Chapter 46

Lagash led a troop of several dozen men, setting out ahead of the official delegation. Riding hard all the way, they discovered the Egyptian King's encampment beneath Mount Hermon within Syrian territory.

As for the cumbersome and elaborate protocol of bilateral relations, that could wait until they reached the royal palace in Thebes. For now, Lagash wanted to scout the situation firsthand so as not to waste his time. According to usual Egyptian customs, individuals of even slight status tended to keep their heads closely shaven due to the oppressive heat. As for this Daughter of the Nile, perhaps the Egyptian King had generously crafted a golden-threaded wig for her. Regarding her blue eyes, Lagash rubbed his chin; although the western Black Forest remained uncivilized, distant merchants claimed that people from those barbaric lands possessed remarkably rare eye and hair colors. Therefore, the only thing truly worth Lagash taking such a risk for was whatever knowledge resided inside her head.

The moment she arrived at the foot of Mount Hermon, Carol could no longer sit still. As an American deeply passionate about archaeology, the very name Mount Hermon was legendary to her, as the Jordan River—even more famous—originated from these mountains.

Because the initial stretch of the Jordan River rushed down the mountains with a tremendous drop in elevation, Carol could constantly hear the thrilling and majestic sound of surging water, even while Memphis carefully tended to her inside the tent. How could someone who loved adventure and cherished archaeology simply sit idly by and ignore this sacred site of human civilization when it was right before her eyes? Otherwise, she would have wasted all those times she read the chapters about the Jordan River—which forged countless paths for the Israelite people—from the Bible kept by her bedside since childhood.

Her mind made up, Carol took advantage of Memphis's absence while he inspected the camp's defenses. She summoned a docile handmaiden, changed into ordinary outdoor attire, and wrapped her head and face securely. The two of them then stealthily slipped out from a relatively weakly guarded spot near the women's quarters.

Not far outside the camp lay a stretch of reed beds reaching half a man's height by the riverbank. The Jordan River cut through the mountainous stone ravines like a silver ribbon, carrying a unique, crisp fragrance characteristic of a millennia-old river into the air. To Carol, a girl intimately familiar with future history, this river was endowed with an extraordinarily sacred significance.

Filled with boundless excitement and emotion, she chattered nonstop to the maid beside her: "The Jordan River, it's the sacred Jordan River! Do you know? The Israelites created miracles along this river countless times, and the Divine Son Jesus was even baptized here. I never expected to see this river with my own eyes one day. I am so happy!"

The handmaiden could not understand what the future queen was saying; in truth, no one in this era could. She only dared to timidly coax Carol, urging her to take care of her health and return early.

Just as Carol was speaking with high spirits, the rustling sound of someone walking briskly through the grass approached, seemingly drawn by her excited voice. At first, they thought Memphis had sent someone to look for them, but Carol immediately realized those people were not speaking Egyptian. By the time she tried to pull the maid away to hide, it was already too late.

An extremely sharp bronze longsword, gleaming with a cold light that only black iron could surpass, was extended right before Carol's face. Carol's heart shuddered. She had only ever seen weapons of such craftsmanship and rank carried by Memphis and a few high-ranking princes and nobles; the newcomer was likely no ordinary character.

Lagash had camped his small troop along the bank of the Jordan River, choosing a spot in the riverside reeds several hundred paces away from the Egyptians. Had he not heard someone approaching, Lagash originally intended to disguise himself as an Egyptian soldier and sneak in under the cover of night.

Now that two women had appeared near his camp, it went without saying that they had sneaked over from the other side, which conveniently saved him some trouble. If they were mere handmaidens, he would interrogate them and kill them to tie up loose ends. If... among them was his target, then he could skip tonight's covert reconnaissance entirely.

Without a word, he used the sharpness of his blade to slice through the fastening straps of Carol's cloak. The fabric narrowly remained hanging over her head, concealing her gold-like hair, but her deep blue eyes were now completely exposed.

Feeling the chill of the blade brush across the top of her head, Carol trembled all over, yet she managed to stiffen her voice and scold the man before her: "We have money! If you want money, take it and leave quickly! The Jordan River is a sacred site; you must not let blood defile the pure water!"

Lagash was slightly surprised. That saved him the trouble of even asking questions. Looking into those defiant eyes that clearly had no concept of adaptation, he knew there was nothing more to discuss. He knew the person he was looking for intimately; that woman was always so cautious, her eyes always filled with endless forbearance, yet the bite she had left him was so sharp and painful he would never forget it.

As for the sacred site nonsense, the Jordan River of three millennia ago was merely a precious water source flowing through Lebanon, Syria, and Canaan. Talk of holiness was premature at this moment. However, if he dragged this woman back, the information he could extract might be vast indeed.

Lagash sheathed his sword, though without lowering his guard. He sneered and glanced at Carol: "Put down the sand in your hand. Even if you manage to blind my eyes, there are at least twenty other men here."

Carol's little trick was exposed, and her face turned instantly pale. Her only hope now was that Memphis would rush to save her. This man was neither rash nor crude; at first glance, he seemed uninterested in her, yet Carol had never felt such terror toward anyone.

Two Babylonian soldiers were about to step forward to subdue Carol when Luka, who had rushed all the way and was desperate for a chance to redeem himself, burst out from the bushes. With two swift kicks, he knocked down the soldiers who dared to approach, shielded the two women behind him, and shouted angrily, "Stay away from them!"

Yet the moment Luka locked eyes with Lagash, his heart sank. Setting aside the disparity in strength between their sides—where the enemy was strong and he was weak—he was also encumbered by two burdens. Although Lagash had changed into ordinary clothes, the Babylonian dragon insignia on his scabbard was clearly visible. Luka vividly remembered General Hazzas telling him that Babylon had been unusually quiet of late. He had not expected King Lagash to make a move, and when he did, he almost snatched Carol away silently. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. Amidst the standoff, he hooked his finger to his lip and whistled an alarm signal. All he could do now was fight to the death to protect Carol until the Egyptian soldiers arrived, and swiftly relay the news of Lagash's sortie to the prince.

To his surprise, Lagash showed no inclination for a protracted battle. He turned and walked away, and that troop vanished as swiftly and silently as they had appeared. By the time Sinuhe arrived with a squad of soldiers, aside from flattened reeds, there was no trace of a large force having lingered.

Only then did Carol catch her breath, looking at Luka with overwhelming joy and concern: "Luka, it's so wonderful! You're safe! If not for you, that terrifying man probably wouldn't have retreated so easily. Who on earth are these people?"

"Yes, Daughter of the Nile," Luka replied with a sincere smile, speaking as much to Sinuhe as to Carol: "They were likely desert bandits passing through. Aside from money, they also want women because women can be exchanged for wealth. Daughter of the Nile, you must be careful. Ever since my rescue attempt at the Assyrian border failed, I have been searching for news of you. Fortunately, I finally found you, and you are safe and sound."

Pulling Luka along anxiously, Carol said to Sinuhe, "Let's hurry back! I must tell Memphis this incredible good news that Luka has returned to my side!"

As Luka turned away, he cast a subtle glance upward. A pigeon was gliding across the sky toward the direction of the Egyptian encampment.

While various factions hurried back toward Egypt, the Hittites remained leisurely, secretly plotting unknown conspiracies. For Zannanza, the trick of abducting Carol from the Egyptian palace could not be repeated, especially since that had only succeeded with the help of Queen Nefertari.

Now that Carol was by Memphis's side, how difficult it would be to strike! It would be wiser to wait until their upcoming wedding ceremony, when Thebes was engulfed in celebration and its defensive forces were heavily strained, to make a move and seize the opportunity. For the Hittites, the immediate priority was Shuppiluliuma's personal visit. Perhaps when capturing the Daughter of the Nile, they could use their ally Assyria as the vanguard force to wage a fierce battle against Egypt at the border.

Hittite, Mesopotamia, and Egypt had all accumulated power over many years; currents surged ominously within their borders, and the frontiers stirred restlessly. Now, the appearance of the Daughter of the Nile was like a drop of cold water falling into boiling oil, threatening to ignite an already perilous environment at any moment.

The true reason was that as these three powers vied for dominance, both insiders and onlookers were eagerly anticipating a final outcome, even if that outcome demanded a heavy price.

Zannanza lowered the scroll in his hand and looked out through the bronze window frame. The morning sun had already reached his doorstep; Hattusa was about to begin another busy day. He had been back in the royal city for nearly a month, and by his reckoning, the Egyptians should also be returning in triumph to Thebes. Yet Memphis and the Daughter of the Nile returning home merely signaled that the conflict was just beginning.

He walked to the high platform and listened to the morning prayer hymns drifting from the Pantheon. Standing there quietly, he seemed like a silhouette guarding Anatolia, an impassable fortress wall.

When he arrived at General Hazzas's home, he found it empty; the old man informed him that the person in question was out working with his wife. The first snow had already fallen in Hattusa, and everyone was busy with final storage preparations for the coming winter.

Inanna wore heavy cloth garments, wrapped in a sheepskin fleece and a dairy-stained apron, busy milking cows in the backyard corral. Her hair was braided into two tails, and despite the bitter cold, she was sweating profusely. Her hands worked deftly and skillfully beneath the cow. Once the pail was full, she processed butter and clabber, loaded chickpeas, millet, and wheat into wooden baskets to toss into the storehouse, and then gathered the sun-dried dates and turnips from the open ground, stringing them up to hang beneath the window.

She worked so diligently that when she noticed a pair of shoes suddenly appear beside her, she assumed it was General Hazzas. However, the toes of those shoes were slightly upturned—far too ostentatious and impractical for an ordinary person, practically hindering daily life.

Consequently, when Inanna realized that Prince Zannanza had appeared, she lost control of her grip, sending a jet of milk straight onto his robe. Fortunately, he had not worn those impractical shoes, and his outer garment had been changed to a simple white tunic, otherwise he would have drawn a crowd of onlookers. Even so, a wet patch above his knee was slowly spreading at a visible rate.

General Hazzas remained silent, glared fiercely at Inanna, and left to fetch a replacement garment for the prince.

Inanna wondered whether she was drifting further and further from her goal. Once, she had lived in the royal palace without knowing what she wanted; now that she knew what she wanted, she could find no way in. Yet Zannanza's appearance now suggested that perhaps the door still remained slightly ajar.

Inanna hurriedly stood up from her small stool, wiped her hands on her apron, and after a month's separation, finally bowed to Prince Zannanza upon this reunion. Averting her eyes from the milk stain, she smiled dryly, "Prince, what brings you here?"

Zannanza felt that nothing good ever came of encountering this woman, though the trouble could range from small to large: "Naturally, I came out for a walk. Although the palace offers a panoramic view of state affairs, in the end, it is nothing more than a desk, a window, and endless documents, which are far less scenic than the land outside the window."

"Then why come here?" Inanna retorted, "My Lord, I think the scenery outside the city is much more beautiful."

Seeing Hazzas return with the clothes, Zannanza merely waved a hand to indicate they were unnecessary. Though his tone was flat, it brook no refusal: "Tomorrow is the sacrificial festival of the agricultural god Telepinu. Mura will come tonight, and tomorrow, taking advantage of the festival, Sukammumu will be brought in. You need not worry about etiquette or attire, Hazzas. As for the rest, you understand my meaning."

The two men spoke in riddles, clearly having no intention of enlightening Inanna. Yet the glance the prince occasionally cast her way made Inanna feel that this journey would be anything but ordinary.

If she were merely a slave, she would have been brought directly into the palace and tossed into some corner to fend for herself. What reason could there be to leave a woman in the home of a trusted high-ranking official, deliberately waiting for the occasion of a festival before having a high-ranking noble female official come to escort her? Inanna knew there was only one reason: although her wish to re-enter the royal palace was about to be granted, given her likely new identity, she would undoubtedly have to navigate a perilous dance with the prince.

That very night, however, Mura gave Inanna a harsh welcome. Inanna was pressed into the bathtub specially yielded by General Hazzas's wife, scrubbed by two maidservants using four hands until she felt like a sheared sheep—or fresh milk stripped of all its cream.

At the head of her small bed, the mattress was deeply depressed under a heavy burden. Setting aside the excruciatingly heavy royal Hittite ceremonial dress adorned with gemstone-studded sacred cross motifs that could practically cripple someone, even the pure gold circlet encrusted with obsidian, once placed upon her head, threatened to snap her slender neck.

All night long, Inanna debated whether she should roll up these gold and silver treasures and run away. Yet without a way back to the twenty-first century, fleeing anywhere would yield the same result. The palace of Hattusa atop the mountain outside her window was her sole objective.