To Ride the Gods’ Own Stallion (18 page)

Making His Mark

A muted roar that surged and ebbed sounded in the distance. Soulai tipped his head and listened, then led Ti up the steps, hooves clattering loudly. The noise was coming from outside the palace, in the direction of the marketplace, and though he was near to collapsing, he marched the head-tossing Ti across the limestone courtyards now awash in the odd, coppery hue. As they neared the palace's western gate, the one outside which Naboushoumidin often told his stories, Soulai heard someone making a speech.

“As the sharqi drops from the sky and sweeps across the land, breaking into bits all that it encounters, so shall we gallop, scattering the Medes before us. As the lightning splits the tree, separating leaf from limb and limb from trunk, so shall the lightning of our swords separate hand from arm and head from body. As the scorpion stings the heel, inflicting great pain and suffering on its victim, so shall the army of Assyria sting the heels of the fleeing Medes, again and again and again!”

It was Habasle, Soulai knew, even before he peeked through the parted gate. The prince stood wrapped in a regal new robe of white and purple and blue, and, though he supported his weight on the upright staff of his spear, he vigorously punched the air with a fist to the rhythm of his words. Naboushoumidin stood to the side, hands clasped to his chest. Ringed by flaming torches, the marketplace was filled with people who turned their awestruck faces alternately between the speaker and the reddened moon.

“For eight months,” Habasle shouted, “since the days of winter, the gods have laid forth their plans for Nineveh's victory. To those who were looking, they revealed themselves in the heavens. And to those who would learn, they unlocked the tablets' secrets. And Ninurta himself, the great and glorious Ninurta, god of the hunt, god of war, god of victory, has sent to me as his own messenger a stallion that—”

Succumbing to the spirit of the moment, Soulai impulsively trotted Ti through the gate. The crowd roared. The horse responded by arching his neck and rolling his deep gold and pale blue eyes. The white plume tossed gloriously upon his crest, the tassels danced madly. Held in check by the new bit, Ti pranced in place.

Soulai handed the reins over to Habasle. Then, without speaking, Soulai turned and faced the crowd. He waited at Ti's shoulder and, behind his back, locked his hands and offered them as support to a flawless mount.

A whispered thank-you met his ears. Soulai felt the weight of a sandaled foot on his palms, steadied himself, and in the next instant, the weight was lifted and Habasle sat astride Ti. As the crowd cheered, Soulai stepped away.

“On the wings of Ninurta, the Assyrian army will fly—”

The gold-and-white stallion reared and pawed at the night sky, holding his huge body aloft for so long that he looked ready to soar into the blackness and challenge even the great horse made of stars.

As the hooves scraped upon stone, the crowd fell suddenly silent. Thousands of eyes looked past Habasle and Ti, and Soulai turned as well. A retinue of noblemen came marching from the palace in solemn pairs, the ones at the front dispersing clouds of fragrant smoke from stone bowls, and the ones behind holding aloft their own flaming torches. The billowing smoke turned as orange as the moon. Its thick fingers curled around the feet of the lamassu, drifted down the steps, and threaded through the crowd, and the marketplace took on an otherworldly glow.

Murmured awe announced the appearance of an unearthly god. If it was not Ashur himself, king of all the gods, it was his divine messenger and representative in human form. Firelight glistened off the gold adorning his neck, his ears, his arms. The body was old, but held rigidly erect in its heavy robe fringed with tinkling glass beads. The god-king walked straight toward the crowd, looking neither left nor right, one arm resting on the ivory hilt of a sword angling from the gilt sheath fastened at his hip.

Soulai stepped back into the shadows as the figure strode forward. Like the crowd, Ti became silent as his rider slid from his back to bow with respect. Habasle straightened—Soulai knew it had to hurt—and summoned a regal bearing that matched that of the older man. Ashurbanipal laid a hand on Habasle's shoulder, then turned and spoke to the crowd.

“Ishtar,” he said loudly, “protectress of our city, has come to me in my fasting.” Not a breath sounded from the marketplace. “In my dream, from each of her shoulders hung a quiver full of arrows. She advanced toward me and spoke to me like a mother. ‘Thou hast asked for victory,' she said. ‘Let thou knowest that where thou art, I am also.'”

An approving murmur rippled through the audience.

“And I spoke to her as a worthy son. ‘Can I go with thee where thou goest, O sovereign of sovereigns?' And she answered. ‘Stay thou in the temple consecrated to me; eat thy food, drink thy wine. For I will go out to the battle and I shall accomplish my work. Vengeance on thine enemies shall be mine!'”

With these last words, Ashurbanipal pulled his sword free and thrust it high into the air. The ripple of applause exploded into a riotous cheer.

Ti, who up until now had stood motionless, craned his neck around. Soulai had a distinct feeling that the horse was looking for him. Even from the short distance, he could read the uncertainty in Ti's eyes. Did Soulai really want him to take part in this battle? they seemed to ask. Did Soulai really think he was brave enough to serve the gods?

Soulai smiled. With pride filling his chest, he nodded, then flung his arms in the air, motioning Ti away. The gold-and-white stallion with the mark of Ninurta tossed his head and reared once more, and the crowd cheered wildly.

The shadow was sliding from the moon now, returning it to its silvery state. Sensing that his part was played out, Soulai slipped back through the gate and into the palace. He didn't know which way to turn. An odd feeling made him touch his chest, and he frowned at discovering that his clay tag was missing. But how and when? In the well? Battling the lion?

Footsteps approached through the darkness. “Wait! Stop!” Soulai looked over his shoulder. It was Habasle, hobbling as fast as he could, holding his side.

As ordered, Soulai waited. He watched his owner approach. There was a different look to him, a happy confidence that lessened his swagger.

“Did you hear?” Habasle asked between gasps. “Did you see? I beat the ashipu to his own prediction.” He looked up at the full moon and grinned. “You know what I think happened? His own curse got him. Look,” he spread his arms to indicate the near empty courtyard, “he's nowhere to be found. And do you know what else has happened? I'm leading my father's entire army into battle. On Ti. He says Ishtar has spoken to him and assured Nineveh of victory.” He thrust his fist into the air again. “How is that for leaving your mark? We ride at dawn to slay every last one of those Medes and be home before the rains come.”

A tired smile creased Soulai's face.

“That's it?” Habasle exclaimed. “Nothing to say?”

“Take care of Ti. He made his own mark tonight,” he said, thinking of the stallion's bravery.

Whether Habasle heard his request, Soulai didn't know, for his master was busy untying a bag at his waist. Finally he handed it to Soulai. “Here,” he said. “There's more than enough to buy your freedom.”

Stunned, Soulai felt the weighty bag settle in his upturned palm.

Habasle turned to go back to the crowd, still clutching his side. “I suppose I could take you with me,” he said, “but you don't follow orders.” He hurried off, close to skipping with his hitching gait. “And you can't swim,” he hollered back in the growing dark.

Soulai's smile widened. He watched the boy whom he'd once hated rejoin the revelry, then continued his meandering walk. He felt lost, shapeless as a lump of clay. In the past, he'd always turned to his clay when he needed to work something out, but those days seemed gone. He thought briefly about going to the stable, but he couldn't bear to look at the empty tether and know that Ti might never return to it. So his journey led him aimlessly up and down steps and across terraces and past the room he had shared when he first arrived at Nineveh. He peeked inside. It was empty; they were all on the palace steps, no doubt. He ambled past the kitchens, inhaling the aroma of fresh loaves.

Sometime later he found himself standing outside the royal library. Beneath the bright moonlight the masterful carvings of war leaped from the building in stark relief. There were the men on camels…the people jumping into the water…the horses galloping across the battlefield. Soulai reached out and stroked the forehead of one of the horses.

“What will happen to the stallion, you are wondering.” The voice made him jump. It was Naboushoumidin, who emerged from the shadows to stand at his side.

Soulai nodded. He pressed his fingers hard to the stone.

“He is pursuing his rightful destiny. As you are yours.”

“Mine?” Soulai croaked.

“Habasle has set you free, yes?”

Soulai felt his head nod again.

“And so your own feet have carried you here, to the carvings, a place of great significance. I remembered from talking with you that you see our city, and especially our horses, through the eyes of an artist. And I have long wondered if your hands can follow your heart.” The scribe stepped close to the panels and reverently laid his palms over the raised images. “Do you realize that years and years after your tongue and mine and those of Assyria's next twenty kings are but dust, these scenes will continue to tell the stories?” He looked over his shoulder. “And there is yet another story—an important one—that needs to be told, don't you agree?”

At first Soulai didn't follow the man's words. But then the crisp figures of the sculptor began to come alive beneath his fingertips. He moved his hands in slow circles to touch the bulging muscles, the concave flanks. His fingers traveled over the crevices describing water, the ridges outlining the mastiff's ribs; he rubbed the knotty coils of the lion's mane. And he remembered the satisfaction of creating life between his hands.

He turned to Naboushoumidin. His breath was coming quicker now. Could it be possible that…?

The man threw back his head and tossed forth a deep laugh that boomed across the vacant courtyard. When his eyes met Soulai's, they fairly crackled with animation. “Battles always bring new stories, and so we are beginning a new series of panels on the library's eastern wall tomorrow morning,” he said. He glanced at the bag dangling from Soulai's hand. “You have choices.”

By high sun on the same day as Habasle and Ti rode off to war, a messenger was dispatched to a mountain village carrying a bag of silver. Soulai was seated in the shade of a makeshift canopy that stretched along the eastern side of the library. Under the watchful eyes of a master craftsman, he was carefully chalking out the lines of the panel's first scene: a full-moon night when the king and his son announced impending victory for Assyria. Between them reared a brave, parti-color stallion, mane waving in the wind. Lovingly, Soulai sketched the broad forehead, the flared nostrils. A solid sense of worth filled him; he had found a new home. And whatever Ti's fate might be, he, Soulai, would make sure the horse was remembered forever.

Ab
the Assyrian month equivalent to late July/early August

Adar
the Assyrian month equivalent to late February/early March

amulet
a small object used to ward off evil or injury

annakum
a metal, probably tin, traded by Assyrian merchants

aqueduct
an elevated structure to deliver water from a distant source

ashipu
a priest

Ashur
the chief of the gods in Assyrian mythology

asu
a doctor

bas-relief
a low-relief sculpture

bee-eater
a type of bird, very colorful

bitumen
a tar-like substance

chalcedony
a type of quartz

coot
a type of aquatic bird

crupper
a strap fitted under a horse's tail to keep a saddle or harness in place

cylinder seal
a small cylinder, often worn around the neck, carved with a design used to make an impression in clay

darter
a type of aquatic bird

Dur Sharrukin
a city built by an Assyrian king but abandoned after his death

Ea
the god of water and of wisdom in Assyrian mythology

Elul
the Assyrian month equivalent to late August/early September

emmer
a type of wheat

Enlil
the god of wind in Sumerian mythology

Gilgamesh
an epic poem and one of the earliest known works of literature

hobbles
a shackle-like restraint fastened around a horse's ankles to prevent him from running off

Ishtar
the goddess of battle and of Nineveh in Assyrian mythology

jackal
an animal similar to a wild dog

kiln
an oven

lamassu
a guardian figure, especially the large half-man/half-animal statues at entrances

lapis lazuli
a blue gemstone

lintel
the horizontal beam at the top of a doorframe or window

mastiff
a large breed of dog

Medes
an ancient people who, with the Babylonians, eventually sacked Nineveh

Naboushoumidin
the chief librarian in Nineveh

Nergal
the god of the underworld and of death in Assyrian mythology

Ninurta
the god of the hunt and of war in Assyrian mythology

parti-color
a pinto horse

Pisces
a constellation; also a sign of the zodiac known as “the fish”

qasab
a giant, grasslike plant

sarcophagi
plural of sarcophagus, a stone coffin

Sebat
the Assyrian month equivalent to late January/early February

sedge
a grasslike plant

Shamash
the god of the sun and of justice in Assyrian mythology

sharqi
a severe dust storm

shekel
an ancient unit of weight, or a coin equal to that weight

Tammuz
the Assyrian month equivalent to late June/early July

ti
a Sumerian word meaning “arrow” or “life”

Tisri
the Assyrian month equivalent to late September/early October

Tyrian
purple a highly prized purple-red dye

underworld
the realm of the dead in Assyrian mythology

uridimmu
a half-man/half-mad dog or lion creature

wadi
a stream or streambed, often dry