Гарри Тертлдав - The First Heroes

She had left most of the negotiations to the master of her caravan and withdrawn gradually from the daily councils. No one remarked on that. She was a goddess; she could set herself above mere human commerce.

It was assumed that she retreated to her rooms, which were warm, capacious, and adorned with every luxury. But Lugalbanda had discovered her secret: how she would put on a plain dark mantle like those worn by women here, and slip away. Sometimes she went into the city, but more often she sought the temple and the one who lived in it.

She would efface herself there, sit in a corner and watch the god and his servants at their work. The god did not appear to find her presence distracting. Often as time went on, she would linger after the day's labors were done and take bread with him, and then they would converse. It was easy conversation, as between friends, or between gods who understood one another. She did not press herself upon him as a woman might upon a man, nor did he seem to see her in that way.

And yet Lugalbanda, standing guard upon them—unmarked by the god and unforbidden by the goddess—saw too well how it was with her. She was a woman in love, hardly aware of it herself, but he knew the signs. He suffered them, too, with just as little hope of requital.

As the fine weather continued unabated, even the god tired of his temple and ventured out to the field on which the chosen of Aratta ran their chariots. His coming was a great occasion. He was brought there in a chair borne by strong young men, to find a chariot waiting, larger yet lighter and stronger than the others. The beasts harnessed to it were like onagers and yet unlike: horses, they were called, born beyond the eastern horizon.

When the god rose from the chair, he was very tall, taller than any man there, but he stooped somewhat as if in pain, and his steps were stiff and slow. He disdained the stick that someone offered, but accepted the shoulder of one of his young men, leaning lightly on it as he moved from the chair to the chariot.

However faltering his gait on the earth, when he had ascended into the chariot and taken the reins, his heart and body were whole again. His back straightened. His head came up. The darkness of grief faded from his eyes. His horses arched their proud necks and tossed their long, thick manes.

He did not let them run as they begged to do, not yet. Inanna had come, walking alone, dressed as simply as a woman of the city. Still there was no mistaking who she was, with the light in her eyes and the beauty of her face.

She spoke no word to the god and he none to her, but he held out his hand. She let him lift her into the chariot. There was space for two of them, if she stood close, within the circle of his arms. She, who was as tall as many men, was small beside him.

Then at last he gave the horses free rein. They leaped into flight, as swift as wind over the grass.

Lugalbanda's heart flew with them, but his eyes were not completely blind to what went on about him. They saw that another had come to see the god and the goddess together: the king of Aratta with his look of perpetual hunger. It was stronger than before, strong enough to fester.

The god and the goddess were far away, caught up in the glory of their speed. Lugalbanda, mere mortal that he was, was left to protect them as he could. It was little enough: a word to his men, a doubling of guards for when she should return, and a prayer to the greater gods for her safety and for that of the god of chariots.

When the god rode in his chariot, he was alive as he never was in his temple. Wind and sunlight lessened his sorrow. For once he saw Inanna, if not as a woman, then as an emissary from another, brighter world.

They rode far from Aratta, too swift even for men in chariots to follow. Inanna tasted the intoxication of speed and found it sweeter than wine. He saw her delight and shared in it. His smile transformed him; his face that had been so grim and sad was suddenly far younger, and far more beautiful. They slowed at last by the bank of a river, out of sight of the city. The river was narrow and swift and too deep to ford. The horses trotted beside it, tossing their heads and snorting, still as fresh as if they had just come from their stable.

"Come to Uruk with me," Inanna said with as little forethought as before. As soon as the words escaped, she regretted them, but there was no calling them back.

This time he heard her, and this time he answered. His smile did not die; the darkness did not come back to his face. He said, "Tell me—is it true? There are no trees there? No walls of mountains shutting out the sky?"

"No forests of trees," she said. "No mountains. Only long levels of land, green fields and thorny desert, and the many streams of our rivers, flowing into the sea."

"Only once have I seen the sea," he said. "My heart yearns for the open sky."

"That, we do have," she said a little wryly. "And heat, too, and flies, and mud or dust in season."

"Ah!" he said. "Are you trying to lure me there or repel me?"

"I'm telling you the truth of it," she said.

"An honest merchant," he said. He was chaffing her, but gently. He drew in a deep breath of the cold mountain air, and turned his face to the sun. "I will go to Uruk," he said. "I will make chariots for you."

"You will not."

The king's face was dark with rage; his eyes were glittering. But they were not resting on the god whom he had tracked to his temple to discover if the rumor was true: that Aratta was about to lose the blessing of his presence. They were fixed on Inanna.

"You will not take our god from us," he said. "That is not for you to choose," said the god. "I have served you well, and given you great gifts. Now I am called elsewhere." "You are seduced," the king said. "Your wits are clouded. Your place is here, where your destiny has brought you."

"You overstep your bounds," the god said very softly.

"You will not be taken from us," said the king.

He beckoned. His guards came, shaking with fear of the god, but their fear of the king was greater. They did not presume to lay hands on him, but they made it clear that if he did not let himself be led away, they would bind him like a common mortal. No fire came down from heaven. No storm of wind swept them all away. The god went as he was compelled.

Inanna stood stiff in a temple now empty of its god, with her fists clenched at her sides and her face white and set. Her guards had closed in about her. The king's men surrounded them. None had yet drawn weapon, but hands had dropped to hilts.

A war was brewing, and she was in the heart of it. Her three dozen men stood against a hundred, and the whole city of Aratta behind them.

Long leagues lay between Aratta and Uruk, and seven mountains, each higher than the last. Lugalbanda opened his mouth to speak. He did not know what he would say, but he could hope that the gods would grant him inspiration. She spoke before any words could come to him. Her voice was clear and cold. "Lord king," she said. "I offer you a bargain."

The king's greed was stronger than his wrath. His eyes gleamed. "What can you offer, lady, that will buy a god?"

"Myself," she said. "A goddess for a god. Set him free; let him go to Uruk. In return I will stay, and serve you as best I may."

The king raked fingers through his heavy black beard. He was trembling; his breath came quick and shallow. "Indeed!? You will do such a thing?"

She bent her head. "For Uruk I will do it."

"What? What will you do? How will you serve me?"

That was cruel. Inanna's back was rigid. "I give myself to you as your bride. I will be your queen, and the god of chariots will be free." Lugalbanda cried out in protest, but no one heard him. He was nothing and no one in this battle of kings and gods.