People of Babel (Ark Chronicles 3) Page 8

  Canaan seemed absorbed with the proceedings, and a shivering Zidon frowned. The sons of Heth looked like Ham felt: bleary-eyed and ready to topple.

  As the sun peeked up for yet another day, Nimrod drew a broad-bladed dagger and plunged it into the bull. The beast bellowed as a jet of blood arched across its white hide. Its forelegs buckled, and Nimrod withdrew the blade and plunged it in again. The bull coughed bloody froth, and with a heavy thump fell to its side. Kush and Nimrod cut off its head, loading it with curses. Obed, as under-priest, carted away the head and tossed it into the Euphrates. Then Kush and Nimrod began to flay the carcass. Kush prayed as they took out its paunch whole, leaving the intestines and fat inside the body. Next they cut off the legs, shoulders, neck and rump, and stuffed the carcass with loaves of bread, honey, raisins, figs and aromatic substances. Finally, they poured a quantity of sesame seed oil over the carcass and burned it on the altar.

  As the fire consumed it, Kush beat his breast and prayed aloud. When that part of the ceremony was over, Kush and Nimrod served a meal to everyone out of the remaining portions.

  “I’ve never seen the like,” Canaan said later.

  “Yes,” Zidon said. “I’m loath to admit it, but it was impressive.”

  Kush smiled mysteriously, quietly accepting the praise.

  Afterward, people departed for their daily chores, some grabbing nets and hurrying to the docks. Others, by the manure on their boots, headed to sheep or cattle pens. Still others wore wide-brimmed hats and perched hoes on their shoulders. Most of the women returned home to rouse their children or churn butter or sew or cook or clean or help build a mud-brick addition to their homes. More than a few headed to the fields to help their husbands and brothers.

  Nimrod approached those who remained at the altar. He approached in his hunting gear, having changed out of his robes.

  Zidon stiffened and Canaan rubbed his chin. “I congratulate you, Nimrod, on a sacrifice well done.”

  In a dramatic gesture, Nimrod went to one knee and bowed his head. “Uncle Canaan, I crave your pardon. Four years past, I acted hastily in the pride of youth. I don’t ask you to forgive me, for that would be too much for both of us. Yet I ask that you pardon my action, if you could see it within yourself to do so.”

  Astonished, Canaan glanced at Zidon.

  Zidon blinked, until he stirred and whispered into his father’s ear.

  Canaan appeared indecisive. Nimrod kept his head bowed.

  “Please, Nimrod,” Canaan said, “you shouldn’t bow to me.” He tried to draw Nimrod to his feet, but the Mighty Hunter held his place.

  “As a priest to the Supreme, you acted your part well,” Zidon told Nimrod, “but as an actor, you are still supreme.”

  Nimrod raised his head. “Let us end our quarrel. Let there be peace between us.”

  “Ah,” Zidon told his father. “That is the cry of all robbers after a successful mission. Peace, peace, put away your malice. My question is, how does that satisfy Beor?”

  Nimrod licked his lips and once more bowed his head. “I’m not an orator. I’m a Hunter. So I’ll not match wits with Zidon nor try to check his hatred of me. What I crave is pardon, crave it enough so I humble myself before you, Uncle.”

  Canaan glanced at those around him. Zidon sneered. The sons of Heth seemed indecisive, and those of Babel clearly longed for rapprochement.

  Ham learned near, whispering, “Be magnanimous. Put them in your debt. When have you ever seen Nimrod like this? Humbled before any man? This is the moment to heal old wounds, to show your brothers that you don’t hold grudges.”

  Canaan cleared his throat. “We all know that Nimrod is proud, for he is gifted in the hunt as few others are and he is a bold man. To drop to his knee like this…” Canaan clapped Nimrod on the shoulder. “Arise, Nimrod, for freely I pardon you.”

  Zidon looked away.

  “I promise, you won’t regret this,” Nimrod said, rising. “To the others of your clan, I ask that they withhold judgment until their trip to Babel is over.”

  Kush stepped forward, and the rest of the day seemed uneventful, taken up in inspections of the canals and levees, the fields and granaries and storehouses. Later they went on a boat ride up the Euphrates, where Canaan marveled at a herd of elephants on the far shore.

  In time, they returned to the wharf and trudged around to the Lion Gate. Big, pine doors twice the height of a man and normally bound by a copper bar made up the gate, the brag being that not even a dragon could open it.

  Kush halted inside the Lion Gate. “I’ve saved the biggest surprise for last.”

  “What could that be?” Canaan asked.

  They strolled to an open-air oven, a brick-made oval a little taller than a man would stand. Kush indicated that Menes would speak.

  “In the Zagros Mountains, we used wood to build just about everything,” Menes said. “In Shinar there are no hardwoods, although we have enough soft woods for our fireplaces. Thus, we had to use a different substance for construction. As you’ve seen, clay is our most abundant resource.”

  Canaan nodded.

  “Shinar is a land of alluvial mud,” Menes said. “And we have a hot sun. So it was a simple matter to slop clay into a wooden mold and let the sun dry it. With such sun-dried bricks have Babel and our homes been made. Yet sun-dried bricks are not as endurable as we might have hoped. For sun-dried bricks absorb water, swell and, in time, break apart. This,” Menes slapped the oven, “solves our problem.”

  Menes swung the grille open and took out a brick. He handed it to Canaan, who twisted the brick this way and that.

  “Try using your thumbnail to flick off a piece,” Menes said.

  Canaan tried. “This is harder than the others you’ve shown me.”

  “And more endurable,” Menes said. “I baked it in the oven.”

  “You did what?” Canaan asked.

  “Baked it,” Menes said. “I used fire to harden it. We call it a baked brick.”

  “What does that mean?” Canaan asked.

  “It means,” Kush said, “that whatever we make will last, well, forever.”

  “Not only that,” Nimrod said, “but we can build stronger and higher.”

  “That’s all very good,” Canaan said. “But to build bigger—”

  “I already anticipate your question,” Menes said. “To hold the bricks together, we use bitumen, or, as some call it, slime.”

  “Interesting,” Zidon said. “But I don’t see how this is the greatest thing yet seen in Babel.”

  “That’s what I wish to talk to you about,” Kush said. “And that is why I’m inviting everyone to the Hunter’s Lodge for a feast.”

  27.

  After Ham left for the feast, Rahab ate sparingly of cheese and bread. Then, dressing warmly, she set out for the Hunter’s Compound. No one stood guard at the gate, as she’d suspected. Unlike the city proper, the Hunter Compound had a small gate, little bigger than an ordinary door. Nothing went into the compound via wagon, only on the backs of the Hunters.

  She slipped into the yard where the Hunters sometimes drilled to sound of drums and horns. They practiced evolutions in marching that seemed to make little sense to her. She strolled to the main Barracks, or Hunter’s Lodge, as it was called, and slipped within. Lion, cheetah and crocodile heads glared at her from the walls. Down the corridor, she heard the sound of male laughter. She went the opposite way and took the narrow stairs up to Nimrod and Semiramis’s room.

  She knocked.

  “Is that you, Gilgamesh?”

  Rahab frowned, refusing to ask why a married woman called out another man’s name. She knocked again.

  “Enter.”

  Rahab did, into a brightly lit room. Far too many candles flickered, a waste of wax. Animal skins hung on the walls. Furs were piled on the bed, and on a chest lay Nimrod’s bronze razor, fashioned in the shape of a small axe-head. Only in the corner on several chests did womanly articles lay. But what a treasure trove they wer
e.

  Most of the women and some men used unguents to anoint their bodies. The hot, dry summers practically mandated it. Oils and animals fats kept the skin healthy and aided comfort. The fat of oxen, sheep and geese was mixed with sesame seed or castor oil. Crushed flowers, seeds, woods and gums were added to the perfume. Semiramis went beyond that. To highlight her eyes, she used galena for black eye shadow and malachite for green. Semiramis claimed it protected her eyes from disease and discouraged the settling of flies upon them. She also kept red ochre in jars, applying it to her cheeks when she wanted to look her best. She had henna for her nails and sometimes applied it to her palms and the soles of her feet. And she never appeared in public unless she wore a necklace of brightly colored beads or a golden collar.

  A present, Semiramis lay on the bed in a revealing gown, examining herself with a circular bronze mirror and with a pair of bronze tweezers plucking an eyebrow. She lowered the mirror and raised black-outlined eyebrows. “Grandmother.” She sat up and slipped on a jacket, then rose and picked up a pitcher. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Please.”

  Semiramis poured into a goblet. “Have a seat, Grandmother. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Rahab sat on a stool and accepted the goblet, sipping, nodding. “Very good. Thank you.”

  Semiramis sat across from her, looking bewildered, finally saying, “If I open the door, I hear laughter and ribald jokes. The men feast downstairs, as I’m sure you know. I, however, am locked away so as not to upset our guests.”

  “That’s the reason I’ve come,” Rahab said. “We missed you at the street festival yesterday. I know the reason is politic, but I don’t think it’s good for you to hide yourself. Canaan will decide one way or another without this subterfuge.”

  “But what if I’m what keeps Canaan away?”

  Rahab set the goblet down and sat on the bed beside Semiramis. “There are games afoot, I think. Nimrod seems humble, yet he’s also become secretive, as are Kush and Deborah.”

  “Do you think so?”

  Rahab caught the wary look. She smiled, taking one of Semiramis’s hands. “Why not come with me tonight to the house? Join us as we sew.”

  “I can’t,” Semiramis said.

  “Don’t be silly. Alone up here, listening to the feast down there, that only causes one to brood. You belong with us, Semiramis.”

  “Thank you, Grandmother. It’s a kind gesture. But I must remain here tonight.”

  Rahab nodded, rising, winding her shawl over her head. “If you change your mind, you’re most welcome at my house.”

  “Thank you. I’ll remember that.”

  As Rahab descended the stairs, she felt uneasy. She wanted Canaan to join them. Yet, at times, Babel troubled her, and she couldn’t understand why. It was most odd, and she wondered if it had anything to do with the angel of the sun.

  28.

  Hardwood beams that had been floated down the Euphrates lined the ceiling. Tapestries on the walls of hunt scenes added color, as did stuffed animal heads of lions, wolves, elephants and crocodiles, and crossed spears and dragon shields. Torches flickered, and a huge fireplace roared. The feasters sat at a long table, devouring pork, fish and date-palm honey cakes and quaffing dark ale. Later, the Hunters chanted songs, the last one as they pounded the tables with their fists.

  Nimrod rose near the head of the table, with a golden cup in hand. “Hail, Canaan!”

  “Hail, Canaan!” the Hunters roared.

  Everyone toasted.

  As they did, Nimrod strode near the largest tapestry, made from threads of various colors and textures, all of them cunningly woven together to form pictures of creatures, men and forts, rocks and trees. Each of the scenes had been divided into frames, some telling a running story. There were frames of a dragon, a dragon and a sprinting youth, a chariot driven by a patriarch and then a white-bearded smith hammering bronze arrows. Nimrod indicated the frames of a gate smashed by a dragon, a kicking onager and a dragon on fire.

  “Who shot the onager that day?” Nimrod asked. “Do any of you remember?”

  Zidon leaned back in his chair, with a sardonic smile on his lips.

  “Zidon, wasn’t it you who first built and then shot the onager?” Nimrod asked.

  Zidon dipped his head, and in a voice full of sarcasm said, “Indeed, Mighty Hunter.”

  Nimrod’s hearty grin slipped, and for a moment fire seemed to burn in his eyes. Then he shouted, slapping the tapestry. “I can well imagine the moment. The gate exploding and there standing the dragon, roaring, ready to devour everyone. Alone, Zidon stood between the dragon and disaster. Coolly he lit the fuse, pulled the lanyard and sent a ball of brimstone smashing into the monster’s face.”

  The Hunters howled approval, causing Zidon to lift his eyebrows.

  Nimrod strode to his cousin as chairs scraped back and the Hunters stood. One by one, the elders also stood, and Ham. Zidon rose.

  “That was nobly done, Zidon,” Nimrod said. “I salute a brave warrior.”

  The Hunters banged their cups and brayed like drunken donkeys, “Zidon! Zidon! Zidon!”

  Nimrod slipped the dragon tooth from his neck and put the leather cord over his cousin’s head. “We are the dragon-slayers, you and I, both of the blood of heroes.”

  Zidon frowned as he fingered the tooth, and the room grew quiet as men held their breath. “You leave me at a loss for words, Mighty Hunter.”

  “Then do me this favor,” Nimrod said.

  Zidon cocked an eyebrow.

  “Take my hand in friendship.” Nimrod thrust out a meaty paw. A lone ring, a band of shiny metal, circled the middle finger.

  Zidon pursed his lips, as the room grew even quieter. Some fool clattered a fork, so it rang until another man put his hand over it. As Nimrod held out his palm the moment stretched, becoming embarrassing and then awkward and finally tense.

  “Do it, Zidon,” someone hissed.

  The pressure mounted unbearably, until Zidon clasped Nimrod’s hand, saying, “You are not the man I once knew.”

  A cheer arose. More table pounding.

  “No,” whispered Zidon, leaning near so only Nimrod heard. “You’ve become crafty like a serpent, cunning before a mob.”

  Nimrod laughed as if Zidon had spoken encouraging words, and he gripped his cousin’s arm.

  Ham plopped onto his chair, everyone else soon doing likewise. Youths then took platters away and poured more date-palm wine and barley ale, while the feasters leaned back, loosening their belts.

  “You spoke earlier about baked bricks, my brother,” Canaan said. “Perhaps before we’re all uselessly drunk, you should explain what you meant.”

  Kush rose. He wore a splendid robe and a large, golden collar. His hair had been oiled, perfumed and he had consumed little that was alcoholic. “There is a reason I begged our father to bring you to Babel.”

  “Yes,” Zidon said, “to convince us to join you. That much is rather obvious.”

  “Hush,” Canaan said. “They’ve shown us nothing but respect, and yet you continue with your slights. Your own son has been to Japheth Land. Tell us, Chin, which is more magnificent: Japheth Land or Babel?”

  Chin seemed the worse from drink, and he rose unsteadily. “Compared to Babel, they live like ruffians in Japheth Land, kin to the forest beasts. Nor are their feasts so grand. Only in Babel does wine and beer flow like water.”

  “What of their walls?” Canaan asked. “Can the villages in Japheth Land stop a dragon?”

  “Never,” Chin said. “Only in Babel does one truly feel secure.”

  “Yet we’ve only seen one dragon in a hundred years,” Zidon said. “Is there really a need for monumental walls?”

  “What of Nimrod’s leviathan?” Canaan asked. “That proves more terrible creatures abound.”

  Zidon stroked his cheek and Kush cleared his throat.

  “I’m not one for making long speeches,” Kush said. “So I’ll keep this short. We have
all felt, in one way or another, the keen loss of civilization. Yes, our parents survived the awful Deluge, only to have us thrown deep into primitivism. We’ve all heard the glowing stories of palaces and works of art, music and grand cities that were obliterated by Jehovah’s wrath. In Japheth Land, they live in crude villages. The same, I’m told, occurs in Shem’s area of influence. Only in Babel are we trying to recapture some of the lost glories of civilization. Yet it is a hard task, and we need many hands as well as unity. To that end, we need a unifying purpose, a goal to stir our imaginations.”

  Kush paused to examine the crowd.

  “Speak on,” Canaan said. “You intrigue me.”

  “Civilization means wisdom,” Kush said. “And wisdom is difficult to acquire. Yet if we could combine the unifying goal together with a search for wisdom, we would be doubly blessed. Now I’d like you to imagine—”

  “Father,” Nimrod said, rising, coming around the table.

  Kush scowled at this interruption.

  “I’ve anticipated what you’re about to tell us,” Nimrod said, “and I thought a demonstration might help them better visualize what you’re about to say.”

  “A demonstration?” Kush asked.

  “If you’ll permit me,” Nimrod said.

  Kush’s scowl deepened. “Can’t this wait?”

  “It will take but a moment,” Nimrod said.

  Kush impatiently waved his hand.

  Nimrod clapped his hands. Gilgamesh and Uruk, who had slipped out while the platters were cleared, wheeled a handcart into the room. A linen cloth was draped upon the cart, hiding something large.

  Nimrod walked to the cart, his voice ringing out: “My father has shown you baked bricks. They are the secret to a noble vision as grand as Noah’s Ark. Bel, the Angel of the Sun, showed me this vision. He said that, first, we must build a city. Then we must build a tower unto heaven, so we may build a name for ourselves that will ring throughout eternity. Though we presently scrounge for mere existence, by this building of a tower, we will never be forgotten. Our name will blaze like the sun itself. By the building of this tower, we will halt our foolish scattering. What is more, from the heights of this tower, we will learn heavenly wisdom.”