I called out Inanna’s name all afternoon, and I was taken to her for the first time that night. Soon after dark, her henchmen came, kicked Simut and Nakht aside, and dragged me to my feet. I was stripped, doused with water, washed by two women, and thrown a tunic to wear. My hands were tied behind my back, and I was led to a place in the centre of a chamber, and left to wait.
Oil lamps had been lit, creating a low light that was almost romantic. Incense burned somewhere in the shadows. A strange assembly of divine statues from different lands had been arranged around the walls. And then the woman who killed men, rode a stallion, cut faces with knives, and licked blood, entered, wearing a fine red linen tunic. Down her back fell an ornate cloak of feathers, like the wings of a strange bird. The tunic dipped at the front: her breasts were naked. Her wild curly hair had been braided and coiled with gold thread into a kind of crown. Gold bangles glistened on her wrists and ankles. She walked around me, assessing me, smiling almost coyly. I felt like a slave for sale. She cut the ropes that bound my hands, and motioned for me to sit on a stool. Then she sat down on a golden throne and set her feet upon two carved, beautifully inlaid, wooden lions. To either side of her were two large statues of birds with round faces, alert eyes, and sharp beaks-much like our human-headed bird, our ba spirit. I sat before her like a worshipper. A servant wafted an ostrich-feather fan over her.
The trays before us were piled high with roasted meats, vegetables, bunches of superb grapes and pomegranates. She cut a leg from a roasted bird and offered it to me on the end of her knife. I was ravenous, and although I was disgusted to be eating with her, I had to do it. Time was running out. I accepted the meat, and tried to eat slowly.
‘They say I was born with a knife between my teeth. I made my first kill when I was ten years old,’ she said quietly.
‘And what did you kill?’ I asked, assuming she meant animals on a hunt.
‘Sometimes travellers and merchants risked the paths into our valley. So I waited, and soon enough, along came a caravan. They thought I was just a child. They were stupid. They didn’t take me seriously. I took a merchant hostage, with my blade to his throat, and I made the others give me gold and a horse in exchange for their master’s life.’
‘And then?’
‘And then I slit his throat,’ she said calmly, and took another careful bite of her meat.
I said nothing. I wanted her to talk.
‘Men always assumed they could beat me, and abuse me. And when I was too young to know how to take revenge, they did. Often. But as soon as I learned to defend myself, I began to kill them with my knife. And from then they learned to take me seriously.’
She let that hang in the air.
‘Revenge is important,’ I said.
Her eyes scrutinized mine. I made myself hold her gaze for as long as possible.
‘Why do you say that?’ she asked.
‘Because a great friend of mine was murdered. I live with the hunger for revenge every day of my life.’
‘You might yet have the opportunity to satisfy your hunger,’ she said mysteriously.
‘I desire that greatly,’ I replied.
‘Then you must please me greatly,’ she said.
I tried to return her look. I knew I must try to do as Nakht had commanded me.
‘How many men have you killed?’ I asked.
‘Why? Are you impressed by blood?’
‘I am impressed by you,’ I replied. And it was almost true. For all her barbarity, there was something compelling about her. She pretended to be defiantly scornful of my praise, but I saw I had touched on something. And then I realized: she was lonely.
‘Men love fear,’ she said. ‘It makes them feel alive. But you are different. Perhaps you have passed beyond fear because of the power of your desire for revenge.’
The light from the oil wicks quivered. The walls of the room wavered with shifting shadows.
‘The Hittite Prince in your cell is an extremely valuable prize. His father would pay handsomely for his return.’
She didn’t reply, but merely poured new wine from an especially finely wrought jug. I tried again.
‘Egypt has all the gold in the world. Negotiate with Thebes for his release. You will be handsomely rewarded.’
She passed one of the goblets to me.
‘If Egypt and Hatti both value that pretty boy so much, perhaps I should have him write two letters, and then cut off his hands, and send them one each, holding his plea, as proof he is alive and in my possession.’
I noticed how she tested the bouquet of the wine, and drank thoughtfully.
‘I do not care to know why the son of the Hittite King is travelling by such a route, in such secrecy, to the Egyptian court. Nor do I care why high-ranking Egyptian officials accompany him. Nor why the man who commissioned your kidnapping wants you all dead by his own hand. It is of no consequence to me.’
‘It is of consequence to me,’ I replied.
Our shadows wavered against the walls. She clasped her ringed fingers together and regarded me carefully. Her beauty sometimes shimmered to the surface, and sometimes vanished into a cold mask of anger.
‘There is nothing you can do to save your friends or this Hittite Prince. They are already dead. But you can make another choice for yourself.’
‘I would never choose my own survival at the price of my friends’ death,’ I replied.
‘Of course you could. I might offer you a new life. If you joined me here, you would enjoy the best fruits of this world, and the next. By my side.’
What could I say?
‘I am honoured by your offer…’ I said. ‘Give me time to consider it…’
‘You will not refuse me,’ she said quietly. ‘You must choose. Death, or life.’
Our eyes held each other’s gaze again, and this time I did not look away.
She clapped her hands, and a servant hurried in, carrying a beautifully inlaid wooden box, a silver dish on long, elegant legs, and a candle. She opened the lid, and took out a small piece of something dark brown, and sticky. She placed it in the dish, and let it heat and melt over the candle flame. Then, as it began to fume, she earnestly chanted a short prayer.
‘To which God are you praying?’ I said.
‘To no god! To my Goddess. The Queen of the Underworld. To Ishtar.’
‘She is unknown to me,’ I said, recalling how the Babylonian Queen in Hatti had identified the symbol of the black star.
‘She is the Goddess of Love and War. She has wings of many colours. Her feet are the talons of an eagle. She stands on the back of two lions. In her hands she holds the rod and ring of justice. She is all-powerful.’
Then she offered me her bejewelled hand.
‘Come,’ she said simply. ‘It is time to meet her. It is time to dream.’