Ark(3)
Alas, they were callous gods, and did not heed the cries of mere mortals such as I, even a Nephilim and the daughter of a king.
My father might not have loved me, and he might not have doted on me, or showered me with gifts, but at the least, he did not confine me to my rooms, and he had not married me off to some fat old King in a far-flung corner of the land. He had threatened it many times when I’d angered him, but I think he secretly regretted and still mourned the death of my mother, and he kept me around as a kind of penance. If Father and my brothers were any example of husbands, I wanted nothing more than to live alone.
But the suitors kept coming.
Inanna spare me, they came in droves. Burly, swaggering, hairy hulks, all of them, weighed down with gold and silver and jewels, swinging their spears and scratching their groins and grunting like apes. They stormed the palace, ate our food and drank our wine and tumbled the palace whores, and then they had the gall to try and woo me with the whore’s kohl still smeared on their faces. I would have rather been hung from the palace gates than to marry one of them.
My only refuge was out beyond the palace walls, down near the temple and among the rabble and the humans. They fascinated me, these short-statured and short-lived men and women. They scurried about like mice fleeing storm waters, but they were resilient and determined. Even the poorest seemed to find more joy in the simplest of things than my father and brothers did in their fine clothes and expensive wines. Even the poorest of them were kinder than my people. They were weak, yes, and they lived lives as short as mice, but at least they treated each other with something like decency.
The palace was a high-walled monstrosity of kiln-baked brick occupying the center of Bad-Tibira. The walls extended hundreds and hundreds of cubits north to south, and it was half as wide as it was long. The walls of the palace itself stood a dozen cubits high and were wide enough that three men could walk abreast from watchtower to watchtower, which were spaced every twelve to fifteen cubits along the wall.
Within the walls was a maze of lush gardens and wide hallways and echoing chambers, and everywhere you looked there were knots of royal guards striding imperiously, hobnailed sandals cracking against the floor, spearheads glinting in the bright sun, and officials scurrying here and there alone and in twos and larger groups, conversing importantly and gesticulating and often shouting. Occasionally, courtiers and messengers and petitioners made their way inside from the palace gates situated across the mammoth echoing courtyard.
Once through the palace gates, you were faced with that courtyard, a gaping expanse of brick walkways and towering buildings to the left and to the right. Lines of stoic, unmoving, silent guards stood at each doorway. Groups of other guards marched in formation across the courtyard only to stop at one end and pivot to pace back.
Crossing that courtyard was an intimidating experience, with statues of Enlil and Inanna watching you, guards staring you down as if probing your soul for ill intent, your footsteps loud in your own ears, the courtyard so large it took minutes of walking to go from the outer gate to the inner gate.
The inner gate was a huge arch of hand-hewn stone, heavy and imposing, carved with the likenesses of Utu the Sun God, and Lord Enlil and Lady Inanna. Three guards stood on either side of the gate, watching every step you took and every breath you drew. More guards stood on the inner walls, pacing the perimeter of the inner royal sanctum, bows drawn, arrows nocked.
Once through the inner gate you reached a mighty ramp wide enough for four chariots abreast, yet steep enough that it winded you to climb up. Up, and up, and up, to the towering walls of the throne room and the royal bedchambers and the kitchens, fierce stone-carved lions at each door and hard-eyed guards with razor sharp spears and gleaming swords standing guard.
The throne room occupied the center of the royal sanctum, with the King’s chambers taking up the entire rightmost wing, my brothers’ and my rooms on the left, each of us having our own servants’ quarters. As well, our personal chambers contained dressing rooms and bathing rooms and nightsoil chambers, as well as guard’s nooks and balconies and courtyards. The walls of our royal sanctum were hung with lavish tapestries, and the stone floors were covered in the finest rugs, and the rooms filled with gold-gilt statues of the gods and goddesses. The guards were clothed in the finest robes, their helms glittering with precious gems, their spear hafts polished to a gleam, their swords forged by the finest smiths in the kingdom.
Yet for all the lavish luxury, the palace often seemed like a prison to me. Guards watched my every step, whether I was in my own rooms, going to the temple of Inanna accompanied by Irkalla or to the throne room to sit with Father at ceremonial affairs, or taking the evening meal in the dining chambers.
The only freedom I ever found was in dressing in the plainest, coarsest, roughspun robes and sneaking out of the palace with Irkalla. It was always a tense, fraught affair, my head kept down, my heart hammering as we tiptoed across the courtyard and out of the palace to the city beyond. If the guards knew me, they never stopped me, which might have been thanks in part to the glitter of gold passing from Irkalla’s hand to theirs.
Even cloaked in a plain woolen robe so as not to draw attention, I could tell that they feared me, seeing my height and occasionally glimpsing my face. I thought some of them knew who I was, and thus offered me deference in fear of my father’s wrath. If I could I would have told them that I would never betray them to him, but they would have only pleaded for mercy and trembled all the more, and that would have ruined my pleasure among them; thus I let them think what they will.