SAMMURAMAT

Sammuramat made its outer circuit–wall over seven miles long and the high wall was built from baked bricks with no sparing of expense. Inside this she built a second circuit-wall. On it, and on its towers, there were depicted wild beasts of every kind, cleverly drawn and realistically coloured to represent a royal hunt. These animals were more than six feet long, and Sammuramat, Queen Semiramis, was portrayed among them, mounted and hurling a javelin at a leopard. By her side was her husband Ninus, Lord Nimrod, dispatching a lion at close quarters with his spear.

Ctesias
Court Physician to Artaxerxes II


Many were the women of the world who bemoaned their station in life, seemingly kept prisoner due to an accident of birth, but not Sammuramat, new Queen of Assyria. No, when the conqueror Ninus had descended upon her former kingdom of Chaldea, subduing the armies of her consort, Menones, had she wept? Not one tear, not even when the foreign hero demanded her as spoil of war and the poor vanquished king had hanged himself as a result of that demand. For was she not a daughter of the goddess Derceto — did she not rule every man who had ever gazed upon her form?

Why yes, she smiled, making for the audience hall to meet the second husband, Ninus. This man would prove no different than any other of his sex, for he would obey her, and he would prove weak. Many, male and female alike, would have shuddered at the thought of an audience with the fiercest warrior in the world, but Sammuramat grinned, for a battle may have been lost, but the war would be hers. She did not play the game of Shakh-mat, The King is Dead, with her priests every day as diversion. She was a master of strategy and this Ninus would soon taste the sweet gall of defeat.

The courtiers of Nineveh, the Assyrian imperial city, ceased their chatter when she entered the vast, ceramic-tiled throne room. None dared to speak, so in awe were they of her sure step, her proud poise, her regal vestments, her sparkling jewels of the Magoi.

Ninus sat upon a seat of gilt, chained cats to his left and right, armed guards at his back. Black ringlets were long and shiny, carefully groomed; his beard, of the conical style and curled. Robes of saffron, green and Tyrian purple graced his person — and the serpent crown of dead Menones sat atop his coal-black head.

"All hail my new queen, Sammuramat," the monarch seemed to mock, “curtsy to the one who is your worthy mistress."

"My mother is Derceto, an immortal," she intoned, "and you would be wise to heed these words of wisdom, lord Ninus: Alif, Ba, Lam!"

Whereupon her handmaidens each produced long whips from the folds of their gauzy, pleated skirts, Sammuramat privy to the longest, most deadly looking flail of all.

"With this scourge did King Menones end his life, found hanging from its singletail, preferring death to a life without his queen. The instrument is thus consecrated and imbued with his spirit—see how it stings, mighty rod of god Nim."

The court exhaled a collective gasp of disbelief as braided leather cracked and wound effortlessly about King Ninus’ neck.

Now listen to me and hear me quite clear,
For you are not subject for goddess to fear.
Derceto demands of her daughter today
That she lead cruel king Ninus ‘long the Path of the Way.
These words are not mine,
They belong to on high ~
A code of conduct to follow,
Hammurabi’s clear sky.

Alif is to kneel,
Ba, cover your face,
The Lam is the rope
That will tie your disgrace.
Ten are the rules
That make poets of men,
And should you prove worthy,
Your Muse will attend.

Before shocked retainers, Ninus slid from his ornamental perch and laid prostrate at Queen Sammuramat’s lapis encrusted feet. As he spoke, the tight cord, which made speech quite difficult, squeezed with additional ferocity, and the assembled crowd barely heard their leader say:

BaRRak is my tribute
Sweet Magian light,
Show me the wisdom of wisdom,
The science of plight.

The dominant queen’s vicious women began to bear down on the newly anointed Nimrod with their lissome sticks as their high priestess intoned:

I am your guide,
Faith in me must you show.
Careful attention accord me
If Secrets you’ll know.
Your name will be Nimrod,
Forget opposition this day,
Acknowledge one mistress
Or be on your way.
No dreams may you fancy
Without my accord.
Your voice you will lower,
Else suffer the sword.
I decide when you speak,
I command you at will,
My work is most precious,
Above common swill.
And should you prove meek
A good servant, in turn,
The wisdom of Wisdom
Upon your back I shall burn.

Near to death, yet sublimely happy to have been accepted into the Mysteries by Sammuramat, King Nimrod wept tears of profound joy and dared to offer her his crown. The queen kicked the tribute aside, the Assyrians bowed in respect and her ladies’ melodious harmony made the entire assembly familiar with the great Chaldean Song of Songs:

Should I BaRRak to her as is my duty
And she ne’er returns my compliment~
Have I just cause for disillusion?
No, her cruelty is enlightenment.

Then Sammuramat delivered the last blow upon the exposed back of her spouse, causing a large dove to rise up from the dais and wing its way to heaven and Derceto. The legend of their audience was to precede her throughout the kingdom and the people, to show their devotion to her, called their queen: Semiramis, mother of all goddesses.

And Babylon, formerly known as Nineveh, became the greatest capitol in the world under her command, enticing the jealousy of the dull witted who wrote of her in history as the Great Whore, the Scarlet Queen; Semiramis laughed aloud at their slurs, for she and Nimrod knew much better than they who knew nothing.