Ur
The dot on the road in the distance could easily have been Belessunu and her servant girls. Terah dared not take the time to make sure. He couldn’t risk anyone, especially her, seeing him in such a state. He didn’t want even random sojourners—most of whom would know him from the king’s court—to be repulsed by his face, or worse, spread the word about him.
“Worry more about haste than whether I protest,” he told Ikuppi, who all but dragged him, moaning, back into the house. He collapsed into a chair and felt as if he could sleep for a week. “Bring me water and then see who is on the road.”
As he sipped and Ikuppi leaned out the window, Terah felt disgust for his idols. What a travesty that they would answer the prayers of a wicked king and ignore a devout supplicant.
“Belessunu should be home by now! I need her.”
“It’s a man driving a donkey-pulled cart,” Ikuppi said. “One of your men? Maybe he knows what’s become of her.”
“If it’s Wedum, he’ll know. You don’t think she’s abandoned me, do you, Ikuppi?”
“Because you do not worship the same gods?”
“Because I pray for a daughter.”
“She’s not doing the same?” Ikuppi said. “Surely she knows what the king would do—”
“She says her god would never give her a son only to snatch him away.”
“Terah, I cannot imagine Belessunu forsaking you after all these years, especially now when she’s about to deliver.”
The donkey skidded to a stop, and three raps came on the door. “Master, it is I,” Wedum said. “If that is the chariot of the king himself, I will withdraw, but otherwise you must come!”
Ikuppi opened the door. “The king is not here.”
Wedum rushed to Terah’s side. “The gods have smiled upon you, master! The midwife was with Mutuum and his wife and son when Belessunu came to visit. And now your wife herself is in the throes of childbirth.”