No Woman So Fair by Gilbert Morris Read Free Book Online

the one in Ur. The water level was quite low, the main channel no more than ten feet wide. On either side of the channel lay foul-smelling black mud. Waste matter and garbage had been thrown into it, and the stench made Abram wrinkle his nose. He started over the bridge, having to turn sideways to pass through the crowd, but just as he reached the middle, he remembered that he had dropped his travel bag back in the street by the shrine when the prostitute had grabbed him. Alarmed that he had likely lost the gifts he had brought for the family of Garai, along with his money and clothes, he turned back and broke into a run.
    Near the end of the crowded bridge, he bumped into a woman. There were no railings, and he had time only to catch a glimpse of her beautiful but stunned face as she tumbled over the side. He made a wild grab for her but missed, and to his horror he saw her turn a somersault and land facedown in the stinking mud. Gales of laughter went up, and Abram looked about wildly. Feeling like a clumsy idiot, he knelt down and tried to reach the woman, but it was too far. He saw that she was struggling to get up, and when she rolled over, he could not make out her features, for the black muck covered her completely.
    Abram jumped down and sank up to his knees in the mud. Reaching down, he took the woman’s arm and pulled her upright. “I’m so sorry….”
    The woman was wiping the mud from her eyes and trying to speak, but mud had gotten in her mouth.
    Abram said, “Here, let me help you.” He put his arm around her waist and picked her up. She was rather light and was no burden, but it was difficult to pull his feet out of the sucking mud. He struggled to the solid bank, where he put her down and pulled off his neckerchief. “Let me clean off—”
    He had no time to say more, for a young woman had come racing up to them. “Mistress! Mistress, are you all right?”
    â€œLook at me! This mud stinks and it’s all over me!”
    â€œCome, we’ll take you home,” the servant girl said.
    The mud-covered woman glared at Abram, fury in her eyes. She reached out and struck him on the chest with her fist. “You clumsy dolt!” she cried.
    â€œThat’s right! Give him a few!” a hulking onlooker cried out from the bridge. Abram looked up to see that the bridge was lined with laughing people. The woman saw it too, and she turned and fled, leaving Abram standing there.
    Abram had never felt so stupid and clumsy in his life. He endured the jeers of the crowd as he made his way up the bank and back to the street. His legs were black with mud up to the knees, but he paid them no heed.
    He was soon lost in the crowd and found his way back to the shrine. His travel bag was still there, and he sighed with relief and picked it up. He was ready to go when one of the priests of Ishtar approached him and said, “You’re a stranger here, are you not?”
    â€œYes, sir, I am.”
    â€œYou appear to have gotten into some sort of difficulty.” The priest, a thin man with kindly eyes, waved at his feet. “Come inside, and I will see that you get cleaned up.”
    â€œThat would be most kind,” Abram mumbled. He followed the priest, and all he could think of was what a fool he had made of himself. He did not want to stay in the temple precinct, but he could not go to the house of Garai like this and was grateful for the priest’s offer. He would wash, change, and be on his way at once.
    ****
    Garai held a writing stick with its wedge-shaped tip and made indentations in a small holder of damp mud he held in his hand. He had become an expert at the new art of writing, an invention that priests used to keep records of which worshipers had made their annual contributions of barley to the temple granary. Traders had also found the record-keeping method invaluable for listing what was sent on their ships, and city administrators needed