The Whore of Babylon

Chapter 6 | part 1

Mari and Kisha set to work as soon as Eliana was asleep. They gently cut the gown away from her and sponged the dried blood from her skin. While Mari tore up strips of linen from an old sheet, Kisha made a paste of St John's Wort and honey to prevent the wounds from festering.

Once the blood had been washed away, the girls were relieved to see that the injuries, though extensive, were fairly shallow. Eliana would be in a great deal of pain for a few days, but ought to heal with no lasting damage.

They carefully applied the paste and overlaid it with the linen strips – they stuck to the honey, holding the bandages in place.

When Eliana awoke the next morning, she was furious to find herself all but bedridden. It was agony to shift her arms and legs, and she could not move without help. All her small pleasures were out of reach: running, climbing, walking in the gardens, playing the lyre. Her waking hours were spent lying face-down on the couch, chafing against the inactivity and raging against Samsu and his attack dog, his Brute.

True to his word, Ashan had sent a tincture of white willow bark for Eliana. She took it regularly to numb the pain and entice her body to sleep – anything to escape the crushing boredom.

The one part of the experience that could truly be said to be the cloud's silver lining, was that the guards left her in peace for a full week after her ordeal. The first one to come to the door had been given the rough edge of Mari's tongue and brought in to see the sleeping invalid. No more had come after that, not even the Brute.

Mari and Kisha tended her faithfully – washing her, keeping her fed and comfortable and trying to entertain her. It was like trying to entertain a tigress with a toothache; she snarled and snapped at any attempt to cheer her up. But, refusing to give up on her, her friends persisted until, days later, she finally managed a smile.

She did not mean to be unpleasant – it was simply that being dependent on others went against every part of Eliana's nature and grated on her. She preferred to do things for herself rather than lounge around waiting for others to do them.

On the fifth day, Eliana insisted on getting up. Her limbs were stiff from underuse, and her back still protested every slight movement, but she felt she would go mad if she stayed still any longer.

She took a slow walk into the garden, savouring the sunlight and the breeze against her skin. She turned her face up to Utu, allowing him to bathe her in all his gloriously warm rays.

Walking down as far as the stream, she was suddenly exhausted. She eased herself down onto the grass alongside the water and just lay there, rediscovering her serenity, listening to the thrum of insects' wings and the animated chatter of birds. She could almost imagine herself back in the garden of her father's house, when she was free.

The sound of a twig cracking underfoot snapped her attention back to the present. She pushed herself up on one hand, looking around, cursing as her wounds reminded her not to move so sharply.

'Who's there?' she called out, praying that it would not be the Brute who answered.

'It's Isin,' came a thin voice. 'Are you alone?'

'Isin! Yes, I'm alone.'

With difficulty, she pushed herself into a seated position. Isin emerged from behind a tree and dropped down beside her.

If he had been a nervous young man when he was courting Kisha, he was now positively rabbit-like – all eyes and ears, quivering and alert, ready to flee at any unexpected movement. He had grown even paler in his period of service to Samsu, his body long and slender like the reeds he used for his scribing. Over-long hair flopped into his eyes; he pushed it away impatiently.

'I had to come – I know Kisha's time is near.'

'She has a little over one moon to go, we think.'

'And how... how is she coping?'

'Very well, when Samsu isn't using her as a tool to force me to do what he wants.' That incident had shaken Kisha to the core. She hadn't seemed quite herself ever since.

Isin looked her over. Most of her bruises had healed, with the help of Mari's arnica remedy, but she knew she was looking far from her best. 'How are you now?' he asked.

'Healing,' she replied, her tone not inviting further discussion.

'Good. Well,' he glanced around, checking for anyone who might overhear, 'I couldn't stay away. I wanted Kisha to have something that I was going to give her when we thought it would be my child she would bear.' He took out a little amulet of ivory bearing the carved head of Pazazu, the spirit known to protect mothers in childbed against the she-demon Lasmashtu. 'I intended to give this to Kisha when she was brought to bed with our child – hopefully it will still work for her.'

Eliana took it and turned it over in her hand. 'This is so thoughtful, Isin, but will you not need it when the woman you do marry...'

He cut her off with a shake of the head. 'I don't intend to marry – Kisha has my heart and soul. As long as she lives, those parts of me are not my own to give away.'

She felt a pang of pity for this poor boy – so devoted and loyal, yet too weak to move on. He could never be happy while he clung to memories of his time with Kisha.

'Then thank you,' she replied. 'I'm sure it will protect Kisha when her hour comes. Do you have a message to go with it?'

'Only what I said about giving it to her for our child, and... and tell her that I hope she has a boy, so that she'll be safe. And that I will always be here for her and the baby, though they are not mine. And... that I still love her.' A tear rolled down his face.

Eliana cupped his cheek in her hand and wiped away the tear. 'I'll tell her,' she said. 'Now you should go – you mustn't be caught here.'

He nodded, 'I know. Samsu promised to rip off my manhood if he ever caught me near Kisha. I was right to think he knew of our engagement.' Isin helped Eliana to her feet and kissed her forehead. 'I shall always think of you as my little sister,' he smiled sadly. He walked off, melting away into the garden.

When Eliana gave the amulet and the message to her sister, she had every reason to be proud. Kisha did not weep or wail, lamenting her lost love and the life that might have been; she simply pressed the ivory to her lips and held it for a few seconds before slipping it safely under her pillow.