The Forgotten Tale Of Larsa (4 page)

‘I’m not a soldier for you to command; no order is above me, not even yours. I’m the heir to the throne and will soon be your queen!’ declared Larsa. She could feel her hands shake nervously. This was the first time Marmicus had ever commanded her to do something against her will; it was unlike him to be so forceful.

‘This isn’t the time to be stubborn, Larsa. If we don’t win this war, there’ll be no kingdom to rule over or return to. If you love me, you’ll do this for me.’

He had always regarded her resilience as an attractive quality, but not tonight – there was too much for him to think about and her stubborn attitude was not helping.

‘Why do you choose to torment me with your absence? Isn’t it enough that I have given you my heart and my body? What more can I offer you?’ she uttered in desperation, unable to understand why he was talking to her like this. Where was the man she had fallen in love with, who wanted to spend every waking moment with her?

‘I’m not pushing you away; I just want to protect you from all of this, that’s all. All my life I’ve fought in battles, knowing only hardship and pain, and your love has been the one thing that has offered me the peace that I’ve always wished for. In your hands lies my freedom. Without you, I am a prisoner of war.’

Larsa embraced him, feeling the weight of his words hit her like a pile of rocks. What she was about to say would cause her more agony than she could ever have imagined, but this was not the time to be selfish; she would endure the pain for his sake alone.

‘I love you too much to willingly hurt you. I’ll leave our homeland only because I would never want to be the cause of your unhappiness or the author of your imprisonment,’ she whispered. Her lips trembled as she spoke; it felt as though her heart had fallen at her feet. She realised in that moment that the fate of her kingdom now rested with him.

‘I’ll leave tomorrow but only on one condition – otherwise I won’t go.’

‘What is it?’

‘I need you to promise me that nothing will happen to you,’ she said, with tears in her eyes, which began to roll down her cheeks. ‘Swear to me that our hearts will unite once again like the sea upon the shore and the moon against the sun. There can be no power on earth that can separate us from each other. I need you to swear this to me, and I’ll go willingly into exile for you.’

‘I promise you we’ll return to each other the day this war ends. I give you my word,’ replied Marmicus as he tenderly wiped away her tears. Though he had made this promise, he knew deep down there was no guarantee that he would survive; but he would rather lie and know that she was safe, than tell the whole truth and have her remain in danger. The truth was that this could be their last night together.

‘Then before I leave there’s something I need to tell you. It’s troubled me since my father died, but it’s more of a suspicion than anything else,’ Larsa said, feeling the need to free her troubled heart.

‘What is it?’

‘Before my father died he called upon me to sit by his deathbed. He was so weak, Marmicus; every time he breathed I could hear him grow weaker. I watched him dying and, all the while, I didn’t know what to say to comfort him. I alone was allowed into his chamber. If anyone else tried to enter, he would start screaming. It made no sense; even the Grand Priests weren’t allowed to pray over him. I couldn’t understand why he was behaving like that; you remember how much he loved the Counsel? He always called upon them whenever he was in need, but that night he didn’t wish to see any of them. It was as if he was fearful of them – or of someone. I can still remember the look in his eyes every time the door creaked a little; there was terror within them and it frightened me.’

‘Didn’t he mention anyone’s name?’

‘He couldn’t speak properly; he just screamed with pain. Anything he said was incomprehensible – even when I tried to talk to him, he would babble words I couldn’t understand.’

The memory of her father dying in her arms was painful for her to recall. She was still grieving for him; they had grown extremely close since her mother had died giving birth to her young brother, who had followed his mother into the afterlife a few days later. Since then, her father had raised her, offering her all his love and attention.

‘I want you to think back. He may have left you a message of some kind.’

‘He didn’t.’

‘He must have. Tell me anything – a shred of a memory, even. It’s of great importance, Larsa; a traitor may be sitting among us.’

‘I’m telling you he didn’t; nothing he said made any sense, it was just noise. By the end, he couldn’t even whisper my name, or see me.’

Larsa abruptly removed her hand from his tightening grip, feeling angered by his lack of sympathy for what she was going through. She was not accustomed to death as he was: Marmicus lived by the sword while she had only lived a life of peace.

‘Wait …’ she said. Her voice dipped in tone as her lips trembled with emotion, for what she would say would reveal more than treachery. ‘The only thing I can tell you is this: when the Grand Priest of Ursar entered the chamber, my father squeezed my hand so tightly that even I became fearful …’

As the Serpent sat among the Counsellors he felt sickened by their self-righteous sense of superiority.
Ignorant fools! Soon I’ll slash your beards off and use them as fuel for my fire
. His eyes traced their pious forms with sheer disgust. All this time he had served their gods obediently; in so doing, he had gained the greatest respect from them. But he could no longer live a lie. Within himself he felt chained to serve a false god rather than his own desires, denying himself a throne that was worthy of his name. Every time he entered the temple, he felt repulsed by the sweet, sickly smell of honey that clung to the air like a stain on the robes of an emperor
. I was born to rule: no one shall stand in my way
, the Serpent thought as his mind filled with venomous ideas of how he would destroy the sacred Garden of the Gods …

‘What beautiful pleasures you’ve indulged us with, oh King Nelaaz!’ a guest yelled.

The sound of wind instruments and heavy drums beating had made it difficult for King Nelaaz of Aram to hear his guests speak, although he cared little once the half-naked belly dancers entered the grand hall. Their exposed flesh made him drool with thick saliva: an uncontrollable reaction to their shapely figures. They shook their bodies, encircling the assembled guests.

‘No need to thank me; my women are your women, so long as we do not share them at night!’ he laughed. The King of Aram had handpicked each belly dancer himself; it was one of his favourite pastimes, along with eating and drinking.

The dancers twisted and turned like cobras, dancing to the tune played on wooden whistles and drums, and in their hands they held large swords which they then placed on their heads, balancing them as they danced. The combination of naked flesh and the risk of death was an enticing combination for any man: some were so excited by the sight that they gnawed at their lips, biting them in excitement. In a circular movement the belly dancers shook their hips and swirled their toned muscles in and out; some shook their breasts as they seduced and infuriated their audience.

‘There are three things I love deeply in this world. Can any of you guess what they are?’ King Nelaaz yelled. He wiped his ginger beard with his sleeve; it was soaked in wine and frothing saliva.

‘I can’t think what they might be,’ replied Fallus, chewing a grape with little finesse. In fact, he could not be bothered to think at all at that moment; all his attention was focused on the large thighs of the women who gyrated before him.

‘I love my wealth, my palaces, but above all, I love my women!’

King Nelaaz suddenly grabbed the closest dancing girl his chubby little hands could reach, forcing her to sit on his sweaty lap as he began to fondle her, showing no restraint at all. With his thin lips, hidden beneath his ginger beard, he smothered her neck, moistening it with kisses. It looked as if the belly dancer was actually enjoying his slimy touch – succumbing, perhaps, to the lure of wealth over intelligence.

‘To all the gods! And their women – may they forever delight us with the pleasures of their lips, and the sweetness of their hips!’

‘To the gods and their women!’ cried the guests. They all raised their chalices and gulped down the wine like uncivilised animals, the sweet intoxicant quenching their thirst, making them roar happily at anything.

‘Your Majesty …’

A servant rushed in, trying his best to dodge the dancing women and the lethal swords which moved with them.

‘What do you want? Go away.’

‘A messenger has arrived from the Garden of the Gods, Your Majesty.’

‘Let him call upon me tomorrow. I’m busy.’ King Nelaaz chuckled as he squeezed the girl in his lap, pressing her bosom close to his chest, while she twirled his ginger beard in her fingers.

‘Your Majesty, he says it is a matter of urgency, one which cannot be delayed.’

‘There’s nothing more urgent than satisfying a king’s desire, is there? Now go away. Tell him to report back to me tomorrow, or perhaps the day after that – if I’m lucky.’ He winked at the dancing girl, his gaze every bit as perverted as his touch.

Realising the situation, the servant whispered into the king’s ear. Few words passed his lips, but they were enough to alarm the king, as he shot out of his seat. The dancing girl fell off his lap; shamelessly, she crawled onto another man’s lap, and his eyes were quick to enjoy her curvaceous body, his hands to grab her tight.

Dabbing the beads of sweat from his forehead, King Nelaaz rushed out of the chamber as quickly as his short legs would carry him.
Why must the gods always curse me when I am in the company of a beautiful woman?

‘Well, bring him in! Hurry up, boy, be quick!’ King Nelaaz demanded as he sat down, his fat bulging from either side, spoiling the elegance of his throne and reminding everyone present of his greed.

‘Yes, my lord.’

As King Nelaaz waited impatiently for the messenger to enter his chamber, he felt nervous; he had warned his servants never to disturb him when he dined with guests, especially when he was being entertained by beautiful women, yet they had done so. It showed a measure of courage, but they had better have a good reason …

‘Your Majesty …’ said the messenger. He bowed respectfully before the king. It was quite clear that his presence was unwanted.

‘Come on, young man, I don’t have all day. Can’t you see I have guests waiting for me? What’s this urgent news you speak of? Hurry up; be quick.’

‘Her Royal Highness Princess Larsa is travelling towards your kingdom this very moment.’

It was an unexpected delight. ‘Ah, I see she’s finally accepted my marriage proposal. Good for her. I knew she would come round to the idea. I’ve always said that a beautiful woman like her should have as many husbands as any man.’

King Nelaaz smiled while rubbing his belly in a child-like fashion. He had asked to marry the princess on numerous occasions, but her father had always rejected his proposals, knowing him to be an unsuitable spouse. The big-bellied king already had three wives of his own, and was old enough to be Larsa’s father, but even so he remained ever hopeful that she would change her mind and fall in love with him.
Perhaps she has come to her senses now that her father is dead? What if she does wish to marry me? Yes, I am certain that she does.

‘Well, has the princess accepted my marriage proposal or not?’ His eyes lighting up with excitement, he could not wait to hear the answer.

‘No, my lord, the princess has not accepted such a proposition,’ said the messenger. He watched the sweaty king sink into his throne like a goat sack deflating. The news was obviously disappointing for him; no false smile could hide his disappointment.
I’m sure the princess will change her mind when she arrives. I’ll try my best to seduce her with my charms and fatten her up with my food …

‘If the princess doesn’t wish to marry me, what on earth causes her to come to my kingdom? It can’t be for its beauty or my hospitality; my kingdom can’t compare to her own.’

‘She is seeking refuge, Your Majesty; the Garden of the Gods is readying itself for war.’

‘War?’

‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

‘That’s impossible. No one would dare declare war against you, not with Marmicus as the kingdom’s protector – besides, all the kings of Babylon have signed a treaty of peace.’

‘That’s true, Your Majesty, but the enemy is not a Babylonian.’

‘Then who’s threatening you with war? Is it your own people? They can be ungrateful little pests.’

Realising the nature of the question, the messenger took time to reply; he wanted to compose himself properly before he did.

‘Well, who’s waging war against your kingdom?’ the king repeated, impatiently. ‘Hurry up, boy! I don’t have all night – can’t you hear my guests enjoying their time without me?’

‘The declaration of war has come from the Assyrians, and the fall of Babylon shall follow if nothing is done to stop them.’

‘What? Have you gone mad?’ shrieked the king. ‘You expect me to welcome the princess into my kingdom with open arms when you’re on the brink of war with Jaquzan? Why, that’s suicide!’ He rose from his seat, panting and shaking his head vigorously; he could not believe he had wasted his energy listening to such a foolish proposition, especially when there was only one possible answer. Absolutely, indubitably, undeniably: never! ‘What indignity is this? Your kingdom will crumble into sand and you seek for mine to be buried along with it! I can’t allow that to happen! I’m a king, with a king’s throne; if I allow the princess to enter my gates I’ll become a peasant, and what man desires to wear rags on his back? No, tell the princess she isn’t welcome here. Quickly, go – tell her at once to return to her kingdom, wherever she may be. I will not have her here! She’s not dragging me down into her tomb.’

‘I understand your fears, Your Majesty, but it was at the request of the Gallant Warrior that she enters your kingdom’s gates.’