Nine White Horses (22 page)

It was not Lugalbanda’s place to bring it to her attention,
but he suspected that there was no need. She had left most of the negotiations
to the master of her caravan and withdrawn gradually from the daily councils.
No one remarked on that. She was a goddess; she could set herself above mere
human commerce.

It was assumed that she retreated to her rooms, which were
warm, capacious, and adorned with every luxury. But Lugalbanda had discovered
her secret: how she would put on a plain dark mantle like those worn by women
here, and slip away. Sometimes she went into the city, but more often she
sought the temple and the one who lived in it.

She would efface herself there, sit in a corner and watch
the god and his servants at their work. The god did not appear to find her presence
distracting. Often as time went on, she would linger after the day’s labors
were done and take bread with him, and then they would converse. It was easy
conversation, as between friends, or between gods who understood one another.
She did not press herself upon him as a woman might upon a man, nor did he seem
to see her in that way.

And yet Lugalbanda, standing guard upon them—unmarked by the
god and unforbidden by the goddess—saw too well how it was with her. She was a
woman in love, hardly aware of it herself, but he knew the signs. He suffered
them, too, with just as little hope of requital.

o0o

As the fine weather continued unabated, even the god tired
of his temple and ventured out to the field on which the chosen of Aratta ran
their chariots. His coming was a great occasion. He was brought there in a
chair borne by strong young men, to find a chariot waiting, larger yet lighter
and stronger than the others. The beasts harnessed to it were like onagers and
yet unlike: horses, they were called, born beyond the eastern horizon.

When the god rose from the chair, he was very tall, taller
than any man there, but he stooped somewhat as if in pain, and his steps were
stiff and slow. He disdained the stick that someone offered, but accepted the
shoulder of one of his young men, leaning lightly on it as he moved from the
chair to the chariot.

However faltering his gait on the earth, when he had
ascended into the chariot and taken the reins, his heart and body were whole
again. His back straightened. His head came up. The darkness of grief faded
from his eyes. His horses arched their proud necks and tossed their long, thick
manes.

He did not let them run as they begged to do, not yet.
Inanna had come, walking alone, dressed as simply as a woman of the city. Still
there was no mistaking who she was, with the light in her eyes and the beauty
of her face.

She spoke no word to the god and he none to her, but he held
out his hand. She let him lift her into the chariot. There was space for two of
them, if she stood close, within the circle of his arms. She, who was as tall
as many men, was small beside him.

Then at last he gave the horses free rein. They leaped into
flight, as swift as wind over the grass.

Lugalbanda’s heart flew with them, but his eyes were not completely
blind to what went on about him. They saw that another had come to see the god
and the goddess together: the king of Aratta with his look of perpetual hunger.
It was stronger than before, strong enough to fester.

The god and the goddess were far away, caught up in the
glory of their speed. Lugalbanda, mere mortal that he was, was left to protect them
as he could. It was little enough: a word to his men, a doubling of guards for
when she should return, and a prayer to the greater gods for her safety and for
that of the god of chariots.

o0o

When the god rode in his chariot, he was alive as he never
was in his temple. Wind and sunlight lessened his sorrow. For once he saw
Inanna, if not as a woman, then as an emissary from another, brighter world.

They rode far from Aratta, too swift even for men in
chariots to follow. Inanna tasted the intoxication of speed and found it
sweeter than wine.

He saw her delight and shared in it. His smile transformed
him; his face that had been so grim and sad was suddenly far younger, and far
more beautiful.

They slowed at last by the bank of a river, out of sight of
the city. The river was narrow and swift and too deep to ford. The horses trotted
beside it, tossing their heads and snorting, still as fresh as if they had just
come from their stable.

“Come to Uruk with me,” Inanna said with as little
forethought as before. As soon as the words escaped, she regretted them, but
there was no calling them back.

This time he heard her, and this time he answered. His smile
did not die; the darkness did not come back to his face. He said, “Tell me—is it
true? There are no trees there? No walls of mountains shutting out the sky?”

“No forests of trees,” she said. “No mountains. Only long
levels of land, green fields and thorny desert, and the many streams of our
rivers, flowing into the sea.”

“Only once have I seen the sea,” he said. “My heart yearns
for the open sky.”

“That, we do have,” she said a little wryly. “And heat, too,
and flies, and mud or dust in season.”

“Ah!” he said. “Are you trying to lure me there or repel me?”

“I’m telling you the truth of it,” she said.

“An honest merchant,” he said. He was chaffing her, but
gently. He drew in a deep breath of the cold mountain air, and turned his face
to the sun. “I will go to Uruk,” he said. “I will make chariots for you.”

o0o

“You will not.”

The king’s face was dark with rage; his eyes were
glittering. But they were not resting on the god whom he had tracked to his
temple to discover if the rumor was true: that Aratta was about to lose the
blessing of his presence. They were fixed on Inanna.

“You will not take our god from us,” he said.

“That is not for you to choose,” said the god. “I have
served you well, and given you great gifts. Now I am called elsewhere.”

“You are seduced,” the king said. “Your wits are clouded.
Your place is here, where your destiny has brought you.”

“You overstep your bounds,” the god said very softly.

“You will not be taken from us,” said the king.

He beckoned. His guards came, shaking with fear of the god,
but their fear of the king was greater. They did not presume to lay hands on
him, but they made it clear that if he did not let himself be led away, they
would bind him like a common mortal.

No fire came down from heaven. No storm of wind swept them
all away. The god went as he was compelled.

Inanna stood stiff in a temple now empty of its god, with
her fists clenched at her sides and her face white and set. Her guards had
closed in about her. The king’s men surrounded them. None had yet drawn weapon,
but hands had dropped to hilts.

A war was brewing, and she was in the heart of it. Her three
dozen men stood against a hundred, and the whole city of Aratta behind them. Long
leagues lay between Aratta and Uruk, and seven mountains, each higher than the
last.

Lugalbanda opened his mouth to speak. He did not know what
he would say, but he could hope that the gods would grant him inspiration.

She spoke before any words could come to him. Her voice was
clear and cold. “Lord king,” she said. “I offer you a bargain.”

The king’s greed was stronger than his wrath. His eyes
gleamed. “What can you offer, lady, that will buy a god?”

“Myself,” she said. “A goddess for a god. Set him free; let
him go to Uruk. In return I will stay, and serve you as best I may.”

The king raked fingers through his heavy black beard. He was
trembling; his breath came quick and shallow. “Indeed? You will do such a thing?”

She bent her head. “For Uruk I will do it.”

‘What? What will you do? How will you serve me?”

That was cruel. Inanna’s back was rigid. “I give myself to
you as your bride. I will be your queen, and the god of chariots will be free.”

Lugalbanda cried out in protest, but no one heard him. He
was nothing and no one in this battle of kings and gods.

The king could hardly contain himself. He must have prayed
for this; his gods had given him all that he asked for. But the roots of his
avarice were sunk deep. “Bring me a dowry,” he said, “of the riches of Uruk.
Every year a caravan of wheat and barley, with all the beasts that bear it, and
a tribute of gold, and a mantle woven by the king’s own women, a royal garment
worked with images of the alliance between Aratta and Uruk.”

Her lips were tight, her nostrils white, but she said
steadily, “In return for the god of chariots, his art and craft, his chariot
and his horses, and teams of onagers with their drivers and those who tend
them, I will bring you such a dowry.”

Lugalbanda watched the king reflect on the bargain, and
ponder the riches that were laid in his hand—and what else might he win in this
moment of her weakness?

He was a slave to his greed, but he was not a fool. He could
see as well as any other man how far he had driven the goddess. He chose to
desist while he held the advantage. “Done,” he said, “and sworn before all who
have witnessed it.”

“Done and sworn,” she said, still with that perfect, level calm.

o0o

“Lady,” Lugalbanda pleaded. “Oh, lady. Nothing is worth
such a sacrifice.”

Inanna looked down at him where he knelt at her feet. She
knew how he yearned after her; she would have had to be blind not to know it.
But it was a clean yearning, the worship of a pure heart.

She raised him, though he resisted her, and laid her hands
on his shoulders. “Uruk is worth any price.”

“Uruk could find another way,” he said. “You’ll wither and
die here, bound to that man.”

“I hope I am stronger than that,” she said.

She kept the quaver out of her voice, but he loved her well
enough to see through her mask of courage. “Lady,” he said, and he wept as he
said it. “Lady, you don’t have to do this.”

“You know I do,” she said. “Go now, prepare the caravan. The
sooner you’re out of this place with the god and his chariots, the better for
us all.”

But he was not her dog, to run tamely at her bidding. “I’m
not going until the bargain is signed and sealed.”

“If you wait,” she said, “you may not be allowed to leave at
all.”

He did not like that, but he gave way to her wisdom. He must
see what she saw: that the king of Aratta was not an honest merchant.

She prayed that it was not already too late. “Go,” she said.
“Be quick. Time is short.”

He hated to leave her. She hated to see him go. But her
choice was made, and his must not be made for him—to remain a prisoner in
Aratta, with the god of chariots bound beside him.

o0o

The gates of Aratta were closed, and the guards were
politely immovable. “After the wedding feast,” they said, “you may go and
welcome. The king requires the men of Uruk to witness the conclusion of the
bargain, so that there may be no question in their city that it was truly
fulfilled.”

There was no arguing with that, or with arrows aimed at
their throats and spears turned toward their hearts. The guards’ courtesy was
as honest as it could be, but so was their determination to carry out their
king’s orders.

“Do you solemnly swear,” Lugalbanda asked their captain, “that
when the wedding is over, when the price is fully paid, we will be allowed to
go?”

“I do swear,” the captain said.

Lugalbanda had to accept the oath. It was no more than his
own heart had desired before the goddess commanded him otherwise.

o0o

The walls were closing in. This must be how it had been for
the god of chariots, bound in forest and constrained by mountains. Had he felt
the narrowness of Aratta’s walls, and the will of its king crushing his own
beneath it?

Inanna could not go to him to ask. She was shut within the
women’s house, surrounded by an army of servants. In a day and a night, in a fever
of activity, they had made a royal wedding.

She had given herself up to them and let them make her
beautiful, clothing her in the richest of the fabrics that had come from Uruk
and adorning her with gems and gold. She fixed her mind on that and not on the
man she had taken for Uruk’s sake. She must not grieve; she must know no
regret. This choice was made as it must be. She had been born into this world
for such choices.

Even as strong as she endeavored to be, when the king’s
maids led her out to her wedding, it was all she could do to keep her head high
and her shoulders straight. If she could have turned and run, she would have
done it.

The king was waiting in his hall, naked but for the skin of
a forest lion. She in linen and fine white wool, with her hair elaborately
plaited and her face bravely painted, felt herself diminished by the raw power
of this mortal beast.

She was a goddess, a daughter of heaven. She must not
falter, even at the sight of Lugalbanda among the king’s men with the rest of
the guards from Uruk. She must not think of what it meant that Lugalbanda had
disobeyed her command, or that the men about him had the look of men guarding a
captive—or most disturbing of all, that the god of chariots was nowhere to be
seen.

The chief of Aratta’s priests set her hand in the king’s and
spoke the words that made her his wife. Her heart was small and cold and remote.
She felt nothing, not even fear.

The king had joy enough for both of them. He took her as if
she had been a great gift—and so she was, the greatest that had ever been given
in this city. He neither noticed nor cared that she was silent. His delight was
entirely his own.

The wedding feast was long and boisterous, but all too soon
it ended. The women led Inanna away while the men were still carousing over
date wine and barley beer. They had prepared the bridal chamber, hung it with
fragrant boughs and adorned it with hangings of richly woven wool. The bed was
heaped high with furs and soft coverlets, and scented with unguents from the
south.