem to. They have very definite opinions on the subject."

"Ah," Ibisien sighed, "I understand. I have a daughter myself," and Ibisien returned a subtle expression of amusement for the wonder in Areshen's eyes. "Even more disturbing, however, I have a granddaughter as well. I would never have had a daughter or a granddaughter at all had I not gotten too drunk one evening, far too drunk. I hardly remember the evening at all. Twelve years later I got drunk again. The wife who had carried the cup to me the evening my daughter was conceived placed the cup in her daughter's hand. In another few years, if I am still alive, I suppose the cup will be passed to the next generation and it will be my granddaughter who carries it into my chambers some evening."

Ibisien, again with an expression of wry amusement, waited for comprehension to displace the inebriated confusion in Areshen's features.

"In part," Ibisien then continued with a soft sigh of resignation, "I feel only relief that kingship is once more passing, this time from Ur instead of to it. When, a hundred years ago, the gods decreed that kingship pass into Ur's and my great grandfather's hands, a number of battles were fought by soldiers beneath city's walls. The decisive battles, however, were fought by wives and daughters on sleeping cushions in palace back chambers. I suppose, if kingship passes from Ur to Isin quickly enough, I will be spared any more such maneuvers on the part of my own daughters. After all, my chances of being recognized as a god are not what they used to be."

"I'll speak to Setith and Setiluth for you," Areshen shrugged.

"Would you?" Ibisien asked, pleased anticipation in his eyes.

"Why not? A single letter in front of your name, and you're a god. At least that's the way it seems to work in Isin. I'll speak to Setiluth, have her work something out for you," and again Areshen watched something close to jubilant satisfaction settle into Ibisien's eyes, instructions to the stone carvers very obviously coursing through his mind. "As soon as you become a god, though," Areshen continued in easy, idle amusement, "you're problems will begin all over again."

"Yes," Ibisien sighed, "well, one matter at a time. Perhaps next time I'll be too drunk, and a - proficiency very few suspected that I possessed will finally fail me."

"Perhaps my own problems are similar," Areshen sighed.

"I do not think so," Ibisien continued in contemplative quiet. "Setith, Setiluth, particularly Martila, have no desire to perpetuate wealth or power for its own sake. There's are simply desires of the heart, Areshen. I'm not certain whether or not that should be a source of comfort or consolation to you. But don't despair, my old friend. By and large, yours is a very well ordered family. I envy you," and with a final, remorseful sigh, Ibisien again glanced down toward the drunken sailor laying at his feet. "You really should have warned me, Areshen," Ibisien groaned as he stumbled back to his portable throne, snapped his fingers, and was gone.

Areshen pondered Ur's king and his words for one final instant, about as long as he ever bothered to do so. With a dismissing shrug, Areshen then pushed himself on, the streets of Ur a rather humorous and incomprehensible blur of noise and motion until he finally found himself standing at the server board in front of Heluth's tavern in Shensulith Square.

"I've done nothing but drink beer all day long," Areshen stated, idle complaint in his voice as he gazed with inebriated amusement into Heluth's eyes.

"Everyone deserves a holiday," Heluth, the same exotic and seductive intrigue in her features, answered.

"Yes, but I've done nothing but drink all day," Areshen just repeated. "And still, I am almost completely sober. That is very irritating, Heluth."

"I suppose it is, military governor," Heluth chuckled as she lifted the serving board from the doorway and grasped Areshen's arm.

"What is this, Heluth?" Areshen asked in confusion.

"Look around you, military governor," and Heluth nodded about the empty and lifeless grounds of the square, the other shop's doors now closed and bared. "You're staying with me tonight, Areshen," Heluth chuckled again as she pulled him through the door, closing and baring it a quick moment later.

"Heluth, I cannot trouble you - "

"Yes you can," Heluth answered as she grasped a wick plate, then Areshen's hand, leading him into the small chamber at the rear of the tavern. Areshen glanced about a scene by no means unfamiliar to him for another quick moment, a single table on which Heluth placed the softly glowing wick, sleeping cushions, very little else. Hardly more inviting than a cave in the northern mountains, Areshen thought, and still, a place where he felt a strange yet pervasive sense of warmth and comfort, the burdens of life forgotten as soon as Heluth bared the door. Heluth, Areshen decided, was without doubt the reason for the detached sense of ease he now felt, her light kiss to his cheek a gentle moment of amusement. Heluth would demand nothing of him, not even sex.

"On oath, Areshen," Heluth sighed as she removed his cloak, "you are still so incredibly beautiful. You refuse to age just to annoy me."

"Heluth," Areshen answered as he gazed again toward a woman of exotic and intriguing beauty, the slightest hint of time just now evident about the edges of her eyes, "you are quite as beautiful now as you were when we first met."

"And you are completely sober, are you?" Heluth laughed as she turned and lay Areshen's cloak on the table. "If I'm as beautiful as you say, take me into your arms and ravish me."

Areshen gazed intently now toward a woman who obviously thought his protestations of love for her little more than light hearted humor, Heluth arranging the folds of his cloak with meticulous and careful attention to every detail.

"Well?" Heluth chuckled, still leaning over the table, "are you going to ravish me?" and Heluth waited for the amusement which must certainly be evident in Areshen's voice as he replied, Heluth quite aware that Areshen felt genuine concern for her, never, however, able to envision that he might feel something more for a tavern mistress conducting business in the center of Ur.

Areshen gazed yet again toward an exotic and seductively beautiful woman. He saw, however, something different, something he'd never before noticed with such piercing clarity, a kind and gentle creature engrossed in nothing more than her work over his cloak.

Stepping the half pace forward which separated them, Areshen drew his arms about Heluth's waist, the embrace, however, encompassing warmth Heluth had not been expecting.

"Areshen?" she chuckled, twisting her eyes toward his, curiosity mixed with dawning confusion in her features as she noticed the gravity in Areshen's features.

"I do not want to ravish you, Heluth," Areshen began, refusing to release his embrace, pulling her even closer as she turned to face him. "I love you, Heluth," he whispered as he raised a gentle, caressing hand to her cheek.

"Areshen?" Heluth tried, another moment of confusion in her features, then a very evident hint of wonder and intrigue. "You never before - "

"Perhaps not," Areshen replied. "Perhaps never in the past. But always in the future."

"Areshen?" Heluth chuckled, amusement settling into her eyes, perhaps just the hint of erotic delight a moment later as Areshen pressed a light, brushing kiss to her cheek, the motion gentle, heartfelt affection rather than demand or force. "What have you been drinking, Areshen? Some exotic - "

"You do not love me, Heluth? In the past we've always expressed our love for each other on the instant. You've even lost - customers in order to do so."

"Of course I love you, Areshen," Heluth answered, ease and another measure of amusement settling into her features as she fell with seductive stance into his arms. "All right - if you want to - "

Areshen, however, simply stood motionless, strengthening his embrace, gazing again into the eyes of an intriguing, beautiful young woman who could gaze back only with renewed confusion.

"Heluth," Areshen finally began, deciding to dispense with the nonsense and speak the depth of his heart, "be my wife."

Heluth stared back in amazement as Areshen once more raised a gentle, caressing hand to her cheek.

"Areshen - " she tried, "you're intox - "

"You know better, Heluth," Areshen chuckled with gentle ease.

Heluth could do little more than nod in defeat as she surrendered again to Areshen's eyes, the spark of sober and piercing awareness there no matter how great the quantity of beer consumed.

"Areshen - "

"You have told me many times, Heluth, that you wish you no longer had to bring customers back here."

"That is true, Areshen, but - I said I would sell myself to you. Areshen - I'm a - how can I be your wife, Areshen?"

"By saying yes, Heluth," Areshen sighed as he once more raised a caressing hand, this time to Heluth's forehead. "Oh Heluth, I genuinely love you. Can you not believe that. If you want me to build you a palace, I will do so. I will make you High Priestess of a city - "

"Areshen," Heluth answered, a touch of ease and self assurance Areshen had always admired settled finally into her features once more, "none of this is of importance to me, cities, palaces. I've told you, I would be happy to be your concubine, a small chamber in the back - "

"Yes, Heluth, so you have told me. Now, however, it is time for you to listen to me. In your heart, you know that I love you. You know that I want you to be my wife, not my concubine, not my pet," and Areshen twisted a mischievous glance toward the tavern god resting in his wall niche. "Be my wife, Heluth. Sheth - Seth - whatever, commands that you say 'yes' this time. As I lay sleeping on my cot last night, the old fart came to me - "

"Areshen - " Heluth choked in easy, genuine laughter, gravity, however, settling back into her eyes for the steady, urging solemnity in Areshen's.

"Heluth," Areshen continued, deciding again to speak the depths of his heart, pulling Heluth finally into complete and intimate embrace, "I love you. Be my wife, Heluth," and Areshen felt Heluth's body tense, something close to desperation in her eyes as she searched his own. Again, however, Areshen refused to release her, wrapping her into embrace she could not escape, his caress a touch of gentle though pleading affection until he finally felt Heluth surrender completely, falling with ease and abandon into his arms.

"All right, Areshen," Heluth at last whispered, the depth of emotion now in her eyes as she raised her head, then a hand in searching touch to Areshen's cheek. "All right - I will be your wife."

Areshen gazed with renewed, searching intimacy into Heluth's eyes, realized finally that she had in fact said yes, and then, as the concerns of the world once more vanished, he leaned forward, meeting Heluth's lips with his own in kiss the complete and final expression of intimacy and passion. Perhaps he could not, as sweet Eta had said, marry every woman in Sumer and Akkad in order to remove them from situations they themselves desperately wished to escape. He could, however, he decided with a touch of returning humor, marry some of them. Or so, at least, Setith, Setiluth, and every other High Priest and Priestess across Sumer and Akkad said.

Areshen pulled Heluth again into close, searching embrace, every other concern vanishing when he felt easy, comfortable strength in her own embrace, her kiss without caution or restraint.

"Heluth," Areshen finally whispered, "I love you."

"Yes, Areshen," she whispered in return, a soft, emotional cry in her voice, gentle warmth in her eyes a quick moment later, "yes, Areshen, I truly believe that you do love me. I always though you did, but - "

"But now you know."

"Yes," Heluth chuckled. "Yes, Areshen."

"Yes, beloved. A wife calls her husband beloved."

"Yes, beloved," Heluth answered in soft laughter, solemn, searching emotion settling again into her features as she once more buried herself into Areshen's arms. "Yes, beloved. I know that you love me. It's all right now. Everything is all right now."

"They tell me," Areshen continued in easier humor, "that I did not really need to ask you to become my wife. I could have just have informed you that the matter was a fact. If you had said no when I did ask, however, then it would have been necessary to ask all over again when I was ready to do so."

"Areshen," Heluth continued, settling into gentle amusement herself, "what is this mood you are in? I have never seen you quite like this."

"It has been a confusing, disturbing day," Areshen sighed. "It began when I watched priests in the temple pour entire casks of perfectly good beer into a hole in the ground. The rest of the day was little better. So I decided that my day must end with you, Heluth. Only then could it end well."

"Areshen," Heluth whispered, her embrace again one of passionate strength. "Beloved," she then continued, an edge of hesitant concern now in her voice, "Setith is in Ur, is she not? In the High Priestess' palace with Setiluth?"

"I love both dearly. I love you dearly as well, Heluth. And I am certain that Setith will grow to love you as well, Heluth. For two years now, returning to Setith's house after particularly - confusing evenings, I have informed her that I passed the night as a guest of the Shrine of Shath - whatever. 'Oh,' Setith answered, 'Heluth, such a sweet, adorable little thing. Such a - hard working minor order priestess. Had fate been kinder to her, she might have been one of Ur's preeminent minor order priestesses, may be yet if she can just find the right god. The poor girl has had such terrible luck, one god after another proving him or herself inept and unworthy of a priestess of Heluth's quality - and talent.'"

Heluth broke into a soft chuckle, gentle concern once more in her features as she continued.

"Where will I live now, Areshen?"

"Wherever you want to, Heluth. If yow wish, I will build you a palace. Setith would certainly advance me - "

"Yes," Heluth chuckled. "So you have said. Actually, if it were really up to me, I would just stay here. But I can never again touch another man now that I am married," and Heluth lowered her eyes in a quick moment's searching thought, hesitant concern once more evident in her voice when she continued. "I suppose I've always been stubborn, however, have always enjoyed being a priestess, free and without bond to another. In order to enjoy such privileges in a small tavern shrine such as my own, however, it is often necessary to abstain from such basics as food and sleep for days at a time in order to pay for the next cask of beer. And far fewer men have found themselves attracted to me over the past few years. They prefer thirteen year olds just starting out in the back of their mother's shrine. The fewer the men, the more days I pass in hunger. And Areshen, I still owe you - "

"Heluth, stop worrying. I will never let you be hungry again. If I have to, I will order the account's master in Isin to fund another fortress somewhere. Then I will have the brick makers and the masons build you a house instead. Old Meneturu in Shar Dulur informs me that he has had to juggle tablets by the armload countless times in the past just to keep a canal somewhere unclogged."

Heluth broke into a soft chuckle, gentle ease returning to her eyes.

"If you are really leaving the choice up to me, Areshen, then perhaps Shar Dulur. I've know many soldiers over the years who say that it is a joy to live there since you became its master. Since Setith became its mistress, maids all across Ur are scheming to have themselves sold into Shar Dulur's household. Do - do they really call it the palace of holy disorder?"

"Setith has dumped a few buckets of Holy Order into the place, far fewer, however, than I would ever have imagined. A queen, apparently, may overlook a great deal which a High Priestess may not. A queen, Setith has informed me, may if she wish, lounge naked in the throne chamber tossing fish bones to the side as she conducts her Assembly. She and Ati, certain of my informants tell me, delight in providing such entertainment whenever dignitaries from the south's staid and ancient nobility are scheduled to appear before Isin's Assembly."

"I hear all manner of rumor," Heluth chuckled.

"Setith, of course, hears it as well. 'Barbarians,' Setith's informants quote. 'Ur, mistress Setith, thinks Isin a wasteland of licentious riot.' Setith, always with Ati's help and advice, arranges to make the rumors seem the essence of understatement whenever another dignitary from the south is scheduled to arrive. I've stood on Shar Dulur's balconies a dozen times bent double in laughter as some old dame from Ur is carried in full faint back to her litter."

"The say queen Ati is very beautiful as well, Areshen. I hope she will like me."

"She will like you, Heluth. She is a very gentle person, has spent her life scrubbing Shar Dulur's floors. I simply put her where she belonged in the first place."

"Everyone will say that you find your wives in very strange places, Areshen. You ignore the palaces of princes and governors, and instead you search tenant farms and back ally tavern shrines."

"Do you regret - "

"No, of course not," Heluth chuckled. "It's just that - before tonight this was my whole world," and Heluth nodded about a chamber little larger than a broom closet. "How strange it will be to leave - "

"Heluth," Areshen sighed, annoyed, he supposed, with this latest interpretation of Holy Order, "if you cannot leave behind this which before tonight was your whole world, then just bring it along with you. We'll take it with us wherever we go."

Heluth broke into gentle laughter, and Areshen waited for another woman to gaze toward the barbarian from the eastern deserts. Heluth, however, was Heluth, and Areshen wasn't surprised when she did nothing more than press her lips to his own in a quick moment's gentle and affectionate touch, pushing herself to the wall shelf a moment later. As Heluth reached for a knife and a cake of cheese on the shelf, Areshen could not help but notice a woman who had indeed known more than her fair share of hunger. Heluth was certainly a woman, her figure as stunning as anyone's. Heluth, however, Eta's height, could not, Areshen suspected, have weighed a great deal more than his twelve year old wife. But for the fact that Heluth's figure no matter how slight was indeed a woman's, Areshen further suspected that she might have weighed a great deal less than Eta.

Heluth cut small slices from the cake of cheese, noticed the studying intensity in Areshen's eyes, and assumed the exotic stance of a dancer as she tossed one of the pieces of cheese toward Areshen.

"You're twenty eight, now, Heluth?" Areshen asked as he caught the cheese.

"And I look like I'm twelve?" Heluth answered with a soft chuckle.

"No, Heluth, you do not look like you're twelve."

Again Heluth passed a long moment in exotic, sensual dance, the Heluth Areshen had known for so long now as she gnawed on her cheese, gentle amusement in her features when Areshen swallowed his own only with a definite measure of difficulty.

"I'm very fortunate," Heluth finally continued with an easy smile. "I've gained both a husband and a mother in one evening. Five years ago my mother and I stood here eating cheese. Mother, back then, was little heavier than I am now. Still, she would turn, stare at my waist, then she would place her own cheese into my hand. I would try to give it back, but oh how she would scold me, just with her eyes."

"She is the wife of Demodi the coppersmith now, is she not?"

"Yes," Heluth chuckled. "Mother is still very beautiful, but she no longer looks like she is starving. Still thin as a pole, however, she visits in tears and says, 'oh Heluth, look how fat I have become. Demodi must divorce me and I must become a tavern mistress again.' Mother comes to her senses very quickly, however. Demodi has been enraptured by mother for thirty years now, may be my father for all I know. Demodi lays the world at mother's feet. Mother will never again be a tavern mistress."

"Heluth," Areshen began as he caught another hint of ambivalent emotion in her eyes, "you don't regret - "

"No Areshen, no, beloved," Heluth cried as she flung herself frantically back into his arms. "Every time you visited, I hoped you would again ask me to be your wife. I have been free my entire life; no one but mother could tell me what to do, no one at all when mother married. So I would say 'no' to you every time, and then when you left in the morning I would stand at the door in tears because I had said no, not really certain why. The tears stopped only when I realized that you would probably ask me again the next time you came, and I told myself that I would say yes. I had no real intention of doing so, however, not even tonight. But as soon as we were alone, Areshen, you took me into your arms, your embrace something very different than it ever was before. I knew you loved me with your heart, but tonight when you kissed me I knew you loved me in every other way as well. I should never have doubted that you did, Areshen, should never have doubted that you were capable of doing so. You, after all, are the man with no gods of his own."

Areshen chuckled, nodded, supposed he understood Heluth's feelings as well as he ever would. Areshen glanced then another quick moment toward the god standing in his wall niche; the god, Areshen supposed, would be very annoyed that he had stolen its priestess away, and Areshen decided that it had been a good day after all.

XXII

Areshen grasped Heluth's hands and exchanged vows with her in the shrine of Celutiru in the Sacred Area's Palace of the Divine King.

"The rites must be performed in Celutiru's Shrine," both Setith and Setiluth announced with subtle expressions of amusement.

"Celutiru," Heluth informed Areshen as she stood at his side wearing the magnificent bridal dress Setith herself had purchased for her, "is the patroness of small tavern shrines, those who cry in hungry, and prostitutes."

At the conclusion of the rites, Areshen again grasped Heluth's hand and walked with her into the High Priestess' palace, then stood in anxious silence as Setith approached, took Heluth from his arms into her own, and led her to the chamber's couch. The conversation, as Areshen might have expected, was short, shorter even than Setith's and Ati's first conversation in Shar Dulur had been. Areshen stood peering over the top of his cup searching for clues in either Setith's or Heluth's features, in the end noticing only how slight in stature and build Heluth indeed was as she sat next to Setith, Setith herself never as tall nor as heavy as most other women on Ur's street. When Setith finally pulled Heluth into a quick moment's gentle embrace, it certainly appeared a mother taking a child into her arms.

"Heluth," Setith finally pronounced as she led Areshen's fourth wife back across the chamber, "is everything you said she was, beloved."

"Did I say that much - "

"You said enough, beloved," Setith chuckled. "And I agree. Heluth is a gentle, beautiful person. Setiluth may keep Eta for now. But Ati and I will take Heluth. We must have her with us at Shar Dulur."

"Of course, beloved," Areshen of course answered, though comprehending the matter marginally at best, as Setith turned and walked away. Apparently Setith's need to have Heluth with her did not mean at this particular moment. Areshen finally turned toward Heluth, an expression of gentle warmth in her eyes as she also watched Setith walk away. Whatever the situation between Setith and Heluth, Heluth seemed pleased by it.

"I am relieved that you and Setith seem to like each other, Heluth," Areshen began.

"Relieved," Heluth chuckled. "Why relieved, beloved? You must have know that we would like each other."

"Yes, of course," Areshen lied, stammering on in confusion. "What exactly does Setith mean when she says she must have you with her?"

"It means I won't have to be hungry again, beloved. I am Setith's now; she will care for me."

"You always said you enjoyed being free, Heluth?"

"Areshen, my mistress is Setith. She has taken me, as well as Ati, to be her sister. It is more than I could ever have hoped for. I knew we would like each other, but I never dared hope that Setith would like me that much."

"Then I am happy for you, beloved," Areshen answered with a gentle smile, and for the next several days stood along the banks of a nearby canal with fishing line in hand trying to figure it all out. As usual, however, a fish bit, and Areshen quickly dismissed weighty matters from his mind as he turned his attention toward affairs of more immediate and entertaining concern.

For several more days Areshen caught fish, turned toward the walls of Ur and shrugged, and then caught more fish.

"There you are," and Areshen turned from his fishing line, this time toward Eta's familiar, sweet tempered voice, finding himself gaping in pleasant amazement a quick moment later when he realized that the woman walking hand in hand at Eta's side was Ati.

"My boat docked this evening," Ati stated with an easy smile of affection as Areshen took her into his arms.

"I see you have met Eta," Areshen began with a soft, foolish chuckled for a statement of obvious fact.

"Yes," Ati answered, still with a broad, gentle smile as she once more grasped Eta's hand. "And I met Heluth at the dock," Ati continued. "Heluth is adorable, Areshen. She will come back to Shar Dulur with Setith and me. The three of us performed the rites of bonding with each other as soon as I arrived in Ur."

"That is wonderful, Ati," Areshen answered in easy humor when he noticed the delight in Ati's eyes. "And did Eta perform these bonding rites as well," and Areshen finally stood a barbarian before a wife his own age and a wife considerably younger, both, however, breaking into the same expression of compassionate amusement for the uncivilized and uninformed husband.

"Beloved," Eta chuckled, "I am only twelve and five sixth years old. I cannot perform the bonding rites yet."

"Of course you can't," Areshen sighed as he grasped Eta's and Ati's hands and then turned for Ur. Perhaps he would ask Setiluth what these bonding rites were.

"Father," Setiluth chuckled as she walked in Areshen's arms through the chambers of the High Priestess' palace, "even Eta knows what the rites of bonding are, and she's only - "

"Yes, yes, twelve years old. I've been informed."

"All that is important, father," Setiluth continued as she lay a hand to Areshen's in gentle amusement, "is that mother, Ati, and Heluth will care for each other. Mother and Ati are both enraptured with Heluth."

Areshen nodded, and then settled onto a couch in the High Priestess' chambers with cup in hand, gazing now and again toward the couch on which sat three women he loved with deep and genuine emotion.

"Beloved," Setith began a short time later, and Areshen turned, noting amusement in Ati's and Heluth's eyes as well. "Tonight, beloved, Ati, Heluth, and I - "

"On oath, Setith," Areshen sighed, "if two at the same time is not proper, then three - "

"I did not say it was proper, beloved," and something close to wicked delight, Areshen suspected, swept across Setith's eyes, something equally as sensual across Ati's and Heluth's.

Perhaps a different approach this time, Areshen decided, offense rather and a weak and passive defense. Acceptance, and a definite edge of sensual intrigue purposefully arranged in his own features, Areshen met three women's pleading eyes with unabashed intimacy, then for another blatant moment directed his gaze toward three women of exquisite, exotic beauty sitting together on the couch and allowed his imagination free reign.

A fantastic victory, Areshen found himself chuckling, a total rout as first Setith's, and then Ati's and Heluth's faces reddened.

"Areshen - " Setith's voice the epitome of righteous indignation.

"But Setith," Areshen protested, "that night at Shar Dulur - when I awoke to find both you and Ati sleeping in my arms - "

"Absolutely nothing happened that night," Setith finally admitted in abject defeat. "Ati and I could hardly walk when we finally set our cups aside. We crawled into your chamber and for all of five minutes plotted the torment we would inflict upon you in the morning before we passed out ourselves."

"I did say," Ati sighed in gentle humor as she nodded toward Areshen, "that he would win in the end. He always does."

"Then Setith," Areshen continued, savoring the victory, "does this mean that tonight the three of you will not - "

"That is exactly what it means - oh on oath," and again Setith's face reddened as she realized that she was foolishly answered a foolish question.

"I am sorry, beloved," Areshen finally relented, his expression settling into gentle affection for the woman who had first taken his heart, would always, Areshen supposed, remain first in his heart.

Setith sighed again, reluctant affection settling once more into her own features, though still, to Areshen's almost ecstatic delight, a measure of resignation and defeat. No one, Areshen realized, had ever before vanquished the warrior queen of Isin quite so thoroughly, an explosively erotic thought. Areshen met Setith's eyes again, very little affectation now in his own. Setith, vanquished perhaps, but still a woman of stunning and absolute brilliance, recognized in an instant the sensual fire in her husband's eyes, her own equally ablaze a quick instant later as she sat a defeated warrior queen on the couch, her hands and feet bound and chained, quite prepared to submit to her conqueror's demands and whims.

Areshen exchanged a final moment's gentler amusement with Setith, the quick embrace of his first wife's eyes something unique. Only with Setith, Areshen realized, did every conceivable sort of fantasy work.

Areshen then settled into gentle warmth as he reached for his cup, pondering as the evening wore on three women he genuinely loved in quiet conversation with each other.

"Setiluth," Areshen had asked in few minutes earlier walking in her arms through the palace's corridors, "it's not - a harem, is it? I've always hated just the sound of the word. Those of Ibisiens' predecessors were a joke in Hulsar when I was your age."

"No, father," Setiluth had answered in gentle ease and amusement. "You have no harem, neither according to the social and legal dictates of Holy Order, nor in fact. Gipul's and Ibisien's harems are lawfully established palace institutions, Gipul's and Ibisien's wives enjoying specified and substantial social privileges, Gipul's enjoying their husband's attentions and affections to the extent that one man is capable of expressing such toward several thousand women most of whom may meet their husband once or twice during the course of their lives. You, father, have simply asked four women you care about to be your wives, nothing all that extraordinary either in Sumer or in the tribes save for the fact that a king's wives are wives to the full extent of the law. Did you wish to begin establishing harems, however, you would have to dispense almost entirely with matters of the heart in order to assemble a harem of respectable size, and I cannot imagine you dispensing with matters of the heart, father."

Areshen again raised his eyes toward three women sitting in quiet conversation on the chamber's couch. Perhaps, with time and practice, he might even grow accustomed to sitting with all three in the same chamber. A quick moment later, however, Setiluth holding one of Eta's hands and Martila the other strolled into the chamber, and Areshen, after a consoling gulp from his cup, glanced up again. Only with a great deal of time and practice, Areshen supposed, would he become accustomed to this, and he watched three more women who wanted something more than paternal affection from him settled themselves onto floor cushions a short distance from his own.

"This is lovely," Setith crooned a quick moment later, gentle emotion in her eyes. "We must always be together like this," and Areshen wondered how he could ever have doubted the sincerity of the feelings Setith expressed for others, even when she expressed those feelings with features twisted in scowling annoyance over some financial tablet of one sort or another.

Areshen glanced another studying, contemplative moment about the chamber, glanced toward six women he genuinely loved all in quiet conversation with each other. Only when he met Setith's eyes in quick though intimate embrace did he settle into comfortable ease.

You'll get used to it, Setith assured him with a soft, gentle smile. Perhaps, Areshen chuckled as he reached for his cup. Perhaps with time.

Areshen then turned curious eyes toward the First Soldier who entered the chamber, nodding appreciation as the soldier handed him several dispatch tablets. Areshen passed another long minute picking his way through the message, then looked up when he realized that everyone in the room had fallen into silence for the expression of alarm most certainly now in his features.

"War," Areshen announced, his voice a long sigh of resignation as he met, as usual, Setith's eyes first. Only when Areshen watched the remorse wash across Setith's features did he fully realized that he had indeed, despite the unresolved problems and tensions, been looking forward to passing time with a family he passionately loved.

Areshen glanced another quick moment toward the tablets from old Meneturu at Shar Dulur. For six months he had searched dispatches from the frontiers hoping for the pleasant diversion of a small war somewhere. Just as he had begun to feel a measure of ease and comfort with the six women in this small chamber in the High Priestess' palace, a large war had broken out.

"It seems Berclef," Areshen finally continued with another long sigh, "has again gathered most of the western desert tribes together, the Amuru, allies to the north, most of the tribes beyond the western walls. Agents from as far away as Egypt and Anatolia also intrigue among the tribes."

"What is Berclef's problem now?" Setith asked with a despondent groan.

"Meneturu cannot say for certain. Perhaps one of our donkeys has wandered across the wall and pissed on Berclef's tent. Whatever the reason, Berclef has once again decided to commence matters in the north. Apisulu of Rus wrote Meneturu at Shar Dulur - a magnificent letter, Meneturu states. I, Apisulu, king of Rus, will make quick work of Berclef and his rabble. Isin need not concern itself over the matter. Apisulu then gathered the army of Rus together and marched into the desert with twenty six thousand men. Three days later Apisulu crawled back to Rus by himself, most of his men roasting on spits over Berclef's campfires. Apisulu is now behind the walls of his palace trying to raise another army, though with little success. I, Apisulu now writes, humble and loyal military governor of Rus who never saw the dispatch requesting that I wait for reinforcements and anyone that says I did is a liar, now consider this to be a matter Isin may wish to concern itself with."

"Apisulu was sent to Rus by Ibisien's grandfather, was he not?" Setith asked.

"Yes, grew a beard as long as anyone's in the city, then declared himself king. Ten years ago he wasted most of Rus' younger generation fighting the Amuru, then shaved his beard off and waited for Meneturu and me to rescue him. As soon as enough boys in Rus were old enough to grow beards themselves, Apisulu placed swords in their hands and grew another beard himself. Now he's led most of Rus' next generation, little more than boys themselves, into the desert and lost them, rather than waiting for our help. Meneturu has sent Isime with as many armies as he could gather on short notice to relieve Rus and place Apisulu in chains. Berclef, however, appears to be moving south, leaving very little unsacked along the way. Meneturu suggests that we meet Berclef at Sippar and is summoning the levies."'

"Then you will leave us, beloved?"

"In the morning," and Areshen nodded toward the tablets. "Meneturu's dispatch is only hours old. It will take several days to summon the levies. We'll very likely need to pull standing armies from the east. It would help, Setith, if you could charm Gipul into behaving himself. He and his Su allies, half a hundred tribes, will think this an ideal time for mischief in the east once Meneturu and I are engaged in the west."

"I will try, beloved," and Setith, grasping Ati's and Heluth's hands, pushed herself from the couch. "We will leave you and Setiluth alone, beloved," Setith continued as she nodded Martila and Eta from the chamber as well. "Beloved," Setith whispered, a final moment's intimacy, "I had hoped there might be more time. It seems there will not be. Before you leave, there is just one more matter I wish you would see to, beloved, for me, and for a woman who is very deeply in love with you."

Areshen could only stare in wonder and confusion as Setith just turned and walked from the chamber.

Setiluth, now alone with her father, pushed herself without hesitation across the cushions and into his arms. Areshen gave up, and pulled a woman he was indeed in love with into embrace. Tonight, he realized in heart wrenching pain and remorse, might very well be the last time they see each other for a very long time.

"Mother," Setiluth began, "doubts that Gipul can be persuaded to behave himself. More than a few of his Su allies most certainly will not."

"I know," Areshen sighed. "It would not surprise me to find Su agents among the Amuru already, east promising west this, west promising east that," and Areshen grasped his daughter's hand with urging emotional strength, pleading now in his eyes. "Setiluth, you much quit Ur and go to Isin with your mother."

"When it is time, father, I will do so. If Gipul does come, he will not harm me."

"But the Su chiefs who will come with him, Setiluth, will. The High Priestess of Ur and Ur's gods are nothing to them. When a Su chief sacks a town, warriors stand at every path leading into that town waiting to slaughter even the rats attempting to escape the carnage."

"Then when it is time to do so, I will escape with the mice, father."

Areshen gave up, and with a long sigh of resignation pulled Setiluth again into his arms. The embrace, Areshen realized, was intensely, painfully sensual, not, Areshen supposed, because he wanted it to be so. Setiluth herself, Areshen suspected, was at the moment seeking no more than the emotional comfort she derived from resting quietly in his arms, quite aware that it might well be months before she would be able to do so again. Nor, after this evening, would Setiluth even have the comfort of her mother's arms. Setith would return to Isin. A queen's place, Setith had grown fond of stating, is at her husband's side, particularly, Areshen supposed, in time of war, and Areshen again gazed into Setiluth's eyes, something like terror now clearly evident in his daughter's features. Setith, Areshen decided, must have commanded that he and Setiluth be alone for just this reason.

"Beloved," Areshen continued, helpless, he realized, to do much about the terror in Setitluth's eyes in the time he had left with her, "you must leave Ur. You must go to Isin with Setith and the others."

"Father, I am Ur's High Priestess. I cannot leave Ur now."

"Setiluth," Areshen repeated, keenly aware that he himself had placed his daughter into that which could easily become a perilous situation, "I command that you leave Ur. I have spoken, Setiluth - I - king of the Four - somethings, divine consort of - whatever," nothing more than a note of bland finality now in his voice as he waited for Setiluth's expression of submission, perhaps a bow similar to that which any soldier might render responding to Sumer and Akkad's supreme military authority. Setiluth, Areshen just as quickly and with growing despair realized, was not a soldier who need fear the touch of the sword to her neck did she disobey his order. Her features did not show the least hint of submission.

"Father," Setiluth whispered, "am I to be the first High Priestess of Ur who just abandons the city?"

The answer was obvious, and again with a long sigh, now one of trembling fright, Areshen once more pulled Setiluth into his arms, very little left now save for the love they shared for each other.

"Besides, father," Setiluth continued in gentle warmth, an edge of amusement now in her voice, "as I've told you on several occasions in the past, Ibisien is king of the Four Quarters in Ur, and I am the High Priestess. I issue orders to you in Ur, military governor, at least until you decide that it is time to borrow Ibisien's chair once again."

Areshen broke into a soft chuckle, grasping his daughter's hand with gentle ease for a long moment, then with passionate strength as he met her eyes in intimacy. Areshen recognized it all immediately, and again he could not deny that he was in love with this woman who was in love with him. Both he and Setiluth felt the depth of their love for each other course suddenly and certainly through their hearts.

Areshen met Setiluth's eyes, then met her lips with his own in quick, caressing touch, not quite certain why it was he, quite uncharacteristically, who was initiating a display of affection he might never before have thought appropriate. Areshen kissed in gentle warmth, quite prepared, he realized, to give himself to Setiluth this time as soon as she asked, once more aware that this would be her last opportunity to do so for a very long time. It could very well be her last chance ever to do so, and Areshen felt a cold shiver slam into his heart, the warmth of Setiluth's lips to his own the only warmth he felt.

For a woman, Setith herself had said, who is very deeply in love with you.

And with that, Areshen pulled Setiluth with final, unpretended strength into a lover's embrace, burying his lips to her own, pulling her finally onto the floor cushions beside him. He must, he decided with new conviction, give her his love this time. Areshen pressed his lips to Setiluth's one final moment, a kiss of unfeigned, urging intimacy, raising his eyes just for an instant, he decided, in order to be certain that Setiluth's request for love was genuine.

And then, in awakening confusion, Areshen realized that Setiluth hadn't asked for anything. She was, to Areshen's complete and utter confusion, gazing up toward him with nothing more than humor and amusement in her own eyes.

"Father," Setiluth began, "what are you doing?"

"I..I thought - Setith said - "

Setiluth finally broke into soft laughter, apology, however, in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, beloved. Yes, of course I wanted to."

"But - but you did not ask - " Areshen stammered, finally realizing that she hadn't indeed. It had been he who had pressed his lips to hers in sensual, intimate kiss, Setiluth doing nothing more than allowing him to do so.

"Father, I ask every time I am near you. I always have. I'm passionately in love with you, father. And it is passion. It just is."

"But this evening, Setiluth - just now - you did not ask - "

"Beloved," Setiluth continued as she pulled Areshen back into embrace, "I ask every time I am close to you. I beg and I plead. But no, you're right. I did not ask tonight. I did not, however," Setiluth concluded with returning amusement and mischief, "intend to say no - was hoping that that which was a very pleasant and - exciting surprise might proceed to its natural conclusion…"

"Setiluth - " Areshen sighed, finally recovering a measure of his composure and balance.

"Anyway," Setiluth chuckled, "that's not what mother was talking about either."

Areshen sighed again, wondered if either Setith or Setiluth would explain further, and finally settled into warm emotional embrace, Setiluth, Areshen realized with that ever present touch of lingering concern, had not quite settled herself, a very evident hint of sensual intimacy now about the edges of her eyes, the same in the light, caressing touch of her hand to his own. As brilliant and as perceptive as ever, however, she recognized in an instant the now characteristic concern in her father's eyes.

"Beloved," she began in intimate, contemplative quiet, "I really want to. I cannot hide that from you. In a way, however, I do no want to. I suspect those are your feelings as well."

"Yes," Areshen agreed.

"It would make me happy and it would not. I could never be happy knowing that you are not happy. But I'm happy now," and Setiluth raised a caressing hand to Areshen's forehead, a stolen moment of sensual intimacy.

"Setiluth," Areshen continued, searching for anything, "perhaps when your husband comes home - "

"Perhaps," Setiluth answered. "I love him, in a way - deeply, but - " and again Setiluth raised searching eyes to Areshen's, her voice an intimate whisper. "I lie to myself, trying to convince myself that my feelings for you are no more than a desire to bear your first divine child. I don't think I even knew what love was until you and I - "

"Setiluth - "

"I'll stop," she answered, settling into a gentler humor. "I talked to Kinshith earlier today. She desperately wants to be your wife. That was what mother was talking about, father."

"But Kinshith said no," Areshen answered in confusion. "I asked her if she wanted to make love, and she said no -

"She could not care less about making love to you, father."

"And she desperately wants to be my wife?"

"We all have our reasons," Setiluth chuckled. "Kinshith told me that you kissed her. She said she enjoyed that, far more than she might have suspected she might."

"Then why does she say no to me, Setiluth?"

"Kinshith and Etwabi were intimate friends. Perhaps that is the reason. Everyone, Kinshith in particular, suspected that you would eventually exchange vows of one sort or another with Etwabi. Perhaps Kinshith feels guilt for the fact that she survived Tarineduri's metal shop while Etwabi did not. I suspect, however, that Kinshith is not really certain herself why she says no to you. She tells me," Setiluth continued in easy amusement, "that when you and she defiled the Shrine of Tamuz together, she felt as though she were home again. She loves you with all her heart, yet she cannot explain. I suppose none of us can," and again Areshen felt the soft, sensual caress of Setiluth's hand atop his own, the subtle change in her touch. Setiluth met Areshen's eyes, amusement, however, in her features when she pushed herself to her feet.

"I do ask, don't I?" Setiluth chuckled. "Every other moment I beg and plead," and Setiluth released a contemplative sigh, stepping finally and decisively toward the chamber's portal, that which led to a room in which her serving girls slept. "Kinshith," Setiluth called, "be a darling and bring us some beer," and Setiluth turned back toward Areshen. "Mother adores Kinshith as well, though she never dared admit it obviously. You know mother. The relationship between mother and Kinshith was maternal, Kinshith a daughter who was heartbroken when she was seized by the temple, mother quite as heartbroken to loose Kinshith. If Kinshith became your wife, father, she would be mother's sister, though she would remain the daughter of mother's heart."

"But Kinshith said no, Setiluth. I had genuinely hoped that she would say yes when I asked, but she said no."

"Wishing with all her heart that she had the courage to say yes, father, and you wishing with all your heart that she had said yes."

When a quick moment later Kinshith returned with cup and pitcher, Setiluth grasped her arm and led her into the chamber.

"Thank you, dear," Setiluth said as Kinshith placed the cup and pitcher onto a small table.

"Will the be all, mistress?" Kinshith asked, gentle quiet in her eyes, perhaps that same hint of bashful reserve in her features which had always so touched Areshen's heart.

"No, that will not be all," Setiluth answered as she grasped Kinshith's arm once again, leading her this time toward the cushions on which Areshen sat. "The military governor needs company, Kinshith. You will stay and provide it," Setiluth concluded, pushing Kinshith into Areshen's arms.

"Yes, mistress," Kinshith chuckled, just an edge of confusion in her features as she settled into Areshen's eager embrace.

"And you need call me mistress no longer, Kinshith. You may call me beloved."

"Mistress?" Kinshith asked, genuine confusion now in her eyes. Areshen, however, gazed with sudden understand, amusement breaking across his own features.

"You will call me beloved," Setiluth repeated. "The military governor of Ur, known in certain circles as the king of Isin, needs a wife, Kinshith. You shall be that wife. I, High Priestess of Nanna, promulgate that it is so," and Setiluth turned toward the door. "I will be in the scribe's chambers recording my promulgation."

Areshen broke into a smile of easy humor as he watched Setiluth leave, then turned toward Kinshith, wonder in her eyes as she settled again into his arms.

"Kinshith," Areshen began in a soft, easy voice as he lay a gentle hand atop her own, "you do not have to be my wife if you do not want to."

"But I am your wife now," Kinshith answered. "The mistress - " and Kinshith could only nod toward the portal through which Setiluth had left.

"Kinshith, if it displeases you - "

"No, Areshen," Kinshith gasped. "No," and a quick instant later she seemed startled by the vehemence in her own voice. "No, it does not displease me," she finally continued in gentle ease. "It has been a cherished - little hoped for dream for me to become your wife or your concubine. I just never dreamed, never dared allow myself to hope that it could ever happen."

"Then I am happy, Kinshith. I had intended to ask you again in a year or two, but it seems my daughter - the High Priestess, was of a different state of mind."

Kinshith finally broke into soft, easy laughter, that which had always so touched Areshen's heart.

"The mistress knew how much I love you, Areshen. I suppose I could never hide it from her. I never tried to. I told the mistress how it felt when you kissed me. Areshen, I love you."

"Beloved," and Areshen watched the entrancement wash over Kinshith's features for the word. "I love you as well, gentle Kinshith, very very deeply," and again Areshen grasped Kinshith's hands, pulling her finally into his arms. For another long moment he sat gazing intimately into her eyes, supposing the love between them an emotional love, their feelings for each other a love of the heart. When Areshen leaned forward and met Kinshith's lips with his own, however, he felt again genuine strength in the kiss she returned, her own arms locked in close embrace a quick instant later, quite as though she feared loosing him were the embrace something less.

That is it indeed, Areshen realized as he again raised his eyes to Kinshith's. Kinshith had lost Etwabi, had lost her despite the intensity of the embrace they had shared living in the household of a criminal master. Even when Kinshith had purposefully starved herself, she had been unable to save Etwabi, Etwabi the one person in the world from whom Kinshith derived emotional support. Areshen had held both Etwabi and Kinshith in his arms many times over the years, had watched easy, lighthearted emotion in their eyes as the three of them played together, often, to Setith's annoyance, quite like children, always disregarding their roles in life in order to do so. Then after Etwabi's death, Areshen had walked into the palace kitchens to find Kinshith strained just to force the hint of a smile into her features, her smile genuine and emotional only when he had taken her into his arms once again.

Areshen gazed another long moment toward Kinshith's gentle features, certain that the soft ease and emotion in her smile was once more genuine.

"Kinshith," Areshen began as he surrounded her hands with his own, "there are still no rules between you and me. You are free to be that for me which it pleases you to be. We've known each other for a long time now, and it has always been so between us. But as far as I am able, Kinshith, I will never let harm come to you again. I will fight Sumer and Akkad and the Four Quarters of the world, Kinshith, before I will allow you to be harmed again," and Areshen felt sudden, emotional strength in the grasp of Kinshith's hands about his own.

"Areshen - " and Kinshith lowered her eyes for a quick moment, the same bashful smile in her features when she again met Areshen's eyes, "beloved - I have never - "

"You do not have to now," and Areshen watched some subtle hint of relief settle into his fifth wife's eyes, felt little more than amusement himself. Setith, Areshen supposed, his first wife and his first love, with little more than an exotic twist of her hips, could leave him standing dazed and senseless. Setith, the first love of his heart, would always be enough.

Kinshith, however, Areshen then decided, was most certainly his last wife. Five wives were four more than he had ever as little as a year ago imagined that he would have, and for a long, nervous moment, Areshen searched his memory with some amount of purposeful, straining effort. There was, he finally concluded with a slight sigh of relief, no one else, no one, at least, toward whom he felt that which he might call a deep, compelling love of the heart. With another sigh of relief, Areshen then twisted his eyes toward a table on which lay that which came very close.

"I'll pour you a cup," Kinshith chuckled as she pushed herself from Areshen's arms toward the table and the pitcher of beer.

In an easy, speculative humor, Areshen could not help but notice, with some sudden, new insight, that Kinshith was quite as beautiful as the others, as most others, despite her protests to the contrary. Kinshith, Areshen supposed, was no different than anyone else who was personally acquainted with Setith, Setith a woman forty years of age who, save perhaps for her own daughters, had no rival in absolute, stunning physical beauty, a woman in whose company others irrationally felt themselves plain, even unattractive.

Areshen gazed again toward Kinshith now pouring beer and realized with another measure of wonder, realized possibly for the first time, that all five of the women he now called wife were save for superficial differences nearly identical as far as physical appearance was concerned. Even Eta, in a few years, would be indistinguishable from Setith at a very short distance. Was it just for this reason, Areshen asked himself, that all five had found their way into his heart? Perhaps in part, Areshen decided as he gazed again toward Kinshith. Kinshith was indeed stunning in appearance, though like Setith and the others, Kinshith could afford to loose very little weight and expect to remain healthy. Kinshith had not just lost weight in a desperate attempt to save another person's life; she had been starving when Areshen had found her in that metal factory. Nor was it for any reason other than the emotional, her love for Etwabi, that she had starved herself. That, Areshen finally realized, was why his feelings for Kinshith were different. He was indeed very deeply in love with Kinshith, even if the reasons for the growth of that love were unique.

"Kinshith," Areshen began as she walked back across the room with cups of beer in her hands, "you are a very beautiful woman," and Areshen continued with easy humor in his voice. "I believe you are as beautiful as anyone I have ever seen in Sumer and Akkad."

"Areshen," Kinshith chuckled as she lowered herself onto the cushions, the same note of skepticism in her voice.

"Kinshith, I really do think you are beautiful, your heart yes, but you must know that you are stunning in your beauty as well."

Kinshith broke into a soft smile, perhaps one of questioning intrigue as she glanced toward Areshen.

"When we were in the Shrine of - whoever," Areshen continued, "you said that your were not beautiful. Kinshith, you are as beautiful as anyone in all of Sumer and Akkad."

"Areshen," Kinshith chuckled, "I am not as beautiful as Setith."

"Kinshith, from ten paces it is absolutely impossible to tell you and Setith apart. My love for you, Kinshith, is a love of the heart. But it is every other sort of love as well."

"Why are you telling me all of this, beloved?"

"I'm not really certain myself," Areshen answered with a soft laugh. "We also told each other in the shrine, Kinshith, that we had never fallen in love with each other. But I do not think that is true either."

Emotion now settled into Kinshith's eyes as she gazed back.

"Kinshith," Areshen whispered, "I'll never let you go," and he fell intimately into the gentle ease of Kinshith's features, a woman so very easy to love, and for another sharp and distinct moment felt something close to despair for the fact that he could only spend a few more hours with her. Ati and Heluth, even Eta, Areshen supposed, were all the epitome of emotional strength and stability, almost Setith's equal and many ways. Still, he had been able to spend time with each of them after he had made them his wife. His feelings for Kinshith, he finally realized, were at least in part paternal, the desperate clinging strength of Kinshith's embrace serving only to emphasize the fact, and again Areshen felt a keen regret and remorse for the thought of leaving her so soon.

A quick moment later, Areshen twisted his gaze toward the door. Setith, some gentle pleasure, perhaps even satisfaction in her features, walked quickly across the chamber and lowered herself to the couch in front of Areshen and Kinshith.

"Kinshith," Setith began, her expression far gentler than it had been when she had first adopted Ati and Heluth.

"Mistress Setith," Kinshith answered, the same respectful and quiet reservation in her eyes.

"No, Kinshith," Setith continued, emphasis in her voice as she grasped Kinshith's hands with both of her own, "you must now call me sister and beloved."

Areshen settled into gentle ease, supposing the fact that Setith had indeed been Kinshith's mistress for many years the reason for the emotion now in both woman's eyes.

"Setiluth told you that Kinshith is now my wife?" Areshen asked.

Again with a soft smile, Setith turned toward Areshen.

"She didn't have to, beloved. I ordered Setiluth to make Kinshith your wife."

"Oh," Areshen could only answer. The queen of Isin ordered this. The High Priestess of Ur ordered that. He supposed he'd never really understand.

"Mistress - " Kinshith began, and lowered her eyes in one quick moment's thoughtful reserve. "Sister," Kinshith then continued, "how can I ever thank you. I never doubted your love for me for a moment, but I never thought - I never dared hope - "

"Kinshith," and again Areshen could not help but notice the unusual ease, perhaps, to Areshen's amazement, even the hint of bashful reserve in Setith's eyes, "you are a person who is very easy to love. I'm certain Etwabi did, very deeply. I have always loved you as well, Kinshith, though it was - inappropriate to declare my feelings in the past. It no longer is. I want you to come to Isin with me and live with me as my sister, Kinshith."

"Yes, mistress," Kinshith cried as she fell into Setith's arms. Now, Areshen supposed as he watched two people share emotional intimacy as genuine as any he had ever seen, he could leave in the morning without feeling an all consuming pain and remorse.

Areshen walked into the stable master's chamber on Ur's walls and patted his mule on the neck. Not this time, old friend, Areshen sighed, and then signed for a chariot and a swift team of horse.

Areshen reigned the chariot from the stables, then onto the road which led toward war in the north. A quick minute later, however, Areshen brought the chariot to a stop, then turned with curious interest toward young Teru who stood holding a mule on which sat his wives and his infant son.

"Teru," Areshen asked, "you are finally leaving Ur?"

"Yes, military governor. It is time."

"It is time?" Areshen asked.

Teru shrugged, his smile one of ease and determination.

"I will miss you, my young friend," Areshen stated. "I will miss our esoteric discussions, topics about which I know nothing."

"I believe you know more than you are willing to admit, Areshen. Eta visited me this morning. She tells me that you made Kinshith your wife."

"Let's say, Kinshith was made my wife, Teru, though the fact does not displease me."

"I know Kinshith well, Areshen. Etwabi brought her to visit often. Kinshith is a very sweet girl. Most people who have spent a morning or an afternoon with her have fallen very deeply in love with her. Kinshith was very close to death when you removed her from that metal factory, Areshen. She could just not bear to see another person starving. She would have given her life for Etwabi, was quite prepared to do so. I can imagine no greater love than for one to five their life so freely for another."

"Kinshith's love," Areshen agreed, "is such that we are not likely to see again any time soon."

"Perhaps not soon," Teru answered. "I do believe, however, that we will indeed see such love again, Areshen, that we will someday see god's love for the entire world demonstrated in a manner very similar to the way Kinshith proved her love for Etwabi. I believe our god, Areshen, would be willing to give his own life for the world."

Teru waited in silence for a short moment, not really surprised that the blasphemous divine king of Isin searched vehemently to understand his thought.

"There are very few people like Kinshith left in Ur, Areshen. I believe it is god who has given Kinshith to you, Areshen, god who has given her to you to care for, because he knows that you will do so."

"Perhaps you are right, Teru."

"I used to ask Kinshith if there was not some man who she loved. Yes, Kinshith answered, but it is impossible that I ever become this man's wife. Even your god, Teru, Kinshith informed me, could not make me this man's wife."

"Teru," Areshen chuckled, "I do believe your god has a sense of humor."

"Perhaps you are right, Areshen," Teru laughed.

"The gods - god be with you, my young friend," Areshen stated as he reached for the chariot's reigns.

Areshen drew to a stop in front of a small military dispatch station a short distance from the walls of Uruk, then leaned into the chariot's rails in a quick moment's searching thought.

One beer, Areshen finally sighed as he stepped to the ground and then decisively toward the small tavern across the road.

According to Meneturu's latest dispatch from Shar Dulur, Berclef's marauding tribes of Amuru had sacked another half dozen towns in the north and west. It would still be several days, however, before Meneturu could position sufficient numbers of Six Hundreds in order to launch an effective counter offensive. Units currently engaged along the frontiers were badly outnumbered and were attempting a tactical retreat, though communication with several of them had already been lost.

With a long sigh, Areshen raised his cup at the tavern's door, then turned toward the road to ponder another Six Hundred now on the march, a local levee from a district under the command of the new military governor of Uruk. The nearest Sixty, one of foot and pike, appeared reasonably competent. A quick moment later Ushila, command of the Six Hundred and subgovernor of Uruk, reigned his own chariot to a stop in front of the tavern.

Ushilu, Areshen suddenly remembered as a commander close to his own age approached, also called five women beloved, a wife and four concubines, though Ushilu, unlike Areshen, had been doing so for many years now.

"King," Ushila nodded in salute as he reached for his own cup at the tavern door.

"Subgovenor," Areshen nodded in return.

"I thought this day would never come," Ushilu continued with an expression of buoyant satisfaction as he lifted his cup. "For eight years I have done nothing but slither from chamber to chamber in my house, fleeing that one who must have this, this one who must have that, and me a destitute military governor who ends up with nothing," and Ushilu took another long pull from his cup, an expression of anticipation in his features a quick moment later. "It will be a very long war, do you not think, king? Perhaps a year before we again set eyes on our beloved's sweet faces?" Ushilu growled.

"Perhaps," Areshen chuckled as he turned his attention back to his own cup, his thought back to that chamber in the High Priestess' palace in Ur.

"Beloved," Setith has sighed as she lowered herself onto the floor cushions next to Kinshith, "I will miss you so dearly. We all will, beloved."

"I too, beloved," Areshen answered, reaching for his beer as Ati grasping Eta's hand walked into the chamber a quick moment later, Heluth and both of his daughters a short while after that.

It had been Setiluth and Martila, however, who had finally settled into his arms.

"Sister," Setiluth had chuckled as she grasped Martila's hand, "have I told you that our beloved consort husband, without even asking, tried to - "

"Setiluth," Areshen groaned, and turned toward Martila, his younger daughter also in quiet laughter. Martila, however, did nothing more than pull herself into that which Areshen hoped was a daughter's embrace.

"I love you, father," Martila whispered. "We both do. We all do, just as we always have," and Areshen decided that that was enough as he wrapped both of his daughters into his arms, glancing long and hard toward vie more of the most beautiful women in Sumer still sitting in quiet conversation with each other on the chamber's couch.

"A long war," and Areshen turned again toward the subgovernor of Uruk at the tavern door, "I suspect it is going to be a very long war, a very long time before we again have to hear the world beloved in our ears," the subgovenor again growled. "How do you feel about a long war, king?"

"I'm not really certain," Areshen answered.

Back to Titles Page