Sarah Read Free

men’s quarters, with their white staircases, overhung the temple of the family’s ancestors, the storehouses, and the room where her father’s scribes worked, while the women’s chambers were built above the kitchens, the handmaids’ dormitories, and the chamber of blood. Both opened onto a broad terrace, shaded by bowers of vines and wisteria, with a view of the gardens. The terrace allowed the men to join the women at night without having to cross the courtyards.
    From her grove, Sarai could also see a large part of the city, and, towering over it like a mountain, the ziggurat, the Sublime Platform. Not a day went by that she did not come here to admire the gardens of the ziggurat. They were a lake of foliage between earth and sky, full of every flower and every tree the gods had sown on the earth. From this riot of greenery emerged the steps, covered in black-and-white ceramics, that led up to the Sublime Bedchamber, with its lapis lazuli columns and walls. There, once a year, the king of Ur was united with the Lady of Heaven.
    Today, though, she had eyes only for what was happening in the house. Everything seemed to have calmed down. Sarai had the impression they had stopped searching for her. When the handmaids had appeared earlier in the garden, she had been tempted to join them. But now it was too late for her to leave her hiding place. With every hour that passed, she was more at fault. If anyone saw her in this state, they would scream with fright and turn away, shielding their eyes as if they had seen a woman possessed by demons. It was unthinkable that she could show herself like this to the women. It would be a blemish on her father’s house. She had to stay here and wait until nightfall. Only then could she perform her ablutions in the garden’s irrigation basin. After that, she would go and ask Sililli for forgiveness. With enough tears, and enough terror in her voice, to mollify her.
    Until then she had to forget her thirst and the heat that was gradually transforming the still air into a strange miasma of dry dust.

    SHE stiffened when she heard the shouts.
    â€œSarai! Answer me, Sarai! I know you’re there! Do you want to die today, with the shame of the gods on you?”
    She recognized the thick calves, the yellow-and-white tunic with its black border instantly.
    â€œSililli?”
    â€œWho else were you expecting?” the handmaid retorted, in an angry whisper.
    â€œHow did you manage to find me?”
    Sililli took a few steps back. “Stop your chattering,” she said, lowering her voice even more, “and come out of there right now before anyone sees you.”
    â€œYou mustn’t look at me,” Sarai warned.
    She emerged from the copse, straightening up with difficulty, her muscles aching from her long immobility.
    Sililli stifled a cry. “Forgive her, almighty Ea! Forgive her!”
    Sarai did not dare look Sililli in the face. She stared down at her short, round shadow on the ground, and saw her raise her arms to heaven then hug them to her bosom.
    â€œAlmighty Lady of Heaven,” Sililli muttered, in a choked voice, “forgive me for having seen her soiled face and hands! She is only a child, holy Inanna. Nintu will soon purify her.”
    Sarai restrained herself from rushing into the handmaid’s arms. “I’m so sorry,” she said, in a barely audible whisper. “I didn’t do as you told me to. I couldn’t.”
    She did not have time to say more. A linen sheet was flung over her, covering her from head to foot, and Sililli’s hands clasped her waist. Now Sarai no longer needed to hold back, and she leaned against the firm, fleshy body of the woman who had not only been her nurse, but had also been like a mother to her.
    â€œYes, you silly little thing,” Sililli whispered in her ear through the linen, the anger gone from her voice, the tremor of fear still there, “I’ve known about