Grave Goods
A Short Story
Image courtesy of The Trustees of the British Museum.
Drink deeply. It’s best not to remember.
Someone had told Ama-e that, voice low as if he feared being overheard. Someone dear to her. Someone who wished to spare her from a terrible thing. She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids were as heavy as stone. There was a strong metallic scent mixed with something repulsive that made bile rise up in the back of her throat. She was lying on her side, her face resting against the reed-covered floor and her legs drawn up in front of her. Something unyielding dug into the side of her skull. She tried to move it out of the way, but her arm only twitched a little. Maybe she was still asleep after all. Maybe that was for the best. How long she drifted in this half-waking state she could not say. She could have been here one hour or a thousand. But as she slowly returned to consciousness, she began to remember. Images rose up for a moment, then flitted away like fish in a stream. Red-brick walls. A silver lyre. A man’s shadow against a bright doorway. And a dead woman in full royal array.
Ama-e opened her eyes. No stars. No moon. Not even the outline of a door. There was nothing but darkness here. The air was stagnant. The underworld, she thought, although somehow that seemed wrong. The throb at the back of her head seemed real enough, and she could feel herself breathing—steady, but with a slight gasp at the end as if she couldn’t take in quite enough air. No, she wasn’t dead. That much she was certain of. She tried to raise her arm again. There was some resistance this time, as if she’d been fastened to the ground. No, not fastened. Adhered. The mats she lay on were sticky with a half-dried liquid she could no longer pretend she didn’t recognize.
Blood.
Her heart beat faster. She knew where she was now, even if she’d never set foot here before. It was a place every servant feared; where she and the others would be interred with the queen’s other belongings. Everything needed for the afterlife.
Drink deeply, her brother had told her. Drink and forget.
She had done so—greedily—praying she would not wake until she was halfway to Eridu.1
It hadn’t been enough.
Something had awakened her early.
She thought back to those first moments of consciousness, trying to recall the moment she had first come to. A gentle hand on her shoulder—Was that it? No, she was probably just confused. That had happened before she was led down here. Before the draught had taken full effect. Or could it be that Ninsaga was still alive? Her brother said he’d try to save them both. Maybe she was here, somewhere in the dark.
She tried to call out her friend’s name, but her voice was a hoarse whisper, barely making it beyond her lips. She tried again.
“Are you there, Ninsaga?”
She listened for a long while—for voices, breathing, anything that proved she wasn’t alone. Nothing stirred.
“Is there anyone here?”
Still nothing. It was a foolish question. She knew the answer even before she said it; could read it in the absolute silence that engulfed her. For the first time in her life, she was truly alone.
She needed to get up. The air was so thick where she lay that even a deep breath barely filled her lungs. Ama-e felt lightheaded as she slowly brought herself to a sitting position. Her hand brushed against something cold and unmoving nearby. She recoiled, knowing what it must be. So many others had been led into this pit. Fellow ladies-in-waiting, flanked by guards. Now there was only her, surrounded by the bodies of people she had spent much of her young life with. It would have been natural to fear them, and to some extent she did. Everyone knew the stories of the vengeful dead. But those were always impersonal spirits, creatures one might whisper about while sitting around the fire on a chilly evening. The dead here were different. These were people she knew well. Good people who didn’t deserve to die.
There was a sound, so faint that she could almost believe she imagined it. A soft susurrus like the motion of fine cloth. Ama-e held her breath as long as she could, listening to see if it would repeat itself or if it was simply a product of her imagination. Just doing so made her dizzy, so she did not try it again. The air was no better here than when she was lying down. Even the great gasps she was taking in hardly seemed like enough. If she could just stand—but her legs felt unsteady under her as she tried to get up.
Another noise, much closer this time. A thin, silvery sound that made her flesh crawl, like spiderwebs brushed across the skin. She hadn’t imagined it this time. It had been real, so close that she thought she could almost reach out and touch it. She knew this sound because she had heard it before. It was the sound of cloth brushing against lyre strings.
“Please—”
She started to speak but broke off. It was hard to muster the breath to say anything. The air clung to her like a heavy shroud. She breathed in deeper still, but it wasn’t enough. Her headache had worsened and she had difficulty thinking at all. Something was wrong with her. She could feel it in every gasping breath she took. It was more than just the effects of the tincture; it was the very place itself. It was strangling her. It would be her grave if she allowed it to be. Or maybe she was a fool for thinking she had a choice. She started to get to her feet again, but a wave of dizziness overtook her. When had she become so weak? No, it was better to stay on her hands and knees anyhow. Safer that way. More stable. Less likely for her to stumble over the dead.
The reed mats were clotted with blood. The scent was everywhere and she could feel it, tacky under her fingertips as she crawled along. Would the queen have ordered this if she had been able to see or feel all this blood? Or perhaps the lives of servants were as unreal to her as those of slaughtered animals. Then there was that silvery sound again and the slight movement of air as someone brushed past.
“You know me, don’t you?” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. Even after a deep breath, it was all she could muster.
Ama-e put her hand out in front of her, bracing herself for the inevitable moment when she found something—no, someone there. That moment never came. And yet there was someone nearby all the same. A presence that watched her unblinkingly with the singlemindedness only the dead possessed. They were so close that she wondered when they would finally grab ahold of her. She tried to move faster but her body was sluggish. Where was she going? Was this even the right way? She forced in another deep breath. It did nothing. Nothing at all. On every side of her she could hear the faintest sounds of movement, as if the many dead were stirring from their eternal slumber.
“Please, I beg you.” she tried to say, but it came out as a thin rasp. “I don’t want to die here.”
One of her legs suddenly gave out under her. She toppled to the side, wondering hazily how far she might fall. Before she could scramble to her feet again, she felt the touch of a cold, steadying hand on her shoulder. She recoiled from it, but now there were more hands, more bodies pressing in on her from every side as she was lifted up off the ground. She struck out with her hands and feet, desperate to break their hold. Her limbs fell feebly against them. Where were they taking her? Maybe this was the fate of those who trespassed upon the dead. She tried to call out for them to stop but no sound came from her lips besides a harsh gasp, soon lost among the thud of their footsteps. Somewhere nearby she heard the grinding noise of stone on stone.
Gods, what were they going to do to her? It was so hard to think, so hard even to breathe. Perhaps she was imagining all of this. It would be so much better that way. Let this be some terrible dream of her last moments. Let her be swallowed up by oblivion if it meant this would finally end.
A sliver of light appeared, so bright that she was forced to cover her eyes. Men were shouting outside. She couldn’t make out what they said, but the fear was unmistakable. Then there were heavy footsteps that receded into the distance. All the while the brightness increased until her hands were luminescent with it. Where was she? There was only one possibility but it didn’t make any sense. She took in a gasp of air. Then another. It was cool and sweet, with only a faint residue of blood.
Outside.
She was outside.
As if of one accord, the footsteps stopped. She was lowered to the ground with a gentleness that almost frightened her more. Her eyes opened just a sliver. More than that was too much. It was getting on towards dusk, and the world was bathed in brilliant yellow light. Several figures stood over her, obscured by the glare. Then one by one they turned away, until only one remained— a girl whose head lolled unnaturally forward as if no longer fully attached. Ama-e whimpered and shut her eyes again. She didn’t want to see the ruin her cowardice had wrought. It had been so easy to rely on her brother’s assurances that both of them would be saved. She wondered now if that had been a polite fiction and nothing more.
A cold hand touched her brow, brushing her hair away from her face. Then there was a light set of footsteps, winding its way back into the grave.
I first heard about the Royal Cemetery of Ur in my high school Western Civ class some years ago. Dating back to c. 2600-2500 BCE and located in what is now Southern Iraq, the site was rediscovered and excavated in the 1920s. However, it wasn’t the gorgeous jewelry or artwork that attracted my attention at the time. It was the large number of attendants who were sacrificed there, presumably so that they would be able to serve their royal masters in the afterlife. Of these tombs, one of the most famous is the Great Death Pit, which held 6 male victims and a staggering 68 female victims. Most of the latter were young women.
The scholarly articles I read gave somewhat conflicting information about this site and particularly about how the victims were killed. Poison, suffocation, and a spear to the back of the head were all suggested in various places. There was also some confusion about who these attendants were a sacrifice for, although many sources suggested Queen Puabi, whose tomb is nearby. I tried my best to be accurate, but sometimes you just have to make an educated guess. If by some chance one of you is an expert in ancient Sumerian archaeology or history, please let me know if I’ve gotten something wrong.
An ancient Sumerian city, often considered to be the earliest in southern Mesopotamia. It’s located in modern day Iraq.
This will haunt me for a while. I felt like I was right there with Ama-e, feeling her anguish in this hopeless situation. This was really wonderfully done!
Well that was horrifying! What a nightmare. Very well done!!