The Ox-Boy of Ur: A Trilogy of Ancient Sumer

By Rose Shaw

During a time when men think the stars are little children of the moon, thirteen-year-old Zim-ri is sold into slavery by his uncaring, debt-ridden father. After he is taken from his home, Zim walks in line with the other captives to the noble city of Ur, where he will learn his fate. Along the way, an old woman from his village stumbles in the l

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Dec 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643458397

Rose Shaw

Rose Shaw, an English and social studies teacher for thirty years, often used historical fiction and ancient artifacts to bring history alive in her classroom. Today, she continues to combine her love of writing, history, and art in the studio that her husband and two sons built for her on their Kentucky farm.

Book preview

BOOK ONE

THE ROAD TO UR

Map of Sumer

1

A Sudden Farewell

Long, long ago, men thought the stars were the little children of the moon. Those men were a black-headed people, and they lived in a hot, dry land. Two great rivers, the Tigris and the Euphrates, watered their land, and the lives of all were bound in one way or another to the rivers.

Zim-ri, a well-made boy of thirteen or so summers, stood in the shallows of the Euphrates with his ox Tu-gar and poured water over the animal’s black-and-tan back. The boy’s dark eyes were sad as he thought about how this river had changed his life. Last winter, the Euphrates had poured through a weak place in the levee on lands his father farmed. The water had caused much damage.

The law of the black-headed people required that his father restore the levee and repay his neighbors for their losses. This his father had done, and Zim-ri had worked hard in the heavy mud to help him. But because work alone had not been enough to pay the debt, today Zim-ri washed Tu-gar for the last time. The ox was to be sold to help cover the obligation.

Tu-gar was more than a beast of burden to Zim-ri. The boy’s life was a hard one of work and obedience, and his fondness for the animal had made that hard work bearable. Losing Tu-gar would leave the boy with an aching heart.

Do not worry, Zim-ri told the animal. Maybe your new master will let me visit you. I will tell him you love yellow root. He scooped up another bitumen-lined basket of warm brown water and tipped it over the flank of the beast. Perhaps there will be other oxen, and you will be part of a team. You would like that, would you not?

The god of the sun was just rising in a cloudless sky, and Zim-ri was sweating in Lord Utu’s fiery glare. His kilt was dripping wet too, but the boy could not bring himself to end the ox’s bath. He was dunking the basket into the water yet again when he heard his brother calling him. Zim-ri squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to control his feelings. He did not want his brother to see his sorrow and mock him.

Yes, Sagada, I am coming! Zim-ri swung up on the ox’s back and held the empty basket in his lap. He urged the animal forward with a movement of his body, and the beast and the boy stepped out of the Euphrates and onto the land. There were no reeds here, for they had long ago been harvested for mats, baskets, and bedding. He could easily see his brother on the path from the village.

Sagada was perhaps eight or ten summers older than Zim-ri. He had straight black hair, black eyes, and very white teeth. Sagada always acted as though his younger brother was not as handsome as he was, but in truth, Zim-ri looked just like his older brother except that Zim-ri’s black hair was curly.

Sagada was regarded as a man of the village. He and Zim-ri’s father had many friends in the settlement, but Sagada made sure Zim-ri never felt welcome to join them when the men gathered. It seemed to Zim-ri that no matter how hard he worked, or how obedient he was, or how polite he tried to be, neither his brother nor father cared as much about him as they did about each other.

Zim-ri made it a practice to avoid his big brother anyway. Sagada was not only unkind to him, but he mistreated Tu-gar.

They are ready for that old beast, if you have finished weeping over him, said Sagada scornfully as the boy and ox reached him on the path.

His words were very close to the mark, so Zim-ri said nothing.

You had better hope the animal brings a good price, Little Brother.

There was something in the way Sagada had spoken that caused a little sliver of fear to slice into his sadness. What do you mean? asked Zim-ri.

We will see, said his brother. "Ama wants to speak to you. Sagada reached over and gave the ox’s ear a twist. Can you not make him move faster?"

Tu-gar swung his head from side to side, and Zim-ri leaned forward to settle him. Soon, the ox would no longer have to endure Sagada’s little cruelties; again, Zim-ri said nothing to his brother. It was hopeless anyway, for there was a distance between the brothers as wide as the great Euphrates, and the younger boy could not cross it. He would rather be with Tu-gar than Sagada, and he was losing Tu-gar.

As they neared the date palm grove between the river and the village, dar birds twittered little warnings to one another and flew up from the ground into the palms. At the base of the trees, Zim-ri noticed a patch of dusty green leaves and white flowers that marked yellow root. He slid off Tu-gar’s back and slipped his digging stick from the waist of his kilt.

Here, now, Little Brother, we have no time for that! scolded Sagada.

Zim-ri dug quickly and freed a skinny root from the sandy brown soil. I am already done, Sagada, and no time has been lost.

The younger boy was correct because the ox had not even stopped walking. Zim-ri pitched the yellow root into his basket and swung up again onto Tu-gar’s broad back. The village clearing was now in view, and Zim-ri felt a prickle of uneasiness. In the dusty center of the village, there were strangers with his neighbors, standing in Lord Utu’s uncomfortable brightness.

Before Zim-ri could ask his brother any questions, Sagada spoke, "I will take the animal. You run to Ama and find out what she wants."

Zim-ri’s heart tugged in his chest. This would be a rushed farewell with his ox friend. He slid off Tu-gar’s back and took the yellow root from the water basket. Sagada frowned, but Zim-ri would not be dissuaded from this moment. He stood in front of the animal and touched his forehead to the bony place between Tu-gar’s eyes. He filled his lungs with the tang of cowhide. Then Zim-ri took a step back and lifted the yellow root to the beast’s lips.

Tu-gar took the root eagerly and crunched it. Sagada, impatient to be going, pulled the animal by one of his blunted horns toward the group of men waiting in the already sweltering morning sunlight. He looked at Zim-ri over his shoulder.

Go see Mother.

As the circle of men closed in around the ox, Zim-ri turned away. He was doing his best not to shame himself by letting his tears fall, so he did not notice the black-bearded stranger standing in the shade of the headman’s house.

The man, however, who wore a plain but well-made tunic, had noticed the boy. He had watched the young one handle the large animal with ease and something akin to tenderness. He stroked his fine beard thoughtfully and nodded slightly to himself as he watched the boy walk away.

Zim-ri reached his house, which was made of mud bricks like every other building in his village. There he found his mother wrapping dates in grape leaves under the shade of a brown awning. His mother was not well, and he could see that even this small activity was draining her of strength.

"It is so hot out here, Ama, said Zim-ri with concern. Maybe it is cooler in the house."

Zim-ri’s mother’s hair was streaked with gray, but it was neatly braided and in a tidy coil around her head. Her garment, a one-shouldered white wool wrap, was clean and carefully placed. Although her good looks had been stolen by hard work and ill health, Zim-ri’s mother still made the effort to preserve her dignity.

The frail woman wiped the perspiration off her forehead with the back of her thin hand, but her dark eyes never left her son’s face. She searched his features until the boy spoke.

Many of father’s friends are in the village today.

Yes, much the same way as flies gather when something has died, answered his mother darkly. We have lost your hardworking friend Tu-gar, my son, but I see you are being strong.

His mother had always been able to tell what he was thinking by just looking at his face, so Zim-ri had tried to shield her from his grief. With her mention of Tu-gar, however, words tumbled from him. "The hard part, Ama, is that Tu-gar does not even know he is leaving us!"

How true, Young One, and the knowing one must bear the burden of the separation. That is why I have sent for you.

"I know why you sent for me, Ama. It was so I would not watch as Tu-gar is led away." Zim-ri’s sturdy shoulders slumped in defeat. He looked toward the village center, but its view was blocked by the other houses between them.

That is also true, said his mother, shaking her head with a sad smile. You have always been the son who could understand the deeper layers of things when others could not bother. But there is something else, as well. She gathered the wrapped dates. Bring me the journey bag, please.

The boy pulled the woven bag from the peg on the wall where it hung by its braided strap. He handed it to his mother. "Is Ada going somewhere?" He suddenly felt a little uneasy.

She shook her head. I do not believe Tu-gar will bring enough to finish paying your father’s debts, my son. Even if he does, your father has made the decision to do an additional thing to gain a little more silver. She put the wrapped dates in the bag and then stood. When she looked at Zim-ri, the sadness in her eyes was greater than his own.

What is it? asked the boy, his unease changing to fear.

His mother moved to his side and put her arm around him. She used to rest her chin on his head when she did this, but he was too tall now, so she leaned her head against his. She took a shuddering breath and said, "Your father has sold you today, as well as Tu-gar."

Zim-ri was stunned, and his mind spun like a swirling sand-devil.

What?

His mother kissed his black hair and moved into the house. He could only follow after her stolidly, like Tu-gar. As she moved around a small table made of stacked bricks, she put bread and other items into the bag. She took another deep breath and said, The gods have sent a slave trader passing through our village. That has led to this decision.

I am going to be taken away? Zim-ri looked around his one-room home at the sleeping mats, at the fire pit, at the little niche of household gods. "Ada sold me? I am leaving home?" His voice broke, and he could say no more.

His mother offered him comforting words, but the boy was not attending. His thoughts were already going out the door, through the village, and down the road.

The thin woman stopped talking, and Zim-ri came to himself enough to realize his mother was silent. He looked at her and saw how his reaction was hurting her, so he stepped to her and put his arms around her. She was so thin!

"Do not worry, Ama, said the boy, I will find a way to escape."

My son, if you run away and come back to the village, your father will only return you to the slave master. It is the law. She shook her head. And he will surely beat you for running away.

"I do not care if Ada beats me. I will run away and come back home!"

My son, you must not. It would be like stealing from the slave master if you were to run away, and you know the harsh punishments for stealing. Always stay on the right side of things. It is the way you have been raised.

"I do try to be on the right side, Ama! I work hard, and I obey you and Ada!"

His mother reluctantly freed herself from his embrace. Of course you do, but things have changed.

I do not want things to change!

It is the nature of things to change, she said. It seems like the way things are at the moment is the way they are going to be forever, but this is not true. Things change, and we can be the ones to influence the change if we will look for a way. And if there is no way we can alter them, things will still change anyway.

She fluffed his curly hair with her thin fingers. You have been a good son, but changes have already begun for us. We would have been separated soon anyway.

Zim-ri searched her sad dark eyes and saw her meaning. It chilled him, and he shook his head. Do not speak of it! he cried.

This parting is better, I think, said his mother. You must find a way to bring forth something good from evil. Do not betray your upbringing by running away from the slave master.

She stepped forward and kissed his forehead. The small room darkened as someone came to the door and blocked the light.

Saying goodbye? Good, good! said his father, Oh-ta, with false heartiness. Come, Zim-ri, I have someone here for you to meet.

Zim-ri’s mother handed him the journey bag and his full waterskin. She touched his cheek and turned away as Oh-ta pulled the boy’s arm toward the door.

Zim-ri had never known his father to change his mind. Once Oh-ta was set on a course, there was no way out. But Zim-ri could not help himself.

"Ada! Let me stay!" cried the boy.

The deal has been struck, said Oh-ta, giving his son’s arm a painful twist. Do not cause trouble. The slave merchant has given me a good price.

So many thoughts crowded Zim-ri’s head, he could not slow their spinning. As he stepped blinkingly into the sunlight, the boy looked like a poor simple-minded one.

A black-bearded man in a well-made tunic stood under the brown awning. Next to him stood a very tall man whose head touched the canopy. Even Sagada was there, looking intrigued, as though this were an interesting business exchange.

Oh-ta spoke. This is Master Padda, and he has bought you. Obey him as you do me, and you will come to no harm.

Master Padda was used to seeing the blank expression that was now on the boy’s face, and he nodded calmly to his tall servant. The tall one took Zim-ri’s arm firmly in his large hand, but stood still and waited for Master Padda to speak.

The slave master’s deep voice was loud, as though he were speaking for the benefit of unseen witnesses. He did not look at the boy but addressed Oh-ta. You have received payment from my scribe and made your mark. With the boy in my possession, our business is ended. May the great gods protect us all!

Then the slave merchant turned to the tall man. Lu-goh, take the boy and let us join the others at the well.

The servant towered over Zim-ri, but he was gentle as he tugged the boy firmly forward. Zim-ri looked back for one last glimpse of his family, but his mother had remained inside the house. His father and brother were not looking in his direction.

It was an odd sensation to walk through the familiar hot and dusty little streets of his community in the tow of strangers. The neighbor women who were watching from their doorways looked sympathetic, but the men gathered around Tu-gar did not even notice as the boy was taken away. Instead, it was only a big spotted gray dog and a small yellow dog who watched solemnly as Zim-ri joined the strangers drawing water from the well in the heart of the village.

Master Padda’s tall servant took Zim-ri to a man who wore the leather helmet and cloak of the king’s guard. It was the guard who tied a rope to Zim-ri’s waist and attached him to one of the tired-looking people near the well. The guard did not say a word, nor did anyone else.

The boy could tell the rest of Master Padda’s slaves had noticed a new member had been added to their group, but they were avoiding catching his eyes. It gave him the sensation of being unseen, like a soulless spirit. That is what he had always felt like in his family: an unseen one.

The Guards

2

The Road to Ur

Zim-ri searched his mind for anything to explain the injustice he felt as he was taken away from his home. Life did not make any sense. He felt weakness in his legs, like he could not go on. How could this have happened to him?

He knew his father and Sagada had a deep bond. There had been no need to explain that his strong older brother would not be sold. But his last view of them, of his father slapping his brother on the shoulder as they congratulated themselves on Zim-ri’s selling price, still stung the boy.

Zim-ri could yet recall his mother’s touch on his cheek, and he felt sad to be leaving her. She had always tried to convince his father of his worth, and besides, she was sick and needed his help! But if selling him had raised a good price, perhaps his mother would be able to rest now.

Even so, anger filled his heart. Being sold as a slave felt like a betrayal by his father. Then, as he left the last of familiar landmarks behind, the pain of separation mixed with Zim-ri’s anger. It hurt to leave home. His mother needed him, and he did not know the fate of the dependable Tu-gar. He must find some way to return to them.

He examined the rope tied at his waist. It would be easy to simply untie it and edge away from the others once night had wrapped them all in darkness. He would be only a day’s journey from home. Surely he could find his way back, even in the dark. He shivered at the thought of facing the night demons, and his mother’s words about staying on the right side of things returned to his mind.

He did not know what to do! If only the floodwaters had not gotten through the levee, his life would not have changed. If only the price of repayment had not been so costly, he and Tu-gar would not have been sold. He knew nothing about slavery or what his future might contain.

There had been only one slave in Zim-ri’s village, and that had been a girl who belonged to the headman’s wife. As far as Zim-ri could tell, that girl’s life had been no different from the life of any other girl in the village. She had drawn water from the well, she had woven mats in the shade with the women, and Zim-ri had seen her washing wool at the river with the other girls when he had given Tu-gar a bath. She had not seemed happy or unhappy to him. In truth, he had never given her much thought at all. Now, he wished he could talk to her and ask her a few questions!

Thoughts of the sad past and an unknown future were heavy loads to carry on a hot and dusty road, but the boy could not drop them until the stinging bite of a big fly brought him out of his dark musings. As he rubbed his shoulder, he looked around.

He was at the end of a line of thirteen slaves, bound at the waist with a heavy rope, tied to the person in front of him. The men in front of him wore reed sandals and wool kilts, just as he did. They all carried a waterskin over one shoulder, and many of them also carried small strapped bags like his own journey bag.

No one had wanted to be last in the line, for each breath would include the dust kicked up by the feet ahead. Zim-ri, however, did not mind his place. Walking was easier than farming, and perhaps he could learn something from the guards behind him.

He adjusted his water bag and looked over his shoulder as he did so. There were two guards with leather capes, each in a dusty kilt, wearing leather helmets and shoulder bags. Both men carried spears. Zim-ri spoke to the bigger of the two men who had tied him in line earlier. Is it permitted to speak, O large guard of the slave merchant Padda?

The large man just grunted, but the smaller guard laughed. You are very polite for a slave boy, and perhaps that is a good thing! You may speak, but the large one here does not talk much. What do you want to say?

Thoughts swarmed around in Zim-ri’s head like bees on fallen fruit. Would he see his mother again? Would his father ever buy him back? What was going to happen to him now? But the small guard could not know the answers to these questions.

Instead, Zim-ri turned around and faced the guards. Walking backward, he asked with a worried frown, Is the slave master cruel?

The smaller guard shook his head. He is neither cruel nor kind. I would say he is like most masters. His head is too full of what goes on in the marketplace to give much thought to kindness. Profit comes first with Master Padda, which is fortunate for you. He treats his charges fairly and will not allow his property to be mistreated.

Zim-ri thought about this for a moment. It would seem Master Padda was very much like the men of his village! Suddenly, the fear of the unknown slave master, as tightly knotted as the slaver’s rope, loosened. Much had changed, but this much, at least, had not. The great gods controlled all things, and they had put him in the hands of someone who sought a profit.

Is there anything else? asked the smaller guard.

With one of his greatest worries laid to rest, a new question came to the boy. Where are we going, O kind guard of Master Padda?

Perhaps it was the concern in the young face, or maybe it was the slave boy’s excellent manners that made the smaller guard step forward to walk next to the boy. He smiled and said mockingly, What is your name, O small slave of the merchant Padda?

I am Zim-ri, son of Oh-ta.

Very well, Zim, son of Oh-ta, I will tell you where we are headed. We are on the road to Ur!

So great was his surprise at their destination, the boy did not correct the guard’s mistake with his name. Besides, he liked the shortened name. He was going to Ur! His life had changed. Why should he not change his name? The one who had given him the old name had sold him. He would go back to being Zim-ri when he made it back to his old village.

I have never been to the great city! said the boy.

The kind-hearted guard continued, Zim, the first thing you will see of Ur, long before we reach the gates, is the shrine to Nanna atop the great brick mountain in the center of the city. But, even when you see the shrine, you will not see the city, for Ur is surrounded by a high wall.

I have heard of this large wall! replied the boy, his dark eyes shining in wonder. But I thought a shrine was a small thing, like a shelf.

The guard, finding it pleasant to impress an eager audience, continued, "You are thinking of your household shrine. The shrine I am talking about is a palace, built for Lord Nanna, the great moon god. He is the most important god in Ur. The shrine is his home, and it is built atop a grand ziggurat. The priests of Nanna serve the noble god by tending his temple and taking in the city taxes as the god’s tribute."

Hearing the word taxes, the boy’s hand closed around the little leather bag hidden at his waist beneath his kilt. What of the other gods? he asked. Is it permitted to say a prayer to Enki?

The large guard behind them snorted loudly.

Ho! cried the man at his side. Is it wisdom you seek, Zim? There are many temples in the city! All of the gods are there. You may pray to whom you like, but your fate is in the hands of Nanna now.

The boy fell silent at this pronouncement. He doubted the moon god had ever noticed him. One more thing to worry about!

Will we get to the great city tonight? he asked the guard.

Another snort from behind told him the answer before the kind guard could reply.

It is another dusty village tonight! said the big guard.

A few moments later, someone ahead stumbled and fell. The line of slaves stopped. The smaller guard left his side and walked ahead to check on the fallen one. The larger guard took a drink from his water bag, his dark eyes never leaving the weary group in front of him.

Soon, the big voice of Padda, the slave merchant, could be heard up the road. What is wrong? Why have you stopped? Is it the old woman? I knew she was a bad bargain!

Sure enough, there in the road was the only person the boy had recognized among the slaves. It was Mara, the oldest and wisest woman of his village. Many times, she had been the one who knew which herbs would help the sick. He moved forward as far as his rope leash would allow. The ancient one was on her knees in the dust. Would they leave her here to die?

That should not happen to old Mara. In this new life of his, with his new name, he would be Zim—the stronger and braver one. Faster than the ittidu bird’s cry of alarm, he was calling out, I could help her! If it please you, Master Padda! cried the boy. I can help her walk! Master! Look! I am strong!

The slave merchant stroked his fine black beard and looked toward the end of the line where the sturdy lad from the last village hopped up and down and shouted at him. It was bad for business to stand around in this heat. Already this little band of slaves was wilting, and they had several beru to walk before they reached the safety of the next village.

Give the old woman a drink, boomed the merchant Padda. And retie the noisy boy’s bonds to the old woman. Padda waved his attendant forward and motioned for a drink. As he swallowed the tepid water, he watched with some hope that the old woman would at least stay alive until he could sell her. It was just good business; after all, a dead slave added no silver to the coffers.

It was the small guard who loosened the boy from the bonds at the end of the line. As he moved the boy forward, he warned, That was unwise to bring yourself to the master’s attention, Zim, son of Oh-ta. It was kind to think of helping an elder, but do not raise your voice to the master. He shook his head as they reached the white-haired one.

Fellow slaves had helped her to her feet, and while she drank deeply from a water bag, a sad-faced woman brushed the dust from the aged one’s garment.

Get away, grumbled the old woman when she had finished drinking. She shrugged away from the other woman’s touch. At the scowl on old Mara’s face, the boy held back a bit, but the guard pushed him forward.

Now, now, Grandmother, the guard said as he looped another rope around the old one’s waist, she was just trying to help.

Mara shook her head in disgust. What is this? More rope? You think I was trying to escape?

If the old woman caused further delay, Master Padda would be down on them with curses! The small guard hurriedly rearranged the ropes so the boy was connected to the line of slaves and next to the old woman.

Zim will help you, he told the old one as he worked. The guard did not give her time to complain. Move the line! he called as soon as the bond had been made fast. He brushed a knuckle across the boy’s dark head and went back to the end of the line.

Zim, is it? said the old one.

Zim nodded. He and old Mara regarded one another as those around them stopped drinking and reformed the line. This was as close as he had ever been to the old woman, who was thin as a river reed and shorter than he was. As she dusted her hands off and smoothed her wispy white hair, she managed to smear dirt across her wrinkled forehead.

Their brief rest was over, and the hot walk began again. Zim helpfully put his arm around the woman’s waist, but she pushed him away as the tug of ropes urged them forward.

I thought you could lean on me, Wise One.

That great one up there. Mara nodded toward the slave master as she limped along, would not let me bring my walking stick. ‘Bad for business!’ he said. It would probably reduce my selling price if his buyers thought I was a cripple!

You could use me for your cane, suggested Zim hopefully. The old woman was almost dragging one foot.

Mara glanced down at the wishful tone of the boy’s voice. I know you, she said, squinting one eye.

And still she pulled away as they shuffled along. She would not let Zim put his arm around her for support.

Her ancient voice continued, "You are the younger son of that worthless Oh-ta, who plays games of chance instead of keeping his part of the levee mended! Too bad your mother could not sell him!"

Zim missed a step. Worthless? His father? He frowned, but before he could think of what to say, Mara spoke again.

I have not seen you squatting in the shade with your father and lazy brother. No, she squinted at him, I have not seen you running with the village boys. Always I see you with that ox! Plowing, hauling, washing him in the river!

A small sadness that had been tucked away swiftly grew and choked Zim’s throat. Tu-gar would look for him and not understand why the boy did not come. Who would talk to the good beast and encourage him now? Who would give him yellow root?

If a bony elbow had not dug into his side at that moment, Zim might have given way to tears. As it was, the old one grabbed his hand and leaned her weight into him.

Hold me up, she urged. I have decided to trust you. I am as weak as a new lamb.

And so it was that the youngest in the band of slaves helped the oldest as they made their way under the glaring eye of Utu. They did not talk much as they walked, but when the flaming Lord Utu was directly overhead, Master Padda let them rest in the shade of some scrubby bushes next to the road.

The first thing Zim did was slip his digging stick from his waistband and unearth a fat yellow root that was growing near him at the edge of the path. He always dug yellow root when he found it, although now that he had done so, it surprised him since Tu-gar was not with him to eat it. He rubbed the dirt from the root and placed it in his journey bag.

Zim offered Mara a drink from his waterskin. It was still about half full. Even though the river was on the other side of the road just past the reeds, he knew the bag could not be filled until they reached a well.

The buzzing of the marsh flies made it seem like any other day, but it was not. He was far from home, sitting with strangers, and wondering where his next bag of water was coming from. He had never drawn water from any well other than the one in his village.

Mara returned the water bag and adjusted her dress. It was the same as the garment worn by all women of the black-headed people: a length of white wool cloth, wrapped twice around her body, with the last of the cloth coming up over her shoulder and draping in the front over her left arm. She uncovered that arm now and removed a shoulder bag, much like Zim’s own, but made of soft leather rather than tightly woven reeds.

Would you eat some bread, Young One? she asked as she took a little cloth bundle out of the bag.

I have bread also, replied Zim. He opened his own bag and looked to see what else his mother had prepared for him. With a sudden pang, he realized it was the last bit of food his mother would likely ever pack for him if he did not escape. He shook his head sadly and took out two hard-cooked duck eggs. I have something to share, he said, his throat tight.

Some other members of the band of slaves were also taking things out of shoulder bags and parcels to eat as they rested. Zim noticed several, however, who appeared to have no food. He looked at Mara; she had been watching him.

The master will have them fed, just as he will feed us when our food is gone. We are his to worry about now. She took the egg he offered. Thank you, boy.

I did not like the things you said about my father or brother a while ago.

Like the words or not, said Mara, seeing one’s family as the world sees them is part of growing up. Your loyalty does you proud, Zim, but for them it is undeserved. She made a little dismissive wave with her bony fingers.

Then she added, You are too trusting, perhaps.

Remembering how she had pushed him away at first, Zim thought that perhaps she was not trusting enough.

And you think I am too untrusting! The old one made a dry little laugh. Your thoughts appear on your face as though a scribe had written them there. That is another part of growing up, Young One. Do not let your face show every thought that is in your head.

Trying to keep his face fixed with whatever expression it now held—puzzlement, he thought—Zim said, You were suspicious of me and the woman who dusted you off, and we were only trying to help.

"You may have been trying to help me, but that woman was trying to help herself to the contents of my leather bag."

Zim’s puzzlement changed to shock. Then, as he remembered her words about how easily his expression could be read, the boy’s face quickly readjusted. Now his appearance was a rather strained look of shifty stupidity.

The wise one shook her head. I cannot imagine the time you will need the face you are currently wearing, young Zim, but do not use it on me. It reminds me too much of my daughter’s husband.

To hide his embarrassment, Zim looked over at the sad-faced woman. Mara saw the direction of his gaze.

Keep this conversation between us by not looking at the woman, said Mara in a low voice.

Zim looked back to Mara and nodded.

It is the oldest trick in the marketplace, continued Mara. A person distracts you by brushing off your clothing, all the while feeling inside the folds for your valuables.

Zim’s hand went to the little leather bag, just inside his waistband.

If you watch a person long enough, Young One, Mara said, her eyes pointedly on Zim’s hand, he will show you where he keeps his valuables, and you will not have to search his clothing.

Zim pulled his hand away as if it had encountered

a serpent.

Neither spoke for a few moments. A flock of black ducks flew overhead in that strange pointed pattern all ducks seemed to know. They followed the river, and their calls to one another gave him a lonesome feeling. It was likely a sign from the gods, for he too, followed the river.

Mara took out a flat loaf of bread and broke it, giving him the larger piece.

You need to be cautious of every offer of kindness, especially in the city, she said. Once you have been there a while and have learned the ways of city people, you will not be so easily fooled. Until then, listen more than you talk. Observe the people around you. You are like a bare-bottomed one, toddling toward the fire, and there is no one to watch over you.

Zim was worried by these words, and he had learned enough from the wise one to know it showed on his face.

But the old one put her little bony hand on his shoulder. Do not be worried. You will learn quickly. For do you not watch the ox and know what he is thinking?

Zim smiled. It was true.

Mara continued, Do not the actions of the ox have meaning? If the ox shakes his head, what does he tell you?

Zim said, Perhaps a fly is biting his ear. If I see no fly, perhaps it is the yoke pinching him. Something is wrong, and I look for it.

Mara nodded. People are like oxen. All of their actions have meaning. Most of them can be read as easily as scribes read the markings of the stylus.

The wise one stopped talking as the slave master’s voice boomed out.

Where is that boy who did all of that shouting at his betters this morning? Have him help Lu-goh.

Zim’s heart skipped a beat. He had indeed brought notice upon himself, and the slave master had not forgotten it.

The small guard walked over to them.

You are to come with me, son of Oh-ta, said the guard. The master would have you help hand the bread around. Let the old one rest.

The guard led Zim toward two stunted trees where Master Padda and his servants were. Master Padda was sitting on a rug, eating something from a white clay dish. A scribe sat next to the slave master, writing on a piece of wet clay no bigger than the palm of his hand.

Three servants were busy in the shade of the other tree. They wore short plain white kilts, and all were clean-shaven. The tall servant was there, as were two others who looked exactly alike! The guard pointed out a large basket to Zim, and after the boy picked it up, the guard passed Zim’s bonds to the tall servant. Zim followed the silent man as a dog on a leash would, if a dog on a leash could carry a basket.

They passed the two men at the head of the line who were eating quietly together. Then the servant stopped at the third person, a man sitting as far as his bonds would allow him to be away from the others in the line. The man had gray in his beard and strange, ugly markings scarring his forehead. There was the shiny stretched skin of an old burn on his arm. Nothing was said as the servant reached into the basket Zim carried and handed the man a flat disk of bread.

The servant and Zim moved on. Next there were four men sitting together, and these men seemed different. Zim looked at them closely as the servant handed out the bread. These men had long well-trimmed beards and very short hair. They wore fringed kilts, and their water bags were well made. One of them had the red sore eyes, but the others all looked very well. One of the men waved a marsh fly away from his face and nodded in greeting when he noticed Zim studying them. Zim nodded back; the tall servant moved on and tugged the rope.

The bread was passed out in this manner to all the slaves who had nothing to eat. The sad-faced woman asked for a second loaf of bread, and when Zim reached into the basket to hand her one, the tall servant stopped Zim’s arm and shook his head warningly. When they reached the end of the line, the servant handed the large guard two of the flat loaves. The big guard made his usual gruff snort, but maybe made the tiniest of nods to Zim. Zim grinned back at him, and the guard snorted again. In a way, the large guard reminded Zim of Tu-gar!

The tall servant led the boy back to the two scraggly trees. Master Padda was lying on his rug now, resting as one of his servants waved a stiff mat over him to move the air and keep off the marsh flies. The scribe had joined the other servant and the short guard in the shade of the second tree.

Even now, no one spoke. Zim wanted to ask the servant a hundred questions, but he felt Mara would not have broken the silence, so he kept still. His rope leash was returned to the kind guard.

Back to the old one, eh, Zim? said the guard, once they were away from the trees. Is she scolding you every step?

No, said Zim, a little surprised that he was glad to be returning to Mara’s side. She is telling me things she thinks I need to know.

The guard smiled, and when Zim seemed to slow his steps as they passed the man with the disfiguring marks, the guard lowered his voice and spoke.

Those scars on that one’s forehead are a brand. It says, ‘I am a run-away slave. Return me to Ki-du.’

Zim shivered. If he managed to escape Master Padda, would his father still return him, knowing he would be branded as a runaway slave?

If the guard noticed the boy’s disquiet, he did not let on. As they passed the four men in fringed kilts, the guard continued speaking.

Those four are from the city kingdom of Lagash, made slaves when that city fell to the city of Umma last winter. Each trip across the region, the master brings a few of them to the market in Ur. Sometimes they cause a little trouble, but this is a wiser group.

Wake up, Grandmother! said the guard when they had reached Mara.

She sat up immediately, and Zim wondered if she had been sleeping at all.

I have brought the duckling to go back under your wing, the guard said pleasantly.

Old Mara made a face as Zim helped her to her feet.

The guard refastened the boy to the old one’s waist, talking as he did so. When Master Padda wakes, we will walk until Lord Utu is two fists above the horizon. The guard stretched out his arm and made a fist. He shut one eye and sighted down his arm, lining up the bottom of his fist with the line made by the horizon. Then he stacked his second fist on top of the first. He dropped his arms and continued speaking. That is about the middle of the third watch if we were in the city. There is a village with a good well where we spend the night. And then the guard added with a smile, There is a woman who brews very good beer in this village!

He left them, and Mara sat back on the ground. She retied one of her sandal straps and then looked at Zim expectantly. It was just the sign he had been waiting for!

There are captives from Lagash in the line! he blurted.

Mara nodded slowly. And? she encouraged.

Well, they are four in number. They have very fine beards and long fringe on their kilts. Oh, and one of them has the red sore eyes.

Again Mara nodded, this time almost to herself. What else did you learn?

It seemed as if Mara were testing him, so Zim concentrated a moment. Then he continued, There are thirteen of us in the line—four are women. Only one in the line sits alone, and he has a brand on his forehead that says he is a runaway slave.

Mara nodded. Let that be a warning to you, Young One. I have seen you studying the road behind us. Now, what else have you have learned?

Zim blinked and went on, Master Padda has three servants and a scribe. Two of the servants look just alike, and the tall one wears a metal band around his arm.

Two servants and a slave, Mara said.

Will we get metal bands? asked Zim, suddenly a little bit grave.

Mara shrugged, with either indifference or lack of an answer. Zim could not tell which.

Is this all you saw? Mara asked.

Zim thought of the light basket he had carried. The bread smelled fresh, but the loaves were smaller than the ones we shared. The basket will have to be filled at the next village, or all will not eat tomorrow.

The old one nodded again, this time with satisfaction. It is as I thought, she said slowly. You have some sense about you. See that you use it!

Zim was warmed by her praise, but he had little time to savor it.

Form the line! Master Padda’s big voice boomed from the road.

And form the line they did.

Mara

3

Mara Works Some Magic

By the time the sun was two fists above the horizon, the weary travelers had indeed reached a small cluster of mud brick houses and a byre. Zim had known for some time that they were drawing near to a village because they had been passing well-tended fields for quite a while. He had even seen a brown ox getting a bath at the river’s edge.

As they entered the village, the smell of smoke, the barking of a dog, and a woman calling to her children combined to create a surge of homesickness in Zim. Perhaps the others in line