from in Arabian folk tales, the idea for the design inspired by the shape of the shells originally used as lamps. I recognized in the inlays the muddy rose of carnelian.
The rush of sensation almost overwhelmed me.
Tomas interrupted my thoughts. “These are typical of temple furnishings, all the items placed for the use of the goddess. Every day her human attendants would have brought real food and drink to her, clothed her in finery and jewels. The statue would have been taken out for processions on special days.
“Come over here.” Tomas gestured toward an alcove. On the floor, an array of brown bones; I could make out a rib cage, a skull. Bracelets and anklets encircled the long bones of the arms and legs absurdly, as if the skeleton had wanted to dress up. A sword and an elongated gold helmet with elaborate designs lay a few feet from the skull.
“Look carefully,” Tomas said. “This solves a 2400-year-old mystery.”
Tangled in the rib bones I noticed a necklace. A hoop of gold with pendants dangling from it, each one embossed with symbols— a rosette, a sun, a lion.
“What you’re seeing are the remains of the last King of Assyria, Ashur-uballit II.”
“How could you know that?”
“When Nineveh was sacked and the king died, a few members of the royal family escaped. They fled to Harran but were routed from there and continued on to join their Egyptian allies at Carchemish. Ashur-uballit was declared Assyria’s king at that time. But in 605 B.C. a brilliant young Babylonian general named Nebuchadnezzar decimated the combined Assyrian and Egyptian forces. There is no further account of Ashur-uballit’s fate.
“Those accoutrements would only have belonged to the king. The necklace and the helmet, in particular. They’re inscribed with royal symbols. No one knows what became of Ashur-uballit. That the king would seek refuge here makes sense. Do you recall Nahum’s words, ‘Where is the den of lions, which was the feeding-place of the young lions, where the lion and the lioness walked, and the lion’s whelp, and none made them afraid’?”
“Yes,” I said.
“At first I thought the rockfall closing off the main entrance had been caused by an earthquake, but when I took a second look I realized that none of the fissures and cracks you’d expect from earth tremors were present. I believe his enemies hunted him down and caused the rockfall. They sealed the king in.”
“Surely he wouldn’t have come here alone?”
Tomas pointed to the rear of the temple. “Behind that wall is his entourage. His queen, probably his personal guard, even the bones of children. But come, a much greater surprise awaits.”
If this wasn’t enough of a bombshell, I couldn’t imagine what was.
He led me to a room. Inside were orderly rows of baked brick boxes. “The temple filing system. Each one is filled with tablets, although the clay is badly eroded now. King Ashurbanipal’s library at Nineveh survived partly because the tablets were cooked in the high heat of the fires that destroyed the city. It’s relatively dry here but not enough to preserve the clay.”
On the way out he indicated an unusually shaped flask, a rounded bowl with a long snout projecting sideways, like some bizarre teapot. This was not metal but fired clay. “The first distillation apparatus, forerunner of the alembic still,” he said. “For making perfume. The original model for alchemical vessels.”
With great care I took it in my hands. A magical scent of rose and foreign spices seemed to cling to it. Only my imagination, I knew, but this place stimulated reveries. I knew also that I shouldn’t touch a thing. Archaeologists rivaled forensics technicians in their insistence on the sanctity of a site. They’d photograph and measure the tiniest distance between objects before moving them. But for me it was impossible not to touch, not to make a direct connection with these lovely emblems of the past.
“So,” Tomas said, “have you seen enough?”
“I want to stay here forever.” I ran my hand over my forehead.
“There’s a certain irony here, don’t you think?” He frowned. “What’s that?”
“It’s now the property of the Chaldeans and the Roman Catholic Church.”
“Not just us. It belongs to all the Iraqi people. The Church will do its best to safeguard it for everyone.” He turned away. “Come. We have to leave soon. But before we do I promised you something truly amazing.”
“What are you talking about? There’s something else?”
“What we’ve just seen would have been temple property. King
Ashurbanipal’s plunder is hidden in Ishtar’s shrine.”
I’d completely forgotten about the shrine room, mesmerized as I was by the bones of the ancient king and all the temple treasure. His statement caught me off guard. “You’re right. These are all Mesopotamian, so they couldn’t be described as spoil.”
“They may be Babylonian. Ashurbanipal destroyed Babylon and took everything of value.”
“Technically that’s not plunder because he controlled both Assyria and Babylon.”
“Yes. The real prize is inside the shrine.”
I looked to see whether Mazare was coming. He stayed back, a look on his face that could only be described as fear. What on earth was ahead of us?
I was not to make any discoveries immediately. In the shrine room a large tarp had been hung over a frame standing a few feet from the rear wall. The walls sported incredible paintings, some of the paint corrupted but the images still clearly readable. The first showed a winged Ishtar with her horned cap and war bow, surrounded by an arc of eight-pointed stars. The second pictured a lion disemboweling a man. Nahum’s words came back to me again.
A low stand held more pots. I knelt down and picked one up.
Iron. Easy to see because it was coated with rust. Exceptional care would be necessary to remove the accumulation of rust without destroying the metal underneath. These had a beautiful form but were nothing compared to the poorest item outside. I looked at Tomas. “These are probably from Anatolia.”
“Yes, you’re correct. From Phrygia.”
“There must be something pretty spectacular underneath the tarp.”
Thirty-six
Tomas didn’t reply. He turned on his light and positioned it to shine on whatever lay underneath. Then he moved over to one side of the tarp. “Stand back a little,” he said, and gently tugged it off.
The glare blinded me for an instant. It was as if the air had turned to gold. I gave my head a shake and looked again. The goddess in all her glory. Her body from head to toe a stunning rosy gold. A life-sized statue of a woman. One leg forward, torso slightly bent, as if she was getting ready to greet someone, golden cup held casually in one hand. Her midriff and breasts were bare; on them were exquisite gold necklaces accented with lapis, turquoise, onyx, and pearls.
I moved closer to take a look and saw the lapis was an intense blue with specks of golden pyrite, like an indigo river saturated with particles of gold. She’d once worn a garment, visible now only by shreds of red and violet threads clinging to her upper arms, pelvis, and thighs. The verse from the Book of Revelation describing the Whore of Babylon flooded back:
The body of the statue had been modeled after a young woman, judging by her smooth skin and high, firm breasts. Her nipples had been painted a ruby red. But it was the expression on her face that stopped me in my tracks. Her lips getting ready for a warm smile, but in her eyes, a look of abject terror.
“What on earth is this?” I turned around to confront Tomas.
“See the helmet she wears? Ivory. The sign of divinity—seven furls of the finest horn. The helmet, like the robe, necklaces, arm and leg bands, was put on later by the Assyrians. She is both Ishtar and not Ishtar.”
He was speaking in riddles now.
The statue stood on a low stone dais shaped like a sarcophagus. At her feet rested several golden objects. What looked like a branch, two small nuggets of something I couldn’t place, some spears of wheat, a few tiny pieces shaped like teardrops, an apple, and another cup.
The portrayal was astounding, every detail consummate. Her eyebrows must have been shaved, but her
