The Whore of Babylon

Chapter 3 | part 2

The sun was low and the evening cool when Eliana awoke. The despair was gone, replaced by a calm resignation. What would be, would be. If the gods had decreed it, no action of hers could change it.

She rose and bathed as ordered. A new plan formed in her mind – not so much a plan of action, as a plan of acceptance. She would go to him pretty and beguiling, sweet and obedient, and hope for more gentle treatment. If he saw no defiance in her, perhaps the game would lose its sport and he would send her home.

It was a vain hope, but one she must cling to.

Drying her hair with a towel, she combed jasmine through it until the thick curls sprang back to her waist and held their shape. When she turned, her hair wrapped sinuously around her like a living being.

She applied the usual cosmetics – powder to her face, colour to her lips and cheeks to make her eyes sparkle. By the time she slipped into her best saffron silk gown and put on a pair of beaded sandals, the light had begun to fade.

As a final touch, she clipped on a gold bracelet, inset with lapis lazuli and ivory – the last relic she had of her mother. By choice, she would not have defiled it by adorning herself with it for such an occasion, but a small voice in her mind warned her that she might not see her home again, and she did not want to lose it.

She paused in the doorway and took a look back at her room – the neat little bed with its colourful woven blanket, the iron storage chest containing her gowns, the cosmetics table, the copper washtub and the holy shrine to Enlil. It was not much, but it was all she had. She fervently hoped to see it again.

Making her way downstairs, she saw the door already stood ajar and Samsu’s bullies inside the hall, waiting for her.

One gave a snort of laughter when he saw her. She flushed deep crimson, but said nothing, keeping her head up and her eyes focused.

The other merely nodded. ‘You’ll do,’ he said.

She took a last glance around before walking out into the street. There was no sign that her father had returned home in time to see her off. She supposed he could not bear it.

The walk to the palace felt never-ending, like a torment of the underworld: a road that one was destined to travel for eternity, stretching on and on to some terrible destination, the dreadful anticipation mounting with each step.

More than once, her courage almost deserted her and she glanced off the road, plotting which route she might take, calculating her chances if she were to flee.

If the thought of what the general might do to her father and sister wasn’t enough to put her off, the memory of her recent escape attempt put an end to it. Her lip still felt swollen from the morning’s blow.

Besides, these weren’t running sandals.

On reaching the palace, the guards at the eastern gate nodded them through without so much as a raised eyebrow – they were clearly expected. As they passed through, Eliana saw a glint of recognition in Horse-Snort’s eyes and a barely repressed smirk of amusement on his lips.

Her mind screamed furious retorts, but her tongue kept still.

Instead of leading her towards the audience hall of last night, her guards took her south. Kisha had said that Samsu’s private apartments occupied most of the southern side of the palace.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She was taken to a lavishly appointed bedchamber. The men pushed her inside, then turned to stand sentry outside the door, leaving her to take in her surroundings.

The centrepiece of the room was the bed: enormous, with four great posts of cedar at each corner, intricately carved to depict men and women in the throes of passion. Between the posts were strung delicate hangings of gossamer silk, blood red. Matching curtains hung at the windows, breathing with the breeze.

A magnificent Persian rug was laid near the terrace over the glazed red floor tiles. Embroidered cushions were deposited at intervals around the edges, and a collection of clay writing tablets cluttered the middle. Torches burned in gilded brackets around the room... illuminating the four guards stationed inside.

Their eyes never moved; they didn’t acknowledge her presence in any way. They might have been carved of stone, except that she recognised the face of one: Samsu’s closest companion, his second-in-command, his Brute.

She shrank back a little and felt her cheeks grow pale under their artificial colour.

Tearing her eyes away from his impassive face, Eliana looked around once more, pondering where to arrange herself for him to find, to appear to her best advantage. She turned to take in the whole room.

Behind her, Samsu emerged from the terrace, silent as a prowling wolf. He cleared his throat softly.

She shrieked involuntarily, jumping and whirling around to face him. Her hand, now shaking, flew to her heart as if to physically slow its wild beating.

He gave her a brief, appraising glance, his expression inscrutable.

Just in time, she remembered to lower her gaze to the floor.