The hot desert wind swirled dust devils across the parched earth, whipping up the sparse vegetation that had managed to sprout after the meager rains of spring. Two sluggish, muddy rivers-the Tigris and Euphrates-divided and carved out a large Y in this featureless plain. Few trees offered any relief for man or beast from the shimmering heat. Birds darted over the marshes where the rivers overran their banks, and tiny ripples in the shallows marked schools of fish feeding on insects. Bordering the rivers to the north and south, fields of grain spread across the desolate flat land. Occasional date palms offered fruit and shade for travelers coming from outlying farms into the city of Ur of the Chaldees, on the Euphrates River. As the sun began to set in the west, a solitary vulture circled languidly over the busy metropolis, where fortified walls formed an elongated triangle that lay in the flatland near the confluence of the two rivers. The high wall surrounding the city was broken only by a few gates. Within that wall, in a broad, open section of the city, lay a sprawling temple complex, with a mudbrick ziggurat-dedicated to the moon god Nanna and his wife Ningal-rising eighty feet in three-step terraces. The vulture tilted to his left and made a sweeping curve, searching for an evening meal. He studied the crowded mass of houses and bazaars surrounding the temple and the broad canal that circumscribed the city, connecting it with the larger of the two rivers leading to the big sea beyond. Another waterway cut through the heart of the city, along which path the vulture now soared until reaching the large harbor at the southern tip. The bird circled above the boats that sat quietly at anchor in the dead calm of evening. Having not spotted any carrion on the city streets, the vulture moved on, sailing effortlessly over the farmland that spread outward in every direction. There he would more likely find food. A short, fat man, whose expensive robe barely covered his midsection, stopped along the streets of Ur to glance upward at the setting sun. A glittering stone on his pudgy finger caught the last rays. Hiphaz hesitated, tempted to return to the safety of his home. He was a timid fellow who knew that being out as darkness was gathering was inviting trouble. Nonetheless, he urged himself on, muttering under his breath, and scurried down the narrow, twisting streets. He knew them well, having spent all of his forty years within the city walls. He rarely stepped outside the gates into the open land, preferring the close comfort of the crowded houses, bazaars, and shops. The security of being around people was necessary for Eliphaz. He loved nothing better than the festival days when the farmers brought their produce and the city swarmed like a giant anthill. Rounding a corner, Eliphaz halted at the sight of a large yellow dog emerging stiff-legged from the gathering shadows, his lips pulled back from his teeth. Eliphaz clasped the box he was bearing to his chest and backed up against the nearest wall. "Get away!" he shouted in as rough a tone as he could muster. The animal continued forward, his eyes glittering. Two street urchins, no more than ten or twelve, were scuffling in the dust. Seeing Eliphaz shrinking against the wall, the boys grinned and pointed. "Look at him! He's afraid of an old dog," one of them said, laughing. "Give us the box, and we'll make the dog leave you alone," the other said. When Eliphaz did not answer, both boys approached him and demanded, "What's in the box?" Eliphaz stared at the dog, then at the boys, whose sticks were raised threateningly. He reached into the purse that hung around his neck, pulled out a sack, and stuttered, "H-here, you can have these dates." The smaller of the two boys darted forward and snatched the sack. "Come on, Nopaz." The boys turned and ran, whistling to the dog, who stiffly trotted away after them. Heaving a sigh of relief, Eliphaz hurried on down the street. Humiliated by the scene, he purposed that the next time he ventured out at dusk, he would bring one of his slaves with a weapon. By the time Eliphaz reached the house he was seeking, the sun was disappearing below the top of the city wall. Eliphaz entered the courtyard of the large house, which was set back from the street. Even in the growing darkness, he could see the lush greenery of the plants in decorated clay pots. He called out, "Hello!" and immediately a man emerged from one of the inner gates. He was a wiry fellow, below average height, who grinned and bobbed his head as he approached the visitor. "You are late tonight, sir." "Yes, I am, Hazil." Hazil reached out his hands. "Can I carry your box, sir?" "No, I'll take it in. Am I late?" "The meal hasn't started yet, but they have been expecting you." "I'll go right on in," Hiphaz muttered, hastening into the house. Hazil turned, his hand on his hip, studying the man as he disappeared. Then he laughed softly and entered the house again himself, walking down a long corridor toward the cooking area. An oven half buried in the earth was sending up tendrils of smoke, which swirled about the dried onions and vegetables hanging from the ceiling. On one side of the room a woman was slicing vegetables with a knife, her back to Hazil. A mischievous grin tugged at Hazil's thin lips as he silently tiptoed toward her. He threw his arms around her full figure, laughing when she shrieked. No sooner had she turned than he planted a kiss on her mouth, shutting off her objections, then stepped back and plucked a piece of roasted meat from a dish on the table. "You stop that. That's for the master-and keep your slimy hands off of me!" The woman wore a tunic supported by a single strap over one shoulder. Although she was no longer in the flush of youth, her thin face was still attractive. Her lips drew down in a frown as she said, "You keep your hands off of everything in this kitchen-including me!" "Oh, come on, don't be angry, Mahita." "You're a scoundrel, Hazil!" Hazil reached up and plucked a grape from a cluster hanging from a beam in the ceiling. He chewed it, then reached for another before answering. With grape juice running over his chin, he grinned. "I'll be by your room tonight for a visit." "You come near my room and I'll gut you like a fish!" Hazil only laughed, pulling her toward him and whispering in her ear, "It'll be a treat for both of us." This time Mahita barely resisted as he kissed her on the cheek, then sat down and helped himself to the meat on the table. Mahita laughed softly and feigned annoyance. "What if you found Taphir in the room? He'd slit your skinny throat." "He's not the man I am." "He's twice as big". "Twice as big doesn't mean twice as good." Hazil winked and chewed thoughtfully on the meat. "This is good. What is it?" "Goat. If the master comes in and catches you eating his food, he'll stripe your back." "He's too busy to worry over things like that. After all, his future son-in-law is here." "He's come, then?" "Yes-he just went inside. You think Hanna will have this one?" Mahita began grinding corn in a hollowed-out stone, expertly crushing the kernels to powder with a smaller smooth stone. Without hesitation she nodded. "She's got to have a man ... at least she thinks so." "Well, she's tried hard enough to catch this one. He's not much of a man, though." "He's rich," Mahita nodded. "That's what counts." "There's more to a man than money." "Don't you wish that were true! But she'll have him-you can be sure." As Mahita moved about, efficiently preparing the meal, Hazil followed her, sampling the supper and speaking of family matters. These two were well aware of the innermost secrets of the house of Garai, as were all the servants. Their master and his family labored under the delusion that the servants were all deaf. Either that, or they had grown so accustomed to the servants' presence that they simply forgot to speak quietly or in private. Even if they had tried to maintain some secrecy, the houses of Ur provided precious little privacy. There were no doors to close, only openings between each room, which were occasionally covered with blankets or animal skins, but most of the time Garai and his wife, Rufi, lived in full view of servants and visitors alike. Mahita looked around and gave a sigh of satisfaction. Picking up a clay jar, she poured some wine into a clay goblet and offered it to Hazil. She then poured herself some and sat down with another sigh. "So Hanna's going to get a man at last," Hazil said, sipping his wine. "I never could figure her out. She's not bad looking-she's even pretty in a way. She should have been married two or three years ago." "Why, Hazil, I thought you were sharper than that!" Mahita sipped her wine, tilting her head back to savor the coolness of it, then grinned at the man across the table from her. "It's Sarai, of course." "What does she have to do with it?" "The men come here and all they see is Sarai. Hanna's not exactly plain, but alongside Sarai, she's like a desert toad!" "But she comes with a good dowry-that must be worth something to a man." "That's what Garai's hoping for, of course-to find a man who wants money more than a beautiful wife." Hazil reached over and pinched Mahita's cheek. "Now, if you had a dowry, I'd marry you myself." "You'll never marry anybody. You're not the marrying kind." "Don't be too sure about that." Sipping his wine slowly, Hazil's eyes narrowed. "But Sarai is even a bigger puzzle to me. She's as good-looking as a woman comes, and Garai's offered a bounty as big as a camel to go with her. And yet she still awaits a marriage offer." "Even a big dowry's not enough to entice a man to take her." "Why ever not? What about old Rashim? He was taken with her, wasn't he?" "Yes, until she opened her mouth! She got rid of him fast enough." Mahita laughed shortly. "It's her tongue that scares the men off." "Yes, she's got a tongue, all right," Hazil said ruefully. "She's used it on me often enough." "That's right. She's run off every suitor who's ever come." A call came from inside, and the two got up. Hazil wrapped his arms around Mahita, kissing her soundly. "Don't go to sleep early. You'll miss a real treat if you do." "Leave me be. Supper's late. You know how Garai will yell." Hazil laughed and winked at her, whispering, "I'll see you later." * * * Zulda pulled the bone comb down through the jet black hair of her mistress. In her opinion, Sarai's best feature was her hair, blacker than night itself, long and soft and glossy. It was a pleasure to comb it, and now Zulda said, "You want me to tie your hair up?" "No, leave it down, Zulda." Zulda made two or three more passes through her mistress's hair with the comb, then shook it out. Sarai moved over toward the stone tub, slipped out of her robe, and stepped in. With a sigh of pleasure, she slid down into the water. "Don't let my hair get wet, Zulda. Maybe you'd better tie it up after all." "Yes, mistress." Zulda secured the hair up with copper pins and began to scrub her mistress's back with a soft cloth. Sarai hummed to herself, enjoying the coolness of the water, and finally she got up and allowed Zulda to dry her off. Zulda rubbed a soft, sweet-smelling oil into her body, all the time chattering away. At times Zulda's constant talk grew tiresome, but Sarai was fond of the little servant girl, whose life was devoted to pleasing her mistress. "... and so your sister's going to marry Eliphaz, and you'll be the only daughter left in the house. Your brother will spoil you." "She hasn't married him yet," Sarai murmured. She began to rub herself down with a soft cloth, then stepped into the undergarments Zulda held for her. Her gown was pure white and, in the fashion of the aristocracy, was suspended by one strap over her right shoulder. She waited until Zulda fastened a belt studded with stones around her waist, then slipped into her sandals. "You aren't going to marry Abiahaz?" "No!" Sarai said shortly. "But he's been coming around here for a year. You never said you wouldn't have him." Sarai loosened her hair and let it fall down her back, staring into the polished bronze mirror on the wall. "It was amusing to watch him come sniffing around." The blurry image staring back from the mirror revealed a tall, proud woman, with a prominent nose, high cheekbones that accented the hollows of her cheeks, and black eyes with strange green flecks in them. Her skin was as smooth as a baby's, the envy of every woman in the land. Sarai's family was originally from the city of Uruk, many miles upriver. Being from the privileged class, and having been successful in business, they owned homes both in Ur and in the smaller, but also impressive, city of Uruk. The entire household would travel upriver with Garai and stay in their other house whenever he had business to attend to. Zulda went on with her questions as she once again combed out her mistress's hair. "What will your brother say?" "I've already told him." "Well, what did he say, then?" "He screamed like a wild donkey-as he always does." Zulda finished off Sarai's hair by inserting two decorative jeweled combs. "But you've got to get married, mistress." "I do? Why?" Sarai's well-shaped lips parted. Her enormous eyes, almond shaped and deep set, now sparkled with amusement. She loved to tease Zulda, for the girl was easily fooled. "Why do I have to get married?" she asked again in her deep voice. "Why ... what else is there for a woman to do?" Sitting down at a dressing table filled with cosmetics, Sarai put the tip of her finger into a small jar carved out of semiprecious stone. She pressed the contents of it to her cheek and began spreading it on. "What else is there for a woman to do? Why, nothing much. When I find a man I can love, I'll marry him." Zulda stared at Sarai with astonishment. "But fathers choose husbands for girls! And since your father is gone, your brother will choose your husband." "I'll pick my own husband." Zulda took in a short breath. She was shocked but intrigued. "Nobody but you would say that, mistress." "I'll do it, though." "What kind of a man will you pick?" Sarai paused from putting on the cosmetics and thought for a moment. "He won't be old like that ... that old Malater my brother wanted me to marry! Why, he was so old he would have died on the marriage bed." Zulda was accustomed to Sarai's half-ribald statements, and she merely giggled. "What will your husband be like?" "Oh, he'll have to be young and good-looking." Continues... Excerpted from No Woman So Fair by GILBERT MORRIS Copyright © 2003 by Gilbert Morris Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
