((1000 B.C.)(Amiash Culture))
A Bronze finger ring with a large circular bezel decorated with scrolling and raised pellets, representing a shield was found, and given to the author, and with what little insight the author had, and was given, he formed its history…
He was one of those multitudes of young soldiers, a soldier—whose name never appeared with gilded letters on any buildings, or walls; in death he simple was one who helped employ much literature for the historical-fiction writers of the past and present. To which good or bad cause it may have been, but whatever the case may be, he had contributed—nonetheless, his life to it, to soldiering, with only a rough bronze ring to account for his life, containing some shield, to tell us his life story, if one is to follow its path: perhaps within his mind, a thought, a fancy among his men, his brethren, to what depth of feeling, no one will ever know—what this ring meant to him: together with this old writer’s abundance of words. But there are a few things I do know, from whence the ring came from, where it was found, how old it is, and so forth, plus I own it: which is my advantage this is my tale.
Imbued with Persian mysticism, where among the varied, and buried fame of the man who wore this ring, three-thousand years ago, in his assemblage of men—not improbable, but a creditable attempt I will now make: the young soldier was forthright, obedient, and when it was time to rest and sleep, surely went with full and comforting spirits, and felt he had good fortune to possess himself with such a ring, and dreams, yes he had dreams, connecting this with higher rank, his task was done, he was to remain a soldier, die a soldier, it was a death-warrant, but it was the life he chose, he drank childishly, as all young soldiers do, as all young men and some older men do, more often than not do, do when they especially have a tendency to admire one another in battle, or talk about their battles—making the little fish a whale.
The ring did not glitter like that of a little star; it was a tinge on the rustic side possessed of worldly prospect. Surely many a night he catch a glimpse of the evil spirit that seemingly was attached to it—all war is impious; that red blood that was stained on it was in more cases than not, someone else’s blood, nevertheless, his noble manner testified how slight it was—for he survived.
When I got the ring it was in perfect shape, I had worn it a number of times myself, being a soldier of a war, and it broke in two places, I had it repaired, to keep the soul in it, before it got lost, its residue from the soldier’s finger.
This I do know: the mother of the soldier’s name was Diotima (I suppose it could have been his: wife or sister, or daughter—likewise, but something tells me it was his mother: call it, instinct or perception, or even second sight), for the name was imprinted inside the ring. And we know she lived in Uruk, and we already know the ring has a date of 1000 B.C., and we know the soldier’s ring was from
Great was the power of the King of Uruk, for there was built, at this time a great city, and it gleamed with glazed bricks, this soldier’s ring was found on the left bank of the Euphrates, evidently he witnessed the illuminated barges go up and down the river, perhaps heard the echoing, ripples of the music being played by rowing boats, among the high temples looming into the night. The city being built either by this king or one before him to the point of where it was evident of such a life style…
And most likely he lived long enough to say this: “In a little time I die,” for he must have been old to listen to the sounds of life, smelling the sweet scent of the flowers, over looking the river.
#899 ((April 4, 2012) (10:30 a.m.)) Inspirit by the actual ring