Chapter 38 - Long Walk
The Gardens between Anna and Babba. S.W Asia
Dust rises from the backs of many feet to pollute the air Ittidu breathes in. Here in this faraway world of hot sun, the citizens have invented the Army.
This massive militia doesn’t resemble any uniformed force of future degeneracy. War has always existed but never before this day has it ever been launched with such vigour, on such a grand scale. Never before have so many sheepish citizens bleated to the demands of so few propagandists.
Ittidu takes part in this great trek to reach Babba. She follows behind the supply caravan of Šamkat. Her mistress understands where there is war there may be profit. Behind, stretches a rag-tag mass of boisterous, chalcolithic citizens who form Merkar’s guruš army of Anna. Eden’s peasants join this force, armed with clubs, slings, spears together with bows. Others arrive naked armed with fists together with zeal. They enlist not for the old ways of blood feud, but because new elites bark their hatred of others. Encouraged by priests with pretty prostitutes of the City, warriors are promised favours both divine and mortal.
Šamkat’s caravan of porters with beasts lumber ahead. Her goods carried on the shoulders of men, oxen, onagers and dogs. This movement is slow, withstanding the distance to Babba isn't so far. Šamkat predicts they'll reach its gardens tomorrow. It’s hot in the sun. Ittidu wears a light, transparent mesh of netting over her bare body. It permits a level of shade for her skin, but permits fresh air to pass. Sagmi is at her side, wearing her attire of a simple skirt of plain linen. Stopping for drink breaks under convenient shade, they fall behind the caravan of their mistress, leaving them opportunity to talk freely. Discreetly, Ittidu asks her companion,
‘Sagmi, once Merkar has won this war, what will be his intention towards your father Agga?’
‘Merkar wishes to seize the role of holy chieftain of all Anna with its influence across the lands. He’ll claim the authority of Me from Engur, and demand tribute. My father he'll have murdered, just as Uguli had done to your own father’.
‘Merkar is a servant of the gods, ' Ittidu retorts, ‘is it fair to compare him to the tyrant Uguli?’
‘Ittidu I tell you, if this battle is won, then Merkar will unleash horrors onto the citizens of Babba. Perhaps you'll witness as he executes the priests of Utu in their own sanctuary. He is no kinder than Uguli as you will see’.
Ittidu falls silent. Quietly they catch up with the caravan ahead.
It’s late evening-time. The undisciplined army has reached a flat landscape where groups of peasant’s houses group around a small rural shrine. Ittidu recognises this small settlement of farmsteads as the home of Lultum, her former master who promised sanctuary but had granted enslavement.
The guruš have been well fed with a hearty supper of Šamkat’s supplies bolstered by the pilfering from local farmers. This camp is dangerous, charged by hardened warriors pumped up for battle. Ittidu feels safe, because these fighters have adopted her as their lion-slaying princess, who brings the blessings of gods. Merkar has been busy propagating her myth, and this status promises security among the many rowdy men and women who have followed this call for violence. In this assured camp of fighters, Ittidu wanders alone leaving her comrades plundering the flocks and grain silos of this rural commune. Her legs tire with the ache of today’s long hike.
The magical moon is full over this Euphrates landscape. Wearing little but her thin costume of net-weave, her head full of concern, she glides through the farmsteads. Unconsciously, Ittidu enters livestock pens at the rear of Lultum’s mudbrick house. Her skin prickles when she senses here in this miserable yard she isn't alone. She hears the weeping of a girl sounding from beneath the lean-to roof of turf. At first Ittidu sees nothing in the darkness. Then a moon-lit shape emerges, propped up on Ittidu’s own old bed of stale straw.
Drawn to move closer, Ittidu allows her eyes to adjust to the poor light. She discerns the young woman who cries is long limbed and dark-skinned, wearing nothing but a scrap of animal skin around her own midriff. A white circle shines from her dark forehead. Tentatively, Ittidu leans forward to ask a question, fearful of the answer,
‘Ur’salla, Ur’salla? Is that you?’
The spectre ceases her crying to lift up a tear-soaked face from the palms of her own hands. It is Ur’salla in form. Only the eyes that stare back are not the blue eyes of Ittidu’s other. They are the large, dark eyes of the divine bull. Ittidu feels her feet anchor to the soil beneath. She cannot even tremble. All sounds of feasting warriors descend into silence. All that remain are the full moon, herself, with this ghost. This spirit talks. Its voice isn't that of Ur’salla, it uses words Ittidu understands well,
‘Ittidu, daughter of the Moon. Do not distress. I am the one who shall rebirth you in resurrection’.
Ittidu has a vision of her own fate. Once she has witnessed her own demise, the spectre of Ur’salla vanishes. The sounds of merry warriors return. An unexpected sharp sting announces itself across her own back. At first Ittidu doesn’t know if this is a continuation of her vision, or if it's the physical pain of this world. Able to move, she twists around to face her attacker. An angry, one-eyed farmer named Lultum. Returned from her nightmares to assault herself. In his hand, he holds a lash of cut reed. He shouts,
‘Goat thief! Absconder. Where are my beasts?’ He spits to the ground and raises his lash up into the air as he continues,
‘Runaway, worthless ungrateful girl. I'll take the value of my herd from your arse!’ Ire burns within her heart, rather than terror. Ittidu is no longer this mean man’s docile serf. Her fist clenches before it strikes into Lultum’s face. He staggers back with its force. Disbelief crosses his face followed by anger. He screws up his pained features to threaten,
‘I'll teach a field whore how to show gratitude’.
She readies herself for a counter attack. Ittidu wants him to, NinEreš has trained her how to fight in the battlefield. She wants to damage him further. These new skills will not be needed tonight, she hears the running of feet, as supporters call out. Šamkat’s servants are coming to her aid. Lultum is knocked down by these earnest rescuers, an anxious Sagmi appears by her side, extending a compassionate hand, looking Ittidu over for damage.
The serving girl implores, ‘Miss Ittidu. Has this barbarian harmed yourself? Is he an assassin sent by Engur?’
Lultum was arrested, taken to the forecourt of Merkar’s tent to stand trial. The one-eyed, toothy peasant snarls his defence,
‘That ungrateful girl ran off with my best beasts. By the law of our commune I may subtract their value from her flesh’.
Merkar stares coldly with disdain before he responds, ‘Peasant, tonight I am the Law of this army camp’.
Unadvisedly, Lultum protests, ‘I gave sanctuary to that girl, but since she stole away my beasts, I have learned she is a fugitive of Engur.’
Laughter erupts from the surrounding crowd of fighters for Anna. The E-engur has no authority in this camp of its enemies. Merkar does not laugh. He is tired out from a day of being carried across the plain. He lifts a symbolic bludgeon to pronounce,
‘I’ve no patience with stupidity. Before I sentence this stinking old fool, does anyone wish to offer him defence?’
There is a collective gasp from the crowd, when it's Ittidu herself who comes forward. Merkar raises a brow as he drops down the bludgeon.
With a warmer voice, he asks her, ‘The beautiful daughter of the Martyr. You wish to come to the aid of this villain?’
‘Sanga Merkar, I beg for you to spare this man from the mace. Far better he be enslaved as a serf to our brave guruš. There he might reflect upon his crimes’.
Merkar struggles to hide disappointment from possessing his features,
‘Very well Ittidu. You're the most merciful. I'll spare this vagabond from execution’.
The court hearing dissolves. The crowd melts away. Lultum trembles with the gravity of his situation, remaining kneeled in front of Merkar. Once all witnesses have left, the sanga pronounces a fresh sentence for Lultum as he addresses a captain,
‘Take this turd to the river. Bind his limbs, cast him into its waters where the gods may judge him’.
Lultum struggles to get back up to his feet, but guards knock him down. As the farmer cries, Merkar skips back to his marque. Šamkat awaits her lover, sprawled on his bed.