ART OF THE SUMERIAN DEAL

‘Rotten dealer, Namkuzu! My master demands what he’s owed, and more for the disrespect. You’re a stain on Ur, a stain on all of Sumer. Come out and face us!’

Namkuzu peered around the edge of his window, only long enough to catch a glimpse of the fifteen men armed with axes and spears gathered in the courtyard of his home. Leading them was a broad-chested type who Namkuzu recognised, but could not place a name to the fearsome face. He searched memories of dodgy trades to pinpoint which could have warranted such a response, but there were too many possibilities.

‘My master sent boar skins,’ the broad-chested man continued. ‘Fine quality and seven carts of them. My master is a man of honour, and you responded with insult!’

‘Boar skins,’ pondered Namkuzu, then gritted his teeth. The master of those men was Nirgal the boar hunter. The broad-chested slave was called Auroch (a type of cattle) by his master, as it was rumoured his mother must have laid with cattle to produce a son so hardy and loyal. Namkuzu did not think it was a completely accurate description—he had spoken to herders and was sure none would describe an auroch as loyal. However, the likeness in stature was striking.

‘Auroch,’ called out Namkuzu, not daring to reveal his face. ‘Nirgal and I trade on good terms. I’m sure I can make anything right by speaking to him. Why has he not extended the honour of discussing this equal to equal?’

‘Master says I’m your equal—maybe higher—and my presence is well enough to deal with you.’

‘I do not understand, if my man did not arrive with the agreed goods then—’

‘Your man arrived, along with your so-called goods.’ Auroch spat, then snatched a basket from his companion and tipped out its contents. ‘You were to provide seven baskets of copper—in your words, as pure as the temple to Enlil—and you send my master this?’ He picked up a copper plate and snapped it with bare hands. ‘Brittle! Weak! You call this as pure as the temple to Enlil? This is as pure as the temple’s drainage!’

Namkuzu whispered to himself, ‘Since when can boar hunters spot quality copper?’

No doubt he could have made the trade work in his favour, but he had miscalculated the level of impurity he could get away with. Namkuzu learnt at a young age to never be on the rotten side of a deal. Knowing that, he realised the way to get ahead was to ensure whoever he was dealing with was on the rotten side. It was a philosophy that had taken him far. At fourteen, he left his family’s farm on the outskirts of Nippur with five goats and a basket of grain, announcing to his siblings that the next they would hear of him would be an invitation to his palace.

He did not yet have a palace, but he was well on his way. The goats and grain were traded for more than their worth in pottery and paints, and in turn the pots he painted were traded for more than their worth in leathers. A few years later, he owned a handsome house in the heart of Ur, in the shadows of temples. Eventually, the walls of his house were alive with paint and every room was a store of valuables. His cleverness had taken him so close to the top, but cleverness and wisdom are very different things, and it was while attempting to explain himself to armed men that he realised he had not been very wise. However, he did not need to talk them down—he only needed to secure time.

‘Auroch, there was the copper I sent and the copper you hold, the two are entirely different.’ Namkuzu peered out of the window again, not watching the men, but the entrance to his courtyard. ‘I had my best man triple check it. I’m inclined to believe your master is trying to rob me. No, not Nirgal, he’s a man of honour. It’s you Auroch, you are the one trying to rob me! No wonder you come without your master!’

Auroch beat the blunt side of his axe against his chest. ‘Do you take me for a fool? You lower your honour with every word you speak. We are here to take what our master is owed and bring you to answer to him. If you do not have what our master is owed, we will take…’

Whispers from the other slaves caused Auroch to turn and see another group of spear-wielding men filtering into the courtyard.

‘Yes, Auroch, I do take you for a fool,’ exclaimed Namkuzu, failing to mask his giddiness. ‘Did you think your master was the only one with men? I may not have slaves, but I have better. Paid men. Paid fighters. Twenty trained warriors!’

Namkuzu had been waiting for the word to spread. Auroch was loud, and someone nearby was bound to hear him and alert Namkuzu’s protection.

Namkuzu called down to Auroch once again, ‘Your robbery is foiled! You never stood a chance. These men will cut you down if you don’t leave!’

Nirgal’s slaves huddled on the eastern side of the courtyard, preparing for a fight. Namkuzu’s men filtered into the west side, standing tall with spears at the ready. The leader of Namkuzu’s hired fighters, a wild-bearded man named Shesa who held fury in his dark eyes, stepped forward, towards the house.

‘Namkuzu,’ bellowed Shesa. ‘Get out here and give us what we’re owed, or we’ll take your head as compensation!’

‘Shit’ whispered Namkuzu.

‘One week, you don’t give what’s promised. Two weeks, you don’t give what’s promised. Now three weeks, and still, you don’t deliver! You provided spears and knives fifteen weeks ago, but you agreed more, so we will use these spears and knives to take it!’

‘Come now, Shesa, you know that’s not true. I sent two carts of barley last week.’

‘We’re barley farmers you fool! We have more barley than we can get rid of!’

Namkuzu furrowed his brow. ‘I thought you farmed beans.’

‘You know damn well we farm barley! Besides, it wasn’t what was promised. You promised us hides so we can make sandals.’ Shesa presented his blackened, bare foot. ‘Now get down here or we’ll come and get you!’

Namkuzu paused in thought, before responding, ‘Alright, I have everything all of you want. Wait there a moment and I’ll bring it out.’

Three bars of gold, four silver, and a basket of obsidian was all he could carry, but that was worth more than the goats and grain he began his life with after his family’s farm. He had made a fortune out of little once before and he knew he could do it again. With valuables in hand, he rushed downstairs and made for the back exit.

The manmade canals across Sumer were invaluable to traders. They connected to the Euphrates and Tigris and were used for irrigation, but depending on the time of year they acted as key transportation routes for river boats. So, when deciding where to build his home in Ur, Namkuzu insisted on having the canal at his back door, primarily for ease of transporting goods directly to and from his home, but also acting as an emergency escape route.

Prevailing winds always followed the river currents, which meant it was impossible for Namkuzu to escape upstream. Paddling himself halfway across Sumer was not a viable option, but he could sail downstream to the mouth of the Euphrates and into the open waters of the gulf, where he could follow the coastline to Nina or Lagash, or even further to the mouth of the Tigris. As he hurried to the back door, he glanced through a window to make sure his personal river boat was still moored and ready for escape, but froze at the sight that awaited him.

‘Show yourself, Namkuzu! Your contempt has caught up with you,’ announced a reedy, shaven-headed man at the head of one of twenty river boats that waited in the canal. Each had four paddlers, who stood with bows at the ready. ‘Remember me, you filthy liar? I am Kizurra, head bowman for the man you seem not to fear. Tibira of Lagash has had enough of your trickery and will ensure this trick is your last. You will take the place of the slaves you promised!’

It had turned into a very bad day for Namkuzu, and he thought perhaps it was time to regret his actions. He had talked his way out of many sticky situations, and had his life threatened more than once, but Namkuzu never ended up on the rotten side of a deal. However, well-earned enemies now surrounded him, each ready to take a different prize—his freedom, his possessions, his home, his head. It was the stickiest of sticky situations, and if Namkuzu could not unstick himself, it was apparent his body, along with everything he owned, would be diced into a hundred pieces and spread across all of Sumer. It sure seemed like he was on the rotten side.

Namkuzu hoped his voice trembled less than his hands. ‘Kizurra, I am shocked to hear such things. Tibira and I had a fair trade which I dutifully upheld.’

‘You promised ten slaves for what my master provided.’

‘And my men delivered them last week.’

Kizurra notched an arrow in his bow. ‘Your men arrived days ago with ten aurochs in tow! Not slaves, cattle!’

‘Are aurochs not slaves? They must pull our ploughs and carts and have no say in the matter, the same as any—’

The crash of broken pottery cut his performance short, the result of an arrow sent flying through his window.

‘My master told me you would play dumb, act as if you knew not the difference between man and auroch. I nearly couldn’t believe you would be so worm-like. It seems I’m too charitable. Now come out and be bound! My master has accepted a more favourable trade. No longer does he want ten slaves—now he only wants one. You, Namkuzu! Your freedom will be a fair settlement for Tibira of Lagash!’

‘Men belonging to Tibira,’ shouted Auroch, the slave. ‘We have come on behalf of our master, Nirgal the boar hunter. I have been given absolute instruction to bring this rotten dealer to my master to answer for his actions. If you wish to take him as a slave, you can discuss terms with Nirgal!’

 ‘This man is best dead with his head on a spike,’ Shesa the barley farmer interjected. ‘He’ll neither answer for anything nor plough any field with no head on his shoulders. I came here for a head, and a head is what I’ll take!’

Namkuzu saw the ray of light. ‘Kizurra, I remember not the goods Tibira offered. How can I be sure Tibira honoured the agreement if I can’t recall what he sent?’

‘You forget nothing, liar,’ said Kizurra. ‘You remember well the fine goods my master sent. Two boats, just as agreed, of highest quality copper!’

The copper Kizurra provided really was of highest quality—it was secured in a storehouse south of Ur—but there was no way for anyone to know that other than Namkuzu. The brittle copper Nirgal received could have come from anywhere, and who knew why Namkuzu did not provide the barley farmers with the hides they were owed? Perhaps Nirgal never honoured his agreement on boar skins, which were supposed to arrive on Shesa’s doorstep. And the slave named Auroch, would it be so difficult to believe he had something to do with the aurochs that were sent to Kizurra in place of slaves?

Namkuzu was sure there was no way to talk down the three factions of men, but he was an expert in talking people up. Three groups, all involved in dealings that could hypothetically involve the others, and all prepared for conflict.

‘Alright, Namkuzu,’ he told himself with a smile. ‘Time to work your magic.’

The End