The Tablet of Destinies: A novel of ancient Mesopotamia

By Peter Henne

Thousands of years before Rome, the peoples of ancient Mesopotamia built magnificent cities, developed writing and literature, and inspired the religious beliefs that would later be codified in the Bible. Nahor is a seemingly minor player in this wondrous civilization: an Amurru outsider working the fields and carrying on a secret love affair wi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter S Henne
• Release date: Nov 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9780578322896

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Peter Henne

The Tablet of Destinies

Copyright © 2021 by Peter Henne

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

Second edition

ISBN: 978-0-578-32289-6

Cover art by Pieter Bruegel the Elder (design by Lynn Andreozzi)

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For Caroline, Joanna and Beatrice

Preface

I am a professor of modern Middle East politics, but I’ve always been fascinated by its early history. By the time the Roman republic was founded, the ancient Near East (what we now call the Middle East) had already experienced thousands of years of civilization among the Sumerians, Akkadians, Babylonians, and Assyrians. These cultures laid the foundation for our political structures, society and religion. What must it have been like to be part of these grand transformations? Did people realize the momentous times they were a part of? What did they think of the great civilizations that had already come and gone by the time they were alive?

I’ve also been intrigued by Biblical history. If we take the Bible seriously as a historical document, it really only deals with the first millennium BCE (Before Common Era) and beginning of the second. That leaves almost three thousand years of civilization to be covered by the first few chapters of Genesis. What role did the people of the Old Testament play in these mighty civilizations? How did the beliefs that would turn into Judaism (and later Christianity and Islam) interact with the religions of the ancient Near East? Was there tension, understanding, or both? How did Biblical worship develop? What does it mean that there were so many tales of a great flood?

I attempted to answer these questions by writing this novel. It is based on extensive research I conducted (which I discuss in the historical postscript), as well as a healthy dose of conjecture. Whether you are a scholar or not, believer or not, I expect some disagreement on the ways I’ve filled in the historical record. But I think you will at least understand why this time period, and the questions it raises, are so powerful. I think you will appreciate the opportunities for adventure it provided as well.

While writing the novel, I also stumbled upon another, more personal, significance in its protagonist, Nahor. Nahor is on the fringes of the great events going on around him. He is trying to find his place in them and figure out how best to have a positive impact on the world. These are timeless questions, which every reader will recognize.

So you can approach this novel in whatever way you want. It can be a fast-paced tale of exploration and adventure. It can be an intriguing speculation on the events of circa 2000 BCE, or an exploration of the first stirrings of Judeo-Christian faith. It could also be a personal story of someone coming to understand the world in which they live. It may end up the first part of a series exploring other time periods in Biblical history (if I get around to writing them). However you approach the book, I hope you enjoy reading it; I greatly enjoyed writing it.

I

Kish

Chapter 1

Abright object hung low in the pre-dawn sky, outshining all but the waning crescent moon. In later eras, in a different land, they would name it after the goddess of love and beauty. But here, it was Ishtar . Goddess of beauty, yes, but also passion, fertility—in both the land and humanity—storms, and war. The goddess who stole the secrets of civilization from her uncle, Enki . The goddess who dared enter the underworld, and returned to the land of the living. She inspired and terrified mortals; those who acknowledged her served willingly, those who did not walked in fear without knowing why.

Ishtar shone on everyone in Sumer—lugalene in their palaces, en in their temples, workers in their cramped apartments—but right now her light fell insistently on one man, Nahor, who dreamed.

He dreamed the same dream he had every night. He saw the men ride up on donkeys out of the desert. Soldiers of Ebla, they demanded tribute, which his tribe could not afford. The riders tossed torches at their tents, which went up in flames immediately. The warm desert wind made the flames jump from tent to tent. The women and children began screaming, some rushing out, some cowering inside. The men ran to help their families, but before they could the riders attacked. They hurled their spears at the men, pinning them to the ground. They pounced on those that resisted, smacking their weapons away with well-trained blows and beating in their heads.

The chief of Nahor’s people raised his hands, Please, please! he shouted. Stop this! We will give you anything, whatever you want. Any— his pleas ended in a bloody gurgle as one of the riders hit him across the face, smashing his nose into a pulp and breaking his jaw. He fell to the ground, gasping for air as he choked on his blood. The raider stood over him, slamming the mace into his face till it was unrecognizable.

Nahor’s father, Serug, raised his own mace and swung at their leader. The other man was ready, blocking his blow and twirling around, bringing the mace down on Serug’s head. But Serug remembered his training from his marches to war. He parried the blow, and returned it. The two fought in the middle of the chaos as flames swirled around them, women and children screamed, and the village’s men gradually died. Eventually, Serug faltered as the raider rained a series of heavy blows onto his mace. His arm dropped from exhaustion, and the other man brought his weapon down hard on Serug’s chest. Nahor’s father fell, clutching his broken ribs before another blow killed him.

Nahor could never clearly remember what happened next. He screamed and tried to run to his father’s side. But someone—a man he vaguely recognized—stopped him, turned him to the desert, and ordered him to run. Some nights he hesitated, and the flames consuming his people consumed him as well. Some nights he ran into the darkness, stumbling, lost till he woke in the morning. But this night, something was different; a tablet, covered in writing he couldn’t read, floated in the emptiness past his village. It shone brightly, calling to him.

Nahor gasped and shot up in bed, his heart racing. Sweat rolled down his forehead, his bare back. Ishtar’s star shone through his window. He tried to catch his breath before he disturbed the woman next to him.

Too late: she stirred, and rolled over. Nahor, is it time to leave? she asked.

No, Dua, he said. Sorry, just a dream.

She sat up, and laid her head on his shoulder, stroking his chest. "The dream? she asked. The bad one? Nahor nodded. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine, seeing my family, my home, destroyed."

He wiped the sweat off his forehead. Thanks, I’m sorry to wake you.

It’s ok, she sighed. What time is it? she glanced out the window. An hour till dawn, maybe?

I think so, Nahor said. Maybe you should leave.

Are you still so terrified of my father? she asked.

He laughed. "Yes, yes, I am. It would not do for an Amurru laborer to be caught with the cupbearer’s daughter."

Oh, you’re quick, you could come up with an excuse, she said. Or use one of your magic tricks to disappear.

They don’t really work that well, he said. I could try and explain we were in love, but that might make it worse.

In love? she said, tilting her head. In the pre-dawn gloom he couldn’t tell if she was smiling or frowning.

Ah, well, that is, he stammered.

She kissed him on the mouth, and rubbed her hand down his back. You’re cute, she said. And it’s too early to have that conversation. He was about to ask if she meant that literally or figuratively, but she cut him off. But I think we do still have enough time for something else before I need to sneak back into my bedroom.

He grinned, and forgot the awkward moment he’d created. He put his arms around her, returned her kiss, and rolled on top of her as they slid back to the bed.

The harsh sun shone in his face. He laid in bed since she left, unable to fall back asleep, waiting until it was time to get up. The sun always seemed to burn brighter in Kish than it had back in his homeland. Blinking against its glare, he rose to sit and swung his feet on to the ground.

Out his window he could see the men starting to head out to the fields. Akkadians, Amurru, even some Gutians from the wild mountains to the east. Sumerian overseers walked among them, prodding those who stopped to chat with friends or enjoy a bit of shade before the long day’s work out in the sun. Sometimes, after the dream ended, he would have others: living in a palace with Dua, riding at the head of an army, living in comfort as a merchant. Anything more glorious than this life. Nahor sighed, pulled on his tunic, pants, and sandals, and headed downstairs.

The boarding house he lived in had four apartments, plus the living space for Mama-Ummi, their landlord. One of the other men, who also worked in the fields, grunted as he saw Nahor and nodded his head. The remaining boarders worked for the chief smith, and were able to sleep in a little later than the field laborers.

Breakfast is out, Mama-Ummi said from the small dining area near the door. Nahor looked in, and smiled. She’d laid out a spread of olives, chick pea spread, grapes, and dates, with a basket of bread pockets. Nahor thanked the woman and ate a portion, rolling up a few more pitas with the food to take with them.

"Oh, and Nahor, your room is single occupancy," she said. Your little friend is sneaky, but I can hear her leaving early in the morning.

Ah, he said through a mouthful of olives. That was…my cousin. She just needs a place to stay sometimes.

Cousin, eh? she replied. When I was young my cousin tried some of what you two are doing. My dad castrated him.

Nahor’s neighbor barked a laugh, kissed the old woman on the forehead, and left.

I, well, I’m sorry, Nahor said.

She waved her hand at him. I don’t really care, young love and all, she said. "Just don’t bring any trouble down on me. She looked fancy. Can’t imagine her dad and brothers will look kindly on her Amurru lover, or his landlord."

Nahor smiled, thanked her for the food, and headed out for the day.

He joined the rows of men shuffling towards the fields outside the city. Nahor had lived in Kish for years but he never grew tired watching the city wake up. Rows of rough family homes interspersed with boarding houses spread around him. Past them was the suqu, the market he would walk through on his days off, full of farmers selling their wares, craftsmen presenting their pottery, brewers letting passersby sample their latest beer, and even traders from faraway with their exotic and strange goods. Towards the center of the city rose the palace, with the city’s two ziggurats rising above it.

As the rows of field laborers headed out, others headed into the central city. Bakers and brewers, masons and craftsmen in their aprons, court officials in their fine robes. Nahor stepped out of the way of a donkey-driven cart carrying someone important to the palace. He nodded and waved to Ahaan, who was emptying her garbage in the alley behind the tavern she owned. Nahor and his friends frequented the place every night after returning from the fields, before stumbling home to the meal Mama-Ummi left out for him.

As he did every morning after having the dream, he thought back to that horrible night when the raiders appeared out of the desert. He had run, hard, till he thought his lungs would burst, till he could no longer feel the tears running down his cheeks. Just as he was about to collapse, worried he was lost in the dark and featureless desert, he saw a shape rise up out of the sands: a large tent. Stumbling towards it, he nearly tripped over a soldier, armed with a spear and leather armor, who was sitting outside, sipping a mug of beer through a straw. The soldier and his fellows were in the service of Kish, assigned to a remote outpost meant to secure trade between the Sumerian city and Mari.

The soldiers were not excited to have a young Amurru show up out of the darkness, but Nahor was clearly distraught—and clearly not a threat—so they let him stay the night. The next morning they tried to give him some food and send him on his way, but he begged to stay. He offered to work, to be their servant. But it was when he showed off his sorcery that they relented. Nahor tried all the tricks he’d learned from his father, making a coin appear behind one of their ears, making one of their knives disappear, guessing their rolls on the set of loaded dice he always carried with him. They agreed to keep him on, and brought him with them to Kish a month later when they rotated out. The soldiers connected him with a nubanda who assigned him a work detail, and helped him find his boarding house. Nahor had been there ever since.

It was an unsettled time, and he was glad to have a steady job inside a city with walls. Long before the flood, they said great kings, part god and part man, ruled over the land. Later, priests ruled the Sumerian cities; the height of their temples, and the ziggurats that were said to reach the heavens, were a sign of that. Like everything else, that had changed with the flood. The old certainty in how to please the gods, the old order of their lives, all shattered with a sudden rush of water over the flat lands of Sumer. But the high places remained.

That was centuries before those now alive were born. All anyone could remember were lesser, more selfish rulers. Lugalene, strong men who fought their way to the top among the bandits and roustabouts who ravaged the land. Some managed to seize a city and rule it as a king until someone else pushed him out. The priests could do little to tame the chaos. Weak and dependent on the lugalene for protection, riven by the confusing overlap and ambiguous roles of their many gods, they could only hope to keep their followers comfortable in the midst of the turmoil.

Kish was ruled by Ur-Zababa, who captured the city with his raiders. A wealthy lay-about who attracted a band of raiders around him with his money, he assassinated the previous king and moved into the palace. No one bothered challenging his right to be in charge, since few were fond of the previous king. His rule was neither fair nor exceptionally oppressive. The people received enough food to survive, and were usually allowed to live their lives and run their businesses in peace. Occasionally some of Ur-Zababa’s men would steal a merchant’s goods—killing him if he resisted—or Ur-Zababa would notice a citizen’s daughter and bring her back to his palace. Everyone else just looked away, hoping to avoid the guards’ attention.

Years before, there had been a brief period of stability, under Urakagina of Lagash. He came to power the usual way, but for some reason desired to rule justly. Maybe a wise temple priest held his ear. Maybe he had studied the epics of the ancients. Either way, he paid people fairly, guaranteed their property, and kept his enforcers in check. He instituted legal reforms that made it easier for people to make money and gain education. From Ur to Kish, all the people of Sumer held their breath, wondering if this would bring the change they needed. But they shouldn’t have trusted in hope. Lugalzagezi, the ruler of Umma—Lagash’s chief rival—took advantage of Urakagina’s focus on his reforms and invaded. Umma destroyed Lagash’ armies and sacked the city. He also seized Ur, Nippur, Larsa and Uruk, and set himself up in that ancient city as the King of all Sumer. Kish had stayed safe so far, thanks to hefty tributes Ur-Zababa extracted from the people and paid to Lugalzagezi.

The old men he worked alongside cautioned him to stay out of all of this. The life span of those who stuck to their jobs—not causing any problems—was a lot longer than those who poked their heads up and tried to make a name for themselves. Even if their lives were dreary and thankless, they argued, at least they had food and safety from the bandits outside the city walls. But Nahor couldn’t be content with the world around him. He knew there was more than life to this, and was sure he was meant for greater things.

Nahor reached the gates, and stepped into the open land. The verdant alluvial plain spread around him, fed by the Idiglat and Buranum that bordered it on either side, their floods enriching the land, canals irrigating what they did not reach. Immediately outside the city walls were the apple orchards and grape vines. Beyond them were rows of flax, sesame, beans, cucumbers, and the aromatic spices that made Nahor hungry even though he’d just had breakfast. Ducks and geese waddled through the plants, foraging until it was the time for their slaughter. He saw the herds of goats and sheep shambling away from the city towards the open grazing lands. Inside a closed pen were the pigs, watched over by two armed guards, ensuring none of the rabble tried to steal the succulent and luxurious meat. Nahor had never tried pork, but Ikrub-Ea—his friend who worked in the palace—sneaked a piece once during a royal banquet and raved about it.

Soon the diverse, colorful orchards and vegetable gardens gave way to the flat, unyielding plain of barley, waving in the morning breeze. He reached his assigned plot, saluted the ugula who oversaw him—a cranky Sumerian who sneered back—and set to work checking the barley for weeds and making sure it was watered sufficiently.

By this time, they were ready for their mid-day break and meal. He pulled out the bread pockets from Mama-Ummi, and the dried goat meat he’d bought at the suqu. Some of the men chatted about the job, what they wanted to do after work let out. Others sat alone, day-dreaming or thinking of their wives waiting at home. Nahor was feeling sociable so he joined in a game of dice. He won the first few hands by guessing the chances of beating the previous dice roll or reading the confidence level in the other men’s faces, then took it easy to avoid antagonizing them.

Returning to work, he inspected the barley for disease and removed the diseased plants. It was steady work, but he didn’t feel rushed. Planting and harvest time were the busiest. In between, he had enough work to do, but it was a calm routine that gave him time to think.

He thought of Dua. The daughter of the royal cupbearer. They’d met in a busy day at the suqu, six months ago. Nahor was performing some of his tricks for a few extra coins—he was paid for his fieldwork with a share of the food, so he needed extra income for anything else. She was in the crowd. He’d asked her to be his assistant, a trick he’d try with pretty girls; she complied, but teased him after the act about his blatant ploy. It must have worked, though, as they went to get a drink, and had seen each other regularly since, or as regularly as they could considering she had to sneak away to be with him. Besides the awkward exchange this morning, they hadn’t really discussed what this was, and he was ok with that. High-born women did not marry laborers, especially refugees. He’d try to stretch this out as long as he could.

Nahor glanced up at the horizon. The ribbons of the Idiglat and Buranum rivers wound away to the north, sparkling in the sun. A shimmer at the edge of his vision suggested the desert that lay outside the steppe. And a vague darkness, like growing storm clouds, indicated the mountains that lay far to the north and east, home to the fierce raiders that occasionally swept through the civilized lands, destroying their crops and forcing the people to take refuge in the city. He didn’t bother looking to the west, to his home.

Eventually the day was over. The foremen blew their horns; the laborers gathered up what they had and shuffled back to town. Nahor nodded and chatted with some of the other men. They formed into their assigned rows by the city walls: barley pickers, vegetable pickers, fruit pickers. The laborers were inspected to ensure they hadn’t stolen anything and sent on their way. A short distance away, other workmen were gathering to turn in their goods: jugs of sesame oil they had pressed, leather they’d tanned, pottery they’d forged. The ugula and nubanda took the goods to the palace for registration and redistribution, and each worker went home with their allotted food for the day.

Nahor made it back to his neighborhood, dropped off his share of food in his room—after giving Mama-Ummi a portion to cover the room and board—and headed back to the tavern. Ninkasi’s Gift, named after the goddess of beer, was just a block away; Ahaan, its owner, was a former prostitute who had saved up enough money to start out on her own. Once a week she would make an appearance in the common room, regaling the men with bawdy stories of her former profession. She had a few women working for her in the upper rooms, but Nahor never patronized them; he barely had enough coin to cover his drinks.

When he walked in several of the men greeted him by name, the others nodded. A few had women sitting on their laps. A group of women sat in a circle in a corner, chatting and drinking. Occasionally, an already-drunk man would wander over and try to get the women’s attention, but they’d glare until he’d leave. Nahor saluted the bartender, who slid a mug of beer with a fresh straw over to him. He leaned over and inhaled the sweet aroma of the liquid, cloudy from the yeast and still-fermenting barley. The Ninkasi’s Gift had a famous secret beer recipe, and even though he drank it every night, Nahor still struggled to figure it out. Honey, definitely, and some aromatic herbs, but that was the best he could tell.

Nahor sipped the beer through the straw, to filter out any particles he didn’t necessarily want to imbibe, and relaxed. The first buzz of the alcohol, intensified after his long day of work and dehydrated state, rushed over him. It must have hit a few of the other men too, because they began singing a hymn to the goddess:

Borne of the flowing water,

Tenderly cared for by the Ninhursag,

Borne of the flowing water,

Tenderly cared for by the Ninhursag,

Nahor was about to join in, when someone grabbed him. "It’s the Amurru sorcerer! a toothless old Sumerian man shouted. Do us a trick, Amurru!"

Nahor grimaced at the interruption and at being treated like a festival attraction. Still drinking, he said, trying to smile. It wouldn’t do to start a fight with the Sumerians who filled this bar.

Hey, he won’t perform! the man shouted.

"Amurru, here, show us what you have!" another Sumerian barked, and tossed a handful of coins onto the bar in front of Nahor. He was well-dressed, his shaved bald head black and gleaming with oil. A member of the court, or a soldier, maybe.

Nahor sighed again. Ok, he said, but watch carefully, or you will get lost in the sorcery.

He did a standard, easy trick he knew would entertain. Pulling out a clay ball he kept in his pocket, he let it dance across the back of his hands, up and down his arms, deftly transferring it between them. He saw the drunks trying to follow the ball, always a step behind Nahor’s agile movements. Nahor tossed the ball up into the air, and it disappeared. The men roared, and several tossed him more coins for another trick. He slid the ball—which had fallen into the folds of his sleeves—into a pocket and bowed. The hymn continued:

You are the one who soaks the malt in a jar,

The waves rise, the waves fall.

Ninkasi, you are the one who soaks the malt in a jar,

The waves rise, the waves fall.

Nahor did a few more tricks—simple things like dice, guessing numbers, making coins appear and disappear—before the men were satisfied. His coin purse was now full; enough to cover two days of drinking, with a bit set aside in the lockbox in his room. He also dutifully tossed a coin to the bartender, for letting him perform.

I assume you’re paying your full taxes on that money, a sultry voice said behind him.

He turned around and grinned. Naamah, he said, embracing her. Her dark, curly hair fell about her shoulders, framing her olive skin and dancing eyes. She was wearing a flowing robe that opened at the thighs, revealing her shapely legs whenever she walked or sat down. She had also arranged the folds around the neck so they showed just a bit of her breasts.

You wear that while watching sheep? Nahor asked.

She laughed, and patted him on the cheek. So funny, she said. I don’t like to come in with the dirt of the fields still on me, like you, she poked him in the stomach. Besides, this makes it easier for me to get some free drinks, and other things, she narrowed her eyes and bit her lip.

Nahor smiled. She was an Amurru as well, although her people roamed far to the south of Nahor’s tribe. He heard her talking their language in the suqu one day, and sought her out. They’d slept together shortly after they met. Two Amurru on their own among Sumerians naturally get drawn together. But it had never progressed beyond that, and eventually they settled into a friendship. He felt like he didn’t have time for anything serious, which is what he told her. In truth, he felt he couldn’t keep up with her. She had a biting wit that made her entertaining to be around, but intimidating to be with. And she was too adventurous to end up with a field worker. Like him, her people were nomadic. And like him, they were wiped out in the constant warring between Mari and Ebla. But unlike Nahor, she had wandered, making a living as she could before finding herself in Kish. He couldn’t imagine she’d stay here long.

So now she worked as a shepherd, using her sharp eyes and sharper skills with a bow to keep the herds safe from raiders and wild animals. She teased the men in the bar, and occasionally took one home. Occasionally she and Nahor would get drunk and discuss their plans; setting out into the wilderness to fight bandits or uncover lost treasures from before the flood.

I need an outfit like that, Nahor said.

Not sure you’d get the attention you’re looking for, Naamah replied, smirking. But I’m sure you’d be popular, you just need to do something about this hair, she messed with his wild locks.

What is that? he asked, pointing to her glass, trying to change the subject.

Charchemish wine, she said, taking a sip of the brilliant red liquid. Expensive, but worth it.

Beer’s not good enough? he asked.

She raised her eyebrows. This is the drink of our people, you should try to be true to your roots.

He heard a nervous cough and turned around.

Ikrub-Ea, Naamah said, grinning. "What are you doing sneaking up on two Amurru like that? You know you could get yourself knifed."

The man laughed weakly, and nodded. He was slight, his dark skin lacking the sun-burned bronze of those who worked outside, like Naamah and Nahor. He had the unmistakable features of an Akkadian—prominent nose, braided beard, and dark hair pulled back into a bun—and wore a finer cut robe fitting his status. His beard was not as long as those of older Akkadians—he’d only been growing it a few years—but was braided in their style. Ikrub-Ea was a scribe in the palace, helping to manage the collection and distribution of agricultural goods.

Sorry I’m late, he said. I was…researching, he glanced shyly at Naamah to see if she’d tease him. When she said nothing, he continued. Some old Sumerian legends about this tablet that grants power to the gods.

Seems a little off topic, Nahor said.

Ikrub-Ea shrugged. The cupbearer is interested in ancient relics. He’s had me spend some time researching them.

"Feeling blessed by Ea today?" Naamah asked, grinning. Ikru-Ea sighed. Like many Akkadians and Sumerians, his name was a plea or thanksgiving to the gods, in his case Ea, whom his parents hoped would bless, ikrub, him. The custom had spread to the lands of Mari due to their close contact with the Sumerians, and Nahor knew a few people in his village with similar names. But Naamah, from farther south, thought it was ridiculous.

Alright, you’ve got two jabs in at me, Ikrub-Ea said. I’ll let you think of the third as I order.

Naamah smirked as the man turned away. It’s no fun when you won’t play with me, she said, and he turned back to her and smiled.

Why don’t you two just marry already, Nahor said.

Naamah grimaced. You almost made me choke on my wine, she spat. What?

Nothing, he replied.

That’s what I thought, she said as Ikrub-Ea walked up.

Nahor had gotten to know him as part of his work. Ikrub-Ea occasionally came out to the fields to check in with the foreman, and he and Nahor chatted. Akkadians weren’t quite as low on the social ladder as Amurru,