Hostage Princess

Part 6 - the Hunt

‘A worthy bride for a worthy crown prince, I hope,’ she said softly, the corners of her mouth turning upwards as she looked from one to the other. ‘I hear the matter is already decided, that your father has chosen his successor?’

Of course, she had heard nothing of the sort.

Their jaws dropped, their faces twin pictures of astonishment. Malku recovered himself quickly, ‘What have you heard, Your Highness? Who told you? We must prevent the news from spreading further, until Father is ready to make the announcement.’

Nisitu was less subtle. ‘Who?’ he demanded. ‘Who has he chosen? If you know, you must tell us!’

Susa feigned surprise, ‘Why, you don’t know? The whole court is talking of it. He has chosen the strongest, quickest-witted, bravest son – all are in agreement that it is a good choice. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you which of you that is. If you’ll forgive me, Your Highnesses, I’m accustomed to putting my son to his bed this time – I must be excused a while.’

She dipped a little bow and made her way up to the nursery to see Ashan to bed, glad to be free of them. When she knew which one she must marry, then she would make an effort to strike up some sort of a friendship, to try to cozen some sort of affection and influence from him that might one day improve Ashan’s chances. Until then, she would prefer to keep the pair of them at arm’s length.

When she returned to the hall, the feast was over. Slaves were hard at work setting things to rights. So orderly and grand just an hour ago, the whole place was now chaotic as the underworld. Tables and benches had been upturned, shattered pottery littered the floor, streams of wine flowed between the joins in the floor tiles and pooled in dips and cracks. A darker red swirled in with the wine.

‘You, boy,’ she pointed to a slave and crooked her finger. ‘Come here.’

His eyes were wide with fright as he approached her. The plate in his hand trembled as he said, ‘Yes, my lady?’

‘Don’t shake so – I’m not here to do anything terrible to you. I just want you to tell me what happened.’

‘A fight, my lady. Between the princes and their men. One man died.’ He all but whispered the last three words.

‘Who?’

‘A soldier, trying to separate them. He took a blade to the stomach. The king shouted – his anger was dreadful. He said the princes have brought shame upon him and their house.’

‘You are dismissed,’ she murmured.

Back in her rooms, Susa knelt at the altar and bowed her head, awash with guilt. She prayed for forgiveness.

Her father had once told her that this was the way with royalty – a word could draw blood as surely as a blade – but she had never prepared herself for the reality. Her little deception had cost a man his life, had perhaps created another widow.

*

She had no time to come to terms with her guilt – her presence was required at one event or another on every day of the festival. In her person, Hammurabi had a marker of his power. He displayed her proudly, a captive princess from a conquered land. She smiled serenely and raised her hand to acknowledge the acclaim of the people, doing her duty as her father would have wanted despite her growing resentment.

The princes were not seen together again for the whole of the fortnight – neither would risk his father’s wrath by disobeying a direct order. They continued to pay court to Susa separately, but she sensed a new wariness in them both, as though every word she spoke could be tainted. She tried to shrug it off, but the implicit accusation stung.

By the final day of the festival, she was exhausted. She had done little, but the effort of maintaining her poise whilst on display for so long had drained her. Her sister dressed her to attend the hunt, pinching her cheeks and lips to draw some colour into them.

‘It’s no good,’ Susa held up her hand to stop her. ‘I feel like a spirit person, Ani. Like my identity is being drained out of me. I’m nothing but the hostage princess now – I need the marriage matter settled so that I can start to build a new self.’

‘But... you don’t want the marriage, surely?’

‘Of course not, but I cannot fight the inevitable. If I must remarry, I must leave my old self behind – bury her alongside Awan...’ her voice cracked and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. She paused a second, took a breath, wiped them away. ‘Do you know, I can’t even recall his features now? If I didn’t have Ashan, I might forget what he looked like altogether. I feel so disloyal.’

Ani put her arms around her sister, soothing her. ‘Hush now, there’s nothing disloyal in that. As you say, you must remarry. The gods have plans for you yet.’

Taking a deep breath, Susa steadied herself, pushed her tears away. ‘They do, and so does Hammurabi. I had best be getting down to the hunt.’

Elaborate pavilions had been set up at the edge of the hunting ground, with great swathes of linen stretched taut over frames to provide shelter from the searing sun.

For the first time since the great brawl, Malku and Nisitu were together again. They shot each other dark looks, muttering curses, but neither dared to approach the other under their father’s eye. In the royal pavilion, Hammurabi and his queen sat atop a dais, with Samsu, Ashan and Susa seated just beneath them. The court swirled around them as the two hunting parties, one to be led by each prince, mounted up outside the tent. Nazaru would ride with Malku, at Hammurabi’s invitation.

Malku and Nisitu strode in side by side and bowed abruptly before their father.

He nodded and raised his hand in blessing, ‘May Marduk ride with you and bring you good fortune, my sons.’

‘Father.’ They bowed again before turning and stalking out without so much as looking at Susa.

Through the linen wall, she heard the riders move out. She took a deep breath – by the end of today, it would be decided. Her life would have some direction again. Malku or Nisitu. They were as one to her, there was little to choose between them, but she would finally have a status again, some purpose at last. Even Ashan hardly needed her any more, spending most of his time with Samsu.

She went to stand beside the queen and tried to make conversation. Every attempt was met with polite indifference – a perfumed incline of the head and a brief, softly spoken answer that invited no further comment.

Susa soon gave up – she went to sit with the two boys where they played in a corner of the tent. Her son received her with a bright smile and a dutiful kiss. Samsu scowled and turned away. Try as she might, she could not get him to speak a word to her. She shrugged and turned her attention back to Ashan; Samsu had always been a strange child.

No more than two hours had gone by before the clatter of approaching hooves was heard outside the pavilion. Everybody looked up in alarm – the hunting parties were not expected back until the sun touched the horizon. The royal family hastened to meet the rider.

It was Malku’s party returning, led by Nazaru on his great black warhorse. An indistinct shape was slung across the horse’s rump. His kill, Susa supposed.

As Nazaru came closer, it became obvious that this was no animal; moreover, it wasn’t dead. He reined up in front of them, dismounted and bowed stiffly.

Hammurabi’s face purpled with rage. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded. ‘Why is my eldest son trussed up like a gazelle on your horse’s backside?’

‘He has committed a great crime, sir. I captured him to return him for your justice. Prince Nisitu is dead, shot by an arrow from Prince Malku’s own bow.’

The colour drained out of Hammurabi’s face like wine spilling from a drinking bowl. He staggered, ashen with the shock. There was a soft thump as Queen Eresai collapsed into the dust in a dead faint.