Quest for Honour (42 page)

A listless voice bade him enter.

“Mistress, the woman En-hedu is here.”

En-hedu timidly followed him into the room. A bedroom larger than anything she had ever seen in Akkad – even in the house of Lady Trella – greeted her eyes. A narrow window looked out into a courtyard that faced the rear of the house. A table rested near the window, flanked by two carved chairs. Three chests lined the opposite wall, and En-hedu wondered how anyone could have so many possessions as to need that many. The remainder of the room was taken up by the largest bed En-hedu had ever seen. The merchant Puzur-Amurri must have plenty of wealth to lavish so much of it on a mere second wife.

Ninlil reclined on the bed, her head propped up by two cushions. A loose garment dyed light brown covered her breasts, but her shoulders were bare. She spared En-hedu a quick glance and wrinkled her mouth in distaste.

“She’s filthy. I won’t have her dirty hands on me. Are you sure she’s the one?”

“Yes, mistress. En-hedu of the Kestrel Inn.”

“Can you give a good massage, woman?”

En-hedu bowed low. “Yes, mistress.” She let a quaver slip into her voice. Ninlil expected to be feared and obeyed.

“Oomara says you helped her slave. She’d injured her back, and she claimed you cured it.”

“I am not a healer, mistress, only a giver of massages. Many times it can help ease the pain in a person’s back.”

Ninlil pondered her choices for a moment. “Clean her up, Joratta.
Scrub the dirt off her if you have to.” She closed her eyes and let her head fall back on the cushion.

Joratta took En-hedu’s arm. “Come with me,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, as if he did not want to wake his mistress. En-hedu followed him through the door and into the passage, turning this time in the opposite direction, until they reached the rear of the house. He guided her to the well, which provided fresh water for the household, and En-hedu drew up a bucket. She washed her hands and face, drying both on her dress, while Joratta leaned against the wall, impatience showing in his nervous movements.

“I’m ready, Joratta.”

“You’d best do a good job, or she’ll take it out on me.”

“Yes, I understand.”

Back in the bedroom, they found Ninlil sitting up in bed. She dismissed Joratta. “Let me see your hands,” she commanded. “Clean enough, I suppose,” she muttered. “But take off that dress. I don’t want your filthy clothes touching any part of me or my bed.”

En-hedu wasn’t a slave to be commanded or paraded naked for her master’s benefit, but Joratta had closed the door behind him, so the two women had the chamber to themselves. En-hedu set her basket down on the floor and pulled her dress up and over her head. She held the garment in her hand, then dropped it on the floor. No doubt Ninlil would have protested if En-hedu’s dress had touched anything else in the room.

Ninlil removed her covering, and flopped back onto the bed on her stomach. The movement drew a gasp of pain from the woman as she tried to find a comfortable position. “Begin. Do something.”

En-hedu heard the pain in her voice. She ran her fingers down the woman’s back. The first thing she noticed was how soft Ninlil’s skin felt to her touch. Too soft. En-hedu probed with her fingertips and felt little resistance. The beautiful body was weak, with no firm muscles resisting En-hedu’s probing touch. Ninlil had probably never done any physical work in her life, likely never lifted anything heavier than a wine cup. Fawning servants no doubt provided everything at her command.

“Watch where you touch, woman. That hurts!”

It probably did, En-hedu saw. A lump under the skin showed where the girl’s pitiful muscles had contracted in a knot. The spine appeared crooked as well. She opened her mouth to tell Ninlil what she found, then closed it. Better to say nothing about such things.

“I’m going to knead the muscles on your back, mistress. It may feel painful at first, but it should give you relief.”

En-hedu poured a few drops of oil across the girl’s shoulders, and started working the muscles from the neck down. The base of Ninlil’s neck had another clump of strained muscles, and she massaged that slowly, taking her time and letting the heat from the oil and her hands warm the flesh. Gradually the knot loosened a bit, and En-hedu moved her hands lower.

Groans and grunts accompanied her every touch.

“How long has your back troubled you, mistress?” Talking might distract Ninlil from the pain.

“None of your . . . damn you, that hurts! Can’t you be more gentle?”

“I’m sorry, mistress. But I must work your muscles if you are to feel better.”

“I fell and hurt my back about two years ago. Since then, the pain has grown worse each day. Now when my husband visits my bed, he complains that I can’t pleasure him properly.”

“How often does he come to you?” En-hedu moved her hands lower.

“Every three days. He has two other wives. Neither is as beautiful as I am, but they have no pain to deal with. They can do things to him that I cannot.”

“How sad.” She added a few more drops of oil, and moved her hands lower. Now the really deep massage would begin, and En-hedu had no doubt that it was going to hurt.

“If I can’t please him, he may send me back to my father’s house, and demand the return of his dowry. The other wives would be glad to be rid of me.”

The story came out as En-hedu’s hands kept pushing and kneading the soft flesh. Puzur-Amurri, a vigorous and wealthy merchant nearing his fiftieth season, had been captivated by Ninlil’s beauty, pursued her with passion, and paid plenty of gold to her father for her maidenhead. But now Puzzi, as she called him, had grown annoyed at her problem, especially when she had been unable to keep his shaft firm, a task that apparently required quite some effort.

As Ninlil related her tale of bedroom failures, En-hedu’s fingers kept moving, working the flesh, probing the weak areas, moving all the way down to the lower back and the curve of her buttocks. As she worked, En-hedu tried to recall everything that Zenobia and Te-ara had taught her –
the muscles must be massaged firmly and with pressure, to send the warmth of the oil and En-hedu’s hands deep into the body.

By now Ninlil had reached the peak of the massage. Her breath came heavily, and she moaned at every movement, followed by a sigh of pleasure when En-hedu’s hands moved away from the weak points.

“I think, Mistress Ninlil, that is all I can do for you today.” En-hedu stepped away from the bed. Leaning over like that tired her own back, and the muscles in her forearms ached from the strain. “Now you should rest.” She gathered up her dress and slipped it over her head.

Ninlil pushed herself up to a sitting position, her head swaying at the movement. “I feel weak.” She stretched out her arm for her garment. “Owww! It hurts! What have you done to me?”

“You must lay still for now. The pain will pass in a few moments.”

“Damn you! You’ve ruined me. I’ll have you whipped for this.” With a gasp of pain, she tried to sit up, then collapsed back onto the bed. “Joratta! Help me!”

En-hedu never got another word in. Ninlil kept shrieking, and Joratta, who must have been waiting just outside the chamber, rushed in and attempted to calm her. Her cries grew louder and soon other servants rushed into the room, all anxious to soothe their mistress.

Joratta turned to En-hedu. He mouthed the word ‘Go.’

En-hedu snatched up her basket and slipped out the door. She practically ran through the house and back into the street. As she turned off the lane, she glanced behind her, to make sure no one followed. It would be bad if they caught her and brought her back for a beating.

But no one showed any interest in her passage. Dejected, she set a quick pace and started the long walk back to the Kestrel.

E
n-hedu was still distraught when she related the story to Tammuz. He poured a cup of ale mixed with water, and she drank it gratefully.

“Well, you tried your best.”

“She should not have moved. I told her to lay still.”

“At least you got out of there before they realized you were gone.”

“If she had been pleased, others of her class would have sought me out. Now there will be no one.”

A servant skilled at massage, especially one dealing with the wives and concubines of the wealthy class, would have access to much information.
Men talked too freely in front of their women, or boasted of what they knew to impress them. Either way, as Trella and Annok-sur had discovered, women knew much more than their husbands and lovers ever dreamed.

“Stay close to the inn for a few days,” Tammuz cautioned. “She may send Joratta to search you out and have you beaten.”

“If she does, you mustn’t do anything. A beating is nothing. I can endure far worse. But you might risk everything we have if you try to stop her.”

“We’ll see.” He patted her shoulder. “We’ll see.”

The rest of the day brought no news of Joratta or Ninlil’s other servants, no threats or complaints. En-hedu returned to her regular routine, and saw her usual clients. As a result of her skilled hands that day, the Kestrel made a profit of two copper coins, two chickens and a handcart load of clean white sand direct from the beach to spread across the floor.

The evening passed quietly as well, and Tammuz pushed Joratta and his whip to the back of his mind. Tammuz and En-hedu had a business to run, and its demands soon took their thoughts away from Ninlil. Another day and night went by without any sight of Joratta. But mid-morning of the next day brought Ninlil’s servant and his bodyguard back to the Kestrel’s door.

Tammuz glanced up when the entrance darkened. It took a moment to recognize Joratta, but as soon as Tammuz did, he summoned his own bodyguard. “Rimaud!”

The Kestrel’s guard stepped into the common room, and limped slowly toward Tammuz’s side, left hand on the scabbard of the short sword.

Joratta, eyes blinking in the semi-darkness, either didn’t notice their alertness or didn’t care. “Where is En-hedu? She must return to my mistress as soon as possible.”

“So she can be whipped?” Tammuz moved to his feet and rested his hand on his knife.

“What?” A look of disbelief crossed Joratta’s face. “No, of course not. My mistress wants to have another massage.”

Tammuz looked toward Joratta’s guard in the street. This was a different man, and he paced slowly back and forth outside the Kestrel, showing no interest in his master’s business. Joratta obviously had no thoughts of a beating on his mind. If the woman wanted another massage . . .

“Go back to your mistress while you can still walk.” Tammuz returned to his stool, but kept his feet on the ground. “And before I remember you owe me two coppers for my wife’s labors.”

“My mistress will pay her whatever she asks, but she must come now.”

Tammuz laughed. “Your mistress has no credit here. She’ll pay what she owes, and pay in advance if she ever wants to see my wife again. Tell her that.”

“You don’t understand. My mistress . . .” he moved closer and lowered his voice, “she pleasured her husband so well that he wishes her to come to his bed again tomorrow. So she must have another massage right away.”

“I thought she was screaming in pain when she threatened En-hedu with a beating.”

Joratta grimaced. “She was in pain . . . for most of the night. But in the morning when she awoke, she felt much better, and by the evening when the master came to her chamber, the pain was almost gone.”

Tammuz couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Maybe your master should come here to spend time with En-hedu himself. She could pleasure him without getting your mistress involved.”

Rimaud snickered at the jest, and Joratta frowned again.

“You owe me two copper coins.” Tammuz leaned forward and pointed his finger at Ninlil’s servant. “Plus another one for threatening my wife and letting her walk back here without an escort. Then two more for if your mistress wants another session. That’s five coins. Pay now, or get out.”

“I can’t pay that.” Joratta looked uncomfortable. “What if my mistress refuses to pay so much? Or if there is more pain?”

“I don’t care. Go back to your mistress. Tell her what she must pay. If she agrees, you can return here. En-hedu will be back by then, and if she’s willing to give your mistress another massage, you can walk her there. And back. And by all the gods in Sumer, if she walks back alone this time, she’ll never set foot in your mistress’s house again.”

Joratta decided Tammuz meant every word. “Just make sure she’s here when I return.” He turned and walked from the Kestrel, shouting at his guard as he emerged. Their voices quickly disappeared up the lane.

“Do you think she’ll pay?”

Tammuz looked at Rimaud and laughed. “A second wife who can’t pleasure her husband? She’ll pay that and more.”

They were both still laughing when En-hedu arrived.

Two months later . . .

S
hulgi picked his horse through the bodies of men, women and children until he reached what had been the center of the village. Not that much remained. His men had put the torch to all the tents and reed huts of the Salib encampment. They’d stripped the bodies and the dwellings of anything of value first, of course. Flies buzzed about his head, and he brushed them away. They had more than enough to feast on. More than a few carcasses of horses, cows, sheep, goats and other herd animals lay scattered about, mixed randomly with the bodies of their former owners. Even a few dogs, who could have escaped easily enough, had died defending the animals entrusted to their care. Others howled from the edges of the encampment, driven away by the sounds and smells of death.