The Forgotten Tale Of Larsa (14 page)

Nafridos stormed out of the chamber. The moment he left, Larsa burst into sobs, her body shaking from the hatred that boiled up inside her. Some of it was directed at Marmicus. He had failed to protect her as he had promised her he would. She had finally become a martyr to suffering; every inch a victim. There was only one thing Larsa craved, and that was the sweet intoxication of death. The barbarity of the world had left her wishing to die; taking her own life was the only prospect of freedom she had left …

Despite the royal burial procession ending hours earlier, the people of the kingdom had chosen not to return to their homes; instead they had congregated outside the great temple, looking for the one man who could restore their faith. Their fiery torches lit up the night sky like floating lanterns; their heat warmed them all as they huddled in the cold midnight air.

‘He’s just come out of the temple – look, over there!’ cried one boy who had climbed a tall palm tree in hope of seeing the Gallant Warrior. As Marmicus left the temple, thousands of people flooded towards him like a human tsunami, all seeking to take refuge in his strength.

‘Gallant Warrior, bless my infant, please,’ said one mother as she shoved her newborn into his hands. Her maternal instinct had taken hold of her manners; rumour had it that a kiss from his lips would forever protect the soul that had been honoured by it. Everyone watched as he held the baby uncertainly; it brought home to him the fact that he would never become a father.

‘Take your infant and return to your home. He should be sleeping in his bed, not wandering around the streets with you.’

‘But you haven’t kissed him!’

‘A kiss won’t save him from what’s coming,’ he replied bluntly, giving the baby back to his mother. He was emotionally exhausted; he did not need anything else to tire him. ‘Now, return to your homes, all of you. Let me be; let me be!’

The change in Marmicus’s appearance was shocking and so was his unexpected reaction; nobody had ever seen him brush the people aside and behave like this. Of course, none of them could hope to understand the burden under which he laboured. Normally he was strong; tonight, however, he looked like a defeated man, incapable of carrying on.

‘He’s lost faith in us; that’s why he wants us to leave.’

‘You won’t abandon us, will you, Gallant Warrior?’ said a little boy pulling at his robe. Marmicus ignored him and walked on. The crowd began to behave erratically, some shouting at him, while others sided with him.

‘Before you judge him harshly, let us remember that the Gallant Warrior is in mourning. Every soul has a right to bear his grief upon his back, including him! He’s no different to us – let him do the same as we would!’ declared Sulaf from among the crowd. She had anticipated that something like this would happen, and like any loyal friend she wished to protect him from their misguided and malicious comments.
Oh, Marmicus, human emotions are not fitting for gods like you. They are as lethal as flying arrows unleashed against the body
…

‘The woman is right; let the Gallant Warrior mourn his loss just as any man would wish to mourn his wife.’

‘Well, let’s hear it from him. Why doesn’t he address us?’

‘What’s going to happen to us?’

The people waited uneasily. They needed him to instil in them some of his strength; with one breath he could embolden defeated hearts and send a fearless army into battle. However, Marmicus could think of nothing to say. His lips remained sealed, as by sap from an injured tree.

‘Why isn’t he speaking?’ asked one young man with distaste. The sight of human weakness was never admirable.

‘Speak to us, oh Gallant One, tell us that our children and homes will be safe. Tell us that you’ll protect us – we need to hear it from you,’ said one fearful woman who grovelled before his feet. Even that failed to provoke any kind of reaction from him. Marmicus simply stood there, neither trying to help her up nor to put her at ease. Tonight he had lost more than his strength; he had lost his desire to help others.
Meaningless words stir meaningless reactions
, he thought, unable to take any more of their pathetic behaviour. He began to push through the crowd, ignoring everyone around him; their hands tugged at him as they tried to pull him back, desperate to stop him from leaving them.

‘Marmicus, remember that your tragedy is our tragedy. We mourn the princess just as you do!’ cried Sulaf. He could not turn away from them now, not when they needed him most; the people needed hope, as a dying flame needs one final breath of air. The Gallant Warrior stopped. As he turned around, everyone stood back; they could feel his anger.

‘Don’t speak to me of tragedy! What do any of you know about it? Tonight you mourn the princess, but tomorrow you’ll forget her name and go on with your lives. You’ll see your children grow and hear their voices change; their laughter will fulfil you and carry you in bitter times. All the while I’ll be cursed with visions of yesterday, while your eyes will be given the gifts of tomorrow. Your children will play and your wives will sing, all while the woman I love will lie cold beneath the ground you walk on. That is the tragedy.’

‘You’re entitled to grieve, Marmicus. All we ask of you is not to grieve at our expense.’

‘You’re mistaken, Sulaf. I’m not grieving; I’ve passed the point of grieving. I feel only one thing now, and that is mortal rage. I feel it burning inside me and if any of you were wise you’d leave me alone, because I shall soon erupt with vengeance. So go home, make love to your wives and sing to your children, for you have nothing to fear. Freedom will come to you the day war begins; the heads of our enemy will fall like rain from the sky. There will be no tyrants left among men, nor swords untouched by their blood. I will kill every man who has injured me, their annihilation will be my gift to you. All I ask from you in return is that you honour the princess’s memory – for with her heart lies the allegiance of our swords.’

The crowd began to roar, but Marmicus felt nothing as they applauded and called out his name. Every word he had spoken was born of his hatred. Never had he wanted to kill a man so much as he did now …

Hiding behind the statue of Ishtar, concealed in the dark shadows, was the Serpent, who eagerly awaited the arrival of a messenger from the Assyrians. His sinful eyes flickered, soulless and unremorseful. More importantly, they revealed no sign of who he really was. If it had not been for the faint light from the surrounding torches, he would have been granted the power of complete invisibility, but that was not what he needed. He had patiently been waiting for the messenger to bring further instructions from his master.

As the Serpent stood there, he thought of Marmicus. Nothing needed to be done to destroy him; he was doing a good job of that all by himself – it was thrilling to watch. Even so, the Serpent found enjoyment in imagining how he would torture him once he had obtained the throne to the Garden of the Gods: the many ways he could kill him; thinking of it had become a ritual. He wanted Marmicus to endure a long and excruciating death; the Serpent wanted him to be alive when his hands and feet were hacked off using the same Sword of Allegiance he carried so confidently. They would be offered to the gods as a token of thanks for the Serpent’s appointment as the divine king of the Garden of the Gods; as for his head, it would be placed on a long spear, which would be carried around the four corners of the kingdom. These dark thoughts comforted the Serpent every time he stared into Marmicus’s eyes, and made him look forward to tomorrow.
The Gallant Warrior’s punishment will come in good time and I will savour every moment of it
.

At last the Assyrian messenger had entered the ziggurat; it pleased the Serpent that someone else knew of his treachery.

‘Here I am …’ whispered the Serpent quietly from the shadows. Only the reflection of his eyes could be seen; they glowed brightly like a cat’s eyes, guiding the messenger towards him.

The Assyrian messenger walked to him. No one else was in the temple. He had hoped to catch a glimpse of the traitor who had done more damage than he could ever imagine, but the Serpent was well camouflaged in a shroud of darkness that was as dark as his soul.

‘What are the commands of my master?’

‘Only this …’ said the messenger, as he pretended to pray to the stone statue of Ishtar. ‘Let the Gallant Warrior find out nothing of the princess’s whereabouts or that she is alive. As long as she’s believed to be dead, he’ll remain vulnerable to attack. By your actions, divide the people and the Counsel: make them fight one another so that their minds are not focused on war. Above all, don’t let the Gallant Warrior recover his strength; do everything in your power to make him fall to his knees, we want him weak when war comes. This is all my master has desired, and all that he has asked of you.’

‘In return for all my efforts, will he fulfil his promise?’

‘Our master is a god; if he has promised you the sun then he will shape it with his hands and grant it to you.’

‘I don’t long for the sun, I want my rightful throne, and I want to watch the Gallant Warrior suffer!’

‘You’ll have your throne once you have fulfilled the emperor’s commands, and as for the Gallant Warrior’s death, you will sit beside the emperor and watch him being slaughtered like an animal sacrificed in his name.’

‘Good,’ said the Serpent with a reptilian smile. ‘In that case he has my loyalty. I will follow my master’s commands and unleash a war so great from within these walls that no soul will be spared …’

With these words the Serpent felt a rush of joy take hold of him; the realisation that he would soon be one of the most powerful men on earth made him feel that all the hardship he had faced to get where he was had been worth it. And as for the slaughter of the Gallant Warrior, it was the jewel in the crown he had been promised.

‘Your Highness, you need to be careful how you address the emperor. If you show him any disrespect, he’ll be unforgiving,’ said Jehan. She gently plaited the princess’s long hair as if she were her own daughter; with every twist she entwined within it flowers and golden beads.

‘I’ll treat the emperor the way oppressors deserve to be treated.’

The maid pulled the princess’s hair back as she reacted; the Assyrian emperor was more than callous, he was sadistic; it made her stomach churn just to think of how he could hurt the princess, in ways she barely understood.

‘Look, my dearest, I’ve seen all the queens who have entered this prison chamber. One of them looked disrespectfully at the emperor and she was killed for it. I can’t imagine what would become of you if you should do something more grave. I’m just asking you not to provoke him. Think of me as a mother advising her daughter; you’ll only regret the act, if not now then later, when they make you suffer the consequences.’

‘What kind of world are we living in when it becomes an offence to look into a man’s eyes?’

‘You’re living in Jaquzan’s world now, and you’re forgetting that, in his kingdom, he is a god – and if you look into the eyes of a god you will be burned by his power.’

‘I understand your concern for me, really I do, but I’m not like the other queens who have passed through these walls. My backbone is made of stone now and nothing can reduce me to rubble; not after what I’ve seen and gone through. I’ve got nothing left to lose.’

‘Hush … you mustn’t speak so loudly; it’s not safe here. Courage offers only the gift of death here,’ responded the maid. She looked over her shoulder, hoping that nobody had heard their brief exchange. Though there was no one else within the chamber, there were guardsmen standing by the door, making sure that the princess could not leave. ‘I was like you when I first came here; I felt so much anger towards the world that I didn’t care if I died. In fact, I had always imagined that I’d be buried beside my husband with the soil of my homeland as my resting cover, but that was taken away from me. I didn’t want to carry on, but over time I accepted my new life, and had to move on; and so must you.’ The frail old maid, with her motherly aura and her reminiscences, warmed the cold interior of the chamber. ‘You’re so young and brave, there’s so much left for you yet; don’t act in rage unless you’re prepared to die. Believe me when I tell you, the human soul can endure more than it can imagine.’

‘Thank you for being kind to me, and honest, but I can’t force myself to be like you; I won’t accept my slavery. I won’t live a life chained to falsehood; my beliefs are all I have now, and I’d rather die for my freedom than have it taken away from me like a ring stolen from my finger. The battle starts here, tonight, but tomorrow the war shall end in my kingdom. I may not be there with my people, but I’m going to fight alongside them from here.’ The faces of her dead servants flashed through her mind. Whatever happened, she could not let others die in the same barbaric way; she would rather die fighting for her freedom than accept her slavery.

‘Then you’ll need my help, and I’ll do everything I can to help you,’ smiled the maid. She dipped her finger into a chalice of rose water, then gently dabbed the water against the princess’s lips and cheeks. The natural colour of the petals stained a woman’s lips, drawing the eyes of onlookers towards their lusciousness.

‘It’s time …’ said a tall guard, ready to collect the princess and take her to her fate. ‘The emperor awaits you …’

Unable to sleep due to his wretched guilt, King Nelaaz of Aram tossed and turned like a buffoon, itching with lice. Each time he closed his eyes he heard the Gallant Warrior’s words repeat in his mind. They were eating away at his conscience, causing his already unhealthy heart to become strained with fretful worry.

‘By the gods, what am I going to do? I can’t sleep! I can’t eat! There must be a way out of this misery!’ declared the chubby little king. He had tried thinking of naked women pampering him with food to relieve his unsettled mind; this had always worked in the past – but not tonight.

‘I owe everything to the Gallant One. He’s been my loyal friend when everyone else has mocked me as a clown king. There must be a way I can undo my wrong!’ he moaned to himself. If he was not careful, his stomach would begin to harbour new ulcers from the added stress. His belly heaved up and down as he panicked, trying to think of an idea. The more he thought of possible solutions, the more he persuaded himself that he only had one choice.