The Head That Wears the Crown

By Judith Reinken

Seven hundred years before Christ was born, the Assyrian king, Sennacherib, presided over the greatest empire that had ever been. In this story of Naqia, his favourite wife, we are caught up in the turbulent sweep of history, the treachery and the valour and the ordinary lives of those who were connected with her. From the humblest hut to the glorious palaces, we enter a world both foreign in its culture and familiar in its humanity. Through it all, Naqia grows in confidence. Starting as a mere chattel before being pledged to the goddess Ishtar, she later becomes the most powerful woman of her time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BeulahPressNZ
• Release date: Feb 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9780473511012

Book preview

Chapter 1 3

Chapter 2 14

Chapter 3 19

Chapter 4 34

Chapter 5 44

Chapter 6 56

Chapter 7 69

Chapter 8 76

Chapter 9 84

Chapter 10 93

Chapter 11 103

Chapter 12 109

Chapter 13 115

Book Two: Intrigue

Chapter 14 125

Chapter 15 131

Chapter 16 137

Chapter 17 140

Chapter 18 150

Chapter 19 157

Chapter 20 160

Chapter 21 174

Book Three: Patricide

Chapter 22 179

Chapter 23 190

Chapter 24 193

Chapter 25 196

Chapter 26 203

Chapter 27 207

Chapter 28 211

Chapter 29 218

Chapter 30 228

Chapter 31 231

Chapter 32 239

Book Four: Ishtar’s Revenge

Chapter 33 247

Chapter 34 256

Chapter 35 268

Chapter 36 274

Chapter 37 280

Chapter 38 285

Genealogies




Judah’s Royal Family

List of Characters

Other than members of the royal families

Naqia’s Household

Annabel, handmaid to Naqia

Uribelit, handmaid to Naqia and Ahat-Abisha

Ataril, devotee of Ishtar, chief eunuch to Naqia

Amat-Baal, chatelaine in Kalkhu

Shebna ben Shaqed, sometime counselour to Qat, tutor of Esarhaddon, spy for Naqia

Sennacherib’s Household

Aram-Suen, third man

Suen-Akhu-Utsur, Grand Vizier

Sulmu-Bel, general (turtanu)

Addati, chatelaine in Ninuwa

Shezibanni, chief steward of Dur-Sharrukin, husband of Abby

Esarhaddon’s household

Shemahu, physician of Kilizi

Hussani, charioteer

Bel-Emuranni, general (turtanu)

Inurta-Nadi, Grand Vizier

Remutu, Eshara-Hammat’s chatelaine

Other Characters

Nikkal-Amat, chatelaine of Ninuwa Central

Ruradidi, eunuch to Nikkal-Mat

Aplaya, chief eunuch to Arda-Mulissi

Baya, Prophet of Ishtar at Arbail

Banba, son of Abiramu, governor of Dur-Sharrukin

Zakir, ashipu (shaman, healer)

Ben-Zakir, dog named after Zakir

Yesha and Yoldah, foster-parents of Naqia

Principal Gods

Ishtar, high goddess of Asshur

Asshur, high god of Asshur

Shamash, the Sun, god of justice

Marduk, the Hero, victor over chaos

Nabu, scribe of the gods

Ea, the god of wisdom

Suen, the Moon, god of truth and purity

Adad, the storm god

Mummu/Mulissu, the mother of the gods,

Nergal, god of the underworld, of the dead

Ereshkigal, goddess of the underworld, of the dead

Anu, the head of the gods

Tammuz, consort of Ishtar

Gula, goddess of healing

Assyrian Calendar Months

Nisan [Spring New Year]

Iyyar

Sivan

Tammuz

Ab

Elul

Tishri [Autumn New Year]

Marchesvan

Kislev

Tebet

Shebat

Adar

BOOK ONE

Naqia Becomes Zaqutu

Chapter 1: Journey to Urakka

Naqia, not yet thirteen years old, sat astride the mule. In the full afternoon sun the heat beat down, not even her thick shawl offering protection. The fat old mule had mange too. Naqia’s legs itched and she fretted as the mule fell further and further behind the caravan. The wind swept sand into her face and she kept her eyes closed as much as she could. Then she fell so far behind she no longer heard anything, no shouts from the soldiers herding the women along. Alarmed, she raised her shawl and peered ahead.

She could no longer even see the immense baggage train, mules plodding, stretched out across the horizon. She couldn’t make out the shrouded figures of the hundreds of women who formed part of the booty Sennacherib had exacted from Jerusalem. All she could make out was the standards—the sun-disks of Asshur—glinting, and the sun reflecting off the heavy armour some of the soldiers wore. The mule may have sensed her alarm and began shuffling along, faster and faster, bringing her up closer to the others.

Suddenly she did hear them, shouts and then screams drifting back from the vanguard. Her mule plodded on towards the caravan. Feeling a wind behind her, Naqia lifted her shawl to look. Arab camel-riders were pouring off the hillside towards the baggage train. She saw the soldiers shove all the women into a clump and form a circle around them.

The mule is taking me straight into the raid. Should I get down? she wondered. I wouldn’t be able to get up again and those bandits would grab me and take me away ... As if another person lived in her head she heard, Take you away? Rob you, rape you and leave you for dead in the desert. Dread seized her as she realised they’d see her as soon as they looked back. She covered herself with the shawl and bent forward along the mule’s back.

Sensing her fear, the mule stood fast. Soon no sound came from the caravan. Peering behind her, Naqia saw nothing but bare windswept sand, red-gold reflecting the light. She’d freeze to death after dark. They’ll abandon me here, no food, no water, not even a blanket. Dropped by the wayside, left for dead. She choked on sobs of self-pity.

Then she heard shouts and a woman’s high-pitched scream. She squinted, trying to pick out what was happening. A raider had dragged a woman off to the side, his arm tight about her waist. He flung her to the ground and grabbed both her feet, parting them as he shoved his knife towards her face. Riveted, Naqia watched as he knelt between her legs, dropping his knife to push her shoulders down as he began to thrust himself into her.

Naqia tried to kick the mule to turn her around, but it plodded forward, intent on joining the rest of the mules. As she came nearer Naqia saw one of Sennacherib’s soldiers jump behind the Arab, grab his hair, and pull his head so far back she thought it would come off. Instead the soldier’s stabbing knife sliced across the Arab’s neck. Blood gushed forth all over the raped woman. Naqia, revolted, felt vomit rising in her own throat. Her hands went numb and she fell forward on to the mule’s neck. She remembered none of what followed.

Naqia remained in a coma and, together with three other women, was abandoned by the soldiers at a small village called Urakka. By the village gate stood a rough hut formed of sticks and mud. At noon in midsummer there was little movement. The few inhabitants stayed within their walls, no travellers passed along the road.

Naqia woke to the silence. Where am I? What’s happened to everyone? Is this the end? Her questions hung in the air until she noticed a woman peering into the darkness of the windowless shelter. In a quavering voice Naqia asked if it were her cousin: Abby?

Peace to you, Naqia. Oh, it really stinks in here. You’ve been sick again and ... oh, I’ll have to try and get some clean straw.

Straw, Abby? What’s happened? Where are we? Why am I in this prison cell? Where is everyone?

Gone. Here, well this is Urakka, a tiny place, and poor. We were left here because we got too sick to continue all the way to Ninuwa. They wouldn’t let you inside the wall because you were so much sicker than we were. You might have had a demon, you know.

Sick? I remember nothing. So you were sick too?

I was sick too but I am better now. The other women got better too, but they’ve been taken into the headman’s hut—as servants, would you believe? But you and me, I think they hope we’ll die.

Naqia, alarmed, reached out for her cousin but Abby backed away. Naqia’s head ached and she felt rebuffed. Even Abby fears me. Then Abby put down the food she was carrying and came over to crouch beside Naqia’s bed of straw. Naqia took her hand and Abby held it.

Naqia, we aren’t really welcome here, but I don’t think you’ll die. I have to fetch all our water and even beg to get us some food. But look here, they let me take some milk from their goats and even this pottage of crushed millet.

Naqia wrinkled her nose and frowned. Still disoriented, she asked, What day is it? Do you know?

End of the month. They’re fasting, that’s why they gave us food. Take it.

You look perfectly healthy. Naqia inspected Abby’s face which had grown thinner during their journey. She noticed that her clothes were stained and dusty which made her wonder. Abby had always been so particular about her appearance. Uncertain, she asked, Was it you I heard laughing last night? Was I dreaming? I thought I heard you.

Yes, you did. I was flirting by the fence, teasing that young gatekeeper. Don’t worry, he was just a little kid and anyway, the headman of the village came out and gave the boy a dressing down. They’re still afraid we’ll pollute them. And you, you’ve been off your head with fever. You seem to be frightened almost to death whenever you wake up.

I have been, ever since ...

Ever since?

That attack, the raiders, the ... the rape and then ... Oh, Abby, all that blood.

What blood? Are you raving? You don’t feel that feverish.

Not raving, I want to forget. That knife sinking into the man’s neck. The blood spurting all over, on the soldier, on that poor woman he was trying to ... I wasn’t imagining it. It’s like I was doing it, like the soldier, like I was killing the man and I got all spattered with blood. Maybe you didn’t see.

I have no idea what you saw. Was it the raid? We just crouched under the wagons and kept still. Now, Naqia, you must drink this.

You’re saying I stink, but what’s in your hand? It smells off to me.

Goat’s milk, and it’s not off, it’s still warm from the goat. It’s going to be hot again today and, believe me, it’s you who really stink. I’ll fill a water-jar to give you a bath.

Wait with me while I drink this and try to keep it down.

Naqia ate and drank and felt somewhat better. She put away the rest of what Abby had brought and started to turn over, but Abby gestured her to stop.

My dear, I ought to take your clothes off. Can you sit up?

Naqia propped herself up and let Abby remove her clothes. She sighed and asked, How long have I been here?

Seven days. This just a tiny way-station along the main road from Kharranu to Natsibina, a crossroads. When you are able to move we will have to make our own way to Ninuwa somehow.

Will you know the way? And what about water?

I don’t know the way but it’s a road. There must be streams along the way. There’s one here and that’s why they have any food at all. Everywhere else is parched. The village boys who go to get fodder for the king’s horses and mules have to traipse way off into the hills.

Is that what I was hearing this morning? The chattering? It wasn’t a dream?

No, it was real. But they don’t have anything to say when they come trudging home at night. It’s a hard life here.

How long is it since we left home? How long have we been gone?

We left on the seventh of Tammuz and tomorrow’s first of Ab, so it’s three weeks. Now, let me wash those sores on your legs.

With a damp cloth Abby started to wash Naqia’s legs. The sores oozed yellow pus, staining the linen wrapped straw. Naqia drew her legs away.

Abby, stop, no more!

See here, I have to wash you and I ought to put cloths soaked in vinegar between your legs. I’ll have to beg for it, offer them something. A ring maybe.

You have to use our jewellery? But, Abby, if there’s no one looking after us couldn’t they just take all our things?

Well, no, there were two soldiers here, you know, to guard the horses and mules and, I suppose, us. I asked them to make the villagers give us food, but even they weren’t always given food. It’s a really poor village. Now those guards have gone for some reason. But if I go to the river where the women are washing someone may help us.

Naqia dozed while Abby went for help. In her half-doze she remembered her mother, Qat, reassuring her that all would be fine. Fine? Is this what she meant? Was she just lying to me? As Abby appeared in the doorway Naqia started awake.

Abby, I don’t understand why we’re not looked after. Are we so unimportant?

Ah. I’ll see what I can do. But, Naqia, help. Let me clean these sores without you moaning.

Oh, now the straw is wet as well as soiled. Filthy, smelly and horrid. Will we ever get out of here?

I heard a bit of gossip at the riverbank. Women were muttering about more travellers interfering. I think that’s what they were saying, it’s a funny dialect they have. Remember the last town, Guzana?

No. Really I remember nothing nothing that happened since, since that ambush.

Oh, the ambush. Let me see. Guzana was after that. A crossroads we passed. Well, the man I flirted with last night told me a new draft of mules is coming. The king’s expected. He’s been on campaign in Shubria, they say.

So what? He won’t pay any attention to us.

Abby shrugged. Let me clear all this stuff away. I might get some clean straw.

I can’t stand up, don’t let me fall.

Naqia, you really have to.

I’ll try, I will. But I can’t stop crying. It’s like that song, you know. ‘Oh that my head were waters, and my eyes a fountain of tears’. Now I think I know what that means. Abby, I am sorry to be such trouble. I suppose you have to barter with the villagers even for straw.

I do. I guess the straw is intended for king’s mules not for his women.

It’s a bitter thought. I’m grateful to you for staying with me. I know you might have been able to get away.

Naqia stood leaning against the dirt wall of the hut while Abby sorted through the pack of clothes for something to cover her with. Abby frowned as she looked up at her cousin. Get away! Where to? On my own? Not a hope.

Couldn’t you stay in the headman’s house? With the others? If you did I’d just die here in this hovel.

I won’t desert you, but I am going to get some straw, somehow.

If the king comes will, you ...?

I’ll get some more straw.

Abby returned with a bundle of straw and some news. She tidied away the old damp straw into a pile outside the opening and spread the new straw on the ground inside. When all was straightened up she came back and sat beside Naqia’s pallet.

Naqia, no one knows whether the king is coming but those mules are for him not us. We’ll still be in this awful place after the new moon, I imagine. And it’ll be hotter yet.

Naqia’s whole body shivered when she caught sight of Abby’s face. It was as though Abby’s courage had suddenly failed. If she gives in I really will die, why not? Abby, what’s happened? You look so sad. Why?

They’ve forgotten us, or someone’s reported us as having died. But we’ve both recovered now, even you. We’ll end up sold as slaves I expect, or worse.

Naqia looked through the doorway to the empty road and the dirty straw piled up beside it. That’s frightful. Slaves? It can’t be possible. Oh ...

She straightened up her back and asked, Worse? What do you mean?

Don’t you know? A female slave brings a price of at least half a minah of silver. As a maiden, as long as you’re in good health, you’d fetch twice as much. That’s a fortune to anyone from a small village like this.

Naqia began to cry again, trying to get control of herself, but groaning with sickness and fear.

Don’t moan, Naqia. It doesn’t help either of us. At any rate no one would pay for you in your present state. Your clothes are filthy and you still smell really terrible.

You’re no comfort, Abby. I ...Why did they leave us behind, like worthless trash?

We got sick. What don’t you understand?

Do you suppose they want me to die? Maybe the king doesn’t want to marry his son to me. If I die he gets out of it without breaking the treaty.

So why did he make the treaty then?

My mother, you know. Qat made him do it. As she always does, getting her own way no matter how the rest of us feel.

Abby stopped and spread her arms out. Your mother? You can’t be that naive. That’s ridiculous. How could she? You know Sennacherib is really the lord of all Judah. Your father hides in his room and Qat—fine, she’s Queen Mother, but of what?

Oh, Abby, I wonder. If she’d wanted me to get to Ninuwa safely she’d have sent an escort—you know, our own troops. If she meant me to marry the king’s son she’d have given me ... Naqia’s voice quavered and then gave out. Her misery seemed to rise up to strangle her.

Abby took her hand and squeezed it. Stop crying, Naqia, please just stop.

I’ve no status, no different from you other temple women. If Qat cared there’d be spies on the lookout, they’d notice we’ve gone missing.

Her? Send spies after you? You believe that?

No, but she did say ...

She’d say. That’s easy, say anything she would. Do? That’s something else. Anyhow, what’d she say?

Just that I’d marry the king’s son, be able to help her. That’s what she told me.

I don’t believe it. I mean, she may have said it but she must have known it was nonsense. Look, we temple women never had a high opinion either of her or her nosey spy-master.

You mean Shebna ben Shaqed?

We were a bit afraid but never very admiring. You ought not believe her no matter what she told you. Look, I’ll go now.

Why must you go? What if someone comes for us?

No one’ll rescue us. All we’re worth is what we can make men think we’re worth. I’ll try to find some more vinegar.

Naqia dozed, fevered dream images flickering, a young woman skipping through a garden, toes hardly touching the earth; blood splattered against a smooth stone wall, dripping until dried by the hot sun; a hand piercing her chest to rip out the liver; a bliss of emptied self, body only a husk sucked dry by a mighty spirit. She woke drained and empty.

That midsummer day, the last day of Tammuz, everyone fasted. Stopped along the main road the king, draped in grey mourning garments, listened to his messages from Ninuwa. He tapped his foot, his eyes wandering over the low hills, dusty and brown.

They hadn’t been able to find any shade when they made camp and the early morning sun promised discomfort. He always hated the monthly fast when on campaign. Riding, whether on horseback or in his chariot, gave him appetite. Now he could hear his stomach, rumbling, sorely missing breakfast. By the first watch he thrummed with impatience for the day’s end. Then, as his servant began reading the next letter from the capital, he jumped up and began pacing the width of their camp.

To the king my lord, your servant Gallulu. Good health to the king my lord! May Nabu and Marduk bless the king my lord!Concerning the tribute levied upon the western lands about which the king my lord wrote to me, all the furniture from those places arrived safely. The king my lord asked after the male and female musicians. They have arrived. Dancing women, too, arrived by barge to Ninuwa on the twentieth day. Na’id-Ilu sent to your servant asking for a receipt for 387 dancing women. Only 384 women, not counting the musicians, arrived at the city gates. Na’id-Ilu also asked me to write to him as soon as the daughter of the king of Judah reached the city. She has not come into the city. I asked Nikkal-Amat, chatelaine of Ninuwa Central. No women have been received in the household of the mother of the king my lord. The king my lord may say: Why does the guard Gallulu wait so many days before writing to the king my lord? The barges carrying the women were very heavily loaded. I waited for the next lot of barges to see if the missing women were on them. The next lot of barges carried no women. So I have written to the king my lord. May the king my lord not be angry with his servant!

Furious, the king sent for the governor of Natsibina. Listen to this! Did you know about this? Why didn’t you audit the tribute? Days later! It’s a week! The Judah woman, the daughter—can’t remember the name. She’s missing, together with three dancing women. What’s happened? Stolen? How? Who’s trying to make trouble? Well?

The king my lord is right to be angry. On the fourteenth we received notice from Guzana that the horde of women given you by the king of Judah had been sent ahead. But those women didn’t come here—they went south through Singara to Balatzu to the barges because they were so many. The king my lord knows that country is an empty place. No one who escapes there survives. I expect the messenger from Kharranu later today with the monthly toll report. The king my lord may wish to wait here. We’ll find out who has passed through Kharranu and Guzana before nightfall. By tomorrow your chariot horses will be rested.

Oh, all right then. But I need to do something or I’ll break the fast. Get me a fresh horse.

The two men made their way to the stables. Natsibina was a main staging post and the stables were well-fashioned and clean. The governor stopped at the door to let the king precede him, bowing as the king passed.

Which one would you like, my lord the king?

The black stallion with the white blaze. He’ll be good. I can head for the hills for some hunting. Until it gets too hot.

The governor nodded. I’ll have the guard alerted to come and stable the horse when the king my lord returns. We’ll transfer the king’s regalia to the next horse you’ll use. You won’t need all that for hunting.

Shortly after midday, discouraged by the summer’s heat and the absence of game, Sennacherib returned to the garrison. At the gate a guard grabbed his knees, kissing his feet, gibbering with excitement. The king brushed the gabbling soldier off and led his horse to the stables himself. At the stables he found the governor waiting for men to saddle his own horse and fit it with his regalia. Sennacherib came up behind him, touched him on the shoulder.

Where are you off to? I found no game but I am well. You can be happy.

Oh! The king my lord should know, the missing women have been found. My messenger stopped to water his horse at Urakka. They asked his errand so he told them. They said, ‘But the women are here. Their guards left them at Urakka, too ill to travel. Three dancing women almost died but they are well. The king’s daughter, she is not well.’ They said no herbalist from Guzana had come. Now I have ordered my herbalist Sama-adi to accompany me to Urakka. I hope my lord the king approves.

Yes, I do. Urakka? Never heard of it. How far is it?

The king my lord should know, not far. Three hours, perhaps four.

Give me your horse. I’ve nothing better to do—I will ride with the herbalist.

Naqia dozed fitfully, still damp with sweat and hollow inside. As she lifted her head to call out for water she realised it was late afternoon; the doorway showed the long shadow of the hut. Before she could try to use her voice she heard the sound of hoofbeats, very near. She stopped breathing to listen. Men’s voices, angry and excited. Perhaps they’ve come for me. She heard Abby’s lovely, high-pitched voice begin a greeting and then stop abruptly. Naqia could make out only murmuring. An old man’s voice, tremulous, rasping with a thick accent.

The sound came closer as the man drew nearer until he stood at the doorway, peering into the darkness within. My lady, are you awake?

I am thirsty. Please may I have water? Abby? Who is this?

It’s a herbalist by the look of him. That satchel he’s taking off obviously has some things in it.

Girl, you go and get me a goblet and a spoon. Go!

Naqia, fully awake now, bristled with indignation. Who does he think he is, smelly wretch? She found her voice and it came out much stronger. Look you, she’s no servant—she’s my cousin. You have not even told me who you are. I’ve been ill but I still ought to know who you are.

Just take this. I’ve mixed it for you.

I won’t. Who are you? What is this?

My lady, I am Uballitz, the herbalist. You must ...

I won’t. Not until you’ve said what’s in it.

As the herbalist grabbed at Abby’s wrist to pull her over to him, Naqia turned away and hid her face under her shawl. In rough Aramaic the herbalist gabbled at Abby. Naqia heard Abby agree and felt Abby take the shawl off her face. The herbalist summoned her back to his side and gabbled something Naqia couldn’t understand. Abby nodded. Naqia, I can translate for you. You have to take this. He’s ... The king’s here, outside. He sent this man to you. He’s sent for another one, too. What’s the matter? What do you want?

Naqia sat up, shaking her head, her lips pursed tight. Abby took her shoulder to shake her into replying. Naqia grunted, refusing, but then opened her mouth. He won’t tell me what it is. I won’t take it unless I know.

Really Naqia this is no time ...

I won’t.

Abby turned to the man. Sorry, Uballitz, she knows about medicines; you must explain.

With her back to the door, Abby didn’t see the approaching figure, but Uballitz did. He fell flat on his face on the filthy floor. Naqia pulled the shawl back over her head and face as waves of nausea rose and fell. She felt so limp she feared she’d faint away and disgrace herself. She choked down some bile as she heard a firm, deep voice order both the old man and Abby to get out. His large body blocked the light from the door of the hut but even in the dimness she knew he’d removed his turban. She could smell the perfumed oil he’d been anointed with, and leather, and the sweat of a man who’d just ridden far. She shrank deeper into the bedding and tried to wish him away.

He came right up to her. Let me see for myself. Are you the daughter of Judah’s king?

I am, my lord. May my lord the king pardon my wretched state. I have been ill.

I am Sennacherib, king of the world, king of Asshur, king of all the lands. You should not have suffered this indignity at the hands of my faithless servants. Tell me what you desire in recompense, whatever it may be.

Naqia was stunned. What should I do? ‘Don’t be afraid,’ Qat said, ‘and don’t humble yourself. They are men and not gods.’ But he—he does look like a god. She stared at him and voiced her thought without thinking. My lord, you are like a god. How can I deserve any recompense from you? I do not understand anything. I don’t even know where I am. That man wanted to make me drink his potion, but there’s no one I can trust.

There, there. You can trust me. I’ll stay with you until the proper healer arrives, I’ve sent for him, but so late in the day ... no moon to lead them. No one will harm you. I promised your father to marry you to my son Arda-Mulissi. He will be king after me and you shall be his queen. No one’s going to hurt you.

Chapter 2: The Story of Adapa

Sennacherib stood just outside the wretched hut while he waited for the second herbalist. As he watched, the villagers sent a bed and generous amounts of clean bed-straw for Naqia’s hut and as if by magic clean linen drapes covered the walls and now lay over the girl herself. Incense burned in one corner to drive away the stale smells.

The king came back in. At a loss what to say or do he sent for a stool to sit on. Beside her pallet he let himself down with a sigh. What shall I say to her? She’s so little, she looks so young. Maybe she would like a story. My daughter, do you know the story of Adapa?

No. Is it a true one?

The scholars disagree. Because it’s a story about a sage, each tells it his own way. Maybe all are true. I’ll tell you mine. The king saw her smiling hesitantly. Lowering her head a little, she looked up at him from under her eyelashes. You are so small and you look so young. Have you a strong spirit?

A strong spirit? I don’t know. She covered her mouth but then asked, Adapa, who’s Adapa?

A man, a special man. Ea made him to be perfect, to be like Ea, immortal. Don’t you know? Ea? Ea, the wisest of all the gods, created Adapa to be his likeness among men.

I see.

Adapa had all understanding, he could perceive the design of the earth’s creation. He knew how everything came to be as it was.

I know all about the creation of the world and all.

Don’t interrupt. Such knowledge derives from Ea, and Adapa is the sage who passes it on.

Sorry.

The king took a deep breath and, hoping she would obey and keep quiet, he continued. Adapa knew exactly how to do everything the gods love because, having been given long life, he had learned all rituals. He could keep his hands clean and his deeds blameless. He made the ointments for the gods, he oversaw all the bakers, he provided all the bread and water for the temple of Eridu.

Eridu?

Don’t you know? It’s the oldest city south of Babili—you have heard of Babili?

Of course.

Sennacherib frowned. She must know. Her father collaborated with the rebel prince of Bit-Yakin, Marduk-Baladan, when he styled himself ‘King of Babili’. Otherwise I’d not have invaded Judah and squashed that king. She must know, that’s why she’s here. If I hadn’t come near to defeat I’d not have made the treaty. No, not a defeat. The king of Judah capitulated. The rest of his women and his treasure are safely in Ninuwa now. He shifted his weight on the stool and started to clear his throat, but words didn’t come until she prompted him.

My lord the king? The story?

One day Adapa set sail from the Holy Quay of the New Moon; he set out to catch the fish the gods love. The wind blew every which way and Adapa’s boat drifted. With oars he tried to steer his boat upon the wide, wide sea. Adapa sailed across the wide ocean and the South Wind blew as hard as any wind can ever blow. You do know about wind?

Oh yes. We came from Dimashqa to Tadmur. Nothing but wind. So hot and dry. Abby says that’s why we ...

Sennacherib put a finger to his lips, reminding himself to stop asking her questions. He didn’t want to hear the answers. He brought his face so near hers that she must have sensed his annoyance. She reached out to his hand and said, The king my lord knows, of course.

Still scowling, he returned to the stool and again made her wait a moment before resuming. "As I was saying, the South Wind blew so hard it tipped Adapa’s boat over so he’d fall into the sea and drown. Any other man would have despaired, but not Adapa. Ea had given him all wisdom, you see. He knew the spells for everything, even for breaking the South Wind. ‘South Wind,’ he cried out, ‘withdraw from me all thy venom. Stop this wildness or I’ll break thy wing!’ No sooner had he opened his mouth than the wing of the South Wind broke. See my fists? That’s how he broke the wing with his great fists clenched.

So, no more South Wind. As you know, it couldn’t go on for long without someone noticing. The great god Anu called to his vizier, ‘Why has the South Wind not blown over the land these seven days?’ The vizier answered him, ‘My lord, Adapa son of Ea has broken the wing of the South Wind.’ Anu was very angry. He stood up and shouted for the gods to fetch Adapa. ‘Let them fetch him hither!’ The king stopped as Naqia sat up, smiling. You like this bit? he asked.

Oh, I like how you can do that. Be the god and give the orders.

I see. Now Ea, having all wisdom, knew at once what would happen so he took hold of Adapa to mess up his hair. See like this. He made him put on mourning clothes, just like these fast-day tunics I’m wearing. Yes, a ragged linen tunic, ash-stained and dirty. He gave him instructions. So. What do you suppose he advised?

You tell me. I’ll keep my mouth tight shut.

Well, he told him, ‘Adapa, my son, you’ll be summoned before Anu the king of the gods. You’ll take the road up to heaven and there you’ll approach the gate of Anu. Tammuz and Gizzida, the gate-wardens, will be standing by to watch you approach and they’ll challenge you. Man, they’ll say. Who are you in mourning for?"