Since then it has fallen to us to maintain and extend the canals: it is our chief work, the great duty that underlies all others, for on the canals all our prosperity depends. At times of high level on the rivers they allow us to lead the dangerous waters aside into storage channels. When the rivers begin to fall, we close the sluices, and retain the water to use in the dry months. Other canals carry water from these reservoirs into the cultivated fields, and even into lands that once were desert. Thus the rivers, once our great enemies, now are our servants. By controlling the level and the flow, we spare our fields from the menaces of flood and of drought. Quays and wharves now rise along the shores of our cities, where once we had only muddy swamps. All across the land spreads the network of water-channels, linking field to field, village to village, city to city.
But the soil of the land is deep and soft, and easily breaks away under the force of the current in spring, so that the canals are filled and silt blocks their mouths. We cannot afford that. If the canals become too shallow, water will not flow down from one to the next, and soon nothing will flow at all, and then when the rivers are in spate disaster will fall upon us as if the dragon Kur has returned. So we must toil constantly at maintaining the canals. It is each farmer’s responsibility to look after his little canal, and it is the responsibility of the overseer of each village to see that the greater feeders are in order, and it is the responsibility of the officials of the government to survey the main channels. But the final responsibility falls to the king: he must understand the grand design, and know where it is weakening, and give the orders to send forth the armies of repair. Dumuzi had let that responsibility slip. For that alone, he can never be forgiven; for that alone, he merited being sent to the House of Dust and Darkness.
There was little that I could do during the worst of the rainy season but look through the surveyors’ reports, and decide where it was most essential to begin the repairs. Soon the tablets were piled high all about me, basket upon basket of them, bearing the close-packed inscriptions that told of Uruk’s peril. Scribes stood at my right shoulder and at my left to read them to me, but I called upon them rarely: it seemed better to me to do my own reading, so long as I had the skill. It gave me a stronger grasp of what needed to be done.
In midwinter the rains relented, and we began our task. The rivers and canals were high from the constant downpours, but not seriously so: the real danger would not arrive until the snows of the north began to thaw. But there was little time to spare.
I chose as the place to begin the canal known as the Mouth of Ninmah, which lies just north of Uruk and conveys our drinking-water to us. It was in bad need of dredging and scouring, but that was no serious matter, for it called for nothing more than sweat and the straining of muscles. But also the embankments and regulating sluices were in need of rebuilding, particularly the main dam, which my engineers told me might very well be swept away by the first brunt of the spring flood.
It is an old custom, in starting any great work of construction, that the king must make and put into place the first brick. Whether this custom has been honored by each and every king, I cannot say; but I took gladly to it, since it has always been one of my great pleasures to toil as an artisan does. My star-watchers chose a propitious day for the ceremony. On the night before, I tied back my hair and went in a simple robe to the small temple of Enlil, where I bathed myself and spent the night alone, sleeping on the floor of black stone. In the morning the sun shone splendidly. I went to the temple of An and made an offering of cattle and goats without blemish. Then, at the shrine of Lugalbanda, I performed the ritual gesture of hand to the face, and felt the god my father stirring within me. And when the midday hour came I went to the place where bricks are made, wearing a head-pad and carrying builders’ tools on my head.
Priests of the several craftsman-gods stood about me beating their drums as I began my task, working half-naked like any laborer in the sun. First I made a libation, pouring the water of good luck into the frame of the mold. Then I lit a fire of aromatic wood, to drive off impurities and any evil spirits that might be lurking about. I smeared the mold with honey and butter and fine oil of the best quality. Now I took the clay and wet it until it puddled, and mixed the straw with it, and trod upon it; I took the holy hod and scooped up the mixture, and pressed it into the mold; I smoothed the face of the bricks with my hands, and put them out in the drying-place to dry. There was no rain that night; I think I would have flayed my star-watchers alive if there had been. On the morrow, we had the ceremony of the breaking of the mold, when I kindled more aromatic wood, and seized the mold by its handles and drew it away, and lifted out the first brick. I raised it to the sky like a crown.
“Enlil is satisfied,” I cried.
Indeed he should have been. The brick was perfect. The gods had accepted my service, which was a sign that the period of trial was past and Uruk would be sustained.
Throughout those days I worked alongside the others in the making of bricks, and the transporting of them to the canal, and the stacking of them in great rows. Then, when the star-watchers once again announced a propitious day, we carried out the task of closing the flow into the canal. It was not easy; two men lost their lives at it. But we achieved it. In those days I knew no moderation, neither for myself nor for those about me, when there was the work of the city to be done. I stood for an hour in mid-water, in the deepest part, holding my arms outstretched while they wove the fabric of the barrage about me. It was necessary for me to do it, not so much because I was king, but because I was the tallest and the strongest of the men. When we had accomplished the closing, we opened the farther sluices and drained the canal, and set about the job of repairing its lining. I placed the first brick, which was the brick I had made with my own hands on that other ceremonial day. We labored until darkness, and at dawn we returned, and so it was day after day: I would not let them rest, for the time was short and the task urgent. I never tired. When the others grew weary, I went among them, clapping my arm to their shoulders and saying, “Come, fellow, rise up, the gods require our service!” And, weary as they were, they rose up and worked again. I drove them hard—I drove them unsparingly—but I drove myself even harder. Great pyres of aromatic wood purified the place of our toil, and Enlil was pleased, and the work went swiftly and well. All was well with Uruk that winter. When the high waters came in spring, the canals received and stored the flow, and there was no flooding. I rejoiced in my kingship.
16
THEN ON THE FIRST DAY of summer messengers from Agga of Kish appeared, and demanded that I pay tribute to him.
There were three of them, officers of his court, men known to me from my stay in Kish. I did not realize, when they arrived, that they had come as enemies. I received them warmly and offered a great feast in their honor, and we sat far into the night, talking of times gone by, the feasts in the palace of Agga, wars against the Elamites, the turns of fate that had enmeshed this one and that one whom I had known in Kish. I opened the wine of the cask of Enki for them, and slaughtered three of the oxen of the fields of Enlil. “Tell me,” I said, “how goes it with the lordly Agga, my father, my benefactor?” And they told me that Agga was well, that his love for me was great, that when he spoke with his gods he never failed to ask them to provide for my continued welfare. I gave each of the envoys a choice concubine and sent them into the finest of the chambers of state for the night. The next day they told me they carried a message from Agga the king, and they put before me a tablet of large size, sealed in a jacket of costly white clay that bore the royal seal of Kish. Their eyes, when they put this tablet before me, were flickering swiftly; I should have taken that for a sign.
“We ask leave to withdraw,” they said, and I dismissed them.
When they were gone, I broke open the jacket of white clay and drew the tablet forth, and began to read it. And my eyes grew wider and wider with every line I read.
It began in a routine way, the usual formulas, Agga son
of Enmebarragesi, king of Kish, king of kings, lord of the Land by merit of Enlil and An, to his beloved son Gilgamesh son of Lugalbanda, lord of Kullab, lord of Eanna, king of Uruk by merit of Inanna, and so on and so forth, followed by pious expressions of wishes for my continued good health and prosperity, and so on and so forth, followed by expressions of regret that Agga had heard no word lately from his beloved son Gilgamesh, no tidings of the kingdom which Agga had placed into the hands of his beloved son. That was my first hint of impending trouble, this reminder that Agga had helped to make me king of Uruk; it was true, yes, but perhaps it was a little tactless of him to call attention to the point. It was not as though he had raised me up out of utter obscurity to give me my crown: I was the son of a king, and the chosen of the goddess.
But swiftly I saw what he was after. It was implied right in his formula of greetings: “king of kings, lord of the Land.” That was the ancient title of the king of Kish, which no one ever had formally bothered to challenge. But Agga’s use of it now seemed plainly to say that he regarded me as a vassal. And, indeed, I had sworn an oath of fealty to him when I came as a young fugitive to his city. I read on, feeling a growing uneasiness.
Now began the demands for tribute.
He did not quite call it tribute. He spoke of it as the “gift,” the “offering,” the “donation of my love.” But it was tribute, all the same. So many sheep, so many goats, so many barrels of oil, so many jars of honey; this many gur of date-wine, this many mana of silver, this many gu of wool, this many gin of fine linen; so many male slaves, so many female ones, of such-and-such ages. The request was couched in the most bland and pleasant terms, with no hint of ultimatum. He seemed to be saying that it was unnecessary for him to use threatening language, since these gifts and donations were self-evidently owing to him from me, from the loyal son to the benign father, from the vassal to the serene overlord.
I was thrown into confusion. This letter of Agga’s stole not only my kingship but my manhood from me. Yet I had sworn fealty to him, had I not? By the net of Enlil I had sworn it. And now I was caught in that net. My cheeks blazed; tears of anger came to my eyes. I read his message four times over, and each time the words were the same, and they were damning words. I should have foreseen this, but I had not. Agga had taken me in when I was homeless; Agga had given me rank and privilege in his city; Agga had conspired with Inanna to make me a king. And now he was presenting his bill. But how could I pay his price, and still hold my head up among the kings of the Land, and among the people of Uruk?
By darkness I went alone to the shrine of Lugalbanda and knelt and whispered, “Father, what shall I do?”
The aura of the god came upon me and I heard Lugalbanda within me saying calmly, “You owe Agga love and respect, and nothing more than that.”
“But my oath, father! My oath!”
“It said nothing of tribute. If you pay him these things, you sell yourself and your city to him forever. He is testing you. He wants to know whether he owns you. Does he own you?”
“No one owns me but the gods.”
“Then you know what you must do,” said Lugalbanda within me.
I passed the night in prayer, before this god and that, wandering restlessly about the city from temple to temple. The only one I did not consult was Inanna, though she was the goddess of the city. For to do that I would have had to confess myself to the priestess Inanna, and I did not want her to know my shame in this matter.
In the morning, while the envoys of Agga were being diverted with women and singing, I sent out messengers to all the elders of the assembly, telling them to come at once to the palace. In rage and anxiety I strode back and forth before them, corded veins standing out on my neck, sweat on my forehead, until I could bring myself finally to speak.
Then I said, “We are asked to submit to the house of Kish. We are called upon to pay tribute.” They began to mutter, those old men. I held up the tablet of Agga and shook it angrily and read the list of demands aloud. When I was done I stared about the room and saw their faces: pale, drawn, fear-ridden. “How can we submit to this?” I asked. “Are we vassals? Are we serfs?”
“Kish is very mighty,” said the landowner Enlil-ennam.
“The king of Kish is the overlord of the Land,” said old Ali-ellati, of venerable noble lineage.
“It is not a great amount of tribute,” said the wealthy Lu-Meshlam mildly.
And they all set up a nodding and a bowing and a murmuring, and I saw that they were dead set against any defiance of Kish.
“We are a free city!” I cried. “Are we to surrender?”
“There are wells to dig and canals to dredge,” said Ali-ellati. “Let us pay what Agga demands, and go about our business in peace. War is very expensive.”
“And Kish is very mighty,” said Enlil-ennam.
“I call for your pledges,” I said. “I will defy Agga: give me your support.”
“Peace,” they said. “Tribute,” they said. “There are wells to dig,” they said.
They would not hear of war. In despair I sent them away, and summoned the younger house of the assembly, the house of men. I read Agga’s lists of demands to them, I spoke to them of my anger and indignation, and the house of men gave me the answers I wished to hear. I knew how to speak to them. I fanned the fires of their tempers, and appealed to their courage; for if they also went against me, I was lost. I had the power of overruling the elders if I must, but I could not make war if both the houses of the assembly were against me.
The house of men did not fail me. They gave me no talk of having wells to dig and canals to dredge. They shouted their scorn at the idea of tribute. I cried out for war, and they cried it louder back to me. Do not submit, they said. Let us smite the house of Kish with our weapons, they said. You will shatter Kish, they said—you, Gilgamesh, king and hero, conqueror, prince beloved of An. One after another the men of the house of men rose up and called out such ringing words as those. What was there to fear in the coming of Agga? they asked. His army is small, its rear-guard is feeble, its men are afraid to lift up their eyes.
I put a higher value on the army of Agga than they did, and I had better reason for my opinion. But I rejoiced at their words all the same, and my spirit brightened. For how could I have accepted vassalhood? Whatever Agga thought I might have pledged to him, my strength of kingship was at stake in this, my strength of manhood. I could not reign in Uruk at the sufferance of the king of Kish.
So, then, it was resolved: we would cast our lot for freedom. We would defy Agga. We would spend the summer preparing for war. Let him come, I said to the house of men. We will be ready for him.
I went to the palace and came upon the ambassadors of Agga in their debauch, and said to them, cold as stone, “I have read the letter of my father Agga your king. And you may tell him this, that I overflow with boundless love for him, and I feel the highest gratitude for the favor he has shown me. I send him my warmest embrace. That is the only gift I send him: my warmest embrace. There is no need for any other gift-giving between father and son, is there? And Agga is my second father. Tell him, then: I embrace him.”
That night the envoys departed for Kish, carrying with them my filial embrace, and nothing more.
Now we began our preparations for war. I will not say that the prospect saddened me. I had not heard that wild hot music in the air since the days when I had fought for Agga in the land of Elam, and that was already several years behind me. A man must make war now and then, especially if he is a king, or he will begin to rust from within: it is a matter of keeping one’s edge, of maintaining the sharpness of one’s spirit, which will go blunt soon enough in any case, but far more swiftly if left unhoned. So it was a time of polishing chariots, of oiling the shafts of javelins and spears, of sharpening blades, of taking the asses from the stables and letting them remember what it is like to run. Although the heavy heat of summer lay upon us, there seemed a crispness in the air of Uruk in those first few days as though
it were the finest midwinter day. It was the excitement, the anticipation. The young men were as thirsty for battle as I was. That was why they had shouted down the elders, that was why they had voted for war.
But there was a surprise for us all. No one in the Land makes war in the summer, if it can be avoided. Why, in those months the air itself will go ablaze, if one moves too swiftly through it. So I was sure we had all the summer long to make ourselves ready for Agga. I was wrong in that. My judgment was altogether confounded. For Agga must have been expecting my defiance, and his armies were ready; surely they must have set forth from Kish on the very day his envoys returned with my message. Trumpets brought me the news as I slept among my women, at dawn on the sultriest morning of the summer. Boats of Kish had come swiftly down the river, months before I expected them. The troops of Agga were at the quay. The waterfront was in their hands; the city was besieged.
It was the first full testing of my kingship. I had never led the city in war. I stepped out on the terrace of the palace and beat the war-drumming upon the drum that was made from Inanna’s tree. It was the first time I had sounded that drumming in Uruk, though it would not be the last. My heroes gathered about me with darkened faces. They were uncertain of my leadership. Many had fought in the wars of Dumuzi, some had fought in the armies of Lugalbanda, there were even some who might remember Enmerkar; but not one had fought under me.
“Where is one with heart,” I said, “who will go to Agga and ask him why he trespasses here?”
That splendid warrior Bir-hurturre stepped forth. His eyes were shining. He had grown tall and strong, and I think there was no man more valiant in all of Uruk. “I am the one to go,” he replied.
I put troops behind each of the gates of the city wall, the High Gate and the Royal Gate and the North Gate and the Holy Gate, the Ur Gate and the Nippur Gate, and the rest. I sent patrols to move along the perimeter of the wall to guard against the men of Kish, should they try to scale the wall with ladders, or to chop their way through the brick. Then we opened the Water Gate, and Bir-hurturre went out to parley with Agga. But before he had gone ten paces the men of Kish seized him and dragged him away. This was done by the order of Agga son of Enmebaraggesi, he who had told me that heralds were under sacred protection. Perhaps he meant only the heralds of Kish.