Isle of Woman (Geodyssey) Page 28

  “The conquerors do. If we sold to them, they might even provide the materials. It is skill we are selling, more than things. But first we must have some items. See what we can cobble together for the first offerings. Fetch your tools, Carver, and anything you might be able to use.”

  He went out. Ember stirred herself. “Now I must do my part,” she said.

  “Your part, Mother?”

  “I must fetch food, so we can survive until we make our first sale.”

  “But what can you do? You are still weak from your injury, and anyway—”

  “I can go out and beg,” Ember said.

  Crystal was shocked. “No one in our family has ever begged!”

  “Then it must be time to start. Crystal, you must come with me. Bring your clay and stylus.”

  “But—”

  “Flower, you hide here,” Ember told the child. “Show yourself only to your father, and tell him that we hope to be back soon with food.”

  “Yes, Grandmother,” Flower agreed.

  Ember had Crystal rub ashes into her hair and on her face, to gray her into age. Then, well-cloaked, they went out. Ember felt somewhat unsteady, and her injury hurt when she walked, but she refused to be governed by it. She stepped along briskly.

  They walked out of the city, which was now quiet. The conquering soldiers had pretty well worn themselves out with their violence and debaucheries, and now were recovering. Ember saw that normal pursuits were resuming, as she had known would be the case. That was good. The city had fallen, and new rulers governed it, but its ordinary activity had to continue.

  Beyond the city were its outlying settlements. The irrigated fields grew barley, wheat, beans, peas, and flax, and the farmers were carefully tending them. To one side were herds of sheep, goats, and cattle, kept out of the wrong fields by fences and alert herding. Peasant shacks were scattered throughout. The enemy troops had not bothered to ravage here, because they knew that agriculture and animals were the heart of the region’s food supply. As long as the farmers served the new order, they would not be molested.

  Ember made her way to a village she knew, where a prominent farmer lived. She approached the farmer, knowing him by sight. “Kind sir, we two old women come to beg barley from you, that we may bake for our supper,” she said.

  The man stared at her. “What have you in trade, woman?”

  “Only goodwill, and our record of the debt, which we will repay when we can.”

  The farmer realized that something unusual was happening here. “Let me see your face, woman.”

  “If you recognize me, I am dead,” Ember said. She drew back her hood, showing her face clearly.

  The farmer’s eyes widened. He did recognize her, for they had done business many times when he brought his barley in to the temple. “You are a stranger, old woman, but I have a soft heart. I will not give you barley, I will give you bread. Come to the house.”

  They followed him to the house, where the farmer’s young slave girl gave them a large bag of bread. Crystal made an entry on her tablet, impressed her signature seal, and offered the clay document to the farmer. It was still soft, but would harden as it dried, firming the record of the debt.

  “Keep the record yourself,” the man said gruffly. “You can read it, as I can not. Return here when you need more bread.”

  Ember nodded, and lifted the heavy bag. Her hip flared, and the pain made her stagger. She was weak and tired.

  “My slave will carry for you,” the farmer said quickly.

  Ember did not protest. The slave girl heaved up the bag and began walking toward the city.

  “Wait!” Crystal protested. “It is not safe for a young woman, on the city streets.”

  The farmer considered. Then he nodded. “We must make her old.” Together they rubbed dirt and ashes in the girl’s hair and across her face, to her chagrin, making her old and ugly.

  “The Umma men steal pretty young women to be their concubines,” Crystal murmured to the slave. “They beat them if they protest.”

  Wary comprehension came. Not only did the girl cooperate, she adopted a stoop, making herself as old as possible.

  They walked to the city. Ember continued to tire, and Crystal helped her increasingly. As they entered the city, the slave girl helped too, despite her load of bread, so that Ember was supported on both sides. They looked like three ancient, worn, feeble women staggering for whatever hovel home they had. Others gave them plenty of room.

  Carver was waiting when they returned. “You got bread!” he exclaimed, smelling it.

  Ember collapsed on her mat. “See the girl off,” she told Crystal as she sank into semiconsciousness. By the time she was ready to assume full awareness, the slave was long gone.

  The bread helped enormously. They tried to ration it, so as not to have to return to the farmer any sooner than necessary. But two days later the farmer’s slave girl came on her own to their house, bearing another bag of bread. “May the gods forever bless your master,” Ember told her gratefully as Crystal marked the tally.

  Carver worked diligently, carving tiny intricate patterns in wood. Each was a model seal, that could be pressed into soft clay to make the distinct mark of its owner. Seals were normally made of hardened clay, but were relatively crude, because clay was not readily carved. The best ones were incised in stone, but they lacked the right kind. The wood would have to do.

  When there were six good models, Ember set out on the next stage of their venture. She took the models to the house of the local captain of the Umma guard. “My man is infirm, but he can carve well,” she said. “He could make you a seal like one of these, if he had the materials. Or to conform to any other design you specify.”

  The man peered at the models, impressed. He was interested. “What price?”

  “Merely your favor, O great leader.”

  The man nodded, understanding her perfectly. “Bring him here.”

  Ember returned to their house. “He will see you,” she told Carver. “Make yourself old.”

  “I will not be able to deceive him,” Carver said nervously.

  “No more than I deceived the kind farmer,” she agreed.

  Crystal remained at the house, with Flower. Ember and Carver, in the aspect of an old woman and an old man, walked to the captain’s residence.

  It was evident that the captain’s first penetrating squint told him that Carver was much younger than he pretended to be. But the man did not challenge him. Instead he presented Carver with a nice block of soft wood, suitable for carving. “Make this design.” He showed a crude sketch on the surface of a clay tablet.

  Carver settled down with a will. It was soon clear that he was quite competent. But the design was intricate, and the completion would take time.

  “Take it home,” the captain said. “Bring it back complete, tomorrow. My man will see you there.”

  An Umma guard appeared. He marched beside them as they walked the wide street, and then the narrow street. When they reached the house, the guard took his spear and used its head to scratch a mark on the outer wall of the house. Then he departed.

  “Why did he do that?” Carver asked, alarmed.

  Ember smiled. “We now have the captain’s favor. Any person who molests this marked house, or the folk in it, will soon enough feel his ire. We will also be allowed to do business with others, selling our seals to them for what the market will bear. Just as long as we keep his favor, by providing him or his household with any good seals they wish, as gifts.”

  Carver shook his head in wonder. “You know more than I do, Mother!”

  “I have lived longer, son.”

  They were in business. Ember knew that they would soon be able to repay the kind farmer, and she knew exactly how. The next time the slave girl came, she showed her several model seals. “Take these to your master, and tell him to keep the one he prefers, or to describe the kind he would like.”

  Soon it was safe for Crystal to accompany Ember to the cap
tain’s house. He recognized her nature as readily as he had Carver’s, but she was a member of a favored enterprise, so he let her be. That meant that all of his soldiers let her be also. She was now able to carry her scribe tablet openly, and on occasion the captain even asked her to read or record something for him. He was of course unable to read the marks himself, but his ability to get them interpreted when necessary gave him increased power.

  The falling of the old order had been disastrous for the family, but it was finding new security by accommodating the new order. This was the way of survival.

  Indeed, the city-states of Sumer were giving way to kingdoms, and those who adapted well to the new order were to prosper. The hegemony of Umma lasted only briefly, being conquered by the Akkadians from farther north, under Sargon. Thereafter Sumer was to become a smaller part of larger kingdoms and empires, such as Assyria, Babylonia, Persia, Alexander, Arabia, and Turkey. The region is now incorporated in the modern state of Iraq. Its present significance on the global scale is not great, comparatively, but it is remembered as the region of the world’s first urban, literate civilization, older than Egypt, Crete, India or China, and possibly the source from which all other civilizations drew their inspiration.

  CHAPTER 13

  * * *

  EMPIRE

  Shelley’s poem “Ozymandias” describes the way a mighty king of kings might have been lost to history, and all his works forgotten. Shelley could have been thinking of one of the earliest and greatest empires of Asia Minor, which flourished for several centuries and disappeared almost without trace. Only more recently have ancient tablets been found and translated, revealing its true extent.

  The migrations of barbarian peoples was constant, pushed by changes in weather and by the power of enemies, and gradually the Indo-European tribes from north of the Black Sea expanded into new regions. Among these in the second millennium B.C., three to four thousand years ago, were the Hittites. They came to Anatolia, conquered the highly cultured but divided residents, and set up their capital at Hattusa. They had perhaps three significant advantages that enabled them to carve out one of the more powerful empires of the day: horses, which had enabled all the Indo-Europeans to prosper; iron, which made superior weapons but was in extremely short supply at that time; and enlightened law, which enabled them to integrate other cultures without having to obliterate their special ways.

  One of the major powers the Hittites encountered was the north African kingdom Egypt, intent on building an empire. Finally, about 1300 B.C., Ramses II of Egypt marched north with a force of 20,000 men to establish Egyptian supremacy in the Levant. The Hittite ruler Muwatallis went to meet him with a similar force. They met at the trading city of Kadesh, in what was perhaps the greatest military clash of the times.

  OF course there were constant reports from advance scouts and spies, so they knew approximately where the enemy was at all times. That allowed them to travel in relative comfort, wearing light clothing instead of battle dress. The horses were not pushed unduly, which meant that the war chariots were not banged about. That in turn made light work for Stone, the chief ironsmith with the expedition. He was there as a specialist rather than a combatant, though he would have to fight if the army ever was truly pressed.

  Stone was performing a routine check of one of the leaders’ equipment, when one of the commanders approached the chariot. The man’s metallic skirt and curl-pointing shoes helped signal his status; he was in formal dress despite the rigors of the mission. “We need to refresh our supplies before we engage the enemy,” the officer said to the charioteer. “The king has asked me to go out and reason with the natives, who are nominally part of our territory. I need to take a supply wagon and a chariot. Are you ready to go?”

  “I’m missing my spearman and shieldman,” the charioteer protested. “I’m having the smith go over my wheels.”

  The officer glanced at Stone. “Is this chariot ready to go?”

  “Yes, sir,” Stone replied. “But my job would be easier if the warriors didn’t insist on driving the chariots recklessly cross-country, striking rocks and muck. It is only a thin rim of metal around the edge of each wheel, and it dents readily.”

  The officer smiled in a way that made Stone realize he shouldn’t have complained. “We shall give you a taste of the fieldwork, smith. Take up the shield and board this chariot.” And to the charioteer: “I will carry the spear. We now have a full crew for the mission. Fetch your horses.”

  The charioteer shot a dark look at Stone for getting him into this mischief, and went out to the pasture field to find the horses. Stone knew better than to protest again; he was no trained shieldman, but he understood the principle. He knew the officer would never go out with inappropriate personnel if there were any real danger. But it probably would not be a completely pleasant ride.

  Soon two vehicles moved out: an empty supply wagon that still seemed surprisingly solid, and the chariot, in which the three men stood. Stone found it precarious. The chariot barely had room for their legs, but it supported them up past the knees, so that they could not fall. But suppose there were an accident and it tipped over? He had learned a lot about chariots during this campaign, having been impressed into service because he was a metalworker. He was actually a copper, silver and gold sculptor, but they needed metalsmiths for their chariots and armor, so he had been taken as a smith. He did actually have the required competence, and was doing the job; he just wished he could have stayed home with his lovely wife Seed and his six-year-old son. He found little appeal in roughing it on the campaign trail, though he was about as well off as anyone here. They wanted to be sure that the expertise was handy for spot repairs.

  They were not moving rapidly, which was a relief. Stone wasn’t sure how he would keep his position while protecting himself and the other two with the large shield he held. It wasn’t big enough to protect all three simultaneously. He was on the right, with the charioteer on the left; he would have to angle it across to help them, and then he would be exposed himself.

  “You seem uncomfortable, smith,” the officer remarked. “This is not slow enough for you?”

  “I have no complaints, sir,” Stone said tightly. He did not want to give the officer any further pretext for a demonstration.

  “You would like the Human chariot. Just two men, no shield. One to drive, the other to attack. They depend on mail coats for protection. They’re the best horsemen in the world.”

  But the Hittites, Stone knew, had learned from the Hurrians, then excelled them. Indeed, the Hittites had later crushed the Hurrian kingdom of Mitanni. That suggested that it took more than horsemanship to prevail in war. But Stone kept silent.

  They reached a settlement. The wagon came to a halt, while the chariot went slowly to the center of the group of houses. The officer hailed an older man who emerged from the largest house. “Hey, elder!” he called in Hittite. “I have come to speak with you.”

  The man looked confused. The officer changed to Amorite. “We need to fill this wagon with food for our troops,” he said. “Gather your villagers to load it.”

  The man glanced at the wagon, shrugged, and turned away. He reentered his house.

  Stone kept his face straight. The village elder was evidently dismissing the officer’s request out of hand. It was a gesture of contempt.

  “Ah, see how you treat me,” the officer called to the house. “I make a reasonable request of a friend, and I am greeted with disdain. Even so was it between our great King Mursili and the kingdom of Arzawa. I beseech you, let our acquaintance not come to such an unfortunate pass.”

  What was the man up to? Stone was having trouble deciding whether the officer was joking, or a fool. The natives were not going to give up their hard-foraged supplies without a fight, or at least evidence of a significant threat. They might be considered part of the Hittite Empire by the Hittites, but not by themselves.

  Stone glanced at the charioteer, who was smiling wryly. He had evidently seen
this sort of encounter before.

  There was no response from the house. The officer tried again. “I ask you to emerge and give the directives to your people, so that this unfortunate misunderstanding can be at an end. Mursili himself would not have been more generous.”

  Generous? Stone stifled a smile of his own. He knew history too. The kingdom of Arzawa had been destroyed and made a direct part of the empire.

  When there was only silence, the officer shrugged. “Then I must take reasonable steps. I declare this village to be a vassal state of the Hittite Empire, subject to our laws. Since you did not join us voluntarily, you are liable for penalties. Your supplies are forfeit, and your people subject to serfdom. You will emerge from that house and serve the new order without further delay.”

  The officer waited a moment. There was still no response. “I regret to see it come to this,” he said. He glanced over to the driver of the wagon. “Remind this person of the penalty for insubordination to the empire,” he said.

  The driver got down, reached into his wagon, and brought out a smoldering torch. He waved it in the air, causing it to brighten into a blaze. Then he walked to the house and touched the torch to the overhanging edge of its thatched roof.

  The fire climbed the roof rapidly, spreading across the house. In a moment the man dashed out, screaming. A young woman followed him, her tunic and long hair flowing behind as she ran.

  “Well, I am sorry,” the officer said, unmoved. “You were impolite, so I reluctantly took steps, even as Mursili did. Now I suggest that you obey the directive I gave you, before there are further consequences.”

  The man ran through the village, shouting in Amorite. The girl tried to follow him, but the wagon driver got out and intercepted her, clamping a hand on one of her slender wrists. He hauled her to the chariot.

  “Yes, I will take this maiden as my chattel,” the officer said. “Take her to the wagon and hold her for me.”

  Stone opened his mouth to protest, but stifled it, knowing that it was both out of turn and pointless. The officer was making his point, to the villagers and to Stone himself. This was war, and spoils were taken in war. Now Stone had a better notion just how the warriors had come by the items that had turned up along the march here.