same time, he slipped the knife from its sheath and pressed its length down the back of his leg.
“Get out of the way, old man,” Kourosh said, his tone pleasant enough despite his words.
“Yes, master.” Tammuz shuffled more to his left, then sprang to his right, crashing into the soldier. Before Kourosh could react, the knife had buried itself in his chest, just under the breastbone, Tammuz driving the blade upwards with all his strength into the heart, just as he’d been trained.
Kourosh gasped, more in surprise than pain. His hands seized Tammuz’s shoulders, and he tried to push his attacker aside, but by then the knife’s blade had already sucked the strength from his arms. In a moment Tammuz tore free of Kourosh’s grasp, jerked the knife from his body. Ignoring the spurt of blood that spattered over his arm, Tammuz struck again, this time through the ribs and into the lungs. The second blow wrenched a gasp of pain from Kourosh and sent him sprawling on his back to the ground.
Tammuz glanced up and down the lane, ready to flee if anyone had noticed. But he saw no one. Satisfied, he reached down. His hands shook, and it took three tries before he could cut the soldier’s purse free from his belt. Kourosh wore a short sword, and it would be one of quality, so Tammuz slid that from its sheath, shoved it under his left armpit, and began trotting down the lane, back the way the soldier had come.
At the first joining of two lanes, Tammuz turned to his left. A hundred paces further was one of the city’s wells. As he drew near, Tammuz emptied the contents of the dead man’s purse into his hand, then dumped the coins into his tunic. He scooped some dirt from the lane into the purse and tossed it into the well. With luck, it would sink to the bottom and never be seen again.
By now Tammuz had reached the poorer quarters, and he saw the homeless or drunks sleeping in the lanes. He set the sword down near two unconscious forms who reeked of ale. With luck, they’d awake in the morning, find the sword, and try to sell it in the market.
Moving with caution, Tammuz retraced his steps toward the Kestrel. He stopped twice, to make sure that no one was following him, and doubled back once just to be certain. Then he crossed one more lane and in another few hundred paces reached the inn.
The inn’s front door would be closed, but he turned down the side lane until he reached the narrow door that led into their private chamber. The door that was always barred opened silently as Tammuz approached, and he knew En-hedu had watched for him and seen him coming down the lane.
Tammuz slipped inside without making a sound. He moved to the edge of their bed and slumped down, exhausted more from the tension than from the physical activity. He felt himself shivering, and couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He’d never killed someone like that, in cold blood.
En-hedu took her time securing the door’s many bolts and braces, working silently so as not to awaken any customers. She finished up by moving a sack filled with dirt against the bottom of the entrance. With luck, that portal wouldn’t open again for months.
Then she stood before him. “Take off your tunic,” she whispered.
He rose and unbuckled his belt. The coins taken from Kourosh’s purse spilled onto the sandy floor with scarcely a clink of metal on metal. Enhedu helped pull the tunic over his head. She tossed it aside, stepped away, and returned with a pitcher of water and a piece of cloth. Taking her time, she scrubbed his face, neck, arms and legs, anywhere blood might have spattered.
“It went well, husband?” No need to ask what had happened. His shaking hands told the story plain enough. Nevertheless, her voice couldn’t conceal how worried she’d been.
“Yes. He never even cried out.”
She continued with her ministrations. In the morning she would bathe him again, to make sure no bloodstains appeared on him. His tunic would be wrapped inside one of her dresses and taken to the river at first light, to be scrubbed clean against the rocks. Any stains that remained would be taken for wine spills, an occupational hazard for any innkeeper.
“Lie down,” she whispered, as she guided him down onto the bed.
He started to tell her what happened, but she silenced him with her fingers on his lips. “In the morning, Tammuz. Now it is time for you to rest.”
She knelt on the floor beside the bed and began kissing his body. For a moment he tried to protest, then to his surprise his penis stiffened into rigidity, and he felt her long hair brush his stomach as she took him into her mouth. His passion raged, either from her deft touch or the murder of Kourosh, he couldn’t tell.
En-hedu kept stimulating him, driving his lust higher and higher, until she felt him throb with desire. She moved on top of him. He couldn’t hold back a gasp of pleasure as he entered her softness, but if any of the inn’s occupants heard that kind of noise, they would just roll over and return to their sleep.
She moved her body against him, and within moments his seed burst inside her with a force he found difficult to believe. Then he slumped back exhausted. En-hedu took him into her arms and held him tenderly until he fell into a deep and untroubled sleep.
36
Four months later…
The priests of Marduk, after many long nights consultation with the stars, finally declared the end of summer. Most of Sumeria’s farmers had finished their harvests, and now offered thanks to the gods. As En-hedu knew, that meant spilling a drop or two of ale on the Kestrel’s floor, then gulping down the rest of the cup as fast as possible. Tonight the tavern would be packed with as many grateful farmers as river men.
King Shulgi had ordered the usual three days of feasting, which ended yesterday. Nevertheless, Sumer’s inhabitants continued to relax and enjoy another benefit from the gods — the blazing heat of the season had broken as well, and balmy days and cooler nights would soon be in store.
For En-hedu the time of feasting brought plenty of customers, as the wealthy wives indulged themselves. One of the richest women in Sumer now sighed contentedly under En-hedu’s ministrations.
“Ahhh, that feels so good.”
“Yes, Mistress Bikku.” En-hedu leaned forward, her body’s weight helping move the muscles in the woman’s naked back. A pleasant enough body, En-hedu mused, in better shape than many of her customers. Wives and mistresses of the wealthy tended to possess soft bodies, unused to any physical work. Probably the hardest labor they performed consisted of vigorously satisfying their husbands’ needs in the bedchamber. Unlike Tammuz, whose rod tended to stiffen at En-hedu’s lightest touch, Sumer’s merchants, even some of the younger ones, apparently required long and strenuous efforts to bring them to arousal, especially after a long night of feasting and drinking.
Mistress Bikku had first summoned En-hedu several months ago, after hearing many and glowing recommendations from Ninlil, wife of Puzur-Amurri, En-hedu’s first client from Sumer’s upper class. Since that first precarious start with Ninlil, En-hedu’s list of wealthy clients had grown to over a dozen.
The pampered wives, both old and young, relied more and more on her massage skills to relax and to prepare for their husbands’ nightly visits. Her customers paid her as many coins in a few days as the Kestrel earned in seven or eight.
To please her new employers, En-hedu had purchased two new dresses that showed her rising status. No woman of wealth wanted to be visited by someone from the poorer classes, no matter what skills she possessed. So En-hedu dressed like the wife of a prosperous merchant or respected craftsman. A porter carried fresh water to the Kestrel each morning, so that En-hedu could wash her body before donning her finery. She scented the water with crushed flower petals, to create a pleasant scent that lingered in her hair.
To her surprise, Tammuz found both the fine clothes and sweet-smelling water exciting, and often when she returned from working on one of her customers, they would retire to their private chamber to relax and make love.
All of the well-off women En-hedu massaged liked to talk, especially to someone of no consequence. The fact that her ministrations were probably more enjoyable than what many received from their husbands also helped loosen the women’s tongues. Most of the wealthy merchants and traders cared more about their own pleasures. They had little time or interest in satisfying their women, who were often relegated to the role of pleasure slave or a symbol of the man’s status within the city.
