The Forgotten Tale Of Larsa (5 page)

King Nelaaz paused abruptly, his lungs wheezing with fret and worry. The messenger’s final words were chosen for a reason; the mere mention of the Gallant Warrior’s name was enough to alert any king to his obligations.

‘Marmicus …’ said King Nelaaz as he returned to sit on his throne. His happy mood had been shredded into pieces; even the image of servant women dancing or bathing in a pool of wine had little appeal for him.
Damn the gods for cursing me with bad timing, and damn them for giving me this wretched heart of loyalty!

‘If I show allegiance to your kingdom, then I fear mine shall be buried alongside yours. Even so, I can’t refuse a call for help from a brave warrior like Marmicus. His Sword of Allegiance has kept my walls protected in difficult times, and without him my people would have overthrown me.’ King Nelaaz could hear his guests laughing louder and louder, while he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I know I shall live to regret this decision. Go forth quickly and tell your princess that my home is her home and that the Kingdom of Aram waits anxiously for her arrival. Quickly! Before I change my mind.’

Marmicus stood, absorbing every glimpse of her silhouette, until eventually he could see her no longer. The Royal Caravan which carried the princess into self-exile had blended into the distance as if sinking into the sweeping sands of time. Only peace could unite their hearts once more – nothing else on earth.

As Larsa held on tightly to the reins, she watched her kingdom slowly vanish, and each step taken by her camel drew her further towards an unwelcome destination. Granules of sand flew in the hot dry air, and she peered out from under her veil, the white silk fabric shielding her from the harsh winds. Everything that was beautiful about her kingdom was now disappearing into nothingness. She could see only sand, which ran on for miles, bearing no signs of life apart from rare trails made by lizards and lonely wanderers, all of whom searched for a better life. Her journey had just started, yet she felt ill-prepared. The further her Royal Caravan travelled, the more intense her feeling of loneliness became; she was not accustomed to seeing an empty horizon. This was the first time she had left the Garden of the Gods, and the sun had barely moved before she missed it greatly. It was a magical land that resembled no other, always a feast for the eyes – heavenly gardens blooming with wild flowers and fruit trees, nourished by mighty rivers.
Oh, Marmicus, my love, I beg you to restore peace to our homeland so that our hearts can unite once more …

As the sun laid its head to rest beneath the earth’s belly, Larsa stared out into the abyss. The desert was cloaked in darkness, with only the cold light of the moon shining upon its sands. Her servants and guardsmen had set up camp. She wished they would invite her to sit with them, but being of royal blood meant she was too noble for their company. She stared deeply into the fire, watching its flames dance to the breath of the chill wind, her beauty illuminated by the gentle glow that warmed her face.
Oh, my beloved Marmicus, now at last I have entered your world and felt your pain.

‘You needn’t fear, Your Highness, the Kingdom of Aram doesn’t lie too far from here. We should be there soon; perhaps in two more days,’ said the Royal Commander who sat with her. He had been directly appointed by Marmicus to protect her from the nomads who travelled the desert searching for vulnerable wanderers to steal from.

‘Yes, but my kingdom lies far from here; that’s what grieves me. Marmicus was right – the life of a soldier is an unenviable one.’

‘I understand.’ He smiled as he peeled an orange then graciously offered it to her. Larsa thanked him for the offer, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat.

‘There’s no greater torture on earth,’ he said, ‘than absence from one’s homeland – always wandering, searching for something you can’t find. I’ve felt this many times; every soldier has.’

‘How do they cope with it?’ Larsa was holding onto the golden pendant of Ishtar. Its eight-pointed star had astronomical significance, mirroring the heavens above them. Its soft metallic sheen stood out against the roughness of the wasteland like the spines on a cactus. She had hoped to find some comfort in its presence, but all it did was remind her of the homeland she had left behind.

‘Every man has a purpose in life. Remembering that purpose always gives a soldier strength in times like this; even when the world is against you, there is always a reason to stand up and keep fighting.’

‘What’s your reason to keep fighting?’

‘Mine is just a simple dream.’

‘There’s beauty in simplicity. What is it?’

He offered her a slice of orange, which Larsa took this time, not wishing to appear ungrateful.

‘I want to care for my wife, to make love to her each night, and watch our infant grow taller than me. They are all that matters in my life; I’d sacrifice everything for them. They’re the reason I keep fighting – to know that they’re safe and happy.’

‘That’s a noble dream, one many would envy. Do you have a son or a daughter?’

‘A son, only three months,’ he smiled. His voice was full of unrestrained fatherly love; he had just parted from his newborn and already missed his cries so much.

‘May the gods grant you a long life so you can watch your son grow tall and your wife grow old.’

‘I’d rather watch my child grow tall and my wife remain young,’ laughed the commander. A smile broke across the princess’s face; she understood the importance of a father in a child’s life. Whenever her father, King Alous, had journeyed away, he would always return home with a gift representing the land he had visited, and he would sit for hours with her, talking about what he had learnt, and why he had brought her back that special gift. Such intellect and wisdom as she possessed came from him.
Oh, Father, if it weren’t for you I would have become as lonely as this moon and as empty as this land …

‘Will you not tell me what you live for?’ the soldier asked.

‘My dream is no different from yours. I live to love another.’

Her heart felt heavy for Marmicus; war had made the desert his second home, as well as his battleground. The world demanded so much from him; she only realised that now, not knowing the extent of his invisible wounds. This journey had offered her a small glimpse into his reality, and now she regretted arguing with him about petty things. If only she could go back and be the understanding wife he needed. A life by the sword is cold as its touch …

‘The Gallant Warrior loves you dearly, Your Highness,’ said the soldier, sensitive to the princess’s meaning. ‘Some say that it’s because of his love for you that our kingdom has survived these troubled times. He fights to protect you – every soldier who has served alongside him understands this well.’

‘You’re mistaken; Marmicus fights to protect the people – they’re all that matter to him. If anything should ever befall me, he’ll remain loyal to the people and will never cast aside his duty.’

She gazed at the soldier who sat opposite her; his words were touching, but she knew the depths of her husband’s love for his homeland: nothing in all the world would change it.

‘Only a woman as modest as this moon would think that. Your people know his love for you, and I believe one day you will learn it too.’

He rose from the golden sand, stretching his hand out towards her. ‘Come now, you must rest. We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow and you too need sleep, just like anyone else in your kingdom.’

Days had passed since Larsa departed for the Kingdom of Aram, seeking refuge from the war. However, Marmicus had not yet received news of her safe arrival. It left him feeling anxious. He had instructed her to send word as soon as her feet touched Aram’s soil; it was unlike her to forget such an important request. Unable to think clearly, he headed towards the mighty Temple of Ishtar, looking for solace in a place where few would expect to find him. Marmicus had never believed in the gods or their power; to him, they were nothing more than clay statues shaped by the hands of power-hungry men. Tonight, however, for some strange reason he felt drawn to them.

Marmicus stood in front of the gigantic statue of Ishtar; her finely carved eyes looked down at him, as if mocking him in his time of weakness. He could not understand why anybody would believe in her mythical powers: all he saw was stone, no godly power or divine right that made her superior. Marmicus envied those who believed in her powers. Their faith gave them hope. If ever they faced a problem, they would turn to her, believing that she would offer them justice, either in this world or the next. Their faith made the world more beautiful, for wherever there was a wrong committed against the soul, it would be undone by the justice offered by Ishtar.

‘Strike me so I can believe in you!’ he roared. His voice echoed through the empty chamber. He secretly wanted to believe in her power, but no amount of anger could rouse the goddess of fertility to strike him down; she remained as she was, motionless and unmoved by his desperate plea for guidance.

‘Even if Ishtar struck you with a thousand bolts of lightning, you’d still find ways not to believe in her power. Isn’t that right, Marmicus?’

There was only one woman in the kingdom who knew him well enough to say that. Marmicus turned, feeling somewhat embarrassed that his childhood friend had seen him behave as he had. It was unlike him.

‘I see you’ve not lost your wit, Sulaf.’

‘Nor my beauty, or do you suggest that I’ve lost that?’ Sulaf chuckled. She paused for a moment, gazing at the man who had captivated her heart since childhood; he was the source of all her desires, as well as being the object of her affliction over the years. She walked towards him, cheekily smiling at him as if taunting him with all his childhood secrets. ‘I remember when your father used to drag you here by the arm; even then you’d always find ways to escape Ishtar, and I’d be punished for not telling them where you had hidden! Do you remember those days?’

‘Always,’ smiled Marmicus, happy to see her.

‘So what brings the mighty Gallant Warrior to the Temple of Ishtar, when you’ve denied her powers for so long?’

‘Exactly the same reason as you. I need guidance in a time of uncertainty …’

‘Guidance?’ asked Sulaf. Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. She knew Marmicus, yet she had never imagined he could say such a thing. ‘If I remember correctly, you said the gods are just tablets of stone which should only be used to protect the walls of a kingdom, never the hearts of men?’

‘You remember my words better than I do.’

‘That’s because I’ve had time to ponder over them. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?’

‘It has.’ Marmicus paused, and they stared at each other, feeling glad. ‘Since you bring up the past, didn’t you say that you’d never marry, and yet you have?’

‘Time can change a person and make them do things that they would have never imagined doing when they were very young. I see time is starting to do that to you.’

She strode past Marmicus and placed her small offering on the colossal stone plinth. Painful memories of her marriage flooded into her mind: her husband had been a brutal man with no understanding of her dreams. Although her skin glowed with the beautiful stain of the sun, it had once been bruised and bloodied by her husband’s fists. ‘My marriage is my greatest regret in life; I should have remained true to my word and not married at all. It seems that the gods have a way of cursing those who do not stay true to their word.’

‘Forgive me. I didn’t know my words would cause you any distress.’

‘There’s no need to apologise for the behaviour of another; sometimes we must endure hardships so that we may know our strengths. Besides, my son and I are now safe from his fists. I’m sure you know, my husband died soon after my son was born. I will never forget that day; I wept with relief, not sorrow.’

Marmicus nodded uncomfortably, unsure how to react; all he knew was that he felt happy to see her again after all these years. Sulaf had not changed much; she had grown into a middle-aged woman, but her features remained the same. She still wore the same mischievous smile, her skin appeared more tanned, and her hair remained thick and black – a few grey strands, but hardly visible. One obvious change was the look in her eyes; they had somehow lost their sparkle, as if they had grown tired of the world.

‘You have not changed at all,’ said Marmicus.

‘We all change, whether we like to admit it or not. No one can withstand time, not even those who are most fearful of it,’ Sulaf said with a rush of emotions spilling through her.

He was drawing her in again. If she was not careful, all her past feelings for him would be reawakened, and this was not what she needed, not now, not when she had finally overcome the anguish that her unrequited love had caused her. ‘The people say that we are at the brink of war. I didn’t believe them until I saw you standing here. Your presence is enough to warn any doubter that war is coming.’

‘The people always have a way of knowing everything.’

‘So the rumours are true?’

‘The people will know when the time is right; now is not the time.’

Sulaf sat down on the steps of the statue of Ishtar; she needed a moment to compose herself. Her hands were shaking, so she pressed them flat against the cold stone, trying to conceal her alarm. The news was shocking, incomprehensible: in a matter of months the Garden of the Gods may no longer exist; instead it might resemble the wastes of hell. Every land that had been invaded by the Assyrian army had been flattened and destroyed. What could make her homeland the exception? The idea frightened her deeply.

‘Today I watched two children playing in the same fields where we used to play; they were playing the game of kings and warriors, as we once did. One child pretended to be an emperor, but the other child pretended to be someone else entirely. He pretended to be you, and with one swing of his Sword of Allegiance the emperor was defeated.’ She stared into Marmicus’s eyes. He was a man respected by many but intimately known to only a few. ‘I know you well, Marmicus, but in all the years that I’ve known you, I have never seen you look defeated.’