A Year of Vengeance. Volume 1 A Year of Vengeance: Time, Narrative, and the Old Assyrian Trade 9781501507120, 9781501515699

Citation preview

Edward Stratford A Year of Vengeance

Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records

General Editor: Gonzalo Rubio Editors: Nicole Brisch, Petra Goedegebuure, Markus Hilgert, Amélie Kuhrt, Peter Machinist, Piotr Michalowski, Cécile Michel, Beate Pongratz-Leisten, D. T. Potts, Kim Ryholt

Volume 17, 1

Edward Stratford

A Year of Vengeance

Volume 1: Time, Narrative, and the Old Assyrian Trade

ISBN 978-1-5015-1569-9 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-1-5015-0712-0 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-1-5015-0718-2 ISSN 2161-4415 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress. Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2017 Walter de Gruyter Inc., Boston/Berlin Printing and binding: Hubert & Co. GmbH & Co. KG, Göttingen ♾ Printed on acid-free paper Printed in Germany www.degruyter.com

To Candice

Preface This work arises from a trajectory first engaged in my Ph.D. dissertation Agents, Archives, and Risk: A Micronarrative Account of Old Assyrian Trade through Šalimaḫum’s activities in 1890 B.C., submitted to the University of Chicago in 2010. Most dissertations have done enough violence upon their required readers and should, in their first form, go quietly into the night. The aforementioned was no exception. While the core argument was useful, many errors required correction, many discussions pruning, many points elaboration. Moreover, I found myself unresolved in relation to a number of questions about the work’s role in broader issues and particular questions about individual merchants within the nascent narrative engaged in there. The present work is both a significant reimagination and expansion of the dissertation. Narrative and its relation to time take a much more prominent role. The number of documents which can be now collected in the year of activity, and the scope of activity interwoven, have all increased dramatically here. As a consequence, it became necessary to completely reorganize the work and re-orient its structure to reflect the kinds of questions that motivated the move toward narrative. I ruminated on these issues for several years, lengthened in part by a range of unexpected personal issues. But much of this prolonged rumination arose from a myriad of equally complicated issues specific to the work and the individual circumstances of the subjects of the work. One way to imagine this book is as a microhistory. The ironic claim that this monograph seeks to demonstrate is that to make larger statements on the Old Assyrian trade, we must, in part, drill down further into the micro-scale. Only by reading at a more personal level are we able to better understand the intricacies with which the Assyrians dealt when they wrote their letters, debt notes, contracts, or other documents. I came to the conclusion that only in this way can we articulate the Assyrians’ statements in relation to the material constraints of their trade and their negotiations with those constraints and their colleagues. This process of spiraling downward hermeneutically, and the corresponding spiral upward required a significant amount of reflection and re-examination of a range of issues. The work was also delayed by my involvement in a number of other projects, some of which were at times integral to the progress of the work, but moved too slow for the hoped-for concordant development. One of these projects, the Old Assyrian Research Environment, is finally now developing into something that will participate in the historical turn called for in this work. It will play a more direct role in the second volume of this work. In this regard, I want to thank David Schloen, Sandra Schloen, and Miller Prosser for their support

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and patience, and for providing the significant platform in the Online Cultural and Historical Research Environment and developments particular to the needs of the Old Assyrian Research Environment. In a work that spans more time than the author would have liked, there are only more people to thank. During the time of my doctoral work on the topic, Martha Roth was a constant support. Mogens Trolle Larsen provided, at first without intention but thereafter with great generosity, my opportunity to transition into the world of Old Assyrian studies. His support and criticism on earlier stages of this work have been invaluable. During the year I spent in Copenhagen, I benefitted greatly from his tutelage and correction. During that same time Gojko Barjamovic and Thomas Hertel also provided a welcoming and supportive introduction to the small field. Old Assyrian studies enormously benefits from the presence of a supportive and cooperative relationship between a majority of its participants. For a long time, this was formally organized around the Old Assyrian Text Project. Within the structure of that project, I was privileged to be welcomed into the group. In addition to Gojko Barjamovic, Thomas Hertel, and Mogens Trolle Larsen, Jan Gerrit Dercksen, Karl Hecker, Guido Kryszat, Bert Kouwenberg, Agnete Wisti Lassen, Cécile Michel, Cinzia Pappi, and Klaas Veenhof have all been the best of colleagues. Regardless of arguments in this book which critique small aspects of some, without the productive environment in which Old Assyrian studies is carried on, my own work would be impossible. I must particularly thank Gonzalo Rubio for his shepherding role toward my manuscript. He played with equal skill the roles of coach, cheerleader, reader, strategic advisor, and critic. He has been wonderful to work with and always displayed the right balance of patience and engagement. The anonymous reviewers of the manuscript offered a number of valuable insights which improved the work. Agnete Wisti Lassen helped with the figures of seals. I am also deeply indebted to Klaas Veenhof for reading the manuscript and providing excellent philological criticism. Though we all say it goes without saying, I must still say it: All errors remain my own. A number of colleagues graciously provided advance drafts or galleys of their works during my writing. In particular, I thank Klaas Veenhof, Mogens Trolle Larsen, Bert Kouwenberg for his grammar on Old Assyrian, Gojko Barjamovic, and Teije de Jong. Their works are mentioned at the relevant points in the book. Colleagues Grant Madsen and Leslie Hadfield always had time to listen to a new fold in the development of the narrative and provide useful feedback. A long list of colleagues offered patient ears and profitable feedback at one point or another. I thank Michele Cammarosa, Jacob Dahl, Hakan Erol, Yağmur

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Heffron, Jacob Lauinger, Orlene Mcilfatrick, Adam Miglio, Alessio Palmisano, Seth Richardson, and Jonathan Tenney. In addition, it is my pleasure to point out a range of individuals who have welcomed me at collections, museums, and excavations during my work on the book. First and foremost I am thankful to Fikri Kulakoğlu and the team at Kültepe. I am also grateful to Jean-Luc Chappaz (Musée d’art et d’histoire, Geneva), Paul Collins (Ashmolean Museum), Pavel Čech (Karlsuniversität Prag), Jesper Eidem and Carolien H. van Zoest (Boehl Collection, University of Leiden), Grant Frame (University Museum), Tim Healing (Metropolitan Museum of Art), Ulla Kasten and Agnete Wisti Lassen (Yale Babylonian Collection), Manfred Krebernik (Universität Jena), Burçak Öğretmen (British Institute at Ankara), Cinzia Pappi (University of Innsbruck), Andreas Schachner (Boğazköy Excavations), Olaf Schneider (Universitätsbibliotek der Justus-Liebeg-Universität Giessen), Jonathan Taylor (British Museum), and Şerife Yilmaz (Anadolu Medeniyetleri Müzesi). Finally, I could not have done any of this without the unfailing emotional and writing support of my wife Candice.

Contents Abbreviations

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Introduction Chapter 1 Šalim-aḫum’s Revenge

3

Chapter 2 Structures of the Trade

Part :

23

Narrative and Time 41

Chapter 3 Ilabrat-bāni’s Arrival Chapter 4 A Scale of Time

58

Chapter 5 Šalim-aḫum and Ilabrat-bāni Make a Deal Chapter 6 Puzur-Istar and Šalim-aḫum’s Gold Chapter 7 Dān-Aššur’s Travels

101

Chapter 8 Seizing Ilabrat-bāni’s Goods

Part :

Old Assyrian Time

Chapter 9 The Bulk Caravan Hiatus Chapter 10 Tempo of Transport

131 148

Chapter 11 Tempo of Communication

Part :

113

Narrative and Context

Chapter 12 Prodigal Son

183

163

86

76

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Contents

Chapter 13 Pūšu-kēn’s Pressures Chapter 14 A Joint Venture

198

217

Chapter 15 Disruptions in the Supply

228

Chapter 16 Vengeance of the Gods Chapter 17 Pūšu-kēn’s Revenge?

Part :

251 274

The Material Implications of Old Assyrian Commercial Time

Chapter 18 The Volume of Trade

291

Chapter 19 Archives and the Deformation of Time

316

Conclusion Chapter 20 A Year of Vengeance

335

Appendix 1: Analytic Ledger of Šalim-aḫum’s Assets During the Year of Vengeance 346 Appendix 2: Temporal Ledger of Šalim-aḫum’s Assets During REL 82

355

Appendix 3: Initial Analysis of Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive in relation to the Year of Vengeance and other periods. 362 Bibliography

365

List of Figures

384

Keyword Index

385

Selective Index of Personal and Divine Names Index of Geographical Places

395

389

Contents

Index of Select Akkadian words Index of Cited Texts

400

398

XIII

Abbreviations AAA Adana AbB AHw AfO AJA AKT 1 AKT 2 AKT 3

Annals of Archaeology and Anthropology Museum prefix for tablets in the Adana Museum Altbabylonisches Briefe Akkadisches Handworterbuch Archiv für Orientforschung American Journal of Archaeology E. Bilgiç, Ankara Kültepe Tabletleri I E. Bilgiç and S. Bayram, Ankara Kültepe Tabletleri II Bilgiç, Emin, and Cahit Günbattı. 1995. Ankaraner Kültepe-Texte III: Texte Der Grabungskampagne 1970. AKT 5 K. Veenhof, The Archive of Kuliya, son of Ali-abum AKT 6 M. Larsen, The Archive of the Šalim-Aššur Family. AKT 7a Bayram, Sebahattin, and Remzı Kuzuoğlu. 2014. Aššur-rē’ī Ailesinin Arşivi 1. Cilt: Aššur-rē’ī’nin Kendi Metinleri. AKT 8 K. Veenhof, The Archive of Elamma, son of Iddin-Suen, and his Family AOAT Alter Orient und altes Testament AOS American Oriental Series AoF Altorientalische Forschungen ArAn Archivum Anatolicum ARM Archives Royales de Mari ArOr Archiv Orientální ATHE B. Kienast, Die altassyrischen Texte der orientalischen Seminars der Universität Heidelberg und der Sammlung Erlenmeyer AS Assyriological Studies BIN Babylonian Inscriptions in the Collection of James B. Nies BiOr Bibliotecha Orientalis C (note 7, 7-C 26) / Nesr. C (note 205) CAD Chicago Assyrian Dictionary CCT Cuneiform Texts from Cappadocian Tablets in the British Museum CTMMA Cuneiform Texts in the Metropolitan Museum of Art EL G. Eisser and J. Lewy Die altassyrischen Rechtsurkunden vom Kültepe. MVAG 33. HUCA Hebrew Union College Annual JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society JCS Journal of Cuneiform Studies JEOL Jaarbericht Ex Oriente Lux JESHO Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies Kt tablets excavated at Kültepe from the Turkish excavations KTH J. Lewy, Die Kültepe-Text aus der Sammlung Frida Hahn, Berlin KTS Keilschrifttexte in den Antike Museen zu Stambul KUG K. Hecker, Die Keilschrifttexte der Universitätsbibliothek Gießen ICK Inscriptions cunéiformes de Kültepe MARI Mari: Annales de Recherches Interdisciplinaires

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MDOG MVAG OAA 1 OAAS OBO OIP Or PIHANS POAT Prag I PSBA RA RlA RSO SAAB TC TCL TMH TPAK TTC TTKY TuM UF VS

Abbreviations

Mitteilungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft Mitteilungen der Vorderasiatisch-aegyptischen Gesellschaft M. Larsen, The Aššur-nādā Archive Old Assyrian Archives Studies Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis Oriental Institute Publications Orientalia Publications de l’Institut historique-archéologique néerlandais de Stambul W.G. Gwaltney, The Pennsylvania Old Assyrian Texts, HUCA Suppl. 3 K. Hecker, G. Kryszat, and L. Matouš, Kappadokische Kelschrifttafeln aus den Sammlungen der Karsluniversität Prag. Proceedings of the Society of Biblical Archaeology Revue d’assyriologie et d’archéologie orientale Reallexikon der Assyriologie und vorderasiatische Archäologie Rivista degli studi orientali State Archives of Assyria Bulletin Tablettes cappadociennes du Louvre (TC 1 – 3.3 = TCL 4, 14, 19 – 21) Textes Cuneiformes du Louvre tablets in the Hilprecht collection, Jena C. Michel and P. Garelli, Tablettes paléo-assyriennes de Kültepe G. Contenau, Trente tablettes cappadociennes Türk Tarih Kurumu Yayinlari Texte und Materialien der Frau Professor Hilprecht Collection Ugarit-Forschungen Vorderasiatische Schriftdenkmäler der Staatlischen Museen zu Berlin

Introduction

Chapter 1 Šalim-aḫum’s Revenge On or around the 25th of April, 1891 BC, in the city of Assur on the Tigris River, a man named Šalim-aḫum received a letter from his representatives one thousand kilometers west and north in Anatolia. The representatives had just received a large shipment of Šalim-aḫum’s goods and sent a letter to him regarding the status of his assets. As the extant copy witnesses, the report was dutifully detailed. (It is among the longest surviving letters from the Old Assyrian trade.) The import duties, settlements of extra expenses with transporters, verification of the shipped goods, and their subsequent sales crowded the long letter with 738 minuscule characters in 71 thin lines. When he received it, Šalim-aḫum read the report, surveying the information. The writing was neat and well executed. But because it was also small, and the information was of a kind he often received, on a first reading Šalim-aḫum’s eyes may have quickly passed over a short sequence of twenty characters: “Ilabrat-bāni took 6⅓ minas tin. He is not here.”¹ But whether on first or second glance, Šalim-aḫum’s eyes eventually must have fastened on the terse statement. And when they did, his blood boiled. Šalim-aḫum composed a fiery response. He was so angry that for him Ilabrat-bāni’s name was practically ineffable. Šalim-aḫum could only bring himself to spell out Ilabrat-bāni by name in quoting the letter he had just received. In the rest of the letter, using his own words, he could only sputter pronouns and derogatory labels to refer to this young merchant on whom he could only rely for difficulties. Šalim-aḫum described Ilabrat-bāni as nothing more than a common criminal, first by comparison: “Instead of some thief, he took my tin!”² and second in fact: “the thief broke up one or two ‘sacks’ (lit. talents) of tin in addition to the hand tin which I gave to them!”³ The one or two sacks of tin Ilabrat-bāni had opened were each filled with 65 minas tin, sealed in Assur and not to be opened until they reached Šalim-

 6⅓ ma-na an. nin.šubur-ba-ni il5-qé a-na-kam lá w[a-š]a-áb (1‐BIN 4: 61 obv. 17– 19).  a-pu-ùḫ a-wi-lim sà-ri-im šu-ut an.na i-a-am il5-té-qé (2‐TC 2: 3 obv. 10 – 11).  a-wi-lúm sà-ru-um a-ṣé-er an.na qá-tim ša a-dí-nu-šu-nu-⸢tí⸣ ù an.na 1 gú ù 2 gú up-ta-re-er (2‐TC 2: 3 rev. 24– 27). It was not uncommon for merchants to refer to the packs mounted on either side of a donkey as talents, though the sacks actually held 65 minas tin. In some way this is understandable. 65 minas was very close to a talent, and the sacks would yeild something like a talent when they were finally turned over to the merchants in Anatolia, afer the excise tax (2/65) was paid, expenses on the road were balanced to transporters, and any amount by which the tin was deficient was accounted for. DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-001

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aḫum’s representatives in Anatolia. When the need arose, the transporters were to pay duties and tolls with their ‘hand tin,’ which was packed separately, in a pouch that was not sealed. But costs on the road often exceeded the hand tin. In these cases, the transporters were to draw on their own funds, and would be reimbursed upon arrival in the main city of Kanesh in Anatolia. But on Ilabrat-bāni’s journey, it appears that expenses had been even higher than normal. Early on in the journey, Šalim-aḫum had been notified and sent extra hand tin to the party, probably by express caravan, as compensation.⁴ But even the extra hand tin was not enough. At some point along the journey, and against established protocols, Ilabrat-bāni unsealed some of Šalim-aḫum’s tin and took 6⅓ minas to pay for some costs. Whether by rumor or letter, Šalim-aḫum knew that Ilabrat-bāni had used the tin to pay for costs that should have been shared by all the merchants who were shipping goods with the caravan. Now he was learning that the caravan had arrived in Kanesh, and all the customs had been paid, settlements with transporters made, even the goods sold, but Ilabrat-bāni had slipped away without redressing his misappropriation. Moreover, the representatives had reported this to Šalim-aḫum without acknowledging the circumstances under which Ilabrat-bāni had acquired the debit of 6⅓ minas. Beyond violations of protocol, Šalim-aḫum’s frustration with the young Ilabrat-bāni was personal. Šalim-aḫum had done a great many favors for a seemingly irresponsible Ilabrat-bāni, and the junior associate only repaid Šalim-aḫum with further irritations, apparently abusing their relationship by devaluing Šalimaḫum’s interests. This dynamic seemed to have clearly played out on the road during this caravan journey when, according to Šalim-aḫum, Ilabrat-bāni felt free to use Šalim-aḫum’s funds according to his own judgment. Šalim-aḫum complained, “He took from mine, while he returned (the other’s) textiles and tin intact!”⁵ This incident was just a continuation of Ilabrat-bāni mismanaging Šalim-aḫum’s affairs. Whether complaining to his colleagues or to Ilabrat-bāni himself, Šalim-aḫum could quickly call up a list of nagging petty debts that Ilabrat-bāni had yet to pay off with him: a white kusītum robe, 3 textiles associated

 Among the discussion of the ready money for travel expenses that had been exhausted, Šalim-aḫum’s representatives noted that Šalim-aḫum had sent to Ilī-ašranni, who oversaw the caravan Ilabrat-bāni was traveling in, 4 silas of high quality oil worth 20 shekels tin, and 5 shekels silver at Abitiban beyond the original hand tin – iš-tù 50 ma-na 5 gín an.na-ak qá-tí-šu 4 sìla re-eš15-tám ⅓ ma-na an.na ù 5 gín kù.babbar ša a-na a-bi-tí-ba-an tù-šé-bi4-lá-šu-n[i] gám-ru (1‐BIN 4: 61 obv. 19 – 23).  i-na i-a-im il5-qé-ma ṣú-ba-tí-šu-nu ù an.⸢na-ak-šu⸣-nu šál-ma-am-ma ú-ta-er (2‐TC 2: 3 rev. 39le.e. 42).

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5

with Šalim-aḫum’s votive fund, a textile associated with ‘the girl,’ and 15 shekels silver that Ilabrat-bāni had promised to Šalim-aḫum’s son.⁶ Šalim-aḫum shared his frustration about Ilabrat-bāni freely, in part because Ilabrat-bāni’s problems were no secret. Referring to Ilabrat-bāni, he grumbled in a letter to his representative Pūšu-kēn, “What favor has he done me for all the silver I am making him here?”⁷ Šalim-aḫum could, and did, point to many others who had problems with Ilabrat-bāni, who had forwarded him money in the hope that they would finally get their money back from him, and each time were disappointed. “Every year I have given him silver I am subjected to losses. Who among us who are here (in Assur) who have given him tin on interest have received our silver?”⁸ According to Šalim-aḫum, Ilabrat-bāni’s capacity to function in a system of reciprocating favors and services was in question generally. On two different occasions, Šalim-aḫum conveyed this sentiment through a slur clearly relating to Ilabrat-bāni’s financial impotence, perhaps through association with sexual impotence. “His hand is indeed slack!”⁹ In late April, when Šalim-aḫum received his letter, Ilabrat-bāni was off in the land of Ḫattum, a few days away from his representatives, and perhaps on the move. For all his threats and anger, Šalim-aḫum would have to wait a little. When Ilabrat-bāni did write back sometime later (the first week of May), Šalim-aḫum surprisingly agreed to sell Ilabrat-bāni a large amount of tin through his representatives in Kanesh, hoping to recoup his money by giving Ilabrat-bāni more resources. At the end of June, in accordance with Ilabrat-bāni’s proposal, and with Šalim-aḫum’s express instruction, his representatives sold Ilabratbāni goods valued around 1 talent of silver on credit. The intent was to provide Ilabrat-bāni with the means to make amends, despite his terrible track record. Moreover, Šalim-aḫum continued to manage purchases for Ilabrat-bāni in Assur. As part of that effort, near the end of August, Šalim-aḫum received

 3-POAT 7 obv. 8-rev. 33, 11-CCT 2: 3 lo.e. 18-rev. 21.  a-na kù.babbar 1 gín ša an.na e-pu-šu-šu-ni mì-nam ig-mì-lá-ni (7‐C 26 obv. 9 – 11).  a-šar kù.babbar-áp-šu a-ta-dí-nu ša-tí-ša šu-ta-al-mu-na-ku ma-⸢nu-um⸣ ša a-na-kam a-na ṣíib-tim i-ta-dí-nu-ma kù.babbar ni-il5-qé-ú (6‐TC 3: 22 rev. 25-le.e. 30). ma-nu-um ša … ni-il5-qé-ú is a cleft sentence with a compound subjunctive predicate resulting in 3 masculine singular then 1 common plural verbs that are co-referential, bound together by the interrogative pronoun. This effect is rendered with “among us.” I read the localizing effect of annakam as bound up in the co-referential subject of Šalim-aḫum and his associates in Assur, rather than implying that Ilabrat-bāni bought tin on credit in Assur, which would have been a remarkable departure from observed practice.  qá-tum sú-ri eṣ-lá-at (6‐TC 3: 22 rev. 33). Šalim-aḫum used the same phrase to dissuade associates from investing in another merchant’s joint-stock fund (TC 2: 5 obv. 7-rev. 17).

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20 minas of Ilabrat-bāni’s silver in Assur and oversaw the purchase of tin for him, packing it on donkeys and dispatching it to Anatolia with Ilabrat-bāni’s son. Soon after Ilabrat-bāni’s son left, Šalim-aḫum received a letter from Pūšukēn. Pūšu-kēn informed Šalim-aḫum that Ilabrat-bāni was again in default and suggested Šalim-aḫum take decisive action: “On the day which I write the tablet, (Ilabrat-bāni’s) credit term is full. … Let Puzur-Aššur depart with DānAššur to Amurrum and seize (Ilabrat-bāni’s) tin according to just rights.”¹⁰ The logic was clear to Šalim-aḫum. Ilabrat-bāni had just sent 20 minas silver to Šalim-aḫum. But instead of paying Šalim-aḫum back, Ilabrat-bāni had earmarked the 20 minas to purchase more tin. Back in Anatolia, Ilabrat-bāni had not paid the 20 minas silver he owed, and now, Šalim-aḫum’s representative, Pūšu-kēn, was suggesting he recover the silver by taking Ilabrat-bāni’s tin away forcefully. Šalim-aḫum executed the proposed plan. Though Dān-Aššur was ill, Šalimaḫum sent his other son with the recommended Puzur-Aššur. The two overtook Ilabrat-bāni’s son somewhere in the area of Amurrum, the area roughly bounded by the Balikh and Euphrates rivers, west of the Ḫabur valley,¹¹ well before the caravan had reached the Taurus Mountains. Šalim-aḫum’s son confiscated Ilabrat-bāni’s goods from Ilabrat-bāni’s son and sold the goods then and there.¹² Who purchased them is unknown—local smiths, perhaps, but equally possible was an Assyrian merchant returning from Anatolia and flush with silver, who, finding an opportunity to purchase tin at essentially the same price as in Assur, would have welcomed the opportunity to encounter it already a third of the way to its destination. The tin yielded 19 minas 53⅚ shekels silver. Šalimaḫum thus collected in Amurrum, albeit through extraordinary measures, nearly the amount Ilabrat-bāni owed him. Šalim-aḫum wrote to Pūšu-kēn, telling him to inform Ilabrat-bāni, wherever he was, of what had happened and to demand the

 i-u4-mì-im ša ṭup-pá-am ú-la-pí-ta-ku-ni u4-mu-šu ma-al-ú … ki dan-a-šùr puzur4-a-šùr a-li-bi mar.tu lu-ṣí-ma a-na e-ta-li-tí-šu an.na li-iṣ-ba-at (9‐TC 3: 20 obv. 5 – 7, 8 – 11). For a translation of the phrase ana etallutišu as ‘according to just rights,’ see below p. 12.  Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 97 n. 426.  “Now, Puzur-Aššur departed with him and Ennam-Aššur seized the tin on his own authority from (lit. in) the goods of (Ilabrat-bāni’s) son, and deposited it with Puzur-Aššur and I received 19 minas 53⅚ shekels.” ù puzur4-a-šùr iš-tí-šu ú-ṣí-ma i-ša dumu šu--e-em a-e-ta-lu-tí-šu an.na en-um-a-šùr iṣ-ba-at-ma a-na puzur4-a-šùr i-dí-ma 20 ma-na lá 6⅙ gín kù al-qé (9‐TC 3: 20 obv. 13 – 18). For šu--e-em, previously interpreted as the 3msg possessive pronoun but as šu-e-em, see Hecker 1968 § 19d following J. Lewy 1961: 63 n. 188, see edition in vol. 2.

d

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remaining 51 1/6 shekels silver.¹³ Ilabrat-bāni would likely have received Šalimaḫum’s message around the first week of October, though news of how his son had been victimized on the road likely reached him before then. And with the news, Ilabrat-bāni would have received as clear a message as any letter could convey in words. He had crossed a line in the beginning of the season. Šalimaḫum was now returning the favor.¹⁴ This short story, or anecdote, could be entitled ‘Šalim-aḫum’s revenge.’ By Old Assyrian standards, it is quite a rich anecdote on two counts. First, it draws on more documents than usual to explain a commercial event. Second, it is told with a level of chronological precision that is unprecedented. While the first is mundane, the second arises from the principal claim of this work. Connections evident between these documents, a larger set of Šalim-aḫum’s commercial correspondence and a significantly larger portion of Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive, provide a unique opportunity in Old Assyrian studies: a move beyond anecdote to a narrative frame. ‘Šalim-aḫum’s revenge’ above is told as an anecdote. It appears self-contained. But the interaction between Šalim-aḫum, Pūšu-kēn, and Ilabrat-bāni was in no way self-contained. Beginning with ‘Šalim-aḫum’s revenge’ this work will develop the anecdote into something different, a much larger and richer narrative, one that is more appropriately referred to as a ‘year of vengeance.’ The shift from anecdote to narrative incorporates two aspects. First, the narrative presented here is forced to occupy a spot somewhere on the same line of time in which we exist, a point far removed in the past but more strictly subject to its constraints, particularly that of the seasonal closure in the Taurus Mountains.  “Get the remainder of my silver there, 51⅙ shekels. Now, wherever he is, write to him (the following): ‘As for the 20 minas of your silver, which I sent to the city via my representative, the goods went out (from Assur) and when your term was full, Šalim-aḫum seized the goods according to his just rights, and sold them in Amurrum and made 19 minas 53⅚ shekels silver. Send me the remainder of his silver, 51⅙ shekels, so that I can give you your tablet and kill it.’” ší-tí kù-pì-a ⅚ ma-na 1⅙ gín a-ma-kam li-qé ù a-ša-ar wa-áš-bu šu-pu-ur-šu-um 20 ma-na kù-ap-kà ša a-na a-lim ki a-ṣé-er ša ki-ma i-a-tí ú-šé-bi4-lu lu-qú-tum ú-ṣa-ma ki-ma u4-mu-kà ma-al-ú-ni a-na e-ta-lu-tí-šu ša-lim-a-ḫu-um i-li-bi4 dmar.tu i-dí-ma 20 ma-na lá 6⅙ gín kù ilté-qé ší-tí kù-pì-šu ⅚ ma-na 1⅙ gín šé-bi4-lam-ma ṭup-pá-kà lá-dí-na-ku-ma du-uk (9‐TC 3: 20 lo.e. 19-rev. 31).  Though the narrative as presented here has not been described in full previously, it is important to recognize an earlier consideration of Ilabrat-bāni: In an earlier study, Garelli 1978 showed the necessity of understanding the relationship between people as a key to understanding the texts, using some of these texts and Ilabrat-bāni as the example. Further interconnections between some of these documents have been noted before. For example, Veenhof 1972: 32, n. 66 noted that 1-BIN 4: 61, 2-TC 2: 3, and 3-POAT 7 all mentioned the same incidents. These connections will be acknowledged as they arise in later chapters.

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Second, the narrative involves the interweaving of a number of different strands of development into a single timeline. In stating this it is important to point out, as the following chapter will more fully show, that this act is preceded by a range of works that have prepared the way. Many works have treated aspects of Pūšu-kēn’s life before.¹⁵ And most of the documents drawn on in this work stem from the illicit excavations before 1925 and have been published, at least in handcopy, for half a century.¹⁶ Much of what we know of both Šalim-aḫum and Ilabrat-bāni arise from Pūšu-kēn’s documents. And, in addition, the archive of Šalim-aḫum’s son Ennam-Aššur, from which a number of documents pertinent to this narrative arise, has also mostly been published.¹⁷ Furthermore, several previous works have engaged in reconstructing activities into complex anecdotes, ones that might be considered a narrative approach.¹⁸ But the present treatment is distinct in its engagement of narrative. Previous reconstructions have not drawn multiple threads of activity together into contemporaneous development. And this interweaving of distinct but related developments is key to the strength of the present reconstruction, and to the relationship between time and narrative advocated here. This move to the narrative frame in the commercial letters reveals for the first time the misunderstood tempos of Old Assyrian commercial time, a greater sense of the scale of Old Assyrian trade, and revisions to our understanding of the shape of Old Assyrian archives. Far from Old Assyrian letters constituting a functionally random sample of anecdotes from two generations of Assyrian traders, the letters are occasionally preserved in large numbers focused on small stretches of time. The year of vengeance demonstrates all these things, but is at the same time a rich account of significant developments during REL 82, most likely 1891 BC. Given the central place narrative holds in the discipline of history, this move is a fitting way to take a historical turn on the Old Assyrian trade.

 Pūšu-kēn was a focus of inquiry from the early stages of the Old Assyrian field, beginning with van der Meer 1931. As a result of this and other efforts to understand the trade through Pūšu-kēn’s documents, he quickly became the ‘well-known’ Pūšu-kēn. Important work on Pūšu-kēn is represented in a range of works, particularly Larsen 1976 and Kryszat 2004b. Unlike the case of Aššur-nādā, Pūšu-kēn’s archive has not been published in full. The second volume of this work will constitute the first installment in that task.  A full list of references for each document is provided in the second volume of this work.  Bilgiç and Günbattı 1995.  I refer particularly to Michel and Foster 1989; Hertel and Larsen 2010, and Veenhof 2016a. But works that dealt with the identity of individuals, such as Michel 1991b, but the broad set of literature within Old Assyrian studies dealing with archives and individual situations all form important precedents to this work.

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But the impact of the reconstruction of the year of vengeance is broader than these individual revisions to our understanding. The year of vengeance provides an opportunity to consider the motivations of Šalim-aḫum, Ilabrat-bāni and Pūšu-kēn. In each case, their actions within ‘Šalim-aḫum’s revenge’ become apparent as more complicated than archetypal or anecdotal motivations. Šalimaḫum may have found some satisfaction in the opportunity to take Ilabratbāni’s tin, but a disruption in the supply of tin, and fears of disappointing the gods in the face of a plague, were just as important to his decision to execute Pūšu-kēn’s instructions. Only within narrative, as a form of explanation, can these disparate threads be recognized and interwoven to understand both the motivations of Šalim-aḫum and his colleagues, but also the complicated history of the year of vengeance. In turn, narrative offers something unique for the Old Assyrian merchants. Contextualizing Šalim-aḫum’s actions reveals him, and a number of other individuals, as the earliest historical individuals in world history. In some ways, ‘Šalim-aḫum’s revenge’ is certainly an anecdote, similar in type, if more elaborate than the kinds of anecdotes we can tell about a number of exchanges and circumstances in the Old Assyrian trade. Properly speaking, anecdotes are linked to the character of a person, or as Samuel Johnson put it, they are “a biographical incident; a minute passage of private life,” and are a cultural element of western civilization.¹⁹ In the tradition of attributing to individuals some sense of autonomous and even constant personality, the anecdote is the loyal foot soldier, gaining for an author a small parcel of solid ground on which a character may stand. In the anecdote of ‘Šalim-aḫum’s revenge’, Šalim-aḫum stands as a vengeful person. It doesn’t do that much for Ilabratbāni’s image either. Broadly speaking, anecdotes occupy a significant place in descriptions of the Old Assyrian trade. In Old Assyrian studies, anecdotes are normally constructed from a sole description of a set of specific circumstances, framed by the needs of the moment, or from a single setting. For example, in commercial letters, the writers present versions of the relevant situations that meet the purposes of their letters. Rarely do further letters arise that give a separate viewpoint. Moreover, anecdotes normally function as autonomous units of evidence on which further analysis is conducted. And in turn, the general characteristics of the anecdotes are projected as evidence of general characteristics of the Old Assyrian trade. But at the same time, anecdotes efface the limits of our knowl-

 Fadiman and Bernard (2000: xiv) cite this definition and conduct a discussion of what an anecdote might be and from whence the idea of anecdotes came.

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edge about some of the basic contours of the trade. Anecdotes seem to provide an opportunity to view the trade almost as if it were in motion. And yet anecdotes are not in motion, in that the undated letters of the trade are normally not placed in any obvious context with relation to other events at play. Instead, they form objects frozen in time like an insect in amber. In describing the Old Assyrian trade, anecdotes suffer from another weakness, derived from the fact that anecdotes function as minute passages of both private and commercial life. Even Old Assyrian commercial anecdotes, without sufficient context to constrain interpretation of them based on particular temporal and material factors, tend to rely on merchant personalities and temporal logic in equal parts. Thus some interpretations of the Old Assyrian trade are intimately intertwined with the interpretation of personalities. One example is Aššur-idī, a grumpy old merchant who was so intolerable that his grandchildren, living with him while their father was away in Anatolia, decided to separate themselves from him legally and move out.²⁰ Another example comes from Imdī-ilum, who sent auditors to check his son’s accounts and constantly wrote him demeaning letters;²¹ the enmeshed interests across generations come out hand in hand with the constructed personalities in such minute passages. Still another example arises from the merchant Aššur-nādā, who formed an agreement with his son under which the son would repay his father for a significant amount of money borrowed. As part of the repayment, he dictated that his son was obliged to travel between Assur and Kanesh twice in a single year with goods to be sold.²² Based on a sense that the agreement was burdensome to the son, this letter has been used as evidence that two trips in one year was difficult to perform and represented the upper limit of what any one trader could do.²³ Each of these anecdotes has been used to describe facets of the trade such as the stress on families as a result of the interregional trade, the control of fathers over sons, or the frequency of travel between Assur and Anatolia. Aššur-idī’s grumpiness, Imdī-ilum’s inability to trust, and Aššur-nādā’s strictness (perhaps inherited from his grumpy father Aššur-idī!) are requisite elements that must coexist beyond any specific contexts, in order to sustain the interpretations of their attendant social or economic structures. Because the interpretation of each anecdote is most closely based on the interpretation of a single document, merchant personalities, as constants, play outsized and sometimes even distorting roles in describing broader aspects of the trade.    

Larsen 2015: 1– 5. See Larsen 1982a, Ichisar 1982. OAA 1: 142. Veenhof 1988: 249, Larsen 2007: 97, Larsen 2015.

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If ‘Šalim-aḫum’s revenge’ seems to rely on a mean-spirited Šalim-aḫum, there are also two ways in which the story occupies a liminal position between anecdote and narrative, at least within descriptions of the Old Assyrian trade. ‘Šalim-aḫum’s revenge’ draws on far more documents than most Old Assyrian anecdotes. In fact, in density of documentation it begins to rival some of the interesting stories that arise from the significant amount of documentation created and retained after merchants died.²⁴ But ‘Šalim-aḫum’s revenge’ also portrays a level of temporal precision unique among descriptions of the Old Assyrian trade. The uses of April, June, and August in ‘Šalim-aḫum’s revenge’ are not stylistic embellishments, but manifest a logic of time that will be substantiated in the first part of this work. In this way, ‘Šalim-aḫum’s revenge’ already broadcasts a sense of Old Assyrian commercial time that can only be gained through the attention to narrative undertaken in this work. In order to develop ‘Šalim-aḫum’s revenge’ into a ‘year of vengeance’ narrative, a third element must be attained. Anecdotes are self-sufficient at a small scale because they seek to exemplify some essential thing about a person (or commercial procedure). By contrast, historical narratives draw on context as part of their explanations. In comparison to other scientific approaches, narrative has been described as a ‘discordant concordance.’²⁵ This is meant to convey that a narrative emplots a range of discordant, heterogeneous events into a coherent order that in its very presentation offers a concordant explanation for the cause of one or another event or series of events. The act of contextualizing involves not only ordering, but also presenting things in an order that inherently locates their significance. Within the practice of describing the Old Assyrian trade, this means fleshing out as much of the relevant contemporary situation as can be determined. Thus to develop ‘Šalim-aḫum’s revenge’ into a ‘year of vengeance,’ not only must an internal chronology come to the fore, but also a sufficient amount of context, so as to render Šalim-aḫum’s actions understandable as a historical individual.

 Such a moment in the Old Assyrian trade was naturally more well-documented. Because the attempt to clear the estate of a dead merchant meant the animation of many competing claims, matters frequently entered the legal sphere. A number of particularly interesting and robust anecdotes are available in this realm, particularly concerning the conflict between the two sons of Šalim-Aššur, Ali-aḫum and Ennam-Aššur (see Larsen 2010: 332– 35; 2014: 4– 7). A number of other situations are described throughout the secondary literature, and it is beyond the scope of this present treatment to gather them all. Many can be found in Hertel 2013, as well as volumes focused on the publication of one or another archive as well, including Michel 1991b, Bilgiç and Günbatti 1995, and Kryszat 2004b.  Ricoeur 1983 – 1988.

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Including more narrative explanation in descriptions of the Old Assyrian trade constitutes a historical turn in Old Assyrian studies. Of course, a phrase like ‘historical turn’ invokes its counterpoint, the linguistic turn. Many works engaged in the linguistic turn arrive at the position that language is the only reality, and any attempt to explain objective reality is blocked by the totalizing fact of language. Within history, this line of argumentation leads to claims that narrative, because it is dictated by tropes, is no more within the domain of truth than fictional literature.²⁶ In ancient Near Eastern history, ancient narratives have been scrutinized for their tropes, structuralist examinations of Hittite treaties being a cardinal example.²⁷ At the same time, many historians have shrugged off the history-as-literature argument, noting that, yes, many plots do partake in tropes to some degree or another, but that the creative interaction between literary tropes often constitutes the author’s most unique contribution to understanding the events which they describe. After all, other historians recognize the tropes and their limits, and will judge the emplotment of the narrative to be either useful or not. Though the linguistic turn has never been a conscious part of Old Assyrian studies, the predominant modes of inquiry in Old Assyrian studies, structural, lexical, anecdotal, and archival, are all conditioned by characteristics of the linguistic turn in philosophy and humanities because of the lack of concomitant narrative inquiry. In all these modes of inquiry, the language of all the documents drives interpretation more than the immediate circumstances of any one particular document. In this way, the temporal dimension is minimized, and material causes and consequences rendered flat, even when they are considered. In lexical studies, we can, to great profit, gather together a definition of a word, and, in turn, define a part of the world of the Old Assyrian merchants. But if we do not understand the context of the documents, our definitions will be anemic. A primary example will be the bulk caravan hiatus (nabrītum), which will receive some attention in Part 2. Likewise, we can identify different types of documents—transport-contracts, notifying messages, and caravan accounts—to better understand the process of shipping goods between Assur and Anatolia.²⁸ But a typology of text documents has difficulty accounting for change over time without the benefit of dated documents. Such modes of inquiry prize interpreting documents in the context of the entire corpus at the expense of understanding the more immediate intents of their writers. By classifying words, linguistic con-

 The most cited and discussed of these arguments is made in White 1975.  Zaccagnini 1990.  Larsen 1967.

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structions, and document types, we seek to clarify abstract mental structures that existed in the Old Assyrian trade, and in turn realia represented in that language. Standard practices of shipping goods, as well as regular events like the nabrītum, populate our concept of the Old Assyrian trade with the basic contours of life. This is a reasonable path toward understanding the Old Assyrian trade. But in the process, the material and temporal constraints of each individual circumstance are sublimated in favor of general circumstances. Thus, though these modes of inquiry do not intentionally distort the historical record, their lack of narrative temporality flattens and skews both the period and its documents. Thus the historical turn in Old Assyrian studies involves an exercise not normally necessary for most historians: the resuscitation of time. Narrative inquiry is so necessary in the Old Assyrian trade because the temporal dimension is not clear at the level of commercial actions. The vast majority of Old Assyrian documents have no explicit temporal cues, no references to the calendar. Letters were not dated. Debt notes were concerned with narrow transactions. Connecting the surviving documentation in ways that expose the temporal bias of the archives can be accomplished by looking for and testing the integrity of narratives in which multiple documents participate. But to understand the tempos of Old Assyrian commercial time requires narration. Some tempos, such as periods of credit extended in debt notes, can be understood from broad surveys of the debt notes. But without contextualizing the thousands of undated letters into a temporal frame commensurate with the scope of actions with which they dealt, the particular contexts of the arguments, commands, directions, pleadings, negotiations, communications, disclosures, dialogues, conciliations, and even the most basic commercial transactions, remain anecdotal. As a result, the Old Assyrian commercial documentation exists in something of a temporal vacuum. By taking advantage of obvious connections, other more subtle connections become apparent, and eventually a sense of Old Assyrian commercial time emerges. Ironically, we must turn inside out the statement: “To abolish the [temporal] interval is to abolish strategy.”²⁹ Instead, to rediscover temporal interval in the Old Assyrian period, we must engage merchants’ strategies. Taking a historical turn in Old Assyrian studies can enhance structural, lexical, anecdotal, and archival modes of inquiry. One example is the opportunity to test whether ancient actors perceived their circumstances in ways similar to modern actors. For example, in abstract, the circumstances of seizing Ilabrat-bāni’s goods, as related by Šalim-aḫum, bear a striking resemblance to the way Šalim-aḫum described Ilabrat-bāni’s infraction; so striking that the similarities

 Bourdieu 1977: 6.

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cannot have been lost on either merchant. Ilabrat-bāni performed an unusual act in transit to Anatolia on goods owned by Šalim-aḫum, which the latter characterized as theft. Then Šalim-aḫum forcefully appropriated Ilabrat-bāni’s goods to recoup monies owed by the latter, a debt which arose no doubt out of the measures intended to help Ilabrat-bāni recompense for his initial theft. Ilabratbāni acted out on the caravan road, perhaps without thinking that it violated Šalim-aḫum’s rights but certainly in an environment where Šalim-aḫum had no way to prevent the act. In turn, Šalim-aḫum also directed his action on Ilabrat-bāni’s goods far from Ilabrat-bāni’s person. Ilabrat-bāni only found out about the action after the fact, at best a week later. There was even a generational parity maintained within each act. In the first infraction, Ilabrat-bāni acted directly on Šalim-aḫum’s assets. In the response, Šalim-aḫum’s son took the goods from Ilabrat-bāni’s son. The structural balance or symbolic parity of the interaction is corroborated by lexical choices in Šalim-aḫum’s own language. In April, Šalim-aḫum complained that Ilabrat-bā ni “acted as though he had authority” (etalluttam epuš) when he opened Šalim-aḫum’s sealed merchandise. In late September, Šalimaḫum reported to Pūšu-kēn that his own son had successfully seized Ilabratbā ni’s merchandise from Ilabrat-bāni’s son “by virtue of his authority” (ana etalluttišu) on the road to Kanesh.³⁰ If Šalim-aḫum considered Ilabrat-bāni a fellow ‘gentleman’ (awīlum), in the sense of Hammurabi’s laws, then the eye had been taken for the eye, the tooth for the tooth. In fact, Šalim-aḫum’s subtle but distinct use of phrasing clarifies their different meanings along a spectrum of moral authority. Šalim-aḫum used etalluttam epuš to characterize Ilabrat-bāni’s action as unjustified, but the slightly different ana etalluttišu three times³¹ to characterize his own response as justified. Such usage is borne out in the rest of the published corpus, where the phrase etalluttam epuš is consistently associated with actions taken without legal justification. A different Assyrian merchant complained

 To my knowledge, a distinction between the two phrases has not been explicitly made. Both meanings have been proposed, though not mapped on to the different phrasing. Landsberger 1954: 131 n. 338 stated that actions described in conjunction with etalluttum were permitted in emergencies by the colony, but this was not a function of differences of plurality of meaning according to phrase construction, but a looser meaning. Eisser and Lewy (1930: 309 n. a) originally suggested the idea of “on his own authority” (Selbständigkeit, Eigenmächtigkeit), though his explanation also drew on Landsberger’s identification of the word as an abstract of etallu “lord.” Lewy quoted Šalim-aḫum’s letter about Ilabrat-bāni’s misappropriation as his first example. The entry in the CAD keeps the two phrasings separate in its ordering of the citations, though without any distinction as to the usage.  Note that both ways of deriving an abstract noun (‐utt- and -(a)t‐) are employed by Šalimaḫum, as suggested by one rendition as etallitišu.

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in a letter that the addressee had sold the tin on his own authority, expressly stating that it was without the consent of the writer’s brother.³² The phrase ana etallutišu(nu), on the other hand, was employed in circumstances where the actions taken were explicitly justified by an assembly decision³³ or a legal arrangement involving the ruler of Assur.³⁴ Further examples support this distinction.³⁵ Thus fleshing out the circumstances of the interaction between Šalim-aḫum and Ilabrat-bāni reveals the subtle difference in usage associated  CCT 3: 28a rev. 19 ff. The adverbial accusative etalluttam is used in the same way with other verbs as well, but always in a context that suggests improper behavior. The other passages are few: Another merchant defended his actions to his superior by explaining that he did not want to “act on his own authority,” as it would have been inappropriate (TC 3: 70). Consider another example: When one merchant entered someone else’s house, a group protested his action as out of order by couching it in the same language: “According to the decision of the plenary assembly of the Kanesh colony, Ennam-Aššur questioned Suen-nādā. Thus Ennam-Aššur said to Suennādā: ‘I and my servant girl were staying in Kanesh and you went to Durḫumit and acted as though you had authority concerning things that were not owed to you by entering into my guesthouse and pulling out objects and two of my sealed boxes.’” a-na ma-lá dí-in4 kà-ri-im kà-ni-iš ṣa-ḫe-er gal sú-en6-na-da en-um-a-šur iš-a-al um-ma sú-en6-na-da-ma a-na en-um-ašur-ma a-na-ku ù am-tí i-na kà-ni-ìš wa-áš-ba-ni-ma a-ta a-na tur4-ḫu-mì-it ta-lik-ma ša mì-ma lá ḫa-bu-lá-ku-ni e-ta-lu-tám té-pu-uš-ma a-na é wa-áb-ri-a té-ru-ub-ma 2 ta-ma-lá-ki ku-nu-ki-a ù ú-tù-ub-tí tù-šé-ṣí (and then proceeded to pull out debt notes) (CTMMA I: 84a obv. 1– 9). One of Šalim-aḫum’s associates used it in this manner in a letter to another merchant who also opened cargo in a similar way to Ilabrat-bāni, perhaps on the same journey. The other merchant was Aššuriš-tikal. Šalim-aḫum and another merchant accused him of opening goods that were destined for yet another merchant, Abela. “… all these things we charged you to deliver to Abela, but you opened the tin and textiles on your own authority and took for yourself!” … mì-ma a-nim a-na a-bé-lá nu-šé-bi-il5-kà an.na ù túg.hi.a e-ta-lu-tám ta-ap-ṭur4-ma a-na ra-mì-ni-kà ta˘ al-té-qé (28-AKT 3: 78 obv. 10 – 14). The punitive rate, a 6 shekel rate on the tin (obv. 15), Šalimaḫum demanded from Aššuriš-tikal was the very same rate demanded of Ilabrat-bāni. See also rev. 63 and 78 where etallutam is also couched in a negative context.  “The colony at Kanesh rendered a verdict: Šū-Suen’s investors and the sons of Šū-Suen will seize the three partners on their own authority and they will enter the house of Šū-Suen and read his tablets. Whoever cannot enter or is not able (to be there?), they will set up witnesses for him so that those will enter.” kà-ru-um kà-ni-ìš dí-nam i-dí-in-ma um-mì-a-nu šu-sú-en6 ù me-er-ú šu-sú-en6 a-na e-ta-lu-tí-šu-nu 3 a-ḫi-ú-tim i-ṣa-bu-tù-ma a-na é šu-sú-en6 e-ru-bu-ma ṭup-pì-šu i-lá-mu-du lá ša e-ra-ba-am lá i-mu-ú-ni ší-bi4 i-ša-ku-nu-šu-ma ù a-li-ú-tum e-ru-bu (VS 26: 116a obv. 2-rev. 15).  “You hold my tablet. Concerning my tablet that says it is I who (stands) for your authority which you will seize, the man earned the disdain of my father and my disdain.” ṭup-pi ⸢tù⸣kà-al ša a-na e-⸢ta⸣-lu-tí-kà a-na-ku!-ma! ṭup-pì-a ta-ṣa-bu-tù a-wi-lùm šé-ṭù-ti a-bi4-a ù šé-ṭù-tí il5-té-qé (KTS 1: 30 rev. 25).  Consider also KTS 2: 37. Several unpublished texts contain passages that are consistent with this analysis: Kt a/k 503, Kt c/k 262 (courtesy J.G. Dercksen), Kt m/k 2, Kt m/k 72 (both courtesy K. Hecker), Kt 94/k 366 (courtesy G. Barjamovic).

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with etalluttum. In turn, this subtle nuance of the Old Assyrian dialect reveals that Šalim-aḫum was consciously connecting the two events, concomitantly similar in type but paradigmatically contradictory in propriety. Such a lexical connection supports the idea that Šalim-aḫum saw Ilabratbāni’s act on the road and the one he commissioned later in the year as of the same type. However, the extent to which Šalim-aḫum’s language forms the main evidence for an argument that Šalim-aḫum specifically sought revenge on Ilabrat-bāni is the extent to which the logic of the story above remains anecdotal. Šalim-aḫum’s justice as recounted above, its abstract sense of balance, and Šalim-aḫum’s language in his letters provide in combination the conditions to recognize a subtle nuance of the Old Assyrian dialect. But Šalim-aḫum’s perceived parity of the incident is inconsistent with the material value of the two amounts seized. Ilabrat-bāni’s infraction and Šalimaḫum’s aggressive collection were distinct and separate incidents, and on a material scale, the magnitude of each act differed significantly. Ilabrat-bāni had taken 6⅓ minas tin from Šalim-aḫum’s sealed cargo to pay costs. This amount of tin yielded at most a mina of silver in Anatolia, and had cost less than half that in Assur. By contrast, Šalim-aḫum took tin purchased for almost 20 minas of silver from Ilabrat-bāni. Liquidated in Amurrum, the tin had not yet increased much in value. A few weeks later, the tin would have yielded nearly twice that amount. Had Šalim-aḫum allowed the tin to travel to Anatolia, then seized it and liquidated it, even at a discounted price in Kanesh, it would have yielded enough to repay Šalim-aḫum and left Ilabrat-bāni with tin, or silver, to spare. Thus if Šalim-aḫum considered his loss to be one mina in silver, by the same metric Ilabrat-bāni lost as much as 20 minas silver beyond his debt to Šalim-aḫum. In this context, Šalim-aḫum’s revenge was severe. Even with Ilabrat-bāni’s past petty debts and with interest added, the financial scales now tipped significantly toward him. Šalim-aḫum’s symbolic vengeance laid a steep material cost on Ilabrat-bāni. In this case, returning to broad comparisons with Hammurabi’s Laws, symbolic parity triumphs over economic parity. This consideration of material context, a small step toward narrative, both complicates and enhances Šalim-aḫum’s perceived parity, suggesting that more context is desired. The transition from anecdote to narrative in the case of ‘Šalim-aḫum’s revenge’ consists in pushing the material context further. This can be effectively done by pursuing answers to questions not addressed in ‘Šalim-aḫum’s revenge’ as anecdote. Questions like: When did the idea of seizing Ilabrat-bāni’s goods first cross Šalim-aḫum’s mind? Did Pūšu-kēn determine the need to pounce on Ilabrat-bāni or had Šalim-aḫum already suggested something to that effect? The only way to answer such a question is to search out and arrange further sources within a narrative to explain Šalim-aḫum’s actions—not by appeal to

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the symbolic parity of the actions or to balance exhibited in Šalim-aḫum’s and Ilabrat-bāni’s personalities. Instead, their motivations need to be comprehensible by appeal to both structural and immediate factors in the course of the year of vengeance. Within an anecdotal frame, Šalim-aḫum’s balancing of the scales seems to be correlated with a sense that Šalim-aḫum’s personality demanded the balance. But it is difficult to separate this from projecting a completeness to the anecdote by assuming that a broader value should obtain here—that the scales should be balanced. If so, a cultural value smuggled into the situation and a sense of Šalim-aḫum’s perceived character support each other. But within a narrative frame, Šalim-aḫum chose to balance the scales at the time he did and not some other time, because at some point in time he either decided he would, or because the circumstances overtook him. In a narrative frame, Šalim-aḫum’s actions also need to be comprehensible within a coherent material and temporal context. The focus turns from Šalim-aḫum’s revenge to the context of any possible vengeance. If an account can be rendered that addresses this question, then Šalim-aḫum becomes something more than a caricature of embodied justice. This is a purposeful move away from fleshing out Šalim-aḫum’s real personality (a quixotic enterprise in any case), toward accounting for a specific decision made at a specific point in time. Again, did Šalim-aḫum plot his revenge, decide to take action, then wait for Ilabrat-bāni to invariably misstep? Or did Ilabratbāni’s misstep provoke Šalim-aḫum to take swift action that ironically took shape as stranger-than-fiction poetic justice? The only way to substantively answer this line of questioning is to go beyond just contextualizing Šalimaḫum’s decision with reference to the Old Assyrian dialect or to his personality, and contextualize his decision more deeply within the particular material realities, personal intentions, social relations, and temporal pressures of the moment. In short, the interaction between Ilabrat-bāni and Šalim-aḫum must be narrated. As luck would have it, there are a large number of documents that can be connected to this moment of Šalim-aḫum’s revenge. Some of these connections have been known for quite some time, and a previous short study explored something of both Šalim-aḫum’s and Ilabrat-bāni’s character, citing some of the letters used above as part of the attempt to understand the network of people around Šalim-aḫum.³⁶ Many of the documents reviewed here have been treated

 I first recognized connections between several of the sources in this chapter during an initial review of the Pūšu-kēn tablets some years ago. An earlier consideration of Ilabrat-bāni is helpful, but only explored this episode in a cursory manner: Garelli 1978. Interconnections between

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and translated in a number of places. Pūšu-kēn’s documents have been a point of attention from the very early stages of the study of the Old Assyrian trade.³⁷ And this narrative includes documents from the house associated with Ennam-Aššur s. Šalim-aḫum, of which a portion have received a good treatment already.³⁸ The letters of Pūšu-kēn are also used in a number of important studies, and several collections. However, the full archive of Pūšu-kēn has not been previously edited. The second volume of this work will constitute the first major installment in that effect, and the interaction between previous translations and treatments is more fully engaged there. The extent to which a much larger number of letters can be reconstructed into a fabric of time has been hitherto unrealized, a fact masked by the regrettable lack of dated letters. In the present circumstance that means that the translations here differ at times from previous translations, given the particular contexts which must inform editions of these documents in the second volume to this work. The decision to publish this work first, however, underlines one of the central consequences of realizing the relation between the letters. Namely, good editions of the documents cannot be made without an attempt to fully explore their relationships to any connected documents. As will be shown time and time again in this work, our own readings of surface language can frequently miss the author’s real intentions. Not only were their descriptions sometimes fallible, but sometimes their expressions, which were meant to fulfill at least the minimum requirements of communication, barely communicated the relevant information to associates who knew the circumstances well already. This can only be overcome when enough documents refer to the same circumstances that we can corroborate our sense of events beyond the limits of any one passage in language. Thus the particular contexts in relation to the documents are an essential arc in the hermeneutic circle of interpreting Old Assyrian documents. The ‘year of vengeance’ narrative demonstrates a profitable exploitation of an argument associated with the characterization of narrative as a discordant concordance. The philosopher Paul Ricoeur noted at the beginning of his work Time and Narrative that, though narrative has been judged a form of explanation compromised by the problems of language and metaphor, narrative ably integrates the two different definitions of time which philosophers acknowledge and yet simultaneously cannot resolve. On the one hand, time is accepted as something which clocks keep track of, which is observable through motion, ultimately the some of these documents have been noted before. Veenhof 1972: 32 n. 66 noted that 1-BIN 4: 61, 2TC 2: 3, and 3-POAT 7 all mentioned the same incidents.  Van der Meer 1931.  Bilgiç and Günbattı 1995.

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movement of our own and other planets, and through decay. I will refer here to this as material time, or the time of the material world. On the other hand, humans experience time in ways that defy the measurement of material time by clocks. In the most mundane ways, we can say that time flies or drags depending on our mood. But in a more fundamental way, Augustine also noted that we experience time in a distended present, in which consciousness draws together our memory of the past and anticipation of the future into something that is very different from an instantaneous present. Consciousness thus defies the instant of the clock. We can call this phenomenological time. Philosophically, these aspects of time, defined from material and phenomenological viewpoints, remain aporetic. Yet narrative constantly and simultaneously partakes of both these aspects of time. In this way narrative explains the human condition in ways impossible to explain by other means. Human experience is still defined by the bounds of material time, and so any chronology within narrative must be consistent, and historical narrative demands that the chronology be consistent with a continuum of material time that we all live in, whether it be yesterday, or nearly four thousand years ago. The development of the anecdote I have called “Šalim-aḫum’s revenge” into a narrative which I will refer to as the “year of vengeance” represents the shift to narrative in two ways. First, the interaction between Pūšu-kēn and Šalim-aḫum will become intertwined with contemporary but exogenous events within the documents that complicate and enrich our understanding of their interaction. These discordant events, from Šalim-aḫum’s trouble with obtaining gold for a votive offering to a disruption in the supply of goods, to a plague that was moving through the Assyrian populace, all happened around the interaction between Šalim-aḫum, Pūšu-kēn, and Ilabrat-bāni. And even if they were not mentioned in the explicit language of the letters between Šalim-aḫum and Pūšu-kēn, some of the events played into the calculus of their respective thoughts. Second, the narrative act brings together, or brings into concordance, enough activity for enough time, that the temporal limitations of the shipping season permit—even demand—that both the order of events and their rough intervals be worked out. Each letter presents an example of a distended present, drawing together the immediate precedents that provoked the letter and the intentions of the letter writer for the future into directions given in the present for actions to be taken in the near future. Without the benefit of the density of these letters as distended presents and the connections between them, the distended present can remain anecdotal. But once enough of them overlap, their chronology becomes increasingly constrained. A particular chronology, much smaller and more specific than any previous, becomes necessary. And in the process of narrating, a sense of time, moving incrementally faster than we have realized before, comes to the fore.

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As incrementally quicker as Old Assyrian commercial time may have been, it has important implications for our understanding of the trade. Thus, this work is not simply a prologue to editions of the texts. It is a particular instance of what I will call, using the most obnoxious esoteric language I can appeal to, the desublimation of the materio-temporal fact. In the anecdotal frame in Old Assyrian studies, the development of commercial activities, but also legal activities, can often only be described as happening ‘some time later.’ We will never be able to fasten every event in the Old Assyrian documentation to a particular place and time. This is a function of what the merchants needed to record and the ways they were accustomed to recording it. However, they lived within a flow of time that imprisoned them in the same way it does us. The sun would set. Winter would come. Material consequences could not be avoided, including the timing of purchases and shipments, and a host of other constraints brought on by the capricious problems experienced by merchants from time to time. And such consequences would affect the wealth of other merchants in turn. The flow of time bound together a multitude of things that both had nothing to do with each other and yet cannot be extricated from each other. Without time, there are no material consequences, and without some real sense of material consequences, or the capacity to understand the particular material consequences and outlines of any letter or series of letters, the capacity to translate the letters is limited by the nature of structuralist kinds of interpretation. In those cases, a dimension of the merchants’ experiences, a fact of their lives, remains sublimated, and with it some dimension of historical explanation. Thus to desublimate the materio-temporal fact in Old Assyrian studies is to acknowledge the need wherever possible to render clearer the flow of time and concomitant particular material circumstances in which the activities documented took place, to make accounts of actors’ intentions in relation to particular circumstances as well as general conditions, and to acknowledge more broadly the unstable nature of the relationship between particular situations and general conditions that affect our interpretation of the intentions of the Assyrian merchants. The dates and timings offered in the telling of “Šalim-aḫum’s revenge” above draw on the reconstruction of the development of this moment as put forth in this volume. And the main thread of this work is to flesh out the context in which Šalim-aḫum made his decision to seize Ilabrat-bāni’s goods. But this is simply a more pleasurable way to craft this narrative of the ‘year of vengeance,’ which could be constructed in a number of ways. The four principal parts of the book thus represent this relationship between the main argument of the book, the narrative itself, and observations that arise from the existence of this narrative and its material and temporal implications. In Part 1, a core temporal backbone of the narrative is laid out, which includes much of the interaction relayed

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above, but also engages in a number of other developments going on between Šalim-aḫum and Pūšu-kēn. By the end of Part 1 it should be clear that all of those developments occurred during REL 82, the year of vengeance, and that the temporal development represented in Part 1 is a reasonable attempt at verisimilitude. Equally important, at several points in Part 1 it will be shown that a philological understanding of surface language in the documents sometimes fails to reveal a correct historical interpretation, which can only be recognized within a narrative frame. The narrative crafted in Part 1 creates a sense of time previously unavailable in Old Assyrian studies. Part 2 discusses three particular implications of that narrative. The bounds of these discussions are set out with the narrative, but beyond that, these discussions are meant to propose a way to understand Old Assyrian commercial time, especially the tempos of bulk travel and communication. While Parts 1 and 2 deal most directly with the act of revealing time through crafting the narrative, Parts 3 and 4 work to fill out the narrative with a range of contemporaneous developments that eventually return to contextualize the interaction between Šalim-aḫum, Pūšu-kēn, and Ilabrat-bāni. Part 3 returns to the narrative and, building on the chronology attained in the act of explaining events in Part 1, it expands the narrative beyond the simple commercial interactions between Šalim-aḫum, Pūšu-kēn, and Ilabrat-bāni. The scope of the narrative enlarges, and a broader range of discordant events are brought into concordance, with the effect that we find opportunities to consider more generalized aspects of the lives of merchants as a result of the narrative. This includes a better understanding of the demographic patterns of Assyrian merchants, an understanding of some of the most notable letters from women, the presence of an unusual disruption in the trade supply of tin and textiles, and a more deadly disruption, a plague. These last two events in particular had nothing to do with the origins of the spat between Šalim-aḫum and Ilabrat-bāni. And yet, their discordant causes and effects nonetheless shaped Pūšu-kēn’s and Šalimaḫum’s decisions about seizing Ilabrat-bāni’s goods. As a result, it is worth considering that Šalim-aḫum’s revenge was nothing of the sort after all. Finally, Part 4 outlines some further discussion of general aspects of the trade that should be revised in light of Old Assyrian commercial time resurrected in the narrative pursued here, particularly the volume of trade and the nature of the archives we have recovered. Can the inner workings of Šalim-aḫum’s mind, from a different culture, in a different time, removed from us by nearly four millennia, be completely understood? In an ultimate sense, no. But something like this has been a stated task

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for Old Assyrian specialists.³⁹ Yet Šalim-aḫum’s revenge—if that is what it should be ultimately called—and the narrative will throw this into question, developed alongside a number of contemporaneous events. Pressure to display revenues, problems with a votive fund he managed, a son who fell ill while a number of merchants were dying, and another, petulant son whose hesitance to return home risked Šalim-aḫum’s standing with a prominent merchant in Assur—all these issues swirled around Šalim-aḫum while he variously fumed, chided, struck deals with, and finally dealt with Ilabrat-bāni. All the while he was shepherding a large number of merchants in transporting, selling, collecting, and shipping his goods and revenues, and representing other merchants’ interests in Assur. From a previously unrealized amount of surviving documentation from this year, a narrative recounting can resuscitate both the temporal dimension of and a richer context for Šalim-aḫum’s revenge—one that compromises our confidence in Šalim-aḫum’s, and Pūšu-kēn’s, intentions. Thus this work prompts taking a second look at several structures in the Old Assyrian trade. But in a way, crafting an explanation of Šalim-aḫum’s revenge is merely to pursue philology in advantageous circumstances. Ultimately the most significant result of narrating the ‘year of vengeance’ is that Šalim-aḫum, Ilabratbāni, Pūšu-kēn, and a number of other persons who will be introduced along the way become human in a way hitherto unseen. The year of vengeance provides a context rich enough to craft historical explanations for their actions. Like all subjects of historical analysis, the ultimate reasons for their decisions are still an enigma. That internal enigma will always exist for Churchill as much as Ḫammurabi, or Cicero, or Vasco da Gama. But like Cicero and Vasco da Gama, and to some extent even like Churchill, Šalim-aḫum’s words can be sufficiently contextualized that his and his colleagues’ intents arise as rational responses to specific events. As such, it will be argued in the end that Šalim-aḫum and the Old Assyrian merchants are the world’s earliest historical individuals.

 “As Assyriologists we are faced with a gulf of thousands of years separating us from the past we are studying, as well as a vast difference in cultural traditions and physical reality, so imposing our own categories on the statements we are trying to interpret is likely to lead us astray in many instances. The attempt to understand the individuality of the ancients, their intentions, fears, and emotions, is hazardous, in particular when we are dealing with a society like that of ancient Mesopotamia, where we find ‘no native self-appraisal.’ On the other hand, this is our task.” Larsen 2001: 276.

Chapter 2 Structures of the Trade A narrative of Šalim-aḫum’s vengeful year could start with any number of events, but the beginning of the shipping season seems most appropriate. In the early spring of 1891 BC, seven black donkeys stood in the early morning air. Each donkey’s breath appeared, then dissipated, a regular, if probably ignored, symbol of its fleeting life. On some donkeys, a packsaddle loaded with 130 pounds of tin was distributed in two sacks, each with smaller packages of tin wrapped in textiles. On the rest of the donkeys, textiles were packed and piled to about the same weight. Each sack of tin or textiles could be removed and repositioned, a process that would be repeated several times each day on the journey to Anatolia to allow each donkey some respite during travel. But even with such respites, only three of the seven would finish the journey alive. The donkeys’ impatient drivers pressed them mercilessly toward the highlands of Anatolia, motivated by potential profits rather than the donkeys’ preservation. Departing in the morning, the caravans turned their backs on the rising sun to cross the ridge that separated the Tigris from the southern reaches of the Wadi Tharthar. Over the coming days, following that wadi north, they would likely have crossed through the Jebel Bishri gap, and continued northward over a landscape of low limestone ridges interlaced with shallow valleys. Then, having passed north of the ancient marshes of the Jagjag river, they would have turned west again and made their way across the broad Khabur plain, then Balikh valley, reaching the Euphrates river in the region of present-day Samsat. Crossing the Euphrates at one of the four alternatives, they would have commenced an ascent of the Taurus piedmont, and began a navigation of the primary passes through the mountains. Emerging somewhere to the north and west of classical Commagene, the last part of the journey would have been easier to cross, weaving between minor ridges until they finally descended into the east end of the small river valley that Kanesh commanded.¹ Explaining Šalim-aḫum’s revenge, or whatever it was, requires assembling and contextualizing as much as can be known about his activities. The easiest of those activities to contextualize are the most regular aspects of the Old Assyrian trade, those best understood. The Assyrian trade, its journeys from Assur to Cappadocia, its donkeys, its drivers, and even its wealthy traders like Šalim-

 On the routes from Assur to the Euphrates and traveling, see Nashef 1991; Michel 1992c; Veenhof 2008a. DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-002

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aḫum, were merely links in a vast trade system. This trade connected palaces and wealthy consumers with precious raw materials and goods from the Aegean to the Hindu Kush Mountains and from the Caspian Sea to Oman. The Old Assyrian trade played its part in its own geographical niche between the city of Assur (modern Qalʿat Širqā ṭ) on the Tigris and the Anatolian plateau, where Kanesh (modern Kültepe) functioned as a prime hub of their commercial activity.² This Assyrian trade, evidenced by more than 23,000 documents, is by far the best attested portion of the greater system.³ Most of these documents are the merchants’ business records, mostly from a brief period of two generations or so, around 1900 – 1845 BC, according to contemporary reckoning. This corpus provides ample material to characterize Šalim-aḫum’s actions, even intents. Much of that material has been best read as evidence of the broad contours of the merchant’s livelihood, from donkeys to services provided by Šalim-aḫum’s most trusted associates, as best we can perceive them. The slow deliberate work of elucidating the systems and mechanisms of this trade has provided us with a structural account of the Assyrians’ activities. Any narrative of Šalim-aḫum’s revenge depends on understanding the trade, even if its reconstruction will provoke revisions to the temporal dimensions of these basic structures. In broad outline, the merchants packed and sent their wares, mostly tin and textiles, by donkey caravan one thousand kilometers across the Syrian steppe, the Euphrates, and the Taurus Mountains to Kanesh and points beyond. In Anatolia, they sold their wares in the several politically independent city-states, ac-

 Landsberger (1925) made a compelling early description that well represented the culmination of early efforts represented in, among others, Pinches (1881a; 1881b), Sayce (1883; 1918), Golénishchev (1891), Lewy (1922), Stephens (1926), and Driver (1927). Descriptions by J. Lewy (1956) and H. Lewy (1971) focused on Assyrian political control of the trade. In the meantime, Tahsin Özguç returned to Kuultepe and began a new phase of Old Assyrian studies. See T. Özguç 1950; T. Özguç and N. Özguç 1953; T. Özguç 1959 and continuing reports on excavations. Garelli (1963) brought a consensus about the private nature of the Old Assyrian material and the systems of the trade began to emerge. Garelli demonstrated that the Old Assyrian merchants were not agents of the government but privately organized. In Garelli’s wake, Old Assyrian studies have increasingly illuminated the structures of the Old Assyrian trade. Further consensus on the main elements of the trade has provided a framework within which to explore the interaction of individual traders as a context for understanding social and cultural dimensions of the Old Assyrian period. A more extensive review of the scholarship before and after Garelli can now be had in Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 62– 121. Current excavations at Kültepe are led now by Fikri Kulakoğlu, who is providing a new view of Kültepe prior to the Old Assyrian trade. The present review is restricted to matters of the trade pertinent to the work at hand.  Of this total, about 4760 texts belong to the ‘old texts’ group, came to light prior to the Turkish excavations. For more details see Michel 2003: v. For the trade as evidenced from other sites in Anatolia, see Dercksen 2001.

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quiring silver and occasionally gold. The silver and gold was returned to Assur to be reinvested in tin and textiles to be brought again to Anatolia by caravan. The political institutions at Assur were arranged in a way that fostered the trade. The city-state of Assur seems to have been supportive of this merchant trade both in terms of actors and policy. While the initiation and early development of the trade are uncertain,⁴ the royal inscriptions of Ilu-šumma (ca. 1990 – 1975 BC) and his son Irišum (1974– 1935 BC) suggest that both kings actively sought to enhance the commercial position of the city Assur. Ilu-šumma endeavored to attract traders from southern Mesopotamia, establishing ‘free exchange’ for various commodities: gold, silver, tin, copper, barley, and wool.⁵ With Irišum, our recovery of the eponym system—naming years after an official in Assur—begins, and it has been argued that this institution and dating system was implemented to facilitate trade.⁶ A tablet with Irišum’s seal excavated in Kanesh suggests that this ruler may have already set up a relationship with the Anatolian city.⁷ Though the king’s position was hereditary, held for life, and involved a relationship with the god of the city, he shared power with the city assembly, divided into the ‘big’ and ‘small’ men. The assembly, whose decisions the king carried out in an executive role, provided a forum in which mercantilist policies were discussed, disputes involving trade could be addressed, and the interests of elite investors were served.⁸ By the end of the 20th century BC, Assur also enjoyed regular relationships with the politically diverse city-states of the Anatolian plateau that supported the

 For a recent review of the political development of the city-state of Assur, including thoughts on the early development, see Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 122 – 46. Narratives of the Old Assyrian period and the development of the trade can no longer cite the political control of Assur by the Ur III empire as terminus post quem for the trade’s inception. Recent work shows that Zarriqum of Assur was both a namesake and contemporary of the governor of Susa, but not subservient to the Ur III state; see Michalowski 2009: 149 – 56.  See Grayson et al. 1987: 14– 46. For the royal inscriptions of Ilu-šumma, his father, and his dynasty, including the two from which this translation is quoted, see A.0.32.1 and A.0.32.2. The various previous interpretations of addurarum have been discussed elsewhere, and the word here translated as ‘free exchange,’ has been argued to refer to a reform of the taxation system of foreigners, most likely to an economic measure, Larsen 1976: 63 – 80. More recently, see Charpin 1990: 253 ff. and Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 126 ff.  On the eponym system, see Larsen 1976: 192– 217. The order of eponyms was only recently discovered, providing a secure annual chronology to Old Assyrian studies. See Veenhof 2003c; 2007c; and Barjamovic, Hertel and Larsen 2012. This issue will be further discussed in Chapter Three. On the institutional actors in the trade see Dercksen 2000; 2004.  Veenhof 2003c: 41. For reservations about the use of the seal for dating (the seal could have been used by a later king), see Larsen 2002: 5; Kryszat 2004a: 353 – 58.  Larsen 1976; Dercksen 2004.

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trade. The Assyrian city-state needed to regulate its politico-economic relationship with many large cities and smaller towns across the Anatolian plateau, in addition to Kanesh. These included Durḫumit, the copper hub in the north; Purušḫattum, the entrepôt from the Aegean to the west; and Waḫšušana, the crossing of the Kızıl Irmak at the center of the plateau. The city-state of Assur negotiated trade agreements with the cities of the Anatolian plain to regulate taxes on imported goods and to outlaw competition. To do so, Assur authorized organizations to be its representatives in Anatolia: kārum offices in the larger cities and wabartum offices in the smaller. These offices were organized into a hierarchy within Anatolia, with the kārum at Kanesh functioning as the chief governing body. Each of these bodies had jurisdiction over affairs that dealt exclusively with the Assyrian traders. (When matters involved both Assyrian merchants and local Anatolians, local palaces presided.) Thus, the legal framework of the Assyrian merchants’ home city was extended into their activities abroad.⁹ The city of Assur—and all the polities the trade passed through—benefitted by taxing the trade. For example, Šalim-aḫum paid export taxes to the city of Assur when his goods left Assur and then paid an import duty and tithe at the palace in Kanesh. Along the route, each town levied a (small) toll, filling the purses of the local leaders. The kinglet of a small town in the Taurus Mountains garnered one shekel of tin every time a donkey passed through heading to the Anatolian plateau and one shekel of silver each time a donkey passed back to Assur.¹⁰ Assur’s trade with Anatolia was part of a multifaceted network of trade in which Assur was one node. The Old Assyrian documentation attests to the fact that metals and luxury goods from all corners of the known ancient world were traded over long distances. Tin, lapis lazuli, and carnelian came from as far east as the mountains of Uzbekistan and Tajikistan via the Iranian Plateau and Susa.¹¹ Most woolen textiles that passed through Assur were produced in other Mesopotamian cities and acquired on the market, while small numbers of textiles were produced for export in Assur by merchants’ wives. Although copper was readily available in Anatolia, it was not sent to Assur in bulk; it was available more cheaply from Oman and possibly mines to the north of Assur. Carnelian and lapis lazuli, coming from the same direction as the tin, were items of sufficient value and scarcity to be included on the trip to Anatolia when availa For a fuller treatment, see Larsen 1976; Veenhof 2003d.  Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 183 – 219.  Cierny and Weisgerber 2003: 22– 31. For a recent report on surveys in Central Asia for tin mines, including the excavated second-millenium settlement site near tin mines at Karnab-Sichkonchi in Uzbekistan, see Parzinger and Boroffka 2003.

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ble. Of all these wares, tin and textiles were the main staples of the trade. Tin, essential for making tin-bronze, was obvious in its importance, although it is clear that many items were still made completely from copper, and some from tin—and the discovery of arsenic-based bronze at excavations of Kanesh makes the picture more complicated. The seemingly inexhaustible Anatolian demand for the woolen textiles from Mesopotamia was likely related to prestige. It is clear that the palace was gathering a great many, but many textiles passed all the way through Anatolia and some possibly continued to the Aegean.¹² Both tin and textiles—the first a commodity, the other a semi-finished product—were relatively durable, so perishability did not greatly affect the market.¹³ However, all the tin and many of the textiles originated outside Assur, and the circumstances of the supply chain exerted an important effect on prices. Merchants often instructed their agents to buy only when the price was favorable, and merchants in Assur sometimes reported to their associates in Anatolia that an interrupted supply chain had driven up prices.¹⁴ Preferences for types of textiles affected demand in Anatolia, and where possible merchants sought to respond to demand.¹⁵ However, in many documents that deal with the shipment of the textiles, they were treated as wholesale bulk goods, classified in two categories, kutānum and šurum. The “black” (šurum) textiles were most often used to wrap and pack the tin during transport. They were utilitarian and generally half the value of the commercial grade kutānum textiles. The kutānum category was the staple of Assyrian textile trade with Anatolia. Within this category, however, textiles exhibited a wide range of qualities, origins of production, and other characteristics. And merchants were sensitive to which styles were in demand. “About the Abarnian textile which you sent me, you should not send me a similar one again. If you want to make one, make one like the one I wore there.”¹⁶ Qualities ran the gamut: “royal qual-

 Barjamovic 2008; Lassen 2010b; 2014; Michel 2014c.  Moths could and did occasionally infest and destroy textiles: “The earlier textiles, both yours and mine, which I left for Elamma, are they still (there)? The later ones are moth-eaten.” túg.hi.a pá-ni-ú-tum lu ku-wa-ú-tum lu i-a-ú-tum ša a-na e-lá-ma e-zi-bu a-dí-ni i--ú wa-ar-ki-ú˘ tum sà-sà-am lá-áp-tù (TTC 14 rev. 36 – 38), see also Michel 1986: 116 – 17, and translated in Michel 2001a: 264, later in OAA 1: 74. The translation of the first sentence as a question follows Larsen’s suggestion. On moths and textiles, see particularly Michel 1998a.  Veenhof 1988: 243 – 63.  See the letter in which the merchant Puzur-Aššur writes to Pūšu-kēn’s daughter Waqqurtum, giving her specific instructions on the type of textile he wants her to produce: TC 3: 17. For translation and treatment see Veenhof 1972: 103 – 109. For more general discussions of women and textile production, see Michel 2006: 46 – 47.  TC 3: 17 rev. 23 – 28, see Michel and Veenhof 2010: 250 – 52.

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ity” (ša šarrūtim) “very fine” (watrum/damqum watrum), “fine” (damqum), “medium quality” (qablītum), “secondary quality” (tardium), “ordinary” (qātam/ša qātim), and “defective” (matium), with a number of descriptors in between. Occasionally, merchants referred to textiles by their geographic origin, suggesting a rough guide to the different styles associated with regions. In the markets at Assur one could find textile styles from Akkad (ša Akkidīē), Abarnia (abarnīum), Takkušta (takuštāum), and Šilipkīa (šilipkīum). Several of the places mentioned were in the environs of Assur, but the Akkadian style of textile certainly came from southern Mesopotamia, where the temple households produced a large volume. At other times, textiles were distinguished by physical characteristics: “thin” (raqqutum), “finished(?)” (kamsum), “fleecy(?)” (saptinnum), or “fourply” (šurbuītum).¹⁷ Tin, primarily available in the mineral cassiterite, is found only in certain regions on the surface of the earth. While cassiterite was clearly recognized in Anatolia during the period of the Old Assyrian trade, the tin the Assyrians brought to Anatolia came from much further east. The tin came to the Assyrians in already standardized slabs of about ten pounds each, and packs of three were bundled together, and paired for each standardized weight of tin (šuqlum). This standardization eased the process of taxation and travel fees assessed in cities and towns along the way. Qualities of tin were distinguished. As with textiles, most metals could be described as “fine” or “very fine.” Tin is a principal ingredient in tinbronzes (as opposed to bronzes based on arsenic), but what proportion of the tin shipped was used for bronze, as opposed to objects created out of tin itself, is a difficult question to answer.¹⁸ Alongside tin, silver, gold, copper, iron, and precious stones were all traded. Silver (kaspum) formed the valuta of the system—the value against which all other things were measured. Still, silver could be described as refined (ṣarrupum), though whether or not it was traded in unrefined states, or whether the adjective simply emphasized physical silver, as opposed to assets transferred on credit, is still a difficult question. Gold (ḫurāṣum) was generally valued at eight times the value of silver in Assur, but could be had for as little as half that in Anatolia. Still, it was far less common than silver, and thus more difficult

 A thorough review of designations for textiles was already given in Veenhof 1972. Much more has since been written, including on the wool and textile trade in Anatolia itself: Breniquet 2010; Lassen 2008; 2010a; 2010b; Michel and Nosch 2010; Breniquet and Michel 2014. Michel 2014b. In particular, one recent review that expands the previous coverage and represents a nearly exhaustive concordance of textile descriptors, is found in Michel and Veenhof 2010.  Landsberger (1965) cleared up the confusion between lead and tin. See also Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 82– 83. Dercksen 2004. For a discussion of lapis lazuli, see Michel 2001b.

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to acquire. Copper (werium) was mined in far more places than tin, and most of the copper traded by the Assyrians was traded within the Anatolian plateau, rather than between Assur and Kanesh. Roughly speaking, one shekel of silver could buy sixty shekels (1 mina) of copper. By contrast, one shekel of meteoric iron (amūtum, ašium) was more likely to cost sixty shekels of silver. Different grades of purity were acknowledged, but their precise meaning will require more evidence.¹⁹ The Old Assyrian merchant trade functioned on a market basis in which supply and demand were the major factors in determining prices of goods moving through an inter-regional network. Silver was the standard valuta of the day, though in certain circumstances tin (for road taxes on the way to Anatolia) and copper (for road taxes in Anatolia) were used as bases of exchange. Assyrian merchants usually expressed the value of their commodities in terms of silver. Their correspondence reflected the merchants’ sensitivity to price. One merchant says that tin was too expensive (14:1 tin to silver) and deferred the purchase until the rate improved (15:1 or 16:1). Likewise, some merchants stockpiled goods in Anatolia, waiting to sell until a supply problem drove prices up. This ability to sell tin in Anatolia profitably was encouraged by cheap silver in Anatolia. A shekel of silver could buy 14 to 15 shekels of tin in Assur, while a silver shekel could only buy between 6 and 8 shekels of tin in Anatolia. The prices for woolen textiles varied more between Assur and Anatolia. The kutānum textile normally cost 4 or 5 shekels of silver in Assur and was sold in Anatolia for a wide range of prices, between 11 and 40 shekels, depending on the urgency to liquidate, access to trustworthy retailers, and the quality of product. The favorable rate of exchange for silver, cheaper in Anatolia due to its great supply, was perhaps the single greatest force fueling the trade between Assur and the cities of the Anatolian plain. Differences in supply between markets within Anatolia afforded further opportunities for Assyrian merchants to maximize their gain. In Kanesh they exchanged their tin and textiles for wool, trucked the wool further north to the copper mine region, and transported copper west to Purušḫattum to exchange for silver. Gold was also acquired in Anatolia, but an Assyrian law prohibited the sale of gold to non-Assyrians and gold acquired in Anatolia was usually converted to silver in Assur.²⁰

 For a fuller discussion of metals traded, see Michel 1991a; Sturm 1995; Dercksen 1996; 2005a; Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 84– 89; Veenhof 2013b.  Veenhof 1999b: 55 – 56; Michel 2015. On Anatolian geography see Ramsay 1980; Veenhof 2006; Forlanini 2010; Barjamovic 2010, and the extensive bibliography in Barjamovic 2011.

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Purchasing merchandise to take to Anatolia required initial capital. Those who had capital to spare could lend it out to other merchants at profitable rates. The state exercised some regulation of these prices, declaring a standard default interest rate on loans between Assyrian merchants—1½ shekels per mina per month (2.5 % monthly, 30 % annual). Some conditions called for lower rates, such as transactions involving votive offering funds.²¹ Friends might loan on (only slightly) better conditions. When loaning to a non-Assyrian, Assyrian merchants could, and did, charge higher rates.²² When debtors delayed in paying, disgruntled creditors could in some cases go to a third party, and essentially sell the debt for cash, forcing the debtor to pay the new creditor double interest.²³ There were various types of partnerships that could combine capital and labor or capital and situational advantage, such as geographic location or social access, between two parties.²⁴ Merchants also had access to long-term financing options such as the joint-stock fund (naruqqum), an arrangement whereby a merchant combined several investors’ capital with his own small sum to create a working fund with which to do business for a specified term (ten years or more). The organizing merchant kept one third of the profits, investors divided another third in periodic installments, and the last third was re-invested into the fund. At the end of the term, investors received fourfold their original capital-shares. In similar fashion, merchants ‘paid’ service providers, such as shipping personnel, by giving them interest-free loans with which the shipper would recoup profits in the same manner as the merchant.²⁵ To further the operation of private trade, a host of institutions were necessary, both public and private. Assyrian merchants developed business procedures to facilitate shipping, representation, agency, credit, and liquidity of funds.²⁶ These included caravan procedures, partnerships, joint-capital investments, accounts at the colony office, and exchangeable debt-notes. Family in part provided a framework for partnership, cooperation, and contacts. Some merchants lived most of their lives in an Anatolian city, doing business for themselves

 Dercksen 1997; Michel 2015.  Veenhof 1988; Michel 2015.  Balkan 1974; Veenhof 1999b; Michel 2015.  Larsen 1977: 119 – 45; Michel 2015.  Larsen 1999: 181– 84; Michel 2015.  A range of processes have been treated in many places, the following form an introductory see: Larsen 1967; Larsen 1977; Rosen 1977; Kiesnast 1984; Veenhof 1991; Michel 1992a; 1992b;

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and on behalf of associates who either lived in Assur, or specialized in shipping, or frequented a different area of the plateau.²⁷ A step-by-step description of the process of the caravan transport, made possible by the contributions of many scholars, illuminates the major logistical challenge of the trade: to systematically bring the goods through a political network that stretched from the banks of the Tigris River across the Jezireh and the Euphrates, and through the Taurus Mountains to the Anatolian plateau.²⁸ In broad outlines: The bulk goods were packed on “black” donkeys (emārum ṣallāmum), and the donkey’s load determined much about its transporting. The donkey’s gear (unūtum), consisting of saddlecloths (ukāpum, masradum), packsaddle (matliḫšum), ropes (eblum), and pouches (zurzum), supported the main load. The main load was packed into two half-packs (muttatum), each consisting primarily of either tin or textiles. If tin, each half-pack contained 65 minas of tin split into three sacks (naruqqum), each portion wrapped in two textiles (normally šūrum) suited for the purpose (ṣubātum ša liwītim). Because each half-pack usually weighed just over a talent (biltum), that term came to be used for the halfpack as well; another designation was weighed packs (šuqlum). If the load was the bulkier textiles, the donkey carried between 20 and 30 textiles, most often 25 or 26, with about 5 textiles to a sack. The Assyrians thus distinguished a visibly smaller tin load (upqum) from a larger textile load (kibšum). The sacks were sealed (kanākum) at departure and were not to be opened until arrival at the intended destination. In addition to the main load of either tin or textiles, there was often a top-pack (elītum), holding additional small items, including a purse for the road expenses (gamrum).²⁹ The purse contained ‘hand tin’ (annak qātim)—loose tin for expenses incurred during travel. The expenses (gamrum) incurred on the road arose from a number of sources. Tolls (dātum) would be exacted along the road at various towns and were regulated by political agreements with Assur, including a head tax (qaqqadātum).³⁰ In addition to the tolls, there were several other  For a discussion of the Imdī-ilum family and their activities, see Ichisar 1981 and Larsen 1982.  For a recent discussion of the route between Assur and Kanesh, see Forlanini 2006: 147– 76; Veenhof 2008a. Previous useful works include Nashef 1987; 1991. A range of studies apply to beginnign to understand better the landscaep through which they traveled, based on an understanding of Khabur Ware during the period. See Oguchi 1999; 2000; 2001; 2002; Wilkinson 2002; Kolinski 2006; 2014.  On the topic of donkeys and their gear, see most recently Dercksen 2004: Appendix 3, which supplements Veenhof 1972: 1– 45 and Larsen 2015.  Commercial treaties are known between Assur and various towns which include stipulations about tolls, see Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 183 – 218; Veenhof 2013b.

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taxes to be paid, including an export tax (waṣītum), often an excise tax (nisḫatum) and shipping charges (šadduātum). Food for the transporters and fodder for the donkeys (ukultum) incurred costs as well. The donkeys used to bear the goods to Anatolia were led by transporters and each transporter had his own cargo or transport (šēpum).³¹ It was the principal job of the transporter to see that the goods got safely to their destination. Transporters were remunerated for their services in two primary ways. Some were paid wages in cash (igrum). Others were forwarded capital (be’ulātum), documented in a contract; the average amount was one-half mina of silver. The transporter would be responsible to repay the loan some time after arriving. References in some contracts suggest that the transporters were under a labor obligation until repayment of the loan.³² The long journey between Assur and Kanesh required many consecutive days of travel: comparative evidence on donkeys and anecdotal interpretation of key texts have been used to suggest that the journey took approximately six weeks.³³ However, as will be clearly shown here, Šalimaḫum’s reconstructed activities show an incrementally faster pace. When the goods arrived in Anatolia, usually Kanesh, they passed through customs. If the seller had agents there, they would participate in the customs process, checking the transporter’s packs against the bill of lading, noting any instructions with regard to its disposal. The cargo was unsealed in the presence of the parties in charge of levying customs. The palace at Kanesh levied excise duties (nisḫatum) on both tin and textiles: 2 minas tin per talent, and one textile in twenty. The palace also reserved the right to purchase ten percent of the shipment at the cash price of the textiles (išrātum).³⁴ When the custom duties had been exacted, the goods were “cleared” (zakā’um) for sale on the local market, and they were said to “come down from the palace” (ina ekallim warādum).

 Lit. “foot.” “The phrase šēp PN refers to the transporter in a general sense, ‘transported by PN,’” Larsen 1967: 176.  On be’ulātum loans, see Kienast 1989: 87– 95. Regarding vocalization of the term, see Dercksen 1999a: 87– 88.  Barjamovic 2011: 13 – 43.  It has been elsewhere held that the palace at Kanesh purchased the textiles at a discounted price set by themselves, Larsen 1967; Veenhof 1972. However, the prices cited for the purchase of textiles in the palace are only discounted in relation to prices expressed for textiles sold on credit. Because the prices for which the palace purchased textiles varies, it is more likely that the prices reported for purchases by the palace were the cash prices for the textiles, which is not otherwise reported in the caravan accounts. In this case, the prices paid for the pre-emptive purchases might form an important starting point for building crude prices histories and for evaluating the rate of discount on silver in credit purchases.

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After the goods cleared the palace, it was the responsibility of the agents to coordinate the sale and, if on credit, the collection of the silver. The aim was ultimately to convert the goods into silver, but there were several means by which this could be accomplished. The merchant in Assur often expressed his preferences for the means. The goods could be sold for cash (silver) in the market at Kanesh; they could be sold on credit for greater profit, but at some delay; or they could be taken elsewhere to be sold at a different market. For example, the merchant Imdī-ilum chose to instruct his representatives to sell his goods immediately for cash. Cash sales allowed the silver to proceed back to Assur relatively quickly. On the other hand, Šalim-aḫum more frequently expressed a preference for credit sales, which eventually would garner more silver, but at the expense of time and with the risk of default. All this activity produced an abundance of documentation, from which our primary understanding of the trade derives. Bills of lading, transport contracts, caravan accounts, notifying messages, loans, promissory contracts, bearers’ cheques, sales contracts, debt-notes, memoranda, and a whole host of letters bearing on commercial issues attest to the well developed system of transport, credit, and legal framework. Many aspects of this trade are now clear through careful studies of the overland passage of goods, the institutions of the city and colony, and the Anatolian copper trade, chronology, and credit.³⁵ The vast majority of this voluminous documentation of 23,000 texts derives from about fifty Assyrian houses. Located in a field south of the mound of Kültepe, these houses held these tablets for nearly four thousand years before they came to light again.³⁶ Šalim-aḫum may have never set foot in any of the houses in the Kanesh that have now yielded this vast documentation. But his goods passed through some of them, as did his sons. Moreover, Šalim-aḫum’s goods passed through the various processes described here, and his business depended on this system functioning in good order most of the time. An opportunity to observe him operating within this system comes as we begin to reconstruct the narrative of the year of vengeance.

 Transport contracts, caravan accounts, and notifying messages are covered by Larsen 1967: 8 – 14. All three document types described goods and costs associated with the overland transport between Assur and Anatolia. The contract was a witnessed legal document, while the caravan account and notifying message were sent ahead of a caravan by agent and owner respectively to report or instruct. For a discussion of bearer’s cheques, see Veenhof 1997. Generally for documents and structures of the trade, see Larsen 1967; Veenhof 1972; Larsen 1976; Veenhof 2003d.  For a bibliography of the Old Assyrian trade, and an accounting of the text collections in the trade, see Michel 2003 and the subsequent updates in Orientalia.

Part 1: Narrative and Time

A significant amount of the correspondence between Šalim-aḫum and Pūšu-kēn we can hold in our hands today arose within a single year, REL 82. This will be demonstrated by showing that the action expressed and referred to in these letters is continuous. The continuity of activity must fall within a primary temporal constraint of the trade: the space between when the snow-packed passes of the Taurus opened in the spring, around the beginning of April, and closed in the early winter, sometime in early December. This interval was ingrained into the strategies and decisions of every merchant involved in the trade because it so framed the transport between Assur and the Anatolian plateau. The shipping season, in fact, exhibited equal constraining force on the logic of merchants with other natural divisions of time: days, lunar phases, years. Thus several streams of Šalim-aḫum’s and Pūšu-kēn’s continuously developing activities during this season demand a new understanding of Old Assyrian commercial time. Šalim-aḫum’s overlapping shipments, sales, collections, and negotiations must have been accomplished at a tempo that is incrementally faster, but transformative in its recognition. This argument is one of drawing together particulars which, when their relationship is recognized, provide revision of some general trends. In this way, the narrative, that is, the binding together of the activities witnessed in the documents, demands that these activities are both ordered and some sense of the intervals between them is expressed. As already represented in the anecdote of “Šalim-aḫum’s revenge,” these orders and intervals are expressed in the telling of the narrative, rather than by recourse to text editions. An exhaustive deduction for every temporal relation is not always presented in the narrative here. Broadly speaking, narrative history demands an economizing principle becasue if a full chain of deductive reasoning is offered at every turn, the narrative becomes an undigestible behemoth. Moreover, narrative is never completely deduction. Thus, the present effort is burdened by the fact that no comparable, pre-existing narrative of activity from the Old Assyrian period exists, demanding much more explanation than would be the case for, say, eighteenth-century France. In this volume, the economizing strategy is favored, many more individual explanations are left to the individual editions of documents in the second volume. In this first part of the book, reconstructing Šalim-aḫum’s commercial activities focuses on an operation of Paul Ricoeur’s theory of time and narrative in reverse order. In addition to the lack of any continuing narrative in the Old Assyrian period, a continuous timeline populated by anything more than annual eponyms, month names, and occasionally week eponyms, is also missing. Thus, while the Old Assyrian calendar is increasingly clarified, a sense of Old Assyrian commercial time, the scale of time in which commercial activities were ac-

complished, has not yet been clarified to a sufficient degree. It becomes clear that such Old Assyrian time can only be revealed from these documents by recourse to arranging as many commercial activities in chronological order according to a judgement of causality. Most historians enjoy an uncomplicated chronology of material time, and so bridge the divide between phenomenological time and material time by recourse to a natural interweaving between two distinct but present forms of time. But in the Old Assyrian trade, we have not yet had a sense of material time at the level of commercial activity. In our case we must cross over the the aporetic divide from phenomenological time to material time on the bridge of narrative. This chronological and causal ordering, this narrative reconstruction, constitutes a substantive move toward recovering Old Assyrian commercial time. Previous attempts to understand time have been limited to the attempt to uncover the markers of time themselves, such as the calendar, the annual eponym sequence, and other calendric sequences. However, such attempts try to recover time from outside its own flow. While the first chapter of this part works to substantiate the absolute chronology used here (Chapter 2), most chapters in this part work to uncover time by understanding the events that inextricably played out within that flow of time. Old Assyrian commercial time existed at the level of commercial activity, and, generally speaking, operated on the level of days, weeks and months rather than years. The developments which allow us to bind together Šalim-aḫum’s letters with Pūšu-kēn will be described through the chapters of this part of the book. The first description will revolve around Ilabrat-bāni’s arrival in Kanesh, and the reasons for dating it to April 10th, which led to the statement that Šalim-aḫum learned of the problems on April 25th (Chapter 3). From that time forward, Šalim-aḫum’s letters were also concerned with the development of a separate caravan that arrived around the same time. Following the development of Šalim-aḫum’s sales and collections from the second caravan lays out a scale of time that shows these events all developed within the course of the shipping season of REL 82 (Chapter 4). Thereafter, it will be possible to connect a number of other developments which Šalim-aḫum simultaneously discussed with Pūšu-kēn, connections which both enrich the chronology of the year and corroborate the scale of time laid out by that second caravan. Ilabrat-bāni’s initial offense and later offer to buy goods from Šalim-aḫum was mentioned in letters relating to the collection of some of the claims on Šalim-aḫum’s second caravan (Chapter 5). And Šalim-aḫum also was seeking gold for a votive fund he managed. When Ilabrat-bāni offered to purchase goods from Šalim-aḫum, Šalim-aḫum sought a combined solution to both his problems (Chapter 6). Šalim-aḫum’s son Dān-Aššur brought the goods that Ilabrat-bāni bought, and tracking Dān-Aššur’s movements during the year fur-

ther corroborate the continuity of Šalim-aḫum’s struggles with the votive fund and the collection of the second caravan with the raiding party on Ilabratbāni’s goods (Chapter 7). Finally, a review of the raiding party itself and its fallout thereafter show that concurrent activities saw both Pūšu-kēn and Šalimaḫum planning for the end of the season (Chapter 8). The narrative put forward here will undoubtedly be improved and refined as more attention is paid to the historical dimension of the Old Assyrian documents. But the basic premise, that the activity discussed here transpired within the course of a single year, is sound. This is important, as abstract arguments against the rates of travel set forth in Part 2 are not grounds to critique this more primary claim, at least so long as the Old Assyrian evidence offers no abstract corroborations. Only a particular argument, another narrative, in which the continuity of activity can be explained away in its particulars, has the force to destabilize this main narrative. But the reader must make two accommodations in Part 1. First, the precision of these temporal markers exceeds anything yet considered within an anecdotal frame. But these descriptions are taken on from the beginning, though their appropriateness will be demonstrated over the course of this part of the book. One element is incorporated directly into the narrative in Part 1 because of its utility in the telling of the narrative, and because in this instance, it is so integral to the time which is realized during this year, that it cannot be postponed without making the narrative overly convoluted. This element is the most prominent temporal anchor for the anecdote ‘Šalim-aḫum’s revenge’ in the introduction, claiming that Ilabrat-bāni arrived in Kanesh in the second week of April. Šalim-aḫum received the report of that arrival, which prompted his first angry letter around 25th of April. This particular temporal anchor arises from an attempt to deduce a precise date for the months during the year of vengeance, here asserted to be 1891 BC. This argument is explicated in Chapter 3. The utility of this argument is to provide some reasonable beginning to the year. Our understanding of the particulars of the Old Assyrian calendar are still in motion, and some aspects of this explanation are more likely to be revised than the core argument of the book. But using this date allows the telling of the narrative to proceed with reference to the more familiar Julian calendar system. Second, the narrative incorporates from the beginning three points that will become clear by the end of Part 1, but will not be reviewed at length until the second part of the book. One of these points is of interest to the continuity of Šalim-aḫum’s activities, particularly the activities related to his son Dān-Aššur and his activities and travels through the summer of the year of vengeance, during which an instance of the caravan hiatus (nabrītum) occurred. His activities are treated in Chapter 7, when sufficient context has become apparent to make

those arguments meaningful. The word nabrītum has been interpreted in the past as being winter, but the narrative militates against that reading. Thus in Part 2 a direct discussion of the hiatus arises as a result of demonstrating the continuity of the narrative. Likewise, the tempo of activity that is embraced from the beginning is necessary to the narrative by virtue of ordering the developments reviewed in this first part of the book. The tempo of transport and communication are both apparently incrementally quicker than previously supposed. And in the reconstruction in this first part of the book, these tempos, that one could ship goods between Assur and Kanesh in a month, and send a letter in half that time, are incorporated directly into the narrative. Previous descriptions of these tempos have been based on abstract or comparative evidence, and fail in the face of the narrative of Šalim-aḫum’s commercial activities. But a direct discussion of each tempo in turn will not be taken up until the second part of the book. Because it is necessary to recover Old Assyrian commercial time by recourse to this narrative reconstruction, several chapters also highlight points where the narrative reconstruction corrects distortions difficult to recognize in an anecdotal paradigm. For example, when discussing Šalim-aḫum’s ongoing commercial processes, it becomes clear that Šalim-aḫum could describe identical arrangements or assets in different ways. When discussing Šalim-aḫum’s attempt to procure gold for his votive fund, the high concentration of evidence on managing votive funds that relates specifically to Šalim-aḫum’s situation becomes apparent. As a result, a work like this must proceed with sensitivity to these different conditions. Particularly in Part 1, it will be necessary to pause the narrative to articulate the constraints of interpretation brought on not only by narrow philological principles, but also by the increasing context for translating the documents, which context sometimes overrides what solution more narrow philological principles would suggest. In tandem with these types of pauses, there will be moments where the reasoning for the timing of the action, or the relation of the two documents, will need to be made clear, as these relationships have previously been missed. Despite the availability of these documents for some time, they have been left unexamined primarily because the kinds of operations performed here have not been engaged in favor of more immediate goals of lexicography and anecdotal frames. Effectively, it will be shown that once a connection between two documents is clear, the two documents cannot be read—or translated—without reference to the most consistent, reasonable understanding of the developing circumstances from which they came.

Chapter 3 Ilabrat-bāni’s Arrival It was claimed in the introduction that Šalim-aḫum got angry in response to the letter revealing to him that Ilabrat-bāni had made his way out of Kanesh without penalty after his recent behavior, on or around the 25th of April, 1891 BC. This claim arises from the commercial transaction dates in the letter Šalim-aḫum received from his representatives that also included the short sequence of twenty characters: “Ilabrat-bāni took 6⅓ minas tin. He is not here.”¹ Much of the letter’s 71 thin lines were concerned with the sale of Šalim-aḫum’s goods after they were cleared through customs. Šalim-aḫum’s representatives sold two lots of goods to two different merchants on credit, and communicated in their report to Šalimaḫum the temporal terms on which the goods would be paid for: “Their (the two buyers) credit terms begin at the month ša kēnātim (third month in the Old Assyrian calendar), year of Šudāya s. Ennānum.”² The two buyers were required to pay for the goods within 50 weeks from this stated date. Ilī-išranni, who seemed to be in charge of the caravan shipment, also purchased some goods. He also did not pay for the goods upon receipt, but was bound to pay within a certain period. However, his due date was expressed directly: “The month kuzalli (eleventh month), eponym year of Šudāya s. Ennānum. He will add 1½ shekels per mina per month.”³ The interpretation of these two dates, the only specific, calendrically-anchored dates that arise in documentation from the year of vengeance, occupies this chapter. (There are other indications that these events fall in this year, but they will not be encountered until Part 3.) And this interpretation arises from the extension of a number of recent developments in Old Assyrian studies. Two decades ago, a claim like the 25th of April, 1891 BC would have been unreasonable to make for several reasons. First, despite several concentrated attempts,⁴ the annual chronology was uncertain. Because years were eponymously named after officials, specifically the limmum official, the year names offered no observable logic for their ordering. This problem was solved with the discovery of

 1-BIN 4: 61 obv. 17– 19.  u4-mu-šu-nu iti.kam ša ke-na-tim li-mu-um šu-da-a dumu en-na-nim (1-BIN 4: 61 rev. 40 – 42).  iti.1.kam ku-zal-li li-mu-um šu-da-a dumu e-na-nim 1½ gín.ta i-na iti.1.kam a-na 1 ma-na-im ú-ṣa-áb (1-BIN 4: 61 le.e. 64– 69).  See Balkan 1955; Larsen 1974; 1976. Note also that Kryszat 2004b was preceded by a significant effort by that author prior to the identification of the first eponym list. DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-003

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several eponym lists.⁵ As a result of this discovery, the annual chronology of the Old Assyrian documents now plays a major role in the quest to fix an absolute chronology for Mesopotamia in the early second millennium BC, which, combined with re-evaluations of the Old Babylonian chronological sources, validate thus far the Middle Chronology.⁶ These advances now make it possible to propose a correlation between the Old Assyrian calendar and the Julian calendar⁷ through models of planetary movement.⁸ The convergence of several of these advances allows us to read the dates in the caravan report with recourse to several different constraints: astronomical, climatic, documentary. The overlap of these constraints produce a conundrum. But this conundrum can be solved by recognizing the limits of interpreting the surface language of the passages in the caravan report Šalim-aḫum received. There are corresponding limits to the chronological aspects of the interpretation. The propositional date of the 25th of April, 1891 is just that, a proposition. There are still too many factors in play in relation to the absolute chronology of the early second millennium to state that this will be the final date. However, the logic that produces this date offers two short term advantages. First, it allows us to make a propositional alignment of the Old Assyrian calendar during the year of vengeance. This alignment allows us to describe the development of the activities in the year of vengeance in terms of our own calendar. This is important precisely because here in Part 1, the narrative reconstruction of the year of vengeance, which finished before the snows of the Taurus came again, allows us to recover a sense of Old Assyrian commercial time not otherwise available until now. In order to do so, we must be able to judge the tempo of commercial activity in terms of a regime of time that is most natural to us. Because there are so few dates in the year of vengeance documentation, it is just as well that we render the development of activities in reference to our own calendar. Only in being able to narrate with a sensitivity to time as natural as the merchants’ concerns about their own activities can we appreciate the basic tempos of Old Assyrian  Veenhof 2003; Günbatti 2008.  See Barjamovic, Hertel, and Larsen 2012. See also, for comparison with dendrochronology material from the site of Kültepe, Höflmayer et al. 2016, and Manning et al. 2016. Old Assyrian chronology has had an impact broadly, see Sallaberger and Schrakamp 2015. Moreover a resurgence of confidence in the evidence offered by the Venus tablets has buoyed views of the Middle Chronology generally between 2002 and 2013: Colbow 2000; Warburton 2000; Gurzadyan 2003; Roaf 2013; Nahm 2013; Bloch 2014; Lacambre and Nahm 2015.  Stratford 2015a.  de Jong 2017. I thank Prof de Jong for sharing his results with me. His study concludes for the Lower Middle Chronology based on alignment with observation of Sirius rising. My conclusions differ with his, and the issue of Siruis rising will have to be dealt with in another place.

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commercial time, and this means expressing their activities according to our calendar. This correlation offers a second advantage. The year of vengeance offers a rich enough example of activity that different models of absolute chronology can be tested against their capacity to account for Šalim-aḫum’s, Pūšu-kēn’s, and Ilabrat-bāni’s activities. New evidence from Old Assyrian material, connected to dendrochronology and C14 analysis, combined with interpretation of solar eclipse material, suggests that the Middle Chronology has finally found some independent confirmation. Moreover, renewed confidence in the utility of the Venus observations have resulted in more attention on the two variations of the Middle Chronology, upper and lower. The combination of previous Old Assyrian evidence cited in favor of the Middle Chronology, identification of better solar eclipse candidates, and now the narrative reconstruction of the year of vengeance suggests that the Upper Middle Chronology is the best fit for the Old Assyrian evidence. According to the alignment of the Assyrian and Julian calendars followed here, the Lower Middle Chronology would demand that Ilabrat-bāni and company crossed the Taurus Mountains sometime in the first week of March or even earlier, which seems too early for the passes to have opened. By contrast, the Upper Middle Chronology fits better with the Old Assyrian evidence, and has Ilabrat-bāni arriving a few weeks later when it was more reasonable for the passes to have been open. Thus the reconstruction of the year of vengeance must be connected to the ongoing effort to refine our understanding of the Old Assyrian calendar, and even to the ongoing effort to secure the absolute chronology of the early second millennium BC. But even if that process causes a revision to our equivalence between REL 82 and 1891, the correlation offered here still provides an approximation of the seasonal development of the year of vengeance with sufficient verisimilitude to satisfy our needs in relation to the examination of Old Assyrian commercial time. And if further evidence on the Old Assyrian calendar or the absolute chronology provides some revision to the semi-precise anchor of the 25th of April, 1891, such revisions will be more easily related to the year of vengeance in the future. The argument will be laid out first by reviewing the relevant components of the Old Assyrian calendar and its correlation, and then by considering the feasibility of Ilabrat-bāni’s travel to Kanesh in the spring in relation to the documents, the different chronologies, and our understanding of winter in the Taurus Mountains.

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Though the Assyrian forms of dating were not the same as those practiced in contemporary southern Babylonia,⁹ the Assyrians counted time and counted it well. In the modern era, Western societies use years, months, and weeks to add up days into coherent units. So did the Assyrians, though they did it differently in two ways: It has already been mentioned that they named their years after a government official rather than explicitly numbering them according either a king’s reign or an era. In addition, unlike the modern world, where the movements of the celestial objects have been replaced with a standardized and reformed calendar, the Assyrians still relied on celestial observation to attune their month and years to the seasons, practicing during Šalim-aḫum’s lifetime a lunisolar calendar.¹⁰ Second, their weeks (ḫamuštum) were named after officials, and, given that we have no long master list, we only know into which individual months or years they fell when merchants chose to express them in tandem with these larger units in their documents. In the Assyrian calendar, each year was named after a limmum official. And if practices from the Neo-Assyrian period are evidence of a continuing relic, the official whose name was chosen for the year was likely chosen by lot during the festivities around the new year.¹¹ That limmum official had some special relationship to the administration for that year, likely including management over the taxes and duties levied on imports and exports.¹² While the full workings of this system are not completely known, it is evident that there were more limmum officials than the one whose name was chosen for the year.¹³ There was more than one limmum official in power at any point in time, and these men exercised some kind of authority both before and after the year named for them. Studies of the eponym list now known suggest that these officials were drawn from an elite group of families in Assur, and the continuation of this practice all the way into the Neo-Assyrian period suggests that it was paired with an important organiza-

 Southern Mesopotamian kings named their years, in accordance with older tradition, according to events that occurred in the year previous. This, and the more administrative and royal nature of the southern Mesopotamian records, has provided for at least a partial reconstruction of years in different reigns for some time already. See among others, Charpin 2004. Also, southern Mesopotamian documents often recoded the relevant day of the month, whereas Old Assyrian documents more usually referred simply to a named week, almost never to a numbered day.  Ongoing debate characterizes the possibility as to whether the Assyrians practiced a lunisolar calendar or a lunar calendar in the Late Bronze Age. See Freydank 1991; Bloch 2012; CancikKirschbaum and Johnson 2011.  At least this seems to be the method used later during the Neo-Assyrian period, as covered in Dercksen 2011a.  Dercksen 2004.  Larsen 1976.

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tion of power in the community. This system was probably started by Erišum, as the list of eponyms is only known from the first year of his reign.¹⁴ Thus the year of vengeance occurred during the eponymy of Šudāya s. Ennānum, as mentioned in the report to Šalim-aḫum. The fullest reconstruction of this sequence of years, reconstructed from several overlapping witnesses, now continues nearly unbroken for more than 200 years. The current standard version is referred to as the Revised Eponym List, and its abbreviation will provide a convenient notation when necessary in the work. According to the Revised Eponym List, this was the 82nd year of the sequence started at the beginning of Erišum’s reign, and will occasionally be referred to as REL 82. The Assyrian calendar included twelve regular lunar months, and when necessary, about every third year, a thirteenth month to realign the calendar to the seasons and stars. Some of the regular months were named after seasonal activities and others after cultic activities. The two months mentioned in Šalimaḫum’s report reflect this. The month ša kēnātim was rendered in full narmak Assur ša kēnātim, ‘the washing of Aššur for(?) truth,’ and was the third month of the calendar. The month kuzalli (meaning unknown) was the eleventh month. The intercalary month, at least up until REL 85, was named zibaba/ urum. ¹⁵ This name may have continued, but thereafter, Assyrians in Anatolia still practiced intercalation by inserting a second twelfth month (allanātum, ‘hazelnuts,’ thought to be linked to the hazelnut harvest),¹⁶ but in the beginning of the new year. Because the Assyrian merchants in Anatolia did not yet know the name of the new year, they referred to the new year by appeal to a successor eponym formula.¹⁷ This made it clear that the month they were referring to was the second instantiation of allanātum, this time serving as an intercalary month. The reason the merchants in Anatolia did not yet know the name of the new year is due to the timing of the new year and the special circumstances that arose as a result. The Assyrian new year occurred during the winter.¹⁸ Each winter the Taurus Mountain passes closed, shutting off all communication with the home city of

 For a full review of the eponym sequence, see Veenhof 2003c and Barjamovic, Hertel, and Larsen 2012. Note also Dercksen 2008b.  All three attestations come from texts published before the last fifteen years or so. Despite the addition of thousands more texts, the name has not shown up a fourth time.  Sturm 2008.  Attested in: Kt k/k 65, BIN 4: 207, Prag I: 591. See Stratford 2015a.  See already Veenhof 2000; Dercksen 2011a. The present argument should not be construed to posit that a new year in autumn be dismissed out of hand. Uncertainty about the Lydian calen-

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Assur, and until the passes re-opened, Assyrians remaining in Anatolia had to take special measures to reckon time against the Assyrian calendar. Their recorded dates indicated that while they did not know the name of the new year, they knew to intercalate. As a result, the decision to intercalate must have been made before the passes closed, in time to communicate to Anatolia. By contrast, the limmum official after whom the new year would be named was chosen during the winter, certainly at the New Year festival. In this circumstance, the Assyrians in Anatolia referred to the new year for the first few months as the year ‘after’ the year of (the name of the limmum official from the previous year), which is now referred to as a successor eponym formula or simply a successor eponym. (An example is provided below.) Thus it is common to see dates from the first few months of the Assyrian calendar, often through the third month and sometimes into the fourth, marked with a successor eponym. The practice of using successor eponyms applies to the report that was sent to Šalim-aḫum which included the note on Ilabrat-bāni. And it brings a first indication of the conundrum that must be resolved. The dates cited in the report to Šalim-aḫum did not employ the successor eponym formula. This means that though Šalim-aḫum’s representatives wrote their report in the third month of the calendar, they had been in Assur for the winter, so they brought the name of the new year to Anatolia. As a result, they expressed the year with a normal eponym formula: the eponym of Šudāya s. Ennānum. Our interpretation is that they referred to the beginning of the third month in their documents. Yet we have a document from this same third month in the year of Šudāya s. Ennānum, in which two Assyrian merchants expressed the beginning of their partnership in terms of a successor eponym: “month narmak ša kēnātim (month iii), the year after the year of Iddin-Aššur son of Kūb-idī.”¹⁹ This would indicate that they did not know the new eponym. Perhaps they did so in a remote part of the Anatolian plateau, which had not yet gotten the message. However, we will see that a different explanation will solve this dilemma. In addition to years and months, the Assyrians had their own form of week, the ḫamuštum, which seems to have been primarily practiced in Anatolia. The ḫamuštum is roughly parallel with our modern use of the week, in that it was a period of time longer than a day that subdivided a month. No native description in the Old Assyrian sources disclose its length, so there has been some argument about how long it actually was. However, a number of compelling attribdar forces us to consider the possibility that their new year started in autumn during the early Hellenistic period, Boiy 2007: 95.  iti.1.kam na-ar-ma-ak-a-šur ša ke-na-tim li-mu-um ša i-qá-tí i-dí-a-šùr il5-qé-ú (Kt 87/k 457 rev. 13 – 18, courtesy S. Bayram).

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utes argue that it was seven days in length.²⁰ Another possibility is that the frequent reference to “5 or 10 days” was structured around the length of the ḫamuštum. However, this reasoning is weakened by the propensity to also use tens and fives in rounding for other things, like amounts of silver, etc. The etymology of ḫamuštum begs some relation to five or fifty, which has had some relation to arguments about its length.²¹ However, the etymology most likely relates to the fifty ḫamuštum officials in the rotation of each year period through REL 97.²² Instead, the seven-day length, a length derived from lunar phases, is supported by several independent factors. Credit term lengths of 4 and 13 ḫamuštum weeks are common, which seem to correlate to one and three months respectively.²³ Second, no mention of a credit term of more than 50 ḫamuštum weeks is known, which at seven days would correspond to just under a year. (Longer terms, of course, could theoretically have been contracted.) Because the ḫamuštum periods were, like years, named after officials, and not numbered or sequenced, the only way to solve their order is to have a list of them. Thus far, only one such list, probably from a few years before the year of vengeance, has been identified.²⁴ Meanwhile, the only way to fix a ḫamuštum week in the calendar is when it is mentioned in reference to a specific month and year. As a result, the ḫamuštum weeks as points in time are not yet terribly useful for absolute chronology. Their primary utility is in comparing the lengths of credit terms expressed in weeks. As a result, ḫamuštum weeks don’t play a large role in reconstructing the year of vengeance. Years, months, and ḫamuštum weeks constitute the units of time used to express most commercial transactions between Assyrian merchants.²⁵ However, the specific combination of their use in relation to the arrival of Ilabrat-bāni presents an interpretive conundrum. Šalim-aḫum’s representatives used particular years and months to express the chronological anchors for the debts conveyed in

 Veenhof 1996; Michel 2010. Five, ten, and, much earlier on, fifty days have also been proposed. A few occurrences seems to suggest that the word could refer to a period of time that was longer than a month, but are unusual. See Dercksen 2011b.  Balkan 1965; Brinkman 1965. Note also H. Lewy and J. Lewy 1943; and J. Lewy 1957.  This is most clearly observed by an interpretation of the list of ḫamuštum eponyms in Kt g/k 118, which seems to represent one year. However, note that Dercksen (2011b) allows for the fact that the tablet could be reconstructed to include more than 60 weeks in the year, leaving the possibility of a 6 day ḫamuštum.  Veenhof 1996.  Kt g/k 118.  In correlation, a few credit transaction were expressed in days, or the middle of the month was used to mark time. Some debts, particularly those with Anatolians revolving around agriculture, were dated according to Anatolian festivals.

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their report, and they used ḫamuštum weeks to express the length of some of the terms. The representatives reported that the credit terms for two of the debts commenced with the third month (ša kēnātim), and by expressing no more specific timing than the month, this must mean, as will be shown, they meant the beginning of the third month. It is traditionally held that the date stated on a debt note as the beginning of the interest terms represented the time of the main transaction. That is, dates of debt notes have been interpreted as uncomplicated statements sufficiently communicated by the surface language of the references. But Šalim-aḫum’s goods could not have been sold in Anatolia at the beginning of the third month during this year, because those goods could not have arrived in Anatolia by that point in time. Attention to correlating the Assyrian lunisolar calendar in this period to a Julian solar calendar, combined with our understanding of the climate data related to the Taurus passes, prohibits their arrival at the beginning of the third Assyrian month. In fact, further correlating the Assyrian calendar to the Julian shows that only one of the two middle chronologies is compatible with the various interlocking lines of evidence, including a more contextualized reading of the way merchants configured their commercial credit sales. But there is also an added benefit to grappling with this problem. Correlating the Old Assyrian calendar to the Julian during the year of vengeance makes Old Assyrian commercial time more perceptible to our modern sensitivities. To resolve this conundrum, a consideration of the climate must be folded into the narration of Ilabrat-bāni’s arrival. The winter snows in the Taurus Mountains could delay travel, or even completely prevent it. Merchants were forced to wait to accumulate capital because of the arrival of winter.²⁶ And it was not unusual to take measures before the cold season.²⁷ However, there are some indications that merchants did try to travel during the winter, or at least there were ways to push one’s luck as the snows began to fall. After asking them to send him a mina of silver, one merchant told his representatives that he was

 OAA 1: 50.  See OAA 1: 118, where arrangements in regards to matters on the Anatolian plateau needed to be made before the cold. In another document, it was inappropriate for donkeys to travel because the conditions were too cold; the text mentions Waḫšušana, suggesting that the locus of the activity was not in the Taurus mountains (Kt 94/k 375, courtesy G. Barjamovic). See also Veenhof 2008b.

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making an expensive winter journey.²⁸ Likely, the merchant was leaving Anatolia in early December and preparing for the worst. Another merchant, finding his caravan slowing on the eastern side, sent a message ahead to Kanesh requesting his silver, but also reporting that some donkeys were continuing to push west.²⁹ This second situation will be expanded later in relation to the hiatus of the trade in relation to winter. Though the solution reached here may not be the last word on absolute chronology, the anchor is sufficient to gauge the flow of time within the year of vengeance for the remainder of this study. In the present argument, this means the year of vengeance took place in 1891 BC, and that the credit terms set out in the sale of goods in Ilabrat-bāni’s caravan were set to be reckoned from a date before the sales actually happened. Modern roads did not come to the Taurus Mountains until the Turkish Republic, and before those roads, the high passes around Gölbaşi and Elbistan through the Taurus Mountains were closed from the first week of December to the first week of April each year. It seems likely the Assyrian merchants operated with the same restrictions. Paleobotanical studies suggest that the climate during the Assyrian trans-Taurus trade was very similar to the 20th century, though some evidence suggests it is also possible that the Taurus passes may have opened slightly earlier in the spring. From roughly 2000 BC on, the Euphrates river was gradually shrinking, suggesting the snowpack feeding the Euphrates was also shrinking.³⁰ However, a broader set of evidence suggests that these in-

 “Do you not know that I am making a winter journey, and that I will thus have to spend about ten shekels of silver?” lá tí-de8-a ki-ma ḫa-ra-an ku-ṣí-im a-lu-ku kù.babbar 10 gín utra-am a-ga-mu-ru (BIN 4: 97 rev. 18 – 22).  “To Innaya, from Šamaš-ṭāb: On the day that Ikuppiya arrives he must not stay a single day, dispatch him to Waḫšušana. With regard to my textiles which are there, my dear father and lord, as much silver as my textiles sell for, seal and send the silver to me. Winter overtook us. The caravan is stalled. Your consignment and your donkeys are well. Here, the donkeys will part off one or two at a time from Ḫaḫḫum to Timelkiya. When(?) you write, let your message come as to whatever was sent and … , and so inform me. … tin …” [a-na i-na]-a qí-bi-ma [um-ma d]utu.dùg-ma [i-na] dutu-ši ša i-ku-pí?-a [e]-ra-ba-ni u4-ma-kál lá i-bi-a-at a-na wa-aḫ-šu-ša-na ṭù-rusú a-dí túg.hi-tí-a ša a-ma-kam i-ba-ší-ú-ni a-bi a-ta bé-li a-ta túg.hi-tí a-na kù.babbar [ma]˘ ˘ lá i-«ni»-du-nu-ni kù.babbar ku-nu-ku-ma [šé]-bi-lam ku-ṣú-um i-sí-ni-iq-ni-a-tí-ma e-lu-tum iib-té-re té-er-ta-kà ú e-ma-ru-kà šál-mu a-na-kam iš-tù [ḫa]-ḫi-im a-na tí-me-el-ki-[a] [1-iš]-té-na ú 2-ša-na [e]-ma-ru uš-ta-lu-ḫu [ki?-ma? ta]-áš-pu-ra-ni [mì?-ma? šé]-bu-lam […] té-er-ta- [lili-kam]-ma [uz-ni] pí-té […] [x x] x an.na […] (BIN 6: 114 obv. 1-rev. 27).  For an account of conditions in the nineteenth century, see British Admiralty 1919: 82. These same conditions for the early twentieth century, before the advent of modern roads, have been corroborated by interviews of contemporary local inhabitants reported by Barjamovic (2011). For consideration of the calendric schedule in relation to the condition of the Taurus snowpack during wintertime and spring as evidenced by paleobotanical evidence, see Stratford 2015a. For

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dicators should not give us the liberty to expect Assyrian merchants crossing the Taurus Mountains in March.³¹ It thus flies in the face of our evidence to narrate Ilabrat-bāni and the first caravans pushing through the Taurus passes before the first of April in REL 82. And if so, they could not have arrived before 10 April. It took about ten days to reach Kanesh from the west side of the Taurus. Correlations between the Old Assyrian calendar and the Julian calendar propose that in REL 82 the third Assyrian month (ša kēnātim) took place 22 March – 21 April.³² If this correlation holds, there is no way that Šalim-aḫum’s representatives could have actually sold his goods on the first day of the third month, though this is the way they communicated the beginning of the credit terms. In fact, if their trip was at all delayed, they may have arrived closer to the end of the third month. If this were the case, it would be increasingly puzzling that they would have dated the credit terms to the beginning of the third Assyrian month rather than the fourth. Yet the report Šalim-aḫum received indicated that his buyers had begun their credit period “at the month ša kēnātim, year of Šudāya son of Ennānum.” The principle at this point is clear, but the correlation cited above must be improved. That correlation, placing the third Assyrian month as 22 March – 21 April, was based on abstract modeling of the Assyrian calendar. And while its basic utility remains, it is necessary to validate it against rigorous reconstruction of astronomical movements, specifically new moons. This demands involvement in absolute chronology. Advances in annual chronology of the Old Assyrian period have rendered it one of the most important artifacts for attempting to determine the absolute chronology of the early second millennium. The primary paradigm for the absolute chronology has revolved around the Middle Chronology based on a resurgent confidence in the utility of the Venus tablets of Ammiṣaduqa. These texts, which record the first observations of Venus over a space of some decades, are witnessed from tablets that come from late in the second millennium. But statistical analysis of their correlation to Venus’ reconstructed movements suggest that they reasonably reflect observations made during Ammiṣaduqa’s reign, roughly a century after Ḫammurabi’s death.³³ The recent

treatments of the relevant archaeobotanical evidence, see Wick, Lemke, and Sturm 2003; Riehl and Bryson 2007; Kuzucuoğlu 2007; Reihl 2008.  Earlier evidence was summarized in Weiss et al. 1993. See also Dalfes et al. 1997. The evidence generally supports statements about climate, regardless of argued causes of societal collapse.  Stratford 2015a.  Huber 2006; in press.

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work at Kültepe, drawing both on dendrochronology and related C14 dating, confirms the so-called Middle Chronology interpretation of the Venus tablets, that places Šamši-Adad’s death at 1776 and Ḫammurabi’s at 1750 BC.³⁴ However, the Middle Chronology, dependent on the interpretation of the movements of Venus, has two alternatives. The cycles of Venus’ movements are such that the same observation can be applied in eight-year pairs. Thus, the Middle Chronology actually has two variants. The variant that places Ḫammurabi’s death at 1750 BC is the Upper Middle Chronology (UMC), while the Lower Middle Chronology (LMC) would move all dates 8 years later. A correlation of the Old Assyrian calendar based on astronomical cues strongly suggests the Upper Middle Chronology, which correlates well with the C14 calibrated dendrochronology evidence from Kültepe.³⁵ The Old Assyrian annual chronology at present extends for a nearly unbroken sequence of more than 250 years. The number of years between the year of vengeance (REL 82) and Šamši-Adad’s birth (REL 126) is a secure 44 years. And it is possible to correlate Assyrian annual chronology with the reign of Hammurabi through the Mari documentation. But there is a small, key break in the eponym sequence (REL 178 – 192) between Šamši-Adad’s birth and Ḫammurabi’s death. At this point, the principle witness for the sequence during this period (KEL G) is broken at the bottom edge. The editor of that tablet proposed that there were at least nine years missing, drawn from a segment of the complementary Mari Eponym Chronicle. The authors of REL suggests that there were five more years in the break.³⁶ Because of various proposals for how many years are missing in the break, arguments for both UMC and LMC have been made based on the eponym sequence.³⁷ Calibrated dendrochronology favors the UMC.³⁸ An estimate of the arrival of the caravans in REL 82 corroborates that position when compared with eclipse data. Šamši-Adad’s birth (REL 126) was marked by the Assyrians in relation to a solar eclipse in the following year (REL 127).³⁹ Within the Middle Chro-

 See most recently Manning et al. 2016. Preceded by Manning et al. 2001; 2006; 2010.  Barjamovic, Hertel, and Larsen 2012; Manning et al. 2010; 2016.  Barjamovic, Hertel, and Larsen 2012: 13 – 26.  See most recently, Charpin 2013, Nahm 2015. It was a point of discussion at a colloquium in 2015 entitled, Nouvelles perspectives sur la chronologie de la première moitié du IIe millénaire av. J.-C. au Proche-Orient et en égypte – New Perspectives on the Chronology of the Early Second Millenium BC in the Near East and Egypt.  Manning et al. 2016.  Barjamovic, Hertel, and Larsen 2012: 32– 33; Michel and Rocher 1997.

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nology tradition,⁴⁰ there exist three possible eclipses to fix the birth of ŠamšīAdad (REL 126).⁴¹ The break in the eponym sequence is too short to allow the total eclipse on 24 June 1833 BC,⁴² leaving a 94 % eclipse on 24 March 1838 BC and an 80 % eclipse on 5 August 1845.⁴³ If one concedes that REL must require the insertion of one more missing year, then the 1838 eclipse would line up with the Lower Middle Chronology. The eclipse in 1845 correlates with the Upper Middle Chronology as the REL currently stands. It might seem, on abstract grounds, that the 94 % eclipse is more favorable than an 80 % eclipse because the one is more ‘impressive’ than the other. On the one hand, regardless of how impressive any of them were, it would have been the one closely associated with Šamši-Adad’s birth that would have been the one used—even if a more impressive one was available at some other time. But a measurement of how impressive they were has to do with a precise prediction of the time of day that the eclipse happened. Based on deJong’s calculations, both the 94 % eclipse in 1838 and the 80 % eclipse in 1845 occurred at points when the sun was near the horizon, meaning both were more noticeable than if they occurred at high noon. The eclipse of 1838 occurred in the morning, while the 1845 eclipse occurred at sunset. Moreover, partial eclipses last longer than full eclipses, and the 80 % eclipse in August at sunset, at the end of the day in summer, when observers have been attuned to the presence of the sun and average relative humidity is near its lowest in the annual cycle, could have been on subjective grounds, more impressive than the 94 % one on a morning in March, usually the rainiest month of the year in northern Iraq in the modern period. These factors could change somewhat if the time of either eclipse is calculated to just a few hours toward the middle of the day. Later in the morning the 1838 eclipse could have had more of an effect. By contrast, if the 1845 eclipse were in the middle of the day it would have been much more difficult to notice. Thus the only good reasons to choose between the two eclipses come from factors external to the time of the eclipses themselves.⁴⁴  According to a corrected model of Stratford 2015a, with improved average length of month as 29.56 days. See de Jong 2017.  Discussed in de Jong, 2017, which improves on Michel and Rocher 1997.  Originally recognized as a good candidate, before the working out of later parts of the Assyrian annual chronology by Michel and Rocher 1997. It would require removing four years from REL, which Barjamovic (2015) and Veenhof (in press) find impossible.  de Jong 2010, 2013.  The improved model used by deJong takes advantage of a number of refinements not utilized in some online tabulations. See de Jong 2017. Any future refinement of such calculations has the potential to alter the basis of judging how impressive any of the several eclipses were to observers on the ground.

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In a new study, a calculated schedule of the appearance of new moons in northern Iraq for REL 80 – 110 is compared against the previous abstract correlation of the Assyrian and Julian calendars.⁴⁵ The two possibilities for Ilabratbāni’s arrival must thus take congnizance of these reconstructed calendar sequences, which are both earlier and later than the timing of the third month according to the previous abstract correlation. Based on the new schedule of new moons, if the 1845 eclipse (UMC) is followed, then the third Assyrian month in the year of vengeance started on 30 March. The 1838 eclipse (LMC) demands the month instead began 13 March. According to the recently improved correlation models, only the UMC option is reasonably consistent with the combination of the climate evidence and a reasonable interpretation of the documents. According to the UMC, the caravans could arrive on or around 10 April, even 15 April, at which point the third month was only in its second week or so. Selling the goods on April 14, but setting the credit terms to commence at the beginning of the third Assyrian month would have been a reasonable arrangement of the commercial contracts (see below). By contrast, according to the LMC, the caravans could have arrived on 11 April, but the fourth Assyrian month was beginning on that day. This means Šalim-aḫum’s representatives would have much more likely chosen the beginning of the fourth Assyrian month to anchor the credit terms—at least far more likely than their choice to use the beginning of the third month. Even if the passes opened unseasonably early in REL 82, the LMC presents new moons that appear too early for our sources to make sense. And appealing to unseasonably warm conditions for this one occurrence, however, does not escape the fact that the LMC new moon dates would see the spring arriving consistently too early in other years to corroborate our current understanding of the ancient climate. Between REL 80 and 110, the latest that the third Assyrian month began was 14 March (REL 109). According to the LMC, the passes would have certainly had to open up before the first week of April eight more years between REL 80 – 110. For example, in REL 97, when the fourth Assyrian month started on 3 April, we have a document suggesting that the new year’s name was known in the third month.⁴⁶ Likewise, in REL 104, a deposition in the city of Waḫšušana,⁴⁷ west of Kanesh, has the correct new year named in the third month which ended on 24 April that year. By contrast, these conflicts do not arise in the UMC correlation.

 de Jong 2017.  TPAK 1: 189, see Stratford 2015a.  CCT 1: 48, see Stratford 2015a.

Figure 1: Visual correlation between Old Assyrian calendar in REL 82 and Julian calendar in 1891 BC

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According to the UMC, the due date for the debts in Šalim-aḫum’s letter also make sense. With the credit terms starting on the 30th of March, the debts would mature in the following years (REL 83) on 8 and 22 February, and 15 March at the end of 45, 47, and 50 weeks respectively. This would mean Šalim-aḫum’s representatives could plan to collect them in time to send the silver back to Assur just as the Taurus passes opened the following spring.⁴⁸ Even with the correlation associated with the UMC, it is difficult to imagine, given our current understanding of climate, that Ilabrat-bāni and the first caravans could have arrived in Kanesh by the beginning of the third Assyrian month in REL 82. Yet the discrepancy between when the credit terms started and when the caravans arrived can be explained by an appeal to the way merchants dated their commercial transactions. The credit terms started “at the month…” and the most straightforward reading of this passage reveals that they started at the beginning of the month ša kēnātim. In a system where the precise day was hardly ever expressed, it seems logical that the beginning of credit terms could be assigned to easily tracked markers, such as the beginning or middle⁴⁹ of a month, or the beginning of a ḫamuštum-week. In fact, this practice pervaded the dating of debt notes. As for the length of debts, the credit terms associated with the sales reported in the letter to Šalim-aḫum were 45, 47, and 50 ḫamuštum-weeks respectively. The beginning point for all three debts was “at the month … .” If this communicated only “in” the month, that is, anytime in the month, then the three different credit lengths, five weeks apart at their greatest, couldn’t be differentiated. If the 50-week credit term started at the beginning of the month and the 47 at the end, then the 50-week term would have fallen due before the 47-week term. This stands directly against the way Šalim-aḫum’s representatives communicated the terms to him. And in any case, the way they wrote it suggests they copied it directly from the debt notes. The resolution of this conundrum demonstrates three points important at the beginning of this narrative reconstruction. First, dates used to construe interest periods did not necessarily correspond to the date on which those commercial agreements were formalized. Old Assyrian debt notes only made use of

 This assumes that there was no intercalation between REL 82 and REL 83—as supported by the presence of an intercalation in REL 82 already. By contrast, if the ḫamuštum were 5 or 10 days long, then the due dates would be 2 November, 14 November, and 27 November or 14 June, 4 July, and 3 August respectively. In the case of five days, these loans would have fallen due in a way that would have made it difficult to confidently expect their collected silver back in Assur before the snows, rendering them a broken sequence of expected collections. In the case of ten days, they would have been due well over a year after their sale.  Dercksen 2011c.

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months and ḫamuštum weeks to mark the beginning of credit terms between Assyrian merchants. We do not imagine that business was only transacted one day a week, and in any case, Šalim-aḫum’s year of vengeance was far too busy to accommodate such an inflexible manner of doing business. It may follow that the beginning of a month or ḫamuštum used for a credit term was simply the next point to fall after the sale—at least this would be extremely convenient for us —but this cannot have been the case with Šalim-aḫum’s report. If the beginning of the third Assyrian month (ša kēnātim) marked the beginning of the credit terms of his buyers, then the credit term started three weeks or so earlier than the sale. This suggests something that will be observed several more times in the process of excavating Old Assyrian time: the Assyrian merchants marked commercial time according to their own needs and not necessarily according to standardized practices that are unambiguous to observers not embedded into the same stream of time as the merchants. The beginning of a credit term was simply a way to begin counting to the due date. Negotiations between the two parties could arrive at a due date by a number of ways. Second, even if the caravans did not arrive before the first week of April, that they arrived in the third month underlines a characteristic of the pace of transport in the Old Assyrian trade. Aggressive transporters pushed the limits of the seasons by traveling through the passes as they were closing, as evidenced by the experience of the transporter who reported “winter overtook us” in the area of Timelkiya. After all, blocked passes in the Taurus only limited travel within that region. The route from Assur across the Euphrates and perhaps even to Timelkiya (at the top of the Taurus piedmont) would have been ‘open’ all year. Granted, this eastern portion of the route was still difficult in the wintertime. If today’s conditions are indicative of the Old Assyrian period, by October the rains would have begun; between December and March half the annual rain would have fallen, and sometimes snow fell on the Jezireh. March rains would have rendered the tracks across the Jezireh miserable, only to be continued west of the Euphrates by the thaw of the Taurus snowpack. Crossing the Euphrates in March was perhaps less difficult than in April, when the river would rise as the snowmelt from its northern drainage pushed it to its highest levels throughout that month.⁵⁰ But we must imagine that the crossing was still managed during the flooding. For Šalim-aḫum’s goods to have been sold in Kanesh before the end of the month ša kēnātim, the caravans carrying his goods must have crossed the Euphrates in late March and have been poised at

 Based on the behavior of the river prior to the installation of the modern dams beginning in 1973. See UN-ESCWA and BGR 2013: 58 – 61.

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the Taurus piedmont. The opening of the passes would have brought the merchants promise of profit, but also clogged mountain tracks and cold nights. Each day the passes would have been full of Assyrians and others tugging and dragging their muddy asses in both directions. Finally, dealing with the conundrum of the credit term dates mentioned in Šalim-aḫum’s letter leads to a consideration of the correlation of the Assyrian and Julian calendars, and in turn to absolute chronology. The evidence from the year of vengeance corroborates well with the argument made for the Upper Middle Chronology. This resolution of the conundrum leaves us with the proposition that in the year of vengeance the caravans arrived in Kanesh somewhere around the 10th of April. It is entirely possible that this resolution will be superseded by an improvement of one or more of the various factors on which these deliberations bear. However, the reconstruction of the year of vengeance in this work will show that until climatic factors are understood differently, this seems to be the only reasonable scenario. Ultimately, the conundrum’s resolution gives a first taste of the fact that Old Assyrian commercial time is not usually apparent on the surface of Old Assyrian documents. The language expressing the dates is not sufficiently clear except to the traders who lived within the continuum of time to which it referred. When dates occur in documents, they are still subject to interpretation. Yet in an effort to understand a trade where time was money, no time spent to better grasp Old Assyrian commercial time is wasted. Precise dates, such as the 10th of April for the arrival of the first caravans at Kanesh, cannot be sustained throughout the year, where all other dates are relational rather than fixed, calculated by fitting them within the shipping season of the year of vengeance. From here on, the tendency will be to use ‘mid-April,’ ‘late June,’ ‘the beginning of August,’ or ‘the second week of October’ as the need arises. To attain to these less precise, but still useful fixes, we must appeal to the temporal logic of narrative. The narrative of the year of vengeance will offer both a confirmation of the boundaries of the temporal span through which it developed, and the relation of various developments within. And this provokes the missing piece for the date proposed at the beginning of the introduction—specifically on or around the 25th of April. This date was intentionally provocative: claiming that Šalim-aḫum had the letter in his hands by the 25th of April suggests that the letter travelled to Šalim-aḫum in Assur in roughly fifteen days. This was indeed the tempo of communication, but this can only be substantiated by narrating the events of the year of vengeance in sufficient detail to show that this was not only possible, but necessary in several situations. The remainder of the chapters in Part 1 will deal with crafting the narrative that will show this to be the case.

Chapter 4 A Scale of Time When he received the fateful caravan report on or around the 25th of April, 1891 BC, Šalim-aḫum was most keenly animated by the news of Ilabrat-bāni misappropriating his 6⅓ minas tin. However, when he composed his angry response, Šalim-aḫum noted Ilabrat-bāni was not only at fault for the tin, but for another small item as well. In addressing his representatives, Šalim-aḫum acknowledged learning of two separate debits: “You (pl.) wrote me, ‘From the goods of Ilī-ašranni’s transport, 6⅓ minas tin and half a textile are with Ilabrat-bāni.’”¹ There are two inconsistencies with this statement, and their existence underlines how our sense of time in this year and in Old Assyrian commerce is complicated by the language that communicates the best clues for reconstructing it. The two inconsistencies are between Šalim-aḫum’s statement and the clear source of his information. First, when Šalim-aḫum had written, “you (pl.) wrote me,” he was referring to the two men to whom he was writing: Lā-qēpum and Pūšu-kēn. Yet the caravan report was written by Lā-qēpum and Ilī-ālum; Pūšukēn’s name is not found on the surviving copy.² Šalim-aḫum’s attribution was not a slip of the hand. In a later letter he attributed the news about the tin and half textile to the same two men: “From the tablet of Lā-qēpum and Pūšu-kēn: ‘6⅓! minas tin and a robe and a half kutānum textile are with Ilabrat-bāni.’”³ In a separate document, Šalim-aḫum suggested that Lā-qēpum was the sole source of information on the 6⅓ minas tin. “From Lā-qēpum’s tablet: ‘Ilabrat-bāni took 6⅓ minas tin from your sack and at that time he went to Hattum.’”⁴ Second, Šalim-aḫum’s statement implied that the report contained notice of both the 6⅓ minas tin and the half textile. Yet the report authored by Lāqēpum and Ilī-ālum, which is clearly the report that informed Šalim-aḫum about the 6⅓ minas tin, nowhere mentioned anything that could be construed

 ta-áš-pu-ra-nim um-ma a-tù-nu-ma i-na lu-qú-tim ša šé-ep ì-lí-áš-ra-ni 6⅓ ma-na an.na ù ½ túg iš-tí dnin.šubur-ba-ni (2-TC 2: 3 obv. 3 – 7).  1-BIN 4: 61.  i-ṭup-pì-im ša la-qé-pí-im ù pu-šu-ke-en6 6⅓! ma-na an.na ù ku-sí-tum ù ½ ku-ta-ni iš-tí d nin.šubur-ba-ni (5-TC 1: 26 le.e. 36 – 38).  i-na ṭup-pì-im ša lá-qé-ep 6⅓ ma-na an.na i-na šu-uq-li-kà dnin.šubur-ba-ni il5-qé-ma i-nu-mìšu-ma a-na ḫa-tim i-ta-lá-ak (3-POAT 7 obv. 4– 8). DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-004

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as the “half-textile … with Ilabrat-bāni” about which Šalim-aḫum was also angry.⁵ What are we to make of these contradictions? The surface grammar of Šalimaḫum’s language in his letter connotes that he received one letter from both Lāqēpum and Pūšu-kēn telling him of both the misappropriated tin and the halftextile. But it is apparent this was not the case. Rather, Šalim-aḫum learned that Ilabrat-bāni owed him a half-textile at the same time he learned about the misappropriated tin because Šalim-aḫum had goods in two caravans arriving in Kanesh at roughly the same time. Even though he mentioned both in the same breath in his first angry letter, too narrow a reading of Šalim-aḫum’s language does not accord with what we can construe by contextualizing his letters. Some of this may have been clearer if Old Assyrian writers had employed a consistent system of punctuation, but such was not the case.⁶ Serendipitously, another caravan report, with Pūšu-kēn’s name among the authors, survives. And it discusses a “half-textile with Ilabrat-bāni.”⁷ And it is possible to substantiate that this second caravan report was the one from which Šalim-aḫum learned of the half textile. Šalim-aḫum’s statement in his angry letter was a mashup of what he learned from two separate letters, expressed without any explicit punctuation to indicate this was so.⁸ Like so many letters and letter-writers, Šalim-aḫum’s letter demanded knowledge of the current situation, and Šalim-aḫum needed only to be precise enough to keep things clear for his readers who knew as much about the situation as he did. Šalim-aḫum’s mashup constitutes one of many instances in which the surface language of the Old Assyrian merchants’ documents

 Larsen (1967: 122 – 27) did treat 1-BIN 4: 61, and did point out that three-quarters of a textile were unaccounted for. However, to propose that this is the source of Šalim-aḫum’s language about Ilabrat-bāni and the half-textile requires claiming that the surviving report misses a named attribution, the difference of the ¼ textile vs. half-textile, in addition to the lack of Pūšu-kēn’s name.  Were the Old Assyrian orthography to have it, we would wish for some comma, or better, a semicolon to mark off the half-textile from the tin. Šalim-aḫum’s letter does employ the Old Assyrian word divider, a short vertical wedge, but not in our desired place and not in this letter in a consistent way.  ½! túg iš-tí dnin.šubur-ba-ni (13-Prag I: 426 obv. 25). The horizontal wedge of the ½ can be clearly seen at http://cdli.ucla.edu/dl/photo/P359054.jpg.  For example “According to Lā-qēpum’s tablet, Ilabrat-bāni took 6 minas 20 shekels tin from your sack and at that time left for Ḫattum.” i-na ṭup-pì-im ša lá-qé-ep 6⅓ ma-na an.na i-na šuuq-li-kà dnin.šubur-ba-ni il5-qé-ma i-nu-mì-šu-ma a-na ḫa-tim i-ta-lá-ak (3-POAT 7 obv. 4– 8). This refers to the same circumstance as 1-BIN 4: 61 obv. 19, but this language also differs from the preserved report, and may represent another letter written specifically by Lā-qēpum.

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masks the nature of their economic activities under a less than precise correlation between grammar and context. At the same time, Šalim-aḫum’s felicitous decision to discuss both assets permits us to connect Šalim-aḫum’s anecdote of vengeance to a larger contemporaneous web of activity. The second caravan report, the one which mentioned Ilabrat-bāni’s half textile, signals the beginning of a series of sales and collections that are perhaps the best attested cycle of business in the Old Assyrian trade.⁹ And following this cycle of business leads to an opportunity to place some temporal boundaries on the development of Šalim-aḫum’s revenge. The second, contemporaneous caravan included more of Šalim-aḫum’s goods, led by several transporters, though it will be called after one of the transporters in it, Nūr-Ištar. Sketching out the development of sales and collections arising from this second caravan, Nūr-Istar’s caravan, provides an opportunity to lay out a chronology of Šalim-aḫum’s activity. Narrating Nūr-Ištar’s caravan, first in a relative fashion, and then within the confines of this year, shows the advantages of reading the Old Assyrian documents for their original requests and intentions even when this is not immediately revealed on the surface of the text. This is the only path to reconstructing a sense of time associated with the commercial activities. Šalim-aḫum’s language in his angry letter obfuscates the fact that Ilabratbāni acquired his debts of tin and a half-textile from two contemporaneous but separate caravans. Contextualizing his angry language illuminates these connections. Thus before moving on to the scale of time in Šalim-aḫum’s year of vengeance, the connection between the two contemporaneous caravans must be thoroughly substantiated. The caravan report on the group in which NūrIštar traveled was written by Lā-qēpum, Ilī-ālum, and Pūšu-kēn, and the archive copy that survives reports a “half-textile with Ilabrat-bāni.” It is clear in another text that this half textile is also referred to as “the half-textile of Nūr-Ištar’s cargo.”¹⁰ However, the association with Nūr-Ištar suggested in Šalim-aḫum’s letters is nowhere directly stated in that letter. Šalim-aḫum’s association of the textile with Nūr-Ištar arises from his own perception of the organization of the caravan. This can only be realized by a more detailed elaboration of the caravan’s organization.

 A number of aspects of this caravan cycle were discussed in detail in Stratford 2014. In this chapter the emphasis is on the chronological development of the caravan, not treated there.  ½ ku-ta-nim ša šé-ep nu-ur-iš8-tár (3-POAT 7 obv. 15 – 16). The half textile is also mentioned in 11-CCT 2: 3 obv. 16 – 17, though without the association with Nūr-Ištar. The language from the letter that relates only Lā-qēpum to the report is as follows: i-na ṭup-pì-im ša lá-qé-ep 6⅓ ma-na an.na i-na šu-uq-li-kà dnin.šubur-ba-ni il5-qé-ma (3-POAT 7 obv. 4– 7).

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Nūr-Ištar travelled in his caravan group with four other transporters responsible for Šalim-aḫum’s goods.¹¹ The surviving bill of lading for Nūr-Ištar’s donkey records that the single donkey Nūr-Ištar led bore 26 fine kutānum textiles, along with some tin and copper to be used for expenses along the road. It also informed the representatives in Kanesh that Nūr-Ištar had been paid for the transport prior to leaving Assur and needed no more remuneration. Finally, Šalimaḫum instructed his representatives to sell on credit the fine kutānum textiles and the donkey upon arrival as a unit to someone reliable.¹² This indeed happened. Nūr-Ištar’s 26 fine textiles were brought through customs intact and sold to an unnamed merchant on credit, doubtless for Šalim-aḫum’s extra profit.¹³ Ilabrat-bāni’s half-textile could not have been one of those 26 textiles. Rather, Ilabrat-bāni’s half-textile came from the textiles on a different transporter’s donkey, that of Aššur-mutabbil. Aššur-mutabbil’s cargo consisted mostly of tin, but also included five kutānum textiles placed on top. Aššur-mutabbil’s transport was cleared through customs in tandem with Nūr-Ištar’s, and Aššurmutabbil’s five (probably less fine) textiles were used to pay the combined excise and ‘tithe’ duties on Nūr-Ištar’s 26 fine textiles, assessed at 4½ textiles.¹⁴ Šalim-

 Aššur-mutabbil s. Šū-Anum, Aḫ-šalim, Amurrum-bā ni s. Kurub-Ištar, and a man described only as the son of Erra-idī.  “Sell the textiles on credit to a reliable merchant as reliable as yourselves. Your merchant must be reliable. Don’t overvalue one or two months. Bundle the donkey with the textiles.” túg.hi.a i-ṣé-er dam.gàr ke-nim ša ki-ma qá-qí-dí-ku-nu a-na u4-me id-a dam.gàr-ku-nu lu ke-en6 ˘ 1 iti.kam 2 iti.kam la tù-šé-qá-ra anše iš-tí túg.hi.a e-mì-da (12-CCT 2: 4b-5a obv. 11-rev. 17). ˘  “Your tin—at a 7 shekel rate, 26 kutānum textiles—at a ½ mina each, a donkey—for ½ mina, in all the silver from your tin and textiles and donkey—31 minas 18½ shekels—is placed on a merchant on long terms.” an.na-ak-kà 7 gín.ta 26 túgku-ta-nu ½ ma-na.ta anše ki-ma ½ mana šunigin kù.babbar ša an.na túg.hi.a ú anše 31 ma-na 18½ gín i-ṣé-er dam a-na u4-me ˘ pá-tí-ú-tim na-dí (13-Prag I: 426 39 – 44). “As for the 31 minas 18½ shekels silver (arising) from the shipment of Aššur-mutabbil and Nūr-Ištar, if their terms are full, have them pay the silver and send it immediately.” 31 ma-na 18½ gín ša šé-ep a-šùr-mu-ta-bi4-il5 ú nu-ur-iš8-tár šu-ma u4-mu-šu-nu ma-al-ú kù ša-áš-qí-lá-ma i-pá-nim-ma šé-bi4-lá-nim (19-BIN 4: 26 rev. 45‐le.e. 48).  “130 minas tin, 4 textiles as wrappings, 5 kutānum textiles, 1 black donkey (all) of the šēpum of Aššur-mutabbil—Nūr-Ištar drove 26 kutānum textiles, 1 black donkey here. One donkey died. Thereof, 1½ textiles (were) the excise tax. And we balanced 1 shekel silver. 3 textiles were for ‘purchases.’ ½ textile is with Ilabrat-bāni. They cleared the remainder of your textiles—26 textiles. From the 2 talents 10 minas tin from the šēpum of Aššur-mutabbil, 4 minas were the excise tax. 4 minas 54 shekels were lost. After the hand tin was exhausted, we remitted Aššur-mutabbil 7 minas 27 shekels tin. They cleared the remainder of your tin—53 minas 39 shekels” 2 gú 10 mana an.na 4 túgli-wi-tum 5 túgku-ta-ni 1 anše ṣa-lá-ma-am ša šé-ep a-šur-mu-ta-bi-il5 26 túgku-ta-nu 1 anše ṣa-lá-mu-um nu-ur-iš8-tár ir-de8-a-am 1 anše me-et šà.ba 1½ túg ni-is-ḫa-tum ù 1 gín kù.babbar ni-pu-ul 3 túg.hi.a a-ší-mì-im ½! túg iš-tí dnin.šubur-ba-ni ší-tí túg.hi-ti-kà 26 túg.hi.a ˘ ˘ ˘

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aḫum had likely planned this pairing of Nūr-Ištar’s and Aššur-mutabbil’s donkeys. Perhaps Šalim-aḫum considered the five textiles on Aššur-mutabbil’s donkey as part of Nūr-Ištar’s responsibility. Or perhaps Šalim-aḫum somehow viewed Nūr-Ištar as the more senior of the two transporters, or even the more socially proximate of the two. (If some sort of hierarchy of responsibility is at stake, though, it is worth pointing out that at his arrival in Kanesh, Aššur-mutabbil was balanced tin that he had spent out of his own pocket on the way there, while Nūr-Ištar was not.) In any case, the remaining half-textile from the original five was described as ‘with’ (išti) Ilabrat-bāni. He had taken it on some pretense and now owed it to Šalim-aḫum. Thus Šalim-aḫum’s expression, “the half-textile of Nūr-Ištar’s transport,”¹⁵ is an example of his tendency to denote specific things by broad connotation. But the tension in Šalim-aḫum’s own phrases is mirrored by the broad latitude in key Old Assyrian words. First, the blending of Nūr-Ištar’s and Aššur-mutabbil’s cargoes may have something to do with the latitude of meaning in the term šēpum, which in its most basic sense means ‘foot.’ It is clear that it means the transport taken by someone. But Šalim-aḫum used it here in an extended sense to describe goods that Nūr-Ištar was responsible for, but that were driven by someone else. Thus, if Šalim-aḫum had always intended both Nūr-Ištar’s and Aššur-mutabbil’s donkeys to clear together, and for the five textiles on Aššur-mutabbil’s donkey to pay the duties for the fine textiles on Nūr-Ištar’s, and Nūr-Ištar was in some way senior to Aššur-mutabbil, Šalim-aḫum’s reference to the half-textile owed by Ilabrat-bāni as “from the transport of Nūr-Ištar” (ša šēp Nūr-Ištar), becomes understandable. Second, the capacity to designate the half-textile as associated with Nūr-Ištar is equally facilitated by the breadth of how ša in the phrase can be construed, which of course can mask a range of grammatical and hence social and economic relationships. Overdetermining relationships in the Old Assyrian trade through strict lexical connotation sometimes serves to obscure the actual relationships evident from a microhistorical frame. For example, when writers discussed “seals of the city” (kunnukkū ša ālim), they denoted seals applied in the city rather than seals of the city administration.¹⁶ Thus when Šalim-aḫum wrote “the half-textile of Nūr-Ištar’s cargo,” he did not mean the half-textile was specifically part of Nūr-Ištar’s individual cargo, only that it was somehow related to it. iz-ku-ú-nim i-na 2 gú 10 ma-na an.na ša šé-ep a-šur-mu-ta-bi-il5 4 ma-na ni-is-ḫa-tum 4⅚ ma-na 4! gín mu-ṭá-ú iš-tù an.na-ak q[á]-tim gám-ru 7⅓ ma-na 7 gín an.na a-na a-šur-mu-ta-bil né-pu-ul ší-tí an.na-ki-kà 1 gú 53⅔ ma-na lá 1 gín iz-ku-a-am (13-Prag I: 426 obv. 18-rev. 34).  ½ ku-ta-nim ša šé-ep nu-ur-ištar (3-POAT 7 obv. 15 – 16).  Dercksen 2004: 92– 93.

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Šalim-aḫum’s description of the half-textile as associated with Nūr-Ištar mirrored how he referred to his assets when discussing goods that were sold from this caravan: loosely. Some documents, such as Nūr-Ištar’s bill of lading, had legal force. It would have been used when assessing duties on the traveling caravan along the way, and if there was a textile missing at the other end, then NūrIštar would have been responsible to repay. But in other documents, such as in Šalim-aḫum’s identification of assets in letters to his associates, he only needed to provide enough information so as to uniquely identify the asset vis-á-vis the other assets in play at the time. Thus, after the goods arrived and were sold, Šalim-aḫum was comfortable totaling one asset owed him as 10½ minas, when another source reveals it to have been only 10 minas 10 shekels.¹⁷ Moreover, Šalim-aḫum had a penchant for referring to assets which were sold to third parties by the person who transported them. For example, when talking about a claim on silver to be collected from an unnamed person, Šalim-aḫum described this as “28 minas 27 shekels (silver) of the goods of the transport of Erra-idī’s son,” though it requires following the paper trail back to the caravan accounts through the actual buyer Lulu s. Zukuḫum, to realize the extended usage.¹⁸ Beyond the frame of language, Šalim-aḫum’s tendency to identify assets through convenient rather than precise references was in part a strategy to simplify communication when a large number of people were involved in transporting and purchasing assets. Many assets, or even people, were simply too inconsequential to mention except in specific circumstances. For example, Amurrumbāni traveled in the caravan, but was mentioned in only one of the several surviving documents dealing with the transport. Even people who functioned as Šalim-aḫum’s representatives entered and exited his operations, or switched roles, depending on their availability. Ilī-ālum helped Lā-qēpum write the fateful caravan report. He also co-wrote the letter reporting the half-textile with Ilabratbāni. But Šalim-aḫum did not address him in his angry response, apparently not considering him as responsible for the problem as Lā-qēpum and Pūšu-kēn. In later letters Šalim-aḫum did address Ilī-ālum as his representative. But when Ilī-ālum left Kanesh for Assur sometime around the beginning of August, in order to personally bring silver to Šalim-aḫum, Šalim-aḫum could of course no

 “10 minas 10 shekels of silver of the sons of Aššur-šamšī” [10] ma-na 10 gín kù.babbar ša me-er-e a-šùr-utu-ši (14-POAT 19 rev. 23 – 24). “10½ minas silver of the sons of Aššur-šamšī son of Ibni-ilī, their representatives promise to pay Lā-qēpum.” 10½ ma-na kù.babbar ša me-er-e ašur-utu-ši dumu ib-ni-ì-lí ša ki-ma šu-nu-tí la-qé-pá-am e-pu-lu (15-TC 1: 14 rev. 23 – 26).  [28⅓ ma-na 7 gín] ša lu-qú-tim [ša šé-ep] dumu e-ra-dì (17-TC 3: 23 obv. 17-lo.e. 19). See 13‐Prag I: 426 obv. 3 – 17 and Stratford 2014: 30 – 33.

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longer look to him to manage things in Kanesh and accordingly ceased to address him in the letters.¹⁹ Ilī-ašranni negotiated the sales of Šalim-aḫum’s goods and, suggesting he had Šalim-aḫum’s blessing, even managed for himself special rates on the last goods from the transport. He did transport for Šalimaḫum on other occasions, and likely was well-known to Šalim-aḫum.²⁰ However, he did not write the fateful report with Lā-qēpum and Ilī-ālum. Nor was he sufficiently responsible to become a target of Šalim-aḫum’s wrath over Ilabrat-bāni. Moreover, Šalim-aḫum and his representatives were comfortable using broad markers to discuss things as important as the credit term-lengths aimed for in selling Šalim-aḫum’s goods. Šalim-aḫum directed that Nūr-Ištar’s fine textiles be sold within one or two months: “Do not make (the merchandise) too expensive (for) a one or two month (credit purchase).”²¹ Thus it is most likely that ‘short’ terms essentially meant something to be collected within two months. For example, a month would allow most merchants to make their way around the typical Anatolian circuit (even Barjamovic’s larger geography), making such term lengths custom fit for a merchant who was willing to let someone else do the work of converting the goods to silver in the western Anatolia markets. Sellers recognized that all other things being equal, this would mean less profit than selling for ‘long’ terms. ‘Long’ term seems simply to have been anything longer than around two months, even up to 50 weeks or more, implying more complicated means of converting the goods to silver, but its very vagueness is limiting. Drawing a more precise boundary between ‘short’ and ‘long’ terms based only on their dyadic opposition is difficult, even suspect. The terms are not attested widely. And specific term lengths are relatively proportionally spread between 8, 10, 12/13, 15, and 20 ḫamuštum-weeks.²² No significant gap, other than perhaps from fifteen to twenty weeks, exists. Thus, all we can figure from the language of the report is that it would be longer than two months or so

 Stratford 2014.  Ilī-ašranni transported another significant amount for Šalim-aḫum, this time within a caravan assigned to Pūšu-kēn (VS 26: 43). The details of the report stemming from that journey, which involved Šalim-aḫum paying the awītum assessment on his goods, show it to be a different trip. However, the similarity lies in Pūšu-kēn being at the head of the caravan and occupying a higher position of responsibility to Šalim-aḫum in relation to Ilī-ašranni. At that time also, Ilīašranni purchased some of the goods transported, though a much smaller amount (3 minas tin).  A more literal translation is “Do not overvalue one or two months,” but the intent is more clearly rendered in the body—it was okay to sell it on ‘long’ terms instead of ‘short’ terms. 1 iti.kam 2 iti.kam la tù-šé-qá-ra (12-CCT 2: 4b-5a rev. 15 – 16). The analysis in Veenhof 1972: 408 is too narrowly construed.  Veenhof 1996.

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before the silver could be collected. Some merchant language can offer only limited precision. There is an irony here that must be acknowledged. While we expect Šalimaḫum to have differentiated assets sufficiently to establish the contemporaneity of Ilabrat-bāni’s and Nūr-Ištar’s caravans, at the same time we expect a lack of precision and fluidity of descriptions in his language. This only underlines the necessity of considering the material and temporal circumstances behind the specific assets, especially when they overlap so well as in the present case. Šalim-aḫum interacted with various representatives, but not all were equally accessible all the time. The same could be said for his assets. Yet Šalim-aḫum and his representatives needed only so much precision because they operated within those circumstances. In order to perceive what they perceived, it is necessary to plunge as deeply into the circumstances as possible. This is offered, at least in part, by charting the progress of the caravan cycle associated with Nūr-Ištar in relation to the development of the shipping season. In March 1891 BC two caravans made the journey from Assur, across the Jezireh and Euphrates and through the Taurus, to Kanesh. In the one group Ilī-ašranni took charge and Ilabrat-bāni opened a sealed package en route. In the other group, Nūr-Ištar and his traveling companions arrived in Kanesh without apparent incident. To what extent the two groups, Ilabrat-bāni’s and Nūr-Ištar’s, coordinated their travel is impossible to know. But the two groups were set up as separate operations and produced separate reports. It appears that Šalimaḫum’s two chief representatives, Lā-qēpum and Pūšu-kēn, were also traveling with the caravans of Ilī-ašranni and Nūr-Ištar respectively. Pūšu-kēn was certainly in Assur before the first caravans left Assur,²³ Šalim-aḫum discussed cargo associated with Pūšu-kēn in person, and Šalim-aḫum’s letters show Pūšu-kēn also carried some goods.²⁴ The caravan with Ilī-ašranni and Ilabrat-bāni arrived just before Nūr-Ištar’s. This most easily explains Pūšu-kēn’s absence in the fateful caravan report. He had been a day or so behind and was not there to witness the customs procedure. When the letter was written a few days later, after the three sales had been finalized, he was not involved, though by that time the second caravan had arrived and Ilabrat-bāni had somehow taken the half-textile from NūrIštar and Aššur-mutabbil. By the time Lā-qēpum and Ilī-ālum had sat down to write the first caravan report, Ilabrat-bāni had departed north, for the land of  As evident in Šalim-aḫum’s letter to Pūšu-kēn referring to their discussion about Puzur-Ištar before Pūšu-kēn left Assur, discussed in the following chapter.  “58 minas 18½ shekels silver deriving from the goods of the transport of Pūšu-kēn, …” 58 ma-na 18½ g[ín kù].babbar ša lu-qú-tim š[a šé-ep] pu-šu-ke-en6 (17-TC 3: 23 obv. 15 – 17).

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Ḫattum. Perhaps on the same day, Lā-qēpum, Ilī-ālum, and Pūšu-kēn also composed the second caravan account. Šalim-aḫum read the two reports essentially simultaneously. Šalim-aḫum’s anger with Ilabrat-bāni seems all the more personal when the amount of the goods he owed are placed alongside the sum of Šalim-aḫum’s recently arrived merchandise. Ilī-ašranni’s caravan brought 6½ talents tin and 85 kūtānum textiles, of which nearly 6 talents tin and 67 textiles were available for sale, along with 18 šurum textiles for wrapping the tin. The total goods brought by Nūr-Ištar and company came to 11 talents of tin and about 60 kutānum textiles on seven donkeys, of which just over 10 talents tin, 58 kutānum textiles and 20 black textiles, cleared the customs procedures. If this were all the merchandise that arrived at this point, then Ilabrat-bāni’s stolen 6⅓ minas tin and problematic half-textile constituted 0.66 % of Šalim-aḫum’s tin and 0.4 % of his textiles respectively. But these petty debts constituted an even smaller portion of Šalim-aḫum’s revenues. The cargo that Pūšu-kēn brought for Šalim-aḫum also sold for nearly a talent of silver.²⁵ Ilabrat-bāni’s debts were annoying, but not financially threatening. The caravan reports were written within a few days, by which time all of the goods brought by Ilī-ašranni and Ilabrat-bāni had been sold, (some bought by Ilī-ašranni himself). Most of the goods brought by Nūr-Ištar and his associates had also been sold as well, save about 1 talent of tin. The vast majority was sold on credit; the palace had purchased 5 fine kutānum textiles for 100 shekels silver and Ilī-ašranni had purchased 2 textiles for just under 7½ shekels gold. But Šalim-aḫum had credit instruments intended to yield to him nearly 252½ minas of silver. All of this was to be paid off within a year, most by the end of the shipping season. While the two caravan reports were written close in time to each other, they differed in one way that is particularly consequential for our own reconstruction of events. Only the caravan report concerning the sales of goods from Ilī-ašranni’s caravan gave specific dates for the credit instruments. Anchored to the beginning of the the third Assyrian month that year, the credit terms began running from 30 March (though, as we already have seen, the caravan had likely not arrived until around 10 April). Thus, Ilī-ašranni’s debt would not be due until October 15, and the remainder would not fall due until mid-February of the following year. On the other hand, in the extant documents, Šalim-aḫum and his representatives described the credit term lengths from the goods brought by Nūr-Ištar and his fellow travelers as simply short-term (qurbūtum) and long-

 See footnote above.

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term (patiūtum).²⁶ Specific term-lengths were certainly negotiated, but they do not survive. However, Šalim-aḫum knew the more specific dates. It is clear that he knew the two long-term claims matured at different times, writing to remind his representatives to collect them on different occasions. Šalim-aḫum actively tracked the maturation of the various claims that arose from Nūr-Ištar’s caravan, and by our own tracking we can observe that Šalimaḫum’s activities were sufficiently continuous that they must have transpired before snows again closed the Taurus. Basically, we can be confident that the shortterm claim could not have been scheduled to be collected in the following year, but something closer to the range of two or three months. Thus we would be surprised if a short term claim linked to a point sometime around the beginning of April (unlike the claims from Ilī-ašranni’s caravan, we do not have precise dates for when they started) would be due after August 1st. Moreover, a string of letters connects the activities in April to the collection of the first, short-term claim, and the overlapping actions in those letters confirm that the claim was, at least in part, collected within this year. But the string of letters continues after that collection to show the initial collection of one of the long-term claims, and the expectation of the collection of the other two long-term claims, also transported in this year. This continuity thus provides a scale of time on which the narrative can be initially set. The amount of time between the arrival of the caravans around 10 April and the due date of the first claim can be further calibrated by documenting what else was happening in between those two points. Šalim-aḫum had already sent letters urging his representatives to sell his goods and informing them he would be shipping even more to Anatolia. He wrote Lā-qēpum and Pūšu-kēn, urging them that his “tin and textiles should not be stocked up,” but that they should be sold for even a very cheap price.²⁷ He was referring, at least in part, to the tin that had not yet sold from the caravan with Nūr-Ištar and colleagues. In the same breath, he reminded his representatives to collect silver funds from several concurrent claims on a man named Ḫinnāya and his colleagues, known to operate in Durḫumit. In the same letter, Šalim-aḫum asked for a report

 19-BIN 4: 26 obv. 5, rev. 43; 13-Prag I: 426 obv. 16, rev. 43, le.e. 54; 17-TC 3: 23 obv. 7; TC 3: 21 rev. 27; 14-POAT 19 obv. 8.  Full translation of relevant passage: “My dear brothers, my tin and textiles should not be stocked up. Sell (the tin) on short terms for a 9 shekels rate or higher. Then sell as much as you can on long terms.” a-ḫu-ú-a a-tù-nu an.na-ki ù túg.hi.a la i-na-ki-mu a-na u4-me-e qú˘ ur-bi-tim 9 gín.ta ù e-li-iš dì-na ù ša u4-me-e pá-tí-ú-tim ma-lá ta-da-nim dí-na (14-POAT 19 obv. 3 – 9). The rate at this time was a 7 shekel rate as taken from the caravan accounts 1-BIN 4: 61 and 13-Prag I: 426.

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on the sale of goods being brought by Dān-Aššur, then on his way to Anatolia. A letter written shortly thereafter reviewed much of the same material, though in that letter Šalim-aḫum asked that both his sons Dān-Aššur and Ennam-Aššur be sent home. Dān-Aššur was not yet there, but still en route. When the first, short-term claim fell due, 54 minas 45 shekels silver, Lāqēpum and Pūšu-kēn collected a portion—33 minas 40 shekels, and sent it back to Assur with two transporters.²⁸ The package also included silver from other payees, merchants from Durḫumit. Some of the silver sent had been paid by the sons of Aššur-šamšī, about whom Šalim-aḫum had already written in letters sent while this first credit claim matured.²⁹ Šalim-aḫum acknowledged receipt of these monies when they arrived in Assur, though he essentially counted them all toward the debt of the short term claim, reminding his representatives to collect more silver from the parties in Durḫumit.³⁰ He also acknowledged the news that the last portion of tin from Nūr-Ištar’s caravan had finally sold.³¹ As will become clear in review, this must have been around the beginning of June. One of the transporters who brought the silver back to Assur, Šū-Suen, had just travelled to Anatolia with Dān-Aššur, indicating that Dān-Aššur had arrived by that time. Though Šalim-aḫum had asked in a previous letter that DānAššur return, Dān-Aššur stayed until the second shipment of silver, a development that played out through a number of other letters, to be discussed in Chapter 7.³²

 “… We received 33 minas 40 shekels from the merchant of Šalim-aḫum. Thereof, we gave 31 minas of silver, ½ mina its transport tariff, to Ennam-Aššur son of Šū -Aššur and he carried it. Witnesses: Zupa, Aššur-taklā ku, Ennā num the scribe. We entrusted to Aššur-mā lik 20 minas 50 shekels of silver under our seal, separately 20 shekels which […].” [x] x [x] 33⅔ ma-na kù.babbar iš-tí tám-kà-ri-[im] [ša ša-lim]-a-ḫi-im ni-il5-qé šà.ba 31 ma-na kù.babbar ½ ma-na ša-du-a-sú [a-na] en-nam-a-šùr dumu šu-[a-šùr] ni-dí-in-ma ú-bi-il5 igi zu-pá igi ašùr-ta-ak-[lá-ku] igi en-na-nim ší-ip-ri-[im] 20⅚ ma-na kù.babbar ku-nu-[ki-ni] ⅓ ma-na a-ḫama š[a…] [a]-na a-šùr-ma-lik [ni]-ip-qí-id (16-VS 26: 130 rev. 6’ – 18’).  “Concerning the sons of Aššur-šamšī, we received (silver?) from Ennam-Aššur son of Šū Enlil.” [… a]-šu-mì me-e[r-e] a-šùr-[d?utu-š]i iš-tí En-n[am-A-šùr?] [du]mu šu-den-líl ni-i[l5-qé] (16‐VS 26: 130 rev. 3’ – 5’).  17-TC 3: 22.  We would expect that more time would garner a higher revenue for Šalim-aḫum, but Šalimaḫum had to give 8 shekels of tin for a shekel of silver in that arrangement, whereas he gained a shekel of silver for every seven of tin in the short term sales. It is most likely that the tin Aḫ-šalim brought was a lower quality. This might also explain why not all of it sold before Pūšu-kēn and the representatives wrote the report.  While on different grounds, the connection between this text and several others shown to be from the Ilabrat-bāni moment, was already suggested by Donbaz and Joannès (1982: 29) that 15‐TC 1: 14 represented a third time Šalim-aḫum asked for Dān-Aššur to return home from the

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But the second claim to come due, described as long-term, matured not too long after the short-term claim. In the same letter that Šalim-aḫum acknowledged receipt of the silver from the first, short-term claim, he stated that a series of claims, including one of the second, long-term claims from Nūr-Ištar’s caravan, was coming due as well.³³ That next claim was for 28 minas 27 shekels silver, and was the first mentioned in the relevant caravan report. Though it was sold on long-term credit, it is clear from Šalim-aḫum’s reminder that it was to fall due before or soon after his letter would arrive in Anatolia. As a consequence, we could describe the length of time roughly as the function of how much time it took to ship the silver to Assur plus the time it took to send the letter back to Kanesh, provided the first, short-term claim had been collected reasonably close to its due date, Šalim-aḫum must have expected to see the silver from this second, long-term claim before winter arrived. Perhaps three months separated the due dates of the two, likely a shorter space of time. But to fix the collection of the second, long-term claim any further, continuous activity must be connected to the year. Šalim-aḫum’s representatives did collect more silver for Šalim-aḫum, including some of the second, long-term claim, and also from the fourth, short-term claim arising from the late sale of tin, only reported with the previous shipment of silver. When they sent the silver, Pūšu-kēn wrote a letter to Šalim-aḫum explaining the breakdown of the shipment.³⁴ This time, Lā-qēpum was not present, so a man named Lālum sealed the packages in his place. Lālum, whose failing health was an issue this year, will be discussed in Part 3. When Šalim-aḫum received the large sum of silver, almost 1½ talents, he wrote another letter acknowledging receipt, and in the same breath reminded his representatives that the last long-term credit claim

journey he was undertaking, recorded with the notifying message of the one hundred textiles (24‐CCT 5: 5a), after having already sent TC 2: 1 and KTS 1: 42d, in that order. While the arguments made there did not include sufficient corroboration to maintain on their own merits, the intuition of the authors is supported here.  “58 minas 18½ shekels silver deriving from the goods of the transport of Pūšu-kēn, 28 minas 27 shekels deriving from the goods of the transport of the son of Erra-idī, 10 minas 10 shekels silver which the sons of Aššur-šamšī will measure it out and which Lā-qēpum will balance the son of Šū-Enlil, 21 minas [17 shekels] silver with Ḫinnaya and 5 minas silver separately of Amur-Ištar-it is also with (Ḫinnaya)—all this silver, their terms are due.” 58 ma-na 18½ g[ín kù].babbar ša lu-qú-tim š[a šé-ep] pu-šu-ke-en6 [28 ma-na 27 gín] ša lu-qú-tim [ša šé-ep] dumu e-radì [10 ma-na 10 gín] kù.babbar ša me-e[r-e] a-šùr-utu-ši i-ma-du-du-⸢ni⸣-[ma] dumu šu-den-líl ⸢la⸣-[qé-ep] e-pu-lu 21 ma-[na 17 gín kù.babbar] iš-tí ḫi-na-a ù [5 ma-na] kù.babbar a-ḫa-ma ša ⸢a⸣-[mur-iš8-tár] iš-tí-šu-ma mì-ma kù.[babbar a-nim] u4-mu-šu-nu ma-a[l-ú] (17‐TC 3: 23 obv. 15-rev. 28).  18-CCT 5: 49e+50b.

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was also coming due, and expressed his expectation that they collect it and send the silver.³⁵ Thus Šalim-aḫum, in addition to in fact receiving the silver he had sent a reminder for, also expected to receive the silver on the third, long-term claim. At this point, the movements of people cross back into the affair between Šalim-aḫum and Ilabrat-bāni. This second package of silver was sent with Ilīālum, Kurub-Ištar, and, also, with Šalim-aḫum’s son Dān-Aššur. It was as DānAššur arrived back in Assur, that Pūšu-kēn’s letter suggesting to seize Ilabratbāni’s goods also arrived. Thus, in rough terms, the commercial conversion of Šalim-aḫum’s assets can be broken down into a discrete number of consecutive points in time: 1) Both the Ilī-ašranni caravan, with Ilabrat-bāni, and the Nūr-Ištar caravan arrived on or around 10 April. Ilī-ašranni’s arrived first, and Pūšu-kēn likely arrived after, perhaps in conjunction with with the second caravan. 2) Šalim-aḫum’s representatives, Lā-qēpum, Pūšu-kēn, and Ilī-ālum, sold off the goods quickly. The goods from the Ilī-ašranni caravan were likely sold before Pūšu-kēn had arrived. 3) An exchange of mail about debts in Durḫumit took place, with Šalim-aḫum urging that the remainder of his tin be sold. 4) The remainder of the tin was sold by this time and 5) the first, short-term claim was collected, at least in part. 6) Pūšu-kēn and his colleagues shipped the silver from the first claim to Šalim-aḫum in Assur. 7) Šalim-aḫum acknowledged receipt and simultaneously wrote to remind them to collect the second, long-term claim. 8) Pūšu-kēn and his colleagues collected silver on that second claim, and 9) again sent the silver to Šalim-aḫum in Assur. 10) Šalim-aḫum again acknowledged receipt and simultaneously wrote to remind them to collect the third, long-term claim, expecting that it would be shipped without any concern for it happening before winter. As a result, we can propose that, 11) the third, long-term claim matured, and 12) there was time to ship it back to Assur before winter. While we cannot corroborate if or when the last trip took place, Šalim-aḫum’s expectations in his letters from that time convey a confidence that there was still time to get the next shipment of silver before winter closed the Taurus passes. Thus, even though we only know that the first packet was sold on ‘shortterm’ credit, the second and third on ‘long-term’ credit, and the fourth, sold later, on ‘short-term’ credit, we know that it all transpired within the course of a single shipping season. There was no cesura in this chain of action. The caravan arrived at the beginning of the season, and the fourth packet was sold before the first ‘short-term’ loan fell due. Thereafter, the back-and forth between Šalim-

 19-BIN 4: 26.

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aḫum and his representatives offers no opportunity for winter to intervene. When Šalim-aḫum reminded his representatives to pay, it was possible that the due date for those loans had already arrived before Šalim-aḫum’s letter found its way to Lā-qēpum and Pūšu-kēn. All this happened while the passes in the Taurus Mountains remained open. If they opened at the beginning of April, then by the time the caravans arrived in Kanesh, in the second week of April, Šalimaḫum had roughly thirty-three weeks for all this to transpire. The precision of the timing of the opening of the passes is as reasonable as we can expect from the sources. When the passes closed at the end of that year we cannot know, but merchants like Šalim-aḫum would not likely have made plans this far in advance that would have depended on unusually advantageous circumstances. If Šalim-aḫum still hoped that the last loan would be collected and brought with Pūšu-kēn before winter fell, then this must have accorded with a reasonable projection of the expected dates of relevance. Additionally, when Pūšu-kēn had written his letter discussing the plan to seize Ilabrat-bāni’s goods, he had suggested Dān-Aššur should go on the sortie. Dān-Aššur did not go; Ennam-Aššur did instead. But even after the successful raiding party returned to Assur, Ennam-Aššur was once again returning to Anatolia, with goods to sell before the passes closed. The density of activity in this chain of events provokes a schematic framework of the development of Šalim-aḫum’s commercial pursuits. Using April 10th as the anchor for when the first caravan arrived, a chronology of these events comes into focus. Were the first, short-term credit purchase due roughly two months from the arrival, it would have matured around mid-June. This would also roughly mark the arrival of Dān-Aššur and Šū-Bēlum, and roughly when Šū-Bēlum turned back to take the silver collected. If it took him a month to reach Assur, then Šalim-aḫum wrote his reply in mid-July, reminding Pūšu-kēn that the second claim was coming due soon. If that letter took roughly 15 days to travel, then it arrived around the end of July. Somewhere around that point, Pūšu-kēn collected some of the second, long-term claim, and sent some of that silver back with Dān-Aššur. If Dān-Aššur’s trip home took a month, then he would have arrived around the beginning of September. At that point, Šalim-Aššur acknowledged his receipt of that silver, and again wrote a letter that reminded Pūšu-kēn that the third, long-term claim, and the fourth, shortterm claim were coming due soon and they should be collected and the corresponding silver sent. That letter would have reached Pūšu-kēn by mid-September. At this point the documentation breaks off, but had Pūšu-kēn collected the next claim, there was surely time to ship it home, and it could have easily arrived by the beginning of November. The accompanying figure shows this basic development.

Figure 2: Development of Šalim-aḫum’s sales from Nūr-Ištar’s caravan in REL 82

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There are at least four aspects of this chronology at which the devil’s advocate would take first aim. First, there is no way to know when the first, shortterm claim fell due, and placing it in mid-June can be either too late, or far too soon. However, the claim could not have come due any sooner than midJune. The development of an affair with Puzur-Ištar treated in Chapter 6 will show this, but also the capacity of Šalim-aḫum to write, seemingly after his first angry letters, to remind Pūšu-kēn to collect that first claim militate against putting it any sooner. By a similar line of reasoning, it cannot have taken place much further after mid-June. The continuous action coming after it leaves at best an extra month of time than outlined here. And that brings us to the second aspect that is surprising from the anecdotal frame. The second aspect relates to an extra month at the end of this chronology. We must imagine that a traveller leaving Kanesh in the first half of November would have been confident of passing through the Taurus Mountains before the snows closed the passes for winter. Thus we could give more time for the travel of both bulk caravans and letters. But as will be shown later on, DānAššur again left Assur after he returned in September, after staying for at least two weeks, and even at that point, Šalim-aḫum was writing letters expecting him to return before the snows. If the journey generally took a month, then he needed to have left by the beginning of October to accommodate a realistic completion of Šalim-aḫum’s demand. Granted, Šalim-aḫum occasionally proposed plans that exceeded the capacity of goods or messages to travel. But in these cases he seems to have been simply too demanding, not utterly ignorant of the limits of space and time. The third and fourth aspects relate to the rate of travel claimed for the bulk caravans traveling to and from Anatolia and the corresponding speed of messages. Both are the subject of later chapters, but a sufficient statement is appropriate here, keeping just to the rate of bulk caravan travel. It will be immediately apparent to those familiar with the Old Assyrian trade that this chronology requires a tempo of transport faster than what has been the traditionally-understood length of the journey to Anatolia within the anecdotal frame. A caravan journeying from Assur to Kanesh has usually been estimated to have needed six weeks to travel.³⁶ If this were the case, and if this applied both to caravans bearing goods from Assur as well as silver from Anatolia, then we can map out a minimum length of time during which the events passed. If the first caravans arrived in the second week of April, then after the ‘short-term’ credit period of the first sale expired, it took six weeks to ship it back, and then Šalim-aḫum wrote in acknowledgement.

 Larsen 2015: 175 – 77.

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Assuming that the second sale, on ‘long-term’ credit, did not fall due for another two weeks or so, it took another six weeks to send the second shipment of silver. At some point around that time, Ilabrat-bāni’s debt fell due and Pūšu-kēn wrote his letter. Because he suggested Dān-Aššur assist in the raid on Ilabrat-bāni, he must have not expected his letter to arrive ahead of Dān-Aššur. Time was of the essence, and Pūšu-kēn would have only suggested someone immediately available. Then, if Ilabrat-bāni’s goods were intercepted before they crossed the Euphrates, in Amurrum, it would have likely taken four weeks round trip to get back to Assur. Thereafter, Šalim-aḫum saw Ennam-Aššur leave on another sixweek journey to Kanesh. As he expected the goods to sell, perhaps for cash, he must have expected at least four weeks to remain safely before the passes closed, time enough to sell, then begin the journey through the Taurus Mountains ahead of the end of the season. Under the six-week model, the travel thus outlined would have taken roughly 28 weeks total – and this was after the short-term credit loan fell due, which was after the caravans arrived, and after Šalim-aḫum received the letter informing him of the sale on credit, and after he wrote a letter to remind them, which should be understood, roughly speaking, to have arrived at or before the date the debt fell due. Working back 28 weeks from when the passes usually closed —the first week of December, the short term credit must have fallen due on or around May 18th, scarcely six weeks after the caravans arrived. This is too early. Šalim-aḫum tended to remind his representatives of things they undoubtedly already knew. He wrote several letters this year to remind them of upcoming debts. Yet just as he learned of the caravan arrivals, when he wrote his first angry letter about Ilabrat-bāni, he did not remind them that this loan was to fall due soon. He must have learned about it in the same batch of letters as he learned about Ilabrat-bāni. And he did write to remind them of it in a later letter. Thus, there seems to have been some intervening period between when he wrote the angry letters, and when Šalim-aḫum thought it appropriate to remind his representatives of the upcoming debt. Moreover, there were a number of other events that developed in this intervening period, too many to have happened within the two weeks. And Dān-Aššur spent some time in Anatolia after he arrived in the late spring, enough time to suggest that the two weeks posited between the receipt of the first shipment of the silver in Assur and the shipment of the second from Kanesh is too short. A six-week journey also presses the time when the caravans must have departed too far into the wintertime. Ultimately, six weeks for a journey between Assur and Kanesh, especially if it applied to both the journey to Kanesh and Assur, is impossible to sustain within the year of vengeance.

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Though it is an appropriately conservative estimate from a structuralist point of view, and not disproven by anecdotal evidence, the example of trade in motion discussed here makes such a rate of travel untenable. This is not to critique estimates made from anecdotal evidence. Just as all seagoing ships must be tested to see if it actually performs as designed, Šalim-aḫum’s year of vengeance is a test of a number of observations made in the anecdotal frame. A travel estimate of thirty days between Assur and Kanesh still reflects some of the utility of comparative evidence, as well as something close to daily estimates that the original six-week estimate was based on. It must be pointed out that all of this is possible to state at this point because at the beginning of the chapter sufficient consideration was given to Šalimaḫum’s language so as to discover the nature of his mashup. Just as with the dates used in the caravan report associated with Ilī-ašranni’s caravan in the preceding chapter, the surface of Šalim-aḫum’s language concealed a more complex set of circumstances. And these circumstances could only be understood by moving beyond the grammatical confines of the language, and placing an emphasis on consideration of the particular circumstances. The tempo of transport will be revisited in Chapter 10. But before that discussion, a fuller reconstruction of Šalim-aḫum’s year of vengeance is in order. A more detailed accounting of Šalim-aḫum’s interactions with Ilabrat-bāni during the year, his mid-year deal with him, and the seizure of the goods, as well as Dān-Aššur’s own itinerary, must be narrated first.

Chapter 5 Šalim-aḫum and Ilabrat-bāni Make a Deal Ilabrat-bāni arrived with Ilī-ašranni in his caravan around 10 April, just ahead of the caravan that included Nūr-Ištar and his colleagues, and most of the goods from both shipments were sold off on credit quickly. While Ilabrat-bāni was traveling in Anatolia around the end of April, Šalim-aḫum learned of the theft. It took at least a month before Šalim-aḫum decided to do business with Ilabratbāni again despite his petty debts and his trespass on the caravan journey. A few weeks later Ilabrat-bāni wrote with an offer to buy Šalim-aḫum’s goods. By late May, Šalim-aḫum had received the letter, and just after Dān-Aššur had departed Assur for Kanesh, he decided to accept Ilabrat-bāni’s offer. The first claim from the goods of Nūr-Ištar’s caravan fell due around mid-June, roughly two months after its sale. This credit deadline corresponded with the arrival of Šalim-aḫum’s reliable son, Dān-Aššur, who brought the goods that Ilabrat-bāni penitently bought. A number of questions about the problems with Ilabrat-bāni and the caravan he travelled in likely bothered Šalim-aḫum for several weeks. It is even more difficult for us to determine exactly what happened on the road. But it is clear that even before Ilabrat-bāni’s particular infraction, there were anomalies related to the particular shipment. The caravan report stated: “After the 50 minas 5 shekels hand tin, the 4 silas high quality oil, ⅓ minas tin and 5 shekels silver which you sent to Abitiban is exhausted.”¹ Abitiban, just south of Qaṭṭarā, was scarcely three days journey from Assur up the Wadi Tharthar.² Either Šalim-aḫum’s transporters had encountered tremendous costs at the very beginning of their trip, or Šalim-aḫum had given them too little for the journey when they left. Perhaps the rush to send off goods at the beginning of the season gave rise to extra costs. Yet even with the extra funds Šalim-aḫum sent, the transporters still had to dip into their own pockets for expenses on the road. Ilī-ašranni spent 9 minas tin of his own money, which Lā-qēpum and Ilī-ālum refunded him in Kanesh.³ It was not uncommon for transporters to pay some expenses out of their own pockets, but in the present case, it seems to signal excessive problems, given that Šalim-aḫum had sent the extra goods earlier on.  iš-tù 50 ma-na 5 gín an.na-ak qá-tí-šu 4 sìla re-eš15-tám ⅓ ma-na an.na ù 5 gín kù.babbar ša a-na a-bi-tí-ba-an tù-šé-bi4-lá-šu-n[i] gám-ru (1-BIN 4: 61 obv. 19 – 23).  Nashef 1987: 2.  “We balanced 9 minas tin to Ilī-ašranni” 9 ma-na an.na a-na ì-lí-áš-ra-n ni-pu-ul (1-BIN 4: 61 obv. 23 – 24). DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-005

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Thus there are grounds to say that Šalim-aḫum may have been partly to blame for creating the circumstances that provoked Ilabrat-bāni to open the sealed packages of tin. When exactly had Ilabrat-bāni done so? And what specifically had motivated him to do it? According to Šalim-aḫum, Ilabrat-bāni needed to pay a duty or toll and he used Šalim-aḫum’s tin when he should have taken from someone else’s goods. But Ilabrat-bāni’s dip into the sealed cargo may have been linked to irregularities in the way that the feed expenses were allocated. Nestled between complaints about Ilabrat-bāni in his angry letter, Šalim-aḫum complained to Lā-qēpum and Pūšu-kēn that he suspected foul play with the distribution of the feed expenses. “The caravan of Lā -qē pum deposited (expenses of) 45 shekels each. But as for them, they charged him at (only) a 20 shekel rate. How is it that they took it out of my own merchandise? Did he take (anything) from their tin or did he take (anything) from their textiles? They ‘informed’ him and he took from mine, and he returned their textiles and tin intact!”⁴ Ilīašranni and Ilabrat-bāni were likely traveling in Lā-qēpum’s caravan, but they had somehow been subjected to irregular treatment. Certainly the journey from Assur, across the plains of the upper Jezireh, across the Euphrates, through the Taurus Mountains, still with significant amounts of snow, and through Cappadocia would have presented several opportunities for difficulties. Whatever the specific provocation, the die was cast when Ilabrat-bāni arrived in Kanesh. A few days after he arrived in the second week of April with Ilī-ašranni and the caravan, Ilabrat-bāni left Kanesh for the land of Ḫattum, to the northwest. By the time La-qēpum and Ilī-ālum had written their report, he was already gone. The city of Ḫattuš, later the capital of the Hittite empire, lay 155 kilometers north/northwest of Kanesh. But the land of Ḫattum extended much closer to Kanesh. Ilabrat-bāni may not have travelled all the way to the city itself. As such, the trip could have taken as little as a week, perhaps two. Eventually, Ilabrat-bāni returned to Kanesh, and news of his return made its way to Šalim-aḫum, most likely through Pūšu-kēn or through a letter from Ilabrat-bāni himself. Šalim-aḫum had been writing to Ilabrat-bāni: he claimed he had written five letters to which he had received no response.⁵ Complaining about the previous petty debts, he noted that another transporter, Aššur-mālik

 illat-at lá-qé-ep ⸢ú⸣-ku-ul-tám ⅔ ma-na 5 gín.ta iš-ku-nu šu-nu šu-a-tí ⅓ ma-na.ta ú-ša-áš-kinu-šu mì-šu a-num ⸢ša⸣ i-na i-a-tim-ma lu-qú-tim e-ku-lu lu i-na an.na-ki-šu-nu il5-qé lu i-na túg-tíšu-nu il5-qé-e ú-dí-du-šu-ma i-na i-a-im il5-qé-ma ṣú-ba-tí-šu-nu ù an.⸢na-ak-šu⸣-nu šál-ma-am-ma ú-ta-er (2-TC 2: 3 rev. 31-le.e. 42).  “My dispatch has come to you five times.” té-er-tí a-dí ḫa-am-ší-šu i-li-kà-⸢kum⸣ (3-POAT 7 rev. 21– 22).

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s. Azua, had brought Ilabrat-bāni three textiles for Šalim-aḫum’s votive offering, and told Ilabrat-bāni to buy them for a mina of silver.⁶ Šalim-aḫum had also written to Pūšu-kēn to pressure Ilabrat-bāni with a specific message: “The instructions of Šalim-aḫum: Do not hand over my tin and textiles to any of your representatives. Let your share be deposited to the merchant so that my heart is gladdened specifically by you bearing the silver in your transport.”⁷ Though Šalim-aḫum had once called Ilabrat-bāni’s hands weak, he now demanded some heavy lifting. Just when Ilabrat-bāni realized that his actions had angered Šalim-aḫum is still an open question, but he likely anticipated Šalim-aḫum’s frustration. And it is not difficult to imagine that some semblance of Šalim-aḫum’s anger as communicated in his first letters were telegraphed to Ilabrat-bāni through transporters who were familiar with the situation. If not, when he returned to Kanesh, Ilabrat-bāni would certainly have learned firsthand from Pūšu-kēn what Šalimaḫum’s attitude was. Ilabrat-bāni’s actions suggest he got the message. His response to Šalim-aḫum’s letter reveals that mending their relationship was his principal objective. In an effort to exhibit his good intentions toward Šalimaḫum, he asked to buy a new lot of goods worth a talent of silver, offering to pay 10 minas up front,⁸ even though he still had not paid for either the 6⅓ minas tin nor the half-textile.⁹ Ilabrat-bāni had a clear enough knowledge that his violation of the sealed cargo had upset Šalim-aḫum. He also knew, from Šalim-aḫum’s chiding, that his petty debts were a thorn in Šalim-aḫum’s side. Ilabrat-bāni knew that his  “Aššur-mālik son of Azua brings you three textiles belonging to my votive fund (and) one textile for the girl with your textiles. Give a mina of silver to Pūšu-kēn so that he puts it in my silver.” 3 túg.hi.a ša ik-ri--a 1 túg ša ṣú-ḫa-ar-tim iš-tí ṣú-ba-tí-kà a-šur-ma-lik dumu a-zu-a ub-lᢠkum 1 ma-na kù.babbar a-na pu-šu-ke-en6 dí-in-ma a-li-bi4 kù.babbar-pì-a li-dí (3-POAT 7 rev. 28 – 33).  té-er-tí ša-⸢lim⸣-a-ḫi-im an.na-ki ù túg.⸢hi⸣.a mì-ma ⸢a-na⸣ ša ki-ma ku-a-tí la té-zi-ib qá-a[t]-kà˘ ma i-ṣ[é-e]r dam.gàr li-dí-ma ki-ma-⸢ma⸣ kù.babbar i-šé-pì-kà tù-ub-lá-ni li-bi4 i-ḫa-du (4-CCT 4: 25b rev. 21-le.e. 29).  “Let your instructions come to your representatives so that when they sell me tin and textiles on credit, they sell me (some) totaling about a talent of silver. And in confirmation of these things let a 10 minas silver portion (of the total sale amount) go to you so that you heed my message.” té-er-ta-kà a-na ṣé-er ša ki-ma ku-a-tí li-li-kam-ma an.na ù túg.hi.a ki-ma i-qí-pu-ni ša ˘ kù.babbar 1 gú li-dí-nu-nim ù i-ta-ki-it a-ni-a-tim 10 ma-na.ta kù.babbar-pí li-li-kà-ku-ma ana té-er-tí-a i-ḫi-id (5-TC 1: 26 obv. 6 – 13).  Šalim-aḫum’s words: “From the tablet of Lā-qēpum and Pūšu-kēn: ‘6⅓ minas tin and a kusītum textile and ½ kutānum textile are with with Ilabrat-bāni.’ My dear brother, send me my silver!” i-ṭup-pì-im ša la-qé-pí-im ù pu-šu-ke-en6 6 ma-na an.na ù ku-sí-tum ù ½ ku-ta-ni iš-tí d nin.šubur-ba-ni a-ḫi a-ta kù.babbar-pí šé-bi-lam (5-TC 1: 26 le.e.36 – 39).

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offer would not sweep under the rug a lengthening list of nagging debts that Šalim-aḫum had been reciting in the letters he wrote to Ilabrat-bāni. In addition to the 6⅓ minas tin and the ½ kutānum textile, there was a kusītum-robe which came by Ilī-ašranni to Aššur-mālik at some point, likely when Ilabrat-bāni arrived with Ilī-ašranni. Additionally, 3 textiles for the votive fund and 1 for a maiden were delivered to Ilabrat-bāni, but never paid for. At least one of these debts stretched back to three years previous. Later in the season, Šalim-aḫum recited again the same debts, this time in terms of silver. The 6⅓ minas tin was now converted to 63 shekels silver, essentially on the same 6 shekel rate that he had demanded from the tin that Ilabrat-bāni would purchase. Later, after Ilabrat-bāni’s goods had been seized, the kusītum and ½ kutānum textile were valued at a combined 35 shekels. By itself, the ½ kutānum-textile was valued at 15 shekels, which also represents a premium.¹⁰ The three textiles for Šalim-aḫum’s votive fund, and the textile for the ‘maiden,’ were not translated into cash values by Šalim-aḫum.¹¹ But with these mounting debts, Ilabrat-bāni offered to buy a large lot of goods from Šalim-aḫum to pay off the petty debts in quick order. Of course, there was also a social dimension to this problem. Ilabrat-bāni surely would have known that Šalim-aḫum was telling Pūšu-kēn to sell the large bundle at a punitive rate. Ilabrat-bāni was going to get less for his money, but if it would thus be more difficult for him to make a profit, this was part of atoning for the breach of protocol on the road. Doubtless, his uncle Pūšu-kēn was pressuring him to correct the imbalances. Pūšu-kēn was the link between Ilabrat-bāni and Šalim-aḫum, and until the tension between Šalim-aḫum and Ilabrat-bāni was resolved, Pūšu-kēn would be getting unnecessary friction from Šalim-aḫum. Šalim-aḫum accepted Ilabrat-bāni’s proposal, though with an aim to his own interests. He designated merchandise in two different shipments already in motion for Ilabrat-bāni to purchase. First, Šalim-aḫum earmarked 100 kutānum tex-

 Whereas it reads … ku-sí-tum ma-al-a-i-tum ½ túgku-ta-num ½ ma-na 5 gín kù.babbar-áp-šunu (11-CCT 2: 3 obv.15 – 17). The average price of a full kutānum textile was roughly 25 – 30 shekels, therefore the first value is acceptable. The second must be the combined total of the kusītum robe and the ½ kutānum textile, thus the robe was worth 20 shekels.  “6⅓ minas tin, its price in silver: 1 mina 3 shekels; a mal’a’ītum kusītum textile, their price in silver: 35 shekels; Aššur-mālik son of Azuza brought him 3 textiles for my votive fund and 1 textile for the girl along with his textiles.” 6⅓ ma-na an.na kù.babbar-áp-šu 1 ma-na 3 gín ku-sítum ma-al-a-i-tum ½ túgku-ta-num ½ ma-na 5 gín kù.babbar-áp-šu-nu 3 túg ša ik-ri-bi4-a 1 túg ša ṣú-ḫa-ar-tim iš-tí ṣú-ba-tí-šu a-šùr-ma-lik dumu a-zu-za ú-bi4-il5-šu-um (11-CCT 2: 3 obv. 14‐rev. 21).

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Figure 3: Seal of Ilabrat-bani s. Aššur-mālik

tiles, already in transit with his son Dān-Aššur and with Šū-Suen.¹² Second, Šalim-aḫum marked two-donkey loads of tin transported by Amur-Aššur son of Šū-Ištar and Ḫuraṣānum.¹³ When they arrived, the goods would be sufficient to yield a talent of silver in credit sales.¹⁴ Citing his knowledge that the going rate of tin in Kanesh was 7 shekels per shekel silver—learned from the same letter that first angered him—Šalim-aḫum demanded a shekel of silver for every 6 shekels tin, but noted that the price would be worked out between Ilabrat-bāni and Pūšu-kēn. As with the ½ textile that Ilabrat-bāni owed, described sometimes as the one Nūr-Ištar carried, Šalim-aḫum’s reference to the 7 shekel rate is another example of how too narrow a philological stance can lead to misunderstandings about a passage. Or, to put it another way, context matters. The passage in question

 5-TC 1: 26 lo.e. 16 – 17; 22-TC 2: 2 rev. 23 – 25; 24-CCT 5: 5a obv. 3 – 10. Six of these textiles were designated to Dān-Aššur, though there was some confusion as to how they should be disposed of: See 10-BIN 4: 8 obv. 3-rev. 17.  23-KTS 1: 27b rev. 17– 20, 27-AKT 3: 72 rev. 28, u.e. 41-l e.e. 42. Ḫurāšānum and Amur-Aššur do appear as transporting a donkey-load of tin each for Šalim-aḫum in BIN 4: 27 (Larsen 1967: 134– 36). However, this does not represent this same shipment: Pūšu-kēn was not present. Instead, Al-āḫum, Imdī-ilum, and Puzur-Aššur acted as Šalim-aḫum’s agents. The goods were split up into multiple lots and sold to multiple trustworthy merchants (i-ṣé-er dam.gàr ke-nutim BIN: 4 27 le.e. 36).  See Chapter 7 on Dān-Aššur’s transport for a more in depth discussion.

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comes sandwiched between Šalim-aḫum’s complaints that Ilabrat-bāni must pay a 6 shekel rate for the tin: Cause him to pay a 6 shekel rate for my tin! I read that Iddin-abum son of Iddin-Ištar paid 19!½ minas [silver] (for merchandise) from those very same goods, (paying) ½ mina (per kutā num textile), and 7 shekels (tin per shekel silver). He will not pay less than a 6 shekel rate for the tin!¹⁵

The translation here reflects an interpretation of the passage that relies on evidence from outside itself. The first clue is related to the focus on the 6 shekel rate. Šalim-aḫum was adamant about the 6 shekels rate in other places.¹⁶ And this is crucial to understanding Šalim-aḫum’s reason for including the statement. Without any emendation, it is possible to read the passage in ll. 13 – 17 as “I hear that 16½ minas tin and 37 shekels silver is with Iddin-abum.” This reading is a straightforward and completely logical grammatical solution to the passage. But the translation makes little sense. This ought to provoke some difficulties, despite the grammatical solution. The solution only becomes apparent with the connection between Šalim-aḫum’s complaints about 6⅓ minas tin and the letter from which Šalim-aḫum learned of the problem. In that caravan report, it was recorded that the Iddin-abum s. Iddin-Ištar in question did, in fact, purchase tin at a 7 shekel rate and textiles at a 30 shekel rate: 2 talents 14 minas 10 shekels tin, at a 7 shekel rate, 20 kutānum-textiles, at a ½ mina each, 4 šurum-textiles, at 15 shekels each, 1 black donkey for ½ mina – (in total) 30⅔ minas silver for 47 ḫamuštum weeks he entrusted to Iddin-abum s. Iddin-Ištar.¹⁷

A simple analysis of the reference shows that having paid 30⅔ minas silver total for 134 minas 10 shekels tin, 20 kutānum textiles, and 4 šurum textiles, and the silver for the kutānum textiles being 10 minas and for the šurum textiles 1 mina, the tin cost him 19⅔ minas silver. While the reading “16½” in Šalim-aḫum’s letter is clear, a slip of the hand could account for the difference between 16 and 19, and Šalim-aḫum’s occasional sloppiness with fractions can explain the differ-

 a-na an.na-ki-a 6 gín.ta ša!-áš-qí-lá-šu a-ša-me-ma i-na lu-qú-tim ší-a-tí-ma 19!½ ma-na an.na ù ½ ma-na 7 gín ⸢kù⸣.babbar iš-tí i-dí-a-bi-im dumu i-dí-iš8-tár a-na an.na 6 gín.ta ú-lá i-ba-ta-aq (2-TC 2: 3 obv. 12– 19).  “My dear brother, for my tin, do no go less than a 6 shekel rate.” a-ḫi a-ta a-na an.na-ki-a 6 gín.ta la ta-ba-ta-qám (5-TC 1: 26 rev. 28 – 30).  2 gú 14 ma-na 10 gín an.na 7 gín.ta 20 túgku-ta-ni ½ ma-na.ta 4 túgšu-ru-tim 15 gín.ta 1 anše ṣa-la-mu-um ki-ma ½ ma-na a-na 30⅔ ma-na kù. a-na 47 ḫa-am-ša-tim i-día-ba-am dumu i-dí-in-iš8-tár i-qí-ip (1-BIN 4: 61 rev. 34– 40).

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ence between ½ and ⅔.¹⁸ Although the grammar of the passage in Šalim-aḫum’s letter is possible to solve, the passage was in fact an example of an attenuated syntax. But its intent was unmistakeable to its reader. In this case, and several others, we must allow for the fact that occasionally grammatical solutions are indeed wrong. Sometimes limiting interpretation to only the text in question will assure a correct interpretation, but sometimes it will do quite the opposite. Whenever possible, the documents must be read in conjunction with all other documents that can be determined to refer to the same circumstances, and translated to render as specific a delineation of those circumstances. Sometimes this will lead to translations that show the immediate grammatical solution is incorrect. Šalim-aḫum wanted to sell off his goods, and apparently he had a certain target price. Šalim-aḫum took another liberty in his relationship with Ilabratbāni by dictating in what specie he would accept his down payment. Ilabratbāni had offered Šalim-aḫum a down payment of ten minas silver, but Šalimaḫum stipulated that he send “5 minas silver and ½ mina pašallum gold,”¹⁹ effectively totaling the ten minas silver offered. At the rates Šalim-aḫum stipulated, Ilabrat-bāni would need to pay just over a talent of silver, a relatively similar amount to some other credit purchases made that spring from the caravan of Nūr-Ištar and Ilī-ašranni. The credit term was to be short—one to two months.²⁰ There is reason to suspect that Ilabrat-bāni was worried that he would not be able to pay off his arrangement with Šalim-aḫum. He was certainly making other moves to try to raise funds. In the time between when Ilabrat-bāni came back to Kanesh from his trip to the land of Ḫattum and the time when Ilabrat-bāni concluded his purchase from Šalim-aḫum, it appears that Ilabrat-bāni also asked Pūšu-kēn for a loan. When Pūšu-kēn asked Šalim-aḫum for advice via letter, Šalim-aḫum retorted, “[If] you will give him silver to manage, give him prudently (ina tašimtim) so that an investor will balance you.”²¹ This dialogue matches well

 On Šalim-aḫum’s sloppiness, see Stratford 2014. Because of Šalim-aḫum’s sloppiness, the fraction has not been emended. Note also that ‘read’ instead of ‘hear’ is appropriate in the translation because we can point to a specific document that Šalim-aḫum had in front of him. It is indeed often difficult to distinguish between ‘reading’ and ‘hearing’ from the verb šamā’um, as this case shows.  Fuller passage: “Send me 5 minas silver (and) ½ mina pašallum gold with its excise.” 5 mana kù.babbar ½ ma-na kù.gi pá-šál-lam ù ni-is-ḫa-sú šé-bi-lam (5-TC 1: 26 rev. 30 – 32). See also 23-KTS 1: 27b obv. 4– 6, u.e. 21-le.e. 24.  “Let my silver be lent out for a month of two.” kù.babbar-pí iti.1.kam iš-té-en6 ù šé-na li-béla-ni (5-TC 1: 26 rev. 26 – 28).  šu-ma ta-da-šu-um kù i-na ta-ší-im-tim dí-šu-ma ù ma-ma-an i-na um-mì-a-ni le-pu-ul-kà (8‐KTS 1: 41a rev. 15’-17’).

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what Šalim-aḫum was saying about Ilabrat-bāni in April and May. In his advice to Pūšu-kēn, Šalim-aḫum again grumbled that Ilabrat-bāni’s hand was ‘slack.’²² And the same refrain about the collateral damage Ilabrat-bāni inflicted on Šalimaḫum was reiterated: “Whenever I have given him silver, yearly I become embroiled in arguments.”²³ In the same breath, Šalim-aḫum mentioned the fact that Dān-Aššur had brought Ilabrat-bāni about half a donkey load of tin and two textiles, which had been purchased with money Ilabrat-bāni had sent back to Assur at the beginning of the season, perhaps after he returned to Kanesh.²⁴ Šalim-aḫum was perturbed that none of the silver was allocated to him to cover some of Ilabrat-bāni’s outstanding debts. Moreover, he warned Pūšu-kēn to “set aside ½ mina of silver for additional payments for the be’ulatum which he (Ilabrat-bāni) requested of you so that the remainder of my silver may be paid to me.”²⁵ When Pūšu-kēn responded, Šalim-aḫum grumbled that Pūšu-kēn sent the letter by express messenger, “Concerning Ilabrat-bāni about whom you wrote me, saying ‘He requested silver for be’alum ana tašimtim.’ (You sent) your message by express messenger?! … by express messenger?! … why would you give (him anything) as a be’alum-loan? What favor has he done me for all the silver I made him here?”²⁶ Apparently, Šalim-aḫum did not think Ilabrat-bāni worth the trouble, or more to the point, the money, involved with an express messenger.

 qá-tum sú-ri eṣ-lá-at (6-TC 3: 22 le.e. 33).  a-šar kù.babbar-áp-šu a-ta-dí-nu ša-tí-ša šu-ta-al-mu-na-ku (6-TC 3: 22 rev. 25-u.e. 27).  “Concerning the matter of Ilabrat-bāni, for the 29 minas of his silver (which I received), I weighed out 8 minas silver to a pouring of the son of Al-āḫum. I gave 12½ minas to his mother, his sister, and his representatives (and) 17 minas to your representatives about which you wrote. Dān-Aššur drove to him 1 talent 10 minas tin, 2 textiles, (and) a black donkey. We paid 5 minas 25 shekels silver (for that merchandise).” a-šu-mì ša dnin.šubur-ba-ni a-na 29 ma-na kù.babbarpì-šu 8 ma-na kù a-ší-ip-kà-tim ša dumu a-lá-ḫi-im áš-qúl 12½ ma-na a-na um-mì-šu a-ḫa-tí-šu ù ša ki-ma šu-a-tí 17 ma-na a-na ša ki-ma ku-a-tí ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni-ni áš-qú-ul 1 gú 10 ma-na an.na 2 túg.hi anše ṣa-lá-mì-im dan-a-šur i-ra-de8-šu-um 5⅓ ma-na 5 gín kù.babbar ni-iš-qú-ul ˘ (6‐TC 3: 22 obv. 3-rev. 16).  ½ ma-na a-té-ṣú-pè ša kù.babbar-pì-šu a-ša be-ú-lá-tim “kù” e-ri-šu-kà šé-zi-ib-šu-ma ší-tí kù.babbar-pì-a li-iš-qú-lá-kum (6-TC 3: 22 rev. 17– 21).  a-šu-mì dnin.šubur-ba-ni ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni um-ma a-ta-ma kù.babbar «a-na» i-na ta-ší-imtim-ma a-na be-a-lim e-re-eš i-na ba-tí-qí-ma té-er-ta-kà iš-tí ba-tí-qí-im mì-šu ša a-na be-a-lim ta-du-nu-šu-ni a-na kù.babbar 1 gín ša a-na-kam e-pu-šu-šu-ni mì-nam ig-mì-lá-ni (7-C 26 obv. 2– 11).

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Despite Šalim-aḫum’s exasperation and warning, Pūšu-kēn seems to have granted Ilabrat-bāni’s request.²⁷ Once again, understanding the context of Šalim-aḫum’s demands requires, among other things, recognizing that the surface of Šalim-aḫum’s language, if read in a strict philological frame, and without appeal to the larger context, fails to provide the correct historical interpretation of Šalim-aḫum’s intents. The thousand kilometer stretch between Assur and Kanesh was no trivial distance. If everything described thus far developed without cessation, then after Ilabrat-bāni and the caravans arrived and the merchandise was sold in the second week of April, there remained eight months (at best) for the Ilabrat-bāni drama to play out before the passes closed for the winter. By early June, Šalim-aḫum had dictated that the goods should be sold to Ilabrat-bāni on short terms (one or two months), and Dān-Aššur likely arrived before the end of June, for reasons that will become clear later. This was approximately when the first short term credit debt that arose from Nūr-Ištar’s caravan fell due. When Ilabrat-bāni bought Šalim-aḫum’s goods, Pūšu-kēn sold the textiles to Ilabrat-bāni for two months of credit, not one. The due date fell in mid-August, after Dān-Aššur returned to Kanesh from his travels in Anatolia, as we will see in a following chapter. But first, it is important to interweave another strand of the conditions in which Šalim-aḫum and Ilabrat-bāni played their parts. Ilabrat-bāni had offered a down payment of sorts on the confirmation of the deal, amounting to 10 minas silver. Šalim-aḫum accepted the offer, but stipulated that it be rendered half in silver (5 minas) and half in gold (½ mina), specifically the highly valued pašallum gold. Šalim-aḫum’s reasons for requesting half to be paid in gold arose from another problem that had developed in those first two months after the caravans first arrived in Anatolia. It is to that problem that we turn next.

 This half donkey load of tin was likely owned by Ilabrat-bāni, and so would not disprove that the one hundred textiles which Dān-Aššur transported were owned by Šalim-aḫum. See also 7-C 26.

Figure 4: Development of Šalim-aḫum’s deal with Ilabrat-bāni in REL 82

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Chapter 6 Puzur-Istar and Šalim-aḫum’s Gold In the moment, Ilabrat-bāni’s offer to buy a silver talent worth of goods was useful to Šalim-aḫum. While such an offer was always worth something to merchants who were trying to convert their goods into silver, one aspect of Ilabrat-bāni’s offer was not often observed. He offered an earnest money deposit of sorts of 10 minas of the talent of silver. Šalim-aḫum responded, “Send me 5 minas silver (and) 30 shekels pašallum gold with its excise tax.”¹ He hinted at his reason, warning the ineffectual Ilabrat-bāni to finally come through: “Do not anger me! Let the god, the owner of the votive fund (ikribū) drive you on!”² Thus, Šalim-aḫum was already earmarking Ilabrat-bāni’s silver and pašallum gold for a votive contribution he had promised to one of the temples in Assur. In a private letter he wrote to Pūšu-kēn, the senior merchant told him to send “the 5 minas silver about which I wrote to Ilabrat-bāni,” with other gold and silver and “declare it in the caravan declaration assessment as votive goods (ikribū),” adding that “Ilabrat-bāni should give [him] ½ mina gold with its excise tax.”³ Because of Ilabrat-bāni’s track record, the harsh words of warning might have come regardless. But Šalim-aḫum’s frustration in the letter was not solely directed at Ilabrat-bāni; it had its roots in another minor crisis he was facing in preparing to pay his votive obligation by the end of the year. He had made plans to gain much of his needed gold from a previous deal with a merchant named Puzur-Ištar, who was traveling to Anatolia in March. But by mid-May that deal had failed. This failed deal created the circumstances which prompted Šalim-aḫum to respond favorably to Ilabrat-bāni’s proposed deal. When Ilabratbāni’s offer came sometime in late May, Šalim-aḫum recognized it as an opportunity to both increase revenues and shore up gold for his votive fund.

 5 ma-na kù.babbar ½ ma-na kù.gi pá-šál-lam ù ni-is-ḫa-sú šé-bi-lam (5-TC 1: 26 rev. 30 – 32).  li-bi4 lá tù-lá-ma-an dingir be-el ik-ri-bi li-ir-de8-k[à] (5-TC 1: 26 u.e. 34– 35). OA radā’um is generally translated “to convey, escort” when it takes persons as objects. It may have been that Šalim-aḫum was expressing his desire that the god would assist Ilabrat-bāni.  a-ṣé-er 5 ma-na kù.babbar ša a-na dnin.šubur-ba-ni áš-pu-ru ù a-ta 10 ma-na i-na kù.babbar-pì-a ra-dí-ma 15 ma-na kù.babbar ù kù.gi ma-la tù-ba-lá-ni i-na a-wi-tim ša illat-tim kima kù.babbar ik-ri-bu-ni wa-dí-ma ša-du-a-tám i-na ḫa-ra-nim la i-lá-ma-ad 6 gín kù.gi ša pá-na-kà 7 gín iš-ti ḫu-ra-ṣa-nim i-na e-ra-bi4-šu-ma ša-áš-qí-il5 ½ ma-na kù.gi ù ni-is-ḫa-sú i‐lá-ab-ra--ba-ni li-dí-na-kum (23-KTS 1: 27b obv. 3-le.e. 24). DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-006

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Šalim-aḫum’s failed deal with Puzur-Ištar provides some context for Šalimaḫum’s immediate interests in Ilabrat-bāni’s offer. Of the Assyrian merchants known to manage votive funds, Šalim-aḫum is one of the best attested, and his documents are the most expressive. While a previous review recognized that three of Šalim-aḫum’s letters discussing Puzur-Ištar and Ilabrat-bāni were interconnected, five more of Šalim-aḫum’s documents also belong to this same moment. Thus from the perspective of Šalim-aḫum’s revenge it is possible to more fully narrate this instance of Šalim-aḫum managing his votive funds, and make a stronger connection to the less well-known ša ḫarrān ālim (‘of the city caravan’) contract in relation to votive funds. This particular type of contract may have been a common way that merchants sought to convert their votive funds into gold when it was time to turn over their funds or promised votive objects to the temples. Šalim-aḫum had drawn up a contract with Puzur-Ištar in the early spring, before the caravans departed for Anatolia. The basic aspects of the contract were simple. Šalim-aḫum gave Puzur-Ištar some capital in order for PuzurIštar to purchase ⅔ minas pašallum gold. Because silver was cheaper in Anatolia and tin and textiles more dear, anyone using this contract in Assur to get gold would have only considered giving tin and/or textiles as the capital. Šalimaḫum most likely gave Puzur-Ištar textiles, as suggested by developments later in their interaction, and because their exchange value in Anatolia was higher than tin.⁴ This is impossible to concretely corroborate however, because promissory contracts, including debt notes, did not record assets exchanged at the beginning of the transaction, only the promised return. Nevertheless, Šalim-aḫum had ensured that a copy of the contract would be available in Anatolia to aid in collecting the gold from Puzur-Ištar. While his representative Pūšu-kēn was still in Assur in the early spring, Šalim-aḫum had given him a copy with instructions to collect the gold after both Pūšu-kēn and Puzur-Ištar had arrived in Kanesh.⁵

 An average price for a kutānum textile in Assur was 5 shekels, while in Kanesh at this time 20 shekels silver was the average cash value of a kutānum textile (1-BIN 4: 61). And the rate of gold:silver was around 5:1 in Anatolia and 8:1 in Assur. Thus Šalim-aḫum could have purchased 10 kutānum textiles for less than a mina of silver to get roughly ⅔ minas gold in Anatolia as opposed to paying roughly 5⅓ minas silver for it in Assur. Though he would have likely given Puzur-Ištar several more textiles than this, the price would still have been much less than a third the Assur price.  “Puzur-Ištar son of Aššur-mālik owes me ⅔ minas pašallum gold from the journey to the city. He promised to pay upon his arrival in Kanesh. Now, I personally gave you a copy of his certified tablet, (saying) ‘As for the man, there, he will pay in installments severally at his arrival.’ Travel overland, seize him, and make (him) pay the gold.” ⅔ ma-na kù.gi pá-ša-lam ša ḫa-ra-an a-lim ki puzur4-iš8-tár dumu a-šur-ma-lik ḫa-bu-lam ⸢i⸣-na kà-ni-iš i-na e-ra-bi-šu-ma ša-qá-lam qá-bi ù

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And with his characteristic impatience, Šalim-aḫum had then written to Pūšukēn to remind him of the contract soon after Pūšu-kēn had arrived. At the same time he also urged Pūšu-kēn to add ⅓ minas gold from his own fund and send a full mina of gold with Ilī-ālum.⁶ Not everything went according to plan. Soon after Puzur-Ištar arrived in Kanesh, Pūšu-kēn wrote to Šalim-aḫum, relating that Puzur-Ištar was claiming that problems with his textiles were preventing him from procuring the contracted gold.⁷ If Šalim-aḫum had given him the textiles as the capital to purchase gold, then Puzur-Ištar could shift blame to Šalim-aḫum for his inability to fulfill the contract, claiming that the textiles were flawed. Šalim-aḫum rejected such reasoning. He wrote to Pūšu-kēn: “Now, if the wind carried off his textiles, how am I liable?”⁸ Šalim-aḫum hinted that he had reason to doubt the veracity of Puzur-Ištar’s difficulties. He knew that at least one person was able to pay for his textiles in gold. Ilī-ašranni had already paid 7 shekels 23½ grains gold for two of the textiles he had transported to Kanesh with Ilabrat-bāni in the spring.⁹ And apparently Puzur-Ištar had already paid another merchant, Aššur-mālik, a matter over which Šalim-aḫum questioned Pūšu-kēn’s fidelity. Šalim-aḫum complained to his representative, “You did a favor for Aššurmālik. You caused his silver to be paid. Mine you did not cause to be paid!¹⁰” Pūšu-kēn was Puzur-Ištar’s uncle, and this particular Aššur-mālik was likely Ilabrat-bāni’s father, and thus Pūšu-kēn’s brother-in-law.¹¹ Šalim-aḫum was

me-ḫe-er ṭup-pí-šu ḫa-ar-mì-im a-na-[ku] a-dí-na-⸢k⸣um a-wi-[lúm] a-ma-kam i-na e-[ra-bi-šu-ma] a-na iš-té-en6 ⸢u⸣ [šé-na] ⸢ma⸣-áš-qá-al-tám i-[ša-qal] [e]-⸢tí⸣-iq-ma ṣa-ba-s[ú-ma] kù.gi ša-áš-qíil5-[šu] (20-TC 2: 4 obv. 3-lo.e. 15).  “Add ⅓ mina gold from your own gold and seal 1 mina gold in a single package for my votive fund and let Ilī-ā lum son of …. bring it to me.” ⅓ ma-na kù.gi i-na k[ù].b[abbar-kà] ra-dí-ma išté-ni-iš 1 ma-⸢na⸣ kù.gi a-na ik-ri-bi-a ku-un-kam-ma ì-lí-a-lim i-š[é-pí-šu] lu-ub-lam (20-TC 2: 4 rev. 18 – 22).  “Why is it that Puzur-Ištar answered you (in that way?). He (had) said, ‘At the arrival of my goods I will pay.’ Now if the wind carried off his textiles, how am I liable?” mì-šu puzur4-iš8tár BA-a-tám e-pu-lu-kà um-ma šu-ut-ma i-na e-ra-áb lu-qú-tí-a a-ša-qal ú šu-ma túg.hi-tí-šu ˘ (21-CCT 4: 5b obv. 3 – 8).  ú šu-ma túg.hi-tí-šu ša-ru-um i-dí-ší a-na-ku mì-nam ṭá-ḫu-a-ku (21-CCT 4: 5b obv. 7– 10). ˘ Šalim-aḫum also used this phrase to encourage Ennam-Aššur to stop worrying about his financial entanglements with Anatolians in 35-AKT 3: 67 rev. 32.  “In exchange for 2 textiles (Ilī-ašranni) gave us 7½ shekels less 6½ grains gold and 5 shekels silver” ki-[ma] 2 túgku-ta-ni 7½ gín lá 6½ še kù.ki ù 5 gín kù.babbar i-dí-in-ni-a-tí (1-BIN 4: 61 rev. 47– 49).  i-ṣé-er a-šùr-ma-⸢lik⸣ gi5-mì-lam ta-áš-ku-u[n] kù.babbar-áp-šu tù-ša-áš-qí-il5 i-a-am lá tù-šaáš-qí-il (21-CCT 4: 5b rev. 11– 15).  See discussion below of Pūšu-kēn and Puzur-Ištar’s relationship in this chapter.

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Figure 5: Seal of Pūšu-kēn s. Sueyya

clearly animated by the possibility that nepotism was depriving him of his gold. The senior merchant was adamant that Pūšu-kēn promptly collect the gold and send it immediately, reminding him that “As for [Puzur-Ištar’s] certified tablet, I retain it here.”¹² Pūšu-kēn, of course, knew this, having already received the contract copy back in Assur. Šalim-aḫum was sending a subtle reminder to Pūšu-kēn that he should not feel at liberty to renegotiate willy-nilly the terms of Puzur-Ištar’s contract. If Puzur-Ištar was to repay anything it would have to be gold—under duress silver—but under no condition textiles. Šalim-aḫum’s specific arrangement in this year was to send pašallum gold to one of the temples in Assur. But votive funds were managed on behalf of a range of temples and one could donate a range of precious materials to those temples. As best understood at present, votive funds were managed for the enrichment of the temple. The funds eventually yielded high quality goods, that were sometimes offered to the temple already in the form of cultic objects. Though a distinct word, ikribū is the grammatical plural of ikribum, ‘prayer,’ and the funds, by all accounts, went toward the maintenance and enhancement of the cults at the various temples in Assur. In preparation for donating fine tin or other precious

 ṭup-pu-⸢šu⸣ ḫa-ar-ma-am a-na-kam ú-kà-al (21-CCT 4: 5b rev. 22– 23).

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goods, tin of regular quality and textiles were trafficked to grow the fund.¹³ Because the assets were destined for the gods, special rules and advantages for their management existed, including exemptions from taxes and shipping charges. The ikribū arrangement was undoubtedly practiced by a wide swath of merchants, but explicit discussion of how the offerings were presented to the temples are not plentiful. Silver, copper and gold are documented going to Assur and labeled as ikribū, and donations of pectorals and decorative elements for the temple made from precious objects are also documented.¹⁴ Šalim-aḫum’s contract with Puzur-Ištar was characterized by the formula ša ḫarrān ālim (‘of the city caravan).¹⁵ Though the most restrictive part of the phrase is the ‘city’ (ālum), neither the creation nor conclusion of the contractual arrangement was necessarily anchored to Assur. The connection between the financial agreement and its formula may be found in construing the ḫarrān ālim as somehow related to the ability to stipulate the gold gathered for the god (who was semi-synonymous with the city)—as votive funds—and thus not incur the normal shipping charges and local duties.¹⁶ But construing the meaning of the phrase in this way cannot be firmly corroborated by appeal to any relevant clauses in the extant treaties.¹⁷ There are a number of parallels between the management of votive funds and the use of the ša ḫarrān ālim contract that suggest they were intended to be used in the same domain. This formula described a particular kind of financial arrangement, and one that was designed as a mechanism for obtaining gold in Anatolia.¹⁸ Because the price of gold in Anatolia was roughly half that in  Dercksen 1997 refers to 20-TC 2: 4 and 23-KTS 1: 27b.  Dercksen 1997. An up-to-date treatment of votive funds is still needed. See TC 3: 68 and Kt 87/k 34 (courtesy S. Bayram) for examples of packages stored in the temple which could be opened and sealed.  ⅔ ma-na kù.gi pá-ša-lam ša ḫa-ra-an a-lim ki puzur4-iš8-tár dumu a-šur-ma-lik ḫa-bu-lam (20‐TC 2: 4 obv. 3 – 6).  The connection between the city Assur and the god Aššur have been discussed most recently in Larsen 2015.  For the most recent review of the extant treaty copies, see Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 183 – 218.  There are more examples of the phrase ša ḫarrān…. But this shorter phrase is not necessarily an abbreviated form of the longer one treated here. Letters which explicitly manifest the full phrasing are limited to three: CCT 2: 46b+ with mention of a debt for ½ minas gold, ICK 1: 84 with a debt for 25½ shekels, and Kt 87/k 472 (courtesy S. Bayram) with a debt for ⅔ minas. There is also record of a Puzur-Ennam s. Eliya owing Aššur-rē’ī 2 minas of gold in relation to ša ḫarrān ālim in AKT 7a: 233 rev. 16 – 18, AKT 7a: 228 obv. 8 – 9. The formula ālikū ḫarrān ālim ‘travelers of the way to the city,’ confined to the Level Ib period, should be kept separate from the arrangement under review here. The elements in common between the two formulae cover

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Assur,¹⁹ merchants based in Assur were motivated to acquire gold through their contacts in Anatolia.²⁰ The admittedly few surviving copies of ša ḫarrān ālim contracts all share the distinction of stipulating the payments of between 5 shekels and 1 mina of ‘fine,’ ‘pašallum,’ or ‘fine pašallum’ gold.²¹ Likewise, the arrangements were usually short term, between 2 months to 15 weeks. Where the ša ḫarran ālim arrangement is mentioned in letters, similar patterns emerge.²² Lower interest rates were associated with silver loans made with votive funds; and several of the known ša ḫarrān ālim contracts accord with such lower interest rates. The penalty interest rate on the debts range from very low (¼ shekels/ mina/month), to the standard rate (1½ shekels/mina/month), to double the stan-

so broad a spectrum of possibilities that a common implication cannot be assumed. The ālikū ḫarrān ālim of the later period appear as a party important in official declarations or making legal decisions. See Veenhof 2008b: 210 – 12.  The actual price of gold in both Anatolia and Assur did fluctuate, and the price of the gold would have depended on its quality, but average exchange rate for gold to silver was roughly 5.9 shekels in Anatolia and 8 in Assur. Prices in silver for one shekel gold in Anatolia: 5 shekels (CCT 3: 39b obv. 4– 5); 6½ shekels (CCT 5: 37a rev. 24) and 6¼ shekels – 1½ ma-na 6 gín kù.ki a‐na-[ku áš-am] 10 ma-na kù.babbar a‐na ší-mì-im a-na dam.gàr kù.ki a‐dí-in (ATHE 33 rev. 29’ – 31’). Prices in silver for one shekel gold in Assur: 8½ shekels and 8⅚ shekels (BIN 4: 30 obv. 5 – 8); 7⅓ and 8⅔ (CCT 3: 22a); 7⅓ (98‐TC 3: 36); 8⅙ shekels and 6⅔ shekels (kubrusinnum) (TC 3: 43); 8⅚ shekels (BIN 6: 65 obv. 5 – 9); 8 shekels (Nesr. C: 1 rev. 35); between 8 and 9 shekels (CCT 3: 47a obv. 5 – rev. 12); 8 shekels (136-CCT 4: 4a le.e. 44); 8 shekels (CCT 4: 50b rev. 29); 7⅓ shekels (98‐TC 3: 36 obv. 4).  A merchant who owed the well-known Imdī-ilum silver sends gold home with the latter and a letter, telling his representatives to convert the gold to silver there and pay off Imdī-ilum with the proceeds. “From Šū mī-abiya to Abela and Ennam-Bē lum: Imdī-ilum is bringing you 1 mina and 1 shekel pašallum gold under my seal. I owe 9⅚ minas silver to Imdī-ilum. Sell the gold (for silver) and weigh out the silver to Imdī-ilum. Write the remainder of the silver to me so that I send it from here. If (it is his journey?) borrow (the silver) on interest and …” um-ma šu-mìa-bi4-a-ma a-na a-bé-lá-ma ù en-[nam]-be-lim qí-bi4-ma 1 ma-na 1 gín kù.gi pá-ša-lam ku-nuki-a im-dí-dingir na-[áš]-a-ku-nu-ti 9⅚ ma-na kù.babbar a-na im-dí-dingir ḫa-bu-lá-ku kù.gi a-na ší-mì-im dì-na-[ma kù.babbar] a-na im-dí-dingir [šu]-uq- ší-tí kù.babbar šu-up-ranim-ma [a]-na-nu-um lu-šé-bi4-lam šu-ma ḫa-ra-šu a-na ṣí-ib-tim li-qé-a-ma ša-bi4-a (BIN 4: 66 obv. 1-rev. 19).  16½ shekels (AKT 2: 9), ⅓ minas in 12 weeks (ICK 1: 60), ⅓ minas in 15 weeks (ICK 1: 160), 5 shekels in 10 weeks (Kt a/k 602b), ⅔ minas in 2 months (Kt v/k 153, courtesy V. Donbaz). There is also a ša ḫarrān ālim debt mentioned in a debt memorandum for 1 minas 3 shekels in 3 months (Prag I: 432 obv. 18-rev. 23).  Ennam-Bēlum, younger brother of Imdī-ilum, contracted with a man (Ḫuraṣānum) to acquire 1 mina 3 shekels of fine pašallum gold within three months of the stated beginning of the contract. It is possible that the same individual (Ḫuraṣānum) specialized in obtaining gold, as there was another tablet recording a debt of 15 shekels more pašallum gold mentioned immediately following.

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dard rate (3 shekels/mina/month).²³ Though some ša ḫarrān ālim contracts, including Puzur-Ištar’s, were initiated in Assur, others were clearly created in Anatolia, as signaled by their being dated according to ḫamuštum weeks. After all, hiring someone to procure gold wherever it was available would have been as useful within Anatolia as it was in Assur. Moreover, in the case of Puzur-Ištar, he did not need to deliver the gold he purchased to Assur himself; he was only required to submit it to a representative in Kanesh. The interaction between Šalim-aḫum and Pūšu-kēn over Puzur-Ištar reveals much more about the nature of the agreements designated by ša ḫarrān ālim than an analysis of the phrase alone can provide. While the nature of the agreement between Puzur-Ištar and Šalim-aḫum was straightforward, Puzur-Ištar’s case reveals that the ša ḫarrān ālim contract for gold involved its own risks, which illuminates phrases found in the copies of the contract. Despite it being cheaper in Anatolia than Assur, gold was still more difficult to procure on demand than silver in both places. Also, it appears that the circumstances to which Puzur-Ištar had agreed were perhaps more difficult than the average terms of ša ḫarrān ālim agreements. While two months or more were average in the extant contracts, Šalim-aḫum’s letters suggest that Puzur-Ištar was to turn over the acquired gold very soon after arriving in Kanesh. When something went wrong with the textiles, Puzur-Ištar’s confidence in his ability to follow through with the contract faltered. However, Puzur-Ištar’s actions, in the context of the extant contracts, suggest that the arrangement was meant to deal with such eventualities. Puzur-Ištar was eventually able to exit the contract, and it is likely that his justification had something to do with a phrase included in one of the extant contracts’ text, “If my eye does not encounter any gold, I will pay an eight-shekel silver rate for the gold and I will take silver.”²⁴ If this clause was relevant to Puzur-Ištar, and he invoked it, Šalim-aḫum would still receive sufficient funds in silver to acquire gold back in Assur. And though Puzur-Ištar would lose the silver he would have saved by acquiring gold in Anatolia, the contract phrasing suggests that some silver would be left over for him to take. In theory, Šalim-aḫum would have given Puzur-Ištar enough capital, in

 The low rate is found in Kt a/k 602b rev. 12-u.e. 15. The high rate is found in ICK I: 60 lo.e. 12‐rev. 15).  “Adad-ṣulūlī owes Ḫunia 16½ shekels fine pašallum gold of the journey of the city. He will pay in month iii. If my eye does not meet any gold, I will pay an eight shekel rate for the gold and take the silver” 16½ gín kù.gi pá-ša-lam sig5 ša ḫa-ra-an a-lim ki i-ṣé-er diškur-ṣú-lu-li ḫu-ni-a i‐šu a-na ša ke-na-tim i‐ša-qal šu-ma kù.gi e-ni lá im-ta-ḫa-ar 8 gín.ta kù.babbar a-na kù.ki a‐ša[qal-ma] kù.babbar a‐lá-qé (AKT 2: 9 obv. 1-rev. 13). The 8 shekel penalty rate is also invoked in Kt 87/k 472.

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this case textiles, for Puzur-Ištar to keep some of the revenues from the sale of textiles as his payment. Though a copy of Šalim-aḫum’s own contract is not extant, the existence of such clauses contextualizes Puzur-Ištar’s complaint about the textiles as an attempt to employ the escape clause, and Šalim-aḫum’s rejection on the other hand to prevent it. Šalim-aḫum sought to reduce the risk of Puzur-Ištar breaking the contract by raising the stakes. His strategy was to shore up his claim by creating further legally binding documents. When Pūšu-kēn received Šalim-aḫum’s letter, likely in late May, he was to collect the gold from Puzur-Ištar immediately. Should PuzurIštar attempt to evade payment, Pūšu-kēn was to bind him further to repayment by involving the colony’s authority through the so-named rakkusum (‘to bind’) procedure.²⁵ In so doing, Šalim-aḫum wagered that the colony authorities in Kanesh would side with him in seeing that no matter what had happened with Puzur-Ištar’s textiles, there were insufficient grounds for breaking the contract. Pūšu-kēn would present his certified copy of the contract as evidence and be responsible to counter Puzur-Ištar’s arguments. If all went well, the colony representative would bind Puzur-Ištar to fulfill the contract, and assign a double or triple penalty if he did not do so within a reasonable timeframe. The resulting document (tarkistum), would solidify Šalim-aḫum’s claim. Though there was a risk that the deciding party would legitimate Puzur-Ištar’s duress, Šalim-aḫum figured that Puzur-Ištar would pay up when faced with the prospect of further legal procedures and fines.²⁶ Šalim-aḫum’s measures came to naught. Puzur-Ištar’s eye effectively did not encounter any gold. Whether that meant that he literally could not find gold, or whether he felt that he had been swindled by Šalim-aḫum with poor quality or damaged textiles, or whether he was simply acting dishonestly, is impossible to determine at this point. Šalim-aḫum’s letter urging Pūšu-kēn to take legal action likely arrived in Kanesh too late for his representative to enforce. In the interim, Pūšu-kēn had allowed Puzur-Ištar to make use of the escape clause. Perhaps even before his letter had reached Pūšu-kēn, Šalim-aḫum received a letter from Puzur-Ištar, informing Šalim-aḫum that he had fulfilled his end of the contract to his own satisfaction.

 “If he makes excuses (lit. says anything), take a binding agreement for him so that you cause him to pay the gold and send it to me immediately.” šu-ma mì-ma i-qá-bi4 ta-ar-ki-is-tám li-qé-šuum-ma ú kù.gi ša-áš-qí-il5-šu-ma iš-tí pá-ni-im-ma šé-bi4-lam (21-CCT 4: 5b rev. 24-le.e. 28).  For a more thorough description of the procedure and the resulting tarkistum document, along with an exhaustive list of such documents and explicit references to them, see Dercksen 1997; Hertel 2013: 252– 58. For a slightly different definition see Veenhof 2003b: 467– 68; 1991: 441 n. 13.

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Šalim-aḫum responded to the news that Puzur-Ištar would not deliver gold not only with frustration, but even panic. Failure to pay one’s promised votive offering implied dire supernatural consequences. He ended his letter to Pūšukēn with the ominous comment, “The utukkū demons²⁷ are tormenting me!”²⁸ Such a notion was a concern for others who also had problems with votive funds. Pūšu-kēn’s female relatives, Tāriš-mātum and Bēlatum, wrote him at a different time telling him that they had been afflicted by the utukkū demons and eṭammū spirits in relation to a votive matter.²⁹ To add insult to injury, Puzur-Ištar had paid some amount in silver, and it was less than what Šalim-aḫum felt was owed. With his frustration over Aššur-mālik receiving his payment ahead of him still fresh in his mind, Šalimaḫum complained to Pūšu-kēn, “Why did you remit 1 mina 11 shekels to [Puzur-Ištar]? On account of this he broke the agreement and wrote me here.”³⁰ Apparently, Puzur-Ištar did not pay the full 8-shekel rate in silver. Šalim-aḫum’s complaint implied that Puzur-Ištar negotiated a deal to pay 4 minas 9 shekels silver instead of the 5⅓ minas that would result from the 8shekel rate conversion of the original ⅔ minas gold claim. From Šalim-aḫum’s viewpoint, the fault lay with Pūšu-kēn as his representative, who had afforded Puzur-Ištar too broad a latitude of action. Given the settlement that Puzur-Ištar received, it seems best to posit that Puzur-Ištar was able to exit the contract due to a combination of justified circumstances and family relationships. Puzur-Ištar’s excuse, Pūšu-kēn’s negotiation, and Šalim-aḫum’s denial each expose a space in which breaking this kind of contract could be justified in the Old Assyrian trade. Šalim-aḫum’s demand for Pūšu-kēn to further constrain Puzur-Ištar with a sworn document was consistent with the options open to him within contemporary legal practice. As already noted, when a credit sale was concluded, the resulting debt note did not mention

 See Hirsch 1961: 71 n. 385. For a new citation involving the uttukū demons, see Michel 2008a: 188 n. 51.  ú-tù-ku ú-ša-aḫ-du-ru-ni (22-TC 2: 2 le.e. 31).  “Regarding the silver of the votive fund, here Bēlātum is worried. We are afflicted by the utukkū demons and eṭammū spirits.” a-šu-mì kù.babbar ša ik-ri-bi4 a-na-kam bé-la-tum ta-amra-aṣ i-na ú-tù-ki ù i-na e-ṭá-me ša-am-ṭù-a-ni (112-KTS 1: 24 obv. 4– 8).  a-mì-nim 1 ⸢ma-na⸣ 11 gí[n k]ù.[b]abbar ta-tur4-šu-um a ki-ma iš-⸢mu⸣-ḫu-ma a-ni-ša-am išpu-ra-ni (22-TC 2: 2 rev. 19 – 22). As proposed in CAD šamāḫu B, this word clearly has the sense of breaking an agreement. Eisser and Lewy (1930: 181) translated šamāḫu “überheben.” It is tempting to posit that, šamāḫu B should not necessarily be separated from CAD šamāḫu A ‘to grow, flourish.’ Both are u-class verbs. If this were true, it would imply that such an action was understood as an metaphoric extension of ‘growing out’ of an agreement, or alternatively, avoiding circumstances that would stifle growth.

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what the credit had bought. In omitting the material originally exchanged, the Assyrians practiced a system in which the first exchange—the debt note for some good or service—was an exchange of its own. Thus Puzur-Ištar’s claim that Šalim-aḫum had given him damaged textiles was a way to invalidate his obligation by calling into question the first exchange. But Puzur-Ištar was likely equally enabled to break the contract because Salim-aḫum’s representative was also his uncle. Puzur-Ištar’s mother, Tarišmātum was Pūšu-kēn’s sister. Puzur-Ištar’s name was relatively common,³¹ so only those cases where his patronymic is expressed can we be confident we’re reading specifically about him.³² But within the bounds of the year of vengeance, his identity is clear. Pūšu-kēn and Puzur-Ištar interacted closely on a number of things. They were both invested in the same joint-stock fund,³³ and Puzur-Ištar was certainly in the company of Pūšu-kēn from time to time, such as when he acted as witness to what seems to have been Pūšu-kēn entrusting goods to an

 As a basic illustration, there are at least 31 different patronymic formulations with PuzurIštar as the son (Puzur-Ištar s. Abu-šalim, s. Ali-abum, Aššur-mālik, Aššur-mutabbil, Aššurrē’ī, Aššur-taklāku, s. Bedaki, s. Bitāya, etc.) suggesting at least as many different individuals in the documentation.  It is possible that this Puzur-Ištar is the same to whom Šalim-aḫum entrusted 30 minas silver and instructed him to then entrust it to Amur-Aššur (ICK 1: 54). A Puzur-Ištar did witness the entrusting of several packages to an Urāni to deliver to (probably) Pūšu-kēn’s investors and Šalim-aḫum in Kanesh (RA 59: 8). The packages included 4 minas silver from Ilabrat-bāni to Šalim-aḫum as well, but the transporter does not appear elsewhere in the documentation that belongs to this moment. For Puzur-Ištar, Uṣur-ša-Aššur, Ilabrat-bāni, and Idī-Ištar as sons of Aššur-mālik, see 118-KTH 19 and 114-TC 2: 21. In the first document Uṣur-ša-Aššur, Ilabrat-bāni and Idī-Ištar appear as sons settling the debt of Aššur-mālik, but without Puzur-Ištar. Yet, in the second letter, Tariš-mātum, clearly concerned about the security of Aššur-mālik’s estate after his death, addressed Puzur-Ištar alongside Pūšu-kēn, Ilabrat-bāni, and Idī-Aššur. Given his father’s name, his role in the letter, which entirely deals with matters of the settlement of the estate, along with a portion where Tariš-mātum singles out Pūšu-kēn separately, suggests that the remaining persons were the sons. Michel (2001a: 446) asserts that Aššur-mālik and Tarīš-mātum also had a son named Enlil-bāni. In AAA 1/3: 1 Tarīš-mātum wrote to Enlil-bāni addressing him as ‘my dear brother.’ However, it is difficult to know whether this Enlil-bāni should be identified with a known Enlil-bāni s. Aššur-mālik. The known Enlil-bāni s. Aššur-mālik transported goods to Šū-Ḫubur in Prag I: 442, acted as witness to a legal decision in MNK 635, was entangled with a man named Nab-Suen in TC 1: 35, held a promissory note worth 25 shekels against Iddin-Aššur s. Uzua (TC 3: 220), received a legal document on behalf of Pilaḫ-Aššur (TMH 1: 7e), owed someone 20 shekels silver (Kt c/k 258:38 – 39, courtesy J.G. Dercksen), and witnessed the creation of a loan (Kt n/k 674, courtesy C. Günbattı). Nothing compels that the Enlilbāni to whom Tarīš-mātum wrote in AAA 1/3: 1 was her son. With all this, there is no firm evidence for the relationship.  ICK 2: 305, see Ulshöfer 1995: 294.

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associate named Urāni for transport.³⁴ Puzur-Ištar also dealt with Šalim-aḫum at other times, since he owed 10 minas silver to Šalim-Aššur from some other transaction.³⁵ But whatever their other business, this time Šalim-aḫum’s frustration that Pūšu-kēn had ensured that Aššur-mālik had received his funds from Puzur-Ištar ahead of him further made him feel that he was victim to favoritism. Such a danger, that coordinating merchants risked their interests being sacrificed on the altar of family loyalty, must have been a constant concern. The theme of conflicting interests will present itself later on, but our narrative must acquire more depth before the issue can be dealt with appropriately. Whether or not Šalim-aḫum’s suspicions of nepotism were founded, around mid-May Šalim-aḫum, in fact, found himself bereft of a significant portion of the 1 mina gold needed for his looming votive obligation. His imminent need for the gold was clear by the measures he took in reaction. Confronted with Puzur-Ištar’s default, Šalim-aḫum was forced to name other sources for a mina of gold. “Sell the 14 minas … tin which Dān-Aššur brings on behalf of Agua for cash, and beside the 5 or 4 shekels of gold from Ilī-ašranni, send ⅓ mina gold, in total 1 mina pašallum gold immediately!”³⁶ These new sources of gold reflected more trusted relations or assets currently available. Ilī-ašranni, who had led his goods in early spring and taken a lead in clearing his goods at the palace, was one such trusted source. It appears that Ilī-ašranni’s repayment of his be’ulātum fund, to be paid to Pūšu-kēn in silver, was to be converted to gold at a (hopeful) rate of 4 or 5:1. Perhaps Ilī-ašranni would accomplish the conversion. In early April he had already paid gold for textiles in the spring caravan.³⁷ As another trusted associate, Šalim-aḫum named tin associated with Agua, still en route to Anatolia with Dān-Aššur. (How the tin was related to Agua is difficult

 “Witnesses: Puzur-Ištar s. Aššur-mālik and Šū-Suen s. Šū-Ḫubur” igi puzur4-ištar dumu a‐šur-ma-lik igi šu-sú-en6 dumu šu-ḫu-bur (RA 59: 8 le.e. 27– 28).  “Also, the 10 minas of silver with Puzur-Ištar son of Aššur-mālik, take care to send it with the first departure.” ú 10 ma-na kù.babbar ša puzur4- ištar dumu a-šùr-ma-lik i-ḫi-id-ma i-na pá-nie-ma šé-bi4-lam (105-VS 26: 17 rev. 19 – 22).  14 ma-na an.na ma-ZI-{ri}-ra-am ša dan-a-šùr a-na a-gu5-a ub-lu a-na i-ta-aṭ-⸢li-im⸣ dí-in-ma a-ṣé-er kù.gi ša ì-lí-⸢iš⸣-ra-ni ša 5 gín.ta ù 4 gín.ta ⅓ ma-na kù.gi ú 1 ma-na pá-ša-lam i-pá-nimma šé-bi4-lam (22-TC 2: 2 rev. 23-le.e. 31). Puzur-Ištar also appears with his patronymic in several other places. He appears as a witness to a man named Idī-Aššur s. Ilī-dān in AKT 8: 120 obv. 4– 5. He also appears in broken context as a witness to a debt to a Ṣillī-Ištar from the year following this one: AKT 6b 481 obv. 9-lo.e. 20. The eponym year is Al-ṭāb s. Sasātim. For this as a variant of the more common rendition Al-ṭāb s. Pilaḫ-Aššur, see Veenhof 2003c: 54.  “In exchange for 2 textiles (Ilī-ašranni) gave us 7½ shekels less 6½ grains gold and 5 shekels silver” ki-[ma] 2 túgku-ta-ni 7½ gín lá 6½ še kù.ki ù 5 gín kù.babbar i-dí-in-ni-a-tí (1-BIN 4: 61 rev. 47– 49).

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to know, as Šalim-aḫum clearly felt free to dispose of it for his own needs.) Finally, Šalim-aḫum instructed Pūšu-kēn himself to add 20 shekels gold, presumably from Pūšu-kēn’s own funds, or from resources which Pūšu-kēn managed for Šalim-aḫum. Though it is not mentioned, Šalim-aḫum may have assumed that whatever silver Pūšu-kēn could extract from Puzur-Ištar would also be converted to gold. The sources Šalim-aḫum explicitly listed would barely add up to a half mina of gold, though Šalim-aḫum still finished the instructions thus, “and send 1 mina pašallum gold to me as soon as possible.”³⁸ Šalim-aḫum’s instruction to add 20 shekels gold left a lot for Pūšu-kēn to improvise, and Šalim-aḫum was likely not very confident that his mina of gold was forthcoming. As a result, when Ilabrat-bāni’s offer dropped into Šalim-aḫum’s lap, very soon after he had responded to Puzur-Ištar’s default, Šalim-aḫum was quick to demand the ½ mina of gold as part of Ilabrat-bāni’s offer of a down payment. Moreover, Šalim-aḫum named several additional specific sources for collecting gold at that moment. Pūšu-kēn was to look for 6 shekels gold from a merchant named Panaka,³⁹ and another 7 shekels gold from Ḫuraṣānum, a transporter on his way with some of the tin that Ilabrat-bāni would buy. With Ilī-ašranni’s gold, and the 6 shekels gold from the tin, the total cited by Šalim-aḫum now tallied at just over 56 shekels. When exactly did Šalim-aḫum need to have the gold back in Assur? The inexorable progress of time still presented Šalim-aḫum with reasons for concern. Šalim-aḫum had originally hoped to receive two-thirds of his mina of gold soon after the first caravans arrived in Anatolia, certainly by mid-May. Instead, Šalim-aḫum found himself in receipt of nothing. Now, in late May, Ilabratbāni’s offer and his stipulation would partially make up for the loss but would not likely arrive in Assur before mid-July. He also designated Ḫuraṣānum to pay out his forwarded capital in gold. (If Šalim-aḫum had paid Ḫuraṣānum a typical amount of forwarded capital (30 shekels silver), then the 7 shekels gold that Šalim-aḫum had asked would be a reasonable conversion of his debt.) But Ḫuraṣānum was still on his way to Anatolia, transporting a donkey-load of tin. Whatever his deadline for his votive offering, Šalim-aḫum would likely need to nervously wait several months before he had the full mina gold in his hand.⁴⁰ In the meantime, he would have to find a way to live with his utukkū demons.

 ú 1 ma-na pá-ša-lam i-pá-nim-ma šé-bi4-lam (22-TC 2: 2 le.e. 30 – 31).  Panaka and his 6 shekels of gold is also a subject of discussion in Šalim-aḫum’s conversation about Dān-Aššur’s itinerary (27-AKT 3: 72 rev. 37– 38).  5-TC 1: 26 obv. 14. Šalim-aḫum must have intended the letter to precede Ḫuraṣānum, to prevent Pūšu-kēn from selling the goods to another. Thus at the time Šalim-aḫum wrote the letter, he had to deal with the remaining time Ḫuraṣānum needed to reach Kanesh, the amount of time

Figure 6: Development of Šalim-aḫum’s interaction with Puzur-Ištar in REL 82

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Puzur-Ištar’s failure to deliver on his contracted gold created a significant problem for Šalim-aḫum.⁴¹ While Ilabrat-bāni may not have been Šalimaḫum’s favorite person, the promise of earnest money at the beginning of his credit purchase may have been enough of an incentive to bring Šalim-aḫum to consider the offer more favorably than he might otherwise have. At the same time, Šalim-aḫum’s attempt to manage the crisis unfolding in Anatolia with respect to both his gold and to Ilabrat-bāni underlines the impressive regime of communication that he enjoyed within the Old Assyrian trade system. Though Šalim-aḫum could not ultimately prevent the dissolution of Puzur-Ištar’s contract, he acted as though it was at least a possibility. Šalim-aḫum envisioned the speed of his communication as somehow quick enough to afford him the opportunity to intervene in a situation developing ahead of him a thousand kilometers away. While his expectations outpaced reality, they nonetheless provoke a reconsideration of how quickly communication between Assur and Kanesh could transpire.

that he would be permitted to repay the forwarded capital, often a month or two, and the time it would take for the silver to travel to Assur.  There is another letter in which Šalim-aḫum discusses pašallum gold. It is quite possible to restore the sequence of “5 minas silver and ½ mina pašallum gold” from the traces on the left edge of the tablet, which would imply that Šalim-aḫum was referring to Ilabrat-bāni at this point. The pertinent portion of the tablet reads: 1½ ma-[na kù?.babbar? …] ù 5 ma-na kù. x […] pá-šál-lam ù ⅓ ma-[na x x] x […] (93-RA 81: 19 rev. 5’-8’). Michel (1987) restored kù.gi at the end of line 5’, suggesting the line ended there, and thus implying that the tablet was small. I suggest kù.babbar as possibility in the break, although pašallum is a possibility, considering Šalim-aḫum’s demand that Ilabrat-bāni pay ½ mina of pašallum gold, though this would have to be a composite amount of 1½. Michel (1987) also noted the relationship between Šū-Ḫubur, as one of Pūšu-kēn’s likely investors, and Šalim-aḫum, through a marriage of their children. But this means projecting the size of the original tablet, which is difficult to corroborate from what remains. Šalim-aḫum had opened the letter with news on Pūšu-kēn’s investors, though the actual news is not preserved. Thus if this tablet arises from this same year, then Pūšukēn was also receiving reports from Šalim-aḫum on the disposition of his investors. Against reading the damaged letter in this way, Šalim-aḫum also instructed Pūšu-kēn to talk to an individual named Ilī-bāni. The name does not appear in any of the other letters that can be assigned to REL 82. There was an Ilī-bāni that had delivered 30 minas silver to Pūšu-kēn from Purušḫattum (from Buzutaya and Ennum-Belum) (TC 3: 261). And there was an Ilī-bāni that a Šubultum asked Pūšu-kēn to look after, but not trust (142‐TC 3: 27), likely Ilī-bāni s. Kusarum, whom Lamassī connected with Šubultum who also travelled between Purušḫattum and Kanesh (52‐CCT 6: 11a). Also, an Ilī-bāni was bringing a textile for Ahaha, Pūšu-kēn’s daughter. This could be the same Ilī-bāni associated with the silver from Purušḫattum, unless Ilī-bāni s. Kusārum was mentioned with his father’s name specifically because he was not the usual Ilī-bāni. Ilibāni is seen as a transporter in other places: 137‐KTS 1: 29a; ATHE 28. An Ili-bāni owed money to Aššur-imittī in Kt n/k 1472 obv. 10-rev. 30 (courtesy S. Çeçen).

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Nonetheless, Šalim-aḫum did not lose the gold from Puzur-Ištar overnight. By the time Šalim-aḫum had lost control of the situation, at least a month had passed since the first caravans had arrived in Kanesh. And Šalim-aḫum designated Ilabrat-bāni’s down payment half in silver and half in gold, but not until he received Ilabrat-bāni’s offer, which surely followed his realization that PuzurIštar had exited the contract. Thus the denouement of Puzur-Ištar’s arrangement with Šalim-aḫum was likely not communicated fully until around mid-May. Around this time Dān-Aššur was departing for Anatolia.

Chapter 7 Dān-Aššur’s Travels Šalim-aḫum had two sons about whom we know a good deal. Ennam-Aššur was the older, sometimes unreliable son. Dān-Aššur was the younger, more dutiful of the two. It was to Dān-Aššur that both Šalim-aḫum and Pūšu-kēn looked for reliable service. Thus it seems fitting that when Šalim-aḫum was trying to solve his concerns over his supply of gold, Dān-Aššur was the one enlisted to transport the cargo of one hundred textiles that Šalim-aḫum earmarked for Ilabrat-bāni’s purchase. When Dān-Aššur left Assur in mid-May, Šalim-aḫum was planning his son would return home immediately after delivering his cargo to Kanesh. But soon after Dān-Aššur’s departure, Šalim-aḫum had to come to terms with other intentions for his son, including the plans laid out by Pūšu-kēn. By the time DānAššur began his ascent of the eastern Taurus piedmont, if not before, Šalimaḫum had conceded that Dān-Aššur would remain in Anatolia while the bulk caravans took a hiatus (nabrītum). Though arguments for the meaning of nabrītum have tied its cause to winter, or even make it synonymous with wintertime, Dān-Aššur’s itinerary during this period, specifically associated with the hiatus, shows that bulk caravans could take a hiatus at times other than in winter. Arguments for the hiatus as related primarily to the bulk caravan will be carried out in Part 2. And in Part 3 it will become clear that the hiatus was caused by a disruption in the supply of tin and textiles from southern Mesopotamia. But here, a narrative examination of Dān-Aššur’s travels during this year clarifies the fact that the hiatus about which Šalim-aḫum wrote took place in the middle of the season, a fact which would otherwise remain vague without this narrative construction. As one of Šalim-aḫum’s most reliable associates, Dān-Aššur’s activities on this journey were entangled in a number of Šalim-aḫum’s interests beyond Ilabrat-bāni. For much of the year Dān-Aššur was on the move and remained so. Because he was so tightly involved in his father’s pursuits in this year, his travels bind the various threads of Šalim-aḫum’s commercial pursuits into a chronologically comprehensible whole that developed within the space of the shipping season of REL 82. At the same time, Dān-Aššur’s importance in a number of Šalim-aḫum’s economic interests also shows how Šalim-aḫum’s attempted control over his son was sometimes nothing more than illusory. From the quickly developing decisions over Dān-Aššur’s itinerary to Šalim-aḫum’s varying requests for silver, Šalim-aḫum’s commercial interests were inevitably conditioned and sometimes thwarted by contingencies beyond his control. Amid the regularized aspects of the trade that we understand so well, the merchants constantly had to DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-007

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manage their affairs to counteract the entropic forces that inserted themselves across miles of roads as well as within the squeezed interests of competing and coordinating merchants. When Dān-Aššur left Assur in mid-May, both he and his father imagined that Dān-Aššur would be returning to the city quickly. Šalim-aḫum had communicated such intentions at that moment, writing in his notifying message about DānAššur’s caravan to Lā-qēpum and Pūšu-kēn: “Bundle Dān-Aššur’s black donkeys and textiles with the (other) black donkeys and sell (them) on ‘short’ terms. Have the silver paid at his departure so that he brings it in his cargo.”¹ However, Šalim-aḫum soon learned that Pūšu-kēn planned to send Dān-Aššur to Purušḫattum.² Šalim-aḫum asked instead that Dān-Aššur return with silver quickly, reiterating at the beginning of the letter, and once again at the end, that Dān-Aššur bring 30 minas silver.³ He wrote again soon thereafter, making provisions for the possibility that Dān-Aššur would arrive late in Kanesh, and asked that Pūšu-kēn, “clear both the goods from Dān-Aššur’s transport and Agua and Kulumaya’s transport and dispatch Dān-Aššur [back to Assur].”⁴ However, Šalimaḫum changed his mind yet again rather quickly, deciding to “Let Dān-Aššur stay for this hiatus (nabrītum).”⁵ The nature of the hiatus will be discussed in the next part of this book, but it is clear that both in Šalim-aḫum’s mind and in fact, this particular hiatus did not represent either wintertime or a period when travel or commercial activity was hindered. In this particular case, Šalim-aḫum’s plans alone preclude such statements. Immediately before Šalim-aḫum acquiesced to Pūšu-kēn about DānAššur, he had been planning on Dān-Aššur returning to Assur immediately. And when he did acquiesce, the new plan was that Dān-Aššur would be traveling to Purušḫattum. And though Dān-Aššur was to stay in Anatolia, his traveling companion Šū-Suen⁶ did return to Assur soon after arriving in Kanesh, taking

 anše.hi.a ṣa-lá-me túg.hi.a ša dan-a-šùr iš-tí anše.hi.a ṣa-lá-me e-mì-da-ma a-na u4-me qú˘ ˘ ˘ ur-bu-tim dí-na a-ba-áb ḫa-ra-ni-šu kù.babbar li-ší-qí-il5-ma i-šé-pì-⸢šu kù.babbar lu-ub⸣-lam (24‐CCT 5: 5a rev. 32– 38).  “I read that you will dispatch Dān-Aššur to Purušḫattum” a-ša-me-ma dan-a-šur a-na pu-ruuš-ḫa-tim ta-ṭá-ra-ad (25-KTS 1: 42d rev. 15 – 16).  [i-na kù.babbar] [ša ḫu-ra-ṣa-n]im [ù] a-[šur-ma-l]ik [ù] 7 [½ ma-na] kù.babbar [š]a túg.hi.a ˘ ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni 30 ma-na kù.babbar ku-nu-uk-ma i-pá-ni-ú-tim-ma wa-ṣí-e šé-bi-lam … 30 ma[na] [kù.babbar ku-nu-uk-ma šé-bi-lam] (25-KTS 1: 42d obv. 7-rev. 14, rev. 27-lo.e. 28).  lu lu-qú-tám ša šé-ep dan-a-šùr lu ša a-gu-a ù ku-lu-ma-a za-ki-a-ma dan-a-šur ṭur4-dam (26‐TC 2: 1 rev. 27– 30).  na-ab-ri-tám a-ni-tám li-ib-re-ma (27-AKT 3: 72 obv. 8 – 9).  “6 talents 30 minas tin under my seal, 18 šurum textiles as wrappings, 100 kutānum textiles, 7 black donkeys, 1 talent 10 minas tin for their expenses: all this under my seal Sū-Suen and

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with him the first shipment of silver collected from the merchandise sold in the Nūr-Ištar caravan.⁷ Thus the anticipated hiatus did not limit travel either between Assur and Anatolia or within Anatolia according to the movements and intentions of the merchants. Šalim-aḫum’s three letters about Dān-Aššur’s itinerary all discussed very similar elements, so much so that two of them were described as “near duplicates.”⁸ But more importantly, such similar letters show how frequently merchants like Šalim-aḫum could be writing letters, often enough that they only changed minor parts of their plans in relation to new information, while some circumstances remained exactly the same. In all three letters, Šalim-aḫum’s interest in receiving the 7½ minas silver that had arisen from textiles brought by two transporters, Ḫuraṣānum and Aššur-mālik s. Erra-idi, remained constant.⁹ In the first two letters, Šalim-aḫum was concerned with a matter about an Aššuriš-tikal, which was to be resolved with Dān-Aššur’s help (see below).¹⁰ In the first letter, Dān-Aššur was on track. By the second letter, Šalim-aḫum began to worry that Dān-Aššur might be delayed, and requested that a man named Ḫanu bring his desired silver instead.¹¹ In the last letter, when Šalim-aḫum had resigned himself to Dān-Aššur staying in Anatolia, he instructed Pūšu-kēn to “send the 20 minas silver and its interest about which you wrote with the first traveler on the day you read this letter, and send Ḫanu (along).”¹² Thus each letter—despite their similarities—represented incremental changes in Šalim-aḫum’s strategies for his commercial enterprise and for Dān-Aššur. Mer-

Dān-Aššur transport to you.” 6 gú 30 ma-na an.na ku-nu-ki-a 18 túgšu-ru-tum ša li-wi-tim 1 me-at 10 túgku-ta-nu 7 anše.hi.a ṣa-lá-mu 1 gú 10 ma-na an.na a-qá-tí-šu-nu mì-ma a-nim ku-nu-ki-a šu˘ sú-en6 ú dan-a-šùr i-ra-de8-ú-ni-ku-nu-tí (24-CCT 5: 5a obv. 3 – 10).  17-TC 3: 23 obv. 9 – 14, 19-BIN 4: 26 obv. 18-lo.e. 21.  In Donbaz and Joannès 1982, 29, large parts of 25-KTS 1: 42d are restored through comparison with 26-TC 2: 1, recognized as treating much of the same material. There, the authors argued the reverse order as presented here. They cited the mention of Purušḫattum in KTS 1: 42d as a development and felt that the reference to the goods which should be given to Dān-Aššur in 25‐KTS 1: 42d rev. 17– 23 implied that the goods were thus in Pūšu-kēn’s possession.  25-KTS 1: 42d obv. 7– 11, 26-TC 2: 1 obv. 9 – 12, 27-AKT 3: 72 obv. 10 – 13.  25-KTS 1: 42d le.e. 30 – 32, 26-TC 2: 1 le.e. 34– 36.  “If Dān-Aššur is late, then the remainder of silver, whether from donkeys, or wherever a single shekel is available, fill 20 minas silver and send it with the next travelers. … From the silver which you will send, Ḫanu (broken)” šu-ma dan-a-šùr sà-ḫe-er ù ší-tí kù.babbar lu i-ša anše.hi.a lu kù.babbar 1 gín a-šar i-ba-ší-ú 20 ma-na kù.babbar ma-li-ma iš-tí wa-ar-ki-ú-tim šé˘ bi-lam … i-na kù.babbar ša tù-ší-ba- ḫa-nu ú-ul kà?-lá-pá-am x [x] x (26‐TC 2: 1 rev. 17– 23, u.e. 31‐le.e. 32).  i-na u4-mì-im ša ṭup-pá-am ta-ša-me-ú 20 ma-na kù.babbar ù ni-is-ḫa-sú ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni i‐na pá-nim-ma wa-ṣí-im šé-bi-lam ù ḫa-nu ṭur4-dam (27-AKT 3: 72 obv. 3 – 7).

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chants like Šalim-aḫum were constantly forced to deal with developing circumstances, and this meant that sometimes they were writing letters perhaps every other day in order to adjust to contingencies. To have any chance of Šalim-aḫum’s instructions taking effect, all three of his letters needed to arrive in Kanesh before Dān-Aššur, or at least before DānAššur’s goods were cleared and sold. Thus despite the fact that Dān-Aššur was addressed in the second and third letters, and likely in the first letter as well,¹³ it does not follow that Dān-Aššur was already in Kanesh. Rather, it implies that the letters concerned him and that when he arrived in Kanesh he had every right to access them. Indeed, one of these letters was discovered in Dān-Aššur’s brother’s archive.¹⁴ As stated before, Dān-Aššur seems to have been one to whom people could turn. Pūšu-kēn disliked the brother Ennam-Aššur, and he clearly preferred to work with Dān-Aššur, frequently using him as a transporter for his own goods.¹⁵ And when Dān-Aššur arrived in Kanesh, there was important work to do with Pūšu-kēn for his father. Šalim-aḫum had been trying to help an associate, Āl-ilī, to pursue a solution to a problem very similar to the one Šalim-aḫum was experiencing with Ilabrat-bāni. Šalim-aḫum and Āl-ilī had sent some silver to a man named Abela via a transporter named Aššuriš-tīkal.¹⁶ When Šalimaḫum was still negotiating Dān-Aššur’s itinerary, he thrice noted that Pūšu-kēn had reported that Aššuriš-tīkal owed the silver expected from Abela, telling Pūšu-kēn to collect the silver.¹⁷ Apparently, at the same time that Ilabrat-bāni had perpetrated his violation of Šalim-aḫum’s cargo, Aššuriš-tīkal had done essentially the same thing on the jointly-owned goods of Šalim-aḫum and Āl-ilī, perhaps provoked by the same circumstances. Āl-ilī and Šalim-aḫum had sent

 25-KTS 1: 42d is broken at the beginning, but there is sufficient room to include Dān-Aššur, and it is done so in my edition.  27-AKT 3: 72 comes from the house that divulged the archives of Dān-Aššur and Ennam-Aššur. The peculiar circumstance that retained several letters in that archive from the same year as all the documents from Pūšu-kēn’s archive is discussed in Chapter 19.  Dān-Aššur transported half a talent silver belonging to Pūšu-kēn, possibly from Purušḫattum for shipment to Assur: 2 né-pí-ša-an 30 ma-na kù.babbar i-té-er-ti pu-šu-ke-en6 a-na dan-a-šùr dumu ša-lim-a-ḫi-im ni-ip-qí-id kù.babbar ša pu-šu-ke-en6 iš-tí ṣú-ḫa-ri-šu a-na a-lim-ki ú-šéba-al igi ku-ṣí-a dumu bu-zi-zi igi šál-ma-a-šùr dumu i-tur4-dingir igi dan-a-šùr dumu pu-ušqá-nim (Prag I: 560 obv. 1-rev. 16).  1 gú 5 ma-na an.na ku-nu-ki-ni 6 ku-ta-nu 2-šé-na ša li-wi-tim 5 ma-na an.na-ak qá-tim mì-ma a-nim a-na a-bi-lá nu-šé-bi-il5-kà (28-AKT 3: 78 obv. 6 – 11).  i-na ṭup-pì-kà u[m-ma a-ta-ma] [kù.babbar ša a]-be-la a-šùr-iš-ta-ki-il5 […] kù.babbar ša-ášqí-il5-šu (25-KTS 1: 42d le.e. 30 – 32). i-na ṭup-pì-kà um-ma a-ta- kù.babbar ša a-bé-lá a-šùriš-tí-kál i-ša-qal (26-TC 2: 1 le.e. 34– 36).

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65 minas tin, 6 kutānum textiles and 5 minas tin to Abela with Aššuriš-tikal. Āl-ilī and Šalim-aḫum wrote of Aššuriš-tīkal, “You opened the tin and textiles, and you took for yourself ‘on your own authority!’ (We demand) a 6-shekel rate for our tin, and 30 shekels each for the textiles. On the day you read this tablet, give the silver to Pūšu-kēn and Dān-Aššur!”¹⁸ If Aššuriš-tīkal had indeed delivered the goods to Abela, then he was to get the silver from him and hand it over to Pūšu-kēn and Dān-Aššur.¹⁹ Of course, the 6-shekel rate was the same demanded of Ilabrat-bāni. Apparently, Pūšu-kēn had clarified the matter, and now the pressure was on Aššuriš-tīkal.²⁰ In any case, Dān-Aššur was an important part of the effort.

 an.na ù túg.hi.a e-ta-lu-tám ta-ap-ṭur4-ma a-na ra-mì-ni-kà ta-al-té-qé 6 gín.ta kù.babbar ˘ ša an.na-ki-ni ½ ma-na-ta ša túg.hi.a i-na u4-mì-im ša ṭup-pá-am ta-ša-me-ú kù.babbar a-na ˘ pu-šu-ke-en6 ù dan-da-šùr dí-in (28-AKT 3: 78 obv. 12-rev. 21).  šu-ma a-na a-bé-la ta-dí-in a-ma-kam-ma ší-bi-kà šu-du-ud-ma i-na kù.babbar-áp a-be-lá li‐qé-ma a ša ki-ma ni-a-tí dí-in (28-AKT 3: 78 rev. 22– 28).  Elsewhere, Āl-ilī was discussed by Abela and Lā-qēpum as an owner of goods, and Šalimaḫum mentions similar circumstances, but it is difficult to confirm that these letters apply here. “To Idnāya, Lā-qēpum, Pilaḫ-Aššur, and Ibni-ilī, from Abela: I entrusted 15 minas 54 shekels silver under my seal, 16 shekels its shipping charge, to Aššur-šamšī on behalf of Āl-ilī. There, make sure the representative of Āl-ilī recieve the silver and its shipping charge. I gave 5½ minas silver of my own to Aššur-šamšī for purchases. The seal of the merchant at the opening of the package is marked for Aššur-šamšī. To Idnāya and Lā-qēpum: Get the silver and let it come with you within your shipment. I entrusted 5 shekels silver under my seals for Tatāya my daughter and 3 shekels silver under my seal for Šazua, the daughter of Ennam-Aššur in a package to Aššur-šamšī. Take the package there and give it to those who go to the city for travel so that they carry the package to the city and give it to Tatāya my daughter and Šazua the daugher of Ennam-Aššur. Let your message come that you received the silver and the package.” a-na id-na-a la-qé-ep pí-lá-aḫ-a-šùr ù ib-ni-lí qí-bi-ma um-ma a-be-lá-ma 15 ma-na 54 gín kù.babbar ku-nu-ki-a 16 gín ša-du-a-sú ša a-li-li a-na a-šùr-utu-ši áp-qí-id a-ma-kam kù.babbar ù ša-du-a-sú ša kima a-li-li li-il5-qé 5½ ma-na kù.babbar i-a-um a-na a-šùr-dutu-ši a-ší-a-ma-tim a-dí-in ba-áb né-pí-ší-im a-na a-šùr-utu-ši kišib dam.gàr lá-pí-it a-na id-na-a ù lá-qé-ep qí-bi-ma kù.babbar li-qé-a-ma [iš-tí-ku-nu] li-bi-ší ù té-er-ta-[ku-nu] li-li-kam 5 gín kù.babbar ku-nu-ku-a a-na ta-ta-a me-er--tí-a 3 gín kù.babbar ku-nu-ki-a a-na ša-zu-a dumu.munus en-nam-a-šùr šé-bu-lá-tim a-na a-šùr-utu-ši áp-qí-id a-ma-kam šé-bu-lá-tim li-qé-a-ma ša a-na a-lim ki i-li-ku a-na a-li-kiim dí-na-ma šé-bu-lá-tim a-na a-lim ki lu-bi-il5-ma a-na ta-ta-a me-er-i-tí-a ù ša-zu-a dumu.munus en-nam-a-šùr li-dí-in ki-ma kù.babbar ù šé-bu-lá-tim tal-qé-a-ni té-er-ta-ku-nu li-li-kam (29-AKT 3: 110 obv. 1-le.e. 33). Another letter, written only by Šalim-aḫum, appears that it might refer to this same situation, but it is difficult to verify because the details are inconclusive and further corroborating context cannot be found: “Šalim-aḫum to Pūšu-kēn, Aššuriš-tikal, and Dān-Aššur: To Aššuriš-tikal: They sold you 35 minas tin, 1 textile, ½ donkey from your šēpum; 2 kutānum textiles of Ennam-Aššur son of Ilili, and 2 kutānum textiles of Dān-Asšur. They sold my deposit in your shipment, my tin for a 7 shekel rate and my textiles for 20 shekels, and brought me the silver. With regard to the qīptim, 2 … (8 lines broken) My dear brother, give the silver to them

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But Dān-Aššur was not only important to Šalim-aḫum in the year of vengeance. He is also important to understanding the integrity of the year of vengeance. The discussions about Dān-Aššur in Šalim-aḫum’s letter connect Šalimaḫum’s dealings with the Nūr-Ištar caravan to his need for gold and his interactions with Puzur-Ištar, and to his anger with Ilabrat-bāni, followed by his sale. A careful review of the details involved clearly ties these three threads together, and demonstrates that the hiatus about which Šalim-aḫum worried was not winter, nor something that brought the entirety of the trade completely to a halt. Dān-Aššur traveled to Anatolia with his cargo. That cargo would come to mean a number of different things to different people. But at its outset it could be divided into a few basic components: a) three donkey loads of tin, b) one hundred kutānum textiles, and c) two packages of 14 minas tin related to Agua.²¹ In an attempt to account for all the elements of this caravan, Šalimaḫum would have cleared six talents of tin, based on expected customs duties. Although the three donkey loads of tin were not discussed aside from Šalimaḫum’s notifying message, the one hundred textiles and tin related to Agua are further documented. Accounting for the one hundred textiles contextualizes the number that Ilabrat-bāni bought from this shipment. Šalim-aḫum pointed to the textiles for Ilabrat-bāni to purchase, noting that this set of one hundred textiles had “fine tin on top.”²² This confirms to the modern reader that it was the same as Dān-Aššur’s shipment. This left the “two sacks, 14 minas tin for Agua.”²³ Šalim-aḫum asked Pūšukēn to sell this same tin for gold, describing it as “the 14 minas ma-ZI-ra-am tin which Dān-Aššur brings on behalf of Agua,”²⁴ when he was scrambling to find

so that I may make purchases and make every shekel of silver possible, so that when you come they will write me in the tablet of your joint-stock fund. Now, as for me, I will give (it) to you and …” um-ma ša-lim-a‐ḫu-um-ma a-na pu-šu-ke-en6 a-šùr-iš-tí-kál ù dan-a-šùr a-na a-šùr-iš-tíkál qí-bi-ma 35 ma-na an.na 1 túg ½ anše ša šé-pí-kà 2 túgku-ta- en-um-a-šùr dumu i-li-li 2 ku-ta-ni dan-a‐šùr i-dí-nu-ni-kum ma-áš-kà-tí ša šé-pí-kà an.na-ki 7 gín.ta túg.hi.a ⅓ ma˘ na.ta [i]-dí-nu-ma kù.babbar ub-lu-nim [a-ša] qí-ip-tí-im 2-šé-né (8 lines broken) [… uš] [… šé]bi4-il5 a-ḫi a‐ta kù.babbar dí-šu-nu-tí-ma ší-ma-am la-áš-a-ma kù.babbar 1 gín li-li-ma i-nu-mì ta-la-kà- ṭup-pá-am ša na-ru-qí-kà i-lá-pu-tù-ni [ù] a‐na-ku a-da-na-kum-[ma] [x x x-mu] i‐šar… (30-RA 59: 26 obv. 1-le.e. 10’). Some elements from this document could fit the situation from 27-AKT 3: 72. In this letter, one could posit that Šalim-ahum’s share of the 65 minas tin in 27AKT 3: 72 was 35 minas (thus Āl-ilī’s share 30 minas tin).  24-CCT 5: 5a.  “Also, there are 100 kutānum textiles and fine tin on top of the (bulk) tin.” u 1 me-at ku-ta-nu an.na sig5 i-re-eš15 an.na (5-TC 1: 26 lo.e. 16-rev. 18).  2 ri-ik-sà-an 14 ma-na an.na a-na a-gu-a (24-CCT 5: 5a rev. 26 – 27).  14 ma-na an.na ma-ZI-{ri}-ra-am ša dan-a-šùr a-na a-gu5-a ub-lu (22-TC 2: 2 rev. 23 – 25).

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more gold in the wake of Puzur-Ištar’s bad news. It seems likely that he was in effect saying the same thing as when he asked Pūšu-kēn to “collect 6 shekels gold from Agua s. Ṭāb-Aššur at his departure.”²⁵ When Dān-Aššur did arrive in Kanesh, the bulk of the textiles he brought were sold to Ilabrat-bāni. Šalim-aḫum dictated that Ilabrat-bāni was responsible to buy a silver talent worth of goods from him, with a penalty rate on the tin. Yet when Ilabrat-bāni defaulted in August, it was only for 20⅔ minas. The most likely way this arose is that Ilabrat-bāni had purchased the goods in different lots, with different due dates. The 20⅔ minas could be explained by Ilabrat-bāni having bought sixty-two textiles at 20 shekels each. Though Dān-Aššur brought one hundred, this is a reasonable number to have fallen into Ilabrat-bāni’s hand. At best, seventy of the hundred textiles were left to sell after customs and other commitments: Fourteen textiles would have been collected through the excise and tithe duties on arrival. Ten more textiles were earmarked for Dān-Aššur, of which one was designated to go to the lady (awiltum).²⁶ Of these ten textiles, Šalim-aḫum had told Pūšu-kēn to “bundle Dān-Aššur’s black donkeys and textiles with the (other) black donkeys and sell them on short-term credit.”²⁷ Finally, six more textiles were designated as “for my [Šalim-aḫum’s] merchant,” mentioned later in the letter.²⁸ Those six textiles were mentioned in the same context as Šalim-aḫum’s textiles to be sold on short-term credit.²⁹ Elsewhere, Šalimaḫum described them as six textiles, and as “five kusītum robes (and) one nibrārum textile” that were to be sold as soon after Dān-Aššur’s arrival as possible.³⁰ Apparently the textiles sold for 20 shekels each. When he returned to Assur, DānAššur did bring the “two minas separately as the exchange amount of his textiles.”³¹ With these three groups accounted, this left only eight textiles unac-

 6 gín kù.gi iš-tí a-gu-a dumu dùg-a-šur i-na a-lá-ki-kà ša-áš-qí-il5-šu (23-KTS 1: 27b le.e. 24– 26).  šà 10 túg ša dan-a-šùr 1 túg šu-ra-am a-na a-wi-il5-tim dí-na (24-CCT 5: 5a obv. 11– 12).  anše.hi.a ṣa-lá-me túg.hi.a ša dan-a-šùr iš-tí anše.hi.a ṣa-lá-me e-mì-da-ma a-na u4-me qú˘ ˘ ˘ ur-bu-tim dí-na (24-CCT 5: 5a rev. 32– 36).  24-CCT 5: 5a rev. 27– 28 see footnote above.  “From the 10 textiles of Dān-Aššur, give 1 šurum textile to the lady. Sell my tin and textiles to a reliable merchant, as reliable as yourselves on “short” term credit.” šà 10 túg ša dan-a-šùr 1 túg šu-ra-am a-na a-wi-il5-tim dí-na an.na ú túg.hi-tí-a a-na dam.gàr ke-nim ša ki-ma qᢠqí-dí-ku-nu a-u4-me qú-ur-bu-tim dí-na (24-CCT 5: 5a 11– 15).  “Let your report come regarding the 5 kusītum robes, the 1 nibrarum textile from the cargo of Dān-Aššur, and the price of the donkeys, as much as you bought.” 5 túgku-sí-tum 1 túgni-ibra-ru-um ša šé-ep dan-a-šùr ù ší-im anše.hi.a ma-lá ta-áš-a-ma-ni té-er-ta-ak-nu li-li-kam ˘ (14‐POAT 19 rev. 16 – 20).  2 ma-na a-ḫa-ma me-eḫ-ra-at túg.hi-tí-šu (19-BIN 4: 26 rev. 25 – 26). ˘

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counted for after Ilabrat-bāni bought his proposed sixty-two. The remaining eight could have been sold additionally to the colony office, gone to something like a pouring (šitapkum) procedure at the colony, or have been deposited into Šalimaḫum’s account at the colony office in anticipation of such procedures.³² Dān-Aššur’s time in Anatolia consisted of more travel, made more difficult by a few setbacks. Pūšu-kēn had planned to send him to Purušḫattum in western Anatolia. Such journeys were often indirect, first to the north, to the copper producing region centered on Durḫumit, and thence to Purušḫattum, via Waḫšušana and Šalatuwar. Merchants would sell textiles and tin in Durḫumit, acquire copper, and then pack it west, sometimes loading it on wagons after crossing the Kızıl Irmak at Waḫšušana, finally selling it in Purušḫattum.³³ Because Purušḫattum seems to have had the cheapest silver on the plateau, this series of exchanges could maximize the profit of merchants seeking for such. Though the exact location of Purušḫattum is still unconfirmed, Barjamovic places it in the neighborhood of Bolvadin, where the route from the Aegean ports at places like Ephesus would have emerged onto the western end of the Anatolian plateau, roughly 450 kilometers due west of Kanesh.³⁴ Barjamovic places Durḫumit to the north of Kanesh in the region of Amasya.³⁵ Another study places Durḫumit closer to Çankırı, roughly 200 km west of Amasya.³⁶ In either case, the round trip from Kanesh to Durḫumit to Purušḫattum and then back to Kanesh was longer than the journey between Assur and Kanesh. To accomplish such a journey, DānAššur would have required at least five weeks, longer if there were delays. There is reason to suggest that Dān-Aššur did, in fact, experience delays. When Dān-Aššur returned to Assur, Šalim-aḫum excused him from the raid on Ilabrat-bāni’s goods because he was ill. As a result, it is likely that a short letter from Dān-Aššur to Pūšu-kēn suggests that Dān-Aššur’s travel in Anatolia was delayed at points due to this illness, which had already taken hold of him there: “My dear father and lord, do not think of me harshly. Regarding the copper at the palace, until this day they have been putting us off. As for me an illness laid me low and until now I was delayed. But I am now well. Don’t be overly concerned. I will wait 5 more days and if the copper of the palace does not come out, I will take my weapon and depart for Purušḫattum.”³⁷

 For more on šitapkum procedures, see Dercksen 2004: 181– 196.  For the most thorough review of this system, see Dercksen 1996.  Barjamovic 2011: 430.  Barjamovic 2011: 242– 267.  Kryszeń 2016.  a-bi a-ta be-lí a-ta a-na ša-al-ṭim lá ta-ša-ki-ni-a-tí urudu ša é.gal-lim a-dí u4-mì-im a-ni-im i‐ta-na-pu-lu-ni-a-tí ù i-a-tí mu-ur-ṣú-um im-qú-tám-ma a-dí a-ni a-sú-ḫu-ur ša-al-ma-ku mì-ma

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A few other letters between Dān-Aššur and Pūšu-kēn survive. In one letter, DānAššur asked for donkeys to speed his shipment of copper and other goods ahead of him, worried that he might not catch up to Pūšu-kēn before he left his location, which might have been Purušḫattum. A letter from Ea-šar suggests he was traveling with Dān-Aššur.³⁸ In another letter, Dān-Aššur seemed to be experiencing delays on the copper road, expressing concerns about a debtor paying late, a problem acquiring fine tin or fine copper, and that the tin he had is low quality, forcing him to sell it on short-term credit.³⁹ (Perhaps the low-quality tin was the 6 talents tin he had brought with Šū-Suen. It was not sold to Ilabratbāni, perhaps because Šalim-aḫum could not justify charging a 6 shekel rate for it?).⁴⁰ Šalim-aḫum had expressed a desire for Dān-Aššur to bring 40 minas fine copper back to Assur while Dān-Aššur was still traveling to Kanesh,⁴¹ so those concerns may be connected. But even if these two letters have nothing to do with this particular journey, Šalim-aḫum’s concerns about Dān-Aššur getting ill when he returned later to Assur and could not participate in the seizure of Ilabrat-bāni’s textiles seem to provide context for some of Dān-Aššur’s experiences on the journey in Anatolia. When Šalim-aḫum consented that Dān-Aššur should stay in Anatolia, he asked that Pūšu-kēn send Dān-Aššur back later with a talent of silver from a

li‐ba-kà lá i-pá-ri-id a‐dí 5 u4-me ú-ta-qá-ma šu-ma urudu ša é.gal-lim lá i‐ta-ṣa-am kà-ki a‐lá-qéma a pu-ru-uš-ḫa-tim a‐ta-lá-ak (31-TC 3: 25 obv. 3-rev. 20).  “My dear father and lord, until now(?) do not worry. Wawali left (it) for my outstanding claims and I myself with take up my weapon and set out and come. On account of the shipments of Puzur-Aššur and Dān-Aššur I have been delayed until this day.” a-bi a-ta be-lí a-ta a-dí-na-an li-ba-kà lá im-ru-ṣú ba-áb-tí ma-lá ṭé-mì-ša lu ep-ša-at wa-wa-li a-na ba-áb-tí-a e-zi-ib-ma ù a-naku kà-ki a-lá-qé-a-ma a-ta-bi-a-ma a-ta-lá-kam a-dí-i té-er-tí puzur4-a-šùr ù dan-a-šùr a-dí u4-mìim a-nim as-ḫu-ur (32-TTC 5 obv. 3-rev. 17).  “Sabasiya son of Iliš-tīkal owes 12 minas 34 shekels refined silver. His term is past due 4 ḫamuštum-weeks. Seize him and make him pay the silver and its interest. As for the silver which I did not send with Enna-Suen, there are no sales for tin or fine copper available and the tin is bad quality, so I released it for one or two months to a trusted investor. Either through the tin or the textiles or the fine copper, I will send every shekel of silver which I make, with the next travelers.” 12½ ma-na 4 gín kù.babbar ṣa-ru-pá-am sá-ba-sí-a dumu ì-lí-iš-ta-kál ḫa-bu-ul u4-mu-šu 4 ḫa-am-ša-tím e-ti-qá ṣa-ba-sú-ma kù.babbar ú ṣí-ba-sú ša-áš-qí-il5-šu a‐na kù.babbar ša iš-tí en-na-sú-en6 lá ú-šé-bi4-lá-ni ší-mu-um a‐na an.na ù urudu sig5 lá-šu-ma ú an.na ma-sú-ùḫ-ma a‐na iti.1.kam-im ù iti.2.kam a‐na um-mì-a-nim ke-nim ú-šé-er lu a‐na an.na lu a‐na ⸢túg⸣-ba-tí lu a‐na urudu sig5 kù.babbar 1 gín pá-ni-a-⸢ma ša⸣ e-pu-⸢šu⸣ iš-tí a‐li-ki wa-a[r-ki]-ú-t[im] ⸢ú⸣-šéba-lá-k[um] (33-BIN 4: 15 obv. 4-le.e. 26).  6 gú 30 ma-na an.na ku-nu-ki-a 18 túgšu-ru-tum ša li-wi-tim … mì-ma a-nim ku-nu-ki-a šu-súen6 ú dan-a-šùr i-ra-de8-ú-ni-ku-nu-tí (24-CCT 5: 5a obv. 3 – 5, 9 – 10).  40 ma-na urudu sig5 dan-a-šùr lu-ub-[lam] (27-AKT 3: 72 le.e. 42).

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number of sources, including claims from Nūr-Ištar’s caravan.⁴² Around mid-July, Šalim-aḫum told Pūšu-kēn to send the “25 minas silver of Lulu,”⁴³ by which he meant the debt Lulu had of “27 minas 28 shekels,”⁴⁴ as a result of purchasing goods from the caravan of Nūr-Ištar. Pūšu-kēn responded to Šalim-aḫum’s letter with a promise to send about 80 minas silver with Dān-Aššur as soon as he returned to Kanesh from his journey to Purušḫattum.⁴⁵ “He will arrive in two days and I will dispatch him to you.”⁴⁶ In the same letter, Pūšu-kēn reminded Šalimaḫum that “as for [Pūšu-kēn’s] transport, beside the two tablets (i. e. debts) of Lulu and Aššur-nādā and his son, there is nothing else.”⁴⁷ By this he referred to the sales associated with Nūr-Ištar’s caravan, with which he had travelled to Kanesh and over which he was likely the caravan chief. In fact, Dān-Aššur did return to Assur, along with Ilī-ālum and Kurub-Ištar, with 94 minas 23½ shekels silver, undoubtedly to Šalim-aḫum’s relief.⁴⁸ Among the silver received was a portion Šalim-aḫum attributed to Lulu’s debt of 27 minas 28 shekels.⁴⁹ This meant that the final credit to fall due from the Nūr-Ištar caravan must come from the combined tin and textiles that Aššur-mutabbil and Nūr-Ištar brought. Thus in September, when he was in receipt of Lulu’s silver, Šalim-aḫum estimated that this last debt would be falling due by the time his letter arrived in Kanesh or soon thereafter.⁵⁰ The other debt from Nur-Ištar’s caravan was owed by Aššurnādā and his son.⁵¹ It was likely due around the beginning of October.

 1 gú kù.babbar iš-tí dan-a-šùr šé-bi-lá-nim (27-AKT 3: 72 obv. 18-lo.e. 19).  a-ṣé-er 25 ma-na kù.babbar ša lu-lu (37-VS 26: 58 obv. 17).  28⅓ ma-na 7 gín ša lu-lu-ú dumu zu-ku-ḫi-im (19-BIN 4: 26 obv. 8 – 9).  ší-im túg.hi.a ù ší-im 50 ma-na an.na a-na šé-ep dan-a-šùr kù.babbar 1 gú 20 ma-na ú-pᢠqá-ad a-na 2 u4-me e-ra-ba-ma a-ṭá-ra-da-šu ù té-er-ti za-ku-tum iš-tí-šu i-lá-kà-kum (38-VS 26: 47 obv. 12-rev. 18).  a-na 2 u4-me e-ra-ba-ma a-ṭá-ra-da-šu (38-VS 26: 47 obv. 15-lo.e. 16).  ù a-na šé-pí-i-a šu-ma lá 2-šé-na ṭup-pè-e-en ša lu-lu ù a-šùr-na-da ù me-er-i-šu mì-ma ša-nium ú-lá i-ba-ší (38-VS 26: 47 rev. 24– 26).  19-BIN 4: 26.  “Dān-Aššur brought me 31 minas 15 shekels—its shipping charges ½ mina— (and) 2 minas separately – the corresponding amount to his textiles.” 31 ma-na 15 gín ½ ma-na ša-du-a-sú 2 ma-na a-ḫa-ma me-eḫ-ra-at túg.hi-tí-šu dan-a-šùr ub-lam (19-BIN 4: 26 rev. 24– 27). ˘  “As for the 31 minas 18½ shekels silver (arising) from the shipment of Aššur-mutabbil and Nūr-Ištar, if their terms are full, have them pay the silver and send it immediately.” 31 ma-na 18½ gín ša šé-ep a-šùr-mu-ta-bi4-il5 ú nu-ur-iš8-tár šu-ma u4-mu-šu-nu ma-al-ú kù ša-áš-qí-lá-ma i-pánim-ma šé-bi4-lá-nim (19-BIN 4: 26 u.e. 45-le.e. 48).  As Pūšu-kēn wrote to tell Šalim-aḫum that there were only two debts left (in relation to NūrIštar’s caravan) under his care, he expressed it thus: “Now, as for my ‘responsibility,’ beside the two tablets of Lulu and Aššur-nādā and his son, there is nothing else.” šu-ma lá 2-šé-na ṭup-pè-een ša lu-lu ù a-šùr-na-da ù me-er-i-šu mì-ma ša-ni-um ú-lá i-ba-ší (38-VS 26: 47 rev. 24– 27). Trans-

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A basic diegetic storyline seems clear: Dān-Aššur arrived in Kanesh in early June with the textiles Ilabrat-bāni purchased. Thereafter, Dān-Aššur travelled around Anatolia, to Durḫumit and Purušḫattum. Given his travels and likely detours, Dān-Aššur would have been unable to finish his round trip through Durḫumit and Purušḫattum back to Kanesh in a month, or even six weeks. By the time he returned, Pūšu-kēn had collected the second credit claim from Nūr-Ištar’s caravan. If the back and forth between him and Šalim-aḫum is any guide, then this would have been roughly two months after the first credit fell due, thus around the beginning of August. This seems consistent with Pūšu-kēn’s complaints about how long he himself had been in Anatolia. At this point, when Pūšu-kēn expected Dān-Aššur to arrive any day, Pūšu-kēn wrote Šalim-aḫum assuring him that he would send 80 minas silver home. In the same breath he complained that he had been “constantly running around … for five months,” trying to get Šalim-aḫum’s less dutiful son, Ennam-Aššur, to go home.⁵² Pūšu-kēn’s five months were meant for rhetorical effect first and foremost, but it correlates well with how long he had been in Anatolia. He had left Assur in early March, during the second Assyrian month, and arriving in the second week of April, during the third Assyrian month (narmak Aššur ša kēnātim). According to the timeline constructed here, he was writing his letter in the seventh Assyrian month, 27 July – 24 August. Had EnnamAššur left Assur in the early spring and travelled with or in parallel with Pūšu-kēn, then his remark would have communicated a temporally coherent message to Šalim-aḫum. By the time Dān-Aššur had returned to Assur in the beginning of September, Pūšu-kēn’s letter suggesting Šalim-aḫum seize Ilabrat-bāni’s goods was on its way. This left roughly three months before winter for the seizure of Ilabratbāni’s goods and its fallout to take place.

lating šēpia as “my responsibility’ acknowledges that these debts were not owed on goods he specifically transported, but for which he was still responsible.  “I wrote to your son and I said, ‘Go with this silver!’ He said to my messenger, ‘You argue like the son of a dead man.’ Before 3 certified merchants he refused to go. What can I say? In addition to my constantly running around in … for 5 months …” a-na me-er-i-kà áš-pur-ma um-ma a-naku-ma iš-ti kù.babbar a-nim a-lik um-ma šu-ut-ma a-na ší-ip-ri-a-ma ki-ma dumu me-tí-im ta-tawu igi 3 dumu-e um-mì-a-ni a-lá-kam lá i‐mu-a mì-nam a-qá-bi4 a-ṣé-er iš-tù 5 iti.kam i‐ku-ri-a ata-na-lu-ku (38-VS 26: 47 28 – 37). The letter breaks off and a second tablet must have been inserted with it in the envelope. But Pūšu-kēn’s perturbed state is clear.

Chapter 8 Seizing Ilabrat-bāni’s Goods About five months had passed since Ilabrat-bāni’s roadside infraction when DānAššur darkened his father’s door in Assur a week into September. When he arrived he was doubtless tired and certainly ill.¹ Yet duty called once more. His father Šalim-aḫum opened a letter from Pūšu-kēn about the same time. “On the day which I am writing the tablet, (Ilabrat-bāni’s) term is full. … Let DānAššur depart with Puzur-Aššur to Amurrum and seize the tin on his own authority.”² Ilabrat-bāni had failed to pay his most recent obligation to Šalim-aḫum on time, and Pūšu-kēn was recommending faithful Dān-Aššur help execute the unusual measures against Ilabrat-bāni. It must have been that when he left Pūšukēn in Kanesh, Dān-Aššur was in reasonable health, but he had become ill again on the journey home. In the first week of his journey, he had made his way east to the Taurus over the rolling hills of south-east Cappadocia. Through the second week, the cooler temperatures in the passes around Gölbaşi and Elbistan tempered the rigor of the journey. But the last half of the trip across the Jezireh and down the Wadi Tharthar was undoubtedly very hot, perhaps demanding his party travel at night. Pūšu-kēn had no way of knowing about Dān-Aššur’s deteriorated condition. So despite Pūšu-kēn’s recommendation, Šalim-aḫum took pity on Dān-Aššur, sending instead his older brother, who himself could not have been back in Assur very long. It would be the older Ennam-Aššur, assisted by Puzur-Aššur, who would rush off to overtake Ilabrat-bāni’s son and “by virtue of his authority” (ana etalluttišu) confiscate and sell the goods of the merchant manqué Ilabrat-bāni. Pūšu-kēn considered faithful Dān-Aššur and Puzur-Aššur to be the best candidates available for the recommended action. At the same time, Pūšu-kēn’s choice of Dān-Aššur and Puzur-Aššur, was, like much of the plan, contingent on a number of people and goods in motion. Still in Anatolia, and having recently sent off both Dān-Aššur and Ilabrat-bāni’s silver, Pūšu-kēn was in a unique position to observe the confluence of developments, and has to be credited with the particular version of the plan he suggested. But at this point, we cannot know that Pūšu-kēn had determined that this kind of action was appropriate, only that this was a specific opportunity for such an action. A number of other devel-

 “Dān-Aššur was ill and did not go.” dan-a-šùr ma--aṣ-ma la ú-ṣí (9-TC 3: 20 obv. 11– 12).  i-u4-mì-im ša ṭup-pá-am ú-la-pí-ta-ku-ni u4-mu-šu ma-al-ú an.na za-ku-a-am ša-a-ma ki dan-ašùr puzur4-a-šùr a-li-bi dmar.tu lu-ṣí-ma a-na e-ta-li-tí-šu an.na li-iṣ-ba-at (9-TC 3: 20 obv. 5 – 11). DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-008

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opments during the year need to be analyzed before considering whether Pūšukēn was the sole author of the idea to seize goods on some sort of authority. But Pūšu-kēn’s suggested course of action, its execution, and its aftermath, reinforce a sense of the pace at which such strategies could be implemented. Moreover, describing the seizure from its origins to its aftermath bring the narrative of Šalim-aḫum’s year to the threshold of winter, completing the basic timeline for the year. While the narrative is central to reinforcing the temporal dimension of the events so far, several aspects of the trade, like property rights and the tempo of communication, come into focus more clearly. As Dān-Aššur arrived in Assur in mid-June, a number of Šalim-aḫum’s commercial threads that had begun in the spring were converging. News of Ilabratbāni’s transgression in late March or the beginning of April had reached an aggravated Šalim-aḫum in late April. Fortunately the sales of his goods from both Ilī-ašranni’s caravan and Nūr-Ištar’s caravan had gone generally well. Šalimaḫum could look forward to all the claims from Nūr-Ištar’s caravan maturing before winter. Most of the claims from Ilī-ašranni’s caravan would not be available until the following spring, but Ilī-ašranni’s claim would fall due within the current shipping season. But as shown previously, Šalim-aḫum’s frustration increased when the arrangement with Puzur-Ištar fell through in early May. He was forced to scramble, doing his utmost to secure new sources of gold through the rest of May. Ironically, Ilabrat-bāni’s malefaction now became an asset. When Ilabrat-bāni penitently requested to purchase a large lot of goods around the end of May, Šalim-aḫum could demand he render some of his downpayment in the needed gold. Ilabrat-bāni’s default in August was preceded by what is now a relatively clear thread of Šalim-aḫum’s commercial interests up until that point. In midMay, Šalim-aḫum was looking forward to the first credit claim from Nūr-Ištar’s caravan being collected. And around the same time, he sent still more merchandise to Anatolia, some with Dān-Aššur. Toward the end of May, he acquiesced to the idea that Dān-Aššur was not to come directly home, but at the same time Ilabrat-bāni’s offer assured him of gold and a buyer for much of the merchandise en route. By mid-June, Dān-Aššur’s traveling companion Šū-Suen and another transporter left Kanesh for Assur, and by mid-July, Šalim-aḫum had that silver in his hands. He was already reminding Pūšu-kēn to collect the second claim from Nūr-Ištar’s caravan and hoped Dān-Aššur would return with it. When he wrote that letter, Šalim-aḫum likely did not yet know that his son had struggled with illness in Durḫumit, but he probably learned of it during July, before he received Pūšu-kēn’s letter, written around the first of August, indicating that DānAššur was expected in Kanesh in the next few days, and that Šalim-aḫum could look forward to a shipment of 80 minas silver or more. To what must have been

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Šalim-aḫum’s great pleasure, Pūšu-kēn managed to send nearly 95 minas. DānAššur, with the help of two colleagues, made their journey home bringing the silver, including silver from both the second claim from Nūr-Ištar’s caravan and from the six textiles Dān-Aššur had originally taken to Kanesh. It was sometime around early August, perhaps just as Dān-Aššur left Kanesh, or soon after, that Ilabrat-bāni was due to pay part of the talent of silver he had promised, twenty and two-thirds minas. When the day arrived, Ilabrat-bāni did not have the money. He was certainly not the first Assyrian merchant to fail paying in full on time: earlier in the year, it was clear that most of the first claim from Nūr-Ištar’s caravan was paid, but not all. Nor were all the debts which Pūšu-kēn collected for Šalim-aḫum completely paid when Dān-Aššur left with his colleagues for Assur at the beginning of August. The system of extending credits included measures for late debtors in the form of penalty interest. But on this occasion Ilabrat-bāni would be given no extra time to pay. Pūšu-kēn wrote his letter to Šalim-aḫum communicating the plan to retrieve silver from Ilabrat-bāni through his merchandise on the very same day. Ilabrat-bāni’s present debt arose from his mid-season bulk purchase. But the twenty and two-thirds minas that had fallen due was only a third of the total talent he had intended to buy. In stating this, one must concede that it is impossible to corroborate if Ilabrat-bāni actually purchased a full silver talent worth of goods in the beginning of June. Certainly the combination of goods that Šalimaḫum had designated would have been worth 60 minas of silver. The two donkey-loads of tin³, after customs, would have been worth a little more than 40 minas based on the 6 shekel rate premium Šalim-aḫum demanded.⁴ DānAššur was carrying one hundred textiles, to which Šalim-aḫum pointed for sale. As already discussed in relation to Dān-Aššur’s travels, Ilabrat-bāni must have purchased sixty-two textiles from that shipment for 20⅔ minas silver. This arrangement suggests that the tin and textiles arrived on different days and were also sold to Ilabrat-bāni on different days. Dān-Aššur arrived in Kanesh around the beginning of June. Ilabrat-bāni would have certainly received the textiles from Dān-Aššur’s cargo within the week. Šalim-aḫum had dictated that his “silver be lent out for a month or two.”⁵ But Pūšu-kēn arranged the actual terms, which certainly had a more exact time limit assigned. But we have no direct record of these arrangements. As a result, the due date that Ilabrat-bāni missed must be fixed by correlation with  2 gú an.na iš-tí ḫu-ra-ṣa-nim 2 gú iš-tí a-mur-a-šùr dumu šu-iš8-tár (5-TC 1: 26 obv. 14-lo.e. 16).  Šalim-aḫum’s demanded 6:1 rate (5-TC 1: 26 rev. 28 – 30), and if 250 minas tin cleared, sale of the tin would have yeilded in the 41⅔ minas silver.  kù.babbar-pí iti.1.kam iš-té-en6 ù šé-na li-bé-la-ni (5-TC 1: 26 rev. 26 – 28).

Figure 8: Development of Ilabrat-bāni’s involvement with Šalim-aḫum in the second half of REL 82

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Dān-Aššur’s travel and clues from Šalim-aḫum’s letter. Ilabrat-bāni must have paid his promised down payment already in June to be able to purchase either the tin or textiles. It is most likely those funds (the equivalent of ten minas silver) went toward the tin: the tin arrived first, a debt for roughly 40 minas was initiated, and Ilabrat-bāni paid his down payment in order to receive the goods, then took roughly 30 minas silver in credit. Šalim-aḫum never mentions when this 30 minas silver was due in the surviving correspondence. Perhaps that credit was negotiated to be due in the following year. No record of him making his down payment has been found, but when Šalim-aḫum later complained about funds not yet received from Ilabrat-bāni, he did not complain about not receiving the down payment.⁶ Though Ilabrat-bāni did not make his payment to Pūšu-kēn on time in Anatolia, this did not mean that, like Puzur-Ištar, his eye had not encountered any silver. Around the same time that Dān-Aššur left Kanesh, Ilabrat-bāni had sent twenty minas silver to Šalim-aḫum. Pūšu-kēn had arranged its shipment.⁷ But this shipment of twenty minas silver was designated as funds to purchase more tin, not to pay his debts to Šalim-aḫum. Ironically, by the first week of September, though Šalim-aḫum held in his hands nearly the same amount of silver that Ilabrat-bāni owed him, on, or even after, the day Ilabrat-bāni’s debt fell due in Anatolia, the latter had designated that Šalim-aḫum manage the silver as Ilabrat-bāni’s representative, to be used for Ilabrat-bāni’s own ends. And Šalimaḫum understood that the debt was due in Anatolia, not Assur, and could not know if Ilabrat-bāni was indeed paying it on time. Šalim-aḫum could not even take the two and a half minas silver Ilabrat-bāni already owed him from petty debts that included and preceded the fiasco on the spring journey. Šalimaḫum had no grounds to take Ilabrat-bāni’s silver; as a representative, he had to act according to Ilabrat-bāni’s instructions. So unless he had express permission, Šalim-aḫum could not collect Ilabrat-bāni’s debt from the funds he had just received. Even after the scheme to seize Ilabrat-bāni’s tin had been executed, Šalim-aḫum complained that Ilabrat-bāni “should have written at the same time(?) so that I could take my silver here.”⁸ Šalim-aḫum, as required, purchased

 11-CCT 2: 3.  As evidenced by the words Šalim-aḫum told Pūšu-kēn to write to Ilabrat-bāni: “As for the 20 minas of your silver, which I sent to the city to my representative …” 20 ma-na kù-ap-kà ša a-na a-lim ki a-ṣé-er ša ki-ma i-a-tí ú-šé-bi4-lu (9-TC 3: 20 rev. 22– 24).  i-dí-qá-tí-ma li-iš-pu-ra-ma a-na-kam kù.babbar-pì lá-al-qé (11-CCT 2: 3 rev. 36-u.e. 38). For the form i-dí-qá-tí-ma, see edition in vol. 2. Translation follows CAD šalāḫu 4.

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tin and donkeys for Ilabrat-bāni and sent them on their way with Ilabrat-bāni’s son. Pūšu-kēn’s plan to seize Ilabrat-bāni’s goods as expressed in his letter was deceptively simple. Dān-Aššur, assisted by Puzur-Aššur, were to overtake the goods in Amurrum and liquidate them. For the Old Assyrian merchants, the region of Amurrum lay somewhere between the east end of the Ḫabur and the Taurus mountains, and certainly included Naḫur/Niḫriya on the Balikh River.⁹ Beyond this, the few references to the region are sufficiently vague as to frustrate a determination of anything more precise.¹⁰ However, even if this working definition of Amurrum includes too large an area, the plan as it was expressed by Pūšu-kēn had, at best, a window of about one week for it to work. If Pūšukēn’s letter arrived in Assur more than a week after Ilabrat-bāni’s son and goods had departed, a raiding party would have had very little chance of catching up before the donkeys began their slow ascent of the Taurus piedmont. Thus Pūšu-kēn’s plan seems to imply that Ilabrat-bāni’s debt fell due at such a point that Pūšu-kēn was confident his letter would arrive just days after Ilabrat-bāni’s goods had departed.¹¹ Pūšu-kēn’s plan alone is yet another instance of the impressive regime of communication in the Old Assyrian trade, even if the letter arrived ahead of Ilabrat-bāni’s silver. Pūšu-kēn knew enough about the movements of Ilabrat-bāni’s merchandise, when Šalim-aḫum would likely receive his letter, and Šalimaḫum’s capacity to respond, that on the very day Ilabrat-bāni’s twenty mina debt came due, Pūšu-kēn could suggest that the goods be seized on their way back to him, and if not at an exact location, then at least in the general area  Veenhof identifies Amurrum as the area of the west bend of the Euphrates and the Balikh, including the town of Naḫur, see Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 97 n. 426.  For a discussion of the area around the Euphrates, see Veenhof 2008a.  Another scenario is possible but unlikely. Pūšu-kēn may have sent the letter with Dān-Aššur when he departed for Assur. In this scenario, Ilabrat-bāni’s silver could have travelled to Assur on the same journey. Šalim-aḫum would have made the arrangements for Ilabrat-bāni, all along knowing that he would get his silver back when the caravan reached Amurrum. The tin would have been seized no sooner than in the other scenario. Ilabrat-bāni’s silver and his goods travelled on an independent strand of progression which Pūšu-kēn’s plan anticipated, not changed. However Šalim-aḫum’s letter acknowledging Pūšu-kēn’s suggestion, relaying Dān-Aššur’s illness, and announcing the successful execution of the plan, all at the same time, gives the sense that things had developed quickly, and that this was Šalim-aḫum’s first response to Pūšu-kēn since Pūšu-kēn had rendered his report in Kaneshite clay. If the letter had indeed come with Dān-Aššur, and there was at least a day or two of purchases and the like, Šalimaḫum would likely have written a letter then, and, when he wrote this letter, he would have worded it differently. As it was, Šalim-aḫum’s letter suggests a quicker denouement of the events.

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ahead of the Euphrates. Undoubtedly, Pūšu-kēn wrote the letter before Šalimaḫum had actually purchased Ilabrat-bāni’s tin. Having arranged the shipment of Ilabrat-bāni’s silver, he knew better than anyone (beside the actual transporter), when the silver would arrive in Assur. Even so, it is remarkable that Pūšu-kēn could even feel capable to suggest such a plan. And the plan, essentially as Pūšu-kēn described it, was executed with only the substitution of EnnamAššur for Dān-Aššur. Ennam-Aššur and Puzur-Aššur overtook Ilabrat-bāni’s son in Amurrum, seized the goods, and liquidated them for almost twenty minas silver, bringing it back to Šalim-aḫum. Moreover, the denouement of the raid suggests that the conditions in Amurrum were sufficient to provide Šalim-aḫum with the amount, or nearly the amount, that Ilabrat-bāni owed. The results of the raiding party suggest that tin shipped by Assyrians was relatively stable in price, at least until it crossed the Euphrates. If we assume Naḫur, one of the few places we are sure was in Amurrum, and east of the Euphrates, as the spot that Šalim-aḫum’s son humiliated Ilabrat-bāni’s son, then there were two possible ways to sell the tin. The most likely buyer for the liquidated tin would have been a merchant returning from Anatolia, flush with silver. It could also have been a local palace. The tin fetched 19 minas 53⅚ shekels silver, nearly the twenty minas Ilabrat-bāni had sent to purchase the goods.¹² Allowing for exit taxes, feed, and other small expenses, the value of tin in Amurrum was still close to its original value in Assur, much less valuable than it would have been when it arrived in Kanesh. Had the tin crossed the Euphrates, its value would have climbed with each step up the eastward slope of the Taurus Mountains. In Anatolian terms, Ilabrat-bāni’s financial loss was significant, possibly another twenty minas silver. After Ennam-Aššur and Puzur-Aššur confiscated the goods and sold them, they returned to Assur and handed the silver over to Šalim-aḫum. It was only at this point, in the second half of September, that Šalim-aḫum wrote to Pūšukēn to report the successful prosecution.¹³ Ilabrat-bāni likely had already heard about the raid before Pūšu-kēn received that letter. We can imagine a bewildered and ashamed son reported the calamity to his father sometime in midSeptember when he arrived in Anatolia. The raid certainly sent a message to Ilabrat-bāni. Pūšu-kēn likely also knew of the successful raid through the same channels, ahead of Šalim-aḫum’s letter. But he certainly received the letter, acknowledging

 Ennam-Aššur and Puzur-Aššur “sold them in Amurrum and made 19 minas 53⅚ shekels silver.” i-li-bi4 dmar.tu i-dí-ma 20 ma-na lá 6⅙ gín kù il-té-qé (9-TC 3: 20 rev. 27– 28).  9-TC 3: 20.

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receipt of the news in his own letter, as demonstrated by tortuous prose in Šalimaḫum’s latest surviving letter from the year of vengeance. Šalim-aḫum opened the letter by citing his knowledge that Pūšu-kēn had received his report of the seizure, and a reminder to get the remainder of Ilabrat-bāni’s silver.¹⁴ At this point Šalim-aḫum hoped to receive the small balance that remained of Ilabratbāni’s debt, and perhaps even payment of his other petty debts. But Šalimaḫum was frustrated to still be waiting for the final mina of Ilabrat-bāni’s most recent overdue debt. Then he complained about waiting for results. “Five or six of your tablets have arrived [since the letter that showed you got my report on the raid]. As for these (tablets), why did you not write in your tablet that I am paid in full?”¹⁵ Šalim-aḫum directed Pūšu-kēn to pressure Ilabrat-bāni into giving Šalim-aḫum release to take his silver from Ilabrat-bāni’s accounts in Assur, all the while complaining that he was still doing Ilabrat-bāni favors regarding his silver in Assur: “When you read the tablet addressed to both of you, confront him with it so that he cannot deny all for which I am written. Let a tablet from both of you come to me so that I can take my silver here. As for his silver which is here, I have done him a great favor, and you know it very well! He had sent word to me to part out his silver. He should have written at the same time so that I could take my silver here. If he quarrels, let your message come with the first traveler so that I may make my decision to take my silver here.”¹⁶

 Šalim-aḫum’s prose is a quote within a quote: “Concerning the matter of Ilabrat-bāni, the things you sold him on credit, you wrote in your letter: ‘In your letter; “I sold the goods in Amurrum and received my silver.”’ The remainder of the silver is 51¼ shekels. Regarding the remainder, I wrote to you. I said, “Let him weigh it out to you and give his tablet to him.” a-šu-mì ša d nin.šubur-ba-ni ša ta-qí-pu-šu ta-áš-pu-ra-ma i-na té-er-tí-kà-ma lu-qú-tám i-li-bi4 dmar.tu a-díin-ma kù.babbar-pì al-qé ší-tí kù.babbar ⅚ ma-na 1¼ gín a-ší-tám-{ma} áš-pu-ra-kum um-ma a‐na-ku-ma li-iš-qú-lá-ku-ma ṭup-pu-šu dí-in-šu-um(11-CCT 2: 3 obv. 2– 10).  ṭup-pu-kà 5 ù 6 i-li-ku-nim a-ni-a-tim ki-ma ša-bu-a-ku-ni mì-šu-um i-ṭup-pì-kà lá ta-al-pu-tám (11-CCT 2: 3 obv. 10 – 13). As with many of Šalim-aḫum’s letters, the voice can change from direct to indirect discourse and the like. Thus “I am paid in full” refers to Šalim-aḫum being paid in full, as is clear from context. This is not a grammatical matter, rather a need to deal with the language as a thing manipulated (sometimes unwieldily) by people.  ṭup-pu-um ša a-ki-lá-li-ku-nu lá-pu-tù ki-ma ta-áš-me-ú pá-nam šu-ku-šu-ma mì-ma a-nim ša lá-pu-ta-ku-ni a-na nu-ku-ra-e lá i-ša-kà-an ṭup-pu-um ša ki-lá-li-ku-nu li-li-kam-ma kù.babbar-pì a-na-kam lá-al-qé a-na kù.babbar-pì-šu ša a-na-kam ma-dí-iš du-mu-uq-tám e-pu-šu-um ú li-bakà i-de8 a-na kù.babbar-pì-šu ša-lu-ḫi-im iš-tap-ra-am i-dí qá-tí-ma li-iš-pu-ra-ma a-na-kam kù.babbar-pì lá-al-qé šu-ma ší-ib-sà-tim e-ta-wu i-na iš-té-en6 a-li-ki-im té-er-ta-kà li-li-kam-ma ša lá‐qá kù.babbar-pì-a a-na-ku a-na-kam mì-il5-ki lá-am-li-ik (11-CCT 2: 3 rev. 25-le.e. 42). Interpretation of ša-lu-ḫi-im loosely follows CAD šalāḫu II (p. 194). The sense works but the precise meaning is difficult. Šalim-aḫum had access to Ilabat-bāni’s silver, but was forced to give it

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While Šalim-aḫum’s ongoing frustration is interesting, what is more surprising is the amount of activity Šalim-aḫum was trying to squeeze in before the end of the season. When the raiding party had returned to Assur from Amurrum, Šalim-aḫum acted like there was enough time to send goods that would increase his revenues before the coming winter. Amidst his plan to seize Ilabrat-bāni’s goods, Pūšu-kēn had instructed Šalim-aḫum to, “Purchase cleared tin.”¹⁷ In response, Šalim-aḫum had written, “As for the 12 minas 15 shekels silver which you sent to me, the tin is purchased. Now, I will raise what I can and I will purchase (more) tin and I will dispatch Dān-Aššur and Puzur-Aššur.”¹⁸ (This affair will be discussed more fully in Part 3.) According to the activity that was still to come before the snows, that letter must have been sent, at the latest, in late September. Šalim-aḫum clearly still thought that he had time to ship, then convert tin to silver in Anatolia. The later angry letter, just quoted above, was sent even later in the season. It must have been just before or around the time Ilī-ašranni’s debt was to fall due. As a reminder, Ilabrat-bāni had arrived with Ilī-ašranni’s caravan at the beginning of the season. Back then, in early April, Ilī-ašranni had set up his credit terms so that he would be paying in the beginning of the eleventh Assyrian month (kuzalli), which fell at October 24th this year,¹⁹ apparently so that the silver could travel to Assur before the passes closed for the winter. Leaving Kanesh in the first week of November allowed plenty of time to exit the mountains before the snow accumulated, at least according to 19th century AD climate, when the passes closed the first week of December. Šalim-aḫum could not have sent his last preserved letter seeking recompense for Ilabrat-bāni’s many debts²⁰ after the second week of November—pri-

out to others according to Ilabrat-bāni’s instructions. The act of distributing it to his various other creditors and to his family was what the action referred to in this situation.  an.na za-ku-a-am ša-a-ma (9-TC 3: 20 obv. 7– 8).  12 ma-na 15 gín kù ša tù-šé-bi4-lá-ni an.na ša-im ù a‐na-ku ša ra-du-im ú-ra-da-ma an.na a‐ša-a-ma dan-a-šùr ù puzur4-a-šur a-ṭá-ra-dam (9-TC 3: 20 rev. 33 – 38).  Due at (beginning of) the tenth month (kuzalli) (1-BIN 4: 61 le.e. 60 – 64), thus 24 October in this year, according to our model from Chapter 3.  “6⅓ minas tin—its price in silver: 1 mina 3 shekels; a mal’ā’ītum kusītum textile—their price in silver: 35 shekels. Aššur-mālik son of Azuza brought him 3 textiles for my votive fund and 1 textile for the girl along with his textiles. He must not pay 1 mina silver less! If you yourself received the textiles, then let your message come.” 6⅓ ma-na an.na kù.babbar-áp-šu 1 ma-na 1 gín kusí-tum ma-al-a-i-tum ½ túgku-ta-num ½ ma-na 5 gín kù.babbar-áp-šu-nu 3 túg ša ik-ri-bi4-a 1 túg ša ṣú-ḫa-ar-tim iš-tí ṣú-ba-tí-šu a-šùr-ma-lik dumu a-zu-za ú-bi4-il5-šu-um 1 ma-na kù.babbar lá i-ba-ta-qám šu-ma túg.hi.a a-ta tal-qé té-er-ta-kà li-li-kam (11-CCT 2: 3 obv. 14-rev. 24). ˘ I translate ‘He must not pay 1 mina silver less!’ this way even though the total amount of money just cited that he owed was only 1 mina 38 shekels silver. I do not think that Šalim-

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marily because if he did, by the time it arrived in Kanesh, Pūšu-kēn, who was set to return to Assur at the end of the season, would have already departed. That Šalim-aḫum at once seemed concerned about getting his silver, but not explicitly concerned about running out of time suggests that Šalim-aḫum sent his letter by the first week of November. Because we cannot be sure about when merchants typically expected the Taurus passes to close, the first week of December remains our guide, and Pūšu-kēn would have had to have had time to fulfill Šalim-aḫum’s wishes and get through the passes before the passes closed. However, this demands that letters were sent quickly, as has been the clear demand for all of this activity. Whatever the exact timing of sending the letter or the timing of the passes closing, that it was possible for Šalim-aḫum to send a letter this close the end of the season without concern underlines the impressive regime of communication on which the Assyrian traders could rely. To account for the amount of time left in the year, all we can do is project a few of the continuing strands according to the expectations Šalim-aḫum expressed in his letters, and the likely concerns that he and others felt as the mad rush at the end of the season commenced. Šalim-aḫum hoped to accomplish a fair amount before the passes closed. When he wrote the letter announcing the successful raid in late September, he clearly hoped quite a bit more could happen before the end of the season. He had sent 18 textiles with Ennam-Aššur and the letter announcing that more tin was still to come. He hoped that Pūšukēn, when Ennam-Aššur arrived, would send 5 minas silver immediately back to Šalim-aḫum in Assur, so that he could then buy and send even more merchandise to Anatolia with hopes that it could be converted to silver before the end of the season. Was this even possible? Had Ennam-Aššur exerted himself with his small cargo, leaving Assur in the second half of September, he may have made Kanesh as early as mid-October. And had Pūšu-kēn then sent the silver from the 18 textiles as immediately as Šalim-aḫum hoped, it could have, under extraordinary conditions (an express caravan?) have made it to Assur by the end of October. At that point, Šalim-aḫum would have had to immediately buy more goods and send them off, with the hope that they arrived by the end of November. Pūšu-kēn could perhaps have sold them off just as he was leaving for Assur, pushing goods through the Taurus as the nights increasingly got colder and initial snows fell.

aḫum was signaling to Pūšu-kēn that he was ready to settle for 1 mina silver, even as a down payment. Rather some, if still oddly phrased (a shekel less would have been better), the intent seems more toward asserting that Ilabrat-bāni should pay his full due.

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Šalim-aḫum’s scheme seems far too desperate to have been successful. True, Puzur-Aššur and Ennam-Aššur had already shown that they could overtake a normal caravan to seize Ilabrat-bāni’s goods, and so if necessary, Ennam-Aššur could have somehow pressed through with a minimal amount of textiles. And it may have been possible to somehow ship the 5 minas silver as fast as a letter. But this timeline borders on ridiculous. Still, by the mere power of suggestion, Šalim-aḫum’s intents reflected what we would expect from the rush at the end of the season. (Note also that Šalim-aḫum had believed he could save his claim on gold from Puzur-Ištar near the beginning of the season because he thought he could interfere more quickly that he actually could. This was likely a similar case.) Sometimes, even experienced merchants would attempt to make the impossible happen. Getting one last cycle of profit completed at the end of the shipping season must have always been a pressure. In this year, as we shall see in Part 3, it was perhaps even more tempting. Disruptions in the middle of the year left merchants like Šalim-aḫum scrambling to make up for lost time. Despite this overly optimistic schedule, Šalim-aḫum was surprisingly slow to send other things. Pūšu-kēn, if our calculations of time are reasonably accurate, must have been somewhat frustrated with Šalim-aḫum’s sluggish performance near the end of the season. He had intended that Šalim-aḫum send some “cleared tin” as soon as he received the letter,²¹ in the first half of September, with the intent that the tin would arrive in the first half of October. Had this cleared tin arrived by mid-October, Pūšu-kēn would have had ample time to make the circuit journey around Anatolia to convert it to silver at the best rate before returning to Assur. But Šalim-aḫum didn’t send the tin, instead sending only the eighteen textiles with Ennam-Aššur. Šalim-aḫum had promised to “add some (of his silver).”²² With the clock ticking, Šalim-aḫum’s delay is difficult to explain.

 From Šalim-aḫum’s quotation of Pūšu-kēn’s lost letter. “Regarding the matter of Ilabrat-bāni about which you wrote, “On the day which I am writing the tablet, his term is full. Purchase cleared tin. Let Dān-Aššur depart with Puzur-Aššur to Amurrum and seize the tin on his own authority.” a-šu-mì ša dnin.šubur-ba-ni ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni i-u4-mì-im ša ṭup-pá-am ú-la-pí-ta-kuni u4-mu-šu ma-al-ú an.na za-ku-a-am ša-a-ma ki dan-a-šùr puzur4-a-šùr a-li-bi dmar.tu lu-ṣíma a-na e-ta-li-tí-šu an.na li-iṣ-ba-at (9-TC 3: 20 obv. 3 – 11).  “Now, I will raise what I can and I will purchase (more) tin and I will dispatch Dān-Aššur and Puzur-Aššur.” ù a-na-ku ša ra-du-im ú-ra-da-ma an.na a-ša-a-ma dan-a-šùr ù puzur4-a-šur a-ṭára-dam (9-TC 3: 20 rev. 35 – 38).

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When Šalim-aḫum did finally raise the silver, he indicated that Dān-Aššur and Puzur-Aššur would depart with the tin he purchased.²³ Apparently, Dān-Aššur’s illness had ameliorated while his brother Ennam-Aššur raided Ilabratbāni’s goods. There is no way to know whether Dān-Aššur did indeed take the trip, but had the plan been executed, and had Dān-Aššur and his associate left within a week of Šalim-aḫum’s letter announcing the successful raid, they could have arrived around the end of October. If the passes closed in the first week of December, there was scarcely a month before any caravan hoping to make it home for the Assyrian new year had to leave Kanesh. There are still many things we do not know about the end of the season. Given that Šalim-aḫum was keen to get Ilabrat-bāni’s permission to take silver in Assur, he may have surmised that Ilabrat-bāni planned to winter in Anatolia. Some time during the last several months of the season, the last two claims from Nūr-Ištar’s caravan would also have come due, and Šalim-aḫum still hoped to see profits arise from textiles on their way, as he expressed when he received the silver that came home with Dān-Aššur.²⁴ Pūšu-kēn planned to return to Assur, and it is likely that whether or not he accomplished all that Šalimaḫum hoped he would, he was able to make it home. As he left for Assur, probably around the end of November, he may have received more letters from Šalimaḫum, but none survive, probably because he did not bring them back to Kanesh the next spring. Whether or not Šalim-aḫum’s anxiety was allayed by the silver that Pūšu-kēn brought home to Assur is lost to the past. Ilabrat-bāni must have been surprised to learn of what had happened on the road somewhere in Amurrum. But just as surprising is how much of Šalimaḫum’s correspondence with Pūšu-kēn arises from this event and the single year in which it happened. The chronology of the year of vengeance, if not as precise as we would like it, is sufficiently secure to place the events of Ilabratbāni’s first misstep in early spring in the same year as Šalim-aḫum’s seizure on the road around mid-September, followed at least by the hoped-for activities Šalim-aḫum expressed. And with this articulation of some of Šalim-aḫum’s commercial activities, an explanation of the temporal cues expressed in the anecdote I called “Šalim-aḫum’s revenge” are laid out. This progression of events feels quick when seen through the lens of the anecdotal frame. Yet this is largely because approaches to the Old Assyrian trade that have relied on individual letters,  “Send 5 minas silver so that I can make purchases and can cause (the goods) to reach there while you are still there and maximize profit.” 5 ma-na kù.babbar šé-bi4-lam-ma ší-ma-am lá-áša-ma a-dí a-ma-kam wa-áš-ba-tí-ni lu-ša-ak--da-ma kù 1 ma-na le-li (9-TC 3: 20 u.e. 41-le.e. 44).  19-BIN 4: 26.

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classes of documents, and outside comparative material have characterized Old Assyrian commercial time as slower than it actually was. This assertion requires some more direct discussion.

Part 2: Old Assyrian Time

Šalim-aḫum’s commercial activities all occurred within the shipping season of REL 82. By identifying REL 82 as 1891 BC, we have been able to make use of a Julian calendar to describe the actions in the year of vengeance. The historical reconstruction thus far is accomplished with a commitment to pursuing the particular context of the documents by reading them together and making historical inferences. While inference has been a part of interpreting documents in the Old Assyrian trade, it has more often been directed toward broad patterns than toward particular circumstances. The focus on context and authorial intent which underwrites the narrative reconstruction in Part 1 exposes a number of temporal patterns of the trade which have been previously crafted in the anecdotal frame. This reconstructed narrative of the year of vengeance demands that several of these temporal patterns were incrementally quicker than what has been asserted from the anecdotal frame. In the process of reconstructing the continuous activity during the shipping season, it was necessary to recognize and incorporate these quicker tempos of activity. And a number of the activities that developed within the year of vengeance illustrates these tempos. Both the development of collecting claims from Nūr-Ištar’s caravan and the sequence of trips made by Dān-Aššur demand that the tempo of bulk transport moved faster than the six weeks normally considered standard. In addition, both Šalim-aḫum’s letters about Dān-Aššur staying in Anatolia and Pūšu-kēn’s letter proposing the plan to seize Ilabrat-bāni’s goods demanded a tempo of trade in which communication proceeded quickly. In its broadest sense, Old Assyrian commercial time consists of both the temporal dimension of the merchants’ lived experience and the tempos which shaped their expectations and strategies. But the year of vengeance here provokes already a review of several specific temporal patterns that are part of a new description of Old Assyrian commercial time. The incipient narrative reconstruction of the year of vengeance demands three departures from understanding temporal patterns in the anecdotal frame. Each temporal pattern must be understood in slightly different ways. The first temporal pattern has to do with the description of a hiatus within the trade that has been associated with wintertime. It has already been demonstrated that during the hiatus that Šalim-aḫum discussed, activity had continued. A further discussion shows that with this understanding in hand a fresh look at the hiatus reveals the primary textual references to also indicate that while each winter did cause a hiatus, the hiatus could arise from other causes, corroborating the integrity of the year of vengeance (Chapter 9). Within the integral year of vengeance, the second temporal pattern that must be revised involves an incrementally quicker tempo of transport. While estimates of travel from Assur to Kanesh have generally revolved around six weeks, the

year of vengeance shows that to have been impossible. Instead, a look again at the daily rate of travel results in an estimate of about a month. This has subtle but important consequences for the flexibility of the trade, but permits us to see the strategies of the merchants in a new light (Chapter 10). In turn, the third temporal pattern deals with the even quicker tempo of communication. It has long been recognized that letters could travel faster then the bulk caravans. With the new picture of the tempo of travel, a review of the apparent tempo of communication contextualizes the kinds of interventions and strategies merchants like Šalim-aḫum could pursue from Assur (Chapter 11). This new sense of Old Assyrian commercial time, particular the tempos of bulk caravans and of communication, form a first step in crafting a historical turn on the Assyrian trade.

Chapter 9 The Bulk Caravan Hiatus After some protest, Šalim-aḫum consented, early in June of the year of vengeance, to let Dān-Aššur stay in Anatolia after he arrived in Kanesh. Šalim-aḫum stated that as a result of his concession, Dān-Aššur should “spend this hiatus,”¹ in Anatolia. The word behind hiatus, nabrītum, has been subject to scrutiny in several studies and whenever it has appeared in a text. An earlier interpretation of nabrītum cast it as some sort of ‘inspection,’² separating it from two homograms attested in Old Assyrian: one for ‘paddock,’³ the second a type of textile.⁴ Comparative evidence has made the proposition of ‘winter’ attractive. There is a wintertime nabrû festival in the Ur III and Old Babylonian periods. The name of the ninth month of the Amorite calendar at Tell Rimah is also named similarly.⁵ Translations of nabrītum as ‘winter’ draw on these points, though with some etymological difficulties.⁶ However, Veenhof’s most recent treatment of nabrītum marks the arrival at an understanding of the underlying meaning of the word, specifically a “period when no trade was possible,” and brings together all the references to the noun and its related verb and favors the etymology of barā’um (CAD barû C), which should be understood as “‘to spend time’, or ‘to (be forced to) stay somewhere.’”⁷ The full etymological heritage of the verb is

 na-ab-ri-tám a-ni-tám li-ib-re-ma (27-AKT 3: 72 obv. 8 – 9).  Dercksen 2004: 270.  For the care of donkeys, i. e. ‘paddock’ (rendered as nebrētum in the CAD), while a possible second word would be manifest in a single known use as an object, most likely a textile. For ‘paddock,’ see Dercksen 2004: 267– 70. The CAD recognized an OA nabrītum under neb/ prētum ‘food, fodder, pasture,’ citing Veenhof 1972: 249 – 50 n. 380. AHw translates naprētum as ‘basic/minimum provisions.’  A textile represented with the same set of cuneiform signs is found in one document: “Send 10 shekels kupuršinnum gold and a nabrītum for the girl. The nabrītum must be large” 10 gín k [ù.k]i ku-pu-ur-ši-nàm ù na-áb-ri-tám a-ú-ša-ar-tim šé-bi4-lam na-áb-ri-tum [lu] ra-bi4-a-at (BIN 6: 90 rev. 14– 18). See also Donbaz and Veenhof 1985: 140. The article includes a good summary of the evidence and arguments up to that point.  Cohen 1993: 394– 95.  Donbaz and Veenhof 1985: 141; Dercksen 1996: 50 – 53; Larsen 2014: 91– 92. Earlier consideration of the word can be found in Veenhof 1972: 250 n. 380.  Dercksen (2004: 270) first published the suggestion that nabrītum was associated with winter through context with Kt 94/k 1673, followed by Veenhof in his recent citation of Ka 1004 in Veenhof (2008b: 199 – 246). It is also the position taken by Larsen in his translation of the two Kt 94/ k texts cited below. DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-009

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still not completely resolved.⁸ But Veenhof’s treatment is correct in the main. There remains only one aspect that must be clarified. Because several of the references clearly refer to the forced pause in the context of the approaching winter, it has been too quickly affirmed that such a pause could only be caused by the winter.⁹ The noun and the verb do refer to a forced pause or hiatus in the trade. But it seems that the hiatus applies most principally to caravan traffic of tin and textiles, and that letters were still sent after the merchandise caravans took hiatus. Thus, the meaning of the word is to be refined in two senses. The claim that “no trade was possible” is principally correct, but must be largely confined to the large caravans taking merchandise. Second, the year of vengeance shows that such a hiatus could be caused not only by winter, which surely caused a hiatus each year, but also by other disruptions. As a result, a phrase like ana barā’im, as “before the winter,” is in most cases a reasonable inference; but it is better to render it ‘before the hiatus’ in all cases, then corroborate that the hiatus in question was caused by winter, and not by some other disruption, as it was in the year of vengeance. The discussion in this chapter underlines the necessity to seek as much context as possible with lexicography. The narrative of the year of vengeance provides a context that improves our interpretation of the term, beyond the limits of the means of interpretation thus far employed. And in this way, it becomes clear that a narrative approach to the documents is just as important to lexicography as the latter is to the former. The present discussion will focus mostly on the instances of the noun nabrītum when used to designate the hiatus of trade, as they are sufficient to expose the nuance of the hiatus. Veenhof’s association of both nabrītum as used to describe paddock and barā’um with hiatus is well laid out in his treatment and fully accepted here. Donkeys stayed in paddocks when the trade was on hiatus, whether during the winter or at other times the trade was disrupted, and Veenhof’s recent treatment is quite astute for aptly lacing the previously separated meanings together. By all accounts, the winter was the most reliable cause of a hiatus. As a result, it will be sufficient here to review one of the instances of nabrītum, one which found a merchant named Damiq-pī-Aššur stranded on the east side of the Taurus late in the year, as winter was coming on. By exposing the fuller context of Damiq-pī-Aššur’s circumstances, the difference between the cessation of the bulk caravan traffic and the cessation of all activity in winter becomes clear. With this nuance exposed more clearly, a review of some of the

 Veenhof 2015a: 258.  Veenhof 2105a: 259.

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other passages strengthens the focus of the hiatus represented by nabrītum on the bulk caravans. This then sets up the consideration of a letter in which it appears two hiatuses occurred in relatively close succession, and finally a review of the relevant period in the year of vengeance. The strength of the case for rendering nabrītum as winter has relied on “the parallelism with ‘arriving ana kuṣṣim,’”¹⁰ and thus particularly on two letters from the archive of Šalim-Aššur, excavated in 1994. However, an episode involving Damiq-pī-Aššur in one of the letters shows that the hiatus referred to the halting of the bulk caravan, even while ongoing operations were being attempted in order to bring parts of the shipment over the Taurus in small batches. The letter in question was written by Šalim-Aššur’s son Ennam-Aššur to a business associate named Damiq-pī-Aššur. This letter comes from the archive that yields records from the business of Ennam-Aššur, his brother Ali-aḫum, and their father ŠalimAššur. The action likely took place in or around REL 107. Ennam-Aššur was murdered in REL 106 or 107,¹¹ most likely in relation to some very precious meteoric iron he was carrying, as claimed by his brother Ali-aḫum, and also supported by the colony at Kanesh.¹² While this episode must have taken place before his death, it probably transpired two decades after the year of vengeance. Damiq-pī-Aššur had found himself in a caravan slowing down and then stopping on the east side of the Taurus. Damiq-pī-Aššur had written no fewer than five different letters concerned about this development, asking EnnamAššur to make a decision about the merchant’s merchandise¹³ that Damiq-pīAššur was transporting. Throughout the epistolary conversation, the merchant to which he and Ennam-Aššur referred remained unnamed. In response to one of those letters, Ennam-Aššur advised him to follow the caravan as far as possible into the Taurus, clearly late in the season, and recommended that he lighten the donkey’s load of any less valuable textiles along the way in order to keep moving. That strategy had come to naught as the caravan had been arrested by the hiatus in Uršu, between the Euphrates and the Taurus Mountains, possibly at the north end of the plains above Aleppo. At this point (though the letter had apparently gotten through), Ennam-Aššur was unable to send someone he could trust to help because there was too much snow. The junior merchant had to await the opening of the passes for someone to decide whether they would buy the textiles. In the meantime he was to guard the goods and air

   

Veenhof 2015a: 259. Larsen 2010: 35; 2014: 4– 7. See AKT 6c: 527 obv. 15-rev. 25 and the discussion in Larsen 2014: 4– 7. AKT 6b: 322 rev. 11– 13; 323 obv. 7– 8; 325 rev. 11– 13; 326 lo.e. 1’-r.e. 2’; 327 rev. 18 – 19.

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the textiles. The full text of the letter, which was duplicated in part on another tablet, follows: From Ennam-Aššur to Damiq-pī-Aššur: I sent word to you earlier, saying “If your caravan is loading up, then you too should pack up together with your caravan, and choose textiles of good quality from the goods of the merchant that you are leading, and in Mamma or in Unapsesi the rest of the poorerquality textiles—both from what there is of the merchant’s and from your own working capital and from the working capital of the servants—should enter the palace together with your partners. Now, the hiatus has overtaken you in Uršu. Because there is a lot of snow, I have not sent anyone on whom I could rely for the goods of the merchant. At the opening of the snows,¹⁴ I shall send either myself or someone I can rely on, and I shall make a decision about the merchant’s goods. Why did you send word, saying: “A heated letter from the merchant came. I have personally been delayed and been unable to take any decision about the merchant’s goods. Come now, send word to me!”¹⁵ Urgent, guard the goods of the merchant; and with regard to your message where you said: “There are some old textiles”—urgent, the very day you hear my letter you and Ilīašranni should air all of the textiles in the store-room of a friend, and leave them for 3 or 5 days before you turn them over. Do not approach anyone else. Do not hesitate for 10 days! I have sent Uṣur-ša-Ištar to Enišārum concerning your tin. When they come back from Zalpa, I shall dispatch Ali-aḫum. I sent Ilī-tūram to you with ½ mina of refined silver and small goods worth 3 shekels under my seal. Idnaya and Aluwa are bringing you 15 shekels of silver, the proceeds from your textile. Your donkeys must be fed.¹⁶

 i-na na-áp-ṭé-er | ku-pa!-im! – Larsen’s i-na- na-áp-ṭí-ir | ku-nu-tí “When you are released (from the cold)” is better resolved by reference to the snow (kuppā’um) just referenced a few lines above, with Larsen’s (2013: 84) note pointing to the comparable temporally-charged phrase ana napṭar kuppā’im išaqqulu in AKT 6e: 1099 and AKT 5: 18 le.e. 49 (explained in corrections included with the book). I thank Veenhof for suggesting this.  My rendition of this part of the letter as a quote from Damiq-pī-Aššur, as opposed to EnnamAššur’s own language, diverges from the translation in Larsen 2013, but for reasons which will become obvious with the further treatment of the situation here.  um-ma en-um-e-šùr-ma a‐na sig-pí-i-a-šur qí-bi-ma i-na pá-ni-tim-ma áš-pu-ra-kum um-ma a‐na-ku-ma šu-ma illat-at-kà i-sà-ri-dam ù a‐ta qá-dí-ma illat-tí-kà sí-ir-dam-ma lu-qú-tám ša dam.gàr ša ta-ra-dí-ú túg.hi.a sig5-tim bi-ir-ma i-na ma-a-ma ú-lá i-na ú-na-ap-sé-e-sí ší-tí ˘ túg.hi.a ma-ṭí-ú-tim lu i-na ša dam.gàr i-ba-ší-ú lu ša bé-ú-lá-tí-kà ù-lu i-na ša bé-ú-lá-at ṣú˘ ḫa- re-e i-ba-ší-ú qá-dí-ma tap-pá-e-kà a‐na é.gal-lim le-ru-bu-nim a‐ni na-ab-ri-tum i-na ur-šu i-ṣa-ba-at-ku-nu ki-ma ku-pá-um ma-du-ni a‐na lu-qú-ut dam.gàr-ri-im ša ki-ma qá-qí-dí-a ú-lá áš-tap-ra-am i-na na-áp-ṭí-ir | ku-pá-im ù a‐na-ku ú-lá ša ki-ma qá-qí-dí-a a‐ṭa-ra-dam-ma mìli-ik lu-qú-tim ša dam.gàr a‐ma-lik mì-šu ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni um-ma a‐ta-ma tí-ir-tí dam.gàr ḫimì-tum i-li-kam a‐na-ku sà-aḫ-ra-ku-ma a‐na lu-qú-tim ša dam.gàr mì-li-ik-ša ma-lá-kam lá a‐al-té-e ba-a-nim i-a-tí ta-aš-pá-ra-am a‐pu-tum ri-iš lu-qú-tim ša dam.gàr ša-ṣí-ir ú a‐ma-lá tí-ir-tí-kà [um]-ma a‐ta-ma ṣú-ba-tù an-ḫu-tum! i-ba-ší-ú a‐pu-tum i-na utu-ši ša ṭup-pí ta-ša-

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The key passage in the letter falls at the beginning of the second paragraph in the translation above. Ennam-Aššur acknowledged that the hiatus had overtaken Damiq-pī-Aššur. And the snow had prevented him from sending someone he could trust (a capable person within his entourage). The arriving winter snows were causing disruptions. This was no surprise to either Ennam-Aššur or Damiq-pī-Aššur. Ennam-Aššur began the letter with reference to the earlier plan: to get as far as possible with the caravan, hopefully to Mamma or Unapsesi, both identified as cities on the route that lead from Uršu over the Taurus on a southern path.¹⁷ However, Damiq-pī-Aššur had made it only to Uršu, instead of to either of the settlements further west. At that point Damiq-pī-Aššur had written to Ennam-Aššur about a heated letter, about some old textiles, and about making a decision about the merchants’ goods. Thus it is important to note that though the bulk caravan had stopped, Damiq-pī-Aššur had still sent a letter ahead, and that Ennam-Aššur had still written a response. (Even though our copy is doubtless an archival copy, that he wrote it meant he thought it possible to send it.) Moreover, it is possible, by following the references to the various other elements mentioned, particularly at the end, to connect several more documents to this moment, which heightens our sense of the flurry of activity that could still be conducted in the closing weeks of the season, when the bulk caravans had decided to stop. Ennam-Aššur acknowledged Damiq-pī-Aššur’s difficulty in making a decision in this letter. But Damiq-pī-Aššur in fact sent no fewer than five letters asking Ennam-Aššur to make this decision about the merchant’s goods. EnnamAššur wrote his response above, with an answer to his request, before all of the five extant letters had reached him. Damiq-pī-Aššur was writing letters very often as winter was encroaching on the Taurus. Both his and Ennam-Aššur’s hopes for the end of the season mirror Šalim-aḫum’s (likely unrealistic) hopes for the end of his season in REL 82. But more to the point for present concerns, Damiq-pī-Aššur’s situation highlights the difference between the hiatus on the one hand and its cause on the other. For Damiq-pī-Aššur and Ennam-Aššur, winter was coming, and the hiatus preceded the cessation of all activity, and it ap-

me-ú i-na ḫu-ur-ší-im ša ib-ri-im a‐[ta] ù ì-lí-áš-ra-ni túg.hi.a kà-lá-šu-nu-ma na-pí-ša-ma 3 u4-me˘ e ú 5 u4-me-e li-ib-ší-ú-ma šu-ta-áb-lá-ki-da-šu-nu ma-ma-an ša-ni-am lá tù-ṭá-ḫa-a a‐dí 10 u4-me ! lá ta-ḫa-ta-ar a‐ṣé-er e-ni-ša- ri-im a‐di an.na-ki-kà ú-ṣú -ur-ší-ištar áš-ta-pá-ar iš-tù za-al-pá i-tùru-nim-ma a‐lá-ḫa-am a‐ṭá-ra-dam ½ ma-na ṣa-ru-pá-am ú ša 3 GÍN sà-ḫi-ir-tám ku-nu-ki-a ili5-tùra-am ú-šé-bi4-lá-kum 15 gín kù.babbar ší-im túg-tí-kà id-na-a ú a‐lu-a na-áš-ú-ni-[kum e‐]maru-kà lu ak-lu (AKT 6b: 329 obv. 1-rev. 54). AKT 6b: 330 obv. 1-rev. 28 duplicates ll. 33 – 53 of this letter, Larsen 2013: 85.  According to the geography laid out in Barjamovic 2012.

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plied specifically to the bulk caravan. But not everyone was prevented from traveling through the passes. After the caravan had been held and stopped, EnnamAššur and Damiq-pī-Aššur were both still exerting their personnel to continue some small shipments in order to accomplish as much in their interests as possible. Exactly how much time transpired between when Damiq-pī-Aššur first wrote that things were not going according to plan and when Ennam-Aššur sent the letter above is too difficult to pin down with precision. But the amount of distinct, developing activity that was happening in the letters, which all came at the end of the season, underline the frenetic pace of trade in that moment. These documents were gathered in the published editions because they all represented Damiq-pī-Aššur’s correspondence with Ennam-Aššur, with some being recognized that they belong together, but a detailed development was not described.¹⁸ Ennam-Aššur mentioned in his letter that a man named Aluwa was returning to Damiq-pī-Aššur with the silver gained by selling the 1 fine textile¹⁹ Damiq-pīAššur had sent ahead. Damiq-pī-Aššur marked Aluwa’s departure in one letter, where Aluwa was ‘carrying’ the textile to Ennam-Aššur and his brother (naš’akkunūti).²⁰ He then wrote another letter later where Aluwa was described as having delivered (ublakkunūti), meaning Damiq-pī-Aššur expected the event to have happened by the time his letter arrived with Ennam-Aššur.²¹ But Aluwa was not the only person mentioned by both Ennam-Aššur and Damiq-pī-Aššur as making their way through the Taurus at this time. Even before Aluwa left, Damiq-pī-Aššur had sent a certain Eništārum²² with ‘10 minas’ of tin. Damiq-pī-Aššur had written a letter ahead of Aluwa’s departure, asking EnnamAššur to send the proceeds of the 10 minas tin with Eništārum, without mention-

 Five letters came from Damiq-pī-Aššur (AKT 6b: 322; 323; 325; 328; and the envelope tablet pair of AKT 6b: 326/327), another one came from the merchant in Assur, though the copy we have was a copy made by Damiq-pī-Aššur to send ahead of him when he realized he would fall short of Anatolia that year (AKT 6b: 331).  (AKT 6b: 329 rev. 52– 53/AKT 6b: 330 rev. 24– 27).  “Aluwa is bringing you 1 fine textile.” ⸢1 túg sig5⸣ a-lu-a na-áš-[a-ku-n]u-tí (AKT 6b: 325 obv. 13 – 14).  “Aluwa brought you 1 fine textile.” 1 túg ⸢sig5⸣ a-⸢lu⸣-[a] ub-lá-ku-[nu-tí] (AKT 6b:322 obv. 5 – 6).  Damiq-pī-Aššur rendered the man’s name consistently as Eništārum, whereas Ennam-Aššur rendered it Enišārum. See Larsen 2013: 76 for a discussion, though his reticence of equating the two names to the same person in this episode is overcome by the clear relationship between the documents.

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ing Aluwa.²³ In the same letter, he also asked Ennam-Aššur to send some small goods, perhaps for more silver.²⁴ When Ennam-Aššur wrote the letter above he stated that Aluwa was on his way back east, but that a certain Ilī-tūram had already left with the small goods.²⁵ Ilī-tūram thus preceded Aluwa east across the Taurus. This is consistent with a letter in which Damiq-pī-Aššur acknowledged receipt of the small goods that Ilī-tūram had brought, but at the same time still asked for a decision.²⁶ It was when Damiq-pī-Aššur received the small goods that he first noted (as far as we can observe) that the caravan had stopped in Uršu.²⁷ But Damiq-pīAššur wrote yet another letter, mentioning an earlier plan which had now failed. Ennam-Aššur had earlier suggested that Damiq-pī-Aššur follow the caravan as far as it could go, to Mamma or Unapše, indicating that at that point already there was no expectation that Damiq-pī-Aššur’s caravan would make it all the way through the Taurus before the winter. He then mentioned, in that same letter, the letter he had sent when the caravan stopped, which means that we can push a little further in restoring some of the text to the damaged part of the bottom of the tablet to refer specifically to his previous letter.²⁸ He also complained that no message had come regarding the decision for which he asked.²⁹ However,  “My dear brothers, send me the silver that was the proceeds of my tin which Eništārum brought to you. Eništārum should not be delayed, send him and listen closely.” a-ḫu-a a-tùnu kù.babbar ší-im a-ni-ki-a (rev.) ša e-ni-iš-ta-ru-um ub-lá-ku-nu-tí-ni a-na pá-ni-a šé-bi4-lánim e-ni-iš-ta-ra-am lá i-sà-ḫu-ur ṭù-ur-da-ni-šu-ma [u]z-né-kà id-a (AKT 6b: 323 lo.e. 10-rev. 18).  “Send me small goods worth 5 shekels of silver. … cowrie-shell … send me small goods. [sàḫe-e]r-tám ša 5 gín [kù.babbar šé-b]i-lá-ni-im … a-ar-tám [x x sà]-ḫe-er-tám šé-bi4-lá-nim (AKT 6b: 323 rev. 19 – 20, 24– 25).  “I sent Ilī-tūram to you with ½ mina of refined silver and small goods worth 3 shekels under my seal.” ½ ma-na ṣa-ru-pá-am ú ša 3 gín sà-ḫi-ir-tám ku-nu-ki-a ili5-tù-ra-am ú-šé-bi4-lá-kum (AKT 6b: 329 rev. 50 – 51/AKT 6b: 330 rev. 21– 23).  “The herald brought me 29 shekels of silver and small goods under your seal. … Take care and decide about the goods.” ½ ma-na lá 1 gín kù.babbar ù sà-ḫi-ir-tám ku-nu-ki-kà na-ki-ruum ub-lam… iḫ-da-ma mì-li-ik lu-qú-tí-im mì-il5-kà (AKT 6b: 327 obv. 4– 6; rev. 18 – 19). Though Ilītūram cannot be established as a herald in another source, it is less problematic to propose a new word here than to suppose that representatives of the state were prevented from doing so if they were willing to oblige.  “The weather … and the caravan has been stopped.” ú-mu-ú er-ša-sú-ma illat kà-al-a-at (AKT 6b: 327 rev. 12– 14). As communicated in Larsen 2013: 80, the verb must mean in some way the weather turned bad.  By comparison with AKT 6b: 327 rev. 18 – 19, AKT 6b: 328 obv. 12 – lo.e. 14 must be restored thus: (12) um-ma a-na-ku-ma (13) [mi-li‐]ik lu-[qu-ti]m (14) [ša dam.g]àr mì-⸢il5⸣-[kà]. Translation: “I wrote, ‘Make a decision regarding the merchant’s goods.’”  My restoration of AKT 6b: 328 rev.15 – 16: “your message did not come.” [tí-ir-ta-ku-nu-ma ú-lá [i-li-kam …].

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something else had come: a message from the anonymous merchant in Assur. Damiq-pī-Aššur was very concerned about the letter, and sent Puzur-Ištar ahead with both his letters, but also a copy of the letter he had received, preserved in this group of documents.³⁰ The letter does not seem overly heated, except in the reference to the merchant asking that the recipients of the letter encourage ‘the merchant’—this one clearly not the merchant in Assur—“so that his ill-wisher’s will not multiply.” ‘The merchant’ must have been Damiq-pī-Aššur, whom the merchant in Assur had ordered to be sent back to him in Assur … after he reached Kanesh.³¹ Damiq-pī-Aššur could certainly have taken the reference to potential enemies as a sort of veiled threat toward him. Exactly why is beyond us, though the merchant in Assur clearly had expected Damiq-pī-Aššur to arrive in Kanesh before the end of the season and return. This was not to be. Perhaps Damiq-pī-Aššur had delayed in some way, though how he could have slowed the caravan that slowed him is difficult to propose. The fallout was clear. Because Damiq-pī-Aššur would not cross the Taurus in time, the merchant in Assur would not receive all the silver he was demanding in his letter. In the merchant’s letter Damiq-pī-Aššur seems to have been treated as the least reliable link in a chain of representatives. It appears that Damiq-pī-Aššur was finding the merchant might be right about him. But we must pause, as we’ve left Eništārum hanging. Damiq-pī-Aššur had sent tin with Eništārum first, ahead of his request for small goods, and ahead of sending Aluwa with a textile. Ilī-tūram had, by the time the caravan stopped, brought Damiq-pī-Aššur small goods worth 3 shekels, but Eništārum did not return at the same time. Instead, when Damiq-pī-Aššur acknowledged receiving the small goods, he reminded Ennam-Aššur that he had sent Eništārum with 10 minas of ‘silver,’³² and followed up later in the letter his concern that Ennam-Aššur send the proceeds from the tin.³³ In this letter, Damiq-pī-Aššur’s

 AKT 6b: 331 must be understood as a copy of the merchant’s original letter, which may have indeed held his name. Its envelope likely included his seal. Why Damiq-pī-Aššur rendered him simply as ‘the merchant’ possibly had something to do with the need to keep him anonymous, but it is difficult to take from this that the original letter did not have his name. The practice of using “merchant” tamkārum to refer to an unnamed merchant was indeed practiced, but there are other examples that clearly use the term to simply to refer to someone mentioned earlier in a document too far away to use the usual presumptive pronoun. A treatment balancing both uses needs to be done.  AKT 6b: 331 obv. 4– 11. See note immediately above.  “Annina and Eništārum brought you 10 minas of silver.” ⸢10⸣ ma-na ⸢kù.babbar⸣ a-ni-na ⸢ú⸣ [e]-ni-iš-⸢ta-ru⸣-um ub-lá-ku-nu-tí (AKT 6b: 327 obv. 7– 9).  “My dear brothers, send me silver, the proceeds from the tin.” a-ḫu-a a-tù-nu kù.babbar šíim an.na [x] šé-bi-lá-ni-ma (AKT 6b: 327 rev. 20 – 22).

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reference to 10 minas silver must be meant to signify that he had sent Eništārum with tin worth 10 minas silver, more like a full half-pack of tin than 10 minas. This is the only way to interpret the various descriptions of the tin, acknowledging that the documents derive from the same moment, and recognizing that Eništārum could only be in one place at one time. Eništārum had apparently run into trouble. In Ennam-Aššur’s letter above, written as Aluwa headed east, perhaps even sent with him, it was noted a certain Uṣur-ša-Ištar had been sent to help Eništārum with the tin. However, EnnamAššur could not have sent him until Uṣur-ša-Ištar had arrived in Kanesh, when he brought a letter that followed Aluwa.³⁴ By same reasoning related to Aluwa’s movements ordering the messages, which we will attend to in a moment, Uṣurša-Ištar must have arrived in Kanesh around or after the time that Damiq-pī-Aššur’s caravan had halted in Uršu. Only then did Ennam-Aššur send him back east to help Eništārum, who, according to Ennam-Aššur’s letter, was apparently attempting to traverse the Taurus via Zalpa. Surprisingly, in his letter EnnamAššur assured Damiq-pī-Aššur that though Uṣur-ša-Ištar and Eništārum were yet to return, after they did he would send Ali-aḫum to Damiq-pī-Aššur, presumably with the 10 minas silver that the tin would yield. There is nothing in these letters that secures them to a point on the Julian calendar. But a consideration of the distance involved and the timing of the letters shows that despite the fact that the caravans had taken a hiatus, the Taurus could still be crossed by the brave—or those forced to be brave by someone else’s interests. It may be helpful to simply order the events to which the letters referred, including the sending of the letters themselves. Damiq-pī-Aššur left Assur sometime late in the year. At some point, he communicated with Ennam-Aššur that he was worried he would not make it through the Taurus before the snows, which prompted Ennam-Aššur to write the letter that suggested he travel as far as the caravan would go and then deposit the goods safely there. How soon that had happened before Eništārum was sent off with some tin is difficult to tell, but Eništārum’s departure brings us to a series of quick actions. After Eništārum left, Damiq-pī-Aššur sent a request for the small goods, then sent Aluwa with a fine textile, then sent Uṣur-ša-Ištar with another merchant asking

 Uṣur-ša-Ištar delivered the letter designated as AKT 6b: 322, as evident in Damiq-pī-Aššur’s intention to send Uṣur-ša-Ištar as soon as he arrived, presumably with the letter. “Read the letters the very day Uṣur-ša-Ištar arrives, and send him without a single day’s delay with one of your servants whom you trust…” ⸢i-na⸣ dutu-ši ú-ṣú-ur-ša-ištar e-ra-ba-ni na-áš-pé-ra-tim ší-ta[me-a-ma] ú-[ma]-kál lá i-sà-ḫu-u[r] iš-tí-in i-na ṣú-ḫ[a-ri-ku-nu] ša ki-ma qá-qí-dí-ku-nu iš-tí[šu] ṭù-ur-da-ni-ma (AKT 6b 322 rev. 12– 18).

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for the proceeds from both. After that he sent the letter reporting that he had received the small goods and that the caravan had stopped in Uršu, meaning that until then both Eništārum and Aluwa had been sent ahead while the caravan was still moving. Only then did he send his letter with Puzur-ša-Ištar that went with the (according to Damiq-pī-Aššur) angry letter from the merchant. And only when Ennam-Aššur received this last letter did he send his response, the one we have. Damiq-pī-Aššur certainly had not yet gotten his answer to the question of what to do with the merchant’s goods. If everyone except the hapless Eništārum travelled deliberately, then they must have been moving through the Taurus quickly. The letters appear to have been sent in quick succession. For example, Aluwa traveled with the second letter, but does not seem to have been returning until Ennam-Aššur had received three more letters. Given the desperation with which Damiq-pī-Aššur had expressed himself, it would be difficult to imagine that Aluwa sat in Kanesh for a week. At the same time, the small goods had come to Damiq-pī-Aššur before he sent the letter to which Ennam-Aššur did respond, even though EnnamAššur had sent the small goods. If it took a week for Damiq-pī-Aššur’s letter to get to Kanesh, and another week before he received the small goods in Uršu, then by the same token, Ennam-Aššur’s promise to send Ali-aḫum after Eništārum came to Kanesh from Zalpa suggested that Ali-aḫum would be traveling east through the Taurus at least a week, perhaps ten days after the caravans had stopped. Whether Ali-aḫum did is not yet corroborated, but this was the plan that had been laid out. This interchange at the cusp of winter, shows that the hiatus was not completely coterminous with winter itself. Though winter conditioned the hiatus, the hiatus did not apply to all travel. Technically, the hiatus did not directly prevent Damiq-pī-Aššur from crossing the Taurus. Rather, it was his responsibility to the goods in the caravan, without which he could not proceed, that kept him. And even then, there were people traversing the Taurus in efforts to salvage the situation. The bulk caravan part of the trade had gone on hiatus before the passes were ultimately closed for the winter. Šalim-aḫum’s hopes, expressed in the previous chapter, for Pūšu-kēn at the end of the season still seem difficult, but more comprehensible given that merchants would still travel eastward across the Taurus toward Assur after the bulk caravans from Assur had ceased. If the episode which left Damiq-pī-Aššur desperate on the east side of the Taurus helps to amplify the difference between the hiatus and the winter, and emphasize the focus of the term more squarely on the bulk caravans rather than travel with lighter loads, then it is worth pointing out that the other passages describing a hiatus of trade are consistent with this distinction. Other references to the hiatus, some by means of the noun, others by reference to the infinitive

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verb, confirm the emphasis on the bulk caravan traffic. Most were likely caused by the winter. Another document from Šalim-Aššur’s archive, for example, discusses a hiatus caused by winter: To Zukua, from Puzur-Aššur: I am well. I am in Durḫumit. He took 1 kutānum on my account in Ḫurrama. From Ḫurrama to Durḫumit, fees of ½ mina accrued per donkey-load. My dear brother, I am alone. I have no one to feed the donkeys or realize the outstanding claims. Send me two young men of your choice, so that one will feed the donkeys and one will assist me. … textile … you yourselves … produce so that I can arrive in Purušḫattum before the winter. The hiatus must not overtake me. Here donkey fodder is difficult to get. Take care to send the young men so that I can make my way without winter overtaking me. On the day that you read this letter, I am alone, send the young men.³⁵

Puzur-Aššur’s primary concern was getting his donkeys loaded with bulk goods to Purušḫattum before the hiatus overtook him, which in this case was apparently essentially coterminous with winter. It seems reasonable that on the Anatolian plateau, merchants could push the hiatus right up until the winter, whereas the dangers of getting stuck in the Taurus mountains would provoke a more cautious stance. Others were urged to make haste so that they or their goods arrive for the hiatus but often with no sense that the commerce is to hibernate with the close of Taurus passes: From Šalim-Aššur, Pūšu-ken and Sabasiya to Iliš-tikal: Kulumaya brings you 16 minas silver, its excise added and 1 mina 17 shekels pašallum gold, its shipping charge paid. The gold is extremely fine; here it was worth a 10 (silver) shekel rate. Convert it to 4 talents tin, and its wrappings can either be kutānum textiles or šakšum textiles. Then purchase kutānum textiles with the remainder and send it out with the first departure so that it will arrive for the hiatus and thus encourage your merchant.”³⁶

 a-na zu-ku-a qí-bi-ma um-ma puzur4-a-šur-ma šál-ma-ku i-dur4-ḫu-mì-it wa-áš-ba-ku i-na ḫura-ma 1 ku-ta-nam i-ṣé-ri-a il5-qé iš-tù ḫu-ra-ma a-dí dur4-ḫu-mì-it ½ ma-na 2 gín.ta da-tum a-na anše ik-šu-ud a-ḫi a-ta we-da-ku mu-ša-ki-il5 anše ú ša ba-áb-tí ú-šé-ṣa-a-ni ú-lá i-šu 2 ṣú-ḫa-ri ša li-ba!-kà i-de8-ú šu-up-ra-ma iš-tí-in anše.hi.a lu-ša-ki-il5 iš-tí-in i-š[a-ḫ]a-tí-a li-zi-iz-ma ⌈a⌉ [x x] ˘ ṣú-ba-tám a-tù-nu ⌈-x-⌉ [x š]é-ṣí-a-ma lá-ma ku-ṣí-im a-na pu-ru-uš-ḫa-tim le-ru-ub na-áb-ri-tum lá i--da-ni a-na-kam ú-ku-ul-tí anše.hi.a da-na-at i-ḫi-id-ma ṣú-ḫa-ri ṭur4-da-ma ku-ṣú˘ um lá i-kà-ša-da-ni ḫa-ra-ni le-pu-uš i-na dutu-ši ša ṭup-pí ta-ša-me-ú we-da-ku ṣú-ḫa-ri ṭur4-daam (AKT 6d: 809 obv. 1-rev. 30).  um-ma ša-lim-a-šùr pu-šu-ki-in ù sà-ba-sí-a-ma a-na ì-lí-iš-ti!-kál qí-bi-ma 16 ma-na kù.babbar ni-is-ḫa-sú diri ù 1 ma-na 17 gín kù.gi pá-ša-lam ša-du-a-sú ša-bu ku-lu-ma-a na-áš-akum kù.gi da-mì-iq wa-ta-ar a-na-kam-ma 10 gín.ta ú-ba-al 4 gú an.na ú-tù-ra-e-šu ù li-wi-sú li-we-tum lu túgku-ta-nu lu ša-ak-ṣú ù a-ší-ti kù.babbar ku-ta-ni ša-a-ma iš-tí a-li-ki-im pá-né-ema ab-kam-ma a-na na-ab-ri-tim li-ik-šu-dam-ma a-na tám-kà-ri-kà li-ba-am dì-in (AKT 6a: 166 obv. 1 – rev. 19). Translation follows Larsen 2010: 281.

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The merchant Aššur-nādā likely hoped that Ilī-ālum would reach Assur and return to Anatolia before the winter: To Alāhum and Aššur-taklāku from Aššur-nādā: Whatever silver and gold they will send to you from Durhumit, add that to what (I owe) on goods entrusted to me, and if Ilī-ālum (is there), then certainly it is agreed. I hear that Iddin-Suen wishes to meet us. Let him leave his maid in Kanesh and send himself to the city, and let him reach me before the hiatus in Kanesh. If Alāhum is not there, then let his representatives act as witnesses, and let our jointly owned silver pass overland in the name of us both. Hannānum son of Ikuppiya, grandson of Ikua, is on his way with 10 minas of refined silver that belongs to us both. Deposit its import duty and its transport tariff (with money taken) from my silver or from the price of my textiles, and let the amount go for us both. Dispatch the servants who have arrived with Ṣaher-ilī.³⁷

Another merchant seemed to be equally concerned about being able to leave before the snows blocked the Taurus, and to leave with his chin held high: My dear father and lord, quickly dispatch the 1 mina of silver which Kurub-Ištar brought you plus whatever goods Ilī-ālum sent to you, so that the goods reach me before the hiatus and let me receive it en route so it will be heard here and the owner of the goods entrusted to me will not demand a guarantor when I am about to leave, and I shall not be put to shame.³⁸

The merchant Elamma asked his representatives to transport textiles for him, urging them to rush the shipment: “Take care that they reach me before the suspension of traffic (ana barāim kašādum).”³⁹ In the same letter, Elamma had expressed hope that his representatives in Assur had not borrowed some 30 minas silver, and to pay it back if they had. His representatives had perhaps felt the same anxiety about the coming winter. Before Elamma’s letter reached them,

 a-na a-lá-ḫi-im ù a-šùr-ta-ak-lá-ku qí-bi-ma um-ma a‐šùr-na-da- kù.babbar ù kù.gi malá iš-tù tur4-ḫu-mì-it ú-šé-bu-lu-ni-ku-nu-tí-ni a-na ša qí-ip-tí-a šu-uk-na-ma šu-ma ì-lí-a-lúm sú-ri ma-ṣí-ir a-ša-me-ma i‐dí-sú-en6 pá-ni-ni i-šé-e a‐ma-sú i-na kà-ni-iš le-zi-ib-ma šu-a-tí a-na a‐lim ki ṭù-ru-sú-ma a-na ba-ra-im a-na kà-ni-iš li-ik-šu-dam šu-ma a-lá-ḫu-um lá-šu ša ki-ma šu-a-tí a‐šíbu-tim šu-ku-ma kù.babbar ša ba-ri-ni a-na šu-mì ki-lá-le-ni eq-lam le-tí-iq 10 ma-na kù.babbar ṣa-ru-pá-am ḫa-na-nu-um dumu i-ku-pì-a dumu i-ku-a ša ba-ri-ni na-ší ni-is-ḫa-sú ù ša-du-a-sú ina kù.babbar-pì-a! lu i-ší-im túg.hi-tí-a i‐dí-ma a-ba-ri-ni li-li-ik ṣú-ḫa-ri ša e-li-ú-ni-ni ki sà-ḫi-ri˘ a-bu-[uk?] (BIN 4: 52 obv. 1-rev. 35). Translation follows Larsen 2002: 87– 89.  a-bi4 a-ta be-li a-ta-ma 1 ma-na kù.babbar ša kur-ub-ištar ub-lá-ku-ni ù mì-ma lu-qú-tim ša ì‐lí-a-lúm ú-šé-bi4-lá-ku-ni i-na pá-ni-im-ma áb-kà-ma lu-qú-tum a-na ba-ra-im li-ik-šu-da-ma i-na ḫa-ra-nim lá-am-ḫu-ur-ší-ma a-na-kam li-ší-me-ma be-el qí-ip-tí-a ba-áb ḫa-ra-ni-a ša qá-ta-tim lá e-ri-ší-ma lá a-ba-áš (CCT 3: 8b obv. 3 – 16).  AKT 8: 16 rev. 21– 22. Translation follows Veenhof 2015b: 27.

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they had already borrowed the silver and used a tenth of it to buy a house plot, purchasing textiles with the rest.⁴⁰ By the time Aššur-mutabbil reached them with some gold and some silver, and with another letter instructing them to not borrow the silver,⁴¹ they were ready to send the textiles with him.⁴² Elamma was making a sincere effort to acquire as much as possible near the end of the season. Transporters by the name of Qarwīya, Šalim-Aššur, and Aššur-nādā, were also traveling back to Assur with silver at the same time as Aššur-mutabbil.⁴³ Some discussions in letters are less specific, making it less certain when the particular hiatus occurred within the year. One merchant reported that he would be remaining in Kunanamit, a smaller city in the northern region near Durḫumit,⁴⁴ during the hiatus, apparently to benefit his business. Apart from these matters, make amends with me and every shekel of silver which is in your possession (when I see) as soon as you are deducted/delayed, I will spend this hiatus in Kunanamit for (the benefit of) my consignments and I will realize whatever I can make.⁴⁵

A close reading of another letter suggests that the hiatus could occur not only in winter but also at other times. Writing to senior associates in Assur, Imdī-ilum was trying to prepare for the upcoming hiatus. However, Imdī-ilum was discussing the upcoming hiatus in relation to what had happened during a recent hiatus. The translation below closely follows a previous one, with a highlight on mention of the hiatus. To Aššur-imittī, Šū-Ištar, Šū-Ḫubur, Ennānum, and Buburānum, from Imdīlum: Ḫinnaya is transporting to you 45 minas 44 shekels refined silver under my seals, its excise added, its expenses paid. My dear colleagues, I am disappointed because my merchandise in the cargo of Amur-Ištar did not reach me before the hiatus. Eli is transporting to you 12 minas silver, its excise added, its expenses paid, plus 1 mina gold, its excise added, its expenses paid. Enna-Suen son of Šū-Ištar is transporting to you 20 minas refined silver, its excise added, its expenses paid. Take care that my merchandise in the cargo from (the silver brought by) Ḫinnaya, Eli, and Enna-Suen reaches me before the hiatus and arrives (lit. enters) all together. Buy tin in pure packets, with wrappings and top-packs, and ship them

 AKT 8: 27 obv. 4-rev. 15.  AKT 8: 17 obv. 5 – 8; rev. 23-le.e. 29.  AKT 8: 27 rev. 13 – 15.  Detailed in AKT 8: 8. All these connections between documents were pointed out in the relevant editions by Veenhof 2015b, though this reconstruction differs from the propositions set out there.  Barjamovic 2012: 284– 85.  e-zi-ib a-na a-wa-tim a-ni-tim mu-ug-ra-ni-ma kù.babbar 1 gín ša i-li-bi-kà a-mu-ru a-dí a-ta sà-aḫ-ra-tí-ni na-áb-ri-tám a-ni-tám i-na ku-na-na-mì-it a-na qí-ip-tí-a lá-áb-re-ma ù ma-lá e-pu-šu [a-mu]-ur (VS 26: 71 rev. 43 – 48).

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here with the first travelers. Since you had held up merchandise in the cargo of Amur-Ištar, I have stayed here until the settling of accounts; when the accounts are settled, I will depart and come. Take care to buy tin, its wrappings and top-packs according to my instructions and send them to me. The tin must be pure! Follow my instructions and buy Akkadian textiles with 1 mina (silver) and give it to him when you entrust my merchandise. Give him silver, (copper) nails, fine oil, and prime oil for his account. My dear colleagues pay heed to my message and let the merchandise reach me in Kanesh before the hiatus. [When PN] and Ḫinnaya settle accounts, I will divide a double share of all he owns according to the dispositions .…“⁴⁶

Imdī-ilum’s chief concern was to convince his correspondents to help rather than hinder Ḫinnaya, Eli, and Enna-Suen in bringing goods to him in Kanesh for a second hiatus. His discussion makes it clear that he was referring to two separate hiatuses. Amur-Ištar had already missed the first, and Imdī-ilum was trying to ensure that he would get goods before the next. Some interpretations imply that at the writing of the letter it was impossible for Amur-Ištar to reach Kanesh before the upcoming hiatus, meaning that the writer was only referring to one hiatus throughout.⁴⁷ However, as Imdī-ilum was writing the letter, it is clear that Amur-Ištar’s failure was a fait accompli. For Imdī-ilum, Amur-Ištar’s failure was a reminder to his current correspondents of his already precarious position in order to rouse them to action. Whatever had caused the first hiatus,

 (obv.) [a-na] a-šùr-i-mì-tí šu-ištar [šu]-ḫu-bu-ur en-na-nim bu-bu-ra-nim qí-bi-ma um-ma im-dílúm-ma 45⅔ ma-na 4⅓ gín kù.babbar ṣa-ru-pá-am ni-is-ḫa-sú diri ša-du-a-sú ša-bu ku-[n]u-ki-a ḫi-na-[a] na-áš-a-ku-nu-tí a-ḫu-a a-tù-nu ki-ma lu-qú-tí ša šé-ep a-mur-Ištar a-na na-áb-ri-tim lá ikšu-da-ni li-bi4 im-ta-ra-aṣ 12 ma-na kù.babbar ni-is-ḫa-sú diri ša-du-a-sú ša-bu ù 1 ma-na kù.gi [ni]-is-ḫa-sú diri ša-du-a-sú ša-bu e?-li na-áš-a-ku-nu-tí 20 ma-na kù.babbar ṣa-ru-pá-am ni-isḫa-sú diri ša-d[u]-a-sú ša-bu en-na-sú-en6 dumu šu-ištar na-áš-a-ku-nu-tí iḫ-da-ma lu-qú-[tí] ša šé-ep ḫi-na-[a] lu ša šé-ep e-li lu ša šé-ep i-na-sú-en6 a-na na-áb-ri-tim lu-qú-tí li-ik-šu-dam-ma iš-té-ni-iš le-ru-ba-am an.na-kam šu-uq-lam za-ku-tám li-wi-sú ù e-li-a-tim ša-ma-ma iš-tí a-liki-im pá-ni-im-ma áb-kà-nim ki-ma lu-qú-tám ša šé-ep a-mur-ištar tù-uk-ta-ṣí-da-ni a-dí ni-kà-sí ak-ta-lá ni-kà-sú i-[ša-s]í-ú-ma a-ta-be-a-ma [a-ta]-lá-kam a-ma-lá té-er-tí-a iḫ-da-ma [an.n]a liwi-sú ù e-li-a-tim ša-ma-ma še-bi4-lá-nim an.na lu za-ku a-ma-lá té-er-tí-a a-šar lu-qú-tí ta-páqí-da-ni ší-ma-am ša a-ki-dí-e ša 1 ma-na ša-ma-ma dí-na-šu-um lu kù.babbar lu sà-am-ru-atim lu ì.giš ṭá-ba-am a-qá-tí-šu lu re-eš15-tám dí-na-šu- [a-ḫ]u-ú-a a-tù-nu ana té-er-tí-a [iḫ-d]a-ma lu-qú-tum a-na kà-ni-iš [a-na n]a-áb-ri-tim li-ik-šu-dam […] x ù ḫi-na-a ni-kà-sí […] a‐ma-lá ší-ma-at […] i-na mì-ma i-šu-ú [a]-na šé-ni-šu a-zu-az […]-a-ma i-na zi-tim a-[n]a qá-tí […]-a e-nu-be-lum an.na ù […] x a x […] x en? x i-dí-nu […] x mì-šu-um […] iš-tí a-mur-ištar lá […] (Anatolica 12, 153 obv. 1-le.e. 48) translation largely follows Donbaz and Veenhof 1985: 138 – 42.  Amur-Ištar’s (lack of) arrival is rendered with the aspectual subjunctive preterite ikšudanni in the subordinate clause. Imdī-ilum’s subjunctive preterite emphasize the completion of the event, rather than the inevitability of the eventuality.

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it is unlikely that Amur-Ištar had been detained for a winter, then an entire shipping season, and now just as winter was becoming a concern, Imdī-ilum was worried that Amur-Ištar still would not make it to Kanesh in time. So at least one of these hiatuses, likely the first, was not caused by winter. (It is possible this letter also comes from the year of vengeance. Or at least, the situation in the year of vengeance, which was unusual, would provide one context for the dicussion to make sense.) Moreover, the way Imdī-ilum spoke about the upcoming hiatus mirrors the episode with Damiq-pī-Aššur. The order is clear: the coming hiatus would occur, Imdī-ilum would settle accounts, and then “depart and come” to them. This situates the hiatus of bulk caravan travel ahead of Imdīilum settling accounts and leaving for Assur.⁴⁸ The distinction between a hiatus and its most common cause seems more possible with the review of the previous text. In the year of vengeance, when Šalim-aḫum declared that Dān-Aššur would spend the hiatus in Anatolia, he also referred to a hiatus of the caravan travel, but this one was caused by a disruption in the supply of tin and textiles, not by the onset of winter. A number of documents from the year of vengeance deny that Dān-Aššur’s stay in Anatolia, from mid-June through the beginning of August, was a period when activity was difficult to perform. In the first place, Šalim-aḫum let DānAššur stay for the hiatus, but his original plan was to see Dān-Aššur return during the same period of time. In Šalim-aḫum’s mind the coming hiatus did not mean that Dān-Aššur’s hoped for return would be precluded. And even after his acquiescence, Šalim-aḫum still gave instructions that do not accord with a time when no travel was possible, whether due to winter or something else. Rather, in response to the change in plans, Šalim-aḫum told Dān-Aššur to hand over relevant assets belonging to his joint-stock fund to his brother Ennam-Aššur, who was to travel home during the same period of time: “To Dān-Aššur: Give both my silver and your silver from your joint-stock fund … to Ennam-Aššur so that he may bring it (instead). … Let him arrive here (in Assur) for the hiatus.”⁴⁹ In addition, Šū-Suen, who had travelled to Kanesh with Dān-Aššur, proceeded directly back to Assur. And Šalim-aḫum acknowledged Šū-Suen’s return and his receipt

 Imdī-ilum also wrote elsewhere to urge actions in preparation for the hiatus: CCT 2: 7; Prag I: 489, translated in Dercksen 2004: 269 n. 318.  “To Dān-Aššur: Give as much of the silver for your joint-stock fund as you can gather to Ennam-Aššur so that he can bring it here. If he owes an offering, fulfill his offering and dātum-payment and I will personally give it to him. Let him arrive here for the accountings.” a-dan-a-šur qí-bi4-ma kù.babbar lu i-a-am lu ku-a-am ša na-ru-qí-kà ma-lá qá-at-kà i-kà-šu-du a‐na en-um-a-šur dí-in-ma lu-ub-lam šu-ma ni-qí-am ḫa-bu-ul ni-qí-šu ú dá-ta-am kà-lá-ma a‐na-ku-ma a‐da-šu-um a‐na na-ab-ri-tim a-ni-ša-am li-ik-šu-dam (35-AKT 3: 67 rev. 35 – 44).

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of the silver in the same letter—a letter which he clearly sent immediately— wherein he reminded his representatives to send more silver, expecting them to send it soon. Even as Šalim-aḫum let go of the idea Dān-Aššur would return quickly, he still asked Pūšu-kēn to send 20 minas silver and Ḫanu at the earliest convenience.⁵⁰ And in the same letter, he planned that Dān-Aššur would soon return with 40 minas fine copper, mentioned within the context of Šalimaḫum trying to gather gold for his votive fund, a matter about which he was urgent.⁵¹ At the moment that Šalim-aḫum had decided Dān-Aššur could stay in Anatolia, every indication is that he saw no major barrier to travel in a future that extended for the next several months, by which time Dān-Aššur had returned to Assur. A fuller treatment of Damiq-pī-Aššur’s troubles at the beginning of this chapter clarify how the hiatus related to “what (was) at stake”⁵² in his letters. And in this way it serves as a good example of the merits of more fully exploring the intersection of intentions, actions, and constraints in particular situations. Absent this kind of analysis, lexical analysis can only go so far, particularly when the terms are used rarely, such as nabrītum. This is simply another iteration of the need to include a historical dimension to the interpretation of Old Assyrian documents, the argument that underlines the entirety of this work. As much of our understanding of the trade has been focused on structural aspects of situations, particular contexts have received less attention. In certain circumstances, such as that of the hiatus, the historical context is more profitable to fleshing out a precise meaning than a comparative overview of the passages. The hiatus in the ‘year of vengeance’ shows that inattention to particular context risks some loss of fidelity to our descriptions of the Old Assyrian past. This treatment of the hiatus also points to another tension in Old Assyrian studies. Some of the most common things in the trade, like the hiatus, which occurred every year, were actually rarely mentioned, at least by name. This is worth stating ahead of the two following chapters, in which reviews of the tempo of

 “On the day that you read this tablet, send the 20 minas silver and its interest about which you wrote with the first departure. Also, dispatch Ḫanu.” i-na u4-mì-im ša ṭup-pá-am ta-ša-me-ú 20 ma-na kù.babbar ù ni-is-ḫa-sú ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni i-na pá-nim-ma wa-ṣí-im šé-bi-lam ù ḫa-nu ṭur4-dam (27-AKT 3: 72 obv. 3 – 7).  “In addition to the 6 shekels gold from Panaka and the yield of the textiles which the boy gave to you you add as much gold as you can so that the merchant send the pašallum gold. Let Dān-Aššur bring the 40 minas of fine copper.” a-ṣé-er 6 gín kù.gi ša pá-na-kà ù ší-im túg ša ṣú-ḫa-ar-tim ta-dí-na-ku-ni ù a-ta kù.ki ma-lá ra-du-im ra-dí-ma kù.ki pá-šál-lam dam.gàr šé-bi4-lam 40 ma-na urudu sig5 dan-a-šùr lu-ub-[lam] (27-AKT 3: 72 rev. 37-le.e. 42).  Veenhof 2015a: 255.

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transport and the tempo of communication, evident from the reconstruction of the year of vengeance so far, will be discussed in a more thematic way. Any description of the trade cannot rely on some percentage of the occurrence of words as an indicator of the relative importance or regularity of various phenomena. But without contextualizing the actions in which the words were mentioned, it is possible to miss important aspects of such terms. And if cases where technical terms are the hard points on which a description of the trade relies, thin contexts can lead to thin descriptions. Every winter the Old Assyrian bulk caravans took a hiatus. On this we can rely. But the hiatus Dān-Aššur spent in Anatolia was not caused by winter. Rather, it was caused by the disruption of the supply of tin and textiles from the south, apparently as a result of campaigns led by Sūmû-El at the northern end of the area that the Assyrians called Akkad. During the journey of Dān-Aššur in May, the supply of tin and textiles from the south dried up. When Šalimaḫum wrote his letter, he was referring to a growing awareness that in this year, he would be dealing with far more than a pesky Ilabrat-bāni, or Pūšukēn’s frustrating decision to send Dān-Aššur further afield. The bulk caravans were taking a hiatus because there was insufficient goods to ship. But this must be laid out in the next part of the book. First we must deal with two topics as deeply intertwined into the year of vengeance as the winter, or the hiatus in the middle of the year, the tempo of transport and the quicker tempo of communication. Just as Damiq-pī-Aššur’s episode suggests that people needed to travel quickly to accomplish what the merchants expected, so do various strands of the year of vengeance. These two topics will be treated in turn.

Chapter 10 Tempo of Transport Dān-Aššur’s travels during the year of vengeance, and the travel of others, also provoke a re-evaluation of the tempo of transport in the Old Assyrian trade. One letter outlining an arrangement between father and son has been interpreted as emblematic of the limits of this tempo of transport. Twenty years after the year of vengeance, a merchant named Idī-Ištar owed Dān-Aššur some money.¹ Idī-Ištar’s debts were centered in Kanesh and the copper-producing region of Anatolia. In order to provide some relief, Idī-Ištar’s father, Aššur-nādā, intervened and assumed his debts, totaling 19 minas of silver. Then Aššur-nādā, knowing it took money to make money, extended his son a further 10 minas silver capital, with conditions. Idī-Ištar was legally bound to repay the combined 29 minas silver within a year and perform an antichretic service: to make the “silver go twice to the city,” which was to say, he was to make two round trips between Anatolia and Assur within the course of a year.² From an anecdotal frame, this arrangement has been put forth as an example of the best one could expect from the speed of travel in the trade, a perception coalescing around a number of combinatory metrics: a journey between Assur and Kanesh of 1200 kilometers, a daily journey of 30 km, and a shipping season of perhaps eight months.³ Within this framework, only three trips could be accomplished by the indefatigable transporter under uninterrupted ideal conditions. A more reasonable requirement would have been two trips. This anecdotal tempo has reinforced an idea about the schedule of large caravans of donkeys which, “presumably departed only a few times a year, probably in spring, in late autumn and a few times in between.”⁴ Some commentators assume the journey took even longer.⁵ While these metrics have always been understood as rough estimates, it is already clear that they nonetheless fail to account for the density  It is also possible that the same Idī-Ištar owed some money to Šalim-aḫum in the year of vengeance. His father Aššur-nādā and one son owed Šalim-aḫum money. 38-VS 26: 47 rev. 24– 27, 40-CCT 2: 1 lo.e. 16-rev. 20.  OAA 1: 142 obv. 11– 14. The agreement is dated to KEL 101. It appears that Aššur-nādā’s settlement with Dān-Aššur is also the topic of OAA 1: 138. The last line there probably referred to a separate sealed document that specifically recorded the actual quittance, while OAA 1: 138 is the record of the resolution.  This tempo was asserted most recently by Larsen (2015), but the basic view goes back further, see Veenhof 1988: 249 and earlier statements by Larsen (2002, 197– 98; 2007: 97).  Veenhof 2008b: 205.  Van der Mieroop (2016: 102) describes the journey as fifty days. DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-010

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and complexity of transport activity evident during the activity we have already observed in the year of vengeance. The anecdotal tempo stands in stark contrast to the tempo of activity apparent during the year of vengeance. Dān-Aššur left Assur around mid-May, well after the first wave of caravans had departed, then stayed in Anatolia for around six weeks, then travelled back to Assur. When he arrived home in the first week of September, he required rest before he left again. But he did go back, around the beginning of October. And given that his cargo was intended to be converted before Pūšu-kēn returned for the winter, he could have travelled back to Kanesh yet again. Had he arrived by the beginning of November, he would even have had time to conduct an abbreviated circuit journey around Anatolia, if, as Barjamovic’s model would imply, the round trip around Anatolia was somewhere near the length of the journey between Assur and Kanesh. This means that between his known round trip between Assur and Kanesh from mid-May to early September, his Anatolian circuit journey during that time, and his known journey again to Kanesh and possibly back, with even some time for a shorter circuit journey, Dān-Aššur travelled nearly the equivalent of three round trips between Assur and Kanesh in a single shipping season—starting in mid-May. With this in mind, if we judge that Aššur-nādā was being strict with his son—that is, if we appeal to the anecdotal force of personality—it seems more correct to read the arrangement between Aššur-nādā and his son twenty years later to include not only travel to Assur and Kanesh, but also circuit journeys in Anatolia. This provides a better fit in light of the travels of Dān-Aššur. This faster tempo accords with the plans, decisions, and schedules of activity within which Šalim-aḫum and those around him were involved. Dān-Aššur had left Assur for Anatolia after the departure of two major shipments sent by his father, and his brother Ennam-Aššur refused to return to Assur when hailed by his father, stalling for months. Neither of the two young merchants—who must have had relatively new naruqqum investments and who acted like peregrinating merchants—seemed to feel compelled to return to the metropolis. Neither expressed concern about missing an opportunity to make another return trip to Assur. Šalim-aḫum’s concern to get Dān-Aššur back to Assur quickly, then his subsequent acceptance of Pūšu-kēn’s imposed delay, seems incongruent with a model where the consequence of delaying a journey risked making a second impossible. At the same time, the itineraries and activities of many merchants, including Puzur-Ištar and Ilabrat-bāni, and the requests and expectations of such transporters in the Assyrian correspondence, diverge sharply from the limits imposed by the old combinatory metrics that undergirded the arrangement between Aššur-nādā and Aššur-idī twenty years later. Like fish in water, the Assyrian merchants rarely discussed one of the most germane and universally un-

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derstood parameters of their trade: their rates of travel, a deep structure that configured Old Assyrian commercial time. Precisely because it was so germane and universally understood, it was not well revealed by the language of the Assyrian documents. Nevertheless, understanding their rates of travel is absolutely vital to understanding the constraints and limitations it placed on, as well as opportunities it provided to, the social organization of the commercial and financial aspects of the trade. Ultimately, the year of vengeance surpasses the logic of interpreting Aššur-idī’s arrangement with his son as the limits of the trade. Instead of forty days, the activity of REL 82 suggests that it took about thirty days to get between Assur and Kanesh. Another look at this issue considers treatment of the animals, limits of the transporters, length of the route, physical landscape, restlessness of the transporters, and the schedule that presents itself in the year of vengeance. Two round trips per season would have imposed a strict economy of action and a predictable schedule on the Old Assyrian traders. Dictated by a two-roundtrip cycle, most caravans between Assur and Kanesh would have synchronized into two seasonal waves. The first wave would have swelled as departures set out from both directions in the spring. The traffic would have been most thick in the Taurus Mountains in the spring, where caravans pushed through at the first opportunity and reached their destinations in early summer. Another wave would have begun within a month to avoid being trapped in the Taurus passes. In such a two-cycle system, Assyrian merchants would have had two windows to ship their goods from either side of the Taurus by the blocked passes in winter, and any involvement in traveling on the Anatolian plateau beyond Kanesh was a choice to forego a second round trip, or perhaps even give up on wintering back in Assur. In such a regime of transport, no matter how fast the communication flowed, reacting to new situations would have been practically impossible. Like in the case of Dān-Aššur, for a transporter beginning in Assur, the decision to go east from Kanesh to Purušḫattum meant forgoing that second round trip later.⁶ This kind of system would have forced a division of labor in the trade, some merchants focusing on one area of the landscape and trade, for example between Assur and Kanesh, and others remaining in Anatolia. Likewise, it would have been easy to miss out on a significant amount of profit by simply missing one of the windows, if the appropriate capital was not available.

 The reference to a 300 donkey caravan (ARM 26/2: 432) is from the later Level Ib period. Generally speaking, specialists associate the trade in Level Ib as being significantly diminished from Level II. There are some grounds for seeing the trade as equally prosperous, see Chapter 18.

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This sets up a direct conflict between the limits of our evidence on rate of travel, the evidence that has been drawn on to explain that rate, which determines in turn our sense of the economy of action for the merchants, and the economy of action revealed by the narrative in Part 1. It is a principal argument in this work that comparative evidence on the tempo of transport should not be used to bar the possibility of the narrative in Part 1. Moreover, the comparative evidence used to craft an explanation of the rate of transport in the Old Assyrian period has been drawn from contexts that only have limited bearing on private commercial activity. Within the anecdotal frame, this borrowed sense of an economy of action could not be engaged in a way that tested its appropriateness to the actions and reactions of the merchants about which we read in the letters. That is, when simply reading documents that are either singular or connected to a few documents in some chronological ordering, but can only be linked together with intervals expressed such as ‘a short while later,’ or other necessarily vague descriptions, we continue to suppose that the rates of transport crafted from this comparative evidence remain sufficiently pertinent to the Old Assyrian trade, when, in fact, they have never been really put to the test by the Old Assyrian documentation itself. Instead, we must construct that economy of action, even when the kinds of moves that the Old Assyrian merchants made become increasingly difficult to explain. Once the initial narrative of Šalim-aḫum’s actions, related in Part 1, is recognized as happening within the course of a single season, then it becomes apparent that the tempo represented by the two trips of Aššur-nādā’s son Idī-Ištar is too slow. The components that have made up our sense of the tempo of transport include the anecdote of Aššur-nādā and Idī-Ištar and an estimate of the length of the journey, combined with comparative evidence on what a donkey could physically do, what was recommended a donkey could do in other periods, and what kinds of infrastructure were available for travelers in other periods. As a combination they have been considered sufficiently congruent so as to support each other. However, the new evidence from Dān-Aššur’s travels during the year of vengeance suggest that some of the comparative evidence on the tempo of transport has been overplayed. This has remained undetectable in the anecdotal frame, but some of the ways that these different types of comparative evidence on the tempo of transport have been overplayed can be now considered. And this will be compared (ironically) with an anecdote that seems to evoke an incrementally faster pace than the current consensus.

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But we must begin with the beasts themselves. One of the most basic factors affecting the pace of transport were the donkeys that carried the loads.⁷ Much information on donkeys, their use, equipment, and supply in the Old Assyrian period, has already been gathered.⁸ ‘Black donkeys’ were chiefly mentioned, such that even when their color is not written it is certain that the breed, or whatever the distinction meant, was intended. They were, perhaps, more stout to carry their heavy loads, however no osteological evidence for their physical stature has been available and all other evidence gathered to date is too indirect to muster any firm conclusions.⁹ Merchants would regularly request that the donkeys be good, suggesting that not all were.¹⁰ Preferences for tall donkeys with short teeth suggested that there were also plenty of older donkeys in circulation that were run down and long in the tooth.¹¹ When Dan-Aššur needed to transport 10 talents copper out of Durḫumit, he asked Pūšu-kēn for 5 fine black donkeys that were strengthened for a difficult journey.¹² Thus the first factor was the capacity of the donkeys to travel. And in this regard, it must be noted that it seems the donkeys were often pushed to, and beyond, their limits. The reports of caravans suggest that donkey mortality was not

 The role of the donkey in the ancient Near East is a well accepted fact, and covered in many studies, including Blench 2004; Way 2011; Grigson 2012; and Shai, et al. 2016.  Dercksen 2004: 255 – 85.  Dercksen (2004) leaves open the question as to whether the asses from Damascus, which H. Lewy (1964) preferred, or perhaps some other type of ass, like that from Tell Brak, should be associated with the ‘black donkey.’ Ancient evidence of variation and cross breeding between different regions seems to undermine any suppositions that modern donkey breeds found in various areas might correlate directly to anything the Assyrian merchants used four thousand years ago.  “The donkeys should be good.” anše.hi.a lu sig5 (AKT 6a: 166 rev. 20 – 21). ˘  anše.hi.a ší-[nam] lu ṣa-ḫu-ru la-nam lu [e]-li-ú (VS 26: 74 rev. 28 – 30). ˘  “Send out 5 fine black donkeys which are strong enough for carriage and their gear with Kuṣ iya so that I can send out about 10 minas of copper and k. which he made ahead of me and so I can reach you while you are still staying there. My dear father, fatten the donkeys and send them to me. The mountains are difficult. If Aššur-emū qī and Ennam-Aššur ask you for two donkeys, determine their prices, as much as they are worth, and release the donkeys to them and I will pay the copper myself.” 5 anše.hi.a ṣa-lá-me dam-qú-tim ša a-na bi4--tim da-nu-ni ú ˘ ú-nu-sú-nu iš-tí ku-ṣí-a šé-ri-a-ma lu urudu 10 ma-na lu kà-šu-uḫ-ta-il5 ša e-pu-šu i-na pá-ni-a lá-bu-kam-ma a-dí a-ma-kam wa-áš-ba-tí-ni lá-ak-šu-da-kà a-bi a-ta anše.hi.a da-mì-iq-ma šé˘ ri-am ša-du-ú da-nu šu-ma 2 anše.hi.a a-šur-e-mu-qí ù en-um-a-šur e-ri-šu-kà ší-im-šu-nu ki-ma ˘ ! ú-bu-lu-ni gu5-mu-ur-ma anše.hi.a wa-šé-er -šu-n[u]-ma urudu a-na-ku a-ša-qal (CCT 4: 35a ˘ obv. 3-le.e. 23).

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uncommon.¹³ In Ilī-ašrannī’s caravan that saw Ilabrat-bāni’s infraction with tin, five of Šalim-aḫum’s six donkeys died en route, while three of the seven donkeys died in his contemporaneous shipment.¹⁴ Perhaps this was also a function of the pace and push around the spring thaw. Regardless, the caravans were not operations of which the authors of 19th Century European military manuals would have approved. The treatment of these donkeys was a point of contention between owners and transporters. Donkeys were likely used from three years old on, and once on the caravan, their life expectancy could easily be counted on one hand. Those donkeys that we know most about were merchandise with little profit margin, and if they survived the trip from Assur, they were usually sold with the goods they bore.¹⁵ Investment in an animal would yield little more than one that would feasibly make the trip across the Taurus. As a result, their well-being was subject to the conflict of interests between transporters and owners. Assyrian owners cautioned and complained to their transporters to provide appropriate care and feeding.¹⁶ However, transporters had little incentive to pamper the donkeys if they could make better time. If donkeys died or were otherwise lost en route, there was obviously ample opportunity to replace them, as shown by the caravan accounts. Despite, or perhaps singly because of, owners complaints, donkeys appear to have normally been fed sufficiently, and some factors suggest they were amply fed merely to permit longer stretches of travel. Straw was purchased for feed when departing from Assur,¹⁷ possibly because of limited opportunities to graze in the area, but also perhaps allowing for donkeys to be fed as they walked. The occasional reference to feeding donkeys grain instead of straw suggested a longer trip that required heartier meals.¹⁸ The weight of the loads of tin significantly shortened the lives of the beasts by grinding their joints.¹⁹ The

 The replacement of animals along the trade route has been discussed already, and this serves to underline the difference between the regimes of military and commercial. See Dercksen 2004: 264– 65.  1-BIN 4: 61 and 13-Prag I: 426.  Donkeys were sold for around 20 shekels in Assur and between 20 shekels and 30 shekels in Kanesh.  See Dercksen 2004: 266 n. 708. for relevant passages. Barjamovic 2011: 16, also expresses the opinion that the donkeys were pushed to their limits.  See Dercksen 2004: 266 n. 709. This may have been more important as the summer continued. In the wet spring, grass might be found along the way.  “I purchased 2 shekels silver worth of grain for the donkeys’ feed.” ša 2 gín kù.babbar ú-ṭátám a-na ú-kúl-ti anše.hi.a áš-a-am (TC 3: 162 rev. 25 – 26). ˘  Leah Patton, office manager at the American Donkey and Mule Society (Lewisville, TX) explains that the heavy loads would not so much slow down a 400 – 500 pound donkey as wear

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weight of the standard tin load was close to 150 pounds (75 kg), upon which other goods would have been added. The weight of the textile loads may have been slightly lighter, and may have been somewhat better.²⁰ The ‘statistics’ from Šalim-aḫum’s two caravan shipments suggests donkeys fared better carrying textiles than tin: Only one of the eight donkeys that died was certainly carrying textiles, and at least three were certainly carrying tin. While other factors such as brigands²¹ may have been an occasional problem, it was the loads which the donkeys bore that was the heaviest factor driving their mortality.²² Exhaustion from a 30 – 33 km trip each day does not seem to present as significant a difficulty as the burdens. Donkeys’ reputation for being stubborn has been earned through their keenly developed sense of self-preservation, at least in comparison with horses. Caravans could have proceeded no faster than the donkeys permitted. But in relation to the men who traveled, the donkeys were more capable. Whether an individual walked alongside or rode a donkey all day, the human transporters’ endurance was the limiting factor. If caravans were to proceed at a reasonable rate, it may have been that the transporters were also mounted. Still, riding a donkey is far more tiring than riding a larger equid, as it demands sitting far back on the rear of the donkey, making for a much rougher ride. Mounted travelers on donkeys are known from the Mari letters, and discus-

them down over time. Donkeys could outpace human walking for long periods each day (personal communication).  Veenhof 1972, 89 – 91.  Michel (2008c) suggests that outlaws posed a significant hazard to the donkeys on the road. Donkeys reported dead after the safe arrival of the goods would not have been killed in such a way. The cargo the donkeys carried far outweighed their own value, leaving a raid that took a donkey but not the cargo an enigma. The experience of Ikūn-pīya, a correspondent of Pūšukēn, seems more representative of the dangers of brigands. Ikūn-pīya wrote Pūšu-kēn and another merchant in Kanesh to inform them that he could not go back to Assur despite being summoned in court because he was stuck in Tuḫpiya to clear up the matter of several of his young men (ṣuḫārū) who had been attacked and killed and the 15 talents copper they were transporting stolen on the hoof (VS 26: 26 obv. 4-rev. 21).  The heavy loads of tin might have provided one incentive among several to team a donkey loaded with tin with a donkey loaded with textiles; the loads could be exchanged from time to time. From another perspective, pairing different loads could have been for the purpose of spreading risk, or in response to regulatory injunctions—for example when the city of Assur demanded that equal amounts of tin and textiles were to be purchased in Assur. However, providing for the exchange of loads between some donkeys provided a possible way to prolong the lives of the donkeys. Granted, this would be unlikely in cases such as in Nūr-Ištar’s caravan, where one merchant drove one donkey.

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sions of propriety about such beasts suggest that it was sufficiently common for the activity to have a decorum associated with it.²³ In the absence of direct references to how far Old Assyrian caravans travelled on average, a range of daily rates for transport during the Old Assyrian period have been postulated. A daily journey of 25 km is most likely to be encountered in survey publications, which invariably mention this as a basic fact of the Old Assyrian trade.²⁴ Higher estimates have been suggested, proposing a daily distance of 30 or even 40 kilometers.²⁵ Lower estimates also exist;²⁶ but Neo-Assyrian road stations were placed 30 km apart on the king’s road,²⁷ and the Persian road from Susa to Sardis segmented into average stops of 22 km.²⁸ Some comparative proposals for the the caravans traveling 30 kilometers or less per day take modern European military manuals as indications of the limits of the animals and thus fail to recognize the vastly different interests and regimes of travel between trade and war. Military forces, aimed at self-sufficiency on campaign, wished to avoid the necessity of replacing trained equids, and the demand to move with speed at a moment’s notice likewise favored a conservative use of energy. Without military needs or dictating manuals, commercial caravans could travel longer, and enjoyed reliable resupply points in ways an army did not. As such, forty kilometers was a sustainable daily distance for the donkeys.²⁹ Old Assyrian merchants could travel longer, and did replace beasts along the way. Eight hours at a comfortable walking pace, punctuated by two one-hour rests, left more than ample time to rest each day. The difficulty of applying the administrative structure of the Assyrians, Romans, or Persians for that matter, seems clear when viewing segments of the road. There was no empire that provided such an infrastructure to the Assyrian

 For men from Larsa riding donkeys (ARM 2: 72), and the decorum of using a donkey as a mount (ARM 2: 37), see Durand 1997: 584 and 283 respectively.  This description is characteristic of two recent surveys: Liverani 2014: 214, and Van de Mieroop 2016: 100 – 104. Dercksen 2004: 265 n. 703 cited 15 miles per day from military manuals.  H. Lewy 1964: 186 made reference to modern military use of donkeys.  Hallo (1953: 71) estimated between 25 – 30 km per day as the crow flies.  Parpola and Reade 1987: xiii-xiv.  Stations were placed about every 5 parasangs (111 stations over 2,600 kilometers). Herodotus Histories V: 52– 53. For an accessible translation see Meijer and van Nijf 1992: 141– 42.  Several informal interviews with ranchers and ranch hands have resulted in a range of proposed travel rates. One rancher recalls travelling with donkeys at an average of 20 – 25 miles (32 km-40 km) per day, perhaps closer to 20 miles, through the Chihuahua desert, making camp along the way. However, trouble in procuring water and feed could slow the pace to 15 – 20 miles (24– 32 km) per day.

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traders. Yet the clearest locations for the best services, at least from our limited knowledge, would have been in the towns. If donkeys, therefore, were capable of a 30 km/day pace, this must be combined with a correct understanding of the length of the journey between Assur and Kanesh. The length has been described variously as 1000,³⁰ 1000 – 1100,³¹ 1200, or 1000 – 1200 km. However, the difference between these higher and lower estimates is not trivial.³² The aerial distance between the two sites was 775 km. No single track dictated the route of the caravans. And despite our general understanding of the entire geography, reconstructing individual segments of the route system is not without problems.³³ Reviewing all the apparent options or even the entirety of one possible route between Assur and Kanesh is too significant an endeavor to discuss here, but along the main path, the difference in distance between several routes was inconsequential.³⁴ For example, whether one took the southern or northern route across the Jezireh region, the difference was a day at most. The Euphrates River divided the journey into two segments roughly equal in length but different in elevation.³⁵ The path to the Euphrates was slightly longer than the path through the Taurus. There were two chief routes from Assur across the Jezireh. Both began by crossing over to the Wadi Tharthar, then following its general course north through Razamā to Qaṭṭarā. The decision to take the northern or southern route was made at Qaṭṭarā, as one could proceed to Burullum (northern) or Apum (southern) still from that point.³⁶ The northerly route proceeded north past Nineveh and then west along the southern rise of the Tur Abdin. The southern route proceeded through the saddle in Jebel Sinjar, over a landscape of low  T. Özgüç 2003: 44– 45.  Larsen 2015: 175 – 76.  Consider the discussion in Larsen 2015: 175 – 176, where the length of the journey is posited at 1000 – 1100 km (though a round thousand in other parts of the work) and the daily rate at 30 km, but the length of the journey is still six weeks. (Reference to Stratford 2010 incorrectly cites that three weeks are argued there; Stratford 2010 argued four weeks.) If the rate 30 km/day is accepted, then the journey took thirty-three to thirty-six and two-thirds days of travel for 1000 km and 1100 km respectively. Only at a combination of 1100 km and a rate of 25 km/day does one reach six weeks. It is difficult to reconcile this with Larsen’s (2015: 174) sense that “speed is vital.”  Several attempts at working out various sections of the route are available, including Nashef 1987; Forlanini 1985; 2005; 2006; 2008, Çeçen and Hecker 1995, Guichard 2008. The focus of Barjamovic 2011 was Anatolia, and the routes to the east of the Euphrates are only incidentally discussed, however, his treatment of the area between the Euphrates to Kanesh is consequential and followed here.  On the sukinnu route, see most recently Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 79 – 81.  T. Özgüç 2003: 44– 45.  Kt 92/k 108. See Veenhof 2008a: 24.

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limestone ridges interlaced with shallow valleys, and passing north of the marshes along the Wadi Jagjag, before heading due west across the Ḫabur Valley through Apum, probably Tell Leilan. This southern route was the path of least resistance.³⁷ One ‘itinerary’ to Apum along this southern route presents a rhythm, if not a legitimate record, of stays. The ‘itinerary’ document and its duplicates record the caravan passing through the following towns in order:³⁸ Assur – Sadduwātum – Razamā – Abitibān – Qaṭṭarā – Razamā – Darqum – Apum

From Assur (Qal’at Sherqat) to Apum (Tell Leilan) is 230 km by air but close to 270 km by Forlanini’s mapping of this route (Figure 9).³⁹ The location and services of each city must have influenced the travel plans and rhythms of the Assyrian merchants. Yet, the towns mentioned in these itineraries do not, insofar as we can determine their locations, represent a coherent set of stops in this part of the journey. Six stops (seven days of travel) between Assur and Apum was just over 38 km per day, pushing the limits of travel on foot to say the least. But the towns are not evenly distributed along the route. For example, if

 Palmisano (2013) offers the most computationally informed approach to the movement of goods and physical work in the Old Assyrian trade. Palmisano and Altaweel 2015a; 2015b extend the work. See also Palmisano 2012.  “1 shekel silver for dulbātum. I gave ¼ shekel silver to the guesthouse. 1¾ shekels tin in Sadduwātum. ½ shekel silver for scrap(?) copper in Razamā.⅔ minas copper in Abitibān. 12 shekels copper in Qaṭṭarā. I gave/sold 10 shekels copper in Qaṭṭarā. I gave 1¾ shekels tin to the guesthouse in pāti ša Razamā. I gave 1 shekel tin to the servant of the kaššum of Darqum. ½ mina copper for grain in Apum. ½ mina copper in Apum for kiri for 4 shekels tin ⅓ mina copper.” 1 gín kù.babbar a-na du-ul-ba-tim ¼ gín kù.babbar a-na é-be-et wa-áb-ri-im a-dí-in 2 lá ¼ gín an.na i-na sá-du-a-tim ½ gín kù.babbar a-na urudu ta-bu-e-em i-na ra-za-ma ⅔ mana urudu i-na a-pì-tí-pá-an 12 gín urudu i-na qá-aṭ-ra 10 gín urudu i-na qá-aṭ-ra a-dí-in 2 lá ¼ gín an.na a-na é-be--im i-na pá-tí ša ra-za-ma a-dí-in 1 gín an.na a-na ṣú-ḫa-ri-im ša kà-ší-im ša da-ar-ki-im a-dí-in ½ ma-na urudu a-še-AM i-na a-pì-im ½ ma-na urudu i‐na a-pì-im a-na ki-ri {…} a-na {…} 4 gín an.na ⅓ ma-na urudu (TC 3: 163:1– 29). For Razamā to Abitibān to Qaṭṭarā see also BIN 4: 193.  The localization of Apum is not completely secure. Forlanini claims Apum was the name by which the Old Assyrian merchants referred to the ancient city at Tell Leilan (Forlanini 2006, following Charpin 1987, which is followed generally for the Old Assyrian evidence: Veenhof and Eidem 2008); the fact that the site was called Šeḫna during the Old Babylonian period before and after it became Šamši-Adad’s residence continues to provide reasons to look close by for another site, J. Eidem 2008b, 32– 34. If the localization of the kingdom of Apum in the east Ḫabur is correct, then the site was likely within 10 kilometers of Tell Leilan and either north or west of the marshes along the course of the Jagjag River. Such a change in location would have little effect on the overall distance between Assur and Apum; the effect on the daily travel average would have been no more than 1 km/day.

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Figure 9: Map of routes from Assur through Jezireh toward Anatolia

Forlanini’s localization for Qaṭṭarā is maintained,⁴⁰ the distances between Assur, Sadduwātum, Razama, Abitiban and Qaṭṭarā averaged 25 km. But the distance between towns further to Apum averaged 45 km. Further, from Razamā to Qaṭṭarā was 38 km. Is it reasonable to expect the Old Assyrian merchants, for whom time was precious, to have felt compelled to spend a night in Abitiban then Qaṭṭarā and only average around 22 km/day travel, if they were capable of travelling at a rate of 30 km or more? This is one way to use the ‘itinerary’ documents, and the limits of these documents are acknowledged.⁴¹ The primary purpose of itinerary documents—like almost all Old Assyrian documents—were

 On the difficulties of assigning locations to place names in this area, see Astour 1989.  Barjamovic (2011) provides an analysis that shows both the utility of so-called itinteraries and the caution with which they must be treated.

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to represent costs, either to the absent owner, or to some other interested party. But neither daytime nor main towns can be expected to have determined the forward progress of caravans along the route. Not all inns were located in towns mentioned in itineraries. This is well documented for Anatolia.⁴² One experience related by a merchant named Pilaḫ-Ištar illustrates inns were also available in the Jezireh, along with the sense that delays were undesirable. At the invitation of three traveling companions, Pilaḫ-Ištar, a transporter for Aššur-nādā, made an unplanned evening departure from Badna, a town in the area of the northern Balikh (Roman Batnae), with a Assyrian settlement (wabartum).⁴³ The new group of four bivouacked at an inn later that night, evidently before arriving at the next town. Pilaḫ-Ištar found that he ranked last, having to sleep out with the cattle. When he awoke, they had already departed, but not before stealing six textiles from the house. He was forced to return to Badna and write a sheepish letter to his boss back in Assur.⁴⁴ This example illustrates that Assyrians could fall in with each other, and their rhythms were subject to moving along at intervals that were shorter than 24 hours. This example stands in contrast to comparative evidence from nineteenth century (AD) practices.⁴⁵ Pilaḫ-Ištar’s experience set alongside many other comments arising from the Assyrian correspondence suggests that imposing a strict circadian rhythm to merchant travel might not represent the actual tempo. Many merchants

 References to inns are frequent and inns are mentioned in small towns, such as Karamaku (Kt 83/k 181, courtesy S. Bayram), Butnātum, ina paṭi ša Hanaknak, Ḫanika, Wazida (Anatolian towns on the road to Waḫšušana, AKT 8: 146), as well as larger towns such as Ḫaḫḫum, Purušḫattum, Waḫšušana, Timelkiya, Šalatuwar, Wašḫaniya, etc. See Barjamovic 2011: 34– 37.  Barjamovic 2011: 86 – 87.  “To Aššur-nāda from Pilaḫ-Ištar: Agua, Ṭāb-pī-Anum, and Ilī-bāni released me after Badna and Ṭāb-pī-Anum said, “Come together with us. They are waiting for textiles.” We left Badna together during the night, but they did not allow me into the guest-house together with them. I spent the night alone in the cow stable. They broke into the house and removed 6 textiles. I poured dust on my head for your sake, and I returned to Badna to Al-ābum, and the trading station (personnel) went up to the barullū officers)of the palace) and said: “Let us search (for the textiles), and if they are lost then we shall personally give compensation.” a-na a-šur-na-da qíbí-ma um-ma pí-lá-ḫi-Ištar-ma iš-tù ba-ad-na a-gu5-a ṭá-bi-a-nu-um ú il5-li-ba-ni ú-wa-šé-ru-ni-ma um-ma ṭá-bi-a-nu-ma ba-am iš-tí-ni túg.hi ú-qá i-ú iš-tí-šu-nu iš-tù ba-ad-na na-ba-ta-am nu-ṣí˘ ma iš-tí-šu-nu a-na é wa-áb-ri ú-lá ú-šé-ru-ni a‐ḫa-ma é al-pí a-bi-it é-tám im-lu-šu-ma 6 túg.hi i˘ ta-áb-ku ep-«ra»-ra-am a-na qá-qí-dí-a áš-pu-kum-ma a-na ba-ad-na a-na ṣé-er a-lá-bi-im a‐tù-rama wa-ba-ar-tum10 ša ba-ad-na a-na ṣé-er ba-ru-li e-li-ú-ma «um-ma» um-ma šu-nu-ma lu ni-iš-e ú šu-ma i-ḫa-li-qú né-nu nu-ma-lá (OAA 1: 130 obv. 1-rev. 29). Translation largely follows Larsen 2002: 176 – 77.  See Larsen 2015: 175 – 76.

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wrote letters to say that a single night’s stay would represent a wholly unnecessary and inappropriate delay for their goods: “Take care to see that the servant and Ḫazu do not spend the night, but dispatch them to me. I await them.”⁴⁶ “Šalim-Adad is not to stay the night; dispatch him to me.”⁴⁷ “He must not delay a single day; dispatch him.”⁴⁸ “He must not delay in Kanesh a single day; we will dispatch him immediately.”⁴⁹ So impatient were some, that their correspondents heeded them to accept normal delays. “I am waiting for Amur-ilī to arrive. You must be patient until he comes. As soon as (he) arrives, I will not allow him to stay the night.”⁵⁰ Some have used comparisons to the average distance of rest inns in the European Rennaisance to condition our understanding of the Assyran tempo of travel.⁵¹ But if comparison with Medieval Europe is worthwhile, then it is equally useful to point to the habits of other commercial travelers from history. The caravans of Mongolia, in the nineteenth century AD, did not travel according to the day/night cycle, but according to the needs of the animals or the weather.⁵² At the same time, Pilaḫ-Ištar’s experience also frustrates a sense that the start and stop of the caravans was always dictated by the needs of large groups, or the need to stop in towns. Were there an ‘official’ infrastructure in place, one comparable to the Roman or Assyrian or Persian inns, then there were also private houses that offered similar services as well. A large caravan may have been limited to certain stops that could accommodate its numbers, but smaller numbers of transporters, if Pilaḫ-Ištar’s experience reveals something germane, could move much more flexibly, even if an inexperienced one, like Pilaḫ-Ištar seems to have been, could suffer at times. The rest of the way to the Euphrates, across the Ḫabur and Balikh, reached the Euphrates river in the region of present-day Samsat.⁵³ West of Apum, the geography of the itineraries in the Ḫabur suggest a sustained 35 km per day. For example, Tell Arbid (Old Assyrian Amaz?), where a solitary envelope witnesses

 iḫ-da-ma ìr ù ḫa-zu lá i-bi4-tù ṭur4-da-ni-šu-nu šu-nu-tí ú-qá-a (CCT 4: 6d obv. 8 – 11).  ša-lim-diškur ú-ma-kál lá i-bi4-at ṭù-ur-da-ni-šu (KTS 1: 10 rev. 25 – 26).  u4-ma-kál lá i-sà-ḫu-ur ṭur4-da-šu (TTC 11 obv. 7– 8).  u4-ma-kál i-kà-ni-iš lá i-sà-ḫu-ur iš-tí pá-nim-ma ni-ṭá-ra-da-šu (ICK 1: 184 rev. 33 – 35).  a-mur-dingir ú-qá-a a-dí a-mur-dingir i-lá-kà-ni lá ta-ḫa-dí-ri ki-ma a-mur-dingir e-ru-bani-ni u4-ma-kál lá uš-bi-a-sú (CCT 4: 28a rev. 22– 26).  Larsen 2015.  Lattimore 1928.  A century or so later, a journey moving in this direction but following a more southerly route nearer the Euphrates, and likely influenced by political interests, averaged an estimated 27 km per day as the crow flies. See Hallo 1953.

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Assyrian merchants passing through, lay 35 km west of Tell Leilan.⁵⁴ The same distance would bring the caravans to the eastern Ḫabur, and Naḫur. From Assur to the Euphrates along this route was approximately 565 km. Thus someone less convinced, even in the face of Pilaḫ-Ištar’s experience, that the towns did not dictate the daily stages of travel would still need to deal with such considerations. The journey from Apum across the Ḫabur and Balikh and down to Ḫaḫḫum on the Euphrates was relatively straightforward. After crossing the Euphrates at any one of the natural fording places,⁵⁵ and beginning the ascent of the Taurus piedmont, the physical topography provided more of a challenge. From Samsat to Kültepe could have been as short as 390 km if the path led through Timelkiya around modern Gölbaşi The elevation was not immaterial. Modern Biriçek on the Euphrates is only 250 meters higher in elevation than Assur. From the Euphrates to Kanesh, the net elevation gain is 714 meters, but several mountain passes dictated that the donkeys would climb much more than that. When a caravan reached the Taurus Mountains, there were other measures transporters could take in order to maintain a good pace, even in the more difficult terrain. A report of transport expenses seems to indicate that at certain parts of the journey, an extra donkey or a wagon was hired to distribute the load more broadly and augment the capabilities of the caravan. One writer paid extra for ‘transport’ at two different stretches early in the journey, replaced a donkey, and hired a wagon to climb the piedmont west of the Euphrates, and hired an additional donkey through two consecutive stretches of the trip through the Taurus Mountains.⁵⁶ A similar text from the same archive suggests that a single donkey was hired to supplement only three donkeys loaded with goods.⁵⁷ Renting extra donkeys and assistant drivers in the mountain regions lightened the loads of the primary donkeys in the more difficult stretches, allowing them to maintain a tempo comparable to their travel east of the Euphrates. When the merchants reached Anatolia, the presence of  Eidem 2008b, 40. Tell Arbid lies about 45 kilometers south of modern Qamishliye and 50 kilometers north-northeast of Hassake.  Barjamovic 2011: 216 – 18.  AKT 8a: 149. Veenhof (2008a: 24) remarks that transporters compensated for donkeys that died by hiring donkeys along the way. That the writer ‘replaced’ (ušpa’’il) a donkey in this text suggests that the hiring of donkeys and the wagon were not meant to compensate for a lost donkey, but to amplify the caravan.  Veenhof 2008: 24. AKT 8: 151 shows perhaps the same writer hiring a single donkey at certain stretches for what appear to be three donkeys loaded with cargo. Veenhof states that AKT 8: 151 was closely related to AKT 8: 149, but they do not seem to be from the same journey; the costs for two separate legs of the journey are not equal.

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well-maintained roads, and other improvements, including bridges, facilitated travel.⁵⁸ Considering the limitations of transporters, donkeys, and itineraries, the geographical distance from Assur to Kanesh nevertheless falls short of the customary 1200 km cited in some accounts. Traveling around 35 km each day would bring the caravan to the Euphrates in 12 days, with time to stay at Ḫaḫḫum before making the two week trip to Kanesh. Even the slightly shorter 33 km per day would still bring the caravan to Kanesh in 30 days. Considering the example of Pilaḫ-Ištar, which seems to be our best insight into the surprising sensibilities of Assyrian travelers on the road, this second average does not seem too farfetched. The unfaithful companions travelled well into the night, and then left early enough to take Pilaḫ-Ištar by surprise. This incremental increase in the rate of daily travel across a journey more accurately estimated in length allowed for merchants to have taken three journeys in a season, as did Dān-Aššur. By increasing the possible return trips to three, the flexibility of transporting goods increases geometrically. Such flexibility better accommodates the way Šalim-aḫum was pursuing his commercial ventures in the year of vengeance, looking to transport goods, and trying to respond to developments, allowing him greater flexibility in responding to crises and managing his goods. In turn, this economy of action required more diligence on the part of the traders to make the most of what time they had each season. As dated by Ilī-ašrannī’s caravan, there was certainly a major surge in the spring. It is likely that Šalim-aḫum was ready for another push when his first receipt of silver came back in late May, when he could send off his second set of goods with his son Dān-Aššur. As each season progressed, merchants like Šalim-aḫum would try to send as many goods as possible each time silver returned or some other financial opportunity arose. And this pace supported a constant ebb and flow of goods along the trails around the larger caravans. In such a system, merchants like Šalim-aḫum had the capability of making tactical decisions and responding to developing situations within the confines of a single year by coordinating or directing not only activity on the Anatolian plateau, but also goods transported from Assur throughout the season. All this activity also suggests a further demand for quick and reliable communication.

 Barjamovic 2011: 19 – 26.

Chapter 11 Tempo of Communication Around the time Dān-Aššur travelled to Kanesh the first time during Šalim-aḫum’s year of vengeance, during the latter half of May and first half of June, Šalim-aḫum wrote a flurry of letters. In the two weeks before Dān-Aššur left, Šalim-aḫum had learned Puzur-Ištar was questioning his contract to buy gold, as well as news of Ilabrat-bāni’s misdeeds. And after Dān-Aššur left for Kanesh, Šalim-aḫum learned of Pūšu-kēn’s intentions to retain Dān-Aššur’s services in Anatolia. In each case he was prompted to write a number of letters. He attempted to take control of the situations with Puzur-Ištar and Dān-Aššur, sending instructions to Pūšu-kēn to detain Puzur-Ištar through legal channels, and another letter trying to change Pūšu-kēn’s mind about Dān-Aššur. But in both cases Šalim-aḫum had to accept that his intentions were being over-ridden, his efforts proving to be nothing more than fruitless micromanagement. Yet Šalim-aḫum obviously thought that he could communicate fast enough to impact those situations—even Puzur-Ištar’s, which was developing in Anatolia, a thousand kilometers away. Ultimately, Šalim-aḫum was not successful in influencing the outcome of either the matter of Puzur-Ištar or Dān-Aššur. But, despite the dissonance between intentions and accomplishments, Šalim-aḫum’s attempts still belie something important about the tempo of communication. Šalim-aḫum hoped or believed that the city of Kanesh, despite being separated by the Jezireh, the Euphrates, and the Taurus Mountains, still fell within a horizon of his control, a horizon within which he had some capacity to intervene, even if only through his representatives. Even in failure, Šalim-aḫum’s attempts point to the tempo of communication in Old Assyrian commercial time, which had as much of an impact on a merchant’s conception of time as did the tempo of transport. The very nature of the trade demanded that merchants regulate their relations and operations from a distance, and the limits of how fast they could do it conditioned the strategies they could employ. However, the tempo of communication has received little attention in the scholarship thus far. Such descriptions have depended on anecdotal and comparative evidence, yet very little of the evidence arises from the words of the merchants themselves. So silent are the merchants in their own letters about the tempo of communication that a recent review of communication left out the topic of its speed altogether.¹ Only with the narrative of the year of vengeance

 Veenhof 2008b. DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-011

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does this tempo become clear. And once clear, it underlines how the merchants’ letters could include directions that demanded quick responses. Given the year of vengeance as we understand it so far, a fresh review of some of the factors involved in the tempo of communication support the idea that merchants could expect a letter to travel between Assur and Kanesh at roughly double the speed of the tempo of transport, whether due to an organizational aspect of the trade or because of access to faster mounts than donkeys. Communication was frequent and constant. The sheer number of preserved letters and their percentage of the total recovered Old Assyrian documentation impress on the observer that letters were ubiquitous in the Assyrian trans-Taurus trade. Letters account for one half of the recovered tablets in some houses. A recent review of communication in the Old Assyrian period underlined the fact that there must have been a messenger service, positing a type of traveler different from the bulk transporter, and that “hundreds of letters” might have been sent each year.² But the exchanges between Šalim-aḫum and Pūšu-kēn suggest that their correspondence alone surpassed a hundred letters in the year of vengeance. One letter written to Pūšu-kēn illustrates how the coordination of the basic sale of goods on credit could occasionally depend on correspondence. When the Assur based Šū-Ḫubur forgot to send a letter to Pūšu-kēn, the latter was unable to collect the former’s money, even though it was Pūšu-kēn who had arranged the credit sale in Anatolia. (Numbers in parentheses indicate sequenced documents mentioned; the full set, including implied documents, follows.) Šū-Ḫubur to Pūšu-kēn: As for the tin and textiles which Ikūnum purchased, you wrote to me (3): “He will pay you 20 shekels refined silver for each of your textiles in 13 ḫamuštum weeks, and a 1:7 rate for the tin.” When you wrote me (3) this I was content. (Now) later, you write me (7): “Ikūnum produced a letter (5, našpertum) from you in front of my colleagues and put me to shame.” Indeed, I did write to him earlier (5), but after you set him a term and your message (3) had come to me, I did not write to him again (6). Please, my dear brother, take care to have him pay the silver … as soon as you have read my report (8, i. e. this letter), let your report (10) come by express messenger.³

 Veenhof 2008b: 205.  um-ma šu-ḫu-bur-ma a-na pu-šu-ke-en6 qí-bi-ma a-šu-mì an.na ù túg.hi.a ša i-ku-num il5-qé-ú˘ ni ta-áš-pu-ra-am um-ma a-ta-ma a-na túg-tí-kà ⅓ ma-na. ta ù a-na an.na-ki-kà 7 gín.ta a-na 13 ḫa-am-ša-tim kù.babbar ṣa-ru-pá-am i-ša-qal ki-ma ta-áš-pu-ra-ni li-bi iḫ-du i-na bar-ki-tim taša-pá-ra-am um-ma a-ta-ma na-áš-pé-er-ta-kà ⸢i⸣-ku-num igi i-ba-ru-tí-a ú-šé-ṣí-a- ú ub-tai-š[a]-ni ke-na i-pá-ni-tim lu áš-pu-ra-šum ú-lá a-tù-ur-ma iš-tù a-ta u4-me-e ta-áš-ku-nu-šu-nima té-er-ta-k[à] i-li-kà-ni ú-lá áš-pu-ra-šum a-pu-tum šu-ma a-ḫi a-ta i-ḫi-i[d-ma] kù.babbar šaáš-qí-il5-šu ù 15 ma-na . . . um-ma a-ta-ma a-wi-lúm a-wi-il5 gi-mì-lim gi-mì-lam i-ṣé-ri-šu šu-kuun ki-ma té-er-tí ta-áš-me-ú-ni ⸢té-er-ta-kà iš⸣-tí ba-tí-⸢qí-im pá-nim-ma⸣ [li-li-kam] (72-Prag I:

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Šū-Ḫubur’s predicament implied that at least ten documents were written, should have been written, or were to have been written in relation to this credit sale. When the shipment first left Assur, a notifying message (1), and a bill of lading (2), would have been written—at the very least.⁴ When the caravan arrived in Kanesh, Pūšu-kēn cleared the goods through customs, then sold some or all of the goods to Ikūnum, writing up a caravan account (3) and a debt note (4). Pūšukēn sent the caravan account (3) to Šū-Ḫubur. In the meantime, Šū-Ḫubur had written Ikūnum (5) regarding conditions which must have allowed Ikūnum more time than Pūšu-kēn’s original arrangement, and conditions which required some confirmation in the form of a letter which Šū-Ḫubur never wrote (6). When thirteen weeks had passed since the original sale, Pūšu-kēn went to collect from Ikūnum, and Ikūnum showed Pūšu-kēn Šū-Ḫubur’s letter (5), which Ikūnum cited as grounds for not yet paying. Frustrated, Pūšu-kēn reported this to ŠūḪubur (7). Šū-Ḫubur responded apologetically with the present letter (8). This letter must have been accompanied by another letter likely addressed to both Pūšu-kēn and Ikūnum (9) which would have sufficiently clarified the matter so that Pūšu-kēn could collect the silver.⁵ When Pūšu-kēn had done so, he was to send an express message (10) reporting on his success. As the debtor, Ikūnum was able to draw on a system in which documentation flowed so freely that he could use the lack of a letter from the metropolis to avoid paying a debt to Šū-Ḫubur’s representative. Whatever the situation may have been, within thirteen weeks the issue was to have been well sorted out—enough that Šū-Ḫubur had essentially forgotten about it. Šū-Ḫubur in Assur maintained (or at least was expected to) a sort of presence on the Anatolia plateau through his letters. Šalim-aḫum also intended constant communication. While Pūšu-kēn managed the goods from the Nūr-Ištar caravan during the year of vengeance, Šalim-aḫum sent seven letters, and the discussions therein imply three times as many documents were created in relation to that single commercial process. It is clear from the letters themselves that they often moved at a tempo faster than the bulk transport. When Šalim-aḫum sent his son Dān-Aššur off to Anato-

678 obv. 1– 18, u.e. 2’-le.e 7’). Cf. Veenhof 2008b: 202– 03 for similar translation, but slightly different interpretation.  There were also likely contracts with the transporters, other bills of lading with accompanying shipments, documents made by Šalim-aḫum to record his distribution of assets on the shipments, etc.  As a parallel to companion letters, in which one letter is addressed to the agent and the other letter is addressed to the agent and the person with whom he will be conducting the transaction on behalf of the principal, note 23-KTS 1: 27b and 24-CCT 5: 5a.

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lia, he sent multiple letters which changed or updated his directions about goods or persons in transit each time. He first told Pūšu-kēn to send Dān-Aššur back home quickly, then protested the proposal that Dān-Aššur should stay, then accepted that Pūšu-kēn’s plan would hold, sending a third letter to confirm that Dān-Aššur should spend the hiatus in Anatolia. All these letters were intended to arrive in Kanesh ahead of Dān-Aššur. Whether or not they did is less relevant than Šalim-aḫum’s conscious strategy that depended on the likelihood of their timely arrival. Šalim-aḫum wrote at one point during the incident, “As for the … textiles which Sueyya is (now) bringing to you, do not wait for the arrival of the textiles. Send me 5 minas silver so that I may purchase (more goods) and … increase my revenue.”⁶ Šalim-aḫum’s tactic depended on his correspondence outpacing bulk transport. Indeed, correspondence must have outpaced bulk travel by some measure, perhaps taking only half its time between Assur and Kanesh. The contours of such a tempo seem driven by the demands of the merchants for whom time was money. Other merchants also changed their minds while goods were in transit. Aššur-nādā’s father Aššur-idī wrote: In my former letter I wrote you as follows, ‘Give the tin and textiles to my son Ilī-alum.’ Do not give him anything! He took a lot of tin from his own caravan. From my textiles take those of lesser quality (out) and deposit them as my share on my account and give the rest of my textiles and the 2 talents of tin to my younger son Aššur-taklāku …⁷

Having already sent a letter assigning goods in transit to one son, Aššur-idī decided after consideration of developing circumstances to reassign the goods to a different son. He fully expected this letter to arrive before it was too late to implement his instructions. Another letter indicates how quickly messages could travel between cities in Anatolia. A merchant wrote to Pūšu-kēn reporting on the collection from one of Pūšu-kēn’s debtors. The debtor had requested ten more days to pay off the debt. Upon learning of this, Pūšu-kēn subtly chided Šū-Ištar for accepting the delay and believing that it would solve the problem. But Pūšu-kēn did not say the ten days had passed. He expected Šū-Ištar to receive an answer to his letter, and hence a circuit of communication to be completed, before the the ten days elapsed.⁸

 11-CCT 2: 3 rev. 38 – 44.  OAA 1: 2.  BIN 4: 6. The debt collection was most likely being pursued in Waḫšušana, located possibly around Büklükale some 230 km away.

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The tempo of trade and thus of communication was brisk in accordance with the anxiety inherent in the shipping instructions and in putting silver to use. Every indication from the letters points to an aggregate Old Assyrian impatience, which the venerable American economist Irving Fischer described as a prerequisite for the financial concept of interest.⁹ Just as silver was said to “grow hungry” if it was not put to use, merchants impatiently directed for swift action and prompt service.¹⁰ A correspondent was not surprised to read, “As soon as you read my tablet send your response.”¹¹ And ‘as soon as’ meant the same day: “The day you read my letter (give the silver to PN and PN).”¹² There was always a desire, apparently a reasonable one, to keep things moving. People and goods needed to be put to use. “At Purušḫattum, do not tarry at the colony. Do not stay more than 10 days after you arrive.”¹³ And almost daily there was an opportunity to send off another letter: “Within 10 days, travelers will depart (from Kanesh) two or three times.”¹⁴ As a result of the opportunities afforded by the system, if there was a delay it was cause for comment. Pūšu-kēn’s associate PuzurAššur wrote the “second day after” Pūšu-kēn’s silver arrived in Assur, confessing that he was not able to obtain tin or fine textiles, later writing another letter explaining that there were problems in the ‘Akkadian’ lands.¹⁵ Other writers wrote their correspondents to “Be patient for ten days;”¹⁶ Such a time span could be determinative for many situations. “If I have not written you in ten days, don’t count on it.”¹⁷ And a report on the coordination in interests within that timeframe was worth passing on. “My journey is after Puzur-Aššur. Within ten days I will dispatch Aššur-lamassī … there.”¹⁸ Even five days on one side of the Taurus could be valuable for correspondents on the other side. “If Alu s. Adudu has not

 Fisher 1930.  Veenhof 1987.  ki-ma ṭup-pì ta-áš-me-ú té-er-ta-kà li-li-ik (CCT 2: 28 rev. 17– 19).  i-na u4-mì-im ša ṭup-pá-am ta-ša-me-ú (28-AKT 3: 78 rev. 18 – 19).  i-na pu-ru-uš-ḫa-tim kà-ra-am la tù-ša-áb i-nu-mí té-ru-bu a-la-an 10 u4-me la tù-ša-áb (OAA 1: 39 rev. 41– 45). See also Michel 2001a: 267.  a-dí 10 u4-me a-li-ku a-dí šé-ni-šu ù ša-lá-ší-šu [i]-lu-[ku]-ma (OAA 1: 44 obv. 8 – 15).  129-TC 2: 7 obv. 3-rev. 30; 128-CCT 5: 5b obv. 4-rev. 16.  ⸢a⸣-dí 10 u4-me lá ta-ḫa-da-ar (CCT 5: 4a obv. 8). See also CCT 4: 36b-37a rev. 17.  a-šu-mì ší-mì-im ša dumu šu-a-šur ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni šu-ma a-dí 10 u4-me-e mì-ma-ša-ma [lá] ⸢áš⸣-pu-ra-[kum] ú-za-kà lá i-ba-ší (77-TC 2: 15 rev. 35 – 38).  ḫa-ra-ni wa-ar-kà-at púzur-a-šùr a-dí 10 u4-me-e a-šùr-lá-ma-sí ma-ḫa-i [a]-mì-ša-am a-ṭá-radam (BIN 4: 68 obv. 3 – 6).

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come within five days, and answered me in court …”¹⁹ “Here we will make roughly 10 minas silver within five days and we will send it to you …”²⁰ Constant correspondence between close associates was the norm, and the expectation was an update every few days during the shipping season. Sometimes merchants wrote that they had not heard from someone in years, but this should not be considered evidence for a lack of opportunity to receive letters. Such comments have been used as evidence for a slower tempo. Commercial correspondents also complained of silence: “Our tablets go to you in caravan after caravan, but no consignments from you has ever arrived here.”²¹ When such writers begrudged procrastinating correspondents by counting caravans without response, the timescale of the injustice was on the order of weeks— not months or years. Letters were written to two or more persons in the hopes that all would be together when the letter was received, but this was not always possible. For example, Aššur-nādā, who was operating in Anatolia west of Kanesh, sent a number of letters to Kanesh including one to an associate Alāḫum and his younger brother Aššur-taklāku, “If Al-āḫum is not there, then let his representatives act as witnesses.”²² It is worth pointing out that Šalim-aḫum and other merchants did not hesitate to send letters about relatively small assets, suggesting that costs for sending letters was low. Nor did the cost of sending a letter seem to make merchants think twice about sending another tablet. One merchant named Ali-aḫum was trying to collect 3 minas silver from another merchant, Šū-Illil. Part of the debt was negotiated to be paid ahead of the balance, but a number of letters show that the deadline for this debt was not met and further negotiations were made.²³ In addition, no less than nine persons were involved in trying to collect the silver as recorded in the seven preserved letters.²⁴ Postal costs relative to trade profits must have been minimal if seven letters could be written and Aliaḫum was all the while counting on a profit from a mere 3 minas silver. It was no small sum. But it was not relatively large within the Old Assyrian trade either.

 šu-ma a-na 5 u4-me-e a-lu-ú dumu a-du-du-ú la i-li-kà-ma a-wa-tám i-dí-nam (94/k 1022 obv. 6-lo.e. 10). To be published as AKT 6e: 982. Translation follows Larsen’s treatment of the text there.  a-na-kam a-dí 5 u4-me-e kù.babbar 10 ma-na né-pá-áš-ma nu-šé-ba-lam (Kt n/k 1463 obv. 3 – 5, courtesy S. Çeçen).  i-na illat-at illat-at-ma ṭup-pu-ni i-li-ku-ni-kum ma-ti-ma te9-er-ta-kà ú-lá i-li-kam (TC 3: 1 obv. 12-lo.e. 15).  šu-ma a-lá-ḫu-um lá-šu ša ki-ma šu-a-tí a-ší-bu-tim šu-ku-ma (OAA 1: 62 rev. 19 – 22).  AKT 6c: 638; 643. Ali-aḫum s. Šalim-Aššur was collecting from Šu-illil s. Mannum-kī-Aššur.  See also Larsen 2014: 10.

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One way that a letter could possibly outpace the tempo of transport was for packages of letters to have been handed off between travelers. One thinks of the example in the last chapter, where the travelers who left at night, then pressed on in the morning. They could have taken a package of letters with them. If they handed off the package to a caravan leaving the town they reached in the morning, then that caravan handed off the package that evening, letters could travel twice as fast as the bulk transport without any modification to the system. However, many times the letters mention that a particular person was able to travel significantly faster than the bulk transport. The example of Pūšu-kēn’s letter, sent to Šalim-aḫum to suggest a raiding party to catch up to a shipment that had certainly left by the time his letter had arrived, is merely the most dramatic example of this. However, it is clear from the strategies and offhand comments of the merchants that not only letters, but also small amounts of goods could travel more quickly than the more standard caravan pace. If individuals could do so, then faster transportation must have also been available. Communications could exceed the pace of bulk transport through access to a mount suitable for longer distances. On foot, an individual can travel upwards of 66 km in one day, but not continuously and not with a cargo of clay letters, even small ones. There is growing evidence for the use of horses or mules in or around the period of the Old Assyrian trade and sufficient technology existed to make such journeys. Archaeological and pictorial evidence for the presence of the horse in Mesopotamia and northern Syria leads some to postulate the use of the horse in this area as early as the first half of the third millennium BC.²⁵ It is clear that in areas of Mesopotamia equids were prized and valued already in the Early Akkadian period, as evidenced by the equid burials in the Hamrin Basin.²⁶ Depiction of a “flying horse” on an Ur III seal has led to tepid speculation about the use of equus caballus for riding or draft in that period.²⁷ If this does not sufficiently witness everyday use in the Ur III period, at least one clear use of a horse in the Old Assyrian ambit is clear. When pressed to beat a glut on the market in one location, a merchant told his associate to “exhaust every shekel of silver there to assure that the tin is carried by horse (sīsum). Do not pack (it) by donkeys, so that it arrives in Purušḫattum as quickly as pos-

 Vila 2006.  Gibson 1981: 73.  Owen (1991) warns against using the depiction of the “flying horse” on Abbakal’s seal as evidence of everyday activity. The horse is mounted by a human and the horse is in full gallop.

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sible.”²⁸ This particular request is singular in the preserved documents. But the horse carrying the tin must have been led by a rider on an equid of comparable speed, else the entire intent of the message is nonsensical. Although it is sometimes assumed that horses were exclusively restricted to elites, any such posture must deal with the necessarily quick access a merchant would have had to a horse in this case. Aside from this one clear—and singularly important—reference, the mention of horses was rare in the Old Assyrian documentation aside from Assyrian calques of Anatolian titles. But another word for an equid, perdum, is mentioned slightly more often. However, secure identification of the zoological referent still lacks finality. The most likely translation is mule, but other hybrids, or even a different word for an Anatolian horse, are possible alternatives. By lexical exclusion, Veenhof proposed that perdum meant ‘mule’ because of the quotation above and based on the assumption that Anatolian position rāb sīsē “administrator of the horses,” implies that in the Old Assyrian dialect all horses were called sīsum. It is likely the case. This argument was followed to some extent by Michel.²⁹ The Late Bronze Age evidence on perdum from Ugarit is sparse and the Biblical evidence is even later, but the single other Middle Bronze Age attestation, describing the king of Mari riding a perdum into battle, favors a larger equid than a donkey.³⁰ A horse-onager hybrid was less likely, as it would have required importing onagers from their natural habitats in Syro-Mesopotamia and the Levant, and the perdum, at least in the Old Assyrian sources, seems to have originated in Anatolia.³¹ Nonetheless, it is not yet possible to completely exclude that in the early second millennium perdum may have referred to an Anatolian breed of horse.³² The Anatolian rab sīsē (or his wife who also did business) is

 an.na ma-dum a-na pu-ru-uš-ḫa-tim e-ru-bu-ú a-ma-kam kù.babbar 1 gín gu5-mu-ur-ma lu i‐na sí-sá-im an.na i-ta-ší ú-lá e-ma-re-e sé-er-da-ma i-pá-nim-ma a-pu-ru-uš-ḫa-[tim] e-ru-ub (TTC 28 obv.7-rev. 19). Though the horse mentioned would have been acting as a burden animal, the essence of the message is the speed. Without a rider accompanying the horse on a similarly capable equid, the relative advantage of using the horse would have been muted.  Veenhof 1989: 520 – 21; Michel 2004: 190 – 99.  Lafont (2000) provides an excellent discussion of the broader evidence.  Later evidence from Ugarit and the Hebrew Bible uses the term for ‘mule,’ but the Ugarit evidence is thin and largely depends on the later Hebrew Bible. It is possible that the term changed designation within the family of equids between Eastern and Western Semitic.  The editors of the CAD simply translate ‘(an equid)’. The word is also found in the Hebrew Bible, but focus on the evidence from the early second millennium is best. Gelb’s affirmation still holds: “We must try to bring clear understanding into the chaos of historical presentations. When an occurrence is attested and its meaning established, it must be stated that this meaning applies only to one certain area and to one certain period. An identically sounding word may

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never documented as selling a ‘horse’ (sīsum), but both sold perdum equids. While it is plausible that merchants would prefer mules over horses, it is also possible that perdum, at least within the Old Assyrian dialect, referred to a particular kind of horse, simply because for mules to exist, there must be horses somewhere. Newly published references to a rab perdī are important,³³ but it is difficult to know whether rab perdī and rab sīsē are variations on the same title or they belie a more complicated system of equid holdings and their titles in Anatolia, perhaps one that varied from town to town. Yet the reference to shipping tin on a horse must also be remembered in reference to a text in which a very minor merchant even complained about not having a donkey to ride. One merchant complained to another that a relative peon (he referred to him with the word for child (ṣuḫrum)) was complaining about recognition, while he had little money for his own, and did not even have 10 shekels in his account (perhaps his traveling money) nor a donkey for riding. He said, ‘Who is he that he does not know me?’ I don’t have even 10 shekels silver for my expenses! I don’t (even) have a donkey to ride! He will enter the house of my father and I will give about 10 shekels silver for the child’s sustenance funds, but not a third of a mina (silver)! The man is not reliable!³⁴

This passage might be interpreted to signify that Assyrian merchants exclusively rode donkeys. However, this ignores the context of the letter writer’s complaints. The obverse of the tablet is badly damaged, so the full context of the situation is difficult to know, but several things seem clear. A third party had complained that he was not getting proper attention. In response, the writer was emphasizing his dire straits and the condition of his father’s house. Despite the fact that the grouch would in fact get access to the funds which feed the children of his father’s house, the writer noted that he was in no position of wealth at the mo-

denote elephant at one time and camel at another; it may be used for cedar in one area and for juniper in another. It is absurd to speak of a fixed meaning of a word, as if it had been left unchanged formally and semantically for almost three thousand years and throughout the vast area of the Near East in which Akkadian was spoken,” Gelb 1958: 74.  Kt 94/k 1226 (courtesy M.T. Larsen) and Kt 87/k 320. Note also mules in Dercksen 2003.  ⸢um⸣-ma šu-ut-ma a-i-tám ⸢i⸣-a-⸢tí⸣ ša šu-ut lá i-dí-ú ú-lá kù.babbar 10 gín a-na qá-tí-a ú-lá anše a-na ra-kà-bi4-a a-na é a-bi4-a e-ra-áb-⸢ma⸣ a-na ú-ku-ul- ⸢ṣú⸣-ùḫ-ri-im kù.babbar 10 gín ú-lá ⅓ ma-na ú-lá a-dá-an a-wi-lu-um ú-lá na-ṭù (BIN 6: 73 rev. 19 – 23). The obverse of the tablet is badly damaged. In this section, the writer of the letter is clearly perturbed at the man who will be entering the house of his father and that person felt he was entitled to benefits that were hard to come by at the time. The writer complained of the difficulty of his situation by referring to the donkey.

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ment. The important point is that the writer was citing his own current conditions, which were necessarily remarkable so as to make them worth stating. Thus, for a man who did not have 10 shekels in his account, to complain he did not have even a donkey to ride, does not, in and of itself, permit us to limit the mounts of all merchants to donkeys, especially given the reference to the horse above. If it suited the needs of the clearly robust regime of communication, it would not be surprising if a number of people that needed to move quickly had access to faster mounts. Of course, these faster mounts were not mentioned often. In terms of direct discussion, there is only the one reference to riding a donkey, and one reference to a horse carrying tin because of its speed. This only underlines how little some aspects of the trade were discussed, and yet were vital to the operation of the trade. By contrast, the donkeys that were mentioned so often, were accounted for precisely because they were commodities to be bought, sold, and exploited to their limits of utility. Whether perdum denoted horse or mule, either mount would have made possible the tempo of communication apparent in the merchants’ letters. A mule (or hinny) would have excelled in a supporting role in the Assyrian regime of communication. Roman mares fit for breeding mules were considered to be as valuable as fine racing horses and much more valuable than mares only able to bear horses.³⁵ Mules are often considered better mounts than horses, exceeding them in sure-footedness and endurance, and subsisting on a much more variable diet than horses and on less water.³⁶ In Mesopotamian literature, getting a donkey to travel as quickly as a mule was considered an enviable and magical feat, associated with the blessing of the gods.³⁷ As in the Roman period where a mule cost ten times that of a donkey, a perdum cost upwards of ten times a donkey in the Old Assyrian period.³⁸ Mules generally live twice as long as horses: the average mule lives twenty years, and some live to forty. This meant that if the perdum were a mule and if each established merchant had his own, he would perhaps need only one, at most two, in his life. This might explain why  Junius Moderatus Columella De re rustica vi 27.  Stamm 1992: 127.  Among the promises that Ištar makes to Gilgamesh should he heed her charms, she touts, “Your packass shall outrun the mule” anše.nita-ka ina bilti anše.šú.mul libā’ Gilg. VI 9. In Atra-hasis, mules are associated with the four winds (Atra-hasis 122 r. 5).  5 ma-na kù.babbar ší-im 3 pé-er-di – 1⅔ minas silver each (CCT 6: 46b rev. 23); 4 ma-na kù.babbar ší-im pé-er-dí – 1⅔ minas silver each? (Prag I: 443 obv: 6 – 8); 2 ma-na 16½ gín kù.babbar a-na pé-er-dí-im áš-qúl (Kt t/k 1 obv. 6 – 7), 4 ma-na kù.babbar ší-im pé-er-dí – 2, 1⅔, or 1 minas silver (Kt m/k 21 obv.1– 2); 1 ma-na kù.gi ší-im pé-er-dí – 2½ or 1⅔ minas silver each? (Kt 94/k 1176 rev. 34, to be published as AKT 6e: 948, courtesy M.T. Larsen); 3 ma-na kù.babbar ší-im pé-er-dim (Kt 94/k 1756 obv. 18 – 19).

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there are few references to the purchase of perdum equids and why in some cases, the purchase of a perdum involved wine.³⁹ The acquisition of a perdum was a very different affair from the purchase of a donkey, which was nothing more than a commodity. If mention, albeit rare, of horses and perdum equids belies a broader distribution of larger equid mounts within the Old Assyrian trade, then a still broader spectrum of evidence across the pre-modern world suggests that rates at double the speed of bulk transport in the Assyrian trade—around 60 km/day—are still far below the expectations for state-sponsored communication systems. From Babylon, Hammurabi would occasionally demand that persons from Larsa were to report to him in two days time, traveling north 200 km as Hammurabi instructed, “day and night.”⁴⁰ (The ever humble Assurbanipal would probably have claimed he could do that distance with ease.⁴¹) Alexander’s cavalry covered over 65 km per day on some campaigns.⁴² Seutonius admired Caesar for making 100 miles (160 km) per day on his travels, though Caesar would sleep along

 “I added 24 shekels silver from my own funds to the 1 mina 53½ shekels silver Kadala gave me for buying a perdum, and I bought a perdum for 2 minas 16½ shekels silver for the perdum. I gave 3 shekels silver to the inn. I paid 3 shekels silver to the colony office as šaduattum. I paid 7 minas copper for wine on the day we bought the perdum. 1 mina (copper?) for išpitali: All this I paid out in Šalatuwar on account of the perdum. We departed from Šalatuwar and I paid 2½ minas copper from the bank of the river on account of the perdum. I paid 2 minas copper in Šalatuwar for grain. I paid 5 minas copper for the ‘inn,’ 5 minas (copper) as šaduattum to the colony office. I paid 5 minas copper to the kassim, I paid 4 minas copper for grain. I gave 10 minas copper for a guide to Alaḫum. He led us up to the bank of the river. I gave 1 mina (copper) to … I had all this paid in Waḫšušana on account of the perdum.” 2 ma-na lá 6½ gín kù.babbar ša kà-dalá a-na pé-er-dí-im ša-a-mì-im i-dí-na-ni ⅓ ma-na 4 gín kù.babbar i-na ra-mì-ni-a ú-ra-dí-ma 2 ma-na 16½ gín kù.babbar a-na pé-er-dí-im áš-qúl 3 gín kù.babbar a-na é wa-áb-ri a-dí-in 3 gín kù.babbar a-na é kà-ri-im ša-du-a-tám áš-qúl 7 ma-na urudu i-ša-am-ší pé-er-dam niiš-ú-mu-ú a-na ki-ra-nim áš-qúl 1 ma-na a-na iš-pá-tá-li mì-ma a-nim i-na ša-lá-tí-wa-ar a-šu-mì pé-er-dí-im ú-ša-qí-il5 iš-tù ša-lá-tí-wa-ar nu-ṣa-ma 2½ ma-na urudu i-na ša-pá-at na-ri-im ašu-mì pé-er-dí-im áš-qúl 2 ma-na urudu a-na še-am i-na ša-lá-tí-wa-ar áš-qúl 5 ma-na urudu a-na é wa-áb-ri 5 ma-na ša-du-a-tám a-na é kà-ri-im áš-qúl 5 ma-na a-na kà-ší-im áš-qúl 4 mana a-na še-am áš-qúl 10 ma-na urudu a-na ra-dí-im a-na a-lá-ḫi-nim a-dí-in-ma a-dí ša-pá-at na-ri-im ir-dí-a-ni 1 ma-na a-na ma-lá-ḫi-im a-dí-in mì-ma a-nim i-na Wa-aḫ-šu-ša-na a-šu-mì pé-er-dí-im ú-ša-qí-il5 (Kt t/k 1 obv. 1-rev. 35). See Sever 1990: 472– 74, pl. 290. See also Kt t/k 25.  “They must travel day and night so that they reach me in Babylon within 2 days.” mūši urri alākam līpušūnim-ma ina libbu 2 ūmī ana bābili lisniqūnim (AbB 2: 39 rev. 16 – 20, see also AbB 2: 57).  “I can canter on thoroughbreds all day long.” gimir ūmēya šitaḫḫuṭāku mūr nisqi, Streck (1916: 256 i 19).  Engels 1978.

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the way.⁴³ Estimates of typical travel for Roman messages are upwards of 80 km per day.⁴⁴ In emergencies, couriers trebled that distance,⁴⁵ and there are claims of Roman messages with fast horses and repeated changeovers having been able to travel up to 385 km in one day, though this was definitely extraordinary and unsustainable.⁴⁶ At the height of the Roman Empire, couriers could travel the roughly fifteen hundred miles between Rome and Antioch in 40 days.⁴⁷ The pre-modern Islamic barīd was claimed to relay news 300 km in 24 hours.⁴⁸ Furthermore, if the famed Pony Express, inspired by Roman practices, operated on the Old Assyrian route, the time for a letter between Assur and Kanesh would have been 3½ days.⁴⁹ In this context, two weeks for a letter to reach Kanesh from Assur does not seem so far fetched. The Old Assyrian system was not the imperial post of Rome, but the Old Assyrians were at no technical disadvantage to Alexander’s cavalry. Of three most important advances in equid riding, according to contemporary horsemanship, both Alexander and the Old Assyrians shared only one—the bridle; neither had treed saddles nor stirrups.⁵⁰ Recent evidence has pointed to the adoption of metal bits already in the third millennium BC.⁵¹ But neither of the two later innovations were necessary for extended long travel. Today, treeless saddles are increasingly popular in endurance horsemanship for the comfort of both the horse and rider. The Old Assyrians used saddlecloths for their pack donkeys—they likely also did for riding, like later riders depicted in the reliefs at Nineveh.⁵² Stirrups

 Suetonius, Divus Julius 1. 57. See Sheldon 2005: 132.  Elliot 1955; Ramsay 1925.  In AD 69, news of a Roman defeat at Mainz reached Rome, 1200 km away, in eight or nine days. Casson 1994: 188.  Hyland 1990: 250 – 54.  Casson 1994: 188.  Silverstein 2007: 191.  On the Pony Express, the riders averaged 315 kilometers (196 miles) per day. The nineteen hundred sixty-six miles of roads and trails from St. Louis to Sacramento took ten days to cover, passing through the Wasatch and Sierra Nevada Mountains. Horses covered ten miles each and riders changed horses three to seven times, Winther 1964: 52– 53.  The first evidence of the innovation of the stirrup is in representations in the sculptures of the stupa at Sanchi (ca. 200 BC). The stirrup in these depictions is simply a loop for the big toe. The true stirrup developed later, and is credited to the southern Siberian or Altaic nomads by the 5th century AD. Littauer 1981.  Littauer and Crouwell 2001.  The first millennium Assyrian reliefs of Assurbanipal II and Shalmaneser III have been interpreted to depict Assyrian soldiers riding bareback. Later reliefs (Sargon II) show introduction of a saddlecloth and more advanced reins, followed by more advanced reining system in the 7th

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are most useful in warfare, where swinging swords and throwing spears requires a much more stable mount than simple riding, and thus were unnecessary for distance riding such as Old Assyrian young merchants would have needed. While this comparative evidence allows for the physical possibility of a quicker tempo of communication, the organization of such activities is still only dimly visible. Some have postulated that there was some sort of messenger service.⁵³ But whether or not there was a centrally-organized system seems best kept as an open question, since no hard reference to such a service is forthcoming. Merchants often used younger men (ṣuḫārum) to take messages. Just as often was the instruction to send a message or goods “with the next traveller.” However, informal agreements among those in the trade likely allowed for a common understanding that would forward messages along at every available opportunity. To operate informally, there must have been a mutual sense of collective advantage that meant most travelers would be willing to take along messages. A larger package was worthy of some ad hoc compensation for someone not directly involved in one’s own business. For example, Šū-Ḫubur told Pūšu-kēn to give a shekel of silver to the traveler who would take a copy of a will, carefully wrapped in straw.⁵⁴ But when the letters were smaller tablets, compensation would have been unlikely. Travelers were arriving and departing constantly. If over the course of an eight-month shipping season, travelers were arriving or departing at least every few days, there were probably more than a hundred opportunities to send a message. Pūšu-kēn or Šalim-aḫum were likely to have some social connection to people coming or going at least a third of the time.⁵⁵ On other occasions, they could make use of someone less directly related. Unfortunately, the various terms used for travelers should not be the building blocks of an attempt to reconstruct any centrally planned service. The most common term in the larger Akkadian language family for messenger (šiprum) was not commonly used. It seems to have been reserved for official roles. Instead, several different terms could refer to essentially the same role: ālikum, wāṣium, and bātiqum. This is most plainly apparent from the interchangeability of the phrases “Send your message with the first ālikum/wāṣium/bātiqum.” To “join a traveler” (išti ālikim ṭaḫḫu’um) suggests the frequency of small groups traveling and the flexibility of the travel arrangements, and reaffirms the flexibility that

century BC, Littauer and Crouwell 1979: 142– 43. Old Assyrian merchants did use saddlecloths on the transport donkeys.  Veenhof 2008b.  14-POAT 19 rev. 28-le.e. 37.  This will become evident with the ongoing narrative and discussions of Šalim-aḫum’s volume in the latter part of this work.

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the hapless Puzur-Ištar from the previous chapter felt when he decided to take up with two other travelers and travel into the night, eventually to wake up without his donkeys. The opportunities to send a letter were as many as the number of those who were traveling. A merchant could request that a certain person bring a letter, but it was just as often that any “son of an investor” could do the same.”⁵⁶ Here again, though thousands of letters are extant from the Old Assyrian trade, no direct references to a specific rate at which such communications proceeded has been found. Just as with the tempo of bulk transport, the tempo of communication was so integral to the commercial trade that it was both unnecessary to state and impossible to ignore. With this tempo of communication, Assyrian merchants perceived the geographic distance in ways different than the anecdotal frame has apportioned for them. Šalim-aḫum saw Kanesh as a place where he could interfere in ongoing activities, as a place that existed within an imaginary horizon within which he could exercise some control over daily affairs. Šalim-aḫum’s imagined horizon of control extended as far as he could project his intentions fast enough to affect circumstances. At the market in Assur, Šalim-aḫum could manipulate his situation insomuch as any merchant could, responding to market changes, making and finalizing contracts, and dealing with difficult associates also in Assur. These could be handled by sending a household servant, or by going to whatever location necessary. But as his assets traveled afield and interest fell into the hands of his representatives, his horizon of control was affected by how fast his letters could get to his representatives in relation to the development of relevant activities. The impressive regime of communication in the Old Assyrian trade lengthened this horizon to a surprising distance beyond Assur. Šalimaḫum retained some control over his goods while they were still in transit to Anatolia. For example, when Ilabrat-bāni offered to buy Šalim-aḫum’s goods, Šalim-aḫum designated goods already en route to Anatolia, allowing him to solve problems in one developing transaction by managing another. In this way, goods en route had not yet crossed beyond a horizon within which Šalim-aḫum retained tactical control.

 The phrase mer’a ummeānim need not literally mean son of an investor, but neither did it mean a member of the investor class. It likely meant anyone who was respected enough to manage a fund, and thus have investors. In the balance of this context, it is worth reconsidering bātiqum as portraying the idea of detached traveler. It seems that when context was sufficient it was possible to denote the same merchant traveling alone or merchants in a small party by any of the three terms. If so, then bātiqum emphasized a quicker form of travel, but did not exclusively hold such semantic ground. For a thorough consideration of this terminology, see Veenhof 2008a.

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Šalim-aḫum even had some control in Anatolia. When he learned of Ilabratbāni’s transgression in late April, he wrote back with knowledge of current prices in Anatolia, demanding that Ilabrat-bāni pay a punitive 6 shekel rate based on the fact that other buyers had just paid a 7 shekel market rate. In many of his letters, Šalim-aḫum expected to retain not only strategic direction of his assets in Anatolia, but also tactical control, though a thousand kilometers away. But at the edge of the horizon, Šalim-aḫum’s control was far from complete. Though he had impressive knowledge of planned movements of some individuals, Šalimaḫum rarely designated who bought his goods, accepting that his representatives’ sense of trustworthiness in the buyers and the vicissitude of the market were his masters. And Šalim-aḫum was in some ways forced to make his deal with Ilabrat-bāni because earlier in the season he was unable to stave off the loss of gold he suffered from Puzur-Ištar. The tempo of communication, like the tempo of transport, shaped time in the Old Assyrian trade. Merchants and their relations marked time by counting the letters that had come or gone since receiving or sending a message. At two points during the year of vengeance, Šalim-aḫum marked the passage of time by counting letters sent or received. After sending his first angry letter about Ilabrat-bāni, Šalim-aḫum was frustrated with the lack of response and complained to Ilabrat-bāni, “My message has come to you five times!”⁵⁷ It’s difficult to know whether Šalim-aḫum had actually dispatched five tablets to Pūšu-kēn or whether Šalim-aḫum used the number for rhetorical posturing. His tendency to round numbers could again be at work here. But later, Šalim-aḫum complained to Pūšu-kēn about Ilabrat-bāni again, “Five or six of your tablets have arrived. As for [Ilabrat-bāni’s debts], why did you not write in your tablets that I am paid in full?”⁵⁸ Under the old regime of understanding the tempo of communication, both of Šalim-aḫum’s statements would have been interpreted to represent a duration of time that was a year, or even longer. Had Šalim-aḫum patiently waited each time for Ilabrat-bāni’s or Pūšu-kēn’s possible reply to each of his five letters before writing his next letter, these spaces could, like an accordion, extend well beyond six months. However, within the year of vengeance, such a patient Šalim-aḫum is too difficult to imagine. The narrative reconstruction dictates that Šalim-aḫum’s statements must represent a period closer to two weeks than two months.

 té-er-tí a-dí ḫa-am-ší-šu i-li-kà-⸢kum⸣ (3-POAT 7 rev. 21– 22).  ṭup-pu-kà 5 ù 6 i-li-ku-nim a-ni-a-tim ki-ma ša-bu-a-ku-ni mì-šu-um i-ṭup-pì-kà lá ta-al-pu-tám (11-CCT 2: 3 obv. 10 – 13).

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All of these factors form a silent background as Šalim-aḫum took action during his encounter with Puzur-Ištar. Šalim-aḫum received and wrote at least five letters within a short period of time, indicating that he wished Pūšu-kēn to collect and send gold to him as soon as possible.⁵⁹ Though he never expressed any firm deadline by which he needed the gold to reach Assur, he clearly intended it to be soon. Šalim-aḫum received the update about Puzur-Ištar’s initial excuse and then wrote to attempt to constrain Puzur-Ištar to pay, feeling that he could still affect the desired result in a sufficiently timely manner. When (probably soon thereafter) he found out that his tactics were too late, he began laying out a different strategy for obtaining the gold. Despite his ultimate failure with Puzur-Ištar, Šalim-aḫum consciously tried to retain the role of decision-maker. Šalim-aḫum might have wanted to retain control because he felt that Pūšukēn, as Puzur-Ištar’s uncle, had a conflict of interest. But whatever his motives, the regime of communication he took for granted gave him hope that he could effect his will across the Euphrates and Taurus in ways that atemporal approaches to the trade have not had the tools to grasp. Thus the tempo of transport and communication, their relation to each other and the tempo of credit, and the capacity to maneuver around these tempos within a single shipping season, were fundamental dimensions of the world that the Old Assyrian commercial mind and body inhabited. While Kanesh felt functionally proximate (despite its thousand kilometer distance) to Assyrians like Šalim-aḫum, his early failure with Puzur-Ištar belied a horizon of spacetime that the letters could not traverse, even as they sped remarkably quickly across the Taurus, Euphrates, and Jezireh. Though a discussion of the mode of transport and some comment on the communication has been part and parcel of most basic descriptions of the Old Assyrian trade, the narrative context that arises from the year of vengeance should have a profound effect on how we read these letters.

 20-TC 2: 4; 21-CCT 4: 5b; 22-TC 2: 2; 5-TC 1: 26; 23-KTS 1: 27b.

Part 3: Narrative and Context

The tempos of Old Assyrian commercial time were a critical structure that established the realm of the possible for the Old Assyrian merchants and their relations. While the development of Šalim-aḫum’s revenge is now well laid out, his reasons for engaging in such a tactic are not yet. There is still a much larger number of documents that can in fact be recognized as arising from the year of vengeance, and by pursuing the same style of narrative construction, a host of contemporary developments that must have occupied the minds of Šalimaḫum, Pūšu-kēn, and Ilabrat-bāni become clear to us. With some of the ways that documents must be read to understand their interrelationships already displayed in Part 1, in this part, the narrative reconstruction proceeds with less direct explanation, but with sufficient information in the footnotes to verify the connections made. Reconstructing a core set of events in Šalim-aḫum’s commercial activities and several simultaneous developments has helped to articulate Šalim-aḫum’s commercial activities during REL 82. This operation offers a sense of the flow of Old Assyrian commercial time and its attendant tempos. But just as much as time separates minutes, hours, and days, and irreversibly orders them, it also binds the various actors and events into the same flow of time. Šalimaḫum’s commercial decisions, and particularly those against Ilabrat-bāni, were made within the development of activities so far outlined in the year of vengeance. But his interaction with Ilabrat-bāni did not take place in a vacuum. In fact, an understanding of his interaction with Ilabrat-bāni cannot be considered a narrative understanding until a significantly larger frame of context is uncovered, a larger context populated by more commercial activity, but also by events beyond the commercial realm. Much more than Šalim-aḫum’s dealings with Ilabrat-bāni was going on during the year of vengeance. Thus in this part of the book, a second aspect of Paul Ricoeur’s theory on narrative and time is embraced more fully. Part 1 emphasized the connection between phenomonological time and material time offered by narrative. But the second aspect, the characterization of discordant concordance, was also important in the role of binding together the actions according to the judgment of causality. In this part, narrative as a discordant concordance comes to the fore in that Šalim-aḫum’s commercial activities are further intertwined with a number of further developments. In creating a greater context for Šalim-aḫum’s actions, our original question, the question that initiated our narrative, may just come undone. Was the seizure on Ilabrat-bāni’s goods Šalim-aḫum’s revenge? In fact, whose revenge it might have been, and whether it was revenge at all will be problematized as more context arises. The irony of fleeting certainty in the face of more information may be frustrating, but it still underscores the depth

of context which often lies behind the letters we read, and enriches our understanding of the trade beyond what the anecdotal frame can offer. While Šalim-aḫum’s strategies are partly revealed at this point, a number of concurrent developments flesh out a context for his intentions, as well as the motivations that operated on Pūšu-kēn and Ilabrat-bāni. The families of all three merchants and their difficulties in this year of vengeance become apparent. While Šalim-aḫum relied on his son Dān-Aššur, he was experiencing more frustration with his older son. Ennam-Aššur, who seemed to be resisting a marriage, was, in fact, also struggling with the particular pressures that came with the age of marriage (Chapter 12). At the same time, Pūšu-kēn was facing pressure from investors beside Šalim-aḫum, the preoccupation of trying to buy a number of houses, and a wife impatient for him to return home (Chapter 13). These pressures further contextualize a mounting tension between Pūšu-kēn and Šalimaḫum that started with Pūšu-kēn’s failure to collect Šalim-aḫum’s gold, but increased as Pūšu-kēn tried to deflect Šalim-aḫum’s request to enter into a joint venture (Chapter 14). But several of these individualized pressures on Šalim-aḫum and Pūšu-kēn find context in two large-scale problems that developed during the year of vengeance. First, a major disruption of the trade from the south began sometime around June and persisted through at least the beginning of September, causing many merchants to become fearful of not being able to fulfill commitments to the gods and their temples in Assur, or to demonstrate sufficient revenues at the end of the year (Chapter 15). Second, a plague was spreading eastward during the year and claiming the lives of a significant number of merchants, striking fear into many hearts and compounding concerns about fulfilling votive commitments to the gods (Chapter 16). These large-scale disruptions affected each of the three principals of our narrative in different ways. Pūšu-kēn dealt with a range of problems because he represented a number of merchants who wanted to collect on dying associates in Anatolia, one of whom was Ilabrat-bāni’s father. Šalimaḫum also keenly felt the problems of the year, including the disruption of trade, which risked his standing in relation to profits that year. In fact, the confluence of various contexts suggests ultimately that Pūšu-kēn was the primary author of the plan to seize Ilabrat-bāni’s goods, and that there are even reasons to think that Ilabrat-bāni was complicit in the plans, or that he benefitted from the plan himself. But the result of this larger narrative is not just a substantive answer to the question of revenge. The year of vengeance, as both a narrative and its attendant set of documents, provides two more significant revisions to our understanding of the Old Assyrian trade and its sources. These revisions, regarding the scale of trade, and the nature of the merchants’ archives, will be discussed in Part 4.

Chapter 12 Prodigal Son Though Šalim-aḫum had a loyal son in Dān-Aššur, his elder son Ennam-Aššur was far less dependable during the year of vengeance. Ennam-Aššur was set to be married to the daughter of another prominent merchant, Šū-Ḫubur, who interacted frequently with both Šalim-aḫum and Pūšu-kēn. But the preparations for marriage were not going well. Ennam-Aššur traveled to Anatolia in the beginning of the season, and despite multiple pleadings, found issues in Anatolia more pressing than his impending marriage to Šū-Ḫubur’s daughter, Nuḫšātum.¹ Both Šū-Ḫubur and Šalim-aḫum’s anxiety over Ennam-Aššur increased as he delayed coming back to Assur. And both Šalim-aḫum and Šū-Ḫubur looked to Pūšu-kēn to shepherd Ennam-Aššur home. For his part, Pūšu-kēn found only frustration in his interactions with Ennam-Aššur. The prodigal son did eventually return to Assur, but not before he ruffled feathers and played his own part in increasing tensions between Šalim-aḫum and Pūšu-kēn. But Ennam-Aššur’s marriage in the year of vengeance provides a chronological marker in the stages of life within which Šalim-aḫum, Pūšu-kēn, Ilabratbāni, and others found themselves during the year of vengeance. Sketching out the differences between the forces at work on Šalim-aḫum and EnnamAššur helps explain Ennam-Aššur’s behavior. For example, Ennam-Aššur’s resistance to coming home included particular pressures concomitant with his stage of life. In turn, mapping the various stages of life effaces the cracks in the veneer of solidarity that families were supposed to have as symbolized by the term “our father’s house.” Ennam-Aššur must have left Assur in the early spring along with the opening push that included Ilabrat-bāni, Ilī-ašranni, Pūšu-kēn, and Puzur-Ištar. In April, Šalim-aḫum wrote Pūšu-kēn: “Do not detain Ennam-Aššur for a single night. Send him to me,”² and doubtless he wrote a letter directly to Ennam-Aššur as well. Ennam-Aššur was getting married to Nuḫšatum daughter of Šū-Ḫubur, a merchant who was Šalim-aḫum’s senior.³ Šalim-aḫum had written the letter to Pūšu-kēn ordering his son home so that it would meet Pūšu-kēn as he arrived in Kanesh, reminding him to collect gold from Puzur-Ištar. Thus the letter arrived in the hustle and bustle that was Kanesh in April, when the customs office be Early note of the impending marriage in J. Lewy 1950a, 375 n. 49. Veenhof (2015c, 278 ff) also recently treated the marriage.  en-nam-a-šur u4-ma-kál lá i-sà-ḫu-ur ṭur4-da-šu (20-TC 2: 4 rev. 25 – 26).  When they co-wrote a letter to Pūšu-kēn, Šū-Ḫubur’s name appeared first: 47-Prag I: 679. DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-012

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came quite lucrative and crowded, smelling of tired donkeys. If Ennam-Aššur turned back home immediately upon reading the letter, Šalim-aḫum could have received him perhaps in the first half of May. But if Šalim-aḫum was hoping to see Ennam-Aššur back home by mid-May, he was to be sorely disappointed. Instead, when Dān-Aššur was leaving Assur in mid-May, Šalim-aḫum was still writing to Pūšu-kēn and asking him to “dispatch Dān-Aššur and his brother (Ennam-Aššur)” back to Assur.⁴ For his part, ŠūḪubur seems to have started to depend on Ennam-Aššur to do business for him during this time.⁵ Certainly Ennam-Aššur seemed to be in no rush to return. At some point when it was still relevant, he wrote his father to inform him that that he would leave when his younger brother reached Kanesh. “When DānAššur arrives, I will depart (for Assur).”⁶ Dān-Aššur was set to arrive in midJune, thus this letter must have been written before then. Šalim-aḫum’s response, which preserves Ennam-Aššur’s statement, suggests that he had received Ennam-Aššur’s letter around the beginning of June. The response reflected both real concern and frustration. Šalim-aḫum had come to accept that his younger son Dān-Aššur would be staying in Anatolia for the nabrītum. Now, a full two weeks after he was supposed to have left Kanesh, EnnamAššur was still in Anatolia. In part, Šalim-aḫum learned that his son was having trouble collecting some funds from a group of Anatolians,⁷ so he encouragingly offered to supplement any funds that would be lost by abandoning the situation in Anatolia. But at the same time, he promised not to be angry, both revealing his potential to be so inclined and his son’s concerns about that fact: On the day that you read (this) tablet, come and see the eye of Aššur and my eye! … Bring here as much silver as you have raised, and I myself will give you the equivalent of the Anatolians’ silver here so that when the caravan with your property arrives, no one will be dis-

 dan-a-šùr ù a-ḫu-šu ṭur4-da-ni (15-TC 1: 14 obv. 11– 12).  “From Šū-Ḫubur to Pūšu-kēn and Ennam-Aššur: To Ennam-Aššur: I hear that my representatives entrusted to you part of my merchandise for 10 minas silver there. If you are my brother and though your terms continue one or two months more, pay the silver and send it to me. Do me this favor. I am a man of favors.” um-ma šu-ḫu-bur-ma a‐na pu-šu-ke-en6 ù en-um-a-šùr qí-bi-ma a‐na en-um-a-šùr qí-bi-ma a‐ša-me-ma 10 ma-na kù.babbar i‐na lu-qú-tí-a a-ma-kam ša ki-ma i‐a-tí i-qí-pu-kà šu-ma a-ḫi a‐ta ù šu-ma u4-mu-kà iti.kam ù iti.2.kam a-ḫu-ru kù.babbar šuqú-ul-ma šé-bi-lam gi-mì-lam i-na ṣé-ri-a šu-ku-un a-wi-il5 gi-mì-lim a-na-ku (34-KUG 42 obv. 1rev. 16).  ki-ma dan-a-šur e-ru-ba-ni a-ta-lá-kam (35-AKT 3: 67 obv. 4– 5).  “I hear that the Anatolians have stalled (paying) 1 or 2 minas of silver. May Dān-Aššur receive the silver in good order.” a-ša-me-ma kù.babbar 1 ma-na ù 2 ma-na nu-a-ú iš-ta-du kù.babbar da-ma-qam li-im-ḫu-ur (35-AKT 3: 67 obv. 5 – 7).

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Figure 10: Seal of Ennam-Aššur s. Šalim-aḫum appointed at all. Let Aššur and Ilabrat witness that I will not be angry with you nor withhold you, but you will be released. Come, and see my eye!⁸

Šalim-aḫum was doing his best to will the prodigal son home. The wedding could not proceed without a groom, and the delay was becoming a problem for both families. Šalim-aḫum’s embarrassment was clear as he complained that while Ennam-Aššur dragged his feet, the bride’s father, Šū-Ḫubur, had been acting the perfect gentleman. “A daughter of an important man (ummeānum) leans against the wall, and you like a big shot delay until this day! Now, as for them, they are not writing you so as to save me face!”⁹ With every passing day, Šū-Ḫubur’s restraint likely only further deepened Šalim-aḫum’s discomfort about his son’s absence. At the same time, rushing back to Assur without proper preparation served no one’s interests. Šalim-aḫum urged Ennam-Aššur to put his papers in order and turn them over to his younger brother Dān-Aššur.¹⁰ Likewise, he instructed

 i-na u4-mì-im ša ṭup-pá-am ta-ša-me-ú al-kam-ma e-en a-šur ù e-ni-a a-mu-ur … kù.babbar malá qá-at-kà kà-áš-da-at-ni na-an-ší-a-ma me-eḫ-ra-at kù.babbar ša nu-a-e a-na-ku a-na-kam ládí-na-ku-ma ḫa-ra-nam ša ra-mì-ni-kà kà-ší-id mì-ma pá-nu-ma lá i-kà-bi4-du a-šur ù dnin.šubur li-ṭù-lá mì-ma li-bi4 lá i-lá-mì-nu-ma as-ḫu-ru-nim-ma tù-ta-šé-er al-kam-ma e-ni-a a-mu-ur (35‐AKT 3: 67 obv. 8 – 11, obv. 13-rev. 24).  me-er-at um-mì-a-nim i-ga-ra-am tù-mì-id-ma ki-ma a-wi-lim ra-bi4-im a-dí u4-mì-im a-nim tasà!-ḫu-ur ù šu-nu pá-ni-a wa-ab-lu-ma ú-lá i-ša-pu-ru-ni-kum (35‐AKT 3: 67 rev. 24– 29).  “Do not worry about the Anatolians. Don’t fret about your liability. Let the wind carry them off, together with their silver! You must strongly support your brother at the gate of the colony.”

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Dān-Aššur, who was still on his way to Anatolia, to hand over all his relevant joint-stock funds to Ennam-Aššur and prepare to settle Ennam-Aššur’s obligations in Kanesh while Ennam-Aššur headed home. After all, both had business to attend to during the nabrītum. ¹¹ Moreover, Ennam-Aššur was fulfilling, or at least supposed to fulfill, important tasks for his father Šalim-aḫum in Anatolia. For all his assurances at the beginning of June, Šalim-aḫum was not able to entice Ennam-Aššur home. By late June,¹² Šalim-aḫum’s impatience grew to exasperation. At this point, still hoping Ennam-Aššur could return to Assur before the nabrītum, he wrote a stern letter. As for your outstanding claims with both the Anatolians and wherever, which I continue to hear about, clear yourself (of obligations) before the caravan from Ḫaḫḫum arrives. In addition to the silver which you sent to me with Innāya, send as much silver as you can lay your hands on ahead of you as an installment. Do not release your share of the tin and textiles from Dān-Aššur’s cargo. Convert it to silver, and do not ‘spend the nabrītum’ in Kanesh, but set out and depart! Come home! And if you will, have your tablet drawn up now and then take your journey. Do not be concerned about the Anatolians!¹³

Šalim-aḫum’s tone had shifted away from the patient letter in which he urged Ennam-Aššur to come look in his eyes. He had been hearing about the Anatolians too much, and was tired of it. He told Ennam-Aššur to return and bring 15 minas fine copper from Ḫaḫḫum and Kanesh, and two tabletops, one of which was possibly for a gift in relation to the wedding.¹⁴ But Šalim-aḫum

a-nu-a-e lá ta-áš-té-né-ar a-qá-qí-dí-kà lá ta-ša-ḫu-ut ša-ru-um li-ší-šu-nu qá-dum kù.babbar-pìšu-nu i-ša-ḫa-at a-ḫi-kà ba-ab kà-ri-im lu kà-a-na-tí (35-AKT 3: 67 rev. 30 – 34).  “To Dān-Aššur: Give as much of the silver for your joint-stock fund as you can gather to Ennam-Aššur so that he can bring it here. If he owes an offering, fulfill his offering and dātum-payment and I will personally give it to him. Let him arrive here for the accountings.” a-dan-a-šur qí-bi4-ma kù.babbar lu i-a-am lu ku-a-am ša na-ru-qí-kà ma-lá qá-at-kà i-kà-šu-du a-na en-um-a-šur dí-in-ma lu-ub-lam šu-ma ni-qí-am ḫa-bu-ul ni-qí-šu ú dá-ta-am kà-lá-ma a‐na-ku-ma a-da-šu-um a-na na-ab-ri-tim a-ni-ša-am li-ik-šu-dam (35-AKT 3: 67 rev. 35-le.e. 44).  My interpretation of the timing of this letter arises from the sense that it represents a point of development after 35-AKT 3: 67, where Ennam-Aššur was to leave his goods to the arriving DānAššur.  lu iš-tí nu-a-e lu a-a-kam-ma ba-ab-ta-kà ša áš-ta-na-me-ú lá-ma ḫa-ra-nim ša ḫa-ḫi-im e-ruba-ni ra-ma-kà za-ki a-ṣé-er kù.babbar ša iš-tí i-na-a tù-šé-bi4-lá-ni ki-ma ni-iš-ri-im kù.babbar ma-lá qá-at-kà i-kà-šu-du i-pá-ni-kà ša šé-bu-lim šé-bi4-lam an.na ù túg.hi.a ša šé-ep dan-a-šur ˘ qá-at-kà lá tù-ša-ar a-na kù.babbar li-tù-ra-ma i-kà-ni-iš lá ta-ba-re tí-be-a-ma a-tal-kam al-kamma šu-ma li-bi4-kà a-ni-ma ṭup-pá-kà li-li-pì-it-ma ḫa-ra-kà kà-ší-id a-nu-a-e-kà lá na-az-qá-tí (36‐AKT 3: 66 obv. 3-rev. 20).  “Bring 15 minas of top-quality fine copper from both Kanesh and Ḫaḫḫum. … Bring a tabletop one and half cubits in size. There are legs available here. Let Agua s. Tāb-Aššur give to

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also instructed Ennam-Aššur to send home the silver of several others, including Ennam-Aššur’s sister Šāt-Aššur.¹⁵ Ennam-Aššur had sent silver home with Innāya, but Šalim-aḫum asked him to send more.¹⁶ And Šalim-aḫum also told him to attend to the silver arising from tin brought by another transporter.¹⁷ In mid-July Šalim-aḫum sent another letter. He hoped that by the time his letter arrived, Ennam-Aššur would have left already: “If Ennam-Aššur has left, send the silver to catch up with him on the very day you read my tablet.”¹⁸ But, certainly to Šalim-aḫum’s disappointment, Ennam-Aššur had not yet left Anatolia.¹⁹ Pūšu-kēn’s response brought the news, also preserving Pūšu-kēn’s own frustrations with Ennam-Aššur. Pūšu-kēn had sent a messenger to Ennam-Aššur with his father’s explicit instructions: “Go with this (shipment of) silver!”²⁰ But Ennam-Aššur refused the instructions in the presence of witnesses, and treated the messenger badly, sarcastically remarking that he was under no constraint to follow such directions. He was, as he argued, “not the son of a dead man.”²¹

you the table which he owes me.” 15 ma-na urudu da-mu-qám re-eš15-tám ša kà-ni-iš ú ša ḫa-ḫiim bi4-lam … kà-sà-tám ša pá-šu-ri-im ša a-ma-at ú ú-uṭ bi4-lam kà-ab-lu a-na-kam i-ba-ší a‐gu-a dumu dùg-a-šùr pá-šu-ra-am ša ḫa-bu-lá-ni li-dí-na-kum (36-AKT 3: 66 rev. 28 – 30, rev. 33-le.e. 38).  Šalim-aḫum asked Ennam-Aššur to attend to the silver arising from tin (brought by) Aššurmālik son of Luzina. This may be the same Aššur-mālik and tin mentioned in a letter reporting to Šalim-aḫum on the arrival and sale of a large amount of goods, from a large caravan that seems to have travelled around the same time as did Ilabrat-bāni. Note that this was probably the shipment mentioned in 13-Prag I: 426 rev. 38 – 44. It is also likely the asset mentioned in 37-VS 26: 58 rev. 32– 37.  “In addition to the silver which you sent to me with Innāya, send as much silver as you can lay your hands on ahead of you as an installment.” a-ṣé-er kù.babbar ša iš-tí i-na-a tù-šé-bi4-láni ki-ma ni-iš-ri-im kù.babbar ma-lá qá-at-kà i-kà-šu-du i-pá-ni-kà ša šé-bu-lim šé-bi4-lam (36‐AKT 3: 66 obv. 7– 11).  “Do not leave my assets behind, (i. e.) the silver from the tin in the caravan of Aššur-mālik s. Luzina.” kù.babbar ša an.na illat-at a-šur-ma-lik dumu lu-zi-na ki-iš-da-tí-a lá té-zi-ba-am (36‐AKT 3: 66 rev. 21– 23).  šu-ma en-nam-a-šùr i-ta-ṣa-am i-na u4-mì-im ša ṭup-pì ta-ša-me-ú wa-ar-kà-sú kù.babbar šaak-ší-dam (37-VS 26: 58 le.e. 42– 44).  “Dispatch Ennam-Aššur. Sell as much of the goods of Ennam-Aššur’s cargo as you are able and take your silver. “ en-na-a-šùr ṭur4-dam lu-qú-tám ša šé-ep en-nam-a-šùr ma-lá ta-le-e-a-ni dína-ma kù.babbar-áp-kà li-qé (37-VS 26: 58 rev. 37-u.e. 41).  a-na me-er-i-kà áš-pur-ma um-ma a-na-ku-ma iš-ti kù.babbar a-nim a-lik (38-VS 26: 47 rev. 28 – 30)  a-na me-er-i-kà áš-pur-ma um-ma a-na-ku-ma iš-ti kù.babbar a‐nim a‐lik um-ma šu-ut-ma a‐na ší-ip-ri-a-ma ki-ma dumu me-tí-im ta-ta-wu igi 3 dumu-e um-mì-a-ni a-lá-kam lá i-mu-a mì-nam a-qá-bi4 a-ṣé-er iš-tù 5 iti.kam i-ku?-ri-a a-ta-na-lu-ku (38-VS 26: 47 rev. 28-le.e. 37).

Figure 11: Development of Ennam-Aššur’s travels in REL 82

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Figure 12: Families of Šū-Ḫubur, Pūšu-kēn, and Šalim-aḫum with reconstructed ages during REL 82

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Despite his forceful refusal to comply with Pūšu-kēn’s directions in late July, Ennam-Aššur finally set out for Assur in early August, around the same time his brother Dān-Aššur did. Arriving by the beginning of September, he arrived in time for his father to send him on the errand to seize Ilabrat-bāni’s goods when Dān-Aššur was too ill to go. Though Pūšu-kēn had planned to send the dutiful son to seize goods from the merchant manqué, it was the prodigal who went instead. After Ennam-Aššur returned with his father’s newly seized silver, he was soon dispatched back to Kanesh, bringing goods to Pūšu-kēn.²² Whether it happened before or after Ennam-Aššur went on the raiding party, the wedding itself must have been a quick affair. After all the fuss, no record of the wedding itself is recognizable among the surviving records. But we know from later records that they did marry.²³ Thanks to the chronological dimension of time afforded by the reconstruction of the year of vengeance, Šalim-aḫum’s impatience and then frustration are more appreciable. Though hoped for in mid-May, or even possibly earlier, Ennam-Aššur finally returned to Assur a full fifteen weeks later. Ennam-Aššur’s stated reasons revolved around problems with collecting his money from the Anatolians, which was, in reality, only a short-term concern. Thus it is curious that he spurned his father’s offer to make up for the shortfall. But a deeper context for Ennam-Aššur’s decisions to stay in Anatolia becomes perceptible as a byproduct of reconstructing the year of vengeance. The key arises from understanding the varying pressures, roles, and status applicable to different stage of life. By analyzing the interactions between generations within families, we can better understand the context and motivations behind Ennam-Aššur’s actions. Šalimaḫum and Ennam-Aššur were father and son, and Ennam-Aššur was about to marry Nuḫšatum. Ilabrat-bāni also had a son—the one who was raided in Amurrum, and these manifest relationships create an opportunity to recognize the relative ages and relatively different stages of life in which Ennam-Aššur, Šalimaḫum, Pūšu-kēn, and Dān-Aššur found themselves in the year of vengeance. In this way, some of the tensions that existed within the Old Assyrian family firm can be fleshed out. Some indications of relative age have always been available in the Old Assyrian documentation. In particular, merchants consistently ranked themselves in relation to each other, as displayed in the way that they ordered themselves in  “Ennam-Aššur brings my instructions to you.” en-um-a-šùr té-er-tí a-ṣé-ri-kà i-ra-de8 (9-TC 3: 20 obv. 12– 13).  AKT 3: 104 and several other letters, where Nuḫšatum is expressed as the wife of EnnamAššur.

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the salutations in their letters. While the pecking order was manipulable in special circumstances, its consistency in the aggregate has made it a useful indicator of relative ages. Though birth dates and actual ages are never stated in the documents, and thus how long merchants lived is essentially impossible to individually corroborate, we can set up a relative age comparison given some of the evidence available in the year of vengeance. In the year of vengeance, concurrent situations combined with the internal ranking of merchants provides a clearer view of different stages of life. Šalimaḫum, who was clearly older than Pūšu-kēn, was arriving at an age where his first son was just getting married. Yet Pūšu-kēn’s sister Tariš-mātum had already crossed that threshold some years ago: Ilabrat-bāni, her third son (and Pūšukēn’s nephew),²⁴ had a son who was old enough to be ‘on the road’ working as a transporter in September, when he was raided. By contrast, Pūšu-kēn’s sons seem to play minor transporting roles in his commercial enterprises during the year of vengeance, suggesting they were young, not as young Ilabrat-bāni’s son, but younger than Ennam-Aššur or the ever-present Dān-Aššur. It was likely Pūšu-kēn’s son Sueyya who was transporting a small number of textiles in September.²⁵ And another of Pūšu-kēn’s sons, Buzāzu, appeared as a transporter as well during the year of vengeance. Considering that Pūšu-kēn’s sister’s sons already had sons old enough to participate in transporting, if Pūšu-kēn and his sister were at all close in age, then in Old Assyrian society, women must have married much younger than men. If this arrangement of ages is representative of broad demographic facts in the Old Assyrian trade, the difference in the age at which men and women married had to be greater than a decade. In fact, Fig 14, representing the interconnected families of Šū-Ḫubur and Šalim-aḫum alongside Pūšu-kēn’s extended family represents a coherent arrangement of relative ages, given the relations described above. In this model, women married at 15, and men at 30. There is more evidence that women married early. Šalim-aḫum had at least five children, as did Pūšu-kēn. Pūšu-kēn’s sister had at least four children that made it to maturity. Given the large size of these families, women must have started early and given birth frequently to produce so many children who lived past the critical years of childhood. This model of relative ages between Šalimaḫum and Pūšu-kēn displayed in Figure 14 optimistically relies on assumptions  This son was younger than Puzur-Ištar and Uṣur-ša-Aššur according to the documentation arising from the death of their father Aššur-mālik. a-na pu-šu-ke-en6 puzur4-iš-tar ú-ṣur!-ša-ašur dnin.šubur-ba-ni ù i-dí-ištar qí-bi-ma a-na puzur4-ištar ú-ṣur-ša-a-šur dnin.šubur-ba-ni ù i-dí-ištar qí-bi-ma um-ma ta-ri-ìš-ma-tum ù be-lá-tum-ma (119-RA 59: 28 obv. 1– 8).  (9-TC 3: 20 rev. 38 – 39).

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that women began child bearing at soon as they married, that their first child survived to maturity, and that each known child followed two years later. Thus the relative ages displayed in the figure reflect a model that cannot be verified in detail for every person appearing therein. Suggesting a marrying age for Ennam-Aššur and other Old Assyrian men requires adding another dimension to our relational algebra. Both Ennam-Aššur and Dān-Aššur had joint-stock funds in the year of vengeance, which we know because Šalim-aḫum instructed them to coordinate management of their respective joint-stock funds in preparation for the nabrītum. Thus, it appears that at least in wealthy families, men took on joint-stock funds some years before they got married. (Idī-Suen, who appears to be another son of Šalim-aḫum, cannot be confirmed to have a joint-stock fund during this year, though he was active in transporting.²⁶) There is no evidence that Pūšu-kēn’s children were jointstock fund managers in this year. Moreover, his older colleague²⁷ Lā-qēpum had two sons identified as fit to take on joint-stock funds during this year, suggesting Pūšu-kēn’s sons were not yet old enough.²⁸ As a result, we can order a number of people in close but distinct ages: the oldest was Ennam-Aššur, getting married and managing a joint-stock fund; then Dān-Aššur, not yet married, but managing a joint-stock fund; Lā-qēpum’s sons next, about to gain joint-stock funds; then Pūšu-kēn’s sons Sueyya and Buzāzu, somewhat younger; and Ilabrat-bāni’s son, even younger but still old enough to be involved in the transport of goods. If in this model children are separated by two years, then Šalim-aḫum’ two oldest were followed by Lā-qēpum’s two oldest, suggesting merchants gained joint-stock funds about five years before they married. With this many relations, we can largely deduce the approximate ages of everyone involved. This can be explained in longform by discussing the coherence exhibited in Figure 14, beginning with the assumed age of Ilabrat-bāni’s son, who was overtaken in September. While citing a minimum age for transporting is difficult, it is possible that boys could transport at a young age if they were in the company of an older relative. So for the sake of argument, Ilabrat-bāni’s

 For example: “Apart from those things between us, the tin and textiles from the transport of Dān-Aššur and the transport of Kulumaya and Idī-Suen, do not leave any silver from your transport my dear brother.” e-zi-ib ša ba-ri-ni an.na ù túg.hi.a lu ša šé-ep dan-a-šùr lu ša šé-ep ku-lu˘ ma-a ú i-dí-sú-en6 i-šé-pì-kà a-ḫi a-ta ⸢kù.babbar⸣ mì-ma lá té-zi-ba-am (40-CCT 2: 1 rev. 26 – 31).  Šalim-aḫum consistently placed Lā-qēpum ahead of Pūšu-kēn in his epistolary headings.  In the same letter Šū-Ḫubur asked Pūšu-kēn to deal with a man named Aššur-ṭāb s. Qarwiya (see Chapter 14), he acknowledged that Pūšu-kēn had communicated that, “The (two) older sons of Lā-qēpum they are fit to bear a narruqum-operation.” me-er-ú [lá]-qé-ep ra-bi-a-an a-na na-ruqí-im na-šu-i-im [w]a-as-mu (100-Adana 237d obv. 4– 7).

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oldest would have been ten years old during this year. This assumption is reaffirmed by sketching out some of the implications of their relative marrying ages as they pertain to Pūšu-kēn’s, Šalim-aḫum’s, and Šū-Ḫubur’s contemporaneous families. If men married at thirty, then Pūšu-kēn’s sister Tariš-mātum was over sixty in the year of vengeance, and Šalim-aḫum just over sixty as well. Tariš-mātum bore Ilabrat-bāni after two other sons and according to the assumptions made thus far, when she was about twenty years old. Ilabrat-bāni married thirty years later, had his son the next year, and now, with the son ten years old, Tarišmātum had reached a venerable age above sixty. By the same token, Šalimaḫum, marrying at thirty, and with his oldest marrying this year, would have been just above sixty as well. This presents a certain tension. If men married at thirty, Šalim-aḫum was roughly the same age as Tariš-mātum and yet at the same time, Šalim-aḫum clearly treated Tariš-mātum’s brother Pūšu-kēn as a younger associate. Thus the age difference between sister and brother must have been more than simply a year or two. According to general narratives of life that we are accustomed to ascribing to merchants, Šalim-aḫum, comfortably operating from Assur, appears to be in both a different stage of life and finances from both Lā-qēpum and Pūšukēn, who still travelled to operate their roles in the trade.²⁹ If Lā-qēpum, who fell between Šalim-aḫum and Pūšu-kēn in social and age rankings, had sons slightly younger than Šalim-aḫum’s, but older than Pūšu-kēn’s, then Pūšu-kēn must have been at least eight years or so younger than Šalim-aḫum. By extension, Pūšu-kēn must also have been as many years younger than his sister Tariš-mātum. However, adjusting men’s marrying age younger increases the tension. If men married at twenty-five, Tariš-mātum would still have been twenty at Ilabrat-bāni’s birth, but only needed to age just over thirty-five years to see Ilabrat-bāni’s son’s tenth birthday. However Šalim-aḫum, with his oldest EnnamAššur marrying at twenty-five just as he had, would have been just over fifty in the year of vengeance. In this scenario, Tariš-mātum would have been five years older than Šalim-aḫum. For Pūšu-kēn to still be younger than Šalimaḫum and Lā-qēpum, he would have to have been at least thirteen years younger than his sister. No other siblings of Pūšu-kēn are known, and while this situation is possible within the documentation, the gap between the two siblings seems too large.

 This general narrative of merchant’s lives can be found in Dercksen 1998. This analysis shows the limits of the narrative. Assuming that merchants retired to Assur consistently goes against most estate settlements that we can track in the Assyrian record.

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The tension is also not alleviated if the age when women married is adjusted upward. If Tariš-mātum were twenty when she married, then she would need to be twenty-five years older than her third son Ilabrat-bāni, who in turn had a son who was approximately ten years old in this year. If Ilabrat-bāni had married at 30, then Tariš-mātum would have to have been sixty-five, five years older than Šalim-aḫum in the year of vengeance. And at the same time Pūšu-kēn still needed to be roughly ten years Šalim-aḫum’s junior, fifteen years younger than Tariš-mātum. Pūšu-kēn’s mother, who married at 20, must have had Tariš-mātum first, then Pūšu-kēn when she was thirty-five. Biologically, this is quite possible. But it represents a significant stretch of time during which we have no documented surviving siblings. Were the two closer in age, then a single sibling who died early would be sufficient to explain the gap, with Pūšu-kēn (regardless) as something like the youngest son whose parents had passed on by REL 82. Thus, at present, a review of Pūšu-kēn’s and Šalim-aḫum’s relations suggests the marrying age for men and women was roughly fifteen and thirty respectively. This is consistent with other chronological evidence on fathers and sons, namely those recognizable in the Kültepe eponym lists. There are a significant number of cases in the eponym lists that show fathers receiving an eponymy between 11 and 55 years ahead of their (potential) sons.³⁰ Furthermore, the relative ages of Šalim-aḫum and Lā-qēpum suggest that merchants in wealthy families took on their first joint-stock funds around the age of twenty-five. If Ennam-Aššur was thirty in the year of vengeance, then by our previous reasoning Dān-Aššur was twenty-eight, Lā-qēpum’s two sons twenty-six and twenty-four respectively. Pūšu-kēn’s oldest son Buzāzu was likely younger, perhaps twenty. Though admittedly approximate,³¹ this observed model of marrying ages suggests a number of life stages, and brings some context to differing interests

 Numbers on parentheses are the REL number: sons of Išuḫum: Šukkutum (2), Daya (7), ŠūBēlum (16), Buzutaya (22); sons of Kurub-Ištar: Iddin-ilum (3), Šū-Laban (15); sons of Šudaya: Idnaya (11), Ikūnum (20, 43); sons of Adad-rabi: Erišum (28), Agua (35), Zuzu (40); sons of Begaya: Ennam-Aššur (19, 37), Minānum (29); sons of Šalim-aḫum: Iddin-Suen (30, 42), Šuli (41); sons of Upḫakum: Šuli (32), Ennānum (39); sons of Aḫuaḫi: Dān-Wer (or Šū-Anum?) (44 (or 45), Šū-Kūbum (54).—Two of those men (Ikūnum s. Šudāya (REL 20, 43 and Ennam-Aššur s. Begaya (REL 19, 37) served twice as eponym, as well as another man, Quqādum s. Buzu (REL 12, 26).  It is likely the exact ages of all the people involved here can never be fully corroborated, though they can be refined when the significant amount of prosopographical information from the Old Assyrian trade is temporalized. This effort has proceeded in the doctoral work of Adam Anderson. Some serendipitous documentation may offer clues.

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that Ennam-Aššur and Šalim-aḫum had during this year. If the extant copies of joint-stock funds are appropriately indicative, then Ennam-Aššur, at the time of his marrying, and most merchants around the time that they married, had just entered a phase where for the first time in their lives, they were responsible to pay off dividends to their investors. Though Ennam-Aššur certainly had had creditors before, his purchases on credit and other debts were configured for certain amounts. Any profits or losses he made before now were not yet directly consequential to his investors. But right around the time of marrying, a merchant would be subjected to his first test of skill as a merchant in a more public arena. By contrast, Šalim-aḫum had lived long enough to, if he so desired, have managed two consecutive joint-stock funds, and, though still very sensitive to public perception as we shall see later in this work, had long forgotten the pressure of the first time his joint-stock fund investors would be scrutinizing his performance by his dividend payments. Šalim-aḫum offered to make up for EnnamAššur’s lost revenues if his son could not collect from the Anatolians. But Ennam-Aššur was performing in a more public role among at least his investors, and the pressure he felt from this new scrutiny would have been ample enough incentive to delay returning to the wedding until he had his matters in order. Ennam-Aššur’s comment that he was not the son of a dead man was perhaps even more loaded in this context. According to this model, wealthy merchants could live roughly to their mid-seventies. This is consistent with Pūšu-kēn’s estimated death date roughly twenty-one years after the year of vengeance (REL 103).³² Ennam-Aššur, like any oldest son, would be aware that after the dust cleared from the wedding and the children began to be born, the next crisis on the horizon would be the death of his father. It was likely ten to fifteen years off, but Ennam-Aššur probably realized that around the time he would be paying off his first joint-stock fund, he would also face a dizzying set of pressures to save his father’s house.³³ In the year of vengeance, Ennam-Aššur was becoming a man in more ways than one. And it was stressful. In addition, Ennam-Aššur’s comment, that he was not a ‘son of a dead man,’ was ironic. This petulant rebuff suggested that the only way his father could have hold on him in this year was through the legal apparatus that ensued after his passing. In invoking his father’s death, he treated his father’s words in this year as already dead. To further strain any sense of personal attachment in Assyrian society, Ennam-Aššur’s assuredly hasty wedding was at best pragmatic. Between raiding Ilabrat-bāni’s son

 On the death of Pūšu-kēn, see Chapter 19.  See Veenhof 1977: 109 – 18.

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and hurrying off to Anatolia, he likely scarcely had time to consummate his new marriage. So much for love. This same line of reasoning suggests a less caricatured reason for the difference between Ennam-Aššur the prodigal and Dān-Aššur the dutiful during the year of vengeance. Just like Šalim-aḫum’s and Ilabrat-bāni’s archetypal characterizations in the opening anecdote, one with a vendetta and the other with rocks in his head, these circumstances belie deeper pressures. Ennam-Aššur, only a few years older than Dān-Aššur, was being bombarded by various forces, both financial and social. Meanwhile, Dān-Aššur was the ideal collaborator for someone like Pūšu-kēn. Unattached, already fit for a joint-stock fund, motivated to do good business, but likely not yet responsible to pay out to investors, DānAššur was in a stage that engendered less encumbered movements and a subtle but significantly different set of interests and circumstances. This analysis of Pūšu-kēn’s relations place him in his early fifties in the year of vengeance, and consideration of his stage in life will be considered in the next chapter. For now, it is worth considering a few other far-reaching implications of the difference in marrying age during the Old Assyrian period. For a woman to have grandchildren through her sons, she would need to live to at least to fortyfive. By that period, her husband would already be in the last fifteen years of his life expectancy. By contrast, for a man to see grandchildren through his sons, he needed to live past sixty. By the same token, most merchants would have been in their fifties or older before their sons were old enough to perform significant management tasks on their behalf. As important as the family was, and by extension the coordination of interests that seems to be communicated in “our father’s house,” the family was also a nexus of tensions laid out across the different family members’ stages in life.³⁴ Šalim-aḫum’s failure to entice his son home with promises of financial cover suggest that the value of the “house of our father” to explain the practice and coordination of merchants during the Old Assyrian period has its limits. And Šalim-aḫum’s focus on his sons’ coordinating efforts in respect to their own joint-stock funds of course constitutes one instance in which the joint-stock fund, based on principles of individual ownership and liability, could further strain interests in the corporate family. Šalim-aḫum had to explicitly tell

 The family firm has been one of the structures that has served to explain the motivations of merchants in the Old Assyrian trade. Assyrian merchants usually interacted in the trade with their families, as amply witnessed by the archives of Aššur-nādā, Imdī-ilum, Šalim-Aššur. A description of what constitutes the family firm has evolved several times in Old Assyrian studies. This is a subject too large to discuss here, but Larsen (2007) offers a compelling description.

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Ennam-Aššur ahead of the hiatus: “You must be reliable for your brother (DānAššur) at the gate of the colony.”³⁵ In the context of the year of vengeance, Šalimaḫum’s instruction seems a plea to resolve a tension between the two brothers. This is not to say that bare greed was the main driver of interests. The most common anecdotal quality of Old Assyrian merchants, invoked in many brief sketches of their trade, is their love of money, i. e. “You only love money!”³⁶ This streak of personal interest, manifest also in women, was in tension with the father’s house. The different phases of life that merchants found themselves in had an effect on how much force the interests the “house of the father” could have on them. Only within a narrative frame, with the sense of material consequences vivified by the tick-tock of the clock, does this counterpoint to the power of the house of the father manifest itself as a sufficient counterweight. Both personal interest and family interests worked their effect on the merchants. Twenty years Ennam-Aššur’s senior, Pūšu-kēn also had his own pressures. When Šū-Ḫubur had written Pūšu-kēn at the beginning of the season, as Ennam-Aššur made his way to Anatolia, he asked Pūšu-kēn to treat the future son-in-law well. But Šū-Ḫubur also asked Pūšu-kēn to shake a man down for him, Puzur-Anna s. Qayyātum.³⁷ Pūšu-kēn did, but did not collect all that ŠūḪubur expected. Puzur-Anna was on his death bed, and Šū-Ḫubur wanted his money before he passed on. A few months later, with Pūšu-kēn lacking any further success, Šū-Ḫubur angrily complained that Pūšu-kēn had not reported to him that Puzur-Anna was still able to speak, implying that Puzur-Anna was still well enough for Pūšu-kēn to put the screws to him.³⁸ Pūšu-kēn felt pressure from Šū-Ḫubur to press further, but at the same time he was getting complaints from Šalim-aḫum. Moreover, Pūšu-kēn’s wife was attempting her own persuasion to will Pūšu-kēn home.

 u i-ša-ḫa-at a-ḫi-kà ba-ab kà-ri-im lu kà-a-na-tí (35-AKT 3: 67 rev. 33 – 34).  The most notable forms part of the title of Larsen 1982.  “Concerning the matter of Puzur-Anna s. Qayyātum, here not a shekel of silver can be taken (from his funds). There, as much as you are able, make the man stand up and cause him to pay, and give him your word in a bound agreement about the purchases.” a-šu-mì ša puzur4-a-n[a du]mu qá-a-tim a-na-kam a-šar kù.babbar 1 gín lá-qá-em ú-lá i-ba-ší a-ma-kam ki-ma ta-le-ú a-wi-lam ša!-zi-iz-ma kù.babbar ša-áš-qí-il5-ma a-na tár-ki-is-tim a-na ší-a-ma-tim pá-kà dí-in-šu-um (65-VS 26: 64 obv. 3 – 12).  86-CCT 6: 47c rev. 22– 32. See also 95-TC 2: 10, 109-TC 1: 46, and 99-VS 26: 8 for the problems with Puzur-Anna.

Chapter 13 Pūšu-kēn’s Pressures From the surviving documentation it appears that the idea for Šalim-aḫum seizing Ilabrat-bāni’s goods was first expressed by Pūšu-kēn. What could have motivated him to send a letter outlining such a plot against his own nephew? Pūšukēn’s state of affairs, experiences, and pressures play an important role in understanding his potential motivation for either signaling the time to take the revenge, or crafting the plot custom-made for his senior associate Šalim-aḫum against Ilabrat-bāni. Furthermore, the episode with Ennam-Aššur shows that while Šalim-aḫum’s activities in Anatolia were managed by a number of individuals, Pūšu-kēn was one of his most trusted and preferred representatives. But Pūšu-kēn also managed the affairs of at least several other merchants, requiring us to introduce a number of other characters in order to contextualize Šalimaḫum’s revenge. Šū-Ḫubur’s correspondence with Pūšu-kēn included his own business affairs as well as discussions about Ennam-Aššur. And Šū-Ḫubur’s older brother Aššur-imittī was also dependent on Pūšu-kēn’s skills during this year. In addition, Pūšu-kēn had confidants in his brother-in-law Aššur-mālik, and in Aššur-bāni and Šalim-Aššur. Among this group, Pūšu-kēn was acting as representative, asking for favors, arguing, assisting, and coordinating with each of these men, and with others. Pūšu-kēn’s tension with Šalim-aḫum in Chapter 14 over a joint venture cannot be considered before we lay out some of the particular pressures Pūšu-kēn was acting under in the year of vengeance. Four developments occupied Pūšu-kēn’s attention during the year of vengeance. First, Pūšu-kēn was purchasing a number of houses during the year, which exhibited a decision to strategically use his assets on hand for longer term investments. To do so, he relied on both his investors and confidants in Assur, with the result that some competed for Pūšu-kēn’s esteem in helping him. At the same time, two of these individuals, Šū-Ḫubur and Aššur-imittī, also burdened Pūšu-kēn with their attempts to reduce their financial obligations to the colony at Kanesh. The process was difficult and only marginally successful, but it must have raised tension in a third undertaking Pūšu-kēn was pursuing. In this year, Pūšu-kēn demanded a renegotiation of his joint-stock fund and his relationship with his investors, which included Šū-Ḫubur. Šū-Ḫubur, whose daughter eventually married Ennam-Aššur, and who was inevitably disappointed by Pūšu-kēn’s inability to reduce his payments in Kanesh, resisted Pūšu-kēn’s terms and may have caused problems for Pūšu-kēn with his other investors. Finally, Pūšu-kēn felt pressure from his wife, who was involved in some of the house purchases, and who begged him to return to Assur for an important DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-013

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event in his daughter’s life. Each of these pressures add pieces to the puzzle of discerning Pūšu-kēn’s mental state at the time he wrote to sacrifice his nephew Ilabrat-bāni on the altar of his relationship with Šalim-aḫum. Pūšu-kēn purchased a number of houses during this year.¹ Šalim-aḫum was intimately involved in these purchases, as were Šū-Ḫubur and Pūšu-kēn’s representatives, particularly Aššur-bāni and Šalim-Aššur. Their involvement in Pūšukēn’s real estate pursuits reveals the fissures within the network of persons on whom Pūšu-kēn relied in Assur, since they did not always coordinate their efforts to Pūšu-kēn’s benefit. Pūšu-kēn had to keep good graces with his influential senior associates, including Šalim-aḫum, as well as Šū-Ḫubur, Ennam-Aššur’s soon-to-be father-in-law. As Pūšu-kēn walked the tightrope between the two parties, the pressure he was under during this year starts to appear with more clarity. In early May, while he expressed frustration that he had lost Puzur-Ištar’s promised gold, Šalim-aḫum also reported to Pūšu-kēn on ongoing efforts to acquire a house in Assur on his behalf.² The sellers of Ennānum’s house were asking too much, and Šalim-aḫum advised Pūšu-kēn to wait them out. Šalim-aḫum was helping Pūšu-kēn pursue the acquisition of a number of other houses at the same time, as he was wealthy and willing to front Pūšu-kēn money, which also meant he brought Pūšu-kēn into his debt. Despite Šalim-aḫum’s help, Pūšu-kēn’s wife Lamassī was unhappy with the slow progress of the purchases. Lamassī, referring to available houses, wrote: “Šalim-aḫum has made for himself two houses since you left. When will we?”³ In addition to Šalim-aḫum, Pūšu-kēn was keenly aware that Šū-Ḫubur was a necessary ally, as his junior associates reminded him. When they reported to Pūšu-kēn that they had bought the house for Pūšu-kēn, they ended their letter with a reminder for Pūšu-kēn to respect Šū-Ḫubur, claiming he was the only one from whom Pūšu-kēn could borrow money.⁴ Though Šalim-aḫum and Šū-Ḫubur were joining their families through

 Some of Pūšu-kēn’s house purchases were also treated in Veenhof 2011: 225 – 226. For a treatment of redeeming houses, see Veenhof 1999a.  “Concerning the houses about which you wrote me, if we purchase them for you, I will pay as much as is required from my own funds, and my message will come to you. The men requested a lot of silver. On this account, we will wait.” a-šu-mì É-tí ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni šu-ma ni-iš-ta-a-ma-kum kù.babbar i-ra-mì-ni-a ma-la ša-qá-li-im a-ša-qal-ma té-er-tí i-lá-kà-kum a-wi-lu kù.babbar madam e-ri-šu a-ší-a-tí nu-ta-qá (22-TC 2: 2 obv. 3 – 11).  ša-lim-a-ḫu-um 2-šé-na é-be-té-en iš-tù a-ta tù-uṣ-ú e!-ta-pá-áš né-nu-ma! a-na ma-tí né-pá-áš (62-RA 59: 25 rev. 30-le.e. 35).  “Please, in your letter honor Šū-Ḫubur. If not him, from whom will we borrow for you even a single shekel of silver in the house of his father?” a-pu-tum i-tí-i-er-tí-kà šu-ḫu-bur kà-bi-id šu-ma

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the marriage of Ennam-Aššur to Nuḫšatum, Šalim-aḫum and Šū-Ḫubur did not coordinate their actions terribly well. In some of the house purchases, Šalim-aḫum, Šū-Ḫubur, and Pūšu-kēn’s other representatives in Assur, particularly Šalim-Aššur and Aššur-bāni, coordinated efforts well. All four of these men reported on the successful purchase of one house that must have been divided by sons after the recent death of their father Šū-Suen. Šū-Ḫubur, Šalim-aḫum, Aššur-bāni, and Šalim-Aššur reported to Pūšu-kēn that they purchased the house of a Kulumum s. Šū-Suen s. Aššur-mālik for Pūšu-kēn for 3 minas 51 shekels of silver.⁵ The purchasing spree was in process even before Pūšu-kēn had left for Anatolia that spring, evident because Lamassī complained to Pūšu-kēn that he had forgotten the 1½ minas silver for the “rent”(?) of the house of Ilī-mālik at the beginning of his journey and had not included it in his memorandum, but that representatives had come and taken it anyway.⁶ Nor was the purchase done in one fell swoop. Though Šū-Ḫubur was involved in the ongoing arrangements, at one point he had to write to Pūšu-kēn while on some trip, reporting that when he had left Assur the house was not yet sold, and if it were not accomplished when he returned, he would be sure to do it.⁷ Just as both Šalim-aḫum and Šū-Ḫubur participated in purchasing the house of Ilī-mālik, so did they in other cases as well. In May, Šalim-aḫum responded to a letter from Pūšu-kēn inquiring about progress on acquiring the house of Ennā-

la šu-a-tí ma-nu-um kù.babbar ⸢1 gín⸣ é a-bi4-šu a-ṣí-ib-tim ni-il5-qé-a-⸢kum?⸣ (97‐TC 2: 11 rev. 28‐le.e. 31).  “We purchased the houses of Kulumum son of Šū-Suen son of Ilī-mālik which are next to the house of Buzazu for 3 minas 51 shekels silver for you. Send the silver.” bé-⸢tí⸣ ša ku-lu-mì-im dumu šu-sú-en6 dumu dingir-ma-lik ša ṭé-ḫi é bu-za-zu a-na 4 ma-na lá 9 gín kù.babbar niil5-qé-a-kum kù.babbar šé-bi-lam (47-Prag I: 679 obv. 5 – 9).  “You forgot to register the roughly 1½ minas silver for the rent of the house of Ilī-malik in your memorandum at the beginning of your journey. Your representatives took it.” kù.babbar 1½ mana ša ig-ri é-bé-tim ša dingir-ma-lik i-ba-ab ḫa-ra-ni-kà ta-am-ší-ma i-na ta-aḫ-sí-is-tí-kà ú-lá taal-pu-ut mu-zi-zu-kà il5-ta-qé-ú-šu (63-VS 26: 42 obv. 3 – 8).  “Regarding the house next to yours which the house of Ilī-lmālik sold, (we said), ‘We will empty out(?) the qablītum.’ When I myself departed from there, the house was not sold. Since (I have departed), your representatives and my representatives are working hard to purchase the house for you. If when I arrive (back) your representatives and my representatives have not yet acquired the house, I myself will acquire it for you at my arrival. I did not abandon them.” é-tám ša ṭí-ḫi-kà ša é dingir-ma-lik ⸢i⸣-du-nu um-ma né-nu-⸢ma qá⸣-ab-li-tám nu-ra a‐na-ku a‐ni-ša-am ú-ṣa-am-ma é-bé-tám ú-lá ta-dí-in wa-ar-ki-a ša ki-ma ku-a-tí ù ša ki-ma ia-tí ⸢ú⸣-na-ḫi-du-ma é-bé-tám ⸢i⸣-lá-qé-⸢ú⸣-ni-kum šu-ma a‐dí a!-lu-ku-ni ⸢é⸣-bé-tám ša ki-ma kua-tí ù i‐a-tí a‐dí-ni lá lá!-qé-ú i-na ⸢a!-lá-ki⸣-a a‐na-ku a‐lá-qé-a-kum ú-la e-zi-ib-šu-nu (70RA 58, 126 obv. 3-lo.e. 15).

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num s. Aššur-rē’um, and assured Pūšu-kēn that he was the only buyer of the house, advising him to wait, and assuring him that when the time came, he would use his own silver to finish the transaction.⁸ However, neither Pūšu-kēn nor Šalim-aḫum were in full control of the process. While Šalim-aḫum travelled away from Assur, Šū-Ḫubur, Aššur-bāni, and Šalim-Aššur purchased the house for Pūšu-kēn in late July or early August, for 16 minas silver.⁹ When Šalimaḫum returned to Assur to find the house purchased, he and Aššur-imittī wrote Pūšu-kēn, disavowing the actions of Šū-Ḫubur and the others. Šalimaḫum again asserted that his strategy had been to wait out the sellers, explaining that the others had purchased the house without consulting him. Šū-Ḫubur and his party had indicated they would borrow the entire 16 minas silver for the purchase, encouraging Pūšu-kēn to send the balance quickly in order to avoid onerous interest payments. Šalim-aḫum corrected that statement in his letter, stating that he had paid 10 minas of the silver out of his own pocket.¹⁰ (Perhaps

 “Concerning the house about which you wrote me, if we purchase them for you, I will pay as much as is required from my own funds, and my message will come to you. The men requested a lot of silver. On this account, we will wait. Besides you there are no buyers or murrē qablītim. If any sales develop, I will make sure to purchase them for you, and I will pay the silver from my own funds.” a-šu-mì é-tí ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni šu-ma ni-iš-ta-a-ma-kum kù.babbar i-ra-mì-ni-a ma-la ša-qá-li-im a-ša-qal-ma té-er-tí i-lá-kà-kum a-wi-lu kù.babbar ma-dam e-ri-šu a-ší-a-tí nu-ta-qá šu-ma lá ku-a-tí ša-im-šu-⸢nu⸣ ú mu-ri qá-áb-li-tim ú-li-ba-ší šu-ma ta-da-nu-um i-ta-áb-ší a-naḫi-id-ma a-ša-a-ma-ku-⸢šu⸣-nu ù kù.babbar i-ra-mì-ni-a a-ša-qal (22-TC 2: 2 obv. 3-rev. 18).  “We purchased the house of Ennānum son of Aššur-rēʾum for you for 16 minas of silver. They will measure out three šubtum-measures, and if it is less than three (measures), then they will deduct silver, and if it is greater than three, they will return (for) silver. Take care to send the silver.” é en-na-nim dumu a-šùr-sipa a-na 16 ma-na kù.babbar [n]i-iš-a-ma-kum ša-la-áš ⸢š⸣u!ba-tim i-ma-du-du-m[a] [i]-na ša-la-áš-[šu?]-ma? ba-tí-iq kù.babbar [i]-ṣa-ḫe-er šu-ma i-na šala-áš wa-ta-ar kù.babbar i-té-er ⸢i⸣-ḫi-id kù.babbar ⸢šé⸣-bi-lam (97-TC 2: 11 obv. 3 – 14). In that letter, they estimated the structure to be 3 šubtum measures and intended to report when it was verified.  “Concerning the house of Ennānum about which you wrote me, ‘Buy the house.’ They asked from us a lot of silver, so we said, ‘Let’s deposit our money together and so suppress the price about a mina.’ Šalim-Aššur and Šū-Ḫubur, without consulting us, purchased the houses for you for 16 minas silver. And they wrote to you. They said, ‘We borrowed silver against interest for you.’ We did not borrow any silver against interest on your behalf. Šalim-aḫum paid ten minas silver towards the price of the house out of his own funds. Make sure to send Šalimaḫum’s silver. Also, send the remaining balance – 6 minas silver. a-šu-mì bé-tí ša en-na-nim ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni um-ma a-ta-ma bé-tí ša-ma-nim a-na bé-tí kù.babbar ma-dam e-ri-šu-ni-a-tíma um-ma né-nu-ma a-ḫa-iš! lu ni-dí-ma kù.babbar 1 ma-na lu nu-ša-pí-lá-am ša-lim-a-šùr ú šu-ḫu-b[ur] ba-lúm ša-a-li-ni a-na 16 ma-na kù.babbar bé-tí iš-ú-mu-ni-kum ù iš-ta-áp-ru-nikum um-ma šu-nu-ma kù.babbar a-na ṣí-ib-tim ni-il5-qé-a-kum kù.babbar mì-ma a-na ṣí-ibtim ú-lá ni-il5-qé-a-kum 10 ma-na kù.babbar a-na ší-mì-im bé-tí ša-lim-a-ḫu-um i-na ra-mì-ni-šu

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he thought 10 minas was the price he could have wrangled for the house.) Šalimaḫum did ask Pūšu-kēn to repay the ten minas silver, but his loan was interestfree.¹¹ However, the balance still needed to be borrowed. When Šū-Ḫubur, Aššurbāni and Šalim-Aššur again wrote Pūšu-kēn in or around the last week of September, they noted that they had paid 7⅓ minas silver to Aššur-imittī,¹² who from other letters can be identified as Aššur-imittī s. Ennānum, thus the payee for the house.¹³ By that time, the silver they had borrowed had already earned ⅔ minas interest.¹⁴ This corroborates with reports from Pūšu-kēn’s representatives on paying back silver for the various houses he was buying.¹⁵

iš-qúl i-ḫi-id-ma kù.babbar ša ša-lim-a-ḫi-im šé-bi-lam ù 6 ma-na kù.babbar ta-áš-bi-tám šé-bilam (49-TTC 6 obv. 4-le.e. 28).  “My dear brother, send the silver which I paid out for the houses, my silver for the houses.” a-ḫi a-t[a k]ù.abbar ša a-na é-bé-tí áš-qú-lu ⸢kù⸣.babbar-pì a-na é-bé-tí ⸢šé⸣-bi-lam (46-BIN 6: 87 obv. 8 – 12). It is difficult to learn much else, as the document is largely broken.  “We added ⅔ minas interest to the 7⅓ minas silver which we paid out to Aššur-imittī.” a-na 7⅓ ma-na kù.babbar ša a-na a-šùr-i-mì-tí ni-iš-qú-lu ⅔ ma-na ṣí-ib-tám nu-ṣí-ib (85-TC 2: 14 rev. 26 – 28).  “In total he will pay 8½ minas silver to Aššur-imittī s. Ennānum.” šunigin 8½ ma-na kù.babbar a-na a-šur-i-mì-tí dumu en-na-nim i-ša-qal (61-CCT 3: 19b rev. 18 – 19). This is a slightly later letter from Pūšu-kēn’s wife Lamassī, suggesting that Šalim-Aššur was responsible to pay 8½ mina silver to Aššur-imittī s. Ennānum. The letter is clearly contemporaneous with these events, and came sometime near the letters from Šū-Ḫubur, Aššur-bāni and Šalim-Aššur. Though Lamassī cites a higher amount than the letter from the three associates, she also notes that they have taken Pūšu-kēn’s taḫsistum, and so cannot say how much various people should be paid exactly. The three associates stated 8 minas silver owed. If the rate at which it was being borrowed was 1½ shekels per mina per month, then by the time Pūšu-kēn would have been able to respond and send silver to Assur from this letter, a month at best, the balance would have increased 12 shekels more. If the interest rate were higher—double, then 8½ minas as a rounded number would be perfectly appropriate.  Dating this letter to the last week of September is connected to the logic of Urāni’s arrival and departure mentioned in TC 2 14, and discussed more thoroughly in the chapter on the disruption of the trade below. It is possible that Pūšu-kēn had sent money to pay Aššur-imittī, but that Aššur-imittī had paid back one of Pūšu-kēn’s other creditors first. “Aššur-imittī said, ‘I gave your silver to Ḫuraṣānum and he is gone, so I didn’t pay. Don’t be disappointed.’” um-ma a-šùr-imì-tí- kù.babbar-kà a-na ḫu-ra-ṣa-nim a-dí-in-ma lá-šu-ma ú-lá áš-qúl li-ba-am [lá] i-[mara-aṣ] (49-TTC 6 rev. 28-le.e. 34).  “As for the silver which you owe to Aššur-imittī, we borrowed (silver) on interest and we paid him. We borrowed 6 talents of copper for the price of the houses and we paid it out. Send the silver so that the interest does not become burdensome to you.” (99-VS 26: 8 obv. 9-rev. 18). Speaking of the same things they also wrote, “In addition to the 10 minas previous copper from Iluwa, which is ’on his account,’ 15½ shekels silver we increased to him. We added ⅔ minas interest to the 7⅓ minas silver which we paid out to Aššur-imittī. As for the 6 talents of copper which were the price of the houses of Abum-ilī, we added 30 minas (copper) interest.

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Pūšu-kēn was purchasing still more houses in this year. Again through his representatives in Assur, he acquired the house of Abum-ilī for a price that included 6 talents copper.¹⁶ At the beginning of September, his wife Lamassī reported to him that Ikūn-pīya was causing problems with the new purchase by using one of the walls for some improvement of his own recent purchase, a house Lamassī described as the house of Ataya.¹⁷ Lamassī had confronted Pūšu-kēn’s representatives and Ikūn-pīya himself about it, to which he had replied that he would work out some sort of partnership with Pūšu-kēn. Lamassī, dubious of the claim, was telling Pūšu-kēn to come back to Assur and confront Ikūn-pīya directly.¹⁸ At the same time, Pūšu-kēn also paid 4 minas 22⅚ shekels for the house of Sutiya.¹⁹ Puzur-Aššur reported that he had apparently purchased the house of Aḫu-waqar in Ḫaḫḫum for Pūšu-kēn that stood between the house

At a 1½ mina rate, their price (in silver) is 4⅔ minas. We paid 4 minas 22⅚ shekels for the house of Sutiya. We took the tablet of your debt.” (85-TC 2: 14 rev. 23 – 35).  “We borrowed 6 talents of copper for the price of the houses and we paid it out. Send the silver so that the interest does not become burdensome to you.” 6 gú urudu ša ší-im be-tí aṣí-ib-tim ni-il5-qé-ma ni-iš-qúl kù.babbar šé-bi4-lam-ma ṣí-ib-tum lá i-ma-ra-ṣa-kum tù-pì-zi ana a-lim ki ma-ḫa-ri-im i-zi-iz-ma né-nu nu-ša-ḫi-sú um-ma né-nu-ma a-ma-kam i-na-⸢sà⸣ be-tí-kà at-wu (99-VS 26: 8 lo.e. 13-rev. 18). “As for the 6 talents of copper which were the price of the houses of Abum-ilī, we added 30 minas (copper) interest.” a-na 6 gú urudu ša ší-im é-tí ša a-bu-um-dingir 30 ma-na ṣí-ib-tám nu-ṣí-ib (85-TC 2: 14 rev. 29 – 31).  The timing will be more fully explained in Chapter 15.  “As for the house of Abum-ilī, Ikūn-piya put his wall from the house of Attaya on your wall! Now as for me, I quarreled with him and he said, ‘I will enter into a partnership with him. Or I will not cooperate with him whatsoever.’ Get up and go out! You yourself speak to him there. Thus you will say, ‘Why did you set your wall in my house? You did it as if it was a deserted(?) house!’” é a-bu-um-dingir i-na i-ga-ar-tim ku-a-tim i-ku-pí-a ša é a-ta-a i-ga-ar-tám šu-a-tám ⸢iš⸣-ta-kán ú a-na-ku a-ṣa-al-ma um-ma šu-ut-ma ta-pá-ú-tum-ma ú-ta-pá-šu mì-mama ú-lá ú-ta-pá-šu it-bé-a-ma i-ta-ṣa-am a-ta a-ma-kam qí-bi-šu-um um-ma a-ta-ma mì-šu-um i-ga-ar-ta-kà i-na é-bé-tí-a ta-áš-ku-un ki-ma é lá a-ší-ri-im (55-CCT 3: 20 rev. 26 – 35) The reference to putting one wall on another likely had to do with somehow using the first wall as one’s own, or as support for a separately built wall in contact with the other. Veenhof suggests rendering the discussion between Lamassī and Ikün-pīya as a contrasting statement by each, i. e. “I will enter into a partnership with him.” followed by Lamassī retorting that no such partnership will happen. If so, then the document must be translated at that point “(but I countered that you (Pūšukēn) would say) ‘I will not enter into any such partnership.’” Either way, the result of the letter is clear.  “We paid 4 minas 22⅚ shekels for the house of Sutiya.” 2⅚ ma-na a-na é sú-tí-a ni-iš-qúl (85‐TC 2: 14 rev. 33 – 34).

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of Zizi and the narrow road there for 6⅓ minas silver around the end of September or early October.²⁰ It is likely that Pūšu-kēn was purchasing even more houses this year. Other purchases of houses are mentioned in Pūšu-kēn’s letters, though their relation to the year of vengeance is based only on their depiction of Pūšu-kēn pursuing the same strategy. For example, Pūšu-kēn had written to Kulumaya instructing him to apply about half of a 30 minas silver shipment to buying the house of the son of Issu-rīk, and borrow the rest, depositing the debt tablet in his own storeroom.²¹ Kulumaya responded that he had purchased 350 textiles, 14 donkeys, feed, hand tin, loans to transporters, clothing, exit taxes, etc. totaling 31 minas 47 shekels, meaning that he hadn’t put any of the silver toward the house.²² In a different letter, Aššur-massui stated to Pūšu-kēn that his father Dalaš and Aššur-nada s. Puzur-Anna had sold Pūšu-kēn a house in Kanesh for 16 minas, but that Pūšu-kēn had not yet paid. Now the ‘son of a dead man,’ Aššur-massui demanded that Pūšu-kēn pay.²³ In still another letter, a man named Kunania wrote a letter to a colleague noting that Pūšu-kēn had received the rent of a house on behalf of the sons of Aššur-mutabbil and discussed Pūšu-

 “We purchased for you two šubtum measures of Aḫu-waqar’s house in Ḫaḫḫum which is at the front of the suqinnum road of the house of Zizi for 6⅓ minas of silver and (we …ed?) the silver of the lady.” ší-ta [šu-b]a-at é a-ḫu-qar ša ḫa-ḫi-[im] ša a-pá-at sú-qí-nim ša é zi-zi-⸢x⸣ ana 6⅓ ma-na kù.babbar ni-iš-a-ma-ku-ma [x] x ⸢a-wi-il5-tim⸣ [x] x (130-BIN 4: 221 rev. 17-u.e. 23). I thank K. R. Veenhof for the suggestion of [šu-b]a-at and kù.babbar. The dating of the letter arises from observing that a previous letter included Dān-Aššur in the matters, and that this one had been written since the tin shortage had let up. See Chapter 15 for more information.  “You wrote. You said, ‘Kuziziya brings you 15 minas 37½ shekels silver, its excise added. Weigh it out as payment for the houses of Issu-arik’s son and pull out my tablet and put it among my tablets in the storeroom.’” ta-áš-pu-ra-am um-ma a-ta-ma 15½! ma-na 7½ gín kù.babbar ni-is-ḫa-sú diri ku-nu-ki-a ku-zi-zi-a na-ší a-na ší-im é-tí ša dumu i-sú-ri-iq šu-uq-lá-ma ṭup-pì šé-ṣí-a-ma i-na qé-ra-be-tim i-na li-bi4 ṭup-pì-a šu-uk-na-šu (98-TC 3: 36 obv. 7– 14).  “Thereof, Kulumaya brings 350 kutānum textiles-they cost 20½ minas silver, 14 donkeys – their cost was 3 minas 14 shekels (silver), their feed was ⅔ mina (silver), 1 talent 5 minas hand tin at a rate of 14 shekels – its silver was 4 minas 37 shekels, 5 shekels for sa’itum(?)1.5 minas capital payment for 3 packers, 6 shekels for their outfitting, 16½ shekels for the exit tax, 3 shekels losses from the purification, 1½ shekels for the outfitting of Kulumaya, and 10½ minas tin separately.” ⸢šà⸣.ba 3 me-at 50 ku-ta-nu 20½ [ma-na] kù.babbar ⸢it⸣-bu-lu 14 anše.hi.[a] ⸢3⸣ ma-na 14 gín ší-im-šu-n[u] ⸢ú-ku⸣-ul-ta-áš-nu ⅔ ma-[na] ⸢1⸣ gú 5 ma-na ˘ an.na qá-tim 14 gín.ta 4½ ma-na 7 gín ⸢kù⸣.babbar-áp-šu 5 gín ša sà-e-tim 1½ ma-na be-úlá-at ⸢3⸣ kà-ṣa-ri 6 gín lu-bu-šu-nu 16½ gín wa-ṣí-tum 2 gín i-ma-sà-im im-ṭí 1½ gín lu-bu-uš ša -lu-ma- 10½ ma-na an.na a-ḫa-ma ku-lu-ma-a na-ší (98-TC 3: 36 rev. 37-le.e. 45).  (Kt 91/k 171 obv. 2– 11, courtesy K. Veenhof). This house purchase must be kept separate from the house of Ennānum s. Aššur-rē’um. Though both cost the same amount, this purchase was paid off quickly.

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kēn receiving rent of the house on his behalf as well.²⁴ Another merchant named Aššur-imittī complained to Imdī-ilum, Pūšu-kēn, and Uṣur-ša-Ištar that they had written him that he needed more information so that he could sell a particular person’s house.²⁵ Still other references to house purchases exist.²⁶ Pūšu-kēn also sold houses. He sold one to a man named Aššur-ṭāb s. Matāti, though the latter abandoned the house for some reason, prompting one of Pūšukēn’s colleagues to request direction on the matter, especially considering that the colleague had purchased a house of his own and needed funds.²⁷ Nor was this housing spree necessarily limited to Pūšu-kēn. Lamassī’s complaint that Pūšu-kēn wasn’t keeping up with Šalim-aḫum implies that others were purchasing houses as well. Another well-known merchant, Imdī-ilum, also bought multiple houses at one time. While Imdī-ilum was residing in Anatolia at some point during his life, his representatives Aššur-imittī and Buburānum reported to him that after they received his 72 minas of silver, they purchased some merchandise on his behalf, but also purchased three different

 “Pūšu-kēn collected the rent for the house on behalf of the sons of Aššur-mutabbil. Is it good that way? Now Pūšu-kēn has (begun?) taking the rent of the house on my behalf.” ig-ri é-tim kima dumu-e a-šur-mu-ta-bi4-il5 pu-šu-ke-en6 il5-qé ki-a-am da-mì-iq ki-ma a-na-ku ig-ri be-tim lá-qáim a-ni pu-šu-ke-en6 il5-té-qé (103-AKT 1: 14 rev. 18 – 24).  (Kt n/k 178 lo.e. 19-rev. 24, courtesy S. Bayram)  “Concerning the houses .. next to…” a-šu-mì é-[be-tim …] ša ṭé-[ḫi …] (42-BIN 6: 100 obv. 9 – 10). In this fragmentary letter, Šalim-aḫum began discussing the house of someone (name broken) just as the text breaks off. The relation of the house involving Abu-šalim (Prag I: 577) is difficult to connect to the year of vengeance.  “You wrote me. You said, ‘The silver of Puzur-Ištar son of Aššur-mālik, which his brother promised to pay me within 40 days, he will pay off the silver in full in the city. Have him pay his excise tax and shipping charges.’ I questioned Ennamānum and he said, ‘The silver is deposited for interest.’ As for me, I need its interest. I purchased the houses and I will return my share (?). … To Pūšu-kēn: Your house, which we sold (offered?) to Aššur-ṭāb son of Kudadi as a replacement(?), now they are now abandoning(?) the house. Let your message come, concerning whether to (do) this or not.” ta-áš-pu-ra-nim um-ma a-tù-nu-ma kù.babbar ša puzur4-ištar dumu d a‐šur-ma-lik a-ḫu-šu a-na 40 u4-mì-im e-pu-lá-ni kù.babbar šál-ma-am i‐na a-lim ki i-ša-qá-lam ni-is-ḫa-tí-šu ú ša-du-a-sú ša-áš-qí-lá-šu en-na-ma-na-am ⸢áš⸣-al-ma um-ma šu-ut-ma kù.babbar ⸢a‐na⸣ ṣí-ib-tim na-dí a-na-ku ⸢ṣí⸣-ba-sú ḫa-áš--ku é-be-tí áš-am-ma qá-tí-a ú-ta-ri(ar!?) … (12 intervening lines) … a-na pu-šu-ke-en6 qí-bi4-ma é-tám ku-a-am ša a-na a-šur-dùg dumu du-da-dí a-na pu-ùḫ-im ni-dí-nu a-ni é-tám i-na-dí-ú té-er-ta-kà a-ni-tám lá a-ni-tám li-li-kam (106‐TC 3: 29 obv.3 – 13, rev. 25 – 30). Several passages in this letter are difficult and the translation here is only provisional, with several problems still to be resolved. The author of the letter, Aššur-mālik, is not to be confused with Pūšu-kēn’s brother-in-law, who died in the year of vengeance. This letter cannot certainly be connected to the same year.

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houses of varying cost and likely size.²⁸ Whether these houses had become available at the same time as Pūšu-kēn’s, and whether Imdī-ilum’s archive will yield large numbers of tablets from the year of vengeance, remains to be seen.²⁹ Pūšu-kēn’s purchases, impressive in number as they seem to be, also emphasize his reliance on representatives at home in Assur. Pūšu-kēn needed his lowerranking representatives, Aššur-bāni and Šalim-Aššur, to tell him what others would not. But they also reminded him that he needed his senior associates because of their capital. Pūšu-kēn needed Šū-Ḫubur to pay, and Šalim-aḫum reinforced Pūšu-kēn’s need of him by paying for a large part of one of the houses. Šalim-aḫum’s participation in Pūšu-kēn’s house-buying further contextualizes the possible ways in which Šalim-aḫum perceived of himself in a competitive relationship with his peers. While Šū-Ḫubur interacted with Pūšu-kēn on many other occasions, it seems that whatever level of cooperation existed between Šalim-aḫum and Šū-Ḫubur, Šalim-aḫum was not above highlighting their different degrees of success in negotiating a deal. That Šalim-aḫum felt some sort of competitive distance between himself and Šū-Ḫubur is particularly interesting considering his son Ennam-Aššur eventually married Šū-Ḫubur’s daughter. Yet it was ultimately Šalim-aḫum who offered a significant amount of capital for the house purchase. Šalim-aḫum could have felt a need to compete with ŠūḪubur precisely because the two were at a similar stage of life. Šalim-aḫum would not want Šū-Ḫubur to appear more generous, lest Šalim-aḫum unnecessarily appear inferior. Thus representative relationships were fraught with tension and one-upmanship, and Pūšu-kēn’s efforts to purchase houses during the year of vengeance serve to highlight the complexity of the social aspects of his commercial network. Not only was Pūšu-kēn likely to need Šū-Ḫubur’s help in Assur, he was also responsible for managing the latter’s needs in Kanesh. One affair during the year

 “The rest of your silver is 11 minas 49 shekels. We bought the house of Nūr-Ištar for you for 10 minas silver. We bought the house of Šū-Bēlum for you for 3 minas 5 shekels. We received silver from Šīmat-Aššur and paid. We gave her 5 minas silver from this shipment. We paid 5 minas silver to the eponym, the price for the house of Šū-Ḫabura. The remainder of your money is 1 mina 50 shekels.” ší-tí kù-pì-kà 11⅚ ma-na lá 1 gín a-na 10 ma-na kù.babbar é bi-lá-nim dumu nu-ur-ištar ni-ìš-a-ma-kum a-na 3 ma-na 5 gín kù.babbar é šu-be-lim ni-ìš-ama-kum kù.babbar iš-tí ší-ma-at-a-šùr ni-il5-qé-ma [ni-iš]-qúl 5 ma-na kù.babbar i-na lu-qutim a-ni-tim [ni]-dí-ší-im 5 ma-na kù.babbar a-na ší-im é šu-ḫa-bu-ra a-na li-mì-im ni-iš-qúl šítí kù-pì-kà […] 1⅚ ma-na […] (CTMMA I: 75 rev. 39-le.e. 48). See also Michel 2001a: 184– 186, Dercksen 2004: 266 n. 709. Veenhof notes that this document is to be connected with VS 26: 13, see Veenhof 1992, 18.  The document mentioning Pūšu-kēn and the house next to his in Kanesh(?) does not belong to the year of vengeance (ICK 3: 21a/b).

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of vengeance was particularly onerous. Major merchants enjoyed certain benefits by being stakeholders in the colony at Kanesh. As a result, these merchants were assessed an annual dātum payment, apparently during the mid-season accountings. Pūšu-kēn was in regular communication with both Šū-Ḫubur and Aššurimittī about their various responsibilities to the colony.³⁰ At some point early in the season, Pūšu-kēn communicated to Šū-Ḫubur that the latter had been assessed at 20 minas silver, with an additional charge of ½ mina silver.³¹ Claiming they were in distress, both Šū-Ḫubur and Aššur-imittī asked Pūšu-kēn to diminish their assessment burdens. Pūšu-kēn tried to convince the colony that the two brothers should pay a combined single share. The colony office received their request with frustration and perhaps suspicion. They retorted of Šū-Ḫubur and Aššur-imittī “Are we more men than them?”³² Pūšu-kēn warned Šū-Ḫubur and Aššur-imittī to take care of the matter, considering the ire they had provoked at the colony office.

Figure 13: Seal of Šū-Ḫubur

Pūšu-kēn then needed to make their payments. The colony office had assessed the brothers a combined 30 minas silver, with a refund of 1 mina 12 shekels silver.³³ Pūšu-kēn paid and recorded the total silver for the pair at the colony office

 Early in the season, Pūšu-kēn wrote to Aššur-imittī about some pouring procedures, and goods he had received (67-BIN 4: 28 obv. 1-rev. 34).  “The dātum assessment fell at 20 minas, and you will add ½ mina silver.” 20 ma-na.ta datum ik-šu-ud-ma ⸢½⸣ ma-na kù.babbar ta-na-pá-al (80-BIN 6: 63 rev. 12’-13’).  um-ma šu-nu-ma né-nu i-ṣé-ri-šu-nu a-wi!-lá-ni (81-BIN 4: 33 le.e. 50 – 51).  “The dātum-assessment came to 15 minas each and you will be refunded 1 mina 12 shekels silver. I will take half from (each of) your (pl.) silver.” 15 ma-na.ta da-tum ik-šu-ud-ma 1 ma-na

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instead of paying separate amounts. But between Pūšu-kēn and the two brothers, their assessments were separate, and each brother had to agree individually to resolving his part of the assessment. Pūšu-kēn’s necessarily creative process for raising their money reflects this complicated intertwining. Pūšu-kēn reported he had deposited the 28 minas 48 shekels for the two brothers already. Pūšu-kēn first got 12 minas 48 shekels silver taken from cash on hand belonging to Aššurimittī, which either Pūšu-kēn held or was deposited in his account in the colony office.³⁴ The colony initiated a pourings procedure with shares at one mina silver. Pūšu-kēn purchased 2 shares each for Šū-Ḫubur and Aššur-imittī and then transferred this from the shares into their accounts (i. e. the location where it was necessary for the money to end up in order for the assessment to be satisfied).³⁵ This was presumably also from their cash Pūšu-kēn had on hand. Then Pūšu-kēn paid out 12 minas silver to the amount, presumably on credit to Šū-Ḫubur.³⁶ The assessment was therefore paid, sort of, since Pūšu-kēn had used some of his own silver to pay. Apparently, Pūšu-kēn’s silver was only a place holder of sorts, without fully resolving Šū-Ḫubur’s commitments to the colony office, so Šū-Ḫubur was to satisfy the silver within the month, or else he would be charged for using the services of the office. Pūšu-kēn told Šū-Ḫubur that he would be taking the silver from Šū-Ḫubur’s silver, apparently when more came along, reminding Šū-Ḫubur that he and Imdī-ilum had already done Šū-Ḫubur favors during accountings. These favors, to the tune of 6 minas silver, may have come by Pūšu-kēn and Lā-qēpum buying Šū-Ḫubur’s merchandise for cash at good rates, but it was just as likely that the cash itself was the favor. Pūšu-kēn recommended a method that involved a lower interest rate, which seems to have essentially constituted recognizing his deficit to be a low interest loan with the colony office.³⁷ While the exact circumstances are still somewhat vague, it is clear that

12 gín kù.babbar ta-na-pá-lá mì-iš-la i-na kù.babbar-pí-ku-nu a-lá-qé (81-BIN 4: 33 obv. 16 – 20). The N present tannappalā is inferred from the final amount written, 28 minas 48 shekels.  “I weighed out 12 minas 48! (49) shekels silver from the silver of Aššur-imittī.” 12⅔ ma-na 9 gín kù.babbar i-kù.babbar-áp a-šur-i-mì-tí ú-ša-qí-il5(81-BIN 4: 33 obv. 7– 8). I correct 49 shekels to 48 to count for the discrepancy between the cited amounts gathered and the total.  “They (the colony office) initiated a pouring in units of 1 mina of silver and I weighed out 2 minas of silver and I placed 1 minas—its miqittum—in your accounts …” 1 ma-na.ta kù.babbar iš-tap-ku-ma 2 ma-na kù.babbar áš-qúl-ma 1 ma-na mì-qí-sú a-qá-tí-ku-nu aṭ-ḫi-ma (81-BIN 4: 33 obv. 9 – 12).  “… and may Aššur and your gods witness that I took 12 minas of my silver from 10 ḫamuštum-weeks.” a‐šùr ù i-lu-ku-nu li-ṭù-lá 12 ma-na kù.babbar-pí i-na 10 ḫa-am-ša-tim lu al-qé (81‐BIN 4: 33 obv. 12– 14).  This description arises from the following section of the letter: “To Šū-Ḫubur: Why is it that Aššur-imittī wrote me saying: ‘I will take the silver and its interest from your silver.’ As for your

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Pūšu-kēn was forced to spend some social capital in arguing Šū-Ḫubur and Aššur-imittī’s cases, and even after, that complications arose between him and Šū-Ḫubur.³⁸ Again, as important a trader as Pūšu-kēn may have been, in the year of vengeance, his senior associates demanded difficult things of him. Pūšu-kēn’s failure to deliver for Šū-Ḫubur may have complicated his own efforts back in Assur to pursue his own negotiation of sorts. Not only was Pūšu-kēn purchasing houses back in Assur, he was also attempting to renegotiate the terms of his joint-stock funds with his investors, particularly to reduce the remaining time on the contract. Pūšu-kēn’s attempt to renegotiate has been known for some time. In an oft-cited letter, Pūšu-kēn expressed frustration at the fact that Šū-Ḫubur had dictated that he had to continue in the arrangement five more years when he himself wanted three.³⁹ Having just learned of Šū-Ḫubur’s insistence, Pūšu-kēn’s letter reiterated his demand that the joint-stock fund continue for three more years at the most. This letter can now be dated to late in the year of vengeance, somewhere in October. The letter reads: To the investors, Šū-Ḫubur, and my representatives, from Pūšu-kēn: I requested a three-year term from the god. I wrote, “Let me go. Let me clear my active assets (būlātum) and I will go

half of the silver, your brother is satisfied. If you do not satisfy (your half), I myself will satisfy (the silver of) Aššur-imittī. With regard to the 15 minas silver, I will take your share, wherever it is, from your silver. As for myself and Imdī-ilum, we cleared you of obligations at accountings. We weighed out 6 minas silver, (the amount for) your clearance of obligations, from the price of your tin and textiles. If you make a deposit, they will assess you a šaduattum-charge of 10 shekels per(?) 1 mina. If you will take responsibility, let your message come and from the day which we weigh out the silver, you will take 1 shekel of silver interest (per mina per month) in the colony office.” a-na šu-ḫu-bur qí-bi-ma mì-šu ša a-šur-i-mì-tí iš-pu-ra-ni um-ma šu-ut-ma kù.babbar ù ṣí-ba-sú i-na kù.babbar-pí-kà a-lá-qé mì-iš-li-kà kù.babbar a-ḫu-kà ṭá-ib šu-ma lá tù-ṭá-ib ana-ku a-šùr-i-mì-tí ú-ṭá-áb-ma 15 ma-na kù.babbar qá-at-kà a-li i-ba-ší-ú i-na kù.babbar-pì-kà a-lá-qé a-na-ku ù im-dí-dingir i-ni-kà-sí ni-iš-ḫu-ut!-kà 6 ma-na kù.babbar ší-ḫi-ta-kà i-na šíim an.na-ki-kà ù túg-ba-tí-kà ni-iš-qúl šu-ma ma-áš-kà-tám ta-ša-kà-nam 1 ma-na-um 10 gín ša-du-a-tám ú-ša-du-ú-kà šu-ma tù-ša-za!-az té-er-ta-kà li-li-kam-ma iš-tù u4-mì-im ša kù.babbar ni-iš-qú-lu 1 gín.ta ṣí-ib-tám i-na kà-ri-im ta-lá-qé (81-BIN 4: 33 obv. 20-rev. 43).  There is another letter concerning dātum-assessments written to Pūšu-kēn, that may be from this year. Aššur-idī wrote to Pūšu-kēn asking in the first that he pay 5 % of his assessment (3 shekels to the mina), and failing that to only pay half a man’s share (CCT 5: 6a). Stating that he had 37 minas on his account, he nonetheless does not state categorically what the assessment was. It is possible that a man’s share was always 10 minas silver, but this requires much more evidence. Aššur-idī states that he has been living in Assur, presumably after operating in Anatolia(?) for thirty years. But thirty years is such a round number that little can be understood from it. At present, there is insufficient detail in the letter to corroborate it being from this same year.  Previous treatments of the letter include Dercksen 1999a: 85 – 86.

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out.” Also, let me establish much before you (??). Šū-Ḫubur spoke five years as my term. Now, you are(?) in agreement. As for me, I did not come before(?) him. I said, “I will not wait 5 years. Let me go until the term I asked of the god and let me clear my assets.” To my merchants which I ‘carry’ 2 and ⅓ you did not … He wasted much silver. He is not planted (firm? mature?) and I do not want to name him. I said (to myself), “As soon as they go, the merchant will release every shekel of silver to them and then they will gather mine as much as possible.” May Aššur and your (pl.) god witness (that) I have been deprived of two talents of silver! My dear lords, if you will, judge how much excise tax the houses of my investors will exact and seal a memorandum stating that my maškattum can continue for three more years so that they may not seize the silver and write to me your kind words through my servant so that I can gather every shekel of my bulātum before the harvest and (…).⁴⁰

Pūšu-kēn’s frustration was primarily with Šū-Ḫubur, whom he addressed specifically among his investors. Precisely who Pūšu-kēn meant by the merchant who was not mature and had wasted money is difficult to know. Pūšu-kēn hoped not to name him, suggesting that either the investors would instantly know or never figure it out. It probably wasn’t Šū-Ḫubur, but there is no way to be sure. But Pūšu-kēn’s relationship with Šū-Ḫubur was under stress. Earlier in the year, even before Pūšu-kēn was negotiating Šū-Ḫubur’s assessment, Šū-Ḫubur was asking for other things. When he wrote to Pūšu-kēn in the late spring and asked him to treat Ennam-Aššur well, he also expressed concerns about his assets held by a man named Puzur-Anna s. Qayyātum. The latter owed him some money but had no assets in Assur. Šū-Ḫubur asked Pūšu-kēn to shake the man down for whatever he could there in Anatolia.⁴¹ Whatever Pūšu-kēn’s actions in the interim, Šū-Ḫubur complained about the matter in the early autumn:

 a-na um-mì-a-ni šu-ḫu-bur ù ša ki-ma i-a-tí qí-bi-ma um-ma pu-šu-⸢ke⸣-en6-ma 3 ša-na-at u4‐me i[š]-tí dingir e-ri-iš um-ma a-na-ku-ma la-li[k] bu-lá-ti lu-za-ki-a-ma e-⸢ṣa⸣-am ù mada[m m]a-aḫ-ri-šu-nu lá-áš-ku-⸢un⸣ šu-ḫu-bur 5 ša-na-at u4-me iq-bi-a-am ù a-tù-nu ma-ag-ratù-nu a-na-ku ki? lá am-ḫu-ur-šu um-ma a-na-ku-ma 5 ša-na-at ù-lá ú-qá-a a-dì ma-lá u4-me ša iš-tí dingir e-ri-šu lá-lik-ma bu-lá-tí-a lu-za-ki-a-am a-na dam.gàr-ri-a ša a-té-bé-lu 2-šé-na ù ša-lá-ša-at ù-lá ta-ší-im-tum kù.babbar ma-dum ir-tù-qá-ni ù-lá na-ṭù-ma šu-mì-šu-nu ù-lá úda-a-ku-nu-tí um-ma a-na-ku-ma ma-tí i-lu-ku-ma dam.gàr kù.babbar 1 gín ú-šar-šu-nu-tí-ma ù i-a-tí ša qá-ru-bi4-im [ú]-qá-ru-bu-nim a-šùr ù i-lu-ku-nu [li]-ṭù- kù.babbar [1?] gú 2 gú ru-qú lu-ma-sí be-lu-a a-tù-nu šu-ma li-bi4-ku-nu ma-lá ni-is-ḫa-tum é um-mì-a-ni-a i-na-sà-ḫa-ni mì-il5-kà-ma ša 3 ša-na-at ma-áš!-kà-tí i-[…] lu-ku-ma kù.babbar lá i-ṣa-bu-tù ta!-aḫ-sí-is-tám ḫi-ir-ma-ma a-wa-at-ku-[nu] da-mì-iq-tám iš-tí ṣú-ḫa-ri-a lá-pí-ta-nim-ma kù.babbar 1 gín bulá-tí-a a-na ⸢ḫa⸣-ar-pè lu-pá-ḫe-er-ma (89-BIN 4: 32 obv. 1-rev. 38).  “Concerning the matter of Puzur-Anna son of Qayyātum, here, wherever there is a shekel of silver to be taken, it is not there. There, as much as you are able, make the man stand up and cause him to pay, and give him your word in a bound agreement about the purchases. If his sealed tablet with his seal here he does not hold, bind him.” a-šu-mì ša puzur4-a-n[a du]mu

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Regarding the matter of the son of Qayyātum, who are you that you did not write me this concerning the matters? I heard that the man used strong words and he owes about 30 minas silver to Aššūr-Šamšī his brother and his sealed tablet is there. Inquire and let your complete report come.⁴²

This must have been one of the things that Pūšu-kēn worried about when he had written to his colleague Puzur-Aššur. In Puzur-Aššur’s surviving response, written around the beginning of September, he reported that Pūšu-kēn’s investors were well disposed to him and that his fears were misplaced.⁴³ But at the same time, Puzur-Aššur reported that Šū-Ḫubur had asked why Pūšu-kēn had sent the silver of Ela, likely Pūšu-kēn’s own revenues, to some one else.⁴⁴ ŠūḪubur seemed to have been frustrated that Pūšu-kēn was not buying goods at his house. But given that Puzur-Aššur mentioned this in the context of commenting on the investors, it is appropriate to see the two matters as connected. Pūšukēn was already suspicious that Šū-Ḫubur would not treat him fairly, or procure goods to his advantage. Pūšu-kēn was nervous, and Puzur-Aššur was reporting because Pūšu-kēn’s joint-stock fund was under review. An associate named Šū-Kūbum had been involved in making arrangements for a meeting of his investors.⁴⁵ Šalim-aḫum was writing to him about his investors as well,⁴⁶ and assets Šalim-aḫum mentioned

qá-a-tim a-na-kam a-šar kù.babbar 1 gín lá-qá-em ú-lá i-ba-ší a-ma-kam ki-ma ta-le--ú a-wilam ša!-zi-iz-ma kù.babbar ša-áš-qí-il5-ma a-na tár-ki-is-tim a-na ší-a-ma-tim pá-kà dí-in-šu-um šu-ma ṭup-pu-šu ḫa-ar-mu-um ša ku-nu-ki-šu a-na-kam lá ú-kà-al ru-ta-ki-is (65-VS 26: 64 obv. 3-rev. 16).  a-šu-mì ša dumu qá-a-tim mì-šu-um a-ni-um ša mì-ma-ša-ma lá ta-áš-pu-ra-nim a-wi-lúm e‐mu-qá-tám e-ta-wu a-ša-me-ma kù.babbar 30 ma- a-na a-šùr-utu-ši a-ḫi-šu ḫa-bu-ul-ma ṭup-pu-šu ḫa-ar-mu-um a-ma-kam i-ba-ší ša-i-il5-ma té-er-ta-kà za-ku-tum li-li-kam (86-CCT 6: 47c rev. 22-le.e. 32).  “You wrote me. You said, ‘Inform me about what you heard from the talk of my investors.’ There are no complaints. Your heart must not bear any concern.” ta-áš-pu-ra-am um-ma a-ta-ma mì-ma i-pí um-mì-a-ni-a ta-ša-me-ú-ni uz-ni pí-té ta-zi-im-tum mì-ma lá-šu li-ba-kà ša-ni-a-tám mìma lá ú-ba-lam (129-TC 2: 7 rev. 32-le.e. 35). The timing of the letter is discussed below in the chapter on the disruption of the trade.  “Regarding the matter of Ela: Šū-Ḫubur said, ‘Why did he send the silver somewhere else?’” a-dí ša e-lá um-ma šu-ḫu-bu-ur-ma mì-šu-um kù.babbar a-šar ša-ni-im ú-šé-ri-ib (129-TC 2: 7 le.e. 36 – 37).  “In accordance with the letter which you wrote to me, we gathered your investors and we brokered an agreement. Now, their sealed tablet they bring to you.” a-ma-lá na-áš-pár-tim ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni um-me-a-ni-kà nu-pá-ḫe-er-ma ⸢nu⸣-ma-ge5-er {x} ù ṭup-pá-am ša ku-nu-ki-šu-nu na-áš-ú-ni-kum (91-ATHE 31 obv. 2– 6).  “From Šalim-aḫum to Pūšu-kēn: Concerning the matter about your investors … (rest of obverse and reverse broken) … textile(s) … ( purchase?) … Also, you will say to Ilī-bānī, ‘I will dis-

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in his letter show up in another letter in which Pūšu-kēn’s representatives reported on their inability to force a merchant to raise money as Pūšu-kēn had demanded.⁴⁷ Though miscues and avoidances seem to characterize Pūšu-kēn’s interaction with Šū-Ḫubur, Pūšu-kēn also had indicators that things were going his way. As Aššur-imittī thanked Pūšu-kēn for sticking with him after some humiliation, he reported that the investors had agreed to his request to limit the financial arrangment term to three years instead of five.⁴⁸ Yet all the wishes of good intentions among the investors were not completely accurate, at least in Pūšu-kēn’s view. In a letter in which they also mentioned getting money out of Puzur-Anna s. Qayyātum, Pūšu-kēn’s representatives, Šalim-Aššur and Aššur-mālik, wrote him about a meeting with the investors: “Concerning the matter about which you wrote, we gathered your investors for you. They read your letter and said, ‘Whatever wages he has received, income he has gained, houses he has bought, whatever (people) …’”⁴⁹ The sentence leads into the lower half of the tablet, which is missing. When the letter resumes on the other side, it appears that Šamaš-taklāku was bringing the relevant tablets, followed by some disappointing news: “Aššur-nādā son of Puzur-Anna and the son of Mešar-rābi did not want to seal the tablet. They said, ‘We also (will

patch (your tablets?) … .’ 1½ minas [silver(?) …] and 5 minas silver … pašallum gold and ⅓ mina …” um-ma ša-lim-a-ḫu-um-[ma] a-na pu-šu-ke-en6 qí-[bi-ma] a-šu-mì ša um-me-a-ni-[kà] ta x […] x [rest of obv. and rev. broken] ma-da-[…] tùg iš ma am […] ù a-na dil5-ba-ni um-ma a-ta-ma dub[pé?-kà?] … a-ṭá-ra-ad! 1½ ma-[na kù].gi ù 5 ma-na kù. x [x x] pá-šál-lam ù ⅓ ma-[na x x …] (93-RA 81: 19 obv. 1-le.e. 8’). The tablet is heavily broken. The 1½ minas silver(?) here may refer to the same silver mentioned in 92-TC 1: 28.  “Concerning the matter of the merchant about which you wrote to us, you said, “Let him raise about ½ mina silver for my tadmiqtum-fund. He does not want to raise the money. We borrowed 1½ minas silver and we wrote 3 minas silver with the investors from the assets of the ebuttum-loan in a tablet under the name of the merchant. All the merchants gave each 4 minas of silver to him. If you desire, you yourself add 1 mina of silver to him. Send the 1½ minas of silver which we owe immediately. We will return it.” a-šu-mì ša dam.gàr ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni um-ma a-tama kù.babbar ½ ma-na a-na ta-ad-mì-iq-tí-a lu-ra-dí-am ra-du-am ú-lá i-mu-a 1½ ma-na ni-iḫbu-ul-ma 3 ma-na kù.babbar iš-tí um-mì-a-ni i-na ša e-bu-ṭí i-na ṭup-pì-im šu-mì dam.gàr ni-il5pu-ut ku-lu um-mì-a-ni 4 ma-na.ta i-dí-nu-šum šu-ma li-bi-kà a-ta a-ma-kam 1 ma-na kù.babbar ṣí-ib-šum 1½ ma-na ša ni-iḫ-bu-lu iš-tí pá-ni-e-ma šé-bi-lam lu nu-ta-er (92-TC 1: 28 lo.e. 19-rev. 32).  “Your investors agreed according to your instructions.” a-ma-lá té-er-tí-kà um-mì-a-ni-kà numa-ge5-er (94-BIN 6: 24 rev. 13 – 15).  a-na a-wa-tim ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni um-mì-a-ni-kà nu-pa-ḫe-er-kà na-áš-pá-ar-ta-kà iš-ta-me-ú-ma um-ma šu-nu-ma lu qá-ra-tám iq-ra lu ir-be ú-šé-ri-ib lu be-tám iš-am ma-num xxxxx ⸢BA⸣ NI (95‐TC 2: 10 obv. 4– 11).

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agree) if our partners are in agreement.’ Make your own decision there.”⁵⁰ Apparently Puzur-Anna s. Qayyātum had died and negotiations with his sons were not going well. Thus, unfortunately for Pūšu-kēn, the investors had not come to a consensus about his joint-stock fund. In fact, Pūšu-kēn had sent some silver belonging to Puzur-Anna back to Assur and was chided by his associates.⁵¹ ŠūḪubur had taken some silver belonging to Puzur-Anna and would not release it, likely the same silver.⁵² Physical analysis of the tablet indicates that Pūšu-kēn was not in Kanesh when he wrote the long angry letter about an immature merchant, suggesting he was somewhere on his last circuit through Purušḫattum when he wrote it, in October.⁵³ At this point, he would be in Assur in person within two months. Though he had heard that his investors were pleased before, with the news that the two investors had not wanted to sign, Pūšu-kēn’s mood evidently darkened. Yet it appears that Pūšu-kēn was ultimately successful in negotiating a three year term, as opposed to a five year term. A letter came to him, evidently before he had left for Assur, reporting that the investors, including Šū-Ḫubur, had agreed to set his term at three years.⁵⁴ By the end of the year, Pūšu-kēn could

 ṭup-pè […] dutu-ta-ak-lá-ku na-⸢áš⸣-[a-kum] a-šùr-na-da dumu puzur4-a-na ù dumu me-šargal ṭup-pá-am [k]à-na-kam lá i-mu-ú [um]-ma šu-nu-ma ú né-nu [k]i-⸢ma⸣ tap-pá-e-ni-ma ⸢ma⸣ag-ra-ni a-ta a-ma-kam ma-lá-kà (95-TC 2: 10 rev. 1’-9’).  Pūšu-kēn had placed his hands on the silver and put labels on different sacks. On one he wrote, “This is from Puzur-Anna.” On another he wrote “This is from Puzur-Aššur, it is not ‘property’ of the father.” His representatives counseled him to avoid writing such things so as to prevent the possibility that someone might encounter the sacks and claim that either one of the dead men owed them money and take it as a result. 96-VS 26: 10 obv.7– 10.  “Šū-Ḫubur was unwilling to give the 5½ minas silver from the son of Qayyātum. He said, ‘To his brother I will … (about ten signs missing) … and give it to him.’” 5½ ma-na kù.babbar ša dumu qa-a-a-tim šu-ḫu-bur ta-da-nam lá i-mu-a-ni-a-tí um-ma šu-ut-ma a-na a-ḫi-šu a-[x …] a‐da-an-šu (95‐TC 2: 10 rev. 9’‐le.e. 13’)  The pXRF results from this tablet differ significantly from the range of values associated with tablets known to be from Kanesh.  “From the investors, Šū-Ḫubur, Aššur-bāni, and Šalim-Aššur to Pūšu-kēn: You wrote to your investors, (saying) ‘Set my term at three years.’ Your investors are in agreement. Anything … (a long break in the letter) … Let your message come. Do not fear whatsoever. …. are in agreement. … terms … which you wrote … they agree with you.” um-ma um-mì-a-nu šu-ḫu-bur a-šùrba-ni ù šál-ma-a-šùr-ma a-na pu-šu-ke-en6 qí-bi-ma a-na um-mì-a-ni-kà ta-áš-pu-ra-am um-ma ata-m[a 3] mu u4-me-e šu-uk-n[a-nim] um-mì-a-nu-[kà ma]-ag-ru mì-ma […] x‐bi [remainder of obverse and large portion of reverse broken] [té-er-ta-kà] li-li-kam [mì-ma lá ta]-pá-lá-aḫ [… b]i maag-ru […] x u4-me-e […] ša [ta‐á]š-pu-ra-ni [… ma‐a]g-ru-kà (90‐BIN 6: 105 obv. 1– 10, rev. 1’ – 6’).

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look forward to a joint-stock fund that he would terminate in REL 85.⁵⁵ But during much of the early autumn, this conclusion was not nearly foregone. Pūšu-kēn was feeling pressure from one more source—his home. In the same letter that Lamassī asked Pūšu-kēn to come home to deal with the issue of shared walls in the house of Abum-ilī, she also stated another reason for him to come home: “Now, the girl has quite grown up. Get up and come here! Place her in the lap of Aššur. So get going!”⁵⁶ She reiterated the same plea in another contemporaneous letter.⁵⁷ There was another girl just sent to Assur with Dān-Aššur, who had just arrived before these letters were written.⁵⁸ But she was a low-status girl, who had just become part of the household. When Lamassī discussed ‘the girl,’ she meant Pūšu-kēn’s own daughter who was preparing for a big moment in her life.⁵⁹ Based on the analysis of Pūšu-kēn’s sons’ ages, it is not unreasonable to suppose that his daughter was roughly fifteen, and that to put someone on the lap of Assur was done at the same age as marriage. Pūšu-kēn’s daughter Aḫaḫa became an ugbabtum priestess, the initiation of which seems clearly wrapped up in the apparent ceremony described by putting her in the lap of Aššur. However, some disagreement has surrounded the question of how many daughters Pūšu-kēn and Lamassī had. Either they had two daughters: Aḫaḫa and Waqqurtum, or Waqqurtum was simply a nickname for Aḫaḫa. The circumstances in the year of vengeance suggest that Waqqurtum was indeed Aḫaḫa’s nickname. At the same time Lamassī was asking Pūšu-kēn to set their daughter Aḫaḫa in the lap of Assur, Pūšu-kēn was asking Puzur-Aššur to convert his shares in Puzur-Aššur’s joint-stock fund into Waqqurtum’s property. Within a month of La Another document belongs to this moment, but is too broken to be of much help: “From ŠūḪubur, Aššur-bāni and Šalim-Aššur to Pūšu-kēn: 1⅓ minas silver the account of the investors we ‘entered’ and from the silver which Aššur-Šamšī took … (?) Both the naruqqum and everything there Lā-qēpum and Aššur-Šamšī …” um-ma šu-ḫu-bu-ur a-šur-ba-ni ù ša-lim-a-šur- a-na pušu-ke-en6 qí-bi-ma 1⅓ ma-na kù.babbar qá-tí um-mì-a-ni-ma né-ru-ub-ma i-na kù.babbar ša ašur-utu-ši ni-il5-qé lu na-ru-qum lu mì-ma a-ma-kam [l]á-qé-ep ù a-šur-utu-ši (88‐CCT 3: 21b obv. 1– 9).  ú ṣú-ḫa-ar-tum da-ni-iš ir-tí-bi tí-ib-a-ma a-tal-kam a-na sú-ni a-šur šu-ku-ší ù šé-ep ì-lí-kà ṣaba-at (55-CCT 3: 20 u.e. 38-le.e. 40).  “The girl is growing up, so come and place her on the lap of Aššur.” ṣú-⸢ḫa⸣-[ar]-tim ir-tíbi4 ku-ta-bi4-id-ma al-kam-ma a-na sú-un da-šur šu-ku-ší (57-BIN 4: 9 rev. 20 – 23).  In 55-CCT 3: 20, Dān-Aššur’s arrival with some copper utensils is mentioned (l. 5 – 6), and Lamassī makes reference to a boy growing up in l. 17– 22, who seems to be the same person mentioned in a letter Pūšu-kēn wrote to Lamassī from Anatolia in early August while Dān-Aššur was leaving, mentioning Dān-Aššur bringing the boy and also a maid.  This reflects the prevailing understanding of the identity of the girl, as either Waqqurtum or Aḫaḫa. See Kryszat 2004b; Michel 2001a.

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massai’s letters about the lap of Aššur, Puzur-Aššur responded that the conversion of shares could not happen.⁶⁰ Ḫinnāya also communicated Puzur-Aššur’s decision to Pūšu-kēn: At first you wrote me: ‘As for the 2 minas gold, let Puzur-Aššur write Waqqurtum’s name in his tablet.’ Thereafter you wrote me: ‘The 2 minas gold are (to be) credited to my account.’ (We wrote), ‘We will credit the 2 minas gold to Pūšu-kēn’s account,’ Puzur-Aššur said, ‘Do not write Waqqurtum’s name afterward,’ so we cannot associate it to her account. We will request so that 2 minas gold is written for the name of the merchant (i. e. Pūšu-kēn). Make your decision there.⁶¹

This temporal connection will be more apparent when Puzur-Aššur is discussed in conjunction with the disruption of trade during the year. But it’s worth noting a few details here. First, it appears that Puzur-Aššur was making some adjustments to his joint-stock fund around the same time that Pūšu-kēn was dealing with his investors. Whether their contemporaneous developments were due to some larger pattern in relation to investors and managers is too vague to know at this point. Second, if Waqqurtum and Aḫaḫa were the same person, then the timing of getting the daughter some assets as she set off for life as an ugbabtum priestess seems to make some sense. A letter envelope to PuzurAššur with Waqqurtum’s seal survives, suggesting that they communicated with each other directly.⁶² Aḫaḫa survived Pūšu-kēn, and the bulk of Aḫaḫa’s correspondence comes from after Pūšu-kēn’s death.⁶³ In the end, Aḫaḫa sat on Aššur’s lap and continued to interact in the family. But in the early autumn of the year of vengeance Lamassī could not yet know that, and this would have been yet another pressure Pūšu-kēn was feeling, thoughts he was thinking likely on the same day he wrote to suggest Šalim-aḫum seize Ilabrat-bāni’s goods.

 “You wrote me, saying, ‘Add 2 minas of gold belonging to the lady to my account.’ In the tablet, the writing of the lady’s name cannot be retained. Let your message go to her.” ta-ášpu-ra-am um-ma a-ta-ma 2 ma-na kù.gi ša a-wi-il5-tim a-qá-tí-a ṭé-ḫi i-ṭup-pì-im lá-pá-tim a-wiil5-tum e ik-lá té-er-⸢ta⸣-kà li-li-⸢kà⸣-ší-im (132-TC 2: 9 rev. 17– 22).  i-na pá-ni-tim ta-áš-pu-ra-am um-ma a-ta-ma 2 ma-na kù.gi puzur4-a-šur i-na ṭup-pí-šu šu-mì wa-qúr-tim li-il5-pu-ut i-na wa-ar-ki-tim ta-áš-pu-ra-am um-ma a-ta-ma 2 ma-na-e kù.gi a-na qátí-a ṭá-ḫi-a um-ma né-nu-ma 2 ma-na kù.gi a-na qá-tí pu-šu-ke-en6 nu-ṭá-ḫa! um-ma puzur4-a-šurma iš-tù-ma šu-mì wa-qúr-tim lá ta-lá-pá-ta-ni ù a-na qá-tí-šu lá nu-ṭá-ḫa-a ni-iš-ta-a-al-ma 2 mana kù.gi šu-mì dam.gàr-ri-im lá-pí-it a-ta a-ma-kam ma-lá-kà (BIN 4: 21 obv. 4-le.e. 26).  ATHE 25.  CCT 5: 8a, BIN 6: 59, Prag I: 680, 20-TC 2: 46—Letters written by Waqqurtum: BIN 4: 96, CCT 3: 41b, TC 3: 17, ATHE 44.

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Some of the pressures experienced by Pūšu-kēn in the year of vengeance were of the kind that could have recurred in any given year, such as colleagues requesting lower assessments at the colony office. But Pūšu-kēn could not have been renegotiating his joint-stock fund every year. And Aḫaḫa’s being set on the lap of Aššur was certainly a significant and once-in-a-lifetime event. Furthermore, Pūšu-kēn’s various home purchases do not necessarily represent an enduring family strategy in real estate. It is hard to justify that Assur had an active real estate market. There are other real estate purchases known, but they are, as best we can tell, more chronologically widespread than Pūšu-kēn’s. For example, Ennam-Aššur bought a structure in Assur, but it was much later than the year of vengeance, after Šalim-aḫum had died.⁶⁴ Many houses were becoming available this year; and while Pūšu-kēn’s joint-stock fund and his daughter’s moment were specific to him, both the concern about the colony office dues, and his strategy to obtain real estate were both bound up in two larger difficulties that affected everyone in the trade during the year of vengeance. Šū-Ḫubur’s attempt to reduce his colony assessment must be seen within the context of a major disruption of trade to the south that cut off Assur from the steady flow of tin and textiles that formed the backbone of their prosperity. And to make matters worse, a plague of sorts was traveling east, claiming the lives of merchants and their loved ones. In the face of an inability to invest his assets on more merchandise, Pūšu-kēn was investing in the one thing that was more plentiful than usual this year. As merchants were dying during the year of vengeance, a grim crop of houses seems to have presented itself. But before discussing the trade disruption and the plague, and before moving from the personal experiences to the larger forces, one more pressure on Pūšu-kēn must be discussed, one that is specific to his relationship with Šalim-aḫum, and likely had the most influence on his role in the interaction between Šalim-aḫum and Ilabrat-bāni. Šalim-aḫum had asked Pūšu-kēn to join him in a shipment of tin, but Pūšu-kēn was clearly not interested.

 The structure was adjacent to palace property, next to his father’s house, and had been owned by one Adudu, according to Kt v/k 150 obv. 1-rev. 21 (courtesy V. Donbaz).

Chapter 14 A Joint Venture Pūšu-kēn was involved in a wide range of commitments, strategies, and commercial pursuits. The various developments during the year of vengeance must have occupied his mind with various effects. However, one more tension, one specifically with Šalim-aḫum, must have played a role while he wrote his letter suggesting Šalim-aḫum seize Ilabrat-bāni’s goods. While the annoyance of managing Ennam-Aššur was one way in which Pūšu-kēn became frustrated with Šalim-aḫum, there was another negotiation going on between them that likely also influenced Pūšu-kēn’s attitude toward Ilabrat-bāni. At the beginning of August, two days before Dān-Aššur was to return to Kanesh from Purušḫattum, and just as he was writing the letter to recommend the plan against Ilabrat-bāni, Pūšu-kēn was facing a dilemma of Šalim-aḫum’s making. Over the last few months, Šalim-aḫum had become increasingly concerned about being shamed “at the city gate,”¹ at the end of the season when Pūšu-kēn returned. Already back in mid-May, Šalim-aḫum had been pursuing tactics that suggest his concerns preceded his mid-summer letters. Now, Šalim-aḫum was looking to eek out every last shekel before the end of the season. But to send merchandise near the end of the season, he needed someone who would see it through under time constraints, someone reliable and capable. He was turning to Pūšu-kēn, engineering a way to align Pūšu-kēn’s short term interests with his own. He asked Pūšu-kēn to be a partner in a joint venture, an operation in which they would send some goods they owned together to Anatolia to sell. Šalim-aḫum’s request and Pūšu-kēn’s negotiation of the joint venture, insofar as we can track its progress, lays bare the subtle conflicts of interest between merchants and their representatives, between colleagues, and to some extent between all merchants in the Assyrian trade. Pūšu-kēn’s dilemma at the beginning of August was the result of a letter he had received from Šalim-aḫum. Šalim-aḫum had written the letter around the second week of July, when he was still looking for the rebellious Ennam-Aššur to return. At the same time, Šalim-aḫum was also looking toward the end of the season, and trying to avoid a shortfall of revenues:

 “So that I will not be ashamed at the city gate …” ma-lá i-na ba-áb a-bu-lim lá a-ba-šu (40CCT 2: 1 rev. 32-le.e. 37 and 37-VS 26: 58 lo.e. 20-rev. 22) Fuller references given immediately below. DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-014

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My dear brother, in order that I not be shamed at the city gate when you arrive, collect every shekel of silver, that which is on terms and the proceeds of my tin and my textiles, so that every shekel of silver will enter my house at your arrival to the benefit of your reputation.²

Šalim-aḫum’s fear was linked to the time of Pūšu-kēn’s return, which was to be at the end of the season. In a later letter he expressed fear of having to pay back money at accounting time as a result of a low balance in his account at the colony office in Kanesh.³ Thus Šalim-aḫum was concerned that his affairs would not be sufficiently in order when accountings would be performed in the kārum at Kanesh near the end of the season. An omission or lack of deposits in the colony office in Kanesh would become news back at Assur, where Šalim-aḫum’s real fear of social pressure was centered. There may have been a proper accounting process in Assur as well that included either the results of the possible accounting from Kanesh, or at least a statement of his account balance with regard to the colony. Regardless, Šalim-aḫum feared his shortfall at the colony would trigger at least some parties to esteem him lower as a result. One way to understand why Šalim-aḫum referenced the gate of the city is that he feared the scope of his shame to be public. Just how news of Šalimaḫum’s financial situation was to percolate through the city is as vague to us as the shame itself was palpable to Šalim-aḫum. But at least part of its cause was clear: Šalim-aḫum had a commitment to have a certain balance in his account at the colony office, and that account balance was directly tied to the volume of silver he was generating. Apart from the goods that Pūšu-kēn described as “both mine and yours” and those Šalim-aḫum described as “the goods between us,” Šalim-aḫum was concerned that the merchandise from three other caravan shipments were not sufficient: one associated with Dān-Aššur, one with Kulumaya and Idī-Suen, and one with Pūšu-kēn.⁴ Pūšu-kēn’s shipment

 a-ḫi a-ta ma-lá i-na a-lá-ki-kà i-na ba-áb a-bu-li-im lá a-ba-šu kù.babbar lu ša ú-me lu ša an.na-ki-a a-num ù túg.hi-a e-mì-id-ma kù.babbar 1 gín a-na be-tí-a i-na a-lá-ki-kà le-ru-ub˘ ma lu šu-um-kà (37-VS 26: 58 lo.e. 20-rev. 27).  “Apart from the goods between us and the tin and textiles of Dan-Aššur’s transport, and Kulumaya and Idi-Suen’s transport, from your transport, my dear brother, you did not leave me any silver! So that I will not be put to shame in the city gate, make some deposits to the colony office in your name (to) my account as previously, so that I will not have to balance anything at accountings.” e-zi-ib ša ba-ri-ni an.na ù túg.hi.a lu ša šé-ep dan-a-šùr lu ša šé-ep ku-lu-ma-a ú ˘ i‐dí-sú-en6 i šé-pì-kà a-ḫi a-ta ⸢kù.babbar⸣ mì-ma lá té-zi-ba-am ma-lá i-na ba-áb a-bu-lim lá a‐ba-šu lu šu-⸢um⸣-kà qá-tí ki-ma ⸢pá⸣-ni-a-tí-ma a é kà-ri-im i-ta-dí-a-ma i-na ni-kà-sí mì-ma lá a-na-pá-al (40-CCT 2: 1 rev. 26-le.e. 37). Šalim-aḫum was also discussing the same sort of thing in 41-AKT 3: 71.  See note immediately above.

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must have come with him in the early spring, and was the one that Šalim-aḫum (in early September) associated with a claim of 58 minas silver.⁵ Evidently, Šalimaḫum felt those remaining claims insufficient to produce silver in his account in the time allotted. Thus Šalim-aḫum wanted Pūšu-kēn to collect everything he could. But he also was asking Pūšu-kēn to join him in a commercial venture, a strategy for increasing his revenues. When Šalim-aḫum wrote to Pūšu-kēn in July, he asked several things. At the beginning of his letter, he asked Pūšu-kēn to purchase some of his inventory in Anatolia as a favor to the tune of 10 minas silver, recognizing that this was at Pūšu-kēn’s discretion.⁶ At the end of the letter, he again asked Pūšu-kēn for the 10 minas silver, but for the joint venture, asking him to “put up 10 minas and let [his] silver be disposed for one or two months.”⁷ The length of one or two months was fairly common, but given the fact that Šalim-aḫum seemed to need the silver in short order and the fact that in a later letter he referenced Pūšu-kēn coming back to Assur in the near future,⁸ the joint venture was clearly meant to have preceded the winter. Pūšu-kēn’s direct response to Šalim-aḫum’s letter, written at what must have been roughly a month before Ilabrat-bāni missed his payment, amounted to a crafted attempt to insulate himself against Šalim-aḫum’s request for capital.

 “58 minas 18½ shekels from the šēpum of Pūšu-kēn” 58 ma-na 18½ gín ša šé-ep pu-šu-ke-en6 (19-BIN 4: 26 obv. 6 – 7).  “My dear brother and colleague, have I not already written you? I said, “Take about 1 talent of tin or 10 textiles from my inventory and do me a favor.” My dear brother, now that it is time (for a) favor, do not overvalue every shekel against my tin and textiles. In addition to the 25 minas silver of Lulu, and the proceeds of my tin and textiles, add the silver and bring it in your transport.” a-ḫi a-ta eb-ri a-ta ma-tí-ma ú-lá áš-pu-ra-kum um-ma a-na-ku-ma i-na ma-áš-kà-tí-a an.na 1 gú ú-ul 10 túg.hi.a li-qé-ma gi5-im-lá-ni a-ḫi a-ta a-na ú-um ga-ma-li-im a-na an.na-ki-a ú ˘ túg.hi-a kù.babbar 1 gín lá tù-šé-qá-ra-am a-ṣé-er 25 ma-na kù.babbar ša lu-lu ú ša an.na˘ ki-a ú túg.hi-a kù.babbar ṭá-ḫi-ma i-šé-pí-kà bi4-lam (37-VS 26: 58 obv. 9-lo.e. 20). Note also: ˘ “(As for) the yield of the textiles and the yield of the 50 minas tin, I will entrust about 1 talent 20 minas silver to Dān-Aššur’s transport.” ší-im túg.hi.a ù ší-im 50 ma-na an.na a-na šé-ep dan˘ a-šùr kù.babbar 1 gú 20 ma-na ú-pá!-qá-ad (38-VS 26: 47 obv. 12– 14).  Fuller passage: “My dear brother and colleague, have I not already written you? I wrote, “Take about 1 talent of tin or 10 textiles from my inventory and do me a favor. … In addition to the silver, 30 minas of Aššur-ṭāb and the yield of textiles for Aššur-mālik’s cargo, put up some 10 minas silver yourself and let your silver be disposed for one or two months.” a-ḫi a-ta ebri a-ta ma-tí-ma ú-lá áš-pu-ra-kum um-ma a-na-ku-ma i-na ma-áš-kà-tí-a an.na 1 gú ú-ul 10 túg.hi.a li-qé-ma gi5-im-lá-ni …. a-ṣé-er kù.babbar 30 ma-na ša a-šùr-dùg ú ší-im túg.hi.a ša šé-ep a˘ ˘ šùr-ma-lik ú a-ta kù.babbar 10 ma-na ra-dí-ma kù.babbar-áp-kà 1 iti.kam ú šé-na li-be-el (37VS 26: 58 obv. 9 – 13, rev. 32– 37).  Specifically the “at your coming” (ina alākika) from 37-VS 26: 58 rev. 21.

Figure 14: Development of the joint venture between Šalim-aḫum and Pūšu-kēn in REL 82

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Pūšu-kēn responded directly to nearly every point in Šalim-aḫum’s previous letter. Šalim-aḫum’s overriding concern in his letter was revenues, to which Pūšukēn responded that Dān-Aššur was soon bringing to Assur at least 1 talent 20 minas silver.⁹ Pūšu-kēn was trying to imply that Šalim-aḫum would not need Pūšu-kēn’s capital, and he sought to ensure it in point of fact, actually sending 1 talent 34 minas 23½ shekels silver with Dān-Aššur, Ilī-ālum, and Kurub-Ištar.¹⁰ Part of those funds were from the Nūr-Ištar caravan, and another 30 minas were from Aššur-ṭāb and Uṣur-ša-Aššur.¹¹ Furthermore, he reminded Šalim-aḫum that two other claims still remained to be collected.¹² He also recognized that Šalim-aḫum wanted to tie Pūšu-kēn’s interests to his own, with Šalimaḫum’s reference to the benefit of Pūšu-kēn’s reputation. Pūšu-kēn sought to demonstrate that he was already serving Šalim-aḫum’s interests by paying the 20 shekels silver of the shipping charges himself on the 30 minas silver being sent.¹³ Finally, to Šalim-aḫum’s request that Pūšu-kēn “put up 10 minas” for a short time, Pūšu-kēn responded that such a venture should only proceed if the price of tin was favorable in Assur, and that it should be purchased as soon as possible so that when Dān-Aššur arrived, he could proceed directly back.”¹⁴

 “(As for) the yield of the textiles and the yield of the 50 minas tin, I will entrust about 1 talent 20 minas silver to Dān-Aššur’s transport. He will arrive in 2 days and I will dispatch him to you. Also, my complete report will come to you with him.” ší-im túg.hi.a ù ší-im 50 ma-na an.na a-na ˘ šé-ep dan-a-šùr kù.babbar 1 gú 20 ma-na ú-pá!-qá-ad a-na 2 u4-me e-ra-ba-ma a-ṭá-ra-da-šu ù téer-ti za-ku-tum iš-tí-šu i-lá-kà-kum (38-VS 26: 47 obv. 12-rev. 18). Part of the silver was Lulu’s debt of ‘25’ minas.  “Dān-Aššur brought me 31 minas 15 shekels, its shipping charge ½ mina, (and) 2 minas separately, the corresponding amount to his textiles. Ilī-ālum brought me 41⅔ minas, its shipping charge ⅔ minas. Kurub-Ištar brought me 18 minas 18 shekels.” 31 ma-na 15 gín ½ ma-na ša-dua-sú 2 ma-na a-ḫa-ma me-eḫ-ra-at túg.hi!-tí-šu dan-a-šùr ub-lam 41⅔ ma-na ⅔ ma-na ša-du-a-sú ˘ ì-lí-a-lim ub-lam 18 ma-na 18 gín kur-ub-iš8-tár ub-lam (19-BIN 4: 26 rev. 24– 30).  “Regarding the 30 minas (silver) which Aššur-ṭāb and Uṣur-ša-Aššur owed, 10 shekels were deducted amounts. I added ⅓ minas silver from my own funds and Šū-Ištar son of Dadānum brings you 30 minas silver under my seal.” 30 ma-na ša a-šùr-dùg ù ú-ṣur-ša-a-šùr i-ḫi-ib-lu-ni 10 gín ki-ib-sà-tum ⅓ ma-na kù.babbar i-na ra-mì-ni-a ú-ra-dí-ma 30 ma-na kù.babbar kunu-ki-a ša-du-a-sú ša-bu šu-ištar dumu da-da-nim na-áš-a-kum (38-VS 26: 47 obv. 2– 8, attributed to Aššur-ṭāb only in 37-VS 26: 58 rev. 32– 37)  “Now, as for my transport, beside the two tablets of Lulu and Aššur-nādā and his son, there is nothing else.” ù a-na šé-pí-i-a šu-ma lá 2-šé-na ṭup-pè-e-en ša lu-lu ù a-šùr-na-da ù me-er-i-šu mì-ma ša-ni-um ú-lá i-ba-ší (38-VS 26: 47 rev. 24– 27).  38-VS 26: 47 2– 8. See transliteration in note 11 above.  “As for the tin, if (the rate) is 15 shekels or higher, purchase it to the amount of 40 minas silver so that it is deposited until the arrival of Dān-Aššur so that he does not delay there. Dispatch him to me.” an.na šu-ma 15 gín.ta ú e-li-iš ša 40 ma-na kù.babbar ša-a-ma a-dí e-ra-ab dan-a-šùr li-ni-dí-ma a-ma-kam lá i-sà-ḫu-ur ṭur4-da-šu (38-VS 26: 47 rev. 18 – 23).

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This was not the first time Šalim-aḫum had asked Pūšu-kēn to participate in this joint venture, though his original request was made under different circumstances. He prefaced his request for the 10 minas in his July letter with, “My dear brother and colleague, have I not already written you?”¹⁵ He may have been referring to an earlier request to purchase inventory,¹⁶ but he had definitely already asked Pūšu-kēn to participate in this joint venture. In the original formulation of the joint venture, written in early May, he had asked Pūšu-kēn for 13⅓ minas silver, stating that he himself would invest double the amount.¹⁷ At the same time, in the letter where Šalim-aḫum conceded to Dān-Aššur staying in Anatolia for the months of June and July, he repeated that request: “Send silver from your own funds, as much as you can send, and I myself will put down double (lit. two shares) so that I purchase for whatever price you write, so that Dān-Aššur may bring it to you in the first caravan.”¹⁸ Thus Šalim-aḫum’s idea of the joint venture dated back to before Dān-Aššur left Assur, in mid-May. Šalim-aḫum had likely hoped to see a yield from the venture quickly, perhaps by the middle of the year. But once he had accepted that Dān-Aššur would stay in Anatolia through July, the plan was that Dān-Aššur would bring the tin to Anatolia at the end of September at the earliest. Šalim-aḫum had originally asked Pūšu-kēn for one third of 40 minas, then to send about 10 minas. Pūšu-kēn eventually sent some silver, but when he did, it was with different terms in mind. In both mid-May and mid-July Šalim-aḫum offered Pūšu-kēn opportunities to raise his own silver from selling Šalim-aḫum’s own assets. In mid-May, when Šalim-aḫum wrote the initial offer, Pūšu-kēn could look to raise silver by selling merchandise coming with Dān-Aššur.¹⁹ In mid-July, Šalim-aḫum offered the merchandise Ennam-Aššur had already

 a-ḫi a-ta eb-ri a-ta ma-tí-ma ú-lá áš-pu-ra-kum (37-VS 26: 58 obv. 9 – 10).  “On the day that Dān-Aššur arrives there, on the first sales that you make, you take your silver and let him bring my silver to me.” i-na u4-mì-im ša dan-a-šur a-mì-ša-am e-ra-ba-ni ší-ma-am pá-ni-a-ma ša ta-da-na-ni kù.babbar-áp-kà a-ta le-qé ù i-a-am a-ni-ša-am lu-ub-lu-nim (39‐MDOG 102, 86 lo.e. 13-rev. 19).  “If you are inclined, on the day that you read this tablet, send me 13⅓ minas silver, its excise added, and I, for my part, will deposit double (lit. two shares).” šu-ma li-bi4-kà i-na u4-mì-im ša ṭup-pá-am ta-ša-me-ú 13⅓ ma-na kù.babbar ni-is-ḫa-sú diri šé-bi4-lá-ma ù a-na-ku 2-ší-ta qá-téen6 lá-dí (39-MDOG 102, 86 obv. 3 – 8).  kù.babbar ša ra-mì-ni-«ni» kà ma-lá tù-šé-ba-lá-ni šé-bi4-lá-ma ú a-na-ku ší-ta qá-té-en6 la-díma a-ší-mì-im ša ta-ša-pá-ra-ni lá-áš-a-ma dan-a-šùr i-pá-nim-ma lá-aṭ-ru-da-kum (27-AKT 3: 72 rev. 32– 37).  39-MDOG 102, 86 lo.e. 13-rev. 19. See transliteration in note 16 above.

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brought to Kanesh.²⁰ Pūšu-kēn eventually sent some silver which must have arrived by mid-September. When Šalim-aḫum reported the successful operation against Ilabrat-bāni’s son on the road in Amurrum, he also acknowledged that Pūšu-kēn had sent 12 minas 15 shekels of silver with instructions to “purchase the tin.” However, Pūšu-kēn had also suggested that the total silver outlay should be 45 minas not 40 minas tin.²¹ This would have effectively limited Pūšu-kēn’s share to something closer to a fourth than a third. Yet in mid-September, Šalim-aḫum had not yet purchased his portion of the tin. He wrote that he would work to gather his silver and purchase tin and send it with Dān-Aššur and Puzur-Aššur.²² It took Šalim-aḫum two weeks to get the tin sent off, and Šalimaḫum’s notification to Pūšu-kēn that he had sent the tin for the joint venture was written around the beginning of October with Puzur-Aššur, who had in the interim been attending to matters for Pūšu-kēn and himself, as will become apparent very soon.²³ Šalim-aḫum sent the shipment of the joint venture tin, which that letter announced, with Puzur-Aššur, who had recently been to Amurrum to seize Ilabrat-bāni’s goods, returning after the middle of September.²⁴ Time was getting tight. Šalim-aḫum was doing his best to raise revenues. He had sent other goods ahead of Puzur-Aššur, with Kuzari, which goods Pūšu-kēn

 “Dispatch Ennam-Aššur. Sell as much of the goods of Ennam-Aššur’s cargo as you are able and take your silver. If Ennam-Aššur has left, on the day you read my tablet, cause the silver to catch up to him. Do not disappoint me.” en-na-a-šùr ṭur4-dam lu-qú-tám ša šé-ep en-nam-a-šùr ma-lá ta-le-e-a-ni dí-na-ma kù.babbar-áp-kà li-qé šu-ma en-nam-a-šùr i-ta-ṣa-am i-na u4-mì-im ša ṭup-pì ta-ša-me-ú wa-ar-kà-sú kù.babbar ša-ak-ší-dam li-bi4-i lá tù-lá-ma-an (37-VS 26: 58 rev. 37-le.e. 44). Why this merchandise was still available for sale, despite it having arrived two months earlier is unknown.  “I sent the tin of Kuzari’s transport to Purusḫattum when he arrived. I expect the silver in 5 days. On the day you read this tablet, purchase tin to the amount of 45 minas silver for our common property and let your silver be thus disposed.” an.na ša šé-ep ku-za-ri ki-ma e-ru-bani a-na pu-ru-uš-ḫa-tim uš-té-bi4-il5-šu a-na 5 u4-me a-na kù.babbar a-da-ga-al i-na u4-mì-im ša ṭup-pì ta-ša-me-ú ša 45 ma-na kù.babbar an.na a-na ba-ri-ni ša-a-ma kù.babbar-áp-kà li-bei-el (40-CCT 2: 1 obv. 3 – 13).  “12 minas 15 shekels silver which you sent to me, tin is purchased. Now, I will raise what I can and I will purchase (more) tin and I will dispatch Dān-Aššur and Puzur-Aššur.” 12 mana 15 gín kù ša tù-šé-bi4-lá-ni an.na ša-im! ù a-na-ku ša ra-du-im ú-ra-da-ma an.na a-ša-a-ma dan-a-šùr ù puzur4-a-šur a-ṭá-ra-dam (9-TC 3: 20 rev. 33 – 38).  “I purchased the tin and Puzur-Aššur transports it to you. … In addition to the silver from Kuzari’s transport, send to me that which you entrusted to Aššur-idi’s son with the first traveler.” an.na áš-a-ma puzur4-a-šùr i-ra-de8-a-ku-nu-⸢tí⸣ a-ṣé-er kù.babbar ša šé-ep ku-za-ri ù ša dumu a-šùr-i-dí ša ta-qí-pá-ni i-pá-nim-ma wa-ṣí-e-em šé-bi-lá-nim (40-CCT 2: 1 obv. 13-rev. 20).  9-TC 3: 20.

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sent off to Purušḫattum (perhaps with Kuzari).²⁵ Šalim-aḫum asked Pūšu-kēn to send the silver arising from these goods along with silver that Aššur-idī’s son (probably Aššur-nādā) owed immediately.²⁶ Šalim-aḫum, continuing to express concerns about being “shamed at the gate,” urged Pūšu-kēn to bring the profits from the tin himself when he returned to Assur in the near term.²⁷ Pušū-kēn communicated to Šalim-aḫum that when the tin for the joint venture arrived, he would take it himself to Purušḫattum for sale and bring the proceeds back to Assur in his cargo.²⁸ Even at this late stage, Šalim-aḫum hoped that Pūšu-kēn would convert the tin quickly and return to Assur with the silver.²⁹ While Šalim-aḫum’s and Pūšu-kēn’s joint venture went through a number of changes, one thing appeared to be consistent: Pūšu-kēn expressed little enthusiasm for the idea. That Pūšu-kēn still participated in the joint venture, despite his apparent misgivings, witnesses the extent to which Pūšu-kēn was obliged to go along with Šalim-aḫum, despite his lack of interest. While some of Pūšu-kēn’s obligation surely arose from the more durable aspects of his relationship with Šalim-aḫum, such as Šalim-aḫum’s superior age, and Šalim-aḫum’s likely status as one of his investors, Šalim-aḫum’s help with his house purchases would have undoubtedly compounded Pūšu-kēn’s feeling of obligation, and inversely dimin 40-CCT 2: 1 obv. 3 – 13. See transliteration in note 21 above.  40-CCT 2: 1 obv. 13-rev. 20. See transliteration in note 23 above.  i-na ṭup-pì-kà ki-ma dan-a-šùr e-ru-ba-ni a-na-ku-ma a-na pu-ru-uš-ḫa-tim šé-pì-a a-da-an-ma lu-qú-tám lu i-a-tám! lu ku-a-tám u-za-kà-ma i-šé-pì-a ú-ba-lá-kum e-zi-ib ša ba-ri-ni an.na ù túg.hi.a lu ša šé-ep dan-a-šùr lu ša šé-ep ku-lu-ma-a ú i-dí-sú-en6 i-šé-pì-kà a-ḫi a-ta ⸢kù.babbar⸣ mì˘ ma lá té-zi-ba-am ma-lá i-na ba-áb a-bu-lim lá a-ba-šu lu šu-⸢um⸣-kà qá-tí ki-ma ⸢pá⸣-ni-a-tí-ma aé kà-ri-im i-ta-dí-a-ma i-na ni-kà-sí mì-ma lá a-na-pá-al (40-CCT 2: 1 rev. 20-le.e. 37).  “I sent the tin of Kuzari’s transport to Purušḫattum when he arrived. I expect the silver in 5 days. On the day you read this tablet, purchase tin to the amount of 45 minas silver for our common property and let your silver be thus disposed. … According to your tablet: ‘When Dan-Aššur arrives, I will set off to Purušḫattum myself and the goods, both mine and yours, I will clear and in my transport will deliver (it) to you.’” um-ma ša-lim-a-ḫu-um-ma a-na pušu-ke-en6 qí-bi-ma ta-áš-pu-ra-am um-ma a-ta-ma an.na ša šé-ep ku-za-ri ki-ma e-ru-ba-ni a-na pu-ru-uš-ḫa-tim uš-té-bi4-il5-šu a-na 5 u4-me a-na kù.babbar a-da-ga-al i-na u4-mì-im ša ṭup-pì ta-ša-me-ú ša 45 ma-na kù.babbar an.na a-na ba-ri-ni ša-a-ma kù.babbar-áp-kà li-be-i-el … i-na ṭup-pì-kà ki-ma dan-a-šùr e-ru-ba-ni a-na-ku-ma a-na pu-ru-uš-ḫa-tim šé-pì-a a-da-an-ma lu-qú-tám lu i-a-tám! lu ku-a-tám u-za-kà-ma i-šé-pì-a ú-ba-lá-kum (40-CCT 2: 1 obv. 3 – 13, rev. 20 – 25).  Some connections between these documents have been posited previously. Edzard and Hecker (1970: 86 – 88) insightfully noted that the 13⅓ minas tin was one-third of the forty minas requested by Šalim-aḫum also seen in 38-VS 26: 47 18 – 23, proposing the connection between these documents. Likewise, Veenhof proposed that 38-VS 26: 47 was clearly the response to 37-VS 26: 58 (in Veenhof and Klengel-Brandt 1992: 21), and that both Šalim-aḫum’s shame and Pūšu-kēn’s reputation were issues raised in both VS 26: 5 and 40-CCT 2: 1.

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ished his ability to bow out. Because Pūšu-kēn was feeling this pressure in the time leading up to when he wrote the letter condemning Ilabrat-bāni and his son to an embarrassing experience, this strand of Pūšu-kēn’s relationship with Šalim-aḫum is of direct interest to us. After delineating the clarity of Pūšukēn’s unwillingness, we’ll explore why he might have felt that way, and how it would have affected him. When Šalim-aḫum first wrote to Pūšu-kēn suggesting the joint venture, Pūšu-kēn apparently refused to acknowledge the request. Pūšu-kēn was practicing, in his commercial realm, what Thurston Veblen would have identified as cabotage—dragging his feet to protect his interests.³⁰ Šalim-aḫum’s initial request was 13⅓ minas silver from Pūšu-kēn, one third of a 40 mina joint venture. But when Pūšu-kēn apparently did not respond to Šalim-aḫum’s first letter, Šalim-aḫum was forced to repeat the request in June, this time asking for “about 10 minas silver,” a rounded number lower than the original.³¹ And Šalim-aḫum offered Pūšu-kēn opportunities to raise the silver from Šalimaḫum’s own commercial operations, suggesting that Pūšu-kēn could raise silver by selling goods that Ennam-Aššur had brought to Kanesh.³² But Pūšu-kēn placed his requirements on participation around the profitability of the arrangement—stating that the price of tin needed to be above a 15 shekel rate. Pūšu-kēn seemed to be concerned that Šalim-aḫum would be less concerned about the price of the tin. Moreover, Pūšu-kēn’s attempt to reduce his share from a third to about a fourth is consistent with his resistance to the deal, or at least with the recognition that he and Šalim-aḫum would benefit from the arrangement in different ways. Statements of exactly how much tin Šalim-aḫum actually sent with Puzur-Aššur do not seem to have survived. But what has survived is Pūšu-kēn’s consistent resistance. It seems that Pūšu-kēn had good reasons to be disinterested in the joint venture based on the way he interpreted Šalim-aḫum’s interests in the arrangement. This can best be seen by a careful review of the arrangement as Šalim-aḫum orig Veblen 1921.  kù.babbar 10 ma-na (37-VS 26: 58 rev. 35). The order kaspam 10 mana indicated ‘about’ 10 minas as opposed to exactly 10 minas. Šalim-aḫum’s request for “about 10 minas” is consistent with Šalim-aḫum’s practice of rounding numbers in other communications, see Stratford 2014.  “Dispatch Ennam-Aššur. Sell as much of the goods of Ennam-Aššur’s cargo as you are able and take your silver. If Ennam-Aššur has left, on the day you read my tablet, cause the silver to catch up to him. Do not disappoint me.” en-na-a-šùr ṭur4-dam lu-qú-tám ša šé-ep en-nam-a-šùr ma-lá ta-le-e-a-ni dí-na-ma kù.babbar-áp-kà li-qé šu-ma en-nam-a-šùr i-ta-ṣa-am i-na u4-mì-im ša ṭup-pì ta-ša-me-ú wa-ar-kà-sú kù.babbar ša-ak-ší-dam li-bi4-i lá tù-lá-ma-an (37-VS 26: 58 rev. 37-le.e. 44).

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inally proposed it. He asked that Pūšu-kēn contribute a third portion of 40 minas silver to purchase his share of tin.³³ Interestingly enough, Šalim-aḫum offered to make purchases for Pūšu-kēn if he accepted.³⁴ It is clear from this year that Šalim-aḫum was already making purchases for Pūšu-kēn, so what the added benefit would have been was difficult to tell. Perhaps it was a passive-aggressive threat implying that he would stop making purchases if Pūšu-kēn did not accept? When Dān-Aššur arrived in Kanesh, Pūšu-kēn would have the opportunity to acquire silver from transactions he performed for Šalim-aḫum before sending the remainder of Šalim-aḫum’s own silver to Assur.³⁵ But this was not equivalent with Šalim-aḫum suggesting that Pūšu-kēn would recoup his money from the joint venture before Šalim-aḫum received his. In a joint venture such as this, when each partner received their portion was key to their individual relative success. If the collection of claims from Šalim-aḫum’s year of vengeance shows anything, it was that it was not uncommon for the last portion of the debt to be much more difficult to collect than the first 80 % or so. If Pūšu-kēn felt that Šalim-aḫum was going to demand his portion ahead, he was likely to resist the arrangement. Whatever Pūšu-kēn’s reasons for resisting the arrangement, he complied in the end. After all, he did owe Šalim-aḫum a favor from Šalim-aḫum putting up 10 minas silver to purchase his house. Pūšu-kēn’s resistance to Šalim-aḫum’s proposition reveals the individualistic motivations of merchants that cooperated together. Though the Old Assyrian system provided for opportunities and necessities of merchants to coordinate, this came at the cost of potentially losing out to the needs of the other merchants. If Ilabrat-bāni’s sloppy commercial behavior frustrated Šalim-aḫum, who could express his displeasure freely as a result of his superior social position, then Šalim-aḫum’s manipulations seem to have been less open for comment by Pūšu-kēn, though his unwillingness to participate, or at least to bide his time, seems equally clear. But there was more to both the timing of the joint venture, and to the paradox that Šalim-aḫum had worried about the volume of his trade, while at the same time putting down 10 minas silver for Pūšu-kēn’s house. Had the availabil-

 “If you are inclined, on the day that you read this tablet, send me 13⅓ minas silver, its excise added, and I, for my part, will deposit double (lit. two shares).” šu-ma li-bi4-kà i-na u4-mì-im ša ṭup-pá-am ta-ša-me-ú 13⅓ ma-na kù.babbar ni-is-ḫa-sú diri šé-bi4-lá-ma ù a-na-ku 2-ší-ta qá-téen6 lá-dí (39-MDOG 102, 86 obv. 3 – 8).  “While our shared merchandise travel up toward you, I will make any purchases which you write to me and send them to you.” a-dí a-mì-ša-am lu-qú-tum ša ba-ri-ni e-li-a-ni ší-[ma]-am ša ta-ša-pá-ra-ni lá-áš-a-am-ma lu-šé-bi4-lá-kum (39-MDOG 102, 86 obv. 9 – 12).  As expressed in 39-MDOG 102, 86 lo.e.13-rev. 19. Transliteration above.

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ity of tin and textiles been constant throughout the year, then some of what Šalim-aḫum did would have seemed quite difficult to explain. Similarly, Pūšukēn’s large purchases of houses also would have seemed either a key opportunity or a surprisingly large diversion of funds. Instead, two major developments shaped both Pūšu-kēn’s and Šalim-aḫum’s decisions during this year, factors that were well beyond their control. During this year there were major disruptions in the supply of both tin and textiles, though at different times. And during this year a plague of sorts was making its way through Anatolia and down to Assur. These two factors will be treated in turn in the following chapters.

Chapter 15 Disruptions in the Supply In one of the letters in which Šalim-Aššur and Aššur-bāni discussed purchasing houses, they related that Šū-Ḫubur did not want to give up the silver of Qayyātum’s son in Assur, saying instead that it should be taken there in Anatolia.¹ ŠūḪubur wrote his own letter around the same time, around the beginning of September, complaining that Pūšu-kēn had not informed him of the developments surrounding Qayyātum’s son in Anatolia.² In that same letter, he warned Pūšu-kēn to start hoarding tin. There was no tin available in Assur, and Pūšukēn should not expect tin any time soon.³ Around the same time, his representatives wrote him, sending only 4 talents of tin and its wrappings, stating it was all the tin they could find and later in the letter speaking of shortages of tin.⁴ Šalim-aḫum had the same message for Pūšu-kēn as well. Earlier in the year, in his first iteration of the offer for the joint venture, Šalim-aḫum expressed his opinion that Pūšu-kēn shouldn’t sell any tin until Dān-Aššur arrived, but

 “Šū-Ḫubur did not want to give us the silver of Qayyātum’s son. He said, ‘Let him take it there.’ So take it there.” kù.babbar ša dumu qá-a-a-tim šu-ḫu-bur ta-da-nam lá i-mu-ni-a-tí um-ma šu-ut-ma a‐ma-kam-ma li-il5-qé a‐ma-kam-ma li-qé (99-VS 26: 8 obv. 4– 9).  “Regarding the matter of the son of Qayyātum, who are you that you did not write me this concerning the matter? I heard that the man is able to speak and he owes about 30 minas silver to Aššūr-Šamšī his brother and his sealed tablet is there. Inquire and let your complete instructions come.” a‐šu-mì ša dumu qá-a-tim mì-šu-um a‐ni-um ša mì-ma-ša-ma lá ta-áš-pu-ra-nim a‐wi-lúm e-mu-qá-tám e-ta-wu a‐ša-me-ma kù.babbar 30 ma- a‐na a‐šùr-utu-ši a‐ḫi-šu ḫa-bu-ul-ma ṭup-pu-šu ḫa-ar-mu-um a‐ma-kam i-ba-ší ša-i-il5-ma té-er-ta-kà za-ku-tum li-li-kam (86-CCT 6: 47c rev.22-le.e. 32).  “As for the silver that you sent, we did not purchase tin because tin cannot be purchased. We purchased textiles from the proceeds of my silver and I will dispatch them to you with the first departure. Hoard every 10 minas tin which goes up to you into your tin. There won’t be tin later.” kù.babbar ša tù-šé-bi-lá-ni ki-ma an.na ša-du-ú-ni an.na ú-lá ni-iš-ta-a-am ša kù.babbar-pí túg.hi. ni-ša-a-ma iš-tí pá-ni-ú-tim-ma a‐ṭá-ra-da-kum an.na 10 ma-na ša e-li-a-ku-ni i-ṣé˘ er an.na-ki-kà ri-bi-iṣ an.na wa-ar-kà-tám ú-lá i-šu (86-CCT 6: 47c obv. 9-rev. 22).  “The goods of the transport of Aššur-mālik: 4 talents of tin and its wrappings. He has departed to you. Because tin was scarce, we did not leave the house of the merchant and we sent the proceeds of your silver to you.” lu-⸢qú-tum⸣ [ša] ⸢šé⸣-ep a‐šùr-ma-lik 4 gú an.na ú li-wi-sú i-ta-aṣ-akum ki-ma an.na ba-at-qú-ni é dam.gàr lá ni-ṣí-ma lá ni-iš-a-ma-ku-nu-tí-ma ša kù.babbar-pìku-nu nu-šé-bi4-lá-ku-nu-tí (97-TC 2: 11 obv.14-rev.23). It is in fact this scarcity of tin that clarifies the contemporaneous relationship between the purchase of the houses of Abum-ilī and the houses of Ennānum s. Aššur-rē’um. DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-015

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let the inventory grow in order to make a marginal profit.⁵ Šalim-aḫum’s sense was confirmed in time.⁶ In September, when Ennam-Aššur and Puzur-Aššur seized Ilabrat-bāni’s merchandise from his poor son somewhere in the northwest Jezireh, they seized tin. And when Pūšu-kēn had directed Šalim-aḫum to buy cleared tin in the same breath that he proposed the raiding party, he did not mention textiles. The lack of textiles purchased in September was not simply a matter of preference, but availability. While several of these references to the disruption of trade have been noted in other publications, pointing to the possibility of trade disruption, that they all refer to the same disruption only now becomes clear.⁷ For some time during the season, perhaps from May to October, there was a significant disruption in the supply of both tin and textiles from the south. This can be seen in the conversations between Pūšu-kēn and his colleague Puzur-Aššur on the one hand, and his wife Lamassī on the other. The first surviving letter from Puzur-Aššur from the year of vengeance was written in August, as he was heading from his base of operations in Purušḫattum back to Assur. Likely, he was part of the push that saw a number of other merchants heading back to Assur during the month of August: Dān-Aššur, Aššurmālik s. Errāya, Kulumaya, Aḫu-waqar (who also operated often in Purušḫattum), Ea-šar, Idī-Suen, Ikūn-pīya, and a son of a man named Ibbī-Suen. Puzur-Aššur wrote to Pūšu-kēn to remind him about things they discussed when the former had passed through Kanesh. Pūšu-kēn had told Puzur-Aššur that he was going to get to Purušḫattum a month later than planned because he needed to first resolve some matters, one of which was the arrival of tin

 “Until much tin goes with the caravan, I say, “Dān-Aššur, at his arrival, let them not travel overland for every shekel of silver, nor sell. Let the later deposit ’go’ so that a ½ or ⅓ extra mina arises between us.” a‐dí an.na ma-dum iš-tí e-li-tim i-lu-ku um-ma a‐na-ku-ma dan-a-šur i-na e-ra-bi4-im i-na an.na 1 gín.ta e e-tí-qú-ma e i-dí-nu ma-áš-kà-tum wa-ar-kà-tám li-li-ikma 20½ ma-na ù ⅓ ma-na a‐ba-ri-ni li-li-a-am (39-MDOG 102, 86 rev. 19-le.e. 28).  A letter in which Šalim-aḫum asked Pūšu-kēn to ask the colony for a favor, which may come from the same context in which Šū-Ḫubur and Aššur-imittī were asking the colony for favors in Chapter 13: “I wrote to you regarding these accountings. I wrote, ‘Ask a favor of the colony so that (they) set as many textiles as are appropriate for my accountings.’” a‐šu-mì ni-kà-sí a‐niú-tim áš-pu-ra-kum um-ma a‐na-ku-ma e-na-na-tim iš-t[í] kà-ri-im e-r[i-iš-ma] túg.hi.a ma-lá n ˘ [a-ṭù-ni] a‐ni-kà-sí-a [šu-ku-un] (48-RA 81: 4 obv. 3 – 9).  See Dercksen 2004: 28 – 29; Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 96 – 97. The texts cited are 105-VS 26: 17; 43-AKT 3: 73; 44-AKT 3:74. Veenhof implied there that TC 1: 11 may have reported circumstances that developed from those reported in 105-VS 26: 17. While this is possible, it is not yet possible to verify this possibility within the context of the narrative reported here. The correspondents do not report anything specific enough to preclude the possibility that it was a different disruption of trade in a different year.

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from the joint venture with Šalim-aḫum discussed in the previous chapter.⁸ Pūšu-kēn promised Puzur-Aššur two things: first, that he would take Puzur-Aššur’s copies of debt notes and collect for Puzur-Aššur while the latter was away, and second, that he would raise ten minas silver from a number of sources and send it after Puzur-Aššur.⁹ Puzur-Aššur asked Pūšu-kēn to clear the assets that needed to be cleared so that he could send the ten minas silver, so that Puzur-Aššur could purchase goods in the city.¹⁰ In the same vein of thinking, he asked Pūšu-kēn to ensure that two others paid him his silver as well.¹¹ Puzur-Aššur likely sent his letter to Pūšu-kēn before he arrived in Assur. To boost his cash on hand, he asked Pūšu-kēn to send Imgua with silver after him so that he caught up with him.¹² And he sent another letter before arriving, in which he again asked Pūšu-kēn to send Imgua and to send silver, referencing both the ten minas Pūšu-kēn had promised, and other silver he had mentioned previously.¹³ In both letters it was obvious that Puzur-Aššur planned to do a lot

 “I spoke to you there. You said, ‘As for me, I will be delayed one month in order for me to clear every shekel of all my outstanding claims.’” a‐ma-kam-ma aq-⸢bi⸣-[k]um um-ma a‐na-ku-ma waar-ḫa-am iš-té-en6 lá-⸢as⸣-ḫu-ur-ma ba-ab-tí kù.babbar 1 gín lu!-za-ki (126-CCT 2: 38 obv. 3 – 6).  “You said, ‘Leave them here for me and I will have the silver paid out and send the silver after you.’ Also, I will deposit from my own funds the proceeds of the copper from the palace and the 4 minas silver from the sealed tablet—10 minas silver and send it to you.” um-ma a‐ta-ma me⸢ḫe⸣-er-kà e-ez-ba-ma kù.babbar ú-ša-áš-qal-ma wa-ar-kà-at-kà ú-šé-ba-lá-kum ù me-eḫ-ra-at urudu ša é.gal-lim ù 4 ma-na kù.babbar ša ṭup-pé-e ḫa-ru-mu-tim 10 ma-na kù.babbar i-na ra-mì-ni-a a‐na-dí-ma ú-šé-ba-lá-kum (126-CCT 2: 38 obv. 7– 14).  “My dear father and lord, take care to clear every (remaining?) shekel of silver there and so deposit the 10 minas silver which you promised me and seal the silver and ship it to the city so that my account can make purchases and I may raise every shekel of silver possible.” a‐bi a‐ta be-lí a‐ta i-ḫi-id-ma kù.babbar 1 gín ša a‐ma-kam e-zi-bu za-ki-ma ú 10 ma-na-e kù.babbar ša pá-kà ta-dí-na-ni i-dí-ma kù.babbar ku-nu-uk-ma a‐na a‐lim ki li-ik-šu-da-ma ší-ma-am qá-tí li-iša-ma kù.babbar 1 gín le-li-a-am (126-CCT 2: 38 lo.e. 15-rev. 25).  “5 minas silver which Ikuppi-Aššur promised to pay Adada, cause Ikuppi-Aššur to pay the silver. … minas silver belonging to Ea-šār which I deposited, if he did not send it, write to him so that he sends it.” 5 ma-na kù.babbar ša a‐da-da i-ku-pì-a-šùr ša-qá-lam qá-bi kù.babbar i-ku-pì-a-šùr ša-áš-qí-il5-šu … 5 ma-⸢na⸣ kù.babbar ša i-li-bi4 i-a-šar a‐dí-ú šu-ma lá ú-šé-bi4-lam šu-pur-ma lu-šé-bi4-lá-kum (126-CCT 2: 38 rev. 25 – 28, le.e. 33 – 36).  “You must not delay Imgua but dispatch him immediately to the city so that he may catch up to me.” im-gu5-ú-a lá tù-sà-as-ḫa-ar-⸢šu⸣-[ma] i-pá-né-e-ma a‐li-ki-im ṭur4-da-šu-⸢ma⸣ li-ik-šu-da-ni (126-CCT 2: 38 rev. 29-le.e. 32).  “To Pūšu-kēn from Puzur-Aššur-ma: My dear father and lord, who else can I trust? Have the silver paid, as much as I wrote to you in my copy, and cause it to reach me in the city so that it is not your silver (that I need to use). Have Adada s. Ikuppī-Aššur pay the 5 minas of silver which he promised to pay and also send the 10 minas of silver which you promised. Dispatch Imgua with the very first traveler.” a‐na pu-šu-ke-en6 qí-bi-ma um-ma puzur4-a-šur-ma a‐bi a‐ta be-lí

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of business when he made it to Assur. However, when he did arrive, Puzur-Aššur’s optimism faded as he observed first-hand the severe shortage of tin and textiles. His next message back to Pūšu-kēn may have not immediately gone out, since he was quickly asked to participate in the raid with Ennam-Aššur on Ilabrat-bāni. Pūšu-kēn had known he would be there, recommending that he participate, and Šalim-aḫum had reported his participation in the scheme. Puzur-Aššur’s fading confidence in the supply of goods was probably the result of him not believing earlier reports of how bad the disruption was. Sometime around mid-August, Pūšu-kēn sent 17 minas of his own silver with a man named Ilī-mālik, asking to purchase 33 minas silver worth of tin for shipment. (He had also sent Šū-Ištar with more silver at the same time.)¹⁴ But when Ilī-mālik arrived in Assur, in mid-September, Aḫu-waqar, Puzur-Aššur, and a recuperating DānAššur reported that there was no tin whatsoever, cheap or dear, available.¹⁵ They reported that they were trying to lend out the silver to someone, and that they had paid off some interest for him, doubtless in relation to the silver that had been borrowed to ship him goods, and to purchase his house.¹⁶ They promised to buy tin as soon as it arrived.¹⁷ This letter had been written on the second day after Ilī-bāni arrived, along with a letter Puzur-Aššur authored himself, further detailing the difficulties of the present situation. In that letter, Puzur-Aššur explained more precisely that there was some tin available, but no full packages, and tin was selling at a high price: 13 shekels tin to 1 shekel silver. Pūšu-kēn was at this time telling Šalim-aḫum to only buy tin if a shekel of silver could buy 15 shekels tin or better.¹⁸ As if to reassure Pūšu-kēn that he a‐ta a‐na ma-nim ša-nim lá-tí-ki-il5 kù.babbar ma-lá i-na me-eḫ-ri-a ú-lá-pí-⸢ta⸣-ku-ni ša-áš-qí-il5ma a‐na a‐lim ki ša-ak-ší-dí-ma la kù.babbar-ap-kà 5 ma-na kù.babbar ša a‐da-da «dumu» i-kupì-a-šur ša-qá-lam qá-bi-ú ša-áš-qí-il5-šu-ma ù 10 ma-na kù.babbar ša pá-kà ta-dí-na-ni šé-bi4lam ki pá-ni-e-ma a‐li-ki-im im-ku-a ṭur4-da-am (127-TC 1: 6 obv. 1-le.e. 20).  “You wrote. You said, ‘Purchase 33 minas silver worth of tin for me. Let the open country seize it!’” ta-áš-pu-ra-am um-ma a‐ta-ma ša 33 ma-na kù.babbar an.na ša-ma-nim eq-lúm liiṣ-ba-sú (128-CCT 5: 5b obv. 4– 7).  “Cheap or dear, there is was no tin to be had at his departure.” ba-at-qú-um ù wa-tù-ru-um an.na ba-ab-šu lá-šu (128-CCT 5: 5b obv. 8 – 9).  “The excise and shipping fees were deducted and we received 7 minas 32 shekels silver from Gazia, and we will pay out the silver which they received. We paid out 27 shekels silver interest from your silver.” ni-is-ḫa-tum ù ša-du-a-tám iṣ-ḫe-er-ma 7½ ma-na 2 gín kù.babbar ki ga-zi-a ni-il5-qé-ma a‐šar a‐⸢ṣí⸣-ib-tim il5-qé-⸢ú-ni⸣ ni-iš-qúl ⅓ ma-na 7 gín kù.babbar ṣí-ib-tám i-na kùpì-kà ni-iš-qú-ul (128-CCT 5: 5b rev. 17-u.e. 25).  “At the arrival of tin we will purchase tin for you according to your instructions.” i-na e-ra-ab an.na a‐ma-lá té-er-tí-kà ni-ša-a-ma-ku-um (128-CCT 5: 5b obv. 13-rev. 15).  “As for the tin, if (the rate) is 15 shekels or higher, purchase it to the amount of 40 minas silver so that it is deposited until the arrival of Dān-Aššur so that he does not delay there.”

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was not being treated unfairly, Puzur-Aššur noted that he had not found any tin worth buying either, but that Pūšu-kēn would get his tin the same time PuzurAššur got his.¹⁹ Nor were there any textiles available—thin, fine, or Akkadian.²⁰ So diminished was the supply of the principal commodities, that Puzur-Aššur sent Pūšu-kēn foodstuffs, which would never be worth the cost of transportation otherwise.²¹ Eventually some tin did arrive in Assur and Ilī-mālik was sent off with six black donkeys, two with tin and four with textiles.²² But it appears that tin was still scarce because Aḫu-waqar and company did not spend all the silver Ilī-mālik had brought. And so quickly had they sent Ilī-mālik off, that they had not been able to write up a proper report, which they promised to send in the near future.²³ All the same, Šū-Ištar was also leaving with a token amount of tin and textiles for Pūšu-kēn.²⁴ But merchants in Assur suspected the drought

an.na šu-ma 15 gín.ta ú e-li-iš ša 40 ma-na kù.babbar ša-a-ma a‐dí e-ra-ab dan-a-šùr li-ni-dí-ma a‐ma-kam lá i-sà-ḫu-ur (38-VS 26: 47 rev. 18 – 23).  “For silver of my transport, because tin is in short supply, I did not purchase anything. The tin will arrive, I will make purchases and I will depart with your tin.” ⸢a-na⸣ kù.babbar ša šé-pí-a ki-ma an.na ba-at-qú-ni mì-ma an.na ú-lá áš-a-am an.na e-ra-ba-ma a‐ša-a-ma iš-tí an.na-ki-kà a‐ba-kà-kum (129-TC 2: 7 lo.e. 16-rev. 20).  Gathered from both contemporaneous letters: “The raqqutum textile about which you wrote, is not available” ra-qá-tám ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni lá-šu (128-CCT 5: 5b u.e. 26-le.e. 27). “Now, (with regard to) the purchases of Akkadian textiles, if someone saved some, I will purchase goods worth 1 mina of silver. As for textiles about which you keep writing me, there is no northern wool. We purchased 1 heavy textile in the market and we will send it to you. There are no fine textiles” ú ší-mu-um ša a‐ki-dí-e šu-ma i-ta-áš-ra-am ša kù.babbar 1 ma-na a‐ša-a-am a‐na ku-ta-ni ša taáš-ta-na-pá-ra-ni ša-ap-tum šu-ur-bu-i-tum lá-šu 1 túg kà-ab-tám i-na ma-ḫi-ri-im ni-ša-a-ma nušé-ba-lá-kum ra-qá-tum lá-šu (129-TC 2: 7 rev. 21– 30).  “I will send to you foodstuffs and ripened dates with Šū-Ištar.” ri-ig-li ú sú-lu-pí ki šu-ištar ú-šé-ba-lá-kum (129-TC 2: 7 rev. 30-u.e. 32). I have no new insight over the existing dictionaries into the definition of riglum.  “From the silver and gold that Ili-mālik brought, Ili-mālik drives to you 2 talents 20 minas of tin under seals and 110 kutānum textiles together with 8 fine kutānum textiles and two kamsumtype textiles, 40 minas of ’hand-tin’, and 6 black donkeys.” i-na kù.babbar ù kù.gi [š]a dingirma-lik ub-lá-ni ⸢2⸣ gú 20 ma-na an.na [k]u-nu-ki 1 me-at 10 ku-ta-ni ⸢qá⸣-dum! 8 ku-ta-ni sig5-tim 2 túg kà-am-sú 40 ma-na an.na ⸢qá-tim⸣ 6 anše ṣa-lá-me dingir-ma-lik i-ra-de8-a-⸢kum⸣ (130BIN 4: 221 obv.3-rev. 11).  “When he departed we did not write the requirements and tablet. We will dispatch the remainder of your goods at the first departure. And our complete report will come to you.” i‐nu-mì uṣ-a-ni ḫu-ša-ḫu-ma ṭup-pá-am lá nu-lá-pì-tám ší-tí lu-qú-tí-kà i-pá-ni-e-ma wa-ṣí-im néba-kà-kum ù té-er-tí-ni za-ku-t[um] i-lá-kà-kum (130-BIN 4: 221 rev. 12– 17).  “7½ talents of tin under seals, 180 kutānum textiles, 2⅓ (textiles) for the transporter, 1 talent of ’hand-tin’, 9 black donkeys and their equipment: Šamaš-bāni transports all this to you. Šū-

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was over, and thus it was crucial to get all the capital that could be had to the home city. In the letter that reported Šū-Ištar’s departure, Puzur-Aššur exclaimed, “Let the silver arrive so that the tin and textiles can depart!”²⁵ In the interim, Pūšu-kēn and his representatives had been strategizing as to how to make use of Pūšu-kēn’s capital, and those in Assur had purchased a house from Aḫu-waqar²⁶ located in Ḫaḫḫum on the Euphrates.²⁷ Within a few days,²⁸ Puzur-Aššur wrote again to Pūšu-kēn reporting that there was no meteoric iron (amutum) available for sale from the limmum-office when Pūšu-kēn’s goods departed that first time.²⁹ (Pūšu-kēn may have gotten the idea to pursue meteoric iron from Amur-Ištar in Durḫumit.³⁰) Citing a recently received letter in which Pūšu-kēn had asked him to use silver from what Ilī-mālik and Šū-Ištar brought, he still asked for Pūšu-ken to send the ten minas he had promised.³¹ Clearly, now that the textiles and tin had begun to arrive, Puzur-Aššur wanted his silver.

Ištar transports 2½ talents tin under seals and 10 kutānum textiles. Wherever any shekel of silver arises, sell the tin and textiles which can be sold to Šū-Ištar and send (them) to your representatives and let them stand at his side. Take …” 7½ gú an.na ku-nu-ku 1 me-at 80 túgku-ta-nu 2⅓ ša kà-ṣa-r[i]-i[m] 1 gú an.na qá-tim 9 anše ṣa-lá-mu ù ú-nu-sú-nu mì-ma a‐nim dutu-ba-ni i-rade8-a-kum 2½ gú an.na ku-nu-ku 10 ku-ta-ni šu-ištar i-ra-de8 a‐li kù.babbar 1 gín e-li-⸢a⸣-ni an.na ù túg.hi.a ša ta-da-nim a‐na šu-ištar dí-in-ma a‐ṣ‐[é‐e]r ša ki ku-a-tí šu-pur-ma i-ša˘ ḫa-tí-šu ⸢li⸣-zi-⸢zu⸣ [xx]-am li-qé (131-TC 2: 8 obv. 3-rev. 18).  [kù.babbar le]-ru-ub-ma an.na ù túg.hi.a lu-⸢u⸣ṣ-ú (131-TC 2: 8 rev. 19-u.e. 21). ˘  Whether this Aḫu-waqar is the person who wrote with Puzur-Aššur and Dān-Aššur the letter discussing the shortage of tin in September is difficult to corroborate, but he would have been on hand and in Assur. At the end of the season, Aḫu-waqar was back in Purušḫattum, so perhaps he saw his moment in Assur as an opportunity to sell off an asset because he had suffered from the shortage of goods.  “Another thing, we purchased for you … house of Aḫu-waqar in Ḫaḫḫum which is at the front of the suqinnum-road (near?) the house of Zizi… for 6⅓ minas of silver and … . “ ší-ta [x]-⸢x⸣-at é a‐ḫu-qar ša ḫa-ḫi-[im] ša a‐pá-at sú-qí-nim ša é zi-zi-⸢x⸣ a‐na 6⅓ ma-na kù.babbar ni-iš-a-ma-ku-ma (130-BIN 4: 221 rev. 17-u.e. 22).  Both these letters include the discussion of Waqqurtum: 132-TC 2: 9 rev. 17– 22. In the letter written previously, Waqqurtum is referred to as ‘the lady’ in a broken section. 130-BIN 4: 221 u.e. 23. This issue was covered Chapter 13 on Pūšu-kēn’s pressures.  132-TC 2: 9 obv. 3 – 6. Though the strictest translation is “at your departure,” it is clear from the connections with other letters that this was the departure of Pūšu-kēn’s goods.  “There is no silver in the market. They pile up copper in massive piles. My dear father, take care to, if there are no textiles, buy either fine tin or pure meteoric in small pieces and send it here.” kù.babbar i-na ma-ḫi-ri-im lá-šu-ú urudu da-n[i-š]a?-ma ú-me-ru?-ú a‐bi a‐ta i-ḫi-id-ma šu-ma túg-tù lá-šu lu an.na sig5 lu a‐mu-tám sà-[ḫa]-ar-tám za-ku-tám ša-ma-ma šé-bi4-lam (133-CCT 4: 34c obv. 8-rev. 17).  “You wrote me. You said, ‘Take 10 minas of silver from the cargo of Ilī-mālik. Also, take 25 minas of silver from the proceeds of the cargo of Šū-Ištar, your copper and that of the mer-

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When Ilī-mālik had arrived in mid-September, Puzur-Aššur had told Pūšukēn he planned to return to Anatolia as soon as he purchased a reasonable amount of goods: “The tin will arrive and I will make purchases and I will depart with your tin.”³² Some of this tin was apparently pretty cheap, perhaps because there was now a glut.³³ By the beginning of October, Ilī-mālik and Ilī-bāni had departed,³⁴ and Puzur-Aššur likely departed with them or just after them, bring-

chants and take the remainder of the silver for that of my account.’ Send 10 minas of silver so that I can make a reckoning with your representatives here so that if they took your silver we can deposit it in your silver. … My dear father and lord, clear the silver, tin, and textiles both as to that of Ea-šar and of my outstanding claims and send them to me so that he may make purchases for my account. If my claims persist as outstanding, send 10 minas of silver so that he may take it when my assets go out, and as much as their term period … “ ta-áš-pu-ra-am um-ma a‐tama 10 ma-na kù.babbar ša šé-ep dingir-ma-lik li-qé ù i-na 25 ma-na kù.babbar ša šé-ep šuištar urudu ku-a-am ù ša dam.g⸢àr l⸣i-qé-ma ší-tí kù.babbar a‐na ša li-bi4-a ⸢li⸣-qé 10 ma-na kù.babbar šé-bi4-lam-ma a‐na-kam iš-tí ša ki-ma ku-a-tí lá-sí-ma šu-ma kù.babbar-ap-kà i-téṭé-er a‐li-bi4 kù.babbar-pì-kà lu ni-dí … a‐bi a‐ta be-lí a‐ta kù.babbar an.na ú túg.hi.a lu ša ˘ i-a-šar lu ba-ab-tí za-ki-ma šé-bi4-lam-ma ší-ma-am qá-tí li-iš-a-am šu-ma ba-ab-tí ma-aṣ-ra-at 10 ma-na kù.babbar šé-bi4-lam-ma ⸢i⸣-wa-ṣa ba-⸢ab⸣-tí-a li-qé-[ma] ma-lá u4-me-⸢šu⸣ [xx]-ku-kà (132-TC 2: 9 obv. 6-rev. 17, rev. 22-le.e. 30).  an.na e-ra-ba-ma a‐ša-a-ma iš-tí an.na-ki-kà a‐ba-kà-kum (129-TC 2: 7 rev. 19 – 20). See also 131-TC 2: 8 u.e. 21-le.e. 24, where Puzur-Aššur said that he would come after giving some goods to Kulumaya.  “Regarding your silver from the transport of Imgua, we purchased tin for you at a 16 shekel rate. And (as for?) the corresponding amount, we borrowed silver of Kulumaya’s transport on interest and purchased tin at a 16 shekel rate and tin and textiles were purchased, there were no donkeys. We purchased some donkeys and we will dispatch Šū-Ištar in five days. My dear father and lord, as for the goods of Āl-bēlī, before the caravans arrive, wherever a single shekel of silver arises, let the representatives of Āl-bēlī bring and let them buy with cash. Receive it (only) in this way. They must not release. Let the silver enter in and let tin and textiles go out.” a‐na kù.babbar-pí-kà ša šé-ep im-gu5-a an.na 16 gín.ta ni-iš-a-ma-kum ù me-eḫ-ra-at kù.babbar ša šé-ep ku-lu-ma-a a‐na ṣí-ib-tim ni-il5-qé-ma 16 gín.ta an.na ù túg.hi.a ša-mu anše.˘ hi.a lá-šu anše.hi.a ni-ša-a-ma a‐na 5 u4-me šu-ištar ni-ṭá-ra-dam a‐bi a‐ta be-lí a‐ta lu-qú-tám ˘ ˘ ša šé-ep al-be-lí la-ma e-lá-tum e-ru-ba-ni-ni a‐li kù.babbar 1 gín e-li-ú a‐ṣé-er ša ki-ma ku-a-tí albe-lí lu-bi4-il5-ma a‐na i-ta-aṭ-lim li-dí-nu a‐ki?-a-am li-qé lá ú-šu-ru kù.babbar le-ru-ub-ma an.na ù túg.hi.a lu-uṣ!-ú (134-Prag I: 571 obv. 2-rev. 22). ˘  “From the silver and gold that Ili-mālik brought, Ilī-mālik drives to you 2 talents 20 minas of tin under seals and 110 kutānum textiles together with 8 fine kutānum textiles and two kamsumtype textiles, 40 minas of ‘hand-tin’, and 6 black donkeys. When he departed we did not write a tablet. We will dispatch the remainder of your goods at the first departure. And our complete report will come to you.” i-na kù.babbar ù kù.gi [š]a dingir-ma-lik ub-lá-ni ⸢2?⸣ gú 20 ma-na an.na [k]u-nu-ki 1 me-at 10 ku-ta-ni ⸢qá⸣-dum! 8 ku-ta-ni sig5-tim 2 túgkà-am-sú 40 ma-na an.na ⸢qá-tim⸣ 6 anše ṣa-lá-me dingir-ma-lik i-ra-de8-a-⸢kum⸣ i-nu-mì uṣ-a-ni ḫu-ša-ḫu-ma ṭuppá-am lá nu-lá-pì-tám ší-tí lu-qú-tí-kà i-pá-ni-e-ma wa-ṣí-im né-ba-kà-kum ù té-er-tí-ni za-ku-t

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ing the tin Šalim-aḫum sent for the joint venture, and likely some of his own goods.³⁵ Though there was no meteoric iron available in mid September, by the time he had left, Puzur-Aššur had managed to buy 1 mina of it, as will become clear shortly.³⁶ Meanwhile, Pūšu-kēn had travelled to Purušḫattum. As he reported to PuzurAššur, he was getting there later than he had hoped. While there, he wrote PuzurAššur, alongside Puzur-Aššur’s representatives and Sueyya. Ea-šar, who had owed Puzur-Aššur 5 minas silver, was also transporting copper for Puzur-Aššur and he had arrived in Purušḫattum where they were gathering all the copper to sell for silver.³⁷ Puzur-Aššur’s representatives, and another man (Idī-Aššur) had also brought a total of one hundred textiles.³⁸ All this was to be converted to silver, including goods brought by Dān-Aššur and sent to Puzur-Aššur.³⁹

[um] i-lá-kà-kum (130-BIN 4: 221 obv. 3-rev. 17). Note also in this letter the discussion of the house of Aḫu-waqar in Ḫaḫḫum and the house of Zizi (rev. 17– 23).  “I purchased the tin and Puzur-Aššur brings it to you.” an.na áš-a-ma puzur4-a-šùr i-ra-de8a-ku-nu-⸢tí⸣ (40-CCT 2: 1 obv. 13 – 15).  A letter from Ḫinnaya (senior associate of Pūšu-kēn in Assur) discussing the attempt to get meteoric iron from the limmum office in Assur possibly also comes from this same time: “Regarding the iron about which you wrote, we will arrest the limmum official, and if it arises, we will take it according to your instructions.” a‐šu-mì a‐ší-im ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni li-ma-am ni-kà-⸢sí-ma⸣ šu-ma i-ta-áb-ší a‐ma-lá té-er-tí-kà ni-lá-qé (TC 2: 23 rev. 31-le.e. 35).  “From Pūšu-kēn, the representative(s) of Puzur-Aššur, and Sueyya to Puzur-Aššur: We checked the 19 talents of refined copper under seals which Ea-šar (brought), and it was deficient 13⅔ minas. Thereof, they brought 1 talent 40 minas of poor quality copper from the previous and former washed copper. We checked the 7½ talents of poor quality copper under seals which Eašar (brought), and it was deficient 10 minas. All this Ea-šar brought. 3 talents of ’black’ copper are placed in his copper. They brought 2 talents of refined copper which he deposited in Walama and we checked it and it was deficient 1 mina. 20 minas of poor quality (copper) are deposited in the previous caravan-enterprise. We checked the 10 talents 30 minas of poor quality copper under seals which Kurara and Šū-Bēlum (brought), and it was deficient 12 minas.” um-ma pušu-ke-en6 ša ki-ma puzur4-a-šur ú sú-e-a-ma a‐na puzur4-a-šur qí-bi4-ma 19 gú urudu ma-síam ku-nu-ki ša i-a-šar nu-sà-ni-iq-ma 13⅔ ma-na im-ṭí šà.ba 1 gú 40 ma-na urudu ší-ku-um i‐na urudu ma-sí-im pá-ni-im ú ur-ki-im ub-lu-nim 7½ gú urudu ší-kam ku-nu-ki ša i-a-šar nusà-ni-iq-ma 10 ma-na im-ṭí mì-ma a‐nim i-a-šar uš-té-bi-lam 3 gú urudu ṣa-lá-mu-um i-na urudu-i-šu na-dí 2 gú urudu ma-sí-am ša i-na wa-lá-ma i-ni-du ub-lu-nim-ma nu-sà-ni-iq-ma 1 ma-na im-ṭí 20 ma-na ší-ku-um i-pá-ni i-lá-tim na-dí 10 gú 30 ma-na urudu ší-kam ku-nu-ki ša ku-r[a-ra] ú šu-be-lim -sà-ni-iq-ma 12 ma-na im-ṭí (135-BIN 4: 31 obv. 1-rev. 24).  “Your representatives brought 52 kutānum textiles from Waḫšušana. Thereof, 30 kutānum textiles are deposited to Pūšu-kēn at a rate of 9¼ shekels (of silver) and he has not yet paid the silver. Idī-Aššur drove here 48 kutānum textiles. The total of your textiles is 148 textiles which arose from the transport of Idī-Aššur.” 52 ku-ta-ni iš-tù wa-aḫ-šu-ša-na ša ki-ma ku-a-tí ú-šébi4-lu-nim šà.ba 30 ku-ta-ni 9¼ gín.ta a‐pu-šu-ke-en6 ni-dí-ma kù.babbar-áp-šu-nu a‐dí-ni lá

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The disruption of trade left most merchants scrambling to produce revenues in any way they could. When Puzur-Aššur did arrive in Anatolia again, after the beginning of November, he quickly headed to Purušḫattum. When he reached Waḫšušana, he tried to sell the meteoric iron for Pūšu-kēn. This proved to be an unsuccessful venture: a man named Ennam-Aššur would not pay silver for it there, and he learned that the colony had passed a resolution banning its sale.⁴⁰ Ennam-Aššur and another merchant suggested sending it to an Anatolian named Ḫartu, who presumably did not need to obey the resolution of the Assyrians. Ḫartu was able to find a buyer for the meteoric iron, but asked Puzur-Aššur that he refine it first. Puzur-Aššur agreed, but only after convincing Ḫartu to take the blame for any deficiencies in the material. These turned out to be significant, as two thirds of the material was in lumps and presumably not desirable. This prompted Puzur-Aššur to bemoan that there was too little of actual meteoric iron to go through with a deal he had made with Pūšu-kēn to buy it.⁴¹ Whether or not he was able to make something of the effort is unknown.

iš-qú-ul 48 ku-ta-ni i-dí-a-šur ir-de8-a-am šunigin túg-tí-kà 1 me-at 48 túg-ba-tù ša šé-ep i-dí-ašur i-ba-ší-ú (135-BIN 4: 31 rev. 24– 33).  “We will convert to silver the copper, the textiles, and the outstanding claims and assets which you left like gentlemen, and we will clear your silver from the cargo of Dān-Aššur and we will send your silver to you. According to your instructions your donkeys are put to pasture. Your servant is well.” lu urudu lu! túg-tí lu ba-a--tám ša té-zi-bu a‐ma-lá a‐wi-lu-tí-ni a‐kù.babbar nu-ta-ar-⸢ma⸣ i-šé-ep dan-a-šur [kù.babbar-k]à nu-za-kà-ma kù.babbar-⸢kà⸣ nušé-ba-lá-kum a‐ma-lá té-er-tí-kà anše-ru-kà a‐na-áb-ri-tim na-du ša-am-kà-kà ša-li-im (135BIN 4: 31 rev. 36-le.e. 45).  “The colony heard (the matter) and they said, ‘They cannot … the mūṣium official. Do not sell it to anyone.’ There is a verdict of the colony.” kà-ru-um iš-me-ma um-ma šu-nu-ma a‐dí mu-ṣíum! la e-mu-ru a‐na ma-ma-an la ta-da-ší-i dí-in kà-ri-im i-ba-ší (136-CCT 4: 4a obv. 16 – 19).  “I enquired of Ennam-Aššur and Idī-Kūbī. They said, ‘Send the meteoric iron to Ḫartu.’ But you would say ‘A witness should come to the messengers! He should send it to you!’ I took the meteoric iron to the man and afterwards, when he had (found a buyer), he said, ‘Let me refine it.’ I said, ‘I will not give you permission to refine it.’ He said, ‘Let me refine it. If after you depart it turns for worse, my lord will acquire bad will towards him and me.’ He refined the meteoric iron and ⅔ mina in lumps came up. Both from the refining and the tithe(?) he/it … losses of 4 shekels. I promised you an 8 shekel rate in gold for the rest of the meteoric iron. (Now) I say, ‘It is too little.’” iš-tí en-nam-a-šur ⸢ù⸣ i-dí-ku-bi4 áš-ta-a-al um-ma šu-nu-ma a‐mu-tám a‐na ḫa-ar-tù biil5-ma um-ma a‐ta-ma ší-bu-um a‐na ší-ip-ru-tim i-li-kà-ni a‐na ṣé-ri-kà ú-šé-bi4-lá-ni a‐mu-tám [a]-na a‐wi-lim ú-bi-il5-ma [wa-a]r-ki-⸢ú⸣-tám i-dí-na-ni [um-ma] šu-ut-ma la-aṣ-ru-up-ší [u]mma a‐na-ku-ma a‐na ṣa-ra-pì-im pí-i la a‐da-na-kum um-ma šu-ut-ma iš-tù a‐ta ta-ta-lu-ku laaṣ-ru--ší-ma šu-ma a‐na lá-⸢mu⸣-tim i-tù-a-ar lu-mu-un li-bi-im a‐na šu-a-tí ù i-a-tí bé-li liir-ší a‐mu-tám iṣ-ru-up-ší-ma ⅔ gín ki-iṣ-ru-um e-li-a-am lu i-na ṣa-ra-pì-im lu i-na -ší-ra-tim mu-ṭá-e 4 gín e-ta-ru!? a-ší-tí a‐mu-tim 8 gín.ta a‐na kù.ki iq-bi-a-k[um um-m]a a‐na-ku-ma eeṣ (CCT 4 4a obv. 20-le.e. 46).

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Puzur-Aššur continued on to Purušḫattum. When he finally arrived there, he, alongside Buzutaya and Ennum-Bēlum, reported to Pūšu-kēn that after he had left, more silver had accumulated to Pūšu-kēn. Ilī-bāni, who had set out from Assur around the same time as Puzur-Aššur, had brought his cargo to Purušḫattum, and it had been converted to tin and already sent to Pūšu-kēn.⁴² Now several Anatolians, including Tarmana and Dalaš, had turned over a total of 3¾ minas silver. Much of this was divided among petty debts that Pūšu-kēn had with people there, and arrangements made for a number of small balancings.⁴³ The letter that outlined these actions likely reached Pūšu-kēn just as he was departing for Assur, perhaps after he had already started his journey, dangerously late in the season, likely around the last week of November. Puzur-Aššur at least feigned loyalty when he told Pūšu-kēn in September that he was not buying any goods of his own until he first bought for Pūšukēn. The disruption of the supply of tin and textiles increased tension among fellow Assyrians and more assertions of solidarity were necessary to brook opportunities to mistrust. But another of Pūšu-kēn’s relationships was also under pressure, this one with his closest financial partner: his wife Lamassī.⁴⁴

 “After we sent the silver from the cargo of Ilī-bāni …” iš-tù kù.babbar ša šé-ep il5-ba-ni nu-šébi4-lá-ni (137-KTS 1: 29a obv. 3 – 4).  “After we sent the silver from the cargo of Ilī-bāni, Tarmana gave us 2 minas 45 shekels silver. Dalaš (gave to us) 1 mina (silver). Aššur-ṭāb took 4 shekels. There are 8 shekels of poor quality (silver). 7 shekels are deductions. The remainder of the silver is 5 minas 26 shekels. From the 2 minas 31 shekels of your silver about which there is agreement, they deducted from us 1 mina 6 shekels on account of Puzur-Aššur. Let it be released there with you. We took the remainder of the silver, 1 minas 24 shekels. Altogether 4 minas 50 shekels. We weighed out 3 minas 16 shekels for 21 minas. Thereof, the remainder of the silver is 1 minas 34 shekels. Also, Puzur-Aššur gave us 1 mina 13½ shekels silver and concerning 2 minas 37 shekels silver which was in Il-bāni’s cargo for the filling of the sack, he said, ‘That which we took for you on interest, we will weigh out the silver and its interest.’” iš-tù kù.babbar ša šé-ep il5-ba-ni nu-šé-bi4-lá-ni 2⅔ ma-na 5 gín kù.babbar tár-ma-na i-dí-ni-a-tí 1 ma-na da-lá-áš ki.min 4 gín a‐šur-dùg il5-qé 8 gín ma-sú-ḫu-um i-ba-ší 7 gín ki-ib-sà!-tum ší-tí kù.babbar 5⅓ ma-na 6 gín i-na 2½ ma-na 1 gín kù.babbar-pì-kà ša ma-ga-ri-im 1 ma-na 6 gín a‐šu-mì puzur4-a-šur úṣa-ḫi-ru-ni-a-tí a‐ma-kam iš-tí-kà li-sí ší-ti kù.babbar 1⅓ ma-na 4 gín ni-il5-qé šunigin 4⅚ ma-⸢na⸣ šà.ba! 3 ma-na 16 gín a‐⸢na⸣ 21 ma- ni-iš-qúl ší-tí kù.babbar 1½ ma-na 4 gín ù 1 ma-na 13½ gín kù.babbar puzur4-a-šur i-dí-ni-a-tí-ma 2½ ma-na 7 gín kù.babbar ša a‐na mu-lá né-pì-ší-im ša šé-ep il5-ba-ni um-ma šu-ut-ma a‐ṣí-ib-tim ni-il5-qé-a-ku-ni kù.babbar ù ṣíba-sú ni-iš-qúl (137-KTS 1: 29a obv. 3-rev. 29).  A previous treatment of these letters, with several connections already pointed out, can be found in Garelli 1965: 156 – 60; Michel 2001a: 425 – 38.

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When Puzur-Aššur arrived in Assur at the beginning of September, he had noted a lack of northern wool.⁴⁵ Letters between Pūšu-kēn and Lamassī show that the shortage of wool was not new, and that the shortage of textiles from the south had sharply increased demand for textiles made in Assur. Among her letters, Lamassī confided in, pleaded with, and complained to Pūšu-ken about a range of things that arose from the disruption of the trade, and from its effects. By September, Lamassī found her own home workshop lacking the raw material needed for textiles. She, like others, was looking to Anatolia for wool. She wrote to Pūšu-kēn, “When you send the leather bag, put some wool (in it),”⁴⁶ repeating the same statement in another letter soon after and adding “Wool is scarce in the city.”⁴⁷ She repeated the same remark in still another letter as well.⁴⁸ This statement, made in frustration, was not news to Pūšu-kēn. By this time he had already sent wool worth 5 minas silver with Aḫu-waqar and Eašar at the beginning of August.⁴⁹ However, so valuable was the wool in Assur, Aḫu-waqar and Ea-šar had only given her 3 shekels silver’s worth, and told her they would produce textiles with the rest in their own households.⁵⁰ In the beginning of September her household was still producing textiles; she  “About the textiles about which you keep writing me, there is no northern wool. We purchased 1 heavy textile in the market and we will send it to you. There are no fine textiles.” a‐na ku-ta-ni ša ta-áš-ta-na-pá-ra-ni ša-ap-tum šu-ur-bu-i-tum lá-šu 1 túg kà-ab-tám i-na maḫi-ri-im ni-ša-a-ma nu-šé-ba-lá-kum ra-qá-tum lá-šu (129-TC 2: 7 rev. 24– 30).  i-nu-mì ki-sà-am tù-šé-ba-lá-ni síg.hi.a šu-uk-⸢nam⸣ (57-BIN 4: 9 rev. 18 – 20). ˘  Fuller passage: “When you send the leather bag, put wool (in it). Wool is scarce in the city.” i‐nu-mì ki-sà-am tù-šé-ba-lá-ni síg.hi.a šu-uk-nam ša-áp-tù-um i-na a‐lim ki wa-aq-ra-at (58‐BIN 6: ˘ 7 rev. 16 – 21).  “Wool is scarce in the city.” i-na a‐lim ki síg.hi.a wa-aq-ra-at (62-RA 59: 25 obv. 11– 12). ˘  Kulumaya’s departure, and thus all three letters’ composition, had to have taken place after Kulumaya and the rest of the arriving transporters had arrived—in the beginning of September. Aḫu-waqar and Ea-šar had returned to Assur about the same time as Dān-Aššur and several others, and close in time to Puzur-Aššur as well.  “You [Pūšu-kēn] wrote, ‘Aḫu-waqar and Ea-šār are bringing you 5 minas (silver) worth of wool.’ They did not give me anything! Ea-šār said, ‘I will make a textile for him myself.’” umma a‐ta-ma 5 ma-na.ta síg.hi.a a‐ḫu-qar ù i-a-šar na-áš-ú-ni-ki- mì-ma lá i-dí-nu-nim um˘ ma i-a-šar-ma a‐na-ku-ma 1 túg e-pá-šum (57-BIN 4: 9 obv. 3 – 8). Then later in the letter, she clarified that while it did not seem like anything, they did give her a small amount of wool: “Ea-šār gave me 2 shekels silver worth of wool. Aḫu-waqar brought me (only) 1 shekel (of silver worth of wool).” 2 gín kù.babbar ša síg.hi.a i-a-šar i-dí-nam 1 gín a‐ḫu-qar i-dí-nam (57-BIN 4: ˘ 9 le.e. 28 – 30). That it was not simply 5 minas wool given is suggested first by the 5 ma-na.ta, and second by the fact that if they had handed her 3 shekels silver worth of wool, the corresponding amount of wool would have been far more than 5 minas according to the rates of exchange.

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sent 9 with Kulumaya who headed back to Anatolia directly after his arrival with the big push of transporters heading back in August.⁵¹ Pūšu-kēn may have sent the other wool with Agua. A document survives recording his receipt of goods to ship for Pūšu-kēn including 10 minas wool in 2 leather bags.⁵² The conversation between Pūšu-kēn and Lamassī corroborates our understanding that the disruption of trade had been going on for some time before September. Increased tension in the wake of significant demand placed on the Assyrian households pervades their letters. Lamassī’s need for wool in September was an indicator that the demand on Assyrian production had been high for some time.⁵³ In addition to noting the general shortage of wool, the necessity to address a range of uses for her textile production combined to prevent Lamassī from filling Pūšu-kēn’s orders. Pūšu-kēn had been complaining to Lamassī about the quality of her textiles, provoking retorts from Lamassī in September: Kulumaya brings you 9 textiles. Idī-Suen brought you 3 textiles. Ela did not want to take textiles. Idī-Suen did not want to take 5 textiles. What is this that you keep writing me? “The textiles that you are sending are no good.” What man staying in your house and going about disparages the textiles? As for me, I try my best to make textiles and send them to you so that every caravan trip will bring 10 shekels silver in your house!⁵⁴

 “Kulumaya brings you 9 textiles.” 9 túg.hi.a ku-lu-ma-a na-áš-a-kum (55-CCT 3: 20 obv. ˘ 2– 3); “Kulumaya brings you 3 heavy textiles and 6 kutānum textiles.” 3 túgkam-sú-tim 6 túgkuta-nu ku-lu-ma-a ub-lá-ku- (57-BIN 4: 9 rev.24– 25); “Kulumaya brings you 9 textiles.” 9 túg.hi.a ku-lu-ma-a na-áš-a-ku-um (BIN 6: 11 obv. 2– 3). ˘  “3 packages: 55 minas under the seal of Pūšu-kēn, his charges paid, 1 package 15 minas silver under his large seal, the votive-offering of Aššur, 1 supānum-container: 50 shekels silver its consignment, 10 minas wool (in) 2 leather sacks, a net(?), all this I entrusted to Agua. Witnesses: Šumma-libbi-Aššur s. Kuzkuzum, Ikuppi-Aššur s. Puzur-Ištar, Šalim-Aššur s. Itūr-ilī. 5 shekels silver (for) the provisions of the ’boys’ and their head-tax paid.” 3 né-pí-šu 55 ma-na ku-nu-ku ša pu-šu-ke-en6 ša-du-a-sú ša-bu 1 né-pí-šum 15 ma-na kù.babbar ku-nu-ku-šu gal ik-ri-bu ša a‐šùr 1 sú-pá-num ⅚ ma-na kù.babbar šé-bu-ul-ta-ša 10 ma-na síg.hi.a 2 i-lu a‐sí-ru-um mì-ma a‐nim ˘ a‐na a‐gu5-a ap-[q]í-id igi šu-ma-li-bi-a-šur dumu ku-uz-ku-zi-im igi i-ku-pí-a-šùr dumu púzurištar igi ša-lim-a-šùr dumu i-tur4-dingir 5 gín kù.babbar ú--ul-tí ṣú-ḫa-ri ú qá-qá-da-tim ša-bu (138-CCT 5: 40b obv. 1-le.e. 23).  It seems quite possible that one of these shipments was the one recorded with Agua, bringing 10 minas wool in the leather sack. See 138-CCT 5: 40b obv. 1– 13. Translation immediately above.  um-ma lá-ma-sí-ma 9 túg.hi.a ku-lu-ma-a na-áš-a-ku-um 3 túg.hi.a i-dí-sú-en6 na-áš-a-kum ˘ ˘ e-lá túg.hi.a lá-qá-a-am lá i-mu-a i-dí-sú-en6 5 túg.hi.a lá-qá-a-am lá i-mu-a mì-šu ša ta-áš-ta˘ ˘ na-pá-ra-ni um-ma a‐ta-ma túg.hi.a ša tù-uš-té-né-bi-li-ni lá dam-qú ma-nu-um za-ak-ru-um ša i˘ na é-bé-tí-kà wa-áš-bu-ni-ma i-lá-ku-ma ma-aḫ-ri-šu túg.hi.a ú-nu-ḫu-ni a‐na-ku a‐šu-mì i‐na ḫa˘ ra-an ḫa-ra-ma kù.babbar 10 gín é-bé-tí-kà li-im-qú-tám túg.hi.a uš-té-kà-ap-ma e-pá-aš-ma ú˘ šé-ba-lá-kum (56-BIN 6: 11 obv. 2-rev. 20).

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At the same time, Pūšu-kēn was trying to ensure that Lamassī put ½ mina more wool into the textiles, which she later reported in October she was doing.⁵⁵ And Lamassī was increasingly frustrated that revenues were not always coming. She noted in five different letters that Aššur-mālik had not brought back the silver from a heavy textile she gave him earlier in the year.⁵⁶ Lamassī also wanted Pūšu-kēn home. She had likely learned from PuzurAššur as he returned at the beginning of September that Pūšu-kēn was going to be delayed by a month. And this news was likely the unspoken context of two contemporaneous arguments Lamassī deployed in September to try to convince her husband to come home earlier. As mentioned in Chapter 13, the neighbor to the house of Abum-ilī was building on an adjoining wall and had spurned Lamassī’s demands to desist. She demanded Pūšu-kēn attend to it himself: “Get up and set out! You yourself speak to him here.”⁵⁷ Also, Lamassī begged Pūšukēn to return to Assur to put their daughter in the lap of Aššur. “Now, the girl has quite grown up. Get up and come here! Place her in the lap of Aššur. Now get going!”⁵⁸ Preparations may have already been underway for this ceremony: Aḫu-waqar, Ea-šar, and others, including Idī-Suen, Kulumaya, Dān-Aššur, and Ikūn-pīya, had brought various bronze spoons and containers for Pūšu-kēn’s vo-

 “Also, concerning the textiles about which you wrote, you said, ‘They are cheap. They are no good!’ Was it not according to your request that I made them smaller? And now you wrote me, ‘Raise a ½ mina each for your textiles.’ I raised it!” ù a‐na šu-mì túg.hi.a ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni um˘ ma a‐ta-ma ṣa-ḫu-ru lá dam-qú lá i-pì-kà-ma ú-ṣa!-ḫe-er-šu ù u4-ma-am ta-áš-pu-ra-am um-ma a‐ta-ma ½ ma-na.ta a‐na ṣú-ba-tí-kà! ra-dí-i ur-ta-dí (60-BIN 4: 10 obv. 12-rev. 19).  58-BIN 6: 7 obv. 8-rev. 13; 64-CCT 4: 21b obv. 4-rev. 15, 57-BIN 4: 9 u.e. 26-le.e. 29, 60-BIN 4: 10 obv. 2– 11, 62-RA 59: 25 le.e. 35 – 37.  Fuller context: “As for the house of Abum-ilī, Ikkūpiya put his wall from the house of Attaya on your wall! Now as for me, I inquired and he said, ‘I will enter into a partnership with him. Or I will not cooperate with him whatsoever.’ Get up and set out! You yourself speak to him there. Thus you will say, ‘Why did you set your wall in my house? You did it (as though) it was the house of someone neglectful!’” é a‐bu-um-dingir i-na i-ga-ar-tim ku-a-tim i-ku-pí-a ša é a‐ta-a i-ga-ar-tám šu-a-tám ⸢iš⸣-ta-kán ú a‐na-ku a‐ṣa-al-ma um-ma šu-ut-ma ta-pá-ú-tum-ma ú-ta-pášu mì-ma-ma ú-lá ú-ta-pá-šu it-bé-a-ma i-ta-ṣa-am a‐ta a‐ma-kam qí-bi-šu-um um-ma a‐ta-ma mì-šu-um i-ga-ar-ta-kà i-na é-bé-tí-a ta-áš-ku-un ki-ma é lá a‐ší-ri-im té-pu-uš (55-CCT 3: 20 rev. 26 – 35). J. Lewy’s (1946: 386 – 87) translation is quite helpful.  ú ṣú-ḫa-ar-tum da-ni-iš ir-tí-bi tí-ib-a-ma a‐tal-kam a‐na sú-ni a‐šur šu-ku-ší ù šé-ep ì-lí-kà ṣaba-at (55-CCT 3: 20 u.e. 38-le.e. 40); “The girl is growing up, so come and place her on the lap of Aššur.” ṣú-⸢ḫa⸣-[ar]-tim ir-tí-bi4 ku-ta-bi4-id-ma al-kam-ma a‐na sú-un da-šur šu-ku-ší (57-BIN 4: 9 rev. 20 – 23). “Be honorable! Come, and break your fetters! Place the girl on the lap of Aššur.” ku-ta-bi-it-ma ù al-kam-ma ku-ur-sí-kà pá-ri-ir ṣú-ḫa-ar-tám a‐na sú-un a‐šùr šu-ku-un (62-RA 59: 25 obv. 7– 11).

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tive fund.⁵⁹ Pūšu-kēn had noted in particular that the spoons Dān-Aššur carried were for the votive fund of Bēlum when he wrote to Lamassī from Kanesh at DānAššur’s departure.⁶⁰ There were further issues to deal with. As the gaggle of transporters had set off for Assur in the beginning of August, Pūšu-kēn had asked Lamassī to send five fine textiles back with the youths, a reference to one or more of the transporters with which he had a close relationship.⁶¹ But Pūšu-kēn urged Lamassī not to release one youth, whom Dān-Aššur was bringing back to Assur, to anyone else so that he would “grow up among us.”⁶² This must be the same youth ŠalimAššur had asked Pūšu-kēn to take into his house earlier in the year.⁶³ If so, it was likely Ilī-bāni s. Ikūnum. It seems that Šubultum, wife of an ailing Ikūnum,⁶⁴ had sought to find a new guardian for her son. Šubultum worried that he was too young to act on his own and would spend his joint-stock fund away, so she urged Pūšu-kēn to take him in as his own son. Speaking of Ilī-bāni, she wrote about problems with his joint-stock fund and self-control:

 “Dān-Aššur brought 2 supānum containers of bronze. Ea-šār brought a supānum container of bronze and 1 bronze spoon. Idī-Suen brought 2 supānum containers of bronze. Aḫu-waqar brought 1 supānum container of bronze. Ikūppiya brought 1 supānum container of silver. The son of Ibbī-Sua brought a supānum container of silver. They brought here cups, spoons, and interest(?).” 2 sú-pá-ni ša ud.ka.bar dan-na-a-šùr ub-lam 1 sú-pá-nam ša ud.ka.bar ú it-gu5-ra-am ša ud.ka.bar i-a-šar ub-lam 2 it-gu5-ra-tim ša ud.ka.bar i-dí-sú-en6 ub-lam 1 it-gu5-ra-am ša ud.ka.bar a‐ḫu-wa-qar ub-lam 1 sú-pá-nam ša kù.babbar i-ku-pí-a ub-lam sú-pá-nam ša kù.babbar dumu i-bi-su-a ub-lam sà-ma-lá-tim it-gu5-ra-tim ú ṣi-ba-tim ub-lu-nim (55-CCT 3: 20 obv. 5 – 14).  “21 minas fine copper for the votive fund of Bēlum, 2 supānum containers of bronze, 14 e., [x] minas their weight, chestnuts, half heavy half taziki-type, which belong to Kitaum, 5 Taḫadian epadātum garments, ⅓ minas silver, both a šawiru bracelet and a musarrum (a kind of inscribed amulet?) with the youth (Dān-Aššūr? or the other youth?) their worth 62½ shekels, separately his ring, a youth and a maiden, all this Dān-Aššur bring to you. “ 21 ma-na urudu sig5 ik-ri-bu ša bélim 2 sú-[pá]-na-an ša ud.ka.bar 14 e-x [x ma]-na maš-qal-tim a‐la-nu? mì-iš-lúm kà-bu-tù-tum mìiš-lúm ta-zi-ki pá-šu-ru-um ša a‐na ⸢ki?-ta?⸣-um 5 e-pá-da-tum tal-ḫa-dí-a-tum ⅓ ma-na kù.babbar lu ša-wi-ru lu mu-sà-ru-um ša ṣú-ḫa-ri-im ki.ká.bi ⅔ ma-na 2½ gín a‐ḫa-ma a‐nu-qú!-šu ṣú-ḫa-am ⸢ú⸣ am-tám [mì]-ma a‐nim dan-a-šùr i-ra-de8-a-ki-im (51-CCT 2: 36a obv. 9-rev. 22).  “Give 5 fine textiles to each of the youth. Let them bring them. Let them reach me.” 5.ta túg.hi.a sig5-t[im] a‐ṣú-ḫa-ri dí-ni lu-ub-lu-nim li-ik-šu-du-ni (52-CCT 6: 11a rev. 33-le.e. 36). ˘  Fuller passage: “Urgent, do not release the youth to anyone so that he may grow up among us.” a‐pu-tum ṣú-ḫa-ra-am a‐na ma-ma-an lá tù-ší-ri-ma i-na qé-ra-be-tim li-ir-bi (51-CCT 2: 36a:23 – 26).  “From Šalim-Aššur: I dispatched the boy with Enna-Suen. … My dear brother, if you hesitate, it will cause the boy to be sorrowful. Let the boy live with you.” um-ma ša-lim-a-šùr-ma ṣú-ḫa-raam iš-tí en-na-sú-en6 aṭ-ru-ud … a‐ḫi a‐ta šu-ma ta-ta-gal-ma ṣú-ḫa-ra-am ú-ša-am-ra-[sú] ṣú-ḫaru!-um iš-tí-kà lu-ší-ib (105-VS 26: 17 rev. 23 – 25, lo.e. 28-le.e. 31).  Ikūnum’s health will be discussed in Chapter 16.

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I did not take 5 shekels silver from his capital fund. It was not him. When it was not sufficient, his investor did not redeem for him even a single shekel of silver. It was not me. I cannot live on a mere 5 shekels silver! My dear father, return his capital fund and draw him near to you. Take the youth. Supervise him as your youth. Do not return his capital fund to his account. He will spend it away.⁶⁵

It is also possible, but unlikely, the youth may instead be Aššur-idī s. Šū-Ḫubur.⁶⁶ But if so, one wonders why Šū-Ḫubur, a powerful merchant, would find it useful or necessary to hand over his son to Pūšu-kēn and why Šalim-Aššur was the one suggesting the arrangement rather than Šū-Ḫubur. Other candidates appear from the letter which suggests Aššur-idī, including Ilī-mutabbil, Adad-bāni, and Kašlum, all on their way to Anatolia at the time.⁶⁷ But Ilī-bāni remains the most likely candidate. Later, sometime in early October, we have record of Lamassī sending a namšuḫam textile with Ilī-bāni for another youth, with promise of a nibrārum textile soon.⁶⁸ It also seems that Ilī-bāni continued to interact with Pūšu-kēn over the years.⁶⁹ The youth—whoever he was—is significant for two reasons. First, his entrance into the house provided added pressure on Lamassī. When he arrived in Assur, she determined that because the youth had ‘grown up’ he needed two textiles for traveling, meaning those two would not be available for sale.⁷⁰

 5 gín kù.babbar i-na bé-ú-lá-tí-šu ú-lá al-qé ú-lá šu-ut i-na lá ma-ṣí um-mì-a-ni-šu kù.babbar 1 gín ú-lá ir-ší ú-lá a‐na-ku kù.babbar 5 gín ú-lá áb-lá!-aṭ šu-ma a‐bi a‐ta bé-ú-lá-tí-šu ta-e-er-ma a‐na ṣé-ri-kà ṭá-ḫi-šu ṣú-ḫa-ru-um li-il5-qé-šu!-ma ṣú-ḫa-ri-kà sí-ni-iq-šu bé-ú-lá-tí-šu a‐na qá-tí-šu lá tù-ša-ar i-ga-ma-ar (142-TC 3: 27 obv. 8-rev. 27).  Proposed in Veenhof and Klengel-Brandt 1992: 19, in comparison with 104-VS 26: 16. Whether or not the youth was Aššur-idī s. Šū-Ḫubur or not, Veenhof’s implication is that the two letters are contemporaneous, which is confirmed here.  “Ilī-mutabbil departed with the caravan. Also, Adad-bāni and Kašlum departed with the express caravan.” dingir-mu-ta-bi-il5 ki ḫa-ra-nim i-ta-ṣa-am ù diškur-ba-ni ù kà-as-lúm ki ba-tí-qée i-ta-aṣ-ú-nim (104-VS 26: 16 obv. 4– 6).  “Ilī-bāni brought to the youth a namšuḫam textile belonging to Aḫaḫa. Later, I will send a nibrarum textile to him.” 1 túgna-ma-šu-ḫa-am ša a‐ḫa-ḫa a‐na ṣú-ḫa-ri-im ì-lí-ba-ni na-ší-šum i‐na wa-ar-ki-ú-tim 1 túgni-ib-ra-ra-am ú-šé-ba-lá-šum (60-BIN 4: 10 u.e. 31-le.e. 36).  ATHE 28, wherein Ilī-bāni had brought some silver to Pūšu-kēn for a man named Kuzuziya. It is difficult to pinpoint the year of this letter, but given that far fewer texts survive from before REL 82, I provisionally suggest it as activity from after REL 82.  “If you are my lord, do not be angry about the textiles which you wrote that I did not send to you. Because the boy is growing up, he took one or two textiles for riding. And I (must) also make (textiles), for the members of the house and for the little ones. I was not finished and so did not send the textiles to you. I will send to you as many textiles as come into my possession with the next travelers.” šu-ma be-lí a‐ta a‐šu-mì túg.hi.a ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni lá ú-šé-bi-lá-ku˘ ni li-ba-kà lá i-lá-mì-in ki-ma ṣú-ḫa-ar-⸢tum i⸣-ir-ta-bi-ú-ni túg iš-té-en6 ú šé-na kà-ab-tù-tim a‐na

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(Perhaps he had outgrown his other textiles?) Second, the youth’s movements corroborate that disruptions in the supply of tin and textiles from the south had been a problem at least since the end of June, if not since the late spring. When Šalim-Aššur sent the youth to Pūšu-kēn in Kanesh, which must have been at least a month before Pūšu-kēn sent him back to Assur in the beginning of August, Šalim-Aššur and Pūšu-kēn’s brother-in-law Aššur-mālik described the dearth of goods in Assur because of the turmoil in Akkad. Concerning the price of the textiles of the Akkadians about which you wrote, since you left, no Akkadians have come to the city. Their land is in great turmoil, and if they arrive before winter and the prices are beneficial to you, we will purchase some for you. We will even make the purchases with silver from our own funds. Take heed to send the silver.⁷¹

Šalim-Aššur and Aššur-mālik’s statements about the disrupted supply were sweeping and somewhat self-conflicting. This may be why Puzur-Aššur was so surprised by the disruption when he returned to Assur. In their letters, ŠalimAššur and Aššur-mālik were claiming that absolutely no caravans had arrived since Pūšu-kēn had left (in the early spring), and could only express hope that goods would arrive before winter (five months in the future). Yet Dān-Aššur had left just around this time, along with the people they were addressing in their letter, so it is likely that at least a trickle of goods was getting through. And, despite the prospect that merchandise was nowhere in sight, they assured Pūšu-kēn they would purchase some at good prices when they became available, and urged him to send his silver quickly. There was certainly an air of desperation in Aššur-mālik’s comments elsewhere in the letter. Aššur-mālik had requested that Pūšu-kēn send 10 minas silver from his son Puzur-Ištar. And he expressed relief that Pūšu-kēn had identified some assets Aššur-mālik had lost track of; he now needed them.⁷² His

na-ar-kà-ab-tim e-ta-pá-áš ú a‐na ni-ší bé-tim ú a‐na ṣú-ùḫ-ri-im e-pu-uš ú-lá ak-ta-ša-ad-ma túg.hi.a lá uš-té-bi-lá-kum túg.hi.a ma-lá qá-tí i-kà-šu-du iš-tí wa-ar-ki-ú-tim ú-šé-ba-lá-kum (55˘ ˘ CCT 3: 20 obv. 14-rev. 25).  a‐šu-mì ší-im túg ša a‐ki-dí-e ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni iš-tù tù-uṣ-ú a‐ki-dí-ú a‐na a‐lim ki ú-la e-ru-bunim ma-sú-nu sá-ḫi-a-at-ma šu-ma a-ku-ṣí im-ta-aq!-tù-nim-ma ší-mu-um ša ba-la-ṭí-kà i-ba-ší niša-a-ma-ku-um ⸢ù⸣ kù.babbar i-ra-mì-ni-ni ni-ša-qal kù.babbar i-ḫi-id-ma šé-bi4-lam (105-VS 26: 17 obv. 4-lo.e. 14).  “From Aššur-mālik: My dear brother, because you took care to take out every single mina of silver of my outstanding claims, you have opened my eyes. Now, take care to sent the 10 minas of silver with Puzur-Ištar son of Aššur-mālik with the first (available) traveller. I read your tablet and my heart was gladdened.” um-ma a‐šùr-ma-lik a‐ḫi a‐ta ki-ma ta-ḫi-du-ma kù.babbar 1 ma-na i-na ba-áb-tí-a tù-šé-ṣí-a e-né-a ta-áp-té ú 10 ma-na kù.babbar ša puzur4-ištar

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thankfulness for the 10 minas silver may date this letter to around late May, because it was in late May that Šalim-aḫum was grumbling about losing the contract with Puzur-Ištar for gold. He had complained that Pūšu-kēn had instead ensured that Aššur-mālik had gotten his money from Puzur-Ištar. Perhaps it was the same 10 minas silver. But the real difficulties were being experienced later in the season. By early October, the tension in Assur was significant. Lamassī was perturbed. Pūšu-kēn’s representatives had taken Pūšu-kēn’s memorandum from the house and she found herself unable to keep track of the necessary transactions. “The tablet of the ‘gates’ memorandum which stays in your house, your representatives got it out and they have it in their possession. As for me, what am I responsible for? Now, I do not know whether to pay out to your merchants or not!”⁷³ Among her concerns was the payment for the house of Ennānum.⁷⁴ As if to confirm that the letters are from this year, one of Lamassī’s letters contained a reference that the limmum official Šudāya, after whom this year of vengeance was named, had notified Lamassī that Pūšu-kēn owed 1 mina 10 shekels (silver) in exit taxes. Lamassī relayed to her husband that she was going to give him the 1 mina 10 shekels that she had earlier planned to give to the limmum official Buzuzu.⁷⁵ This problem was contemporaneous to the process of buying, selling, and fixing up homes in which Lamassī was actively participating. One dimension of that activity was obtaining beams for one of the houses. The interaction with Šudāya took place in the latter half of the year, after a man named Urāni had come back to Assur and helped out with repairing one of the houses. In her letter about Šudāya, Lamassī related that Urāni had arrived in Assur recently.⁷⁶ This must have been after the beginning of September, at

dumu a‐šùr-ma-lik i-ḫi-id-ma i-na pá-ni-e-ma šé-bi4-lam dub-kà áš-me-ma li-bi4 iḫ-du (105-VS 26: 17 rev. 15-rev. 23).  ṭup-pu-um ta-aḫ-sí-is-tám ša ba-a-ba-tim ša i-na bé-tí-kà té-zi-bu mu-zi-zu-kà ú-šé-ṣí-ú-ma qású-nu-ma ú-kà-al a‐na-ku a-mì-ma ú-lá aṭ-ḫi ù a‐na dam.gàr-ri-kà iš-qú-lu la iš-qú-lu mì-ma ú-la i‐de (61-CCT 3: 19b obv. 2– 9).  “In total he [Šalim-Aššur] will pay 8½ minas silver to Aššur-imittī s. Ennānum.” šunigin 8½ ma-na kù.babbar a‐na a‐šur-i-mì-tí dumu en-na-nim i-ša-qal (61-CCT 3: 19b rev. 18 – 19).  “The limmum official Šudāya requested silver and he said, ‘He owes about a mina of silver for exit taxes.’ I will pay out the 1 minas 10 shekels (silver) which you would pay to the limmum official Buzuzu to the limmum official Šūdāya as the 1 mina.” li-mu-um šu-da-a kù.babbar e-riša-ni- um-ma šu-ut-ma ša wa-ṣí-tí-šu kù.babbar 1 ma-na ḫa-bu-ul kù.babbar 1 ma-na 10 gín ša a‐na li-mì-im bu-zu-zu tù-šé-bi-lá-ni a‐na li-mì-im šu-da-a {x} 1 ma-na a‐ša-qal (59‐BIN 6: 3 obv. 3-rev. 12).  “Urani did not give the 5 shekels silver which you sent. He said, ‘He gave me 5 shekels of silver, but he did not give permission to release it.’” 5 gín kù.babbar ša tù-šé-bi-lá-ni ú-ra-ni

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which point he had not yet arrived.⁷⁷ Later, Lamassī discussed Urāni seeing to beams for houses.⁷⁸ It was at that point that she ended a letter to Pūšu-kēn to send some silver for the exit tax.⁷⁹ These and other connections further confirm that the documents were from the year of vengeance, from REL 82.⁸⁰ While the limmum official Šudāyā could have been collecting exit taxes in a different year from the year named after him, the consilience between the difficulties with textiles and wool, and the movements of various persons, including Dān-Aššur, make the contemporaneity of these documents highly likely.⁸¹ It may also be that during this year Lamassī and her daughter Aḫaḫa wrote a letter to Pūšu-kēn complaining that his representatives had not bought grain for

ú-lá i-dí-nam um-ma šu-ut-ma 5 gín kù.babbar i-dí-nam a‐na pá-šu-ri-im pá-šu-ra-am ú-lá i-dínam (59-BIN 6: 3 rev. 12– 18).  According to Lamassī’s letter, where Urāni had previously taken 8 textiles to Pūšu-kēn, but had not necessarily returned yet: “Urāni brought you 8 textiles. I will send to you that which they took out ½ mina (?) with Ea-šār. As for that which Urāni brought to you, …” 8 túg.hi.a ˘ ú-ra-ni na-áš-a-ku-um ša ½ ma-na.ta ú-ṣú-bu-ni ki i-a-šar ú-šé-ba-lá-ku- ša ú-ra-ni na-áša-ku-ni (57-BIN 4: 9 obv. 8 – 12).  “Also, Urāni did settle the finishing greatly to your representative, concerning the beams he confirmed. I did not exhaust it. Also, he took the beams belonging to your brother. The copper which you gave to him for the beams he did not give at all.” ù ú-ra-ni a‐na ša ki-ma ku-a-tí a‐šumì gu5-šu-ri ú-kà-i-nu gám-ra-am ma-dí-iš iš-ta-kà-an ú-lá ag-ra-am e-gu5-ur a‐ba-áš-tí-kà né-ta-riiš lá-at-kam iš-am lá eb-ra-am ša 10 gín urudu il5-qé ù gu5-šu-ri 8 ša a‐ḫi-kà il5-qé urudu ša a‐na gu5!--ri ta-dí-nu-šu-ni mì-ma lá i-dí-nam (BIN 4 :10 rev. 20-u.e. 30).  “Send the x+1½ minas silver of Ilī-mālik, the copy of the tablet which you left, and [x] x shekels for the exit tax.” [x] 1½ ma!-na kù.babbar ša dingir-ma-lik [me]-ḫe-er ṭup-pì-im ša té-zi-bu [x x] x? gín a‐na wa-ṣí-im šé-bi4-lam (61-CCT 3: 19b rev. 24– 27). The sign just before gín looks like AD, which does not make sense, unless it was the end of me-at. However, me-at used with shekels is unprecedented, and very unexpected. Collation of the tablet is needed.  Note that Lamassī was concerned about recovering the silver from a textile she sent to Aššurmālik (likely Aššur-mālik s. Errāya) in 64-CCT 4: 21b; 57-BIN 4: 9; 60-BIN 4: 10; and 58-BIN 6: 7. The issue of putting their daughter on the lap of Aššur connects this group to 55-CCT 3: 20, which in turn connects to 52-CCT 6: 11a and 51-CCT 2: 36a through the discussion of the youth, and back to 57-BIN 4: 9 and 56-BIN 6: 11 through Kulumaya’s 9 textiles. This leaves only 53-BIN 6: 102 and 54-TC 3: 35, which discuss matters of purchasing grain, also an apparent subject in 52-CCT 6: 11a.  Lamassī also discussed the matter of paying the limmum official in her letter stating the mankind had become perverse. “The mina of silver for your exit tax which you sent me, the exit regulators demanded it, and fearing for your reputation I did not give it. I said, ‘Let the limmum official enter and I shall release the house.’ Your sister sold a maid but I liberated her for 14 shekels.” kù.babbar 1 ma-na ša wa-ṣí-tí-kà ša tù-šé-bi4-lá-ni mu-ṣí-um e-ri-šu-ni-ma a‐šu-mì-kà pá-al-ḫa-ku-ma ù-lá a‐-in um-ma a‐na-ku-ma li-mu-um li-ru-ba-ma é-bé-tám li-bu-uk a‐ḫa-atkà géme a‐na ší-mì-im ta-dí-in-ma a‐na-ku a‐na 14 gín áp-ṭù-ur-ší (62-RA 59: 25 lo.e. 17-rev. 29).

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them, asking for it to be done.⁸² Pūšu-kēn seems to have addressed concerns about buying grain in his August letter when he asked why Lamassī complained about the maḫā’um and promised to resolve the matter about bread.⁸³ Lamassī later complained that Iliš-tikal was supposed to have bought grain with silver given him by Pūšu-kēn, but had not.⁸⁴ Iliš-tīkal likely obtained the silver from Pūšu-kēn when he had been in Anatolia, where he had successfully collected some silver from the estate of the recently deceased Aššur-rē’ī.⁸⁵ Both letters focus on the harvest, suggesting it was coming soon, and other indications suggest that the harvest to which they referred occurred around the end of the shipping season.⁸⁶ Lamassī’s complaints about lack of food should not be connected to her death. She did not die this year. A letter by Pūšu-kēn about his wife dying is well-known, but must refer to someone else, probably later in his life.⁸⁷ Pūšukēn’s relationship with Lamassī ended in divorce, not death, as best we can tell.⁸⁸

 “As for the 10 shekels gold which you sent for acquiring grain, from when the year goes to its face until now, your representatives have not acquired any grain so we are sending you a message. Now, we are writing to you for as much grain as can be acquired and for its clearance.” 10 gín kù.gi ša a‐na ú-ṭá-tim ša-pá-ki-im tù-še-bi-lá-ni ki-ma ša-tum a‐na pá-ni-ša i-lu-ku-ni a‐dí-ni ša ki-ma ku-a-tí ú-ṭá-tám ú-lá iš-pu-ku-ma ù té-er-tí-ni i-li-kà-kum u4-ma-am ú-ṭa-tám ma-lá i-ša-pu-ku-ni ù za-ku-sà ni-ša-pá-ra-kum (54-TC 3: 35 obv. 3-rev. 14).  “Why is it that you have worried about the uncle(?) (maḫā’um)? Here, I myself will concern myself(?) with your bread that they promised. Innaya will enter and leave.” mì-šu ša e-ma-am taaḫ-dí-ri-ni a‐na-ku a‐na-kam ki-ma i-qá-bi4-ú-ni i-ṣé-er? ninda-kà a‐zu-áb e-na-a e-ra-ba ú-ṣí-a! (52-CCT 6: 11a le.e. 36 – 39). A smooth translation of this passage is made difficult by the meaning of zu’ābum.  “Make known the silver which you gave to Iliš-tīkal for purchasing grain. Iliš-tīkal did not buy grain for us.” kù.babbar ⸢ša⸣ a‐na ì-lí-iš-tí-kál a‐na ⸢še⸣-im ša-a-mì-im ta-dí-nu-ni wa-dí ì‐lí-iš-tí-kál še-am [ú-lá i-ša-am]-ni-a-ti (53-BIN 6: 102 obv. 3 – 7).  “6 minas 53 shekels silver, which Iliš-tīkal entrusted to Aššur-rēʾī and Ennam-ānum, at the fulfillment of the term Iliš-tīkal collected the silver and thereof I gave 5⅚ shekels, its shipping, to Uṣur-ša-Aššur.” 7 ma-na lá 3 gín kù.babbar ša a‐šùr-sipa ù e-na-ma-nim ì-lí-iš-tí-kál i-qí-pu-ni ina u4-me-šu ma-al-ú-tim kù.babbar ì-lí-iš-tí-kál ú-ša-áš-qí-il5-ma šà.ba 6⅚ gín ša-du-a- a‐na ú-ṣur-ša-a-šur a‐dí-in (82-CCT 2: 36b-37a obv. 3 – 12).  Note that Pūšu-kēn’s letter, also written near the end of the year, also mentions the coming ‘harvest’: “write to me your kind words through my servant so that I can gather every shekel of my bulātum before the harvest and …” a‐wa-at-ku-[nu] da-mì-iq-tám iš-tí ṣú-ḫa-ri-a lá-pí-ta-nimma kù.babbar 1 gín bu-lá-tí-a a‐na ⸢ḫa⸣-ar-pè lu-pá-ḫe-er-ma … (89-BIN 4: 32 le.e. 36 – 38).  TC 1: 30.  “Pūšu-kēn and Lamassī swore the oath of the city. Lammasi took [x] minas silver as her severance. Lamassī and her female slaves will not return to Pūšu-kēn, his sons, his daughters, and his employees. By the oath of Aššur, Anna, the prince, and the chief of the ‘war,’ they swore that from now on neither would return to the other for anything.” [pu-šu-ke]-en6 [ù] [lá-ma-sí] ni-iš [a-

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Some threads of Lamassī’s experience suggest, ever so slightly—and not without some ambiguity—that the role of Assyrian households in the trade was growing in unexpected ways as a result of the disruption. The lack of respect Lamassī was afforded by the transporters may have had as much to do with the tense situation as with her gender. Frequently things sent to her were not turned over, or were turned over only in part. And when Pūšu-kēn’s representatives took the memorandum, it is equally possible that they did so in an attempt to work out issues under pressure at the end of the year, not trusting Lamassī’s competence. Pūšu-kēn and Lamassī’s conversation about the quality and weight of textiles echoed that tension as well. But many of these interactions may have also been tinged with new power dynamics for increasingly important female economic actors. For example, the same conversation about the textiles’ quality and weight could be read to suggest that Lamassī was still learning both what Assyrian households could offer and what the Anatolian market wanted. But there is too little from before this year to substantiate such an interpretation. A larger picture of trade before the REL 80s is needed before we can claim that in these years the trade was just beginning to take the form we recognize in the anecdotal frame, as has been suggested from time to time.⁸⁹ What could have provoked the disruption of supply in the south? It was certainly a time of political upheaval in southern Mesopotamia. Sūmû-El’s immediate predecessor as king of Larsa, Abī-sarē, only five years previous had attacked the city of Isin, which dramatically weakened the ideological hegemony it had previously enjoyed in its status as the inheritor of the Ur III state in Mesopotamia. A number of other cities rebelled against Larsa, including Sūmû-abum, the founder of the dynasty to which Hammurabi belonged. A phase of significant political pluralism in southern Mesopotamia ensued. Šalim-aḫum’s year of vengeance corresponds in southern Mesopotamia, the source of many textiles, to the third year of Sūmû-El of Larsa, and the 4th year of Būr-Sîn of Isin. It appears that in this year Sūmû-El was on campaign and claims to have successfully destroyed Aksum and rebuffed the army of Kazallu, as reported by the name of the following year.⁹⁰ These cities lay in the north of Sumer, beyond the city of

lim]ki it-mu-ú [x ma]-na [kù.babbar] e-zi-ib-ta-ša [lá-ma]-sí ta-al-qé [a-na] pu-šu-ke-en6 [me-er]-šu me-er-ú-a-tí-šu [ù] kà-ṣa-ri-šu [lá]-ma-sí ù [géme?]-sà lá i-tù-[ra] [ni]-iš a‐šùr [ni]-iš a‐na ni-iš ru-ba-e ù ni-iš ra-bi4 sí-kà-tim [it]-mu-ú-ma [a]-mì-ma šu-um-šu [a-ḫu]-um a‐na a‐[ḫi-im] [lá] i‐tù-a-ar (Prag I: 651 obv. 1-rev. 19).  This discussion will be taken up in Chapter 19.  “Year Akusum was destroyed and the army of Kazallu was smitten by weapons.” (mu a‐kuuski ba-hul u2 ugnim ka-zal-luki gištukul ba-sig3). This form and the shortened “Year Akusum

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Isin,⁹¹ and not unlikely along the principal route north for the caravans bringing textiles, reinforcing the recent ascension of Larsa in that Sūmû-El could mobilize his troops in the north. How early in the year Sūmû-El marched north and began his military operations is difficult to tell. If the disruption was felt in the north in Assur already by June, his mobilization could have followed the spring harvest. Positioned at the north end of Akkad, the activities could have easily scared off the caravans that had fewer options for circumventing the conflict. Sūmû-El was active in this northern zone frequently for the next decade and more, as evidenced by his year names.⁹² Whether or not the trade was disrupted so badly each time Sūmû-El operated in the region north of Larsa requires further temporalizing of the Assyrian sources. The disruption of trade in the year of vengeance had its effect on Šalimaḫum and Pūšu-kēn, and on those around them. While asking for Pūšu-kēn to send Dān-Aššur home, Šalim-aḫum reported to what must have been a disappointed Dān-Aššur that he had been able to acquire some small amount of tin before the disruption reverberated north, and thereafter had not been able to buy any more. According to Šalim-aḫum, no tin was available because the lower land was in tumult.⁹³ In a second letter, he reported to Pūšu-kēn and was destroyed” (mu a‐ku-uski ba-ḫul) are used equally frequently in the contemporary documents from the year. See Walters 1973 for discussion.  For a discussion of the localization of both Aksum and Kazallu, see Charpin 1978, 14– 22.  See again Charpin 1978.  “From Šalim-aḫum to Pūšu-kēn: To Dān-Aššur: You wrote me. “45 minas (silver) which the merchant brought to you.” I opened one sack of 10 minas and with 9 of its minas, before the city (passed a) resolution, I purchased tin and its wrappings according to your instructions, resulting in 4 donkeys loaded with tin and one donkey of mine loaded with tin. But as for the 33 minas silver belonging to the merchant, which you sent me (in the transport) of Kuṣia, because of the city resolution that they must purchase a third tin. There is no tin available. As for the lower land, at the breakdown (of the disruption), I will make purchases for the merchandise of the merchant and Kuṣia will bring it to you. Clear the merchandise, both from the transport of Puzur-Aššur and from the transport of Aššur-mālik, and let Dān-Aššur come. Send me silver for my votive fund and about 10 shekels gold with the next caravan.” um-ma ša-lim-aḫu-um-ma a‐na pu-šu-ke-en6 ù dan-a-[šur] qí-bi4-ma a‐na dan-a-šur qí-bi4-ma ta-áš-pu-ra-am um-ma a‐ta-ma 45 ma-na ša dam.gàr na-áš-ú-ni-kum 1 né-pì-ša-am ša 10 ma-na ap-ṭur4-ma 9 ma-na-e-šu-ma lá-ma dí-in a‐lim ki a‐na ma-lá té-er-tí-ku-nu an.na ù li-wi-sú áš-a-ma 4 anše ša an.na ù iš-té-en6 anše i-a-um ša an.na ù 40 túg šà.ba 20 túgkà-ab-tù-tum a‐na ší-tí lu-qútí-im ša ba-ri-ni 30 túg šà.ba 10 túgkà-áb-tù-tum dam-qú-tum mì-ma a‐nim a‐šur-ma-lik dumu ir-ma-diškur i-ra-de8-a-ku-nu-tí 33 ma-na kù.babbar [ša dam.gàr] ša ku-ṣí-a tù-šé-bi-lá-ni i-na dí-in a‐lim ki ša-li-iš-tám an.na i-ša-ú-mu an.na lá i-ba-ší ša ma-at ša-pì-il5-tim i-ma-qá-tim a‐lu-qú-tim ša dam.gàr ší-ma-am a‐ša-a-ma ku-ṣí-a ú-ba-lá-ku-nu-tí lu-qú-tám lu ša šé-ep puzur4-a-šur lu ša šé-ep a‐šur-ma-lik za-ki-a-ma dan-a-šur li-ta-al-kam kù.babbar ša ik-ri-bi4-a ù kù.gi 10 gín i-pá-nim-ma šé-bi4-lá-nim (43-AKT 3: 73 obv. 1-le.e. 37).

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Dan-Aššur that there were no textiles available for sale because the road from the lower land was not open, but that if it opened he would buy textiles and send them as soon as he could.⁹⁴ As a result, a broken letter evidently from Šalimaḫum, counseling Pūšu-kēn to only loan Ilabrat-bāni silver in a way that Ilabrat-bāni’s investors would stand as guarantors, must come from this same time. Šalim-aḫum discussed strategies for what to do if Dān-Aššur was delayed, and for trying to buy tin in the context of the disruption in the south land.⁹⁵ Šalim-aḫum’s fears of being shamed at the gate, expressed in the context of the joint venture, may have been bundled up, not in his lack of access to capital, but in factors well beyond his control. In this light, his ‘shame’ seems an odd reaction. Perhaps his ego overrode reality and he was concerned about projecting wealth at all costs. The disruption of the tin and textile supply from the south certainly created tension among the merchants and their households. But there was another, deeper tension that lurked in the letters of the merchants. When Puzur-Aššur wrote his letter to Pūšu-kēn while traveling to Assur, he included a presumably polite interjection near the end, “May your household and your little ones be

 (Both the previous letter and this one discuss silver brought by a man named Kuṣiya, and 10 shekels gold for his votive fund.) “From Šalim-aḫum to Pūšu-kēn and Dān-Aššur: As for the silver belonging to the merchant which Kuṣia brought, the caravan from the lower land is in chaos. Also, here there are no purchases of tin available. If the caravan from the lower land arrives, I will purchase tin and textiles according to the decision of the city and send them to you (pl.) with the very first caravan. … Let them bring 10 shekels gold and 5 minas washed copper with the silver of my votive fund” um-ma ša-lim-a-ḫu-um-ma a‐na pu-šu-ke-en₆ ù dana-šur qí-bi₄-ma kù.babbar ša dam.gàr ša ku-ṣí-a ub-lá-ni ḫa-ra-num ša ma-at ša-pì-il₅-tim ša-daat ù a‐na-kam ší!?-mì an.na ú-lá i-ba-ší šu-ma ḫa-ra-num ša ma-at ša-pì-il₅-tim e-ta-ar-ba-am malá dí-in a‐lim ki an.na ù túg.hi.a a‐ša-a-ma i-pá-nim-ma ú-šé-ba-lá-ku-nu-tí … iš-tí kù.babbar ša ˘ ik-ri-bi₄-a 10 gín kù.gi ù 5 ma-na urudu ma-sí-a-am lu-ub-lu-nim (44-AKT 3: 74 obv. 1– 13, rev. 32– 34).  “…(As for?) the amount of tin(for?) Dān-Aššur about which you wrote me, the (goods/caravan) of the ‘south’ land … I will purchase as much as you wrote so that if Dān-Aššur is delayed, he(?) .. will? … Regarding the matter of Ilabrat-bāni about which you wrote, ‘He asked me for silver on loan.’ If you give him silver, give him silver ina tašimtim so that one of his investors repays you. You (pl.) wrote me. You (pl.) wrote, ‘Take 10 minas silver there.’ I did not receive the silver. [Now, if] you give him a loan, give the silver to him as tašimtim so that the investors repay you!” an.na ša a‐ma!?-[lá] dan-a-šur ša ta!-áš-pu-ra-ni ša ma-at ša-pí-il₅-tim ša am x a‐na ma-lá ta-áš-pu-ra-ni a‐ša-a-ma u! šu-ma dan-a-šur a‐ḫu-ur an.na ša a‐ma-ki-im iš-[x …] li-qé-a x x x-am a‐šu-mì ša dnin.šubur-ba-ni ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni um-ma a‐ta-ma kù.babbar a‐na be-a-lim e-riší šu-ma ta-da-šu-um kù i-na ta-ší-im-tim dí-šu-ma ù ma-ma-an i-na um-mì-a-ni le-pu-ul-kà ta-ášpu-ra-nim um-ma a‐tù-nu-ma 10 ma-na kù.babbar a‐ma-kam li-qé [kù.babbar] a‐na-kam ú-lá a‐al-qé [ù? šu?-ma?] a‐na be-a-lim ta-da-šu-um [kù.babbar] a‐na ta-ší-im-tim!-ma [dí-šu]-ma ù um-mì-a-num le-pu-ul-kà (8-KTS 1: 41a lo.e. 5’-rev. 23’).

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well.”⁹⁶ When Pūšu-kēn wrote with several others to Puzur-Aššur from Purušḫattum, he ended his letter with, “Your retainer is well.”⁹⁷ Pūšu-kēn did not mean himself, rather one of Puzur-Aššur’s slaves at his home in Purušḫattum. Neither of these comments were simple niceties. In September, Lamassī lamented that they had been haunted by Pūšu-kēn’s baštum spirit since Pūšu-kēn had left.⁹⁸ She also bemoaned, “Humanity has turned evil. Everyone stands ready to devour his neighbor.”⁹⁹ And already in May or June, when Aššur-mālik and Šalim-Aššur first sent the youth to Pūšu-kēn, they wrote, “He must not contract any illness.”¹⁰⁰ The trade disruption was not the only trouble during this year. A plague was moving through the area, and the merchants were particularly vulnerable.

 é-et-⸢kà⸣ ù ṣú-ḫu-ur-kà ša-lim (126-CCT 2: 38 le.e.32– 33).  ša-am-kà-kà ša-li-im (135-BIN 4: 31 le.e. 45 – 46).  “Since you have been there, we have been (haunted?) by your baštum spirit” wa-áš-ba-tí-ni i‐⸢n⸣a ba-áš-tí-kà nu-x-x-ni (57-BIN 4: 9 rev. 15 – 17).  ta-ni-iš!-tum il5!-té-mì-in a‐ḫu-um a‐na a‐ḫi-im a‐na ḫa-lá-tim i-za-az (62-RA 59: 25 obv. 3 – 6).  mì-ma li-ip-tám lá i-ra-ší (104-VS 26: 16 rev. 14’-u.e. 15’).

Chapter 16 Vengeance of the Gods When Pūšu-kēn had sketched his plan to deprive Ilabrat-bāni of his tin, he had suggested the trustworthy Dān-Aššur to lead in the raid. But when the time came, Šalim-aḫum did not use Dān-Aššur because of his illness and Ennam-Aššur went instead. Dān-Aššur’s illness in Assur, which he had also battled a few months previous in Durḫumit, was one echo of a pressure much larger than the commercial pursuits of Pūšu-kēn, Šalim-aḫum, Dān-Aššur, or Ilabrat-bāni. A plague was on the loose. Furthermore, Pūšu-kēn’s spending spree on houses was not an attempt to build some real estate empire. In the wake of the diminishing supply of goods to truck and sell, he was acquiring strategic assets that were at the time the most prominent available goods—physical houses of deceased merchants. Ilabrat-bāni’s misfortune could have been the result of Pūšu-kēn’s harried frustration in being caught between an important investor and a pathetic nephew. Or Pūšu-kēn could simply have been tipping off Šalim-aḫum to the right moment to take his revenge. But Pūšu-kēn’s letter was not written in a vacuum. Behind all of Pūšu-kēn’s and Šalim-aḫum’s frustrated letters, behind their house purchases, beyond Puzur-Ištar’s inability to pay gold, and especially behind Šalim-aḫum’s concern about utukkū demons, the stench of death permeated the thoughts of many merchants as a plague was sweeping across Anatolia into Assur, perhaps brought home to Assur by the merchants themselves. Many merchants died in the year of vengeance, and a fear of others dying punctuated Pūšu-kēn’s letters and those of his interlocutors. A merchant named Lālum died in Assur around May after returning from Anatolia, and may have been one of those who first brought the plague to the home city. In mid-May, Šalim-aḫum had asked Pūšu-kēn to send to him the will of a recently deceased Aššur-imittī, packed in straw.¹ A month or two later, Pūšu-kēn reported

 “A tablet recording the will of Aššur-imittī is with Šalim-Aššur son of Ennam-Aššur in Ḫurrama. Send to him to have the tablet brought to you. Wrap up the tablet in straw, and carefully entrust (it) to a reliable affiliated trader so that he may bring it to me. Give a shekel of silver from the silver to the bearer of the tablet.” ṭup-pu-um ša ší-ma-at a‐šùr-i-mì-tí i-na ḫu-ra-⸢ma⸣ iš-tí ša-lim-a-šùr dumu en-um-a-[šùr] i-ba-ší šu-up-ra-ma ṭup-pá-am lu-ub-lu-ni-ku-nu-tí-ma ṭuppá-am i-na qá-nu-e lá-wi-a-ma [da]-am-qí-iš a‐na dumu um-mì-a-nim [ke]-nim pí-iq-da-ma luub-lam a‐na wa-bi-il5 ṭup-p[ì-i]m kù.babbar 1 ⸢gín⸣ i-na ⸢kù.babbar⸣ dí-na-šu-um (14-POAT 19 rev. 28-le.e. 37). DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-016

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that an Idī-Šamaš died while transporting Pūšu-kēn’s goods.² Another of Šalimaḫum’s letters mentioned a will in conjunction with a statement about tin being available, possibly having to do with the disruption of the trade.³ It appears that a man named Šū-Nunu also died this year.⁴ And it appears that Puzur-Anna s. Qayyātum died as well.⁵ Ikūnum, a man close to Pūšu-kēn’s business, failed in his health enough to cause his investors, including Šū-Ḫubur, to essentially foreclose on him and possibly cause Ikūnum’s wife to hand over their son to Pūšu-kēn. He probably died during the year. The death of another merchant named Šū-Aššur also caused problems for those in Pūšu-kēn’s circle. Aššur-rē’ī s. Puzur-Ištar, whose documents were partially published recently, also died during this year. It appears that this plague was what at least one Assyrian had called the ‘atrocity (nukurātum) of Kanesh’⁶ and what Aššur-rē’ī’s son later called a ‘plague’ (mūtānū).⁷ In addition to the deaths inevitably caused by Sūmû-El’s military aggression in the south, a deadly biological agent was laying many low as it moved from the west to east through the Anatolian and Old Assyrian communities. Sickness and death strained the Assyrian socioeconomic networks. Pūšu-kēn’s wife

 143-TC 3: 34. Dān-Aššur and Šū-Suen were mentioned as witnesses, so it was possibly in the middle of the year. Pūšu-kēn reported that 10 minas silver was lost ‘on the road’ as a result of the death, meaning Idī-Šamaš had been transporting goods worth that much.  “Regarding the silver … which you sent … your instructions and .. 10 minas silver .. we … Tin which … is available. … at the departure … we will dispatch to you. [long broken section] … of the caravan … until now … Please keep an eye on the boy. In the tablet containing the will of …. tablet …” a‐ṣé-er kù.babbar […] tù-šé-bi-la-ni […] te9-er-tí-kà ù […] 10 ma-na kù.babbar nu-[x …] an.na ša x […] i-ba-ší zu-[x …] i-na wa-ṣí-[im …] ni-ṭa-ra-[da-kum …] ša x […] x […] ša ⸢illat⸣ […] a‐dí-ni i-ni-[x … a‐ṣé-er] ṣú-ḫa-ri-im e-kà li-li-[ik i]-na ṭup-pí-im ša ší-ma-at [x x] x x ṭup-pá-am i-[x …] (45-BIN 6: 82 obv. 3 – 12, u.e. 1’-le.e. 5’).  Tāriš-mātum and her children were settling the estate of her dead husband Aššur-mālik, discussed below, when they discussed the division of Šū-Nunu’s property: “As for the fact that no one must approach anyone either in the city or abroad, they will divide the silver that Šū-Nunu gathered in the city, (here) in the city according to their witnesses. They will confiscate every shekel received by anyone who makes claims abroad!” (114-TC 2: 21 obv.7– 13). Note also the transport of some of Šū-Nunu’s silver, likely in conjunction with the clearance of his estate: “To Pūšu-kēn, thus Aššur-šamšī, Puzur-Ištar, and Aššur-mālik: Puzur-Šamaš brings to you 23⅓ minas silver of Šū-Nunu’s sack under our seal.” a‐na pu-šu-ke-en6 qí-bi-ma um-ma a‐šur-dutu-ši puzur4-ištar ù a‐šur-ma-lik-ma «ma» 23⅓ ma-na kù.babbar ša na-ru-uq šu-nunu ku-nu-ki-ni puzur4.dutu na-áš-a-ku-um (140-BIN 4: 82 obv. 1– 9). It is unclear if VS 26: 27 pertains to this same Šū-Nunu, or if it precedes his death.  See Chapter 13.  See Kryszat 2004b: 51.  Çeçen 1995.

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lamented that “Brother was turning against brother.”⁸ And she felt Pūšu-kēn’s baštum spirit haunting her since he had left.⁹ A number of letters for which some women have been interpreted as hysterical can now be read in a context that makes their concerns quite understandable. A precise account of whatever this, apparently biological, phenomenon was is impossible. It was not the Black Death.¹⁰ But it was something the Assyrians did not treat lightly.¹¹ An initial account of this plague, all that can be communicated here, comes through what can be reconstructed about the fall of four merchants. The first three merchants and Pūšu-kēn’s dealings with them concretely connect to Šalim-aḫum’s activities in the year of vengeance: Pūšu-kēn’s associate Ikūnum fell ill to the sickness in this year. He may have survived, but his business effectively died. Lālum’s death represents how quickly the plague could unravel a merchant’s life, while the the death of Šū-Aššur shows how even seemingly unconnected merchants could disrupt Pūšu-kēn’s activities. As a result of the better understood context of the plague, we can now recognize the death of Aššur-rē’ī, who was previously thought to have survived the plague by ten years. In fact, the year of vengeance allows us to contextualize his death and the records of his estate settlement. Early in the season, Šū-Ḫubur entrusted a donkey-load of tin for delivery to Anatolia to a merchant named Ikūnum s. Samāya.¹² When he arrived in Anatolia, Pūšu-kēn sold the merchandise to Ikūnum on credit, for a term of 13 ‘weeks,’ around 3 months.¹³ Pūšu-kēn sent a letter to Šū-Ḫubur informing him of the

 “You are hearing that all mankind has become perverse. Each man stands prepared to swallow his neighbor. Be honorable! Come, and break your fetters! Place the girl on the lap of Aššur.” ta-ša-me-ma ta-ni-iš!-tum il5!-té-mì-in a‐ḫu-um a‐na a‐ḫi-im a‐na ḫa-lá-tim i-za-az ku-ta-bi-it-ma ù al-kam-ma ku-ur-sí-kà pá-ri-ir ṣú-ḫa-ar-tám a‐na sú-un a‐šùr šu-ku-un (62-RA 59: 25 obv. 3 – 11).  “Since you have been there, we have been (haunted?) by your baštum spirit” wa-áš-ba-tí-ni i‐⸢n⸣a ba-áš-tí-kà nu-x-x-ni (57-BIN 4: 9 rev. 15 – 17).  Recent evidence suggests the Black Death can be associated with yersinia pestis, see Wagner et al. 2014. But genetic mutations preclude any serious associations with ancient biological agents.  It is for this reason that I render the phenomenon with the word plague. It is worth noting that the relative ages of the dead or feared dead covered here were old and young. A more clinical term might be epidemic, but I have a hard time associating our concept of epidemic with their concept of the thing that was making them ill and killing them, especially considering Šalim-aḫum’s and Tariš-mātum’s comments. The ‘Biblical’ feel of the term ‘plague’ is more appropriate for understanding the experience of the Assyrians in this year.  Patronym known from 87-CCT 3: 22b-23a obv. 6 – 7, see below for relation to these texts.  The price of the goods were a 7 shekel rate for the tin and 20 shekels each for the textiles, prices that match exactly the market price paid for goods from Nūr-Ištar’s caravan and Ilī-ašranni’s caravan in Šalim-aḫum’s commercial enterprises.

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price at which he had sold the merchandise and the credit term, which ŠūḪubur, by his own admission, received gladly. Thereafter Šū-Ḫubur sent Ikūnum a letter that, though its contents are unknown, caused embarrassment for Pūšu-kēn. When the credit term expired, around the second week of July,¹⁴ Pūšu-kēn went to collect the silver. But Ikūnum presented Pūšu-kēn with his letter from Šū-Ḫubur, which somehow allowed him to rebuff Pūšu-kēn’s attempt to collect. Pūšu-kēn then sent a letter complaining to Šū-Ḫubur about the situation. This string of events was recounted in Šū-Ḫubur’s conciliatory response, which was in fact that long and complicated letter about various previous letters cited in the chapter on the tempo of communication. Šū-Ḫubur apologized to Pūšukēn about the communication mixup and also sent another letter at the same time that was directed at both Pūšu-kēn and Ikūnum and instructed Ikūnum to pay his outstanding debts.¹⁵ Whatever words filled the letter Ikūnum had used against Pūšu-kēn, his motivation may have been connected to his health. In another letter, Šū-Ḫubur noted he had heard rumors to the effect that Ikūnum’s health was failing.¹⁶ Fearing significant losses, Ikūnum’s investors were trying to extract their money from him before he died. Some were willing to receive their shares without any of the  Assuming that Ikūnum arrived around 10 April, like the Nūr-Ištar and Ilī-ašranni caravans. The credit term was for 13 weeks.  “From Šū-Ḫubur to Ikūnum and Pūšu-kēn: (Particularly) to Ikūnum: Your partners who bought tin and textiles along with you sent me silver, the price of the tin and textiles. But as for you, if you are my brother, weigh out the silver, the price of my tin and textiles. I placed 15 minas tin belonging to my votive fund separately in your pack, in the transport of ṢilliIštar. Also, when you left, Aššur-rēʾī Ḫanunum gave you 5 minas tin in the presence of Aššurimittī son of Ikuppiya. My dear brother, either with the next departure or the following one, pay the silver altogether to Pūšu-kēn.” um-ma šu-ḫu-bur-ma a‐na i-ku-nim {x} ù pu-šu-keen6 qí-bi-ma a‐na i-ku-nim qí-bi-ma tap-pá-ú-kà ša an.na ù túg.hi.a iš-tí-kà il5-qé-ú-ni kù.babbar ˘ ší-im an.na-ki-a ù túg.hi.a ú-šé-bi-lu-ú-nim ù a‐ta šu-ma a‐ḫi a‐ta kù.babbar ší-im an.na-⸢ki?-a?⸣ ˘ ù túg.hi-tí-a a‐n[a] pu-šu-ke-en šu-qú-ul 15 m[a-na] an.na a‐ḫa-ma ša ik-ri-bi-a i-na li-bi šu-uq-li˘ kà ša šé-ep gi6-li-ištar a‐dí ù 5 ma-na an.na i-nu-mì tù-ṣú!-ni a‐šùr-sipa ḫa-nu-nu-um igi a‐šùr-imì-tí dumu i-ku-pí-a i-dí-na-kum a‐ḫi a‐ta iš-té-ni-ìš lu pá-ni-am lu bar-ki!-a-am kù.babbar a‐na pu-šu-ke-en6 šu-qul (73-KTS 2: 48 obv. 1-le.e. 28).  “If you come to an agreement there and the man is well, then the man must not harm our father’s house. As much as you are able, lean on him for the silver from the goods so that the silver is bound in the city. If it is not so, clear the man of it (the obligation). We keep hearing that the man is ill. Take care to clear him. 15 minas tin, separately, that are in the midst of his goods, are my votive funds.” šu-ma a‐ma-kam ta-da-ga-lá-ma a‐wi-lúm e-mu-qám i-šu a‐wi-lúm i-na ṣéer é a‐bi-ni lá i-ša-lá a‐na ma-lá ta-le-a-ni kù.babbar ša lu-qú-tí-⸢im⸣ em-da-šu-ma kù.babbar ina a‐lim ki lu ra-ki-is šu-ma lá ki-a-am a‐wi-lam e-bi!-ba-šu ⸢ni⸣-iš-ta-na-me-ma! a‐wi-lúm ma-ru-uṣ x? iḫ-da-ma e-bi!-ba-šu 15 ma-na an.na a‐ḫa-ma a‐na li-bi lu-qú-tí-šu ⸢ša⸣ ik-ri-bi-a (74-KTS 1: 21b obv. 6-rev. 22).

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normal increase associated with a joint-stock investment, and Šū-Ḫubur was hoping Pūšu-kēn’s personal kindness to Ikūnum could secure a slightly better return.¹⁷ You wrote, (saying) ‘Ikūnum’s investors have gotten out 2 minas of silver for each mina of gold for their gold (shares).’ If you look on him kindly, then he will give you an additional, (i. e.) 3 mina rate, instead of 2 mina rate. Come to an agreement (with him). If after the 2 minas he does give up to you an addition, write me so that I may impose his ’thirds’ here and bind my silver in the city.¹⁸

By the beginning of August, as Dān-Aššur was departing for Assur, Pūšu-kēn informed Šū-Ḫubur that Ikūnum could not pay his dividends for his joint-stock fund, in which Šū-Ḫubur was invested. Not knowing the exact details of Šū-Ḫubur’s investment, he asked him to relate the information, and to do so quickly, hoping to be able to bring whatever he could by the end of the season when he would return.¹⁹ As soon as Šū-Ḫubur received that letter, possibly in mid-August, he communicated his intention to hire an attorney, someone empowered by the city, to increase his chances of securing the assets from Ikūnum.²⁰ But it was not just Ikūnum’s joint-stock that Šū-Ḫubur wanted; Ikūnum also owed Šū-Ḫubur other debts. On Šū-Ḫubur’s behalf, a Ṣilli-Ištar had handed over 15 minas tin

 The clearance of Ikūnum’s naruqqum was already a subject of discussion for Eisser and Lewy (1930: 103 n. a). Add now 86-CCT 6: 47c, a letter from Šu-Ḫubur to Pūšu-kēn which deals with the same matter. A number of these texts have been treated in van der Meer 1931 and Ichisar 1981.  ta-áš-pu-ra-am um-ma a‐ta-ma 2 m[a]-⸢na⸣-ta kù.babbar a‐na 1 ma-na-[em] [kù].gi um-mìa-nu i-k[u]-⸢nim⸣ {erasure} a‐na kù.gi-šu-nu ú-šé-li-ú šu-ma ta-na-ṭá-al-ma i-na 2 ma-na.ta wa-atra-am 3 ma-na.ta i-da-na-kum nam-ge5-er šu-ma i-na 2 ma-na.ta wa-at-ra-am lá iḫ-ta-lá-qum šuup-ra-ma a‐na-kam ša-al-ša-tí-šu le-mu-sú-ma kù.babbar-pí i-na a‐lim ki lá-ar-ku-ús (75-VS 26: 65 obv. 3-rev. 18).  “You wrote me. You said, ‘Send up the goods of Ikūnum.’ The man cannot make his thirds. [Communicate] to me the gold, both your own and that of the house of your father, as much falls to you as a share, so that I may take your tablet and take as much as I am able. … Regarding Ikūnum, let your instructions come from the city with the first traveller so that I (can bring) as much as I can raise in my cargo.” ta-áš-pu-ra-am um-ma a‐ta-ma ša i-ku-nim šé-li a‐wi-lúm a‐na šál-ša-tí-šu lá kà-ší-id kù.ki lu a‐ta lu é a‐bi-kà ma-lá ad-ma-tù-nu-ni :BI.ŠA.AM:-ma ṭuppá-kà lá-aṣ-ba-at-ma ma-lá a‐le-e-ú lá-al-qé … a‐šu-[mì i-ku]-nim té-er-ta-kà iš-⸢tí⸣ [a-li-ki-im pá]-nim-ma ⸢l⸣[i-li-kam]-ma ma-lá ⸢ú⸣-šé-lu-ú i-šé-pì-a (84-CCT 4: 9a obv. 2– 8, rev. 34– 37).  “Regarding Ikūnum about whom you wrote: Here I will acquire an attorney over his ’thirds’ in the land and with the next traveller I will write to you.” a‐šu-mì i-ku-nim ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni a‐na-kam a‐šu-mì šál-ša-tí-šu i-ma-tí-im ra-bi-ṣa-am a‐ḫa-az-ma iš-tí wa-ar-ki-ú-tim a‐ša-pá-rakum (86-CCT 6: 47c obv. 3 – 9).

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that were designated as part of Šū-Ḫubur’s votive offering,²¹ and Aššur-re’i (nicknamed Hanunu) had turned over 5 minas tin in the presence of Aššur-imittī s. Ikūn-piya in Assur.²² Šū-Ḫubur’s concern over his votive offering was something he shared with Šalim-aḫum and Šalim-aḫum’s difficult experience with PuzurIštar. So many people were dying this year that Šū-Ḫubur and Šalim-aḫum both feared any omission in one’s devotion further exposed them to the risk of being taken down by the scourge that was killing their colleagues. Šū-Ḫubur and other interested parties did obtain authority from the city assembly to hire an attorney and a tablet outlining the authorities of the attorney.²³ It was then Pūšu-kēn’s and Imdī-ilum’s duty to assist the attorney, Puzur-ilī, in assuring that Ikūnum paid in full and his debts could thus be cleared, with a sealed tablet to finalize the matter, allowing them to collect any possible dividends in Assur.²⁴ While Puzur-Ilī traveled to Kanesh, Šū-Ḫubur and Aššur-imittī’s sons doubtless continued working to liquidate Ikūnum’s holdings in Assur to recover the dividends he owed. Around the same time, other merchants needed Pūšu-kēn to represent their interests in relation to Ikūnum. Aššur-imittī, Šū-Ḫubur’s brother, had also sent some textiles to Ikūnum, and Aššur-imittī wanted to retrieve his capital. As the supply of tin and textiles was beginning to resume, Pūšu-kēn prepared to send Uṣur-ša-Aššur back to Assur, and he also sent someone to Ḫaḫḫum to claim Aššur-imittī’s textiles. The mission was successful, and the legate located, took, and deposited them, and collected silver, bringing Pūšu-kēn’s efforts to re-

 “I deposited 15 minas tin, the votive fund of Aššur, into the sack of Ikūnum. Make him pay.” 15 ma-na an.na ik-ri-bu ša a‐šùr a‐na li-bi šu-uq-lim ša i-ku-nim a‐dí ša-áš-qí-il5 (75-VS 26: 65 le.e. 40 – 42). 15 ma-na an.na a‐ḫa-ma a‐na li-bi lu-qú-tí-šu ⸢ša⸣ ik-ri-bi-a (74-KTS 1: 21b rev. 20 – 22).  i-nu-mì lu-qú-sú é!-sú! a‐dí ù 5 ma-na an.na a‐šùr-sipa ḫa-nu-nu-um a‐šùr-i-mì-tí dumu i-ku-a i-dí--šum ší-im an.na-ki-a ša-áš-qí-lá-šu (74-KTS 1: 21b u.e. 23-le.e. 28). See also 73-KTS 2: 48 rev. 14– 19, 72-Prag I: 678 obv. 18 – 20. This Aššur-rē’ī should not be confused with Aššurrē’ī s. Puzur-Ištar, who died in this year as described later in this chapter.  “We received here the tablet of the city concerning Ikūnum son of Samāya and his clearing and Puzur-ilī son of Il-bāni our attorney brings the tablet of the city to you.” ṭup-pá-am ša a‐lim ki a‐na i-ku-nim dumu sá-ma-a a‐na e-bu-bi-šu a‐na-kam ni-il5-qé-ma ṭup-pá-⸢am⸣ ša a‐lim ki puzur4ì-lí dumu il5-ba-ni ra-bi-iṣ-ni na-áš-a-ku-nu-tí (87-CCT 3: 22b-23a obv. 5 – 12).  “There, assist Puzur-ilī our attorney to clear Ikūnum concerning his joint stock fund. When you have cleared the man, let your message come from the city with the first traveller so that here we may impose his ’thirds’ from whatever there is of Ikūnum’s and take them. Also, take a sealed tablet with his seal from when they clear (him).” ⸢a⸣-ma-kam i-na ša-ḫa-at puzur4-ì⸢lí⸣ ra-bi-ṣí-ni i-zi-za-a-ma i-ku-nam a‐na na-ru-qí-šu e-bi-ba-šu-ma ki-ma a‐wi-lam tù-bi-ba-a-ni té-er-ta-ku-nu iš-tí a‐li-ki-im pá-nim-ma li-li-kam-ma a‐na-kam i-na mì-ma i-ku-num i-šu-ú-ni šál-ša-tí-šu lu né-mu-sú-ma lu ni-il5-qé ù ṭup-pu-šu ḫa-ar-ma-am ša ku-nu-ki-šu ša ki-ma e-bibu-ni li-qé-a-nim (87-CCT 3: 22b-23a lo.e. 13-le.e. 29).

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trieve Aššur-imittī’s capital to a successful conclusion.²⁵ It may be that several other documents show Ikūnum owing merchants silver, which Pūšu-kēn managed as well. But they are more difficult to claim unequivocally as part of this year.²⁶ In the same letter that Šū-Ḫubur urged Pūšu-kēn to ‘look kindly’ on Ikūnum, he also was trying to gather witnesses so he could recoup his money from another merchant who had already passed away. Lālum had purchased merchandise from Šū-Ḫubur, but died before his debts had come due. The circumstances of the purchase made the collection difficult, though they do not seem out of the ordinary. Lālum²⁷ began the year of vengeance wintering in Anatolia. We know this because he was a witness to a transaction in either the second or third Assyrian month.²⁸ Whichever month it was, the successor formula was used, indicating that the new name of the year was not known, so it had to have preceded the arrival of the first caravans of the year in Anatolia. Lālum made his way back toward Assur in spring. As a result, he met some of the spring caravans in Ḫaḫ-

 “Concerning the matter of Ikūnum about which you wrote to me, I sent Adad-bāni to Ḫaḫḫum and he put his hand on the textiles. The textiles entered in and he collected the silver according to your instructions.” a‐šu-mì ša i-ku-nim ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni diškur-ba-ni a‐na ḫa-ḫi-im áš-pur-ma qá-sú i-na túg.hi.a iš-ku-un túg.hi.a e-ru-bu-ni-ma a‐ma-lá té-er-tí-kà kù.babbar ú˘ ˘ ša-áš-qal (82-CCT 2: 36b-37a rev. 21– 29). Aššur-rē’ī and Ennānum bought some goods from Aššur-imittī as mentioned in this letter, and if this Aššur-rē’ī was the son of Puzur-Ištar, then the purchase must have happened before May of this year, when that Aššur-rē’ī died, as discussed below in this chapter.  CCT 1: 13a; ICK 1: 187 (though these may be from one of the following years).  Precisely how to best identify Lālum is difficult. The name is not a common one, and only one patronymic associated with Lālum is preserved, where it is Lālum s. Pilaḫ-Suen (TC 3: 190). But there is certainly a different Lālum, who owed a woman named Aḫātum a half mina silver some ten years after the year of vengeance (RA 59: 13). It is possible that document showing Lālum in Anatolia sealing some silver bound for Assur in place of Lā-qēpum comes from the time before this Lālum died, but it could be another person: “In all [PN] brought 42⅓ minas silver for you. 18 minas silver, its excise added, its shipping charges satisfied under my seal and the seal of Lālum, Kurub-Ištar brings to you. Lālum sealed in place of Lā-qēpum. In total, he will (bring?) to you 2 talents 27 minas 8 shekels silver after I come.” (120-CCT 4: 49a rev. 3’-12’).  “Iliš-tīkal gave 4 minas refined silver to Enlil-bāni. From the ḫamuštum-week of Aššur-imittī and Aššur-rabi, he will pay 8 minas in 4 years. Month: Narmak Aššur, Year after the year of Šudāya. As much as he takes he will receive to the name of his joint stock fund. As much as Enlilbāni ’treads’ and Ilš-tīkal, as much as (there is?) to him, he will receive with the result that his joint stock fund will enter into the house of Iliš-tīkal. Witnesses: Lālum, Ennānum.” (121EL 157 obv. 1-rev. 22). Another document seems to come from this time. 122-BIN 6: 47 mentions Lālum in Assyrian month III — a‐na lá-lim x [ša] ke-na-tim ta-áš-ta-ak-na-ni (obv. 7– 8). But the text is very broken, and by whom and to whom it was written is lost.

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ḫum, where he encountered Irma-Aššur and Aššur-mālik transporting merchandise for Šū-Ḫubur. He purchased a talent of tin, along with some textiles on credit, and wrote to his agents in Kanesh, Amur-Šamaš and Zupa, to receive the tin and sell it.²⁹ Pūšu-kēn wrote a caravan report when the shipment arrived, noting the talent of tin handed over to Lālum’s agents, which represented somewhat less than a fourth of the total tin in that caravan.³⁰ Meanwhile Lālum continued to Assur, where he told Šū-Ḫubur that he would be paying 10 minas for the goods purchased.³¹ Soon afterward—so soon that Lālum’s representatives did not yet know who had received the tin in Anatolia—Lālum died in the home city, in Assur.³² Šū-Ḫubur wrote letters both to Pūšu-kēn and Imdī-ilum, who he hoped would effect the collection, and to the representatives of Lālum, AmurŠamaš and Zupa, asking for quick action.³³ The collection of Lālum’s 10 minas silver did not go as quickly as Šū-Ḫubur would have liked. He wrote again, probably in June, to Pūšu-kēn: Concerning the roughly 1 talent of tin which Aššur-mālik and Irma-Aššur sold to Lālum in Ḫaḫḫum, I have written to you several times (saying) ‘Here, I requested silver from the estate of Lālum, and they said, “Write to wherever you sold him the tin and take your silver

 “To Amur-Šamaš and Zupa: The instructions of Lālum came to you from Ḫaḫḫum and my representatives gave you 1 talent tin. You received it on behalf of Lālum.” a‐na a‐mur-dutu ù zu-pá qí-bi4-ma té-er-tí lá-li-im iš-tù ḫa-ḫi-im i-li-kà-ku-nu-tí-ma 1 gú an.na ša ki-ma i-a-tí i-dínu-ni-ku-nu-tí ki-ma lá-li-im a‐tù-nu tal-qé-a (69-CCT 3: 21a obv. 4– 11).  “4 talents 20 minas tin under seal, 105 kutānum textiles, 3 kutānum textiles belonging to Ennanum, 8 šurum textiles as wrappings, 6 black donkeys, 40 minas hand-tin, altogether your awītum assessment is 9 talents. … From the 3 talents of your tin, we gave 1 talent tin to the representatives of Lālum.” 4 gú 20 ma-na an.na ku-nu-ku 1 me-at 5 ku-ta-nu 3 ku-ta-nu ša en-na-nim 8 túgšu-ru-tum li-wi-tum 6 anše.hi.a ṣa-lá-mu 40 ma-na an.na qá-tim šunigin 9 gú a‐wi-it-kà … i˘ na 3 gú an.na-ki-kà 1 gú an.na a‐ša ki-ma la-li-im ni-dí-in (66-BIN 6: 79 obv. 2– 7, rev. 22– 24). Irma-Aššur’s transporting activities were also reported in two other letters, where Lālum was not mentioned (123-Prag I: 653 and 80-BIN 6: 63). In 123-Prag I: 653, Irma-Aššur appears to have arrived with a different shipment, consisting mostly of textiles, though some tin was included. This may be the same caravan, but it is difficult to tell. The reference in 80-BIN 6: 63, in which Pūšu-kēn mostly discussed Šū-Ḫubur’s upcoming obligations to the colony includes the following in u.e. 16’: [x] ⸢x⸣ šé-ep ir-ma-a-⸢šùr⸣ na-ad-[a-tu?]. The lines before and following are equally broken, but refer to other assets.  “Here, the man promised me 10 minas of silver for my tin.” a‐na-kam 10 ma-na kù.babbar a‐na an.na-ki-a a‐wi-lúm pá-šu i-dí-nam (69-CCT 3: 21a obv. 11-rev. 14).  “Unfortunately, Lālum died. Here, I (went to) take from his silver and his representatives said, ‘Send so that whoever received your tin pays you your silver.’” lá li-bi4 lálu-um me-et a‐na-kam i-na kù.babbar-pí-šu al-qé-ma ša ki-ma šu-a-tí um-ma šu-ut-ma šu-purma a‐šar an.na-kà il5-qé-ú-ni kù.babbar-áp-kà li-iš-qú-lu-ni-kum (69-CCT 3: 21a rev. 14– 21).  69-CCT 3: 21a; 70-RA 58, 126.

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there; (but) there is no silver belonging to Lālum in the field (Anatolia).” Urgent, take heed to send Aššur-mālik and Irma-Aššur, my witnesses of the fact that they entrusted the tin, to the representatives of Lālum there. Wherever there is a single shekel of silver make them pay so that my silver is not lost!³⁴

By August, the matter was resolved. When Dān-Aššur was headed back to the home city, Pūšu-kēn was discussing both Ikūnum and Lālum with Šū-Ḫubur. Pūšu-kēn was able to report that he had already managed to collect 8 of the ten minas silver owed by the estate of Lālum.³⁵ While Pūšu-kēn used two minas of the silver for another ongoing matter in Anatolia,³⁶ he was sending the rest back to Assur with Dān-Aššur.³⁷ Lālum’s death affected even the dying. Ikūnum owed Lālum 5 minas silver before Lālum died, and after he died, Ikūnum contested the matter, perhaps in his own desperation. A tablet was drawn up to the effect that if the debt note, which apparently was claimed as lost, turned up, then Ikūnum would be a liar.³⁸ And Lālum and Ikūnum’s deaths were mentioned in conjunction with  a‐šu-mì an.na 1 gú-tim ša a‐na la-li-im i-na ḫa-ḫi-im a‐šùr-ma-lik ù ir-ma-a-šùr i-dí-nu-ni a‐dí ma-lá ù šé-ni-šu áš-pu-ra-kum um-ma a‐na-ku-ma a‐na-kam é lá-li-im kù.babbar e-ri-iš-ma umma šu-nu-ma a‐šar an.na ta-dí-nu-šu-ni šu-pu-ur-ma áš-ra-kam-ma kù.babbar-áp-kà li-qé kù. babbar-áp lá-li-im i-na gán-lim lá i-ba-ší a‐pu-tum i-ḫi-id-ma a‐šùr-ma-lik ù ir-ma-a-šùr ší-buú-a ša an.na ip-qí-du-ni a‐ma-kam a‐na ša ki-ma lá-li-im šé-li-šu-nu a‐li kù.babbar 1 gín i-baší-ú ša-áš-qí-il5-ma kù.babbar-pí lá i-ḫa-liq (75-VS 26: 65 rev. 19-le.e. 39).  “Concerning the tin, a talent, and four textiles, I took their price in silver and we … , and for one talent 3 minas tin at 7 shekels rate, its silver was 9 minas. Altogether the price of the 4 textiles at 15 shekels each was 1 mina (silver). 10 minas silver, thereof, I took 8 minas. He will pay me the (remaining) two minas in(?) Zalpa after his return. From the 5(?) minas silver, will return x minas silver to the representatives of Lālum. (?)” a‐šu-mì an.na bi4-il5-tim ù 4 túg kù.babbaráp-šu aṣ-ba-at-ma nu-šé-ší-ib-ma a‐na 1 gú 3 ma-na an.na 7 gín.ta 9 ma-na kù.bi ša 4 túg.hi.a ˘ 15 gín.ta 1 ma-na šunigin 10 ma-na kù.babbar šà.ba 8 ma-na al-qé 2 ma-na i-na tù-a-ri-šu [iš-t] ? ù za-al-pá i-ša-qá-lam [i-na] ⸢5 ⸣ ma-na kù.babbar [x ma]-na kù.babbar% a-ša ki-ma [lá-l]i-im ú-ta-e-er (84-CCT 4 9a obv. 9-rev. 19).  “You said, ‘Regarding the 1 mina gold I released to Ennam-Aššur …’ Now, I also gathered ⅓ minas silver from your silver and I gave him (Ennam-Aššur) 2 minas silver and also 3 minas 55 shekels silver for the 1 minas of gold I made an upqum pack for him.” 1⅔ kù.babbar i-na ša lá-li-im ša al-qé-ú ù ⅓ ma-na kù.babbar i-na kù.babbar-pì-kà ú-ra-dí-ma 2 ma-na kù.babbar a‐dí-šum-ma 4 ma-na lá!? 5 gín kù.babbar ša! 1 ma-na kù.ki ú-pì-iq-šum (84-CCT 4: 9a rev. 26 – 31).  “Dān-Aššur brings to you the remainder of your silver: 6 minas silver.” ší-tí kù.babbar-pì-kà 6 ma-na kù.babbar dan-a-šùr na-áš-a-kum (84-CCT 4: 9a rev. 32– 33).  “As for the 5 minas silver which Ikūnum owed to Lālum, and about which tablet I inquired of the guarantors, Lālum said, ‘It is lost. I myself paid the silver. If a tablet worth 5 minas silver of the debt of Ikūnum should arise, it is fake.’” 5 ma-na kù.babbar ša i-ku-num a‐na lá-li-im ḫa-bulu-ma a‐na-ku qá-ta-tù-ni ṭup-pá-am e-ri-šu-ma um-ma lá-lu-um-ma ḫa-lá-aq kù.babbar a‐na-ku

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each other in letters other than Pūšu-kēn’s. A man named Sabasiya complained to his senior associate Puzur-Aššur that the latter had paid out far too much, 1 or 2 talents silver, to the sons of Lālum³⁹ while discussing the witnessed tablets of Ikūnum.⁴⁰ Another merchant also died during this year. Though much less is known about his death, Šū-Aššur s. Al-āhum’s passing also impacted people in Pūšukēn’s circle. While discussing the negotiations about Šū-Ḫubur and Aššur-imittī’s assessments from the colony, Aššur-imittī complained that Pūšu-kēn had misstated in claiming that Aššur-imittī owed him and that instead Pūšu-kēn should lend him money as a result. Aššur-imittī was further frustrated that Pūšu-kēn had fallen short in collecting Aššur-imittī’s silver, receiving only 7 minas when he had expected to receive 20 minas. Aššur-imittī was expecting silver from, among others, the ‘son of Al-āḫum.’⁴¹ This was Šū-Aššur s. Al-āḫum, who had

ša-qú-lá-ku šu-ma ṭup-pu-um ša 5 ma-na kù.babbar ša ḫu-bu-ul i-ku-nim e-ta-li-am sà-ar (76JCS 14: 1 obv. 1-rev. 13).  Few mentions of named persons with Lālum as a father are found. Litpānum s. Lālum appears in several texts, including Kt n/k 533. Note also Aššur-šadū’ē s. Lālum, (TC 3: 199) and Lamadi-Ištar s. Lālum (Kt m/k 147).  “A tablet with the seal of Ili-ālum s. Sukkalliya stating: ‘8 minas silver of the 2 minas gold which he took,’ inform me as to whether or not the tablet is available. Concerning the witnessed tablets regarding Ikūnum s. Samaya which I took, I agreed to about a mina silver or more, you came and opened my tablet without my permission and took out the sealed tablets and took away about 1 or 2 talents from the silver of the sons of Lālum. My dear brother and lord, have you not lost everything that was mine? Everything of mine was handed over to the sons of Lālum.” 1 ṭup-pu-um ša ku-nu-uk ì-lí-a-lim dumu sú-kà-li-a ša 8 ma-na kù.babbar ša 2 [ma]-na kù.gi il5-qé-ú ṭup-pu-um i-ba-ší lá i-ba-ší úz-ni pí-té a‐na ṭup-pé-e ša ší-bi ša a‐šu-mì iku-nim dumu sà-ma-a al-ta-qé-ú kù.babbar 1 ma-na ù e-li-iš ag-mu-ur-ma a‐ta ta-li-ik-ma balu-um ga-am-ri-a lá-qá-im ṭup-pí-a ta-áp-té-ma ṭup-pè-e ša ší-be tù-šé-li-ma i-na kù.babbar 1 gú ù 2 gú me-er-e lá-li-im té-ṭí-ir a‐ḫi a‐ta be-lí a‐ta ga-am-ri lá i-ḫa-li-qá-ni ga-am-ri dumu lá-li-im ša-dí-in (125-KTS 2: 9 rev. 28 – 44). The document’s envelope (KTS 2 67) is poorly preserved and contains only one seal.  “I owe you 5½ minas refined silver here. What is it that you wrote? You said, ‘I withheld silver from your account to your accountings, to your sales.’ I don’t owe money there! Indeed! You’re withholding silver which I owe you here! Now, if I do not owe silver there, then weigh out (silver) from your own funds and let it be a loan from you for a month or two! Everything goes to Kurub-Ištar and you have not collected silver from the son of Al-āḫum or from my merchants whose terms are full, and you have not sent it. I anticipated 20 minas or more of silver. You sent (only) 7 minas. My dear brother, in whom else can I trust there? Heed my instructions! Wherever there is a single shekel of silver, collect it and send it!” 5⅓ ma-na kù.babbar ṣa-ru-páam a‐na-kam aḫ-bu-la-kum mì-šu ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni um-ma a‐ta-ma kù.babbar a‐na qá-tí-kà a‐na ni-kà-sí-kà a‐na na-da-im ak-lá-šu kù.babbar-am a‐ma-kam ú-lá i-šu-ma ma kù.babbar ša a‐nakam aḫ-bu-lá-ku-ni ta-ak-lá ù šu-ma kù.babbar a‐ma-kam lá i-šu-ma ma i-na ra-mì-ni-kà ta-áš-ta-

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already passed. Pūšu-kēn had told Aššur-imittī that he would take action against Šū-Aššur’s son within ten days. Apparently, Šū-Aššur’s sons’ assets were important because the estate was being cleared. This interpretation is corroborated by Aššur-imittī’s concerns in another letter. Šū-Aššur s. Al-āḫum had purchased tin from Aššur-imittī in Anatolia through Aššur-imittī’s agents, Ikūn-pīya and Il-bāni. In the meantime, Šū-Aššur had passed away, and Aššur-imittī had hoped that Šū-Aššur’s surviving brother would pay back that money to him first, asking Pūšu-kēn to remind the brother that Aššur-imittī was a man of favors, in order to increase the likelihood of retrieving his silver.⁴² But Aššur-imittī didn’t seem to have had much success. Šū-Aššur’s death sparked a contest of wills between his family and the investors. Pūšu-kēn and a party of associates in Kanesh⁴³ had been negotiating with the family alongside several other merchants and reported to Aššur-imittī who could enter Šū-Aššur’s house and with whom. After ten days of a stalemate, Pūšu-kēn could report to Aššur-imittī that the family had gone to the colony authorities, and demanded to let their father’s representatives in.⁴⁴ The letter breaks at this point, leaving us to wonder whether or not the colony had granted them their wish. Šū-Aššur died somewhere in Anatolia west of Kanesh. When some of his last merchandise arrived in Kanesh, his representatives had sent his letters on to him but had destroyed all the copies, perhaps knowing what was imminent and hoping to give Šū-Aššur some time to settle his estate as best he could. As a result, Pūšu-kēn’s party could not examine the documents to determine how much in qal-ma iti.kam iš-té-en6 ù šé-na i-ta-ab-e-el-kà mì-ma-a kur-ub-ištar i-li-kam-ma kù.babbar ša dumu a‐lá-ḫi-im lu iš-tí dam.gàr-ri-a a‐šar u4-mu-šu-nu ma-al-ú-ni ú-lá tù-ša-áš-qí-il5-ma ú-lá tùšé-bi-lam a‐na kù.babbar 20 ma-na ù e-li-iš a‐ṭù-ul 7 ma-na kù.babbar tù-šé-[bi]-lam a‐ḫi a‐ta a ma-nim ša-nim a‐ma-kam ta-ak-lá-ku a‐na té-er-tí-a i-ḫi-id a‐li kù.babbar-pí 1 gín i-ba-ší-ú ša-ášqí-il5-ma šé-bi-lam (77-TC 2: 15 obv. 3-rev. 24).  “Also, concerning my tin which the son of Ikkupya and Il-bāni gave to him there, turn to his brother and say, ‘The man is a man of favors. Do not overvalue every shekel!’” ù a‐šu-mì an.naki-a ša a‐ma-kam dumu i-ku-pí-a ù il5-ba-ni i-dí-nu-šu-ni a‐na a‐ḫi-šu pu-nu-ma um-ma a‐ta-ma a‐wi-lúm a‐wi-il5 gi-mì-lim ⸢kù.babbar⸣ 1 ma-na lá tù-šé-qá-ar-šum (79-CCT 2: 41b rev. 21– 26).  The party, beyond Pūšu-kēn, included Idī-Aššur, Adad-bāni, Aššur-imittī, Ikuppī-Aššur, Puzur-Ištar and Imdī-ilum.  “With regard to the matter of Šū-Aššur about which you (pl.) wrote, when we read your tablets, we said, ‘We will not bring in a stranger.’ They said, ‘We will bring someone in.’ We remained stuck in these (positions) 10 days, then they went to the colony and they said, ‘We will bring in the representative(s) of our father.’” a‐šu-mì ša šu-a-šùr ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni-ni ki-ma ṭup-pá-ak-nu ni-iš-me-ú um-ma né-nu-ma a‐ḫi-am ú-la nu-šé-ra-áb um-ma šu-nu-ma nu-šé-ra-áb a‐na a‐ni-a-tim 10 u4-me ni-ṣí-bi-it-⸢ma⸣ a‐na kà-ri-im i-li-ku-ma um-ma šu-nu-ma ša ki-ma [a]‐⸢bi⸣-ni nu-šé-ra-áb (78-TC 3: 44 obv. 6 – 15).

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assets owned by Šū-Aššur had just arrived in Kanesh. They were able to determine that 9½ talents of tin and 150 textiles had been deposited at the colony office, but without the documentation, they could not determine if more had arrived and been spirited off by the family.⁴⁵ At some point, apparently later but possibly in the same time that arguments were being made over entering the house, it was decided that Šū-Aššur’s brother Aššur-mālik would take over ŠūAššur’s joint-stock fund.⁴⁶ Yet another merchant had fallen, likely to the plague.  “With regard to the goods which came up from the city, we checked his brothers (or partners), and they deposited 9½ talents tin and 150 textiles. We said, ‘Where are the letters which you brought from the city?’ They said, ‘We sent them to him.’ They destroyed the copies. Regarding the wool that he gathered(?) from here, there are no copies. We made copies of the certified tablets and they were sealed with our seals at the colony office. We have returned the certified tablets with the names of the (merchants?) to his sons.” ⸢a⸣-na lu-qú-tim ša ⸢iš-tù⸣ a‐lim ki i-li-a-ni a‐ḫi-šu ⸢ni?⸣-is-ni-iq-ma 9½ gú an.na ù me-⸢at 50⸣ túg iš-ku-nu um-ma né-numa na-áš-pá-ra-tim ša ⸢iš-tù⸣ a‐⸢lim ki⸣ tù-šé-ṣí-a-n[i] a‐le um-ma šu-nu-ma [x?] ⸢nu-uš⸣-té-bi-lášum me-eḫ-ri ú-ṭá-bi-ú ⸢ša⸣ síg ša a‐⸢na⸣-nu-um iš-ta-ku-nu me-eḫ-ru la-šu me-eḫ-ri ša ṭup-pí-šu ḫa-ru-mu-tim nu-uš-ba-al-ki-it-ma i-ku-nu-ki-ni é [kà-ri-im] kà-an-ku ṭup-pé ḫa-ru-mu-tim ša šumì [xxx] a‐na me-er-e-šu nu-ta-šé-er (78-TC 3: 44 rev. 5’-le.e. 21’).  “From Idī-Aššur, Adad-bāni, Aššur-imittī, Ikuppī-Aššur, Puzur-Ištar, and Imdī-ilum to Pūšukēn, Zupa, Aššur-ṣulūlī, Innāya and Pilaḫ-Ištar: Concerning the tablet which was written for us with Ali-aḫum, enter into the house of Šū-Aššur and entrust whatever Šū-Aššur left, wherever it is, including tablets to his brother Aššur-mālik. We will turn over the joint-stock fund to him. Take care that you do not lose our silver! Entrust all of it to him. On the day you enter into Šū-Aššur’s house, take Aššur-rē’ī s. Sabasīya, Buzutaya, and another with them that will go to the city and cause them to enter into Šū-Aššur’s house and establish them as witnesses for iron(?) as much as you will entrust to Aššur-mālik. And let your authoritative message come separately as to how much you entrusted Aššur-mālik. Urgent, take care to make the men enter! If Buzutaya is not available, cause two others who will go to the city to enter with Aššur-rē’ī. In the presence of the men which you bring in, speak to him. Say, ‘Your father agreed in the city on your behalf that they would turn over your brother’s joint-stock fund to you. All that your brother left is entrusted to you.’ Except for you, those delineated in the tablet, and the two partners of Ali-aḫum, no one else is to enter the house with you. And if anyone wrote a tablet in the caravan, do not allow them to go in. um-ma i-dí-a-šur diškur-[ba]-ni a‐šur-i-mì-tí i-ku-pí-a-šùr puzur4-ištar ù im-dí-dingir-ma a‐na pu-šu-ke-en6 zu-pá a‐šùr-ṣú-lu-li i-na-a ù pí-lá-aḫ-ištar qí-bi-ma a‐ma-lá ṭup-[pí]-im ša iš-tí a‐lá-ḫi-im lá-ap-ta-ni-ni a‐na é šu-a-šùr er-ba-ma mì-ma šu-um-šu ša šu-a-šùr e-zi-bu a‐li i-ba-ší-ú lu ṭup-pí-šu a‐na a‐šùr-ma-lik a‐ḫi-šu pá-qí-da na-ruqám a‐na ṣé-ri-šu nu-ta-er iḫ!-da-ma mì-ma kù.babbar-ap-ni lá ta-kà-ba-sà kà-lá-ma pá-qí-dašum i-na u4-mì-im ša a‐na é [šu]-a-šur té-ra-ba-ni a‐šur-sipa dumu sà-ba-sí-a bu-zu-ta-a ù išté-en6 iš-tí-šu-nu ša a‐na a‐lim ki i-lá-kà-ni ṣa-ba-«ab»-ta!-ma a‐na é šu-a-šùr šé-ri-ba-ma a‐na a‐ší-im ma-lá a‐na a‐šur-ma-lik tù-pá-qá-da-ni a‐na ší-bu-tim šu-uk-na-šu-nu-ší! ma-lá a‐na a‐šùr-ma-lik tù-pá-qá-da-ni a‐ḫa-ma té-er-ta-ku-nu ša-li-ṭum a‐ṣé-ri-ni li-li-kam a‐pu-tum iḫ-dama a‐wi-li šé-ri-ba šu-ma bu-zu-ta-a lá-šu 2-ší-na ša a‐na a‐lim ki i-lu-ku-ni-ni iš-tí a‐šur-sipa šéri-ba igi a‐wi-li ša tù-šé-ra-ba-ni qí-bi-a-šum um-ma a‐tù-nu-ma a‐bu-kà i-na a‐lim ki ki-ma ku-atí im-gur16!-ma na-ru-uq a‐ḫi-kà a‐ṣé-ri-kà ú-ta-e-ru ma-lá a‐ḫu-kà e-zi-bu pá-aq-da-kum! šu-ma

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Certainly more people died in this year, but one death in particular is worth considering in relation to the year of vengeance. Aššur-rē’ī’s death has been loosely connected to the plague, but incorrectly, because of the limitations of the anecdotal frame. The documentation surrounding the death of this man is both rich and useful, as will become evident in Chapter 19, but at the present moment, what is most interesting, in addition to racking up the body count, is the temporal complexity of the Old Assyrian record. In the same letter in which Aššur-imittī complained about Pūšu-kēn sending too little silver, he fretted about what Aššur-rē’ī may have said about him on his deathbed: Enter into the house of Aššūr-rēʾī and take my tablets so that they are in your possession. At the very moment of his dying, he said something about my name! He took something of my silver there! Learn something and send me some good news and thus inform me. Also, his silver of his joint-stock fund, no one must take anything. Seal and send it here.⁴⁷

Pūšu-kēn likely did so, and was later reporting to Aššur-imittī that there was no debt note for a single shekel of silver in his own house, in the house of Aššur-re’i, or in the house of Ennānum after a common debt between them owed to Aššur-imittī had been collected.⁴⁸ Some problem had arisen from the debt to Aššur-imittī and mention of Aššur-rē’ī’s house came up in that context as well.⁴⁹ Meanwhile, Šū-Ḫubur had also written Pūšu-kēn to enter Aššur-rē’ī’s

lá a‐tù-nu ša i-na ṭup-pí-im lá-ap-ta-tù-nu-ni ù 2 ba-ri a‐lá-ḫi-im ma-ma-an diri iš-tí-ku-nu lá e-raab ù šu-ma i-na e-li-tí ṭup-pí-im ma-ma-an lá-pí-it lá tù-ša-ra-ma lá e-ra-ab (141-RA 59: 23 obv. 1le.e. 42).  a‐na é a‐šur-sipa e-ru-ub-ma ṭup-pé-e-a li-qé-ma i-na qá-tí-kà li-ib-ší-ú lu i-na ba-ab mu-a-tíšu mì-ma a‐šu-mì-a iq-bi lu kù.babbar-pì a‐ma-kam mì-ma il5-qé li-ma-ad-ma ta-né-eḫ-tí ⸢li⸣-bi-a šu-up-ra-ma uz-ni pí-té ⸢ù⸣ kù.babbar-ap-šu ša na-ru-qí-šu ma-ma-an mì-ma lá i-lá-qé kà-ni-kàma šé-bi-lá-nim (77-TC 2: 15 rev. 27– 35).  “6 minas 53 shekels silver, which Iliš-tīkal entrusted to Aššur-rēʾī and Ennam-ānum, at the fulfillment of the term Iliš-tīkal collected the silver and thereof I gave 5⅚ shekels, its shipping charge, to Uṣur-ša-Aššur. … Sealed tablet for (even?) 1 shekel silver is not in my house nor the house of Aššur-rēʾī nor even the house of Ennam-ānum. “ 7 ma-na lá 3 gín kù.babbar ša a‐šùr-sipa ù e-na-ma-nim ì-lí-iš-tí-kál i-qí-pu-ni i-na u4-me-šu ma-al-ú-tim kù.babbar ì-lí-iš-tí-kál ú-ša-áš-qí-il5-ma šà.ba 6⅚ gín ša-du-a- a‐na ú-ṣur-ša-a-šur a‐dí-in (82-CCT 2: 36b-37a obv. 3 – 12, rev. 16 – 21).  “From Āl-ilī, Ikūn-pīya and Šū-Ḫubur to Pūšu-kēn, Imdī-ilum and Kurub-Ištar: To KurubIštar: What does Aššur-imittī owe you that you took 2 minas of silver belonging to Imlikaya? Now, your tablet in the house of Aššur-rēʾī which states 2 minas 15 shekels as your debt, pay the debt and its interest! And as for the 2 minas silver of Imlikaya which you seized, pay it out!” um-ma a‐li-li i-ku-pí-a ù šu-ḫu-bur-ma a‐na pu-šu-ke-en6 im-dí-dingir ù kur-ub-ištar-ma

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house, survey Šū-Ḫubur’s tablets, and seize whichever indicated that Šū-Ḫubur owed him.⁵⁰ No doubt, had Pūšu-kēn done so, he would have been part of what Aššur-rē’ī’s son Pilaḫ-Ištar bemoaned: “When my father died a lot of money and my father’s documents [were] stolen.”⁵¹ The fallout of Aššur-rē’ī’s death was also intertwined with both Lālum’s death and the death of Ikūnum s. Samāya. Their assets were points of discussion in documents from Aššur-rē’ī’s recently published archive holdings.⁵² And (as also revealed in those documents) Aššur-rē’ī’s son Pilaḫ-Ištar confronted the sons of the recently deceased Ikūnum.⁵³ Like Lālum, Ikūnum, Šū-Aššur, and several others, it seems Aššur-rē’ī fell victim to the plague working its way through Anatolia during this year. Aššurrē’ī appears to have died in May. Like Lālum, Aššur-rē’ī had spent the winter in Anatolia.⁵⁴ Aššur-imittī’s letter expressing concern about Aššur-rē’ī’s deathbed a‐na kur-ub-⸢ištar⸣ qí-bi-ma mì-nam i-⸢ṣé⸣-[e]r a‐šùr-i-mì-tí tí-šu-ma 2 ma-na kù.babbar ša im-lika-a ta-aṣ-ba-at ù ṭup-pá-kà ša é a‐šùr-sipa ša 2 ma-na 15 gín ša ḫu-bu-li-kà kù.babbar ù ṣí-ba-sú šu-qú-ul ù 2 ma-na kù.babbar ša im-lik-a-a ša ta-aṣ-bu-tù šu-qul (102-KTS 1: 21a 1-rev. 17).  “I wrote to you concerning how many (of) my goods came to Aššur-rēʾī in the transport of Buzua. My dear brother, enter into the house of Aššur-rēʾī and read my tablets. [Find out?] how many goods he brought to Idī-Suen and how many [he sold?] to Idī-Suen …” ma-lá lu-qútí a‐ṣé-er a‐šur-sipa i-ta-lu-ku i-šé-ep bu-zu-a áš-pu-ra-kum a‐ḫi a‐ta [a]-na é a‐šur-sipa [e-r]uub-ma ṭup-pé-e-a [li]-ma-ad ma-lá lu-qú-tí [ša] a‐ṣé-er i-dí-sú-en6 [it-b]u-lu lu ma-lá [ša?] ⸢a⸣-na i-dí-sú-en[6] (101-BIN 6: 56 obv. 3 – 12).  Kt 88/k 507b:38 – 40 see note 790 below.  Lālum is either the subject of or participant in activities documented in AKT 7a: 31– 37; 163 – 164; 172; 199; 204; 233 – 234; 239; 240; 242; 258; 276 – 277; and 306. He acts as witness in AKT 7a: 43; 45; 71; 78 – 79; 86; 112; 114; 166; 171; and 182. The ḫamustum-period of Lālum and Annīnum is invoked in in AKT 7a: 144; 219; and 220. Note also a broken letter that expresses concerns about losing silver soon after mentions Lālum (144-RA 81: 44).  “Pilaḫ-Ištar seized us against the Aššur-emūqī and Itūr-ilī, sons of Ikūnum. Pilaḫ-Ištar said to Aššur-emūqī and Itūr-ilī, ‘I am the son of a dead man.’ (several lines later…) They said, ‘We are also sons of a dead man.’” pí-lá-aḫ-ištar a‐na a‐šùr-e-mu-qí ù i-tur4-dingir dumu-e i-ku-nim iṣ-ba-at-ni-a-tí-ma um-ma pí-lá-aḫ-ištar-ma a‐na a‐šùr-e-mu-qí ù i-tur4-dingir-ma dumu me-tim a‐na-ku … um-ma šu-nu-ma ù ni-nu dumu-ú me-tim (AKT 7a: 30 obv. 1– 4, rev. 20 – 21).  Another document found in Kültepe was also dated to the third Assyrian month in the eponym of Šudāya, without any more detailed chronological anchor. But this was a partnership agreement, with no stated termination, thus the precise date of the initiation of the arrangement was less important. Aššur-rē’ī invested 25 minas silver in a fund managed by Amur-Ištar, who had also invested 10 minas of his own silver. Amur-Ištar was able to divert earnings into his own joint-stock fund (narruqum), though he was solely responsible for the costs of the silver: “25 minas refined silver from Aššur-rēʾī, 10 minas silver from Amur-Ištar, in total 35 minas refined silver, Amur-Ištar will use for doing business. (at a point in the future) he will set out the silver and its profits and they will divide it according to their original contributions, and the silver will go to his joint-stock fund. Month: Narmak Aššur ša kēnātim (iii), year after the year of Idī-Aššur (REL 82). He does not have (cash) collateral. His house is his collateral. Witness-

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Figure 15: Seal of Aššur-rē’ī

statement was answered in part by Pūšu-kēn’s report on the finally unsuccessful attempt to get Šū-Ḫubur’s and Aššur-imittī’s assessments lowered by the Kanesh colony, which he sent during July.⁵⁵ This claim, that Aššur-rē’ī died in the year of vengeance, goes against two previous descriptions of Aššur-rē’ī’s death. The editors of Aššur-rē’ī’s recently published archival holdings proposed that Aššur-rē’ī died in REL 87, five years after the year of vengeance, based on the identification of two debt notes from that year.⁵⁶ In addition, a letter by his son has been understood to suggest that Aššur-rē’ī had outlived the plague by ten years. Both statements are reason-

es: Iddinaya, Ennam-Aššur.” 25 ma-na kù.babbar ṣa-ru-pá-am ša a‐šur-sipa 10 ma-na kù.babbar ša a‐mur-Ištar šunigin 35 ma-na kù.babbar ṣa-ru-pá-am a‐mur-Ištar i-ma-ga-ar kù.babbar ù ne-ma-al-šu i-ša-kà-an-ma a‐na ba-a-ba-at kù.babbar-pí-šu-nu i-zu-zu-ma kù.babbar a‐na naru-qí-šu i-lá-ak iti.1.kam na-ar-ma-ak-a-šur ša ke-na-tim li-mu-um ša i-qá-tí i-dí-a-šùr il5-qé-ú šáltám lá i-šu bé-sú ša-li-sú igi e-dí-na-a igi en-um-a-šur (Kt 87/k 457 obv. 1-rev. 22, courtesy S. Bayram).  81-BIN 4: 33. See the discussion in Chapter 13 for more detail. Pūšu-kēn’s letter reported that he had finalized both of their dātum payments for goods that had been transported around the mid-season, in July. And at the same time Pūšu-kēn had reported that he was delaying Uṣur-šaAššur (s. Aššur-bēl-awātim) in relation to the matter (81-BIN 4: 33 le.e. 51– 52). Pūšu-kēn did send the hapless Uṣur-ša-Aššur back soon thereafter (82-CCT 2: 36b-37a obv. 3-rev. 16), reporting at the same time the successful collection of Ikūnum’s textiles in Ḫaḫḫum, which previous analysis placed around mid-July.  AKT 7a: 103 and AKT 7a: 69, see Bayram and Kuzuoğlu 2014: 31– 32 (Turkish), 62– 64 (English).

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able within the anecdotal frame. Before the publication of his archive, the latest date known for Aššur-rē’ī had been in the year of vengeance,⁵⁷ but recent publication of his documents presents debt notes from REL 83 as well as the two from REL 87. A closer look at the temporal distribution of the documents and the letter about Aššur-rē’ī’s survival within the context afforded by the year of vengeance corroborates the fact that Aššur-rē’ī did indeed die in the year of vengeance. The debt notes and debt memoranda with explicit dates from Aššur-rē’ī’s archive can be divided into four periods. The first group, from REL 70 – 76, are all long-term financial instruments, including a 5 year contract,⁵⁸ several gold debts which must have been joint-stock fund shares,⁵⁹ and some debts on a tablet or tablets in another house, also likely joint-stock fund shares. The second group, from REL 79 – 83, consists of short-term debts recorded in debt notes and is the largest group.⁶⁰ The third group is the two debt notes from REL 87. Finally, the fourth group, from REL 102, 104, and 111, is made up of settlement documents, reflecting situations that the editors presented as occurring well after Aššur-rē’ī’s death.⁶¹ Given that the first and fourth groups are already considered well before and after Aššur-rē’ī’s death respectively, discussion will focus on the second and third groups. First, it must be explained why the two documents from REL 87 are insufficient proof of Aššur-rē’ī being alive in that year. Second, the several documents dated after May REL 82 must be explained in light of Aššur-rē’ī’s death in May during the year of vengeance. The two debt notes from REL 87 may indeed refer to Aššur-rē’ī’s debts, but the relationship between the published debt memoranda and the second group of debt notes, from REL 79 – 83, seems to show that Aššur-rē’ī died in REL 82 rather than later. It is apparent that the debt memoranda were created to assist in settling Aššur-rē’ī’s estate. One of the two debts from REL 87 appears in the memoranda, but it seems clear that its mention in the debt memoranda represents a point in time earlier than its state in REL 87. In REL 87 Zuzu s. Kula owed Aššur-rē’ī 9 minas silver, but that document states the debt used

 Hecker noted Kt 87/k 457 as the latest known text from Aššur-rē’ī. This statement was cited by Barjamovic, Larsen, and Hertel (2012: 59 n. 201) while at the same time noting the last secure date for Aššur-rē’ī in REL 82 from Hecker’s analysis.  AKT 7a: 95.  Reflected in memoranda of their own (AKT 7a: 211; 212) and memoranda alongside other, shorter-term arrangements (especially AKT 7a: 218; 219).  From REL 79, AKT 7a: 118. Others dealt with below.  In REL 102 – AKT 7a: 36; 37. In REL 104 – AKT 7a: 59. In REL 111 – AKT 7a: 30.

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to be 5 minas,⁶² and Zuzu’s 5 mina debt can be located in the debt memoranda with a term for 10 weeks.⁶³ In REL 87 the sons of Aššur-rē’ī were re-establishing the debt and placing a new due date, with the accumulated interest folded into the new capital amount. The second debt note from REL 87, 3 minas 15 shekels silver owed to Ennānum s. Azua,⁶⁴ is likely a renegotiation of a lingering debt associated with a settlement made in the wake of Aššur-rē’ī’s death. Aššur-rē’ī had 10 talents of fine copper belonging to Ennam-Aššur s. Azua presumably in his possession when he died. A nine judge panel had decided that a third party, the sons of Libbaya, had no claim on the copper. (Perhaps their father had also died, and Ennānum/ Ennam-Aššur owed them money.⁶⁵) 10 talents fine copper would have been worth more than 10 minas silver, thus the renegotiation in REL 87 indicates that much of it had been paid off. Thus Aššur-rē’ī’s moment of death seems best connected to the convergence between the large group of dated debt notes between REL 79 – 83 and the debt memoranda which exhibit dates from the same period. The long-term debts from the first group, from REL 70 – 76, appear in the debt memoranda. Two debts from the second group (REL 79 – 83) also appear in the debt memoranda.⁶⁶ Moreover, many debts not dated to a particular year from the second group, both those that appear on debt notes and those that appear in the debt memoranda, are dated to ḫamuštum weeks listed on the so-called ‘ḫamuštum list’ (Kt g/k 118), which is best dated to the period REL 79 – 82.⁶⁷ But Aššur-rē’ī did not die after the latest dated debt note in the second group, in REL 83. The documents before May of REL 82 represent something like business as usual, while those with later dates can be explained by recourse to a few observations. Until May of REL 82, documents show Aššur-rē’ī conducting regular business. A debt note from Al-ṭāb s. Aššur-nādā is very straightforward in its text structure. The repayment clause is the classic form: “He will

 AKT 7a: 103.  AKT 7a: 215a u.e. 39 – 41. This may, in fact be a renegotiation of the debt mentioned in another debt memoranda at only 4 minas silver (AKT 7a: 216 rev. 25 – 28).  AKT 7a: 69.  AKT 7a: 21.  AKT 7a: 126 (listed in AKT 7a: 227 rev. 32– 34) and AKT 7a: 78 and AKT 7a: 79 (listed in AKT 7a: 228 obv. 12).  This can be stated succinctly by noting that first the ḫamuštums are in pairs on Kt g/k 118 – publication (see Dercksen 2011b for corrections), which most likely places it before REL 98, when the ḫamuštum system switched to single-name ḫamuštums, and by comparison with other known dated dual ḫamuštums which match with ḫamuštums that are associated with those years. A fuller study of this is necessary, but is more technical and will appear in another venue.

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pay 20 weeks from the ḫamuštum of Elāli and Aššur-bāni,” dated at the bottom to the first month of REL 81.⁶⁸ A debt anchored to the tenth month of REL 81 for 9 minas was negotiated so that they would pay off 3 minas per year.⁶⁹ One senses that at this point, Aššur-rē’ī had no premonitions that he would die in the following year. Aššur-rē’ī also had a credit dated to the third Assyrian month (30 Mar – 27 Apr) of the year of vengeance.⁷⁰ Then, one debt note with a date in the fourth Assyrian month of REL 82 (28 Apr – 27 May) was composed before that date, as the year was expressed by successor eponym formula,⁷¹ and we have already established that the new year eponym was known in Kanesh by the end of the third month. By contrast, a number of documents with dates after May of REL 82 can be understood to show that Aššur-rē’ī died before the dates mentioned. One debt note lists a due date in the eighth month of REL 82, but the date refers to the collection date and could simply refer to a collection he did not live to see.⁷² A small number of other documents also refer to expressed collection dates, but in a way that further undermine a sense of the transparency associated with dated documents in the anecdotal frame. The best example is from an arrangement in which Aššur-rē’ī gave someone 11 minas silver to purchase grain, recorded in two copies of the debt note, and once in one of Aššur-rē’ī’s debt memoranda.⁷³ Both the original debt note and a copy of the envelope, materially the same text,⁷⁴ refer to the twelfth month of REL 82 (which began 21 Dec according to our

 AKT 7a: 127. Because the date of the text states the first month and the limmum without the successor formula, the document must either have been created in Assur, which seems odd with the presence of the ḫamuštum week, as it is usually considered to be an Anatolian-based system, or it was created at some point in time after the spring, when news of the new eponym arrived. This is one of the rare Type II debt notes with such an arrangement. The same can be said for a debt owed by Aššur-rē’ī s. Akūtiya for 6 minas silver, though this is the other type of debt note and could have been created on other circumstances—and this document is a copy of the original: AKT 7a: 91.  Owed by Abum-ilī and Idī-Aššur, see AKT 7a: 39.  Amur-Ištar s. Nāb-Suen owed Aššur-rē’ī 1 mina 32 shekels, AKT 7a: 126, (listed in AKT 7a: 227 rev. 32– 34). The date is expressed through a successor eponym, suggesting that it occurred before the first caravans arrived in Anatolia that year. The same may appear in the text memoranda from after Aššur-rē’ī’s death (AKT 7a: 221 le.e. 47– 50, AKT 7a: 230 rev. 16 – 17), having run for some time and accumulated, but the debt memoranda of Aššur-rē’ī require a more thorough analysis.  AKT 7a: 96.  AKT 7a: 143.  AKT 7a: 78; 79; and 228.  AKT 7a: 78 lists the witnesses at the end, while AKT 7a: 79, a copy of the envelope, lists the sealings at the beginning, and places the first statement in the subjunctive, though it is missing

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calculations) with a term of 13 ḫamuštum weeks. The form of document, with date and term length expressed, is commonly held to express the date of the beginning of the debt term, the time which the two parties made their agreement.⁷⁵ Thus the debt would have been due 20/21 Mar, 1890 BC. However, Lālum’s seal is on the envelope, and he left Anatolia early in REL 82, never to return. The original debt note, if that is what we have, had to have been created sometime between mid-March and mid-April of REL 82—despite the date for December. What could explain this? It appears that this document evidences a strategy for setting up debts stretching into the following year with as much precision as possible. Every year, there was a possibility that an intercalary month would be inserted after the twelfth month. One way to fix a date early in the next year would have been to anchor it to the last certain month and then project the due date into the next year by stipulating a specific number of weeks. The same reasoning could apply to the dating of another debt note anchored to the eleventh month of the year (21 Nov-20 Dec), with a term stretching 21 ḫamuštum weeks thereafter.⁷⁶ This means that the documents were written some time before December. It is worth noting that this strategy indicates that Aššur-rē’ī would have been unsure as to whether an intercalated month would have been added at the end of a year which had begun with an intercalated month. It is reasonable to think that he doubted another intercalated year would have arisen. But the wording of this debt note may have been constructed out of habit. Our best understanding of the decision to intercalate seems to be tied to observation in the summer, thus it is likely that both of these debts were contracted before news of that decision reached Anatolia, perhaps in August. In particular, this interpretation focuses, like the dating of Ilabrat-bāni’s arrival, on the fact that the form of texts do not reflect unambiguous temporal anchors that can be interpreted in the anecdotal frame to actors living outside of the stretch of time.⁷⁷ Finally, like the two documents from REL 87, some of the documents from REL 83 seem to be renegotiations of Aššur-rē’ī’s credits after his death. One ex-

the customary ša at the beginning of the statement. AKT 7a: 79 renders ‘tables’ (paššūrū) in the wrong case twice, but includes the verb iddaššum at the end of the statement, where in AKT 7a: 78 it is omitted, with only a -ma to end the statement. For more commentary, see the editors’ treatments in Bayram and Kuzuoğlu 2014: 183 – 185. As a stipulation of Aššur-dān’s management of the funds, he was to purchase 10 trays and some butter.  Primarily expressed in Rosen 1977: 8 – 30. It has been standard practice to follow this mode of interpretation since then, though arguments against it have been made in Stratford 2015b.  AKT 7a: 43. Amount unknown (part of the tablet is broken) owed by Aššur-bēl-awātim s. ŠūAnum. It is also possible that it was a renegotiation.  This corroborates arguments made in Stratford 2015a.

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ample is quite clear. A reference to a debt of 1 mina silver dated to the sixth Assyrian month of REL 83 is supplemented by a note stating that the brother (of?) Ibni-ilī was to pay this silver in relation to Bāyā.⁷⁸ The note clearly post-dates the actual debt, and is best understood as an updated arrangement. Another debt, anchored to the tenth Assyrian month of REL 83 and known from a copy of a debt envelope, can also be understood in the same way.⁷⁹ One final debt dated to the eighth month of REL 82 (25 Aug – 22 Sep) seems more long term, and does not seem to represent Aššur-rē’ī doing business as usual.⁸⁰ It stipulates yearly payments after the due date, and may have been concluded by his surviving sons. Given that the debts from REL 87 could still be worded as though the silver was owed Aššur-rē’ī years after he was dead, there is no reason this one could not have been as well. Aššur-rē’ī died around May of the year of vengeance, REL 82. This suggests that his death was also likely caused by the plague, as was Ikūnum’s and Lālum’s. This demands a revision to a letter that has been read, within the anecdotal frame, to mean that he survived a plague by ten years. Again, narrative reconstructions present the uncomfortable truth that too narrow a philological approach to a document, one in which the simplest grammatical solution carries the most weight, masks the intended referent of the writer. This is consistent with examples from Part 1, where debt note dates cannot be demanded to represent the exact date of the original transaction, or where grammatical expressions mask referents to sales in Šalim-aḫum’s letters. Interpretations of temporal factors from within the anecdotal frame are difficult, as time is always relative to the contemporaries, and the range of ways they expressed it extends beyond our sense of how it should be expressed—precisely because it requires significant context to mentally place ourselves within their flow of time. The letter in question, preserved in two copies, was written by Aššur-rē’ī’s son Pilaḫ-Ištar, the same who had found his father’s house disturbed when he arrived after his death. As we can read within the letter itself, Pilaḫ-Ištar frustratedly found himself still dealing with the settlement of his father’s debts ten years after his father’s death, a process that apparently had already largely ruined his father’s estate.⁸¹ Now, sometime around REL 92, a man had taken Pilaḫ-Ištar’s amtum wife in Anatolia and sealed up his house there because he claimed that Aššur-rē’ī still owed him something. Pilaḫ-Ištar, flabbergasted by the audac AKT 7a: 136.  AKT 7a: 146.  AKT 7a: 75. Debtor is Uṣur-ša-Ištar for 2 minas silver.  “My father was ruined though he had thrived!” a‐bi il5-tí-pí-ma šu-ut iš-tù-ru (Kt 88/ k 507b:14– 15).

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ity of a new claim, wrote his associates regaling all the efforts that had been taken to settle his father’s estate ten years ago, incredulous that at this point he was still being treated as a ‘son of a dead man.’ The translation of the pertinent part of the letter here largely follows the previous treatment, with the principal exception of the phrasing about Aššur-rē’ī’s death in relation to the plague, rendered in italics. To Idī-abum, Aššur-mālik, Aššur-imittī, Šū-Anum, Enna-Suen, and Puzur-ilī, from PilaḫIštar: The message of my amtum wife has come to me once or twice. Regarding Ilī-nādā s. Baziya, why is it that over there he constantly threatens to distrain my amtum wife, attempts to seal the house and constantly frightens my people? What does my father or me and my brothers owe that he constantly distrains my amtum wife? My father was last alive ten years ago, during the plague. Why did he not seize my father (then)? Or not deposit memoranda to my father? My father became impoverished and he prospered! Iliš-tikal assembled my father’s silver. Later, Buzua the attorney came up and assembled my father’s silver. And I also ten years ago got an attorney and gathered my father’s silver. Why did he not take from my father’s silver, or from the attorney or give a memoranda to Iliš-tīkal? I and my brothers met five times with him, in Purušḫattum, Ulama, and Waḫšušana! Why didn’t he give us any memoranda? And how is it that his messages never came? Nor did he send messages to his representatives with the result that they did not write (anything) down. Also his son, Šū-Bēlum, served as caravan driver with me, and he was constantly taking 1 or 2 minas silver in his bundle to him in Ulama and he did not ‘ripen(?)’ the merchandise in the house of his own father. Why did he not seize from my silver (then)? My dear fathers and lords, do you not know that because a robbery occurred when my father died, much silver and my father’s tablets were stolen? My dear fathers, my brothers opened the strongroom five years ago and since then it has been deposed for a matter. As for my brothers, it is heard they are on the caravans. But here, I myself have released 1 or 2 minas silver each day at the gate of the market and because of this I am thus made to assemble. If Ilī-nādā prosecutes the case there, he will claim everything. My dear fathers and lords, I am the son of a dead man!⁸²

 a‐na i--a-bi-im a‐šùr-ma-[lik] a‐šùr-i-mì-tí šu-a-nim en-na-[sú]-en6 ù puzur4.dingir qí-bima um-ma pí-lá-aḫ-ištar-ma té-er-tí am-tim a‐dí ma-lá ù šé-ni-šu i-li-kam a‐šu-mì dingir-na-da dumu ba-zi-a mì-šu ša a‐ma-kam am-tám ik-ta-na-tù-ú ú é-bi-tám a‐na kà-na-ki-im i-za-zu ú niší-a up-ta-na-ru-du mì-nam a‐bi ú-lá a‐na-ku ú a‐ḫu-ú!-a ḫa-bu-la-ni-ma ru-gu5-ma-e a‐na amtí-a i-ta-na-dí iš-tù mu-ta-ni 10 ša-na-tim a‐bi ib-lá-aṭ mì-šu-um a‐bi lá iṣ-ba-at ú-lá a‐na a‐bi4a nu-du-a-e lá i-dí a‐bi il5-tí-pí-ma šu-ut iš-tù-ru ì-lí-iš-tí-kal kù.babbar-áp a‐bi-a ú-pá-ḫi-ir waar-kà-nu-um bu-zu-a ra-bi-ṣú-um e-li-a-ma kù.babbar-áp a‐bi-a ú-pá-ḫi-ir ú a‐na-ku iš-tù 10 šana-at ra-bi-ṣa-am aṣ-ba-ta-ma kù.babbar a‐bi4-a ú-[pá]-ḫi-ir mì-šu-um i-na kù.babbar-áp a‐[bi-a] iṣ-ba-at ú-lá a‐na ra-bi4-ṣí-im ú-lá a‐na ì-lí-iš-tí-kal nu-du-a-e lá i-dí a‐na-ku ú a‐ḫu-ú-a a‐dí 5-ší-šu iš-tí-šu lu i-na u-ru-uš-ḫa-tim lu i-na ú-lá-ma lu i-na wa-aḫ-šu-ša-na iš-tí-šu ni-name-er mì-šu-um nu-du-a-e á i-dí-ni-a-tí ú ma-tí-ma té-er-tù-šu lá i-li-kam ú-lá a‐na ša ki-ma šua-tí lá iš-pu-ra-ma la il5-pu-tù-ni ú me-ra-šu šu-be-lúm kà-ṣa-ru-tám iš-tí-a ú-ší-ib-ma! té-er-tí ša kù.babbar 1 ma-na.ta ú 2 ma-na.ta a‐na ṣé-ri-šu a‐na ú-la-ma uš-té-né-ba-al-ma i-na é a‐bi šu-ma lu-qú-tum i-ba-ša!-al mì-šu-um i-na kù.babbar-pí-a lá i-ṣa-ba-at a‐ba-ú-a be-lu-ú-a a‐tù-

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The crux of the matter comes in lines 11– 12, ištu mūtānē 10 šanātim abī iblaṭ, translated by me, “My father was last alive ten years ago, during the plague!” This translation is ungrammatical, and an even looser translation might be: “From the plague it has been ten years since my father lived!” The translation accompanying the tablet’s publication reasonably rendered the sentence, “Nach der Seuche lebt mein Vater (noch) 10 Jahre.”⁸³ Within the anecdotal frame this is a good, sound, grammatical solution to the Akkadian. However, it leaves a residue of uncertainty with regard to the internal logic of the letter, and is weakened by our knowledge that so many persons died in the year of vengeance. It’s difficult to understand what utility Pilaḫ-Ištar would have gotten, what additional persuasive force he could have claimed, by inserting into the letter the fact that his father outlived the plague by ten years. The principal focus of the letter was the ‘here and now’ of Pilaḫ-Ištar’s problems, heightened by the space of time since his father died, which was girded by ongoing cases and the fact that the house had been sealed up five years ago. Within this context, some idea that his father outlived a plague ten years prior seems to me to have been to the readers, forgive the phrase, ancient history. The actual death of his father, now firmly situated in REL 82, was the real beginning of the problems. Here, as in some other cases, the reader must choose between a grammatically sound reading, which resolves itself by the end of the sentence, so to speak, and an ungrammatical reading—at least according to our current standards— that resolves itself both in relation to the general intent of the letter and a reasonable historical understanding of Aššur-rē’ī’s death: It occurred in REL 82 while a plague raged. Either Pilaḫ-Ištar needed to express himself more clearly or we must propose a second, earlier plague in REL 72 in addition to the plague in REL 82, one that we cannot otherwise corroborate. The reader must decide. Regardless, Pilaḫ-Ištar’s letter does reveal that the estate settlement in the immediate aftermath of Aššur-rē’ī’s death was not successfully finalized. In fact, several other documents from the recently published portion of the archive corroborate this unfortunate state of affairs. The three documents dated to nearly twenty years after Aššur-rē’ī’s death suggest that even then Pilaḫ-Ištar was still suffering the effects of this apparently catastrophic financial trial in his life. He

nu «a-tù-nu» lá té-dí-a ki-ma i-nu-mì a‐bi4 me-tù-ni mì-iš-ḫu-um i-ší-ik-nu-ma kù.babbar ma-dum ú ṭup-pì ša a‐bi4-a im-ta-áš-ḫu!-ni a‐ba-ú-a a‐tù-nu iš-tù 5 ša-na-tim a‐ḫu-ú-a ma-ṣa-ar-tám ip-téú-ma ma-ṣa-ar-tum a‐na a‐wa-tim na-ad-a-at a‐ḫu-ú-a i-na e-lá-tim ša-am-ú ú a‐na-kam a‐na-ku ša kù.babbar 1 ma-na ú 2 ma-na a‐na u4-mì a ba-ab ma-ḫi-ri-im ú-šé-er-ma a‐šu-mì ki-a-am páaḫ-ra-ku šu-ma a‐ma-kam dingir-na-da ri-ig-ma-am i-té-dí ma-a mì-m[a] i-té-ḫi a‐ba-ú-a be-lu-ú[a a‐tù-nu] dumu me-tim a‐na-ku (Kt 88/k 507b obv. 1-le.e. 51, see Çeçen 1995: 53 – 55).  Çeçen 1995: 55.

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again referred to himself as the son of a dead man in the documents from REL 102, 104, 111, certainly with a moroseness that only he could understand. Dān-Aššur’s sickness in Anatolia was one faint echo in Šalim-aḫum’s letters of the plague he never directly mentioned in his surviving letters. Another echo came through in one of Ennam-Aššur’s petulant retorts to Pūšu-kēn earlier in the year. When Pūšu-kēn sent a message to him to proceed home, he responded, “I am not the son of a dead man!” The son of a dead man was constrained to see to the clearance of his late father’s estate, and Ennam-Aššur knew he could not be so constrained. Thus we could imagine him saying this statement with emphasis on the second half: “I am not the son of a dead man.” But it is equally possible that he would have placed the emphasis on himself: “I am not the son of a dead man.” When he made this statement, in July of the year of vengeance, there were plenty of sons of dead men to be found in both Anatolia and Assur. Both echoes suggest the depth to which we must go to understand the context of even single sentences. Behind all the business transactions that were pursued in this year of vengeance, there was an ongoing plague taking the lives of a number of merchants and doubtless many others. While the specific biological agent will likely remain a mystery, its impact on Old Assyrian society was clear. One dimension of the fear and anguish it caused played out in the differing fates of the merchants, and the fear of it claiming loved ones. When Šalim-aḫum expressed his fear of the utukkū demons in relation to his own votive offering, the temples at Assur seemed the only salvation for the city’s inhabitants. Any failings on their part to endear themselves to the gods, such as delivering on their votive offerings, left them vulnerable to the dark forces in the world. In this context, it seems best to associate (nukurātum) in Kanesh⁸⁴ with the plague (mūtānū) in the year of vengeance.⁸⁵ The plague had a larger impact on our perception of Assyrian trade than we have been able to realize. And, as shall be shown in Chapter 19, it likely had a big impact on which documents survived to the present. One more person died this year, though he was old enough that the plague may have only hastened the inevitable. Ilabrat-bāni’s father Aššur-mālik passed away around June, and this development in Ilabrat-bāni’s life must be addressed before coming to a final accounting of Šalim-aḫum’s revenge in the year of vengeance.

 Kryszat 2004b: 858. Kt n/k 1429 published in Çeçen 1995, 50 – 55.  Previously, the latest date for Aššur-rē’ī was REL 82 as cited in Barjamovic, Hertel and Larsen 2012: 62. This led them to place the plague closer to REL 70 or so.

Chapter 17 Pūšu-kēn’s Revenge? The ‘plague’ affected the Old Assyrian and Anatolian communities, and doubtless many others, and its effect on those communities was felt broadly in demographic, economic, and social ways. But at the same time, its effects were also felt on an intimate level in families and households that lay in the plague’s path. The most intimate effects for Pūšu-kēn and Ilabrat-bāni certainly came with the death of Pūšu-kēn’s brother-in-law and Ilabrat-bāni’s father, Aššur-mālik. His bereft widow and daughter leaned heavily on Pūšu-kēn to help them with affairs in Anatolia. The plague, compounded by the disruption of trade, broke families and left women with little opportunity to grieve while desperate merchants sought to protect their funds from losses. Whether or not Šalim-aḫum’s revenge on Ilabratbāni was intentional, the year of vengeance was, at the very least, a vengeance of the gods. A fuller characterization of the year of vengeance brings us back to the question of Šalim-aḫum’s revenge. We finally come to consider the question that first motivated a consideration of Šalim-aḫum’s activities. Yet a consideration of the moves made by Šalim-aḫum, Pūšu-kēn, and Ilabrat-bāni suggest that the anecdote first offered at the beginning of this work must be re-evaluated. If Šalimaḫum seemed at first to benefit most from the raid, then Pūšu-kēn’s role in the affair suggests that he also stood to benefit from suggesting it. Ultimately, it may have been Pūšu-kēn’s revenge more than anyone else’s. Both the plague and Šalim-aḫum’s raid left victims in its wake. Yet to say this, to say there are such things as victims, is to accept a world in which there is a human domain in which people suffer, plan, intend, hope, succeed and fail. This is already a representation of the world which places conscious, intending humans within a web of meaningful completions or interruptions or failures. And an acceptance of such a quality to the human world underwrites the capacity to interpret, within the paradigm of a narrative, the documents of the year of vengeance in such a way as to recognize their interrelations. In this way, the resulting Old Assyrian commercial time forms a glue just as much as it does a sense of tempo for the year of vengeance. And this in turn suggests that the narrative reconstruction involved in finding the year of vengeance is an essential mode of inquiry on the Old Assyrian trade. All the deaths in the year of vengeance certainly strained Pūšu-kēn’s commercial commitments. And whether or not they affected Šalim-aḫum, whose letters seem to make no mention of them, one in particular affected Ilabrat-bāni. Šalim-aḫum had complained in the beginning of the year that Ilabrat-bāni’s faDOI 10.1515/9781501507120-017

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ther, Aššur-mālik s. Šū-Kūbum, had gotten his silver from Puzur-Ištar ahead of him. And this had forced Šalim-aḫum to scramble to get his votive offering funds in order. But Šalim-aḫum may have been less concerned about Aššur-mālik’s advantages if he knew in April that Aššur-mālik would die sometime around July during this year.¹ Before he died, Aššur-mālik had been coordinating with Pūšu-kēn on a number of things. Near the time of his death, he wrote to Pūšu-kēn of the disruption in the trade,² and asked Pūšu-kēn to clear the ‘youth’ but also to keep an eye on him. “Also, c[lear?] the youth there. He must not contract any affliction. Keep an eye on him. He must not act inappropriately.”³ But Aššur-mālik was not asking Pūšu-kēn to look after any of his sons. By gathering remarks made in other letters, it is clear that he was referring to Aššur-idī s. Šū-Ḫubur, possibly the older brother of Nuḫšātum: “Now, keep your eye constantly on Aššur-idī.”⁴ The ‘youth’ owed Aššur-mālik some 8 minas silver, due in the previous year.⁵ Pūšu-kēn’s sister Tariš-mātum had produced four sons and one daughter with Aššur-mālik: Puzur-Ištar, Uṣur-ša-Aššur, Ilabrat-bāni, Idī-Ištar, and Bēlātum. In the wake of Aššur-mālik’s death, the now widowed Tariš-mātum and her daughter Bēlātum hoped Pūšu-kēn could rescue them from what felt like the implosion of Aššur-mālik’s house. Aggressive creditors, who themselves were feeling the pressure from other deaths, such as the death of Šū-Aššur s. Al-aḫum, sought to collect Aššur-mālik’s debts from his sons.⁶ Tariš-mātum and Bēlātum realized that the sons, including Ilabrat-bāni, needed to act to pro-

 Connection suggested through the mention of Puzur-Anna s. Qayyātum in 86-CCT 6: 47c; 95TC 2: 10; 109-TC 1: 46; 99-VS 26: 8.  “Concerning the price of the textiles of the Akkadians about which you wrote, since you left, no Akkadians have come to the city. Their land is in great turmoil, and if they arrive before winter and the prices are beneficial to you, we will purchase some for you. We will even make the purchases with silver from our own funds. Take heed to send the silver.” a‐šu-mì ší-im túg ša a‐ki-dí-e ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni iš-tù tù-uṣ-ú a‐ki-dí-ú a‐na a‐lim ki ú-la e-ru-bu-nim ma-sú-nu sá-ḫi-aat-ma šu-ma a ku-ṣí im-ta-aq!-tù-nim-ma ší-mu-um ša ba-la-ṭí-kà i-ba-ší ni-ša-a-ma-ku-um ⸢ù⸣ kù.babbar i-ra-mì-ni-ni ni-ša-qal kù.babbar i-ḫi-id-ma šé-bi4-lam (105-VS 26: 17 obv. 4-lo.e. 14).  ù ṣu-ḫa-ra-am a‐ma-kam za-[x …] mì-ma li-ip-tám lá i-ra-ší e-kà i-ṣé-ri-šu li-li-ik lá i-ša-lá-aṭ (104-VS 26: 16 rev. 13’-u.e. 16’).  ù i-na ṣé-⸢er⸣ a‐šur-i-dí e-na-kà li-ta-lá-kà (106-TC 3: 29 u.e. 34-le.e. 35).  “Aššur-idī son of Šū-Ḫubur owes (me) 8 minas of silver. His credit term is one year past due.” 8 ma-na kù.babbar i-ṣé-er a‐šur-i-dí dumu šu-ḫu--⸢ur⸣ i!?-šu!? (106-TC 3: 29 obv. 13 – 15).  That 119-RA 59: 28 was related to 112-KTS 1: 24 and 115-KTS 1: 25a was pointed out already by Garelli (1959: 165).

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tect the estate of their father.⁷ Sometime after June, Tariš-mātum and Bēlātum wrote to Pūšu-kēn: Regarding the 8 minas silver and its interest which we owe to the house of Al-āḫum, we borrowed 6 minas silver on interest and we paid it to the son of Qayyātum. Our dear father, to whom else can we turn? Cause silver to be sealed and send it here. Our dear father, to whom else can we turn? If anyone asks you for silver from my youth, saying, “Give me my possession!,” do not give him anything.⁸

Their devised strategy was to ask Pūšu-kēn to store all the sons’ merchandise and whatever silver arose from it in his house under his seals to protect it from the creditors, then to send it to the city under his seal so that they could settle Aššur-mālik’s estate with help from the state.⁹ To this end, Pūšu-kēn was not to give any silver to either the sons or the creditors, even if the sons asked, and keep silver out of their accounts.¹⁰ As the plan was devised by the mother and daughter, both had some concern that the sons would not play

 Incidentally, Tariš-mātum’s and Bēlātum’s concerns confirm that the term ṣuḫārum could purposefully be used to refer to someone’s biological child. Just as Ennam-Aššur s. Šalim-aḫum had been referred to as the ṣuḫārum in their conversation, Tariš-mātum and Bēlātum referred to Tariš-mātum’s sons and Bēlātum’s brothers as the ṣuḫārū, confirmed by the same concerns they addressed to them in another letter (114-TC 2: 21), and by how Aššur-imittī referred to them as the sons of Aššur-mālik in the letter he wrote with the two women (113-KTS 1: 23). This is not the same Aššur-imittī who was the brother of Šū-Ḫubur).  a‐ṣé-er 8 ma-na kù.babbar ù ṣí-ba-ti-šu ša a‐na é a‐lá-ḫi-im ḫa-bu-lá-ni-ni 6 ma-na kù.babbar a‐na ṣí-ib-tim ni-il5-qé-ma a‐na dumu qá-a-tim ni-iš-qúl a‐bu-ni a‐ta a‐na ma-nim ša-nim ni-da-gal kù.babbar ša-ak-ni-ik-ma lu-šé-bi-lam a‐bu-ni a‐ta a‐na ma-nim ša-nim ni-da-gal šu-ma i-na ṣúḫa-ri kù.babbar mì-ma e-ri--kà um-ma šu-ut-ma qá-tí dí-nam mì-ma lá ta-da-an (109-TC 1: 46 obv. 3-rev. 19).  “Do you not know? Because someone has roughly a mina of silver (on them), the accounts of our ’boys’ are ruined! Our dear father and lord, do not treat the ’boys’ harshly. Let the tin and textiles, until they are returned for silver, be in your own house so that the silver will return and (you can) send the silver. Let our dispatches reach you wherever you are.” lá tí-de8-e ki-ma kù.babbar 1 ma-na.ta i-šu qá-tí-ni ṣú-ḫa-ru-ni ḫa-al-du!-ni a‐bu-ni be-el-ni a‐ta a‐na ṣú-ḫa-ri lá ta-šalá-aṭ an.na ù ⸢túg⸣-ba-tù a‐dí a‐⸢na⸣ ⸢kù.babbar⸣ i-tù-ru-ni i-na é-tí-kà!-ma li-ib-ší-ma a‐na kù.babbar ta-er-ma kù.babbar šé-bi-lam ⸢na⸣-áš-pè-ra-tù-ni a‐šar ku-a-tí li-ib-ší-a (108-CCT 4: 15c obv. 5-le.e. 22).  “Our dear father and lord, none of the youth should ask you for silver, and you must not release silver to their accounts. Let them bring the silver to the city under your seal so that our father will not lose anything.” a‐bu-ni be-el-ni a‐ta ma-ma-an i-na ṣú-ḫa-re-e kù.babbar e e-ri-iš-kà-ma kù.babbar a‐na qá-tí-šu-nu e tù-ší-ir kù.babbar ku-nu-ki-kà a‐na a‐lim ki lu-ub-lunim-ma mì-ma a‐bi-ni lá i-ḫa-li-iq (111-ArOr 47, 42– 43 obv. 4– 10).

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along, so they had written a letter urging them to do so.¹¹ There were other interested parties in the arrangement; Aššur-imittī was aware of the measures and in support of them.¹² But the urgency to settle Aššur-mālik’s estate was most keenly felt in one particular obligation held by the deceased merchant—to the god. Aššur-mālik had at least 30 minas silver worth of assets in Anatolia dedicated to one of the gods in Assur.¹³ After telling Pūšu-kēn to retain the silver from the unmarried sons, Tāriš-mātum and Bēlātum expressed real concern about the votive fund that Aššur-mālik had been managing. Bēlātum in particular was saddened, and both expressed a fear that the god would do something evil to the estate and thus to them, so they begged him to send some silver with which they could appease the god.¹⁴ At the same time, they expressed concern that Uṣur “Our dear brothers, Bēlātum is grieved becasue of the silver of our father’s votive fund. And we are tormented by the utukkū demons and eṭammū spirits. There, turn to Pūšu-kēn and let each (of you) give all the tin and textiles they can and seal up silver and send it so that he can save your lives and our lives. Here, the god is angry. He is harming the house of your father! Whoever among any of you there who makes a single shekel of silver, do not claim it.” [a-ḫu]-ni a‐tù-nu a‐šu-mì [kù.babbar] ik-ri-bi4 ša a‐bi4-ni be-lá-tum a‐na-kam ta-am-ra-aṣ ù i-na ú-tù-ki ù ina e-ṭá-mì ša-am-ṭù-a-ni a‐ma-kam a‐na pu-šu-ke-en6 pu-nu-a-ma an.na ù túg-ba-tí a‐ma-lá i-lee-ú li-dí-ma kù.babbar li-ik-nu-uk-ma lu-šé-bi4-lá-ma na-pá-áš-ta-ak-nu ù na-pá-áš-tí-ni li-ṭí-ir a‐na-kam lam-ni-iš i-lu-um é a‐bi4-ku-nu e-pá-áš ma-ma-an a‐ma-kam a‐na kù.babbar 1 gín ina ba-ri-ku-nu lá i-ṭá-ḫi (119-RA 59: 28 obv. 8-u.e. 27).  Aššur-imittī was one of the wroters of a letter in which they urged Pūšu-kēn: “Do not release the silver to the accounts of the sons of Aššur-mālik.” kù.babbar a‐na qá-té-e me-er-e a‐šur-malik lá tù-ša-ar (113-KTS 1: 23 rev. 34-u.e. 36). Tariš-mātum and Bēlātum expressed the same sentiment in their own letters: “Our dear father and lord, do not release the silver to the youths.” a‐bu-ni a‐ta be-el!-ni a‐ta kù.babbar a‐na ṣú-ḫa-ri lá tù-wa-ša-ar (112-KTS 1: 24 obv. 8 – 10).  “On the fifth day after I arrived, the ladies of the house of Aššur-mālik approached the city council and the city rendered a verdict that whoever seized the goods worth 30 minas of silver belonging to the votive fund of Aššur-mālik must release them.” i-na ḫa-am-ší-im u4-mì-im ša e a‐ru-bu a‐wi-lá-tum ša é a‐šùr-ma-lik a‐lam im-ḫu-ra-ma a‐lúm ki dí-nam i-dí-in-ma lu-qú-tám ⸢ša⸣ 30 ma-na kù.babbar ša ik-ri-bi4 ša a‐šùr-ma-lik ma-ma-an iṣ-bu-tù ú-šar (110-TC 1: 3 obv. 3 – 11).  “Concerning the silver of the votive fund, here you saddened Bēlātum. From the utensils and the things from the eṭammū spirits, our dear father and lord, do not release the silver to the youth. Concerning the mazzāzum object the god will do something evil to our fathers’s house. Urgent, if you are our father, gather together as much as you can, and place your name on it so that the youth(s) can in this make a claim against the votive funds.” a‐šu-mì kù.babbar ša ik-ri-bi4 a‐na-kam bé-la-tum ta-am-ra-aṣ i-na ú-tù-ki ù i-na e-ṭá-me ša-am-ṭù-a-ni a‐bu-ni a‐ta be-el!-ni a‐ta kù.babbar a‐na ṣú-ḫa-ri lá tù-wa-ša-ar a‐šu-mì ma-za-zi-im dingir lam-ni-iš é a‐bi4-ni e-pá-áš a‐pu-tum šu-ma a‐bu-ni a‐ta ki-ma ta-le-e-ú mì-it!-ḫa-aṣ-ma šu-um-kà šu-ku-unma ṣú-ḫa-ru a‐šu-mì ik-ri-bi4 ki-a-am i-né-pì-šu (112-KTS 1: 24 obv. 4-rev. 19). The mazzāzum object was whatever had been pledged to be donated to the temple, to have been procured wth the votive funds.

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ša-Aššur may have taken some of the silver that Pūšu-kēn was supposed to be hoarding.¹⁵ A little later, when a claim associated with one of their transporters was maturing, they asked Pūšu-kēn again to send silver for the votive fund.¹⁶ It was to protect these funds that the women acquired a tablet from the city stating the verdict from the city assembly, that anyone possessing assets belonging to the 30 minas of Aššur-mālik’s votive offering must return it, or else become a thief. Their success at court gave the women the capacity to threaten individuals in Anatolia who had taken goods considered votive funds, including a man named Alama, to pay up the debts owed to the estate of Aššur-mālik.¹⁷ A different Aššur-mālik wrote Pūšu-kēn to inform him of the event and that the attorney (Ilī-bāni) would leave within ten days for Anatolia, at least by mid-October.¹⁸ When the attorney was apparently on his way, the mother and daughter sent a message telling the three sons who were in Anatolia (all but Uṣur-šaAššur, who had left Anatolia in the meantime¹⁹), to assist Pūšu-kēn. Pūšu-kēn was to entrust the gathered silver to the attorney so that he could safely take it back to Assur.²⁰ They also wrote a letter with Šalim-aḫum, Ḫinnaya, and Aššur-imittī to Pūšu-kēn with the same message about the new protections preventing the sons from having to pay their dead father’s creditors.²¹ In both letters  “We heard that Išar-bēlī brought you 1 donkey and Uṣur-ša-Aššur departed. He must not take responsibility for it nor take a single shekel!” 1 anše.hi.a i-šar-be-lí i-ra-de8-a-ku-ni ni-iš-me-ma ˘ ú-ṣur-ša-a-šur i-ta-ar-dam e um-ta-ṣí-ma kù.babbar 1 gín e il5-qé (112-KTS 1: 24 rev. 24– 28).  “Our dear father and lord, the silver of the votive funds, both that which is already there, and that from the tin which Išar-bēlī owes to you, gather and seal and send it here.” a‐bu-ni a‐ta beel-ni a‐ta kù.babbar ša ik-ri-bi4 lu ša a‐ma-kam lu ša an.na ša i-šar-be-lí [ḫa-bu]-lá-ku-ni pá-ḫeer-ma ku-nu-uk-ma šé-bi4-lam (107-BIN 6: 117 obv. 5-rev. 12). The transporter, Išar-bēlī, was possibly arriving around the time the letter 112-KTS 1 24 was to arrive in Kanesh, but then in 107-BIN 6: 117 it was appropriate to ask Pūšu-kēn to collect the silver.  109-TC 1: 46.  110-TC 1: 3 obv. 3-rev. 23. The document expresses the end of the ḫamuštum of the tenth month of the Assyrian calendar (Te’inātum), perhaps meaning the first full ḫamuštum in that month. This would place it after October 5th.  112-KTS 1: 24 rev. 24– 27. Translation in note 15 above.  114-TC 2: 21.  “From Šalim-aḫum, Ḫinnaya, Aššur-imittī, Tariš-mātum and Bēlātum to Pūšu-kēn: According to your instructions, we obtained a tablet of the city and the attorney brings it to you. There, take care to gather together silver, maids, servants, houses—whatever Šū-Nunu left behind—and seal and send to us. We gave ⅓ mina silver and 1 mina tin to the attorney. Give to him ⅓ mina silver there so that he is satisfied. We gave 10 shekels silver and 1 mina tin to Imgua. According to the tablet of the city: ‘Concerning the silver of Aššūr-mālik, no one shall make claims on the sons of Aššur-mālik until they have satisfied the debts of the joint-stock fund, the income, the GA-ratám, and the šakultum.’ It is there. Show them the tablet. To Pūšu-kēn from Tariš-mātum and Bēlātum: Concerning the silver about which you wrote, at the arrival of the silver, we will

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they also mentioned a man named Šū-Nunu, whose goods would be divided in the city. Perhaps he had also died recently. Legal solutions could not entirely protect them from forces beyond its jurisdiction. By the time the attorney arrived in Anatolia, more serious troubles animated the women. Though few letters divulge it, the plague was of course taking a terrible human toll. Tariš-mātum along with her daughter desperately reported to Pūšu-kēn that two of her grandchildren were at death’s door. Puzur-Ištar and Uṣur-ša-Aššur’s daughters, likely still quite young, were ill—doubtless from whatever biological agent was behind the plague. Going to the diviners, the women were told that a lack of respect for the votive funds was putting their defenseless little ones at risk. Apparently, complications of settling an estate were no excuse for falling short in submitting votive goods. So understandably fretful were the women at this point that they expressed their resignation that the children would die save some miraculous delivery from Anatolia; they also moaned in premonition of such a grim harvest: The daughters of Puzur-Ištar and Uṣur-ša-Aššur are ill and seem as though they are dying! We went to the diviners and thus says the god: “You do not respect the votive offerings. (Give up on?) them (the daughters). We are preparing them for the harvest!” Ask the boys (Puzur-Ištar and Uṣur-ša-Aššur) whether or not they will (give up on?) them and let your message come so that we can (give up on?) them.²²

give the first silver to your representative.” um-ma ša-lim-a-ḫu-um ḫi-na-a a‐šur-i-mì-tí ta-ri-išma-tum ù be-lá-tum-ma a‐na pu-šu-ke-en6 qí-bi-ma a-ma-lá té-er-tí-kà ṭup-pá-am ša a‐lim ki niil5-qé-ma ra-bi-ṣú-um na-áš-a-kum a‐ma-kam i-ḫi-id-⸢ma⸣ lu kù.babbar lu géme lu ìr lu é-betum mì-ma šu-nu-nu e-zi-bu-ú pá-ḫe-e[r-ma] ⸢k⸣u-⸢nu-uk⸣-ma šé-bi-[lam] ⅓ ma-na kù.babbar ⸢1 m⸣a-n[a] [an.na] a‐na ra-bi4-ṣí-im ni-dí-in ⸢⅓⸣ ma-na kù[.babbar] a‐ma-kam dí-⸢šu⸣-um ú ša-bu 10 gín kù.babbar 1 ma-na an.na a‐na im-gu5-a ni-dí-i[n] ṭup-pu-um ša a‐lim⸢ki⸣ ša a‐na kù.babbar-áp ⸢a⸣-šur-ma-lik a‐dí ḫu-bu-ul {…?} ⸢na⸣-ru-qí-im er-bu-um ⸢GA?⸣-ra-tám ù ša-ku⸢ul⸣-tum uš-ta-bu-ú i-na me-⸢er⸣-e a‐šur-ma-lik ma-ma-⸢an⸣ lá i-ṭá-ḫi-ú a‐ma-⸢kam⸣ i-ba-ší ṭuppá-am kà-⸢li⸣-im-šu-nu a‐na pu-šu-ke-en6 qí-bi4-ma um-ma ta-ri--ma-tum ù be-lá-tum-ma a‐šu-mì kù.babbar ša ta-áš-pu-ra-ni i-ma-qá-at kù.babbar pá-ni-e-ma a-ša ki-ma ku-a-tí ni⸢da-an⸣ (50-VS 26: 59 obv. 1-le.e. 34).  ṣú-ḫa-ra-tum ša puzur4-išt⸢ar⸣ ú ú-ṣur-ša-a-šur im-ra-ṣa-ma mu-a-tí-iš i-li-kà a‐na ša-i-lá-tim ni-li-ik-ma um-ma i-lu!-um-ma ik-ri-bé lá tù-qá-i-a ek-ma-ší-na a‐na ḫa-ar-pé nu-uš-té-re-sà e-kàma-am lá e-kà-ma-am ṣú-ḫa-ri ša-al-ma té-er-ta-kà li-li-kam-ma lu né-ki-im-ší-na (115-KTS 1: 25a obv. 4-rev. 18). Because translators have nut known its context, the text is quite difficult and has been much confused and mistranslated in several places (Oppenheim 1956: 221; Michel 1991b: 253, Michel 2001a: 451– 52). Note also the translation of the passage in CAD ekēmu which likewise confuses the object of the verb.) The key to understanding the letter is twofold. The first imperative is to recognize the main point of the letter—the threat of two small girls dying, now better understood in the context of a plague. The second is to recognize that the ṣuḫārē are Puzur-Ištar and Uṣur-ša-Aššur—the sons of Tariš-mātum. The feminine accusative suffix pro-

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The epidemic was leaving the city of Assur increasingly terror-stricken. Other procedures were necessary for the settlement of Aššur-mālik’s estate,²³ but one of the primary impacts of contextualizing the voices of Tariš-mātum and Bēlātum into this period of the plague revolves around the characterization of women’s letters, which have sometimes been noted to express feelings and concerns often at a more heightened level than men’s letters. While some of this may arise from a different mentality connected to the different social standing, legal position, and gender of the writers, the letters of Tariš-mātum and Bēlātum evince a level of concern appropriate to the situation as we can understand it. A letter from Šalim-aḫum’s daughter Šāt-Aššur about a sickness in the house in the ninth Assyrian month (September 5 – October 5 in the year of vengeance) must also come from this period.²⁴ These women wrote letters that reasonably reflected their vulnerable positions in difficult circumstances. Ilabrat-bāni must have also felt vulnerable after his father’s death. Thus it is all the more interesting to raise the question of whether Šalim-aḫum took his supposed revenge knowing this, or if Šalim-aḫum’s actions were in fact revenge at all. When Šalim-aḫum received Pūšu-kēn’s letter at the beginning of September, was the opportunity to seize Ilabrat-bāni’s goods simply the moment he had been waiting for? Or was the idea so drastic that he had not thought of it until Pūšu-kēn’s letter arrived? Whose revenge was it? The very capacity to ask this question is only exceeded by the capacity to propose something of an answer to it. The reader may require a brief refresher of the basic storyline. In early spring, Ilabrat-bāni took 6⅓ minas tin from Šalim-aḫum’s shipment while in transit from Assur to Kanesh, which he apparently took to pay expenses on

nouns that are attached to two forms of the difficult verb clearly show that the attention remains on the disposition of the little girls. As I translate it here, my best guess is to interpret the passage to end in some sort of threat. Either Puzur-Ištar and Uṣur-ša-Aššur, as well as Pūšu-kēn as uncle to Puzur-Ištar and Uṣur-ša-Aššur, will engage in getting the votive offerings paid, or they will need to let go of their own daughters as a result of their failures. The instructions to send the silver arising from several small shipments should be taken as the steps desperately needing to be fulfilled.  See also 116-TC 3: 26 rev. 27-le.e. 35, where Ḫinnaya reported to Pūšu-kēn that the sons of Aššur-mālik had agreed to clear their mother for as much as Aššur-mālik had stated in a previous document. Also, 117-CCT 6: 30d certainly comes from this period, but is too broken to be of much use. See also the first portion of 118-KTH 19, which has an agreement between the three sons of Aššur-mālik and Pūšu-kēn (118-KTH 19 obv. 1-rev. 27).  “Concerning the attack (of the disease), the entire house is affected. If you intend to come to the city, sacrifice to the gods!” a‐šu-mì me-eḫ-ṣí-im ku-lu é-tim ma-sú-uḫ šu-ma pá-nu-kà a‐na a‐wi!-lim ša-ak-nu a‐na i-li ša-qí-i (137-KTS 1: 29 A obv. 3 – 7).

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the road. After arriving in Kanesh, in the second week of April, Ilabrat-bāni traveled north into the area of Ḫattum, without having paid for the 6⅓ minas tin. When Šalim-aḫum learned near the end of April that Ilabrat-bāni had not paid, he wrote his angry letter complaining about Ilabrat-bāni. Ilabrat-bāni returned to Kanesh, and wrote to Šalim-aḫum offering to buy a large lot of goods, and to pay a sixth up front. Šalim-aḫum accepted and designated goods already on their way to Kanesh as those he would buy, demanding that the sale be on short term credit of one or two months, and the up front payment be rendered half in gold. However, by mid-August, when Ilabrat-bāni did not pay his 20 minas silver portion of the promised talent of silver on time, Pūšu-kēn wrote his letter to Šalim-aḫum advising him to seize Ilabrat-bāni’s tin then in transit to Kanesh in order to recoup his investment. Šalim-aḫum received the letter around the beginning of September and did so, sending Puzur-Aššur and Ennam-Aššur, who had recently arrived in Assur, westward again. They overtook Ilabrat-bāni’s son, seized the tin, and liquidating it, returned to Assur with the silver around the end of September. Šalim-aḫum then reported to Pūšu-kēn both the result of the action and Ilabrat-bāni’s updated balance of debt. The key to understanding whether or not it was Šalim-aḫum or Pūšu-kēn who thought of the plan involves trying to understand what was going on in the first weeks of August. But this must be done by inference from what happened both before and after. When Ilabrat-bāni lost his father sometime in July, he certainly had to deal with his own feelings. But the Old Assyrian community needed him to fill the role of a ‘son of a dead man.’ Aššur-mālik’s estate, like many of the other merchants who died during the year of vengeance, was likely in a state of flux. Though the initial assessment of his condition at his death is unclear, his widow, Pūšu-kēn’s sister, was extremely concerned. No doubt the financial difficulties initiated by the death of several other merchants that year made the settlement of estates all the more difficult. If his father died in July, then the impact of his death was just falling upon Ilabrat-bāni when his debt to Šalim-aḫum came due. Pūšu-kēn was being asked by his sister to keep assets away from the sons, so that their father’s creditors would not be able to dun them for their father’s debts. Thus one of the reasons that Ilabrat-bāni may have not had the money to pay off Šalim-aḫum would have been due to actions taken by Pūšu-kēn. If so, this strategy was first developing during the first part of August. If Šalim-aḫum was the author of the plan, then his idea must have preceded the moment when Pūšu-kēn wrote his letter by at least two weeks, likely even earlier. Thus we have to imagine it would have been plotted before Aššur-mālik’s

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death. There were certainly reasons Šalim-aḫum could have turned sour on Ilabrat-bāni. At the beginning of the year, Šalim-aḫum had demanded a 6 shekel rate for the tin—but at some point in the middle of this year, when the tin supply dropped, even a 6 shekel rate would have seemed cheap. In fact, though there was good reason to provide an estimate of the tin purchased with Ilabratbāni’s silver, there is no way to know how much it actually bought. It could have been significantly less. We only know that it yielded about as much silver as Ilabrat-bāni had sent. Did Šalim-aḫum begrudge Ilabrat-bāni the silver he could have been making with the tin that Dān-Aššur brought? If so, he must not have been able to quantify how far the price of tin would go up in the wake of the shortage when he dictated the 6 shekel rate, suggesting that he had no knowledge of the shortage of tin at that point. Even if the timing of that development is not clear, the more diffuse pressures still played their roles. The plague and simultaneous disruption of supply forced Šalim-aḫum to look for increases to his revenue wherever he could find them. Ilabrat-bāni’s tin became even more attractive. Pūšu-kēn knew this as well, and thus what we might really question is what motivated Pūšu-kēn to write the letter. There could not have been a missing letter from Šalim-aḫum that hatched this particular plan. After all, he had been complaining that Ilabrat-bāni had been difficult for some time already. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and by August, the year of vengeance was getting desperate. In fact, several points along the way suggest that Šalim-aḫum was not plotting. For example, we would have to suppose that he orchestrated Ilabrat-bāni’s offer to buy more goods so that he could set up an opportunity to seize Ilabratbāni’s goods. When he did receive Ilabrat-bāni’s offer, it was likely before the supply of tin and textiles had been disrupted by Sūmû-El. He had demanded the same rate he asked for at the beginning of the season. Had the disruption been known, he may have asked for more. And what he asked reflected the fact that Ilabrat-bāni’s offer fit Šalim-aḫum’s own need for gold. In expressing his frustration with Ilabrat-bāni, Šalim-aḫum also hinted that the ineffectual Ilabrat-bāni should apply extra effort in following through on the promise because it was associated with his votive fund.²⁵ By contrast, it is likely that tension between Pūšu-kēn and Ilabrat-bāni had grown throughout this year. Pūšu-kēn’s attitude with his nephew Ilabrat-bāni in

 “Do not anger me! May the god, the owner of the votive fund impel you!” li-bi4 lá tù-lá-ma-an dingir be-el ik-ri-bi li-ir-de8-k[à] (5-TC 1: 26 u.e. 34– 35). It is possible the last statement was phrased as a curse formula.

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the beginning of the year, and his likely good counsel to offer to buy goods from Šalim-aḫum, suggest a patronly protection of his nephew. But these measures placed him in tension with Šalim-aḫum. Already in late April, Šalim-aḫum had expressed his suspicion that Pūšu-kēn was favoring his brother-in-law Aššur-mālik over him. And up until that point, Pūšu-kēn, at least implicitly, had condoned some of the latitude that Ilabrat-bāni assumed on the road to Kanesh with Šalim-aḫum’s goods. Pūšu-kēn had been complicit when Ilabrat-bāni had somehow left with the half textile, and he hadn’t exacted silver for the 6⅓ minas tin before Ilabrat-bāni left for Ḫattum. Furthermore, it is not unreasonable to suppose that Pūšu-kēn had counseled Ilabrat-bāni to propose the large purchase of goods as a way to pay off his debts. Now, Pūšu-kēn, who must have been suffering degradation of his own social capital vis-à-vis Šalimaḫum, had run out of patience with the merchant manqué.²⁶ This tension would only have heightened Pūšu-kēn’s simultaneous disinterest in the joint venture offered him by Šalim-aḫum and his feeling of obligation to do something to show his utility to the latter. Šalim-aḫum’s concerns about Ilabrat-bāni presented Pūšu-kēn with a strong incentive to demonstrate his value as an agent. Not wanting to be able to have Šalim-aḫum complain about Pūšu-kēn’s lack of loyalty, when Ilabrat-bāni’s due date arrived it presented Pūšu-kēn with a choice: allow Ilabrat-bāni more time to pay, or stand up for Šalim-aḫum and fulfill his principal’s wishes. If he allowed more time, then Šalim-aḫum would have more to complain about. Whether he and Šalim-aḫum had discussed it previously, or he had devised the plan himself, Pūšu-kēn had definite motive to suggest the action as a way of showing his value to Šalimaḫum. In one fell swoop, Pūšu-kēn could have offered his nephew on the altar of owner-agent loyalty and taught his nephew a lesson. But if this is so, Pūšu-kēn must have been a rather despicable man. With Ilabrat-bāni’s father’s recent death, Pūšu-kēn’s sister would have devastated. However, Pūšu-kēn’s pressures from his sister may provide the most compelling explanation of the seizure of Ilabrat-bāni’s goods. When Pūšu-kēn received instructions from Tariš-mātum about keeping assets away from Ilabrat-bāni to prevent investors dunning him and his brothers, both he and Ilabrat-bāni may have realized that it would be very difficult to pay off Šalim-aḫum. At that point, seizing Ilabrat-bāni’s goods, on the road, before Pūšu-kēn was responsible to protect them, would have been the only way to collect on Ilabrat-bāni, given the extraordinary circumstances of the year of vengeance. Pūšu-kēn could have suggested

 Though not the entire amount, this smaller amount must have been part of the talent of silver, minus the down payment he had agreed to pay.

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the raiding party as the most logical and reasonable way to collect on Ilabratbāni. Ilabrat-bāni may have even been privy and complicit to the plan as a way to please Šalim-aḫum without crossing his mother’s directions in the wake of his father’s death. In the end, Ilabrat-bāni lost in the seizure little more than the fees he would not have had to pay (exit taxes, possibly shipping wages paid out, etc.) had he simply designated his silver to pay Šalim-aḫum. He had already owed Šalimaḫum that much silver, and so his balance sheet had cleared a debt. Ilabratbāni had only lost time, but in the Old Assyrian trade, this was no little thing. When trade was stable and credit the norm, time was money. But in the year of vengeance, extraordinary circumstances may have paved the road for extraordinary measures. If we have not arrived at the final explanation for the raid on Ilabrat-bāni’s goods, we have at least arrived at a richer explanation by virtue of the year of vengeance as a narrative, prompted by the question of revenge in the first place. This prompts review of the operating principle under which the process of reconstruction proceeds. The relationship between the narrative of the year of vengeance and Old Assyrian commercial time is one of concomitant birth. This is so because of the intimate and unique relationship between narrative and time. Historical narrative is more than story; it is a form of explanation underwritten by rich description that is at once beholden to two kinds of time aporetically separate in other explanations. The bridge that the year of vengeance, as a narrative, builds between the undated documents in this narrative, and from those undated documents to Old Assyrian commercial time is a particularly interesting example of the bridging effect of narrative between the two primary defined aspects of time. As discussed in the introduction, narrative draws together two kinds of time invoked by Ricoeur: material time and phenomenological time. Historical narrative bridges these two effortlessly by always demanding strict adherence to material time, and in the same stroke, representing its explanations by gathering evidence from different points in time, using different amounts of time within the explanation to describe different moments in material time, employing hindsight, and a host of other basic operations available to narrative. In regard to this aspect of the reconstruction, it is important to point out the second dimension of Old Assyrian commercial time. While the construction of the portion of the narrative in Part 1 resulted in the fleshing out of Old Assyrian commercial time in terms of its tempos, this was only possible by recreating the year of vengeance as a particular instance of Old Assyrian commercial time embodied in a narrative. This embodiment, the connections between the documents which are then re-placed in their order, has the effect of forming something like a mesenteric medium that binds the documents together into a large dossier of

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sorts, a binding agent that, while not implying cause, transforms instances of the Old Assyrian record into material that transcends the anecdotal frame.²⁷ The emphasis here is on the seemingly incidental—the things mentioned at the end of letters, the offhand remarks that were interposed by Šalim-aḫum, ŠūḪubur, Puzur-Aššur, or Lamassī. In Old Assyrian studies, one makes a transition to the narrative frame by placing more value on the possible utility of framing the contemporaneous events in relation to each other than has hitherto been done, including very good examples of narration of individual sources or small connected documents manifestly connected by some prominent issue.²⁸ However, the fuller historical turn is to pose, given the revelation of the year of vengeance, that we have at our fingertips significantly more documents arising from the same moments in time than we have previously supposed—and that to discover context to prominent issues in documents by pursuit of things seemingly incidental, even discordant, can eventually yield a coherence, or concordance, that arises from the principle method of explanation in the historical field: narrative description. In this way, the year of vengeance supports an ontological presupposition that acknowledges the utility of pursuing narratives from the Old Assyrian documents. This position boils down to an acknowledgement that the topics of focus in our documents are intimately and inextricably bound up in the material and temporal circumstances of the merchants’ lives. Within an anecdotal frame, each document is treated as a text, more valuable for its internal relationships and structures or text structures across the corpus without any necessary causal relationships. In such cases, the materio-temporal fact, the context of material conditions and time, is unavoidably sublimated. This is not an insidious move of the interpreter, but rather a condition of the interpretation. But simply shifting attention to the potential for contemporaneous circumstances evident in documents, related by reference to those contemporaneous conditions, functions to desublimate the materio-temporal fact. In consequence, actions become subject to the Kantian functions of judgment, to relate a number of otherwise seemingly disparate things under a single manifold. And this is an intellectual act particularly suited to the description of the human world. In turn, it is the preparative world, a world in which human lives are lived as though they are narratives in the making, where we all have the potential to be victims or victors through the manifold influences of human and non-human ac-

 The mesentery is the organ that holds the various abdominal organs together and keeps them in their place.  I think particularly of the frame of description engaged in several parts of Larsen 2015.

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tors in the world. This quality underwrites the individual and occasionally problematic plots of narratives. But in cases like these, the archetypal caricatures of people are enriched past the archetype by the context that the Old Assyrian documents provide. Ennam-Aššur and Dān-Aššur were neither prodigal nor indisputably dutiful, but both acting in alignment with their own pressures during the year of vengeance. Likewise, Šalim-aḫum, Pūšu-kēn, and Ilabrat-bāni are revealed as persons doing the best they could in a difficult situation.

Part 4: The Material Implications of Old Assyrian Commercial Time

If the motivation for seizing Ilabrat-bāni’s goods has been called into question, the context for other merchants’ actions has been greatly enhanced. When Pūšukēn wrote to Šalim-aḫum to seize Ilabrat-bāni’s goods, there were far more things going on than only Ilabrat-bāni’s debt. In addition to Šalim-aḫum’s concerns about his votive offering, already clear in the first part of the book, he also was dealing with the difficulties of finalizing the connection between his and Šū-Ḫubur’s family, despite the different interests of his son Ennam-Aššur. And Pūšu-kēn was dealing with pressure from Šū-Ḫubur himself. But both of these difficulties were suppressed, and the second even caused, by much larger forces at work during the year. The disruption of trade about which the merchants spoke seems to have cut off essentially all supplies of tin and textiles from the south and lasted for several months, from approximately mid-May to the beginning of August. And if that weren’t difficult enough, the pressure Pūšu-kēn felt from Šū-Ḫubur was prompted by the fact that a significant number of merchants were dying during the year, most likely in connection with the plague mentioned in some of the contemporary letters. Even Ilabrat-bāni’s family was affected. Small girls were near death, and Ilabrat-bāni’s father had already died. In the midst of all these threads, Šalim-aḫum, Pūšu-kēn, and Ilabrat-bāni pursued their interests, which necessarily engaged with each of these developments as they touched on them at different times during the year. The year of vengeance now constitutes at least a beginning narrative of events for REL 82. But there are implications well beyond crafting an explanation for Šalim-aḫum having Ilabrat-bāni’s goods seized on the road. The narrative reconstructed here presents a new image of Old Assyrian commercial time with its attendant capacities and limits available to the Old Assyrian merchants. Two further implications follow more fully by virtue of the further narrative in the third part of this book. First, with the addition of Šalim-aḫum’s joint venture with Pūšu-kēn, it is possible to gauge Šalim-aḫum’s commercial volume during this year. In fact, much of the commercial trade attested for Šalim-aḫum at all falls in this year. Šalim-aḫum’s volume of trade in this year reveals a more solid foundation on which to inquire into the volume of trade in the Old Assyrian period. And recognition of Šalim-aḫum’s scale of trade is corroborated by analysis of another archive and reference to some of the trade treaties concluded by the Assyrian state. The resulting inquiry suggests a much larger scale of trade than has been posited based on evidence analyzed within the anecdotal frame (Chapter 18). Second, the concentration of Šalim-aḫum’s correspondence with Pūšu-kēn in this year, along with the concentration of Pūšu-kēn’s other correspondence in this year, as a significant portion of the reconstructed archive of Pūšu-kēn, provokes a suspicion that the Old Assyrian undated letters should not be regard-

ed as either randomly nor evenly spread over the careers of the merchants. Nor do the letters survive in the same chronological distributions as debt notes. Rather, a look at Pūšu-kēn’s larger documentation, alongside a brief survey of two recently published archives, suggests that we should be suspicious that many archives contain large groups of closely associated documents that survive from moments that dictated a need to save those documents, while other moments are far less documented. This throws into question some methods and assumptions of archival analysis as conducted in Old Assyrian studies thus far. But at the same time, the year of vengeance complements archival analysis, and where some questions have already been recognized as important in that mode of inquiry, analysis that provides narratives like the year of vengeance can provide more robust answers (Chapter 19). The treatment of these two implications provide a glimpse of the advantages of making a historical turn on the Old Assyrian trade. Analysis in both chapters in this part force us to exchange one way of looking at the Old Assyrian documents for another, or at least to add a new perspective. But beyond even these two significant revisions to the trade, the most significant contribution of a narrative approach is the discovery that the Old Assyrian documents present us with opportunities to recover people who made decisions that can be reasonably explained by recourse to context. In the conclusion, the broader implications of the narrative frame and Old Assyrian commercial time provide the evidence that Old Assyrian merchants like Šalim-aḫum, Pūšu-kēn, Ilabrat-bāni, and others from the year of vengeance are the earliest known historical individuals in world history.

Chapter 18 The Volume of Trade The reconstruction of the year of vengeance began with Ilabrat-bāni misappropriating 6⅓ minas of Šalim-aḫum’s tin. This was not a significant amount in relation to the total amount of tin that Šalim-aḫum was shipping to Anatolia at the time. Ilabrat-bāni likely sensed this, thinking the 6⅓ minas compared favorably with other typical costs on the road. His gross violation of shipping protocols aside, Ilabrat-bāni’s reasoning was not too far off-base. But the tin Ilabrat-bāni took, and the greater amount that Šalim-aḫum took back, existed in the context of an Assyrian volume of trade. If a close analysis of Šalim-aḫum’s activities provide a meaningful shift in consideration of the tempos of trade in the Assyrian trans-Taurus trade, then by the same token, a tally of his commercial activities has implications for a closely-related phenomena: the volume of goods that passed through the Assyrian trade each year. Earlier estimates are grossly outdated, and, however judicious they may have been regarding the basic numbers found in the documents, they are blunted by their lack of any real temporal dimension. Analyzing Šalim-aḫum’s trade volume during the year of vengeance, along with evidence of other merchants’ volumes, provides a new framework on which to extrapolate the scale of the Old Assyrian trade. But it must be kept in mind that the year of vengeance was certainly not a year where the merchants (who lived through it) felt like they were doing the kind of volume to which they were accustomed. Šalim-aḫum’s letters reveal he was certainly afraid of low revenues. Nor is the present review able to produce a comprehensive characterization of Old Assyrian trade volume. Here, only one metric will be attempted. Some Assyrians generated profit within Anatolia, but most of their capital (as best we can tell) arose from the chief ‘exports’ of Assur: tin and textiles.¹ Šalim-aḫum specialized in exporting tin and textiles, making a survey of his commercial volume in the year of vengeance directly applicable. Rather than proposing independent volumes of tin and textiles, I will instead focus on the donkey-load. There were periods when the colony demanded an equal number of donkeys in a caravan carrying tin and textiles from the home city. For the Assyrian treaties with cities on the route, the focus was often on the

 Technically, exports are goods made in the region exporting, but I use the term in this chapter to refer to the tin, textiles, and donkeys Assyrians shipped out of Assur, even though none (except for some textiles) were made in the city. DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-018

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donkey-load.² And because the present analysis will primarily yield a sense of scale as opposed to a real estimate, donkey-loads will be a useful metric. Donkeys bore not only individual loads of tin or textiles on their journeys, but in some sense the weight of the entire trade. So in honor of all the donkeys fallen in the pursuit of Assyrian profit, Old Assyrian exports will be expressed in terms of donkey-loads, split evenly, albeit over-simply, between tin and textiles. A conservative estimate of 5000 donkey-loads exported annually better signals the scale of trade than previous, much smaller, estimates. If this were equally divided, it would yield 62,500 textiles and 200 tons of tin. While this tin figure seems high, the total textiles is likely low, and the donkey-load scale seems easily supported by appeal to Šalim-aḫum’s volume during the year of vengeance, the records of Aššur-rē’ī, estimates of population, evidence from Assyrian treaties, and comparative historical examples. Šalim-aḫum’s business has been tallied before, at 45 talents tin and 650 textiles, with an appropriate level of uncertainty about how it was temporally distributed.³ As a result of the reconstruction of the year of vengeance, it is now clear that more than two thirds the total tin and half the textiles in this tally were bought and transported in the year of vengeance alone. While an analysis of Šalim-aḫum’s business is worth doing on its own merits,⁴ articulating Šalimaḫum’s volume during the year of vengeance also gives us the first opportunity to begin an estimate of annual Assyrian exports based on temporally sensitive evidence.⁵ During the spring push alone, in the two caravans associated with Ilī-ašranni and Nūr-Ištar, Šalim-aḫum shipped 1,040 minas tin and 145 kutānum textiles. After shipping and duties were assessed, he had 954 minas and 125 textiles to sell on the market, along with 38 black textiles. The cargo from Ilī-ašranni’s caravan generated just over 1⅓ talents in claims on silver, falling due late in this season and the beginning of the next, while Nūr-Ištar’s generated over 2 talents, falling due through the year. Though eight donkeys gave their life between these two caravans, this part of the spring push represented thirteen donkey-loads.

 See, for example, the treaty with the ruler of the unknown city discussed below in this chapter.  Larsen 2002: xxii.  Dercksen (1992: 800) expressed a similar opinion: “the portrait of a merchant is incomplete without a detailed inventarization of the data pertaining to his business.”  For a detailed analysis of a portion of Šalim-aḫum’s commercial activities involved in Nūr-Ištar’s caravan, see already Stratford 2015.

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But Šalim-aḫum sent more than these two shipments in the spring. Pūšu-kēn brought cargo for Šalim-aḫum that yielded 58 minas 18 1/2 shekels silver.⁶ Assuming the same duties were paid on these textiles and tin as those rendered in the first two shipments, it is quite likely that one surviving document represents what Pūšu-kēn brought: 8 talents tin and 32 textiles, of which 2 talents tin and 8 textiles were designated by Šalim-aḫum to be sent along to Ḫinnāya and Aššur-šamšī.⁷ This was another five donkey-loads. The stream of goods continued in June with Ḫuraṣānum and Amur-Aššur s. Šū-Ištar transporting two donkey-loads of tin⁸ around the time that DānAššur and Šū-Suen took the seven donkey-loads of goods, the textiles of which were sold to Ilabrat-bāni.⁹ Kulumaya and Agua s. Ṭāb-Aššur also took two donkey-loads for Šalim-aḫum around this time.¹⁰ Aššur-taklāku took a donkey-load in July.¹¹ So did Kuzari, and Idī-Suen and Kulumaya.¹² And EnnamAššur had brought some amount earlier in the spring that was sold to Aššuridī and Aššur-nādā.¹³ Šalim-aḫum had also been assessed an awītum charge for a caravan in June of 2 talents 18 minas, representing one donkey. In the latter part of the season, when the supply of tin and textiles seemed to surge again, Puzur-Aššur took four donkey-loads around the end of September.¹⁴ In sum, Šalim-aḫum’s documented shipments for the year of vengeance total forty-one donkey loads, carrying nearly a ton of tin, more than 350 kutānum textiles, and more than 75 black textiles, all costing more than 230 minas of silver in Assur. These goods would have resulted in claims on silver in Anatolia totaling approximately 450 minas silver, though the sale of all goods cannot be fully verified, and there is only documentation of Šalim-aḫum acknowledging receipt of 174 minas of silver in Assur (Appendix 2). There certainly could have been more.¹⁵ But not everything recorded for Šalim-aḫum can be placed in this year either.¹⁶ Even so, this total must be under-

 58 ma-na 18½ g[ín kù].babbar ša lu-qú-tim š[a šé-ep] pu-šu-ke-en6 (17-TC 3: 23 obv. 15 – 17). 58 ma-na 18½ gín ša šé-ep pu-šu-ke-en6 (19-BIN 4: 26 obv. 6 – 7). These are letters Šalim-aḫum wrote to follow up with the Nūr-Ištar caravan.  BIN 4: 25; VS 26: 43.  5-TC 1: 26 obv. 14-lo.e. 16  24-CCT 5: 5a obv. rev. 3 – 39  25-KTS 1: 42d obv. 4– 10  65-VS 26: 64 obv. 3 – 8  37-VS 26: 58 obv. 3 – 13, rev. 28 – 29.  65-VS 26: 64 rev. 17– 19; 39-MDOG 102, 86 rev. 24-u.e. 27  37-VS 26: 58 obv. 13 – 15.  In May or June, Šalim-aḫum complained to Pūšu-kēn that he was pestering him too much about 7½ minas silver worth of textiles associated with Aššur-mālik s. Errāya and Ḫurāṣānum.

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stood in the context of the year of vengeance. The significant disruption of the trade rendered much of the last half of the shipping season far less productive. After Dān-Aššur and the other transporters left Assur in mid-June, Šalim-aḫum’s recorded exports total a mere five donkey-loads. In the rush that certainly happened late in the season, only the cargo that Puzur-Aššur took – the tin for the joint venture (which was mostly Šalim-aḫum’s), is recorded. But more must have gone if Šalim-aḫum was at all able to send them. His fear of being “shamed at the gate” would have led him to send whatever he could. Thus we could imagine that his actual volume beyond the surviving documentation exceeded sixty donkey-loads. Even if the rates were good this year,¹⁷ the volume was certainly lower than average. Our sense of Šalim-aḫum’s annual exports sharply increases through a better understanding of the year of vengeance, and the year of vengeance also sug-

In one of those letters, Šalim-aḫum also mentioned 55 textiles that Aššur-mālik had brought and told Pūšu-kēn to simply add his share of the silver to the cargo of Ḫurāṣānum traveling back to Assur (27-AKT 3: 72 lo.e. 19-rev. 24). These textiles likely came to Anatolia the previous year. Pūšukēn had already reported that the smaller cargo brought by Aššur-mālik in the spring had been sold. “After we deducted the excise tax and the deficiencies, they cleared your tin—122 minas 8 shekels. 27 kūtānum textiles, 4 textiles as wrappings, all this the son of Erra-idī turned over to us. We have not yet cleared accounts with him.” (13-Prag I: 426 obv. 3 – 10). Still, it is possible that Šalim-aḫum’s tendency to round numbers may mean that the arrival of those 55 kutānum textiles was recorded in another surviving caravan report: “Aššur-mālik brought 61 textiles, together with the goods of the transporter, and together with the things which you sent to Ilabratbāni. Thereof, the excise was 3 kutānum textiles. And you will balance the excise of 1 textile. The purchase was 6 kutānum textiles and they will repay you 3 shekels silver. They cleared 52 kutānum textiles, and you will receive 2⅙ shekels. Thereof, Aššur-mālik deposited 1 kutānum textile to your account according to your instructions.” 61 ku-ta-ni qá-dum ša kà-ṣa-ri-im ù qá-dum ša a‐na dnin.šubur-ba-ni tù-šé-bi4-lá-ni a‐šùr-ma-lik ub-lam šà.ba 3 ku-ta-nu ni-is-ḫa-tum ú ša 1 túg ni-is-ḫa-tim ta-na-pá-al 6 ku-ta-nu ša ší-mì-im ù 3 gín kù.babbar i-na-pu-lu-ni-kum 52 ku-ta-nu izku-ú-nim ù 2⅙ gín ta-lá-qé ⸢šà⸣ 1 ku-ta-nam a‐šùr-ma-lik a‐ma-lá té-er-tí-kà a‐na qá!-tí-kà i-dí-in (TC 3: 24 obv. 3-lo.e. 15).  The transport represented by AKT 3: 75, brought by Dān-Aššur and Idī-Suen cannot have been the same as the one Dān-Aššur brought in mid-June. The awītum stated there (9 talents 24 minas) must have represented more textiles than the 100 brought by Dān-Aššur in June. It is possible that these were the goods that Dān-Aššur brought in the late fall, Pūšu-kēn noted that most of the tin would be headed quickly to Purušḫattum for sale, which fits the context. but there is no way to corroborate. At least 72 textiles were transported in another caravan by Ennam-Aššur and thus likely four donkey loads of tin (AKT 3: 76).  Five years after the year of vengeance, Šalim-aḫum had to sell ten shekels of tin to gain a shekel of silver, whereas in this year he only needed seven. Likewise, five years later Šalimaḫum’s textiles sold for only 15 shekels on short-term credit, whereas they fetched 20 shekels during the first half of the year of vengeance (BIN 4: 27).

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gests a commensurate increase in overall Assyrian exports. Previous discussions of the volume of the Old Assyrian trade have of a necessity been vague. A generation ago, one estimate of the total volume in the Old Assyrian trade over the course of Level II in tin and textiles was offered by doubling the total of all references in the texts: 13,500 kg (almost 15 tons) tin and 14,500 textiles.¹⁸ This figure continues to be cited in general publications.¹⁹ And quantification is still deemed difficult precisely because of the problem of undated texts.²⁰ Another recent review followed the practice of doubling a tally as some indication of total volume, suggesting that 4 tons of tin, or a doubled amount of 8 tons a year, travelled to Anatolia.²¹ More comprehensive totals have been tallied from a now larger published corpus, and report proportionally larger numbers, 60,000 kg (66 tons) tin and 32,000 kutānum textiles.²² In line with this estimate, a recent review suggested “several dozen tons of tin and thousands of textiles” per year.²³ Another estimate is for 10 tons of tin and 4000 textiles on 150 donkeys annually.²⁴ Similarly, another suggested that “many hundreds” of transactions could happen each year.²⁵ Of course, relating counted assets across the Old Assyrian corpus to an estimated trade volume suffers from two opposing weaknesses of very different magnitude. First, it is difficult to identify every time an asset is mentioned twice—as the year of vengeance suggests. For example, without reconstruction of the year of vengeance, some assets, such as Lulu’s 27 minas 28 shekels silver debt to Šalim-aḫum, described so in one place, then in another as 25 minas silver, would be difficult to recognize as the same asset described in two different ways.²⁶ So there is a danger that such tallies are artificially high. But the second  Veenhof 1972: 69 – 76.  Liverani 2014.  Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 90.  Larsen 2015: 190.  For the tally of tin, see Barjamovic 2011: 11. For the textiles, see Lassen 2008, 32; 2010b.  Michel 2013: 42 where she cites her previous work (2008e).  Larsen 2015, already incorporated into van der Mieroop 2016.  “The briskness of the trade and the large number of participants must have meant many hundreds of individual transactions each year, so that a few dozen problem cases should not surprise us. More serious difficulties, moreover, could easily result in small files (of up to 10 documents) of letters and records, all dealing with one particular case, which may yield a somewhat biased picture.” Veenhof 1999b: 74.  “28 minas 27 shekels from Lulu son of Zukuḫūm” 28⅓ ma-na 7 gín ša lu-lu-ú dumu zu-ku-ḫiim (19-BIN 4: 26 obv. 8 – 9), and “In addition to the 25 minas silver of Lulu, and the proceeds of my tin and textiles, add the silver and bring it in your transport.” a‐ṣé-er 25 ma-na kù.babbar ša lu-lu ú ša an.na-ki-a ú túg.hi.a kù.babbar ṭá-ḫi-ma i-šé-pí-kà bi4-lam (37-VS 26: 58 obv. 16-lo.e. ˘ 20).

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weakness is much more consequential, and equally obvious in the context of the year of vengeance. The relation between the surviving documentation and the total of original merchant activities is utterly unknown. There is no reliable way to estimate how much documentation has been lost as a whole, nor to grasp the representativeness of the surviving assets in relation to the whole. We cannot simply appeal to corpora-wide surveys without some account of the temporal distribution of the surviving documentation. A very recent review, influenced by earlier work on Šalim-aḫum’s business, admitted that perhaps 4000 donkeys per year could have traveled to Anatolia, bringing an estimated 130 tons of tin and 50,000 textiles.²⁷ As corroboration for such a figure, references to large caravans were cited. Aside from total tallies of the documentation, caravan sizes have been used as a proxy for understanding overall volume of trade. One common citation is the caravan of 300 donkeys from the Mari material contemporary with the later Level Ib,²⁸ and it is sometimes understood that this was a development to more concentrated trade in larger groups in order to increase security. However, large caravans also travelled in Level II, such as one which included 700 textiles and 20 talents tin, carried by 34 donkeys.²⁹ Reference to a few of these has influenced some to propose that the trade could be larger than previously estimated.³⁰ The largest caravan known from Level II consisted of more than 600 textiles and 20 talents of tin, among other goods.³¹ Another single large caravan with a declared value (awītum) of 410 talents of tin is attested in which 34 different merchants owned shares ranging in size from 47 minas to just over one talent.³² The declared value of a caravan allowed costs on the road to be shared and doubtless

 Barjamovic 2017, referencing an earlier study by Stratford.  ARM 26: 432. See also Charpin-Durand 1997: 385 f., which mentions a large caravan passing through the writer’s country, part of which, 50 donkeys, were destined for Kanesh. Discussed in Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 81 n. 340.  Caravan mentioned in AKT 6a: 143; 144; 145; 172. Larsen (2010: 29, 254) suggested that the uncertainty about the amount of tin in AKT 6a: 143 causes sufficient questions about the size of the caravan so as to propose that it perhaps carried 40 talents tin, and therefore reading the damaged ‘34’ as possibly 64 donkeys. However, 20 more talents of tin, in normal practice would have only added 10 more donkeys, therefore the combination of traces is best understood as 20 talents tin and 34 donkeys.  Barjamovic 2017.  AKT 6a: 143 – 145; 172. Discussed already in Larsen 2015: 173.  VS 26: 155.

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also facilitated the assessment and payment of duties and tolls along the way.³³ Thus its value represented both tin and textiles transported in a caravan. If the declared value stood for equal parts tin and textiles, this caravan would have included almost 300 donkeys.³⁴ A single caravan of this size moving through the landscape at any one time would account for a weeks’ worth of the annual estimate of donkey-loads argued here. And not all caravans need have been so large. The volume suggested by Šalim-aḫum’s trade suggests smaller caravans of only 34 donkeys would represent the daily average. A caravan of Pūšu-kēn’s included 74 talents and 121 textiles, thus roughly 40 donkeys, one quarter of which were his.³⁵ From the anecdotal frame, very large transactions, such as an enterprise of 15 tons of copper, have been identified, though noted that they must be anomalously large. Medium-sized shipments are not difficult to find. Pūšu-kēn had a declared value (awītum) assessment of 7 talents 50 minas tin, which was surpassed by that of Aššur-bēl-awātim in another document.³⁶ In another he is associated with a caravan of copper 100 talents in weight.³⁷ In suggesting such numbers, it is important to consider the ratio of persons to donkeys. It is possible that some caravans were set up to have one driver (sāridum) or packer (kaṣṣārum) to each donkey as suggested by the Level Ib reference to the 300 persons with 300 donkeys.³⁸ But in Šalim-aḫum’s shipments, the transporter-donkey ratio ranges from 1:1 to 1:3. It remains to be seen whether or not implying a larger volume of trade than has been suggested before requires hundreds more Assyrians on the roads. If large caravans are somehow emblematic of a larger volume, it is worth noting that Šalim-aḫum’s business has also been viewed as anomalously large.³⁹ By comparison, the surviving record of Elamma and his brother Aliaḫum’s business activities give us the sense that they were small operators.⁴⁰ They operated in Anatolia, not Assur, thus perhaps did not have enough capital to operate on the scale of Šalim-aḫum. However, Šalim-aḫum’s volume does not

 According to Dercksen (2004: 148 – 63), dātum payments were paid to Assyrian authorities, while on the other hand, tolls or duties were assessed by local authorities, and these assessments were based on the donkeys.  210 talents (a direct conversion) would have required 100 donkeys, while a 200 talent awītum for textiles would have rendered 200 donkeys—30 textiles/talent and 30 textiles/donkey.  BIN 4: 168.  BIN 6: 153.  Prag I: 471.  Dercksen 2004: 283 – 84 n. 805.  Larsen 2015; Barjamovic 2017.  Archives arising from the 1991 and 1993 excavations in TPAK and AKT 5. See Michel 2013: 47 n. 36.

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seem exceptional in the face of Aššur-rē’ī’s documentation—one of the best snapshots we have of a merchant’s assets at the time of his death—and Aššurrē’ī died in Anatolia doing business. It is clear that Aššur-rē’ī s. Pilaḫ-Ištar died in the year of vengeance, and though the debt memoranda that follow Aššur-rē’ī’s death are not chronologically self-evident, twenty-two of the twenty-eight memoranda cite overlapping debts, drawing them together in time.⁴¹ No less than 193 differentiable persons owed Aššur-rē’ī money, totaling an estimated 40 talents of silver, according to his surviving debt notes and debt memoranda.⁴² This figure should be understood to represent a minimum total of his aggregate credit assets. No corollary record of his own debts survive—his own creditors were sufficiently interested to attend to those matters. Some of Aššurrē’ī’s credits were financial rather than commercial. For example, a man named Puzur-Aššur s. Aḫ-marši owed him a half mina of gold from 8 years prior to his death, along with several other claims totaling 8 minas gold, arising from joint-stock fund investments.⁴³ Another 13 talents of copper can be found on his balance sheets. But the vast majority of these claims seem to represent Aššur-rē’ī’s active credits when he died. Aššur-rē’ī did not necessarily amass these claims in a single year, but it is likely that the majority of this total represents the uncollected credits he still had from the last two to three years of his life. And his son complained that some of the records for Aššur-rē’ī’s claims had been stolen from his father’s house in Kanesh before he was able to access it.⁴⁴ Thus, to say that Aššur-rē’ī had credits worth more than 15 talents silver for a single year is not a stretch. Given the ratio observed in the case of Šalim-aḫum, this could reflect 80 or more donkey-loads of tin and textiles. Such concentrated statements of wealth as Aššur-rē’ī’s are the exception, thus it is difficult to find more evidence for comparison. Šalim-aḫum’s sales in the early part of the year of vengeance reached a talent of silver, including sales to Ilabrat-bāni. Such amounts are less likely to show up in the letters of archive holders in Kanesh, as they would not need to notify anyone about these sales. Thus it is worth pointing out the occasional occurrence of such assets listed in different types of documents. At some point in time Pūšu-kēn’s

 Within this group some documents share more in common with each other. The main group consists of AKT 7a: 213 – 215; 217– 222; 224– 236. One debt ties AKT 7a: 228 and AKT 7a: 233 to the rest of the group. This leaves the following outliers: AKT 7a: 211; 212; 214; 223; 237; 238. Of these, AKT 7a: 211; 212 reflect financial balances rather than commercial.  We can begin with a total of 45 talents 2 minas 14 shekels for all separately described assets, then subtract 2 talents 26 minas that are accrued interest, counting it as after his death.  AKT 7a: 211 rev. 32-u.e. 41 and AKT 7a: 212 rev. 23’-31’.  See Kt 88/k 616 and Kt 88/k 101+633+198, discussed in Bayram and Kuzuoğlu 2014: 62– 64.

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available assets amounted to nearly 4½ talents of silver,⁴⁵ owed to him by a range of familiar names, including Āl-ilī. If this person is the senior merchant who wrote letters with Šalim-aḫum this year, this document must be at least near the year of vengeance.⁴⁶ In fact the list of assets may have had something to do with the renegotiation of Pūšu-kēn’s joint-stock fund. Another letter to Pūšu-kēn about 17 donkeys loaded with merchandise and plans to pick up another 100 textiles in Ḫaḫḫum shows Pūšu-kēn’s commercial volume was likely not significantly different from Šalim-aḫum’s.⁴⁷ Other documents suggest that various merchants could be selling the same sized shipments as Šalim-aḫum. One tablet listing assets shows a merchant with more than 61½ minas silver to be collected.⁴⁸ Two other tablets show another merchant invested in other car-

 “7 minas 37½ shekels silver—Aššur-bēl-awātim s. Panaka; 33 minas 15 shekels—Šū-Kūbum his son; 11 minas 15 shekels—Aššur-imittī s. Amur-ilī; 58 minas—Amur-Ištar his brother; 20 minas 52½ shekels—Pūšu-kēn; 25 minas—Ilī-bāni s. Ikūnum; 10 minas—Aššur-imittī s. Ennānum; 2 minas … [half of tablet broken away] 1 mina 15 shekels—Aššur-ṭāb …; 13 minas—Āl-ilī; 8 minas 20 shekels—Amurrum-bāni; 1 mina 18 shekels—Al-ṭāb s. Anali; 8 minas 30 shekels— Nāb-Suen s. Enlil-bāni; 5 minas 40 shekels—the son of Attaya; 6 minas 40 shekels—the son of Attaya s. Šū-Bēlum. Total: 4 talents 28 minas 19½ shekels, the lot of Pūšu-kēn.” 7½ ma-na 7½ gín kù.babbar a‐šur-be-el-a-wa-tim dumu pá-na-kà 3 ma-na 15 gín šu-ku-bu-um dumu-šu 11 ma-na 15 gín a‐šur-i-mì-tí dumu a‐mur!-dingir 8 ma-na a‐mur-ištar šeš-šu 21⅚ ma-na 2½ gín pu-šu-ke-en6 25 ma-na il5-ba-ni dumu i-ku-nim 10 ma-na a‐šùr-i-mì-tí dumu en-na-nim 2 [ma-na xxx]-x [broken section] 1 ma-na 15 gín ⸢a-šur-dùg⸣ [xx] dumu e-na-a! 13 ma-na a‐li-li 8⅓ ma-na mar.tu-ba-ni 1 ma-na 18 gín a‐al-dùg dumu a‐na-lí 8½ ma-na na-bi4-sú-en6 dumu d ab-ba-ni 5⅔ ma-na dumu a‐ta!-a-a 6⅔ ma-na dumu a‐ta-a-a dumu šu-be-lim šunigin 4 gú 28⅓ ma-na lá ½ gín pu-ru-um ša pu-šu-ke-en6 (TC 3: 187 obv. 1– 9, rev. 1’-le.e. 12’). Only about half the tablet is preserved.  Āl-ilī was, according to the ordering of names in the letters, even older than Šalim-aḫum and can be estimated have lived at most a decade past the year of vengeance.  “To Pūšu-kēn, thus Šū-Ištar: I am setting out from Širmuin. In addition to the silver of the transport of Kulumaya and Imguwa, seventeen donkeys go with me: (carrying) 10 talents 50 minas tin under seal and 300 kutānum textiles together with 10 fine textiles. I will select one hundred textiles in Ḫaḫḫum, fine (ones). I will exhaust every ’available’ shekel of silver and I will arrive. Let your instructions come quickly to me. Inform me. Also, as for myself, my ten fine textiles which I am carrying to you, inform me. Send two minas silver ahead of me. I will take care to arrive (in time).” a‐na pu-šu-ke-en6 qí-bi-ma um-ma šu-ištar-ma iš-tù šíir-mu-in a‐ta--a-am a‐na kù.babbar ša šé-ep ku-lu-ma-a ú im-ku-a 10 gú 50 ma-na an.na ku-nu-ku 3 me-at [túg] qá-dum 10 túgku-ta-nu dam-qú-tum 17 anše iš-tí-a i-lu-ku 1 me-at túg ina ḫa-ḫi-im dam-qú-t[im] a‐bé-a-ar kù.babbar 1 gín wa-at-ra-am a‐ga-ma-ar-ma a‐kà-ša-dam té-er-ta-k[à] a‐pá-ni-a li-li-kam ú-zi-ni pí-té ú a‐na-ku 10 túg dam-qú-tim i-a-ú-tim ša na-áš-aku-ni ú-zi-ni pí-té 2 ma-na kù.babbar a‐na pá-ni-a šé-bi-lam! a‐na-ḫi-id-ma a‐kà-ša-dam (BIN 4: 7 obv. 1-le.e. 25).  ICK 2: 129.

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avans to a total of 62 minas 56 shekels silver.⁴⁹ And reviews of other declared value (awītum) statements give a sense that 33 minas silver value was not unusual.⁵⁰ If Šalim-aḫum’s exports are not completely exceptional, there is still every reason to think that he was in the highest echelon of merchants. But the principle question must be how large that echelon was. To apply his annual exports to the Assyrian trade as a whole, we must integrate it into what we know about the population involved in the Assyrian trade. At present, the prosopography of the Old Assyrian trade is still in its infant stages, and while we can look forward to better results in the near future, a chronologically sensitive distribution of merchants will only come with more studies to sort out the temporal distribution of many of the records. Still, onomastic and prosopographic indexing offers occasional suggestions of the potential for larger numbers of merchants.⁵¹ For example, Aššur-mā lik was an extremely popular name, and one hundred different persons holding this name can be distinguished through their patronyms.⁵² From an archaeological perspective, an estimated population of Assur during this period is impossible to determine because so little from this period is exposed at Qalʿat Širqā ṭ . Various figures have been cited for the size of the Assyrian community in Anatolia. The forty families represented in the archives excavated at Kültepe provide the very lowest possible figure.⁵³ Other estimates, focusing on Assyrians operating in Anatolia, start as low as 300,⁵⁴ and go as high as 900 individuals,⁵⁵ though the figure can differ dramatically depending on whether the analysis tracked those who stayed in Anatolia year-round or included those who traveled back and forth. As a starting point, let us imagine there were roughly 900 Assyrians in Anatolia. Just by appeal to the known Assyrian bases of operation in Anatolia, nearly

 Kt c/k 260; 264, courtesy J.G. Dercksen. See Dercksen 2004: 164, and more recently, Barjamovic 2017.  Discussed most recently by Barjamovic (2016). See VS 26: 155).  The prosopographical index underway as part of the Old Assyrian Research Environment (OARE) project currently holds nearly three thousand entries, most distinguished by patronymic formula. This must be understood as a minimum, but covers both Level II and Level Ib.  Eidem (2004) quotes 71 as the number, based on a review of the corpus up to those published in 1998 and many articles published afterward, but is admittedly incomplete. The current number suffers from the same likelihood of incompleteness. My own count exceeds one hundred.  Barjamovic 2014; 2016.  Michel 2013: 48.  Barjamovic, Hertel, and Larsen 2012: 60. The average expressed is 700 – 800 in Anatolia based on a “quantitative study of the dated texts,” which is not published.

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half the merchants alone would have been needed to operate the ten-man boards in dozens of smaller settlements and the colony offices at larger cities like Kanesh, Purušḫattum, Waḫšušana, Durḫumit, Ḫaḫḫum, and others.⁵⁶ Furthermore, evidence for more than 900 merchants becomes obvious after tallying the number of Assyrian traders (eliminating any possible duplicates)⁵⁷ attested in just the documents from the year of vengeance and Aššur-rē’ī’s contemporary estate settlement. Between the two sets of documents, there are at least four hundred-twenty unique Assyrian men operating in the trade. From the year of vengeance documents, 186 distinguishable names come through, with 40 more names without patronymics that could indicate another 20 individuals—giving an estimate of 200 people. The debt records of Aššur-rē’ī yield 276 distinguishable persons by reference (including, debtors, ḫamuštum bearers, witnesses, and guarantors). Half of the 59 remaining names without patronymics probably yield thirty more persons— giving a likely count of 300 people. This accounts for nearly 500 people in only two archives, both of which attest to a world much larger than that which they directly record. From this combined estimate of 500, the 420 documented Assyrian men are reached by eliminating an estimated eighty people who either occur in both sets, or who are neither Assyrian nor men. Only eight people are securely known to be in both sets as identified by a full patronymic occurring in both sets.⁵⁸ To these, two more can be added because they are well enough known to recognize without their patronymics—our Šū-Ḫubur and Aššur-imittī were clearly involved in

 For a compilation of the documented Assyrian expatriate communities, see Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 154– 55.  One way to go about this is to note how often people with the same names turn out to be different people between the two sets. For example, in Pūšu-kēn’s documents from the year of vengeance, there are two distinct persons named Amur-Aššur, one the son of Šū-Ištar, and one the son of Sukkalliya. Among the debtors to Aššur-rē’ī when he died in the year of vengeance, there are five distinct individuals named Amur-Aššur. One is Amur-Aššur s. Šū-Ištar, the same in Pūšu-kēn’s documents. Then there are four others: Amur-Aššur s. Dada, Amur-Aššur s. Ilī-bāni, Amur-Aššur s. Puzur-Aššur, and Amur-Aššur s. Zuwa. Moreover, there are several occasions where the name Amur-Aššur shows up that cannot be certainly tied to any of these people. Thus one way to consider the diversity of persons behind individuals’ names is to measure average persons per name within each set, and their composite. In cases where we have a name without a patronymic, we simply register 1. But a name without a patronymic will not count if there is a name already with a patronymic, then a name without is not counted in the A estimates, and is counted as .5 (representing a 50 % probability that there is another person behind the name) in the estimate B.  Amur-Aššur s. Šū-Ištar, Aššur-nādā s. Puzur-Anna, Aššur-ṭāb s. Qarwiya, Ennam-Aššur s. Šalim-aḫum, Ilī-bāni s. Ikūnum, Puzur-Ištar s. Aššur-mālik, Šū-Aššur s. Ali-aḫum, and of course Pūšu-kēn s. Sueyya.

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Aššur-rē’ī’s business as well as Šalim-aḫum’s. Sixty more names occur in both sets of which half are assumed to be the same person. Another half dozen were women who lived in Assur—excluded in this final estimate, though they were just as much part of the business, producing textiles and earning revenue.⁵⁹ Another two dozen were Anatolians, but again, many appear in these documents because they were involved in the trade. Nevertheless, the important point is that essentially two sets of documents from only two of the forty archives provide us with a full half the number of the 900 estimated Assyrians in Anatolia. Though some of them were in Assur and the like, it nonetheless suggests that estimate of 900 is too low.⁶⁰ Šalim-aḫum was one of the 420 unique persons in this analysis. And within the persons surveyed, there were a number of persons that should be considered his peers and still more who, though not peers, were also important players in the Assyrian export of tin and textiles. In the first group, Šalim-aḫum considered Šū-Ḫubur a big man, and Pūšu-kēn’s representatives urged Pūšu-kēn to treat him well, as he had capital in the second half of the year, when others did not. It is possible that Šalim-aḫum regarded Šū-Ḫubur as socially prominent without necessarily being commercially large, but he was certainly involved in the trade, and he was certainly important. Moreover, when both he and his brother asked for breaks on their dātum assessments at the Kanesh colony, their attempts were rebuffed. It was a difficult year, but the people at the colony decided that both traders were sufficiently wealthy that despite those difficulties, they still should have been paying more. Those who swam in Šalim-aḫum’s waters included at least Āl-ilī, Šū-Ḫubur, Aššur-imittī, Aššur-rabi,⁶¹ and Aššur-rē’ī, who died this year. And though Šalim-aḫum belonged to the financier class of Assyrian merchants, this does not mean that the volume of trade performed by others was in-

 Lamassī, Tariš-mātum, Bēlātum, Ištar-Lamassī, Aḫaḫa, Šāt-Aššur.  Granted, prosopography is an ornery thing, and in many cases, whether or not two instances of the same name refer to the same person is too difficult to determine. People who show up in well-defined contexts can be fleshed out, but at the fringes, clarity fades. Sometimes someone is referred to with a hypocoristic, often without a patronymic. Names can be rendered in various ways, and some people have nicknames. Thus an estimate of all persons named in Pūšukēn’s documents must allow for these problems. If five of the six times the name Atata are mentioned we are certain it is the same person, but are unsure about the sixth person, it has an effect on our certainty. In some two dozen cases, there are varying levels of uncertainty with whether one person is the same as the other. For example, Uṣur-ša-Aššur s. Iliya is mentioned in CCT 3: 16b, and Uṣur-ša-Aššur s. Aššur-mālik is contemporaneous, but there is also an Uṣur-ša-Aššur mentioned in 82-CCT 2: 36b-37a.  TC 2: 12.

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significant. Alongside Pūšu-kēn, plenty of other merchants had substantial commercial operations: Lā-qēpum, Imdī-ilum, Puzur-Aššur, Šalim-Aššur, Aššur-bāni, and Aššur-mālik s. Šū-Kūbum. Certainly the operations of both Lālum and Ikūnum were large enough to have made an impact on financiers like ŠūḪubur and Šalim-aḫum when they died. And in the year of vengeance, two of Šalim-aḫum’s sons had joint-stock funds: both Ennam-Aššur and Dān-Aššur. (Idī-Suen appears predominantly as a transporter.) Lā-qēpum’s two sons were taking on a joint-stock fund in the year of vengeance as well—perhaps at an accelerated pace because of the death of so many merchants. A fair number of people who appear as major buyers in Anatolia can be drawn from Pūšu-kēn’s and Aššur-rē’ī’s documentation: Lulu s. Zukuḫum, Libbaya s. Uzua,⁶² Ilabrat-bāni, Idī-Suen,⁶³ Duḫniš,⁶⁴ and Ilī-ašrannī. It is clear that many transporters also brought small amounts with them on each donkey, and actors like Pūšu-kēn did their fair share of volume in the trade between Assur and Anatolia. Neither should one forget the merchants who died in the year of vengeance and produced enough concern to merit discussion: Šū-Aššur, Šū-Nunu, Idī-Šamaš, who was transporting for Pūšu-kēn, and Aššur-imittī as well. Even Ilabrat-bāni likely operated at this level. Again, these observations only draw on two archives. There were cetainly a number of other archives active during this year, though how many of them survived and have been excavated is more of an open question. While not all archives or families were focused on the tin and textile trade to Anatolia, in each we would imagine a few persons within their sphere that were large players, aside from the owners of the archive. Add to these the merchants of published archives: Ali-aḫum s. Zukuḫum, Elamma, Šalim-Aššur s. Issu-arik, Innaya, Aššur-taklāku s. Ali-aḫum, Aššur-imittī s. Amur-ilī, Puzur-Ištar, and Kuliya s. Ali-abum. In each of these archives, as well as the documents of Imdī-ilum, there are ample numbers of documented individuals operating. And again, this only covers a fraction of what has been discovered. It must represent a small percentage of the whole. Even if Šalim-aḫum was a very wealthy merchant, it’s difficult to imagine that his own volume of exports could have constituted any more than a single percent of the total Assyrian exports in any given year. This is illustrated by Aššur-rē’ī’s memoranda, which included 55 distinct merchants with debts of

 AKT 7a: 13a/b; AKT 7a: 228 obv. 13 – 14; AKT 7a: 233 obv. 3 – 4.  AKT 7a: 228 rev. 23 – 24  AKT 7a: 214 obv. 5 – 9; AKT 7a: 215 obv. 5 – 9; AKT 7a: 151; AKT 7a: 152.

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more than 10 minas.⁶⁵ If we take these as persons who were working the Anatolian market, but many of whom also transported or imported merchandise from Assur, then his documents alone suggest a large number of small to mediumsized players in Aššur-rē’ī’s commercial network. While these credits of more than 10 minas silver may have been stretched across multiple years, the individuals were nonetheless operating at the same time. And there are still those merchants who owed Aššur-rē’ī less than 10 minas themselves, numbering more than 150. They might represent those who only operated as transporters, carrying with them the contents of one-donkey-load a year, and some persons in this class could have had very few assets. But in the aggregate, they would have made up an important part of the trade volume. Most of these debts in Aššurrē’ī’s documentation were contracted relatively soon before his death, and represent a significant, if undoubtedly incomplete snapshot of his finances entering REL 82.⁶⁶

 Abum-ilī s. Aba, Ali-abum s. Šū-Tibar, Amur-Aššur s. Dada, Amur-Aššur s. Puzur-Aššur, Amur-Ištar s. Išar-kitt-Aššur, Amur-Šamaš, Amurrum-bāni, Anaḫ-ilī s. Puzur-ilī, Anaḫ-ilī s. Ṭāb-Aššur, Aššur-bēl-awātim s. Šū-Anum, Aššur-dān, Aššur-imittī s. Attaya, Aššur-mālik s. xx-bim, Aššur-nādā s. Aššur-idī, Aššur-nādā s. Šū-Enlil, Aššur-ṭāb s. Qarwīya, Azuza, Danaya, Duḫniš, Elāli, Enna-Suen, Ennam-Aššur s. Šalim-aḫum, Ennānum, ‘our’ Ennum-Aššur, EnnamAššur s. Puzur-Ištar, Ennam-Aššur s. Suen-nādā, Gamadu, Idī-abum, Idī-Suen, Idnaya, Ikūn-pīya s. Šū-Enlil, Ikūnum s. Ilī-bāni, Ikūnum s. Tawiniya, ‘our’ Ilī-bāni, Ilī-bāni s. Ikūnum, Ilī-bāni s. Puzur-Ištar, Ilī-mīšar, Iliš-tikal, Innaya, Kuziziya, Lā-qēpum, Lālum, Libbaya s. Uzua, NabiSuen s. Puzur-Ištar, Puzur-Aššur s. Suen-nādā, Puzur-Ištar, Puzur-sadu’e, Šalim-Aššur, ŠūAššur s. Ali-aḫum ša Narim, Šū-Bēlum s. Agua, Šū-Kūbum, Tuli, Zikur-ilī, Zue.  “45 shekels silver refined from Adad-rabi from the week of Al-aḫum and Kura, 45 shekels (silver) from Sadia, from REL 88 VI, 30 minas fine copper from Zika, ⅓ minas with Waldi-ilī from the week of Kurub-Ištar and Šū-Anum, ⅔ mina from Aššur-rē’ī from the week of Uraya and Šū-Kittum, 1 mina from Idī-Aššur from the week of Sukkallia and Uraya, ½ mina from Al-āhum ša Mama and Ištar-lamassī, from the week of of Ikūnum and Naram-Suen— ½ mina my be’ulātum Imlikaya holds. 10 shekels from the goods with Elāli, 10 shekels from Ilabratbāni, 32 shekels from Ennam-Aššur s. Išdu-kēn, 10 shekels from Idia, 25 shekels from Idnaya from the REL 77, 12 minas from Ennum-ilī, 5 shekels silver from Aguza, everything of the men these, their tablets are sealed.” ⅔ ma-na 5 gín kù.babbar ṣa-ru-pá-am ki diškur-gal iš-tù ha-muš-tim ša a‐lá-hi-im ù ku-ra ⅔ ma-na 5 gín ki ša-dí-a iš-tù iti.kam hu-bu-ur li-mu-um šuḫu-bur 30 ma-na urudu sig5 ki zi-kà ⅓ ma-na ki wa-al-dí-dingir iš-tù ḫa-muš-tim ša kur-ubIštar ú šu-a-nim [⅔] ma-na ki a‐šùr-re-ṣí iš-tù ḫa-muš-tim ša ú-ra-a ú šu-ki-tim 1 ma-na ki i-día-šùr iš-tù ḫa-muš-tim ša sú-kà-lí-a ù Ú-ra-a ½ ma-na ki a‐lá-hi-im ša ma-ma ù Ištar-lá-ma-sí iš-tù ḫa-muš-tim ša i-ku-nim ú na-ra-am-ZU ½ ma-na be-ú-lá-tí-a im-li-kà-a ú-kà-al 10 gín ki ša i-lá-li 10 gín ki dnin.šubur-ba-ni ½ ma-na 2 gín ki en-um-a-šùr dumu iš-du-ke-en6 10 gín ki i-dí-a ⅓ ma-na 5 gín ki id-na-a iš-tù li-mì-im sà-li-a 12 ma-na ki en-um-ì-lí 5 gín kù.babbar ki a‐ku-za mì-ma ša a‐wi-lì a‐ni-ú-tim ṭup-pu-šu-nu ḫa-ru-mu (Kt c/k 453, duplicate Kt c/k 270, Uzunalimoğlu 1990). See also Dercksen 1996: 112.

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This brief review of Pūšu-kēn’s and Aššur-rē’ī’s documents is merely impressionistic, but it points toward an estimated thousand merchants, or more, involved in the trade. And it is feasible that less than half of those merchants could field the estimated 5000 donkey-loads each year. In fact, the number of donkey-loads could easily be reached with a few dozen major traders, less than a hundred middle-sized traders, and a few hundred minor traders taking a few donkeys a year. The following possible break down illustrates this point. Table 1: Sample distribution of who could sponsor annual transport volume in the Old Assyrian trade

Elite merchants Joint-stock fund holders Minor merchants

Individuals

Donkey-loads sponsored

Total donkey-loads

  

  

  

TOTAL



As brutish and incomplete as this distribution is, it becomes simple to see that a volume of approximately 5000 donkeys per year is not so far-fetched. The number of merchants used in this estimate doesn’t exceed the number of people actually shown to live in the year of vengeance through the combination of Pūšukēn’s and Aššur-rē’ī’s documents. Šalim-aḫum’s volume of over 40 donkeys in a bad year, like the year of vengeance, would represent nearly a full percent of the proposed annual volume. There is further evidence for this level of volume in the treaties the city of Assur made with various cities along the way to Anatolia. Surviving documents witness portions of political agreements with four different cities that represent an aggregate cross-section of the route to Kanesh and Kanesh itself. Starting in the east, the cities are Apum, the largest city in the Jezireh, Ḫaḫḫum, the largest of the cities at the Euphrates crossings, an unknown town, which will be argued to represent a settlement in the Taurus Mountains,⁶⁷ and finally Kanesh itself.

 Kt n/k 794 for which see Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 155 – 157. The settlement named is not preserved, but it is close enough to Ḫaḫḫum to fall under the administrative umbrella of that city, and the Ḫaḫḫum treaty (if it represents concurrent circumstances) suggests that the ruler at Ḫaḫḫum was legally responsible to provide the Assyrians safe passage into the mountains, suggesting that this city’s influence could be placed further into the mountain passes. The city of Timelkiya or one of its neighbors are possible candidates. On Timelkiya, see Michel 2014a. Note also Eidem 1991; Donbaz 2005.

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The treaties with these cities vary in their stipulations, which seems to reflect their different statuses and locations, and information from these treaties expands what has already been gathered from archival documents.⁶⁸ The treaty with Kanesh regulated the arrival of the caravans. The city of Ḫaḫḫum was responsible to remunerate for accidents on ferries across the Euphrates.⁶⁹ The treaty with Apum dealt with the assessment of copper rather than tin, which is consistent with archival documents.⁷⁰ But for the present topic, two preserved elements from two different treaties corroborate the scale of trade observed from the analysis thus far. The first element comes from the treaty with the ruler of an unknown city. The treaty contains a statement about compensating the ruler for losses as a result of disrupted trade, such as those caused by war. It stated that the ruler was entitled to assess a fee of 12 shekels tin on every westward donkey and 1 1⁄4 shekels silver on each eastward donkey passing through the domain. But whenever trade was disrupted he would be compensated with 5 minas tin from the kārum at Hahhum.⁷¹ The treaty is from the later period of the trade (Ib), therefore its interpretation can only be indirectly applied to the year of vengeance. It has frequently been held that the volume of trade was much lower in the later Ib period than in, say, the year of vengenace. However, as we have seen, the scale of trade in Level II has been severely underestimated. It is not unreasonable to think that the basis on which we have estimated the Level Ib trade is, because there are even fewer documents, even more skewed. But the interpretation of the document on its own terms is significant enough. Because previous interpretations have not sufficiently considered the temporal dimension of certain statements in the treaty, it is necessary to reasses the ramifications of the agreements therein. Once those are acknowledged, it appears that the treaty may signal that the Level Ib trade was operating on a large scale as well.

 The most thoroughgoing treatment remains Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 183 – 218. Note also Veenhof 2013a.  See Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 167.  For example, the discussion of copper taken for the region of Amurrum as stated in Nūr-Ištar’s bill of lading.  This conforms with the estimate of costs per donkey per site taken from Barjamovic (2011: 89 – 90). If the average dātum for cargo between Haḫḫum and Kanesh total was 2 % over the course of the journey, then it is not unlikely that this small town only saw one tenth (.2 %) or even one twentieth of that (.1 %), therefore he might expect each donkey to give him 130* (.001) minas—about 8 shekels tin per donkey loaded with tin. If this was a daily rate, than this would come out between (for .2 %) 18 or 19 donkeys to (for .1 %) 37 or 38 donkeys per day.

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The treaty has been interpreted to have been made with an insignificant city. The equivalent of 25 donkeys passing through the town has been interpreted as a mark of the weakness of the ruler, figuring that it covered the disruption no matter the length of the disruption.⁷² However, this interpretation ignores the unstated/unpreserved span of time to which the compensation applied. It is difficult to imagine that the two parties to the treaty would have intended the remuneration to equally apply to a one-day or an entire-season disruption. If the disruption were short, the Assyrians would want to include a way of paying less, and the unnamed ruler would want the inverse. Both parties would understand that the unnamed ruler would need the income to support the provision of certain services, including security. It was in the best interest of the Assyrians to ensure that the unnamed ruler could maintain those services as best as possible at all times. After a disruption subsided, the Assyrians would not want to suffer further corporate delays or costs because services had degraded in the absence of funding and attendant incentives. The transit tax for the donkeys is clearly stated, so whether the town had a kārum, such as Timelkiya,⁷³ or was a much smaller settlement, is irrelevant. But what was the unit of time contracted for the disruption? If it were a month, five minas tin was the equivalent of less than one donkey passing through the ruler’s settlement each day, an amount that could hardly have maintained the desired order. But if five minas tin were a daily rate, then it represented twenty-five donkeys passing through his domain daily. Provided it was on the principal route through the Taurus Mountains, this suggests an annual volume of nearly 6000 donkey-loads. This is Level Ib, which is generally regarded as a time of much lower trade volume (primarily because of the amounts attested in the very few preserved documents). Yet, still, if the treaty meant 5 minas per week, then the 300 donkey caravan mentioned from the Level Ib period would account for one third of the expected annual revenues for that city. The compensatory payment must have referred to a period of time shorter. Only then would it seem to accord with the volume suggested by the contemporary town leader from the Mari documents, who noted that large amounts of silver were passing through his town regularly. It is time to reconsider the volume of trade in the Level Ib period. If the 5 minas tin remuneration was a daily rate, then the logic of this stipulation becomes more apparent. After all, rulers of cities were responsible for re-

 Veenhof considers such compensation to be too small for a city like Timelkiya near Ḫaḫḫum (Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 155 n. 800).  Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 154.

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munerating the Assyrians for acts they did not commit and some they ostensibly could not prevent. Blood money was due when an Assyrian merchant was killed in their jurisdiction, and several examples show such funds were certainly pursued.⁷⁴ This is similar to the city of Ḫaḫḫum being responsible to remunerate for ferry accidents. And the Assyrians seemed to exhibit a penchant for parity in the compensations they made for taxes elsewhere. Thus, interpreting the 5 minas tin as a daily rate makes good business sense and still suggests the Assyrians could drive a hard bargain.⁷⁵ Such a treaty with an independent ruler in an intermountain valley of the Taurus Mountains is entirely likely: mountain towns had a significant advantage over the towns in the Jezireh, as the Assyrians were channeled through such towns by the mountainous terrain. Moreover, to suggest that the Assyrians would pay significantly less in the case of trade disruptions is to assume that not only could they force their bargaining position, but also that over time the local ruler would have had sufficient resources to hinder any unneccessary friction when the disruption abated. The treaty with Ḫaḫḫum contains the second element that supports the scale of annual volume argued thus far. A translation of this section of the treaty reads, When a caravan comes up from the city of Assur, after [.....] 50 or 100 packed [donkeys], the mūṣium officer [will take] 5 kutānum textiles and [he will pay] 6⅔ shekels of silver per piece. The son/brother-in-law (ḫatunum) [will take] 2 textiles and [pay] 9⅓ shekels of silver per piece. The šinaḫilum officer will take 1 textile and pay [x shekels] of silver. Apart from [these kutānum] textiles, Abarnium textile (and) kusītum robe […] as your nisḫātum tax […] with [you shall not take more] as your nisḫātum tax … .⁷⁶

Some aspects of the text are difficult to render, but the stipulation clearly regulates how much certain officials could collect from the caravans and the rates at which they could obtain textiles in relation to the excise tax (nisḫātum). Certain types of textiles are allowed to be taken: kutānum, abarnium, kusītum, etc.  For a particularly interesting case of seeking blood money, see Larsen 2014: 4– 7.  At 25 donkeys per day (20 toward Anatolia and 5 returning), a seasonal total would come to 5400 westward donkeys – 6750 total.  [i-n]u-mì illat-tum iš-tù a‐[lim ki] a‐šur [e]-li-a-ni iš-tù 50 me-at [anše.]hi.a sé-er-dim ú šé!-[x]˘ iš [x x]-a-ni 5 túgku-ta-ni mu-ṣí-ú-um [i-lá-qé-m]a 9⅓ gín.ta kù.babbar [i-ša-qal] 2 túg.hi.a ḫa˘ ! túg tù-nu-um [i-lá-qé]-ma 9⅓ gín.ta kù.babbar [i-ša-qal] 1 ší-na-ḫi-lu-um i-lá-qé-ma [x x gín] kù.babbar i-ša-qal e túg.hi.a [x x x] a‐bar-ni-e-im ku-sí-t[im] [x x x]-šu a‐na ni-is-ḫa-ti-ku-[n]u [x x] ˘ ni! [x x] x šu šé iš-tí x [x] [ … ]-tám a‐na ni-[is]-ḫa-tí-ku-nu [ …] (Kt 00/k 10 col iii 5’-10’, 13’ – 18’). Translation from Günbatti 2004: 256 – 63. The general interpretation of the document in Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 194– 200 is followed here, where the interpretation is that this is column i rather than column iii.

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And commentaries agree that the stated volume was that which passed through the city prior to the officers excercising their right to buy textiles at the stated prices. Just as with the treaty with the unknown city, the significance lies in interpreting how the amount is understood—and this is directly tied to expectations about the annual volume of trade. When considered in a temporally infused context, the numbers stated in relation to officers within the important city of Ḫaḫḫum support the scale of trade so far suggested. If the volume of trade was roughly 5000 donkeys a year, as suggested in this chapter, they could assess their right about 100 times to buy five, two, or one textile each at the stated prices. Thus the mūṣium officer would have had the opportunity to buy 500 textiles, each year, and would have needed roughly 55½ minas of silver on hand to take advantage of every opportunity. The son/brother-in-law and the šinaḫilum officer would have had opportunities to buy 200 and 100 textiles each, the former needing 15½ minas silver to do so. This estimate suggests a reasonable amount of wealth for the officers, given the prominence of Ḫaḫḫum in the Old Assyrian trade. And again, the single caravan of 300 donkeys would have formed an amount that dwarfed what any one of these officers could have acquired through their privilges over the course of a year. At a volume of five thousand donkeys annually, these stipulations would have reflected reasonably good economic opportunities for the actors involved both in the Taurus mountains and the officials in the city of Ḫaḫḫum—even for the under-documented Level Ib period. By comparison with earlier and significantly lower estimates of trade volume, the lower officials mentioned in the treaty would have had access to special prices on maybe five textiles annually, hardly an impressive number. The palace at Kanesh had a right of purchase at discounted prices for ten percent of all imports, and according to Ḫaḫḫum’s treaty, seven textiles out of every fifty donkeys amounted to half a percent. For the officials at a major city like Ḫaḫḫum, only the opportunities afforded at this larger estimate of volume make the treaty seem reasonable. As for production, it is not difficult to find the resources needed to supply the annual volume of textiles suggested in the introduction of the chapter, 62,500 per annum. A study on household production of wool in Assur suggests 10 women could produce 25 textiles.⁷⁷ One hundred Assyrian households could have thus created 4 % of the total volume, but certainly more were involved. Because production in the city of Assyria was much smaller than in the region of southern Mesopotamia (determined by population alone), perhaps ten percent

 Michel 2016.

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would have been produced by towns to the north of Assur.⁷⁸ But the entire 62,500 textiles could have easily been produced in southern Mesopotamia. According to the household production in Assur, 25,000 women in southern Mesopotamia could have supplied the Assyrians with the entire annual volume of textiles. Whether or not an institutional economy would have produced higher numbers of textiles is an open question, but southern Mesopotamia had ample labor to supply such numbers. In the early second millennium in the Diyala region alone, 2725 hectares were settled, suggesting at least 700,000 people.⁷⁹ Moreover, if the textiles were produced in temple workshops, then a temple supporting a population of 4500 people, with half being females producing textiles, would only need to be accompanied by eleven other temples, well below the number of temples that can be attested in southern Mesopotamia during this period.⁸⁰ And with sufficient weavers, Mesopotamia also had sufficient sheep.⁸¹ A sheep produced 1 kilo of clean wool, as suggested by Ur III records, and a single textile normally weighed 5 minas.⁸² Thus the Assyrian trade needed a little more than 150,000 fleeces to sustain exports of 62,500 textiles. During Shulgi’s 43rd and 44th years, a total of 347,394 sheep and goats were consumed in a discrete number of temples.⁸³ If half of these were sheep, then the herds were well over 200,000.⁸⁴ Not all of the textiles produced in southern Mesopotamia would have moved north to the Assyrian market, however one Assyrian merchant purchased in excess of 50 tons of wool from an Anatolian official in a single transaction.⁸⁵ If Anatolia could produce such an amount for a single transaction, then southern Mesopotamia could certainly supply sufficient wool for  This is not directly dependent on interpreting ‘northern’ (šurbuītum) textiles as only produced in the north. Even if the adjective designated a style, production of textiles was likely the inspiration for the adjective, and textile production in northern Iraq should not be excluded from the export estimates.  The total breaks down into 1500 urban hectares in settlements larger than 100 hectares. In those situations Adams (1981: 138 – 143) proposed 450 persons per hectare, whereas something closer to 100 persons per hectare would prevail in smaller settlements. For the sake of a conservative estimate, I use this lower rate for all sites less than 100 hectares, thus around 687,000 hectares.  See already Diemel 1931: 78 – 79, though this does not require subscribing to the temple-city model.  Waetzoldt (2010: 201) estimated “significantly more than 60,000 pieces.” See also Waetzoldt 1972; Powel and Waetzoldt 1987 and references below.  Michel 2016. Lassen personal communication. On weights, see Powell 1989: 508 – 11.  AO 19548. See Calvot 1969: 101– 103.  Assuming 89 % increase each year in the flocks. See Widell 2003.  Larsen 2008; 2015: 194– 95.

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the Assyrian trade, drawing on the ovicaprid population of its own region, the neighboring steppe, and Zagros mountain land. If southern Mesopotamia could produce the textiles easily, the population of Anatolia was not necessarily consuming all of them. The market at Purušḫattum seems to have been a point of departure for trade moving further west toward the Aegean. Nonetheless, the principal cities, especially Kanesh, would have derived quite a bit of revenue by taxing this trade volume. The palace at Kanesh would have gained 3,125 textiles through excise duties (less those smuggled in) and had access to purchase double that number at a discounted price according to the rights of the tithe. The Old Assyrian trade’s capacity to support such a high volume of textiles implies likewise a high volume of tin. Twenty-five hundred donkeys annually carrying 2 talents 10 minas and 20 minas hand tin each would yield 6250 talents tin, just over 200 tons per year. A generation ago, scholars of the Old Assyrian trade could only count 11 tons total moving into Anatolia by the Assyrians—presumably over the course of two generations of merchants. And scholars interested in ancient metallurgy considered that estimate to be significantly large.⁸⁶ From that perspective, a proposal of two hundred tons per year passing through Assur toward Anatolia is more significant, to say the least. But in comparison with other ancient measures, it seems less implausible. The single Uluburun shipwreck yielded a ton of tin.⁸⁷ Further considerations of provenance, production, and comparative evidence from the ancient world contextualizes 200 tons per year as impressive but not inconsiderable. For the sake of context, modern worldwide annual tin mining production is nearly one thousand times the proposed figure, with all confidence that it will continue to grow.⁸⁸ Old Assyrian scholars have long looked east for the source of the tin.⁸⁹ Though production of tin did occur in Turkey, the tin the Assyrians brought to Anatolia must have competed favorably on the market with local tin.⁹⁰ In the

 Muhly 1985: 282. More generally on the tin trade see also Muhly and Wertime 1973; Muhly 1973; 1988a; 1988b; Thorton et al. 2005.  Pulak 1998: 188 – 224.  294,000 and 296,000 tons in 2013 and 2014 worldwide. U.S. Geological Survey 2015: 169.  Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 82; Larsen 2015. An earlier suggestion that the Shemshara letters provided evidence that the tin reached Assur via southern Kurdistan, possibly from mines in the higher ranges of the Zagros Mountains, east of Tabriz (made by Lassöe and cited in Larsen 1967: 4) has been refuted in Eidem-Laessöe 2001: 29. It is very likely that the tin originated from northeastern Afghanistan or Uzbekistan, where cassiterite was found, and reached Assur (together with the lapis-lazuli traded by the Assyrians) via Susa (Dercksen 2005: 19).  For some time, a polemic debate over the existence of tin in Anatolia muddied this fact. Muhly (1993) argued against any useful deposits, while Yener et al. (1993) argued the opposite.

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21st century, multiple cassiterite sources exploited during the Bronze Age have been identified in modern Iran, Afghanistan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan.⁹¹ Though there are modern locations of tin on the central Iranian plateau, recent work has not encountered evidence of the exploitation of tin around Vešnāve.⁹² Other sources of tin were available, but not exploitable. A Soviet-Egyptian survey of several sites in the Eastern Desert of Egypt (Igla, Abbu Dabbab, Nuweibi) found 1200 tons of cassiterite in placer deposits at Igla and Abu Dabbab, estimating that the cassiterite was mixed in the ground at an average of 2½ kg per cubic meter.⁹³ But as the water needed to process the tin was available only a few times a year, and then in a torrential rain, it is not surprising that evidence of recovering this tin has yet to be found. If the placer deposits and veins of Afghanistan were this rich, then the Assyrian exports required 72,500 cubic meters of rock to be broken apart. Placer mining tin is relatively easy when cassiterite is to be had. But vein mining is much more difficult. Tin deposits in some areas can simply be found on the ground, needing only to be identified and gathered. By the same token, placer mining for tin is virtually impossible to trace in the archaeological record. Vein mining of tin ore is much more labor intensive than placer mining, but has the potential to leave an archaeological record, though they are rarely found and difficult to date. One vein of tin examined in Turkmenistan that was 30 meters long was estimated to have yielded, after removal of an estimated 730 tons of rock, 60 tons of cassiterite ore that in turn would have yielded one ton of tin.⁹⁴ Hundreds of such mines would had to have been exploited each year, unless placer mining supported a large part of the production. Nevertheless, tin in large volumes in southern Mesopotamia during the late Third Millennium shows that somehow the production did happen.⁹⁵ Thus, the textual record outpaces the capacity of archaeology to corroborate at this point, but this is not a problem singular to the Old Assyrian textual record. Though less directly, there is increasing recognition of a significantly capable culture operating in the regions that were poised to extract the tin or provide more local incentives for tin production. Long before the Old Assyrian trade, the vast region from the Oxus Civilization (Bactrian Margiana Archaeological Complex [BMAC]) in the north to the Indus Valley Civilization in the south, and

 Weisgerber and Cierny, 2002; Nezafati et al. 2006; Pernicka et al. 2011; Pigott 2011; Stöllner et al. 2011.  Stiller et al. 2011.  Penhallurick 2008: 7.  Cierny and Weisberger 2003: 27.  Stech and Pigott 1986: 57.

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other cultures in between, including that of Tepe Yahya, were involved in exploiting mineral resources in the area. The complexity of social organization evident in many of these sites gives credence to the capacity to exploit the various potential sites for tin in the vicinity of Samarkand. Third millennium demand for tin is evident in the archaeological digs and indicates a significant amount of tin potentially being drawn from Afghanistan before the Old Assyrian trade.⁹⁶ Moreover, the early second millennium Assyrian trade may have been a reflection of a larger trend during this period. Some Chinese historians point to the beginning of the second millennium as the point when bronze technology spread from the Eurasian steppe into the east.⁹⁷ Ancient copper production is better surveyed and understood than tin and offers some perspective in our quest to understand the volume of trade. The Mitterberg mine in Austria is estimated to have produced from 7,000 to 10,000 tons of copper during the period.⁹⁸ In Kargaly on the Eurasian steppe during this period the calculated production was between 55,000 and 120,000 tons of copper.⁹⁹ Many other mines can be cited within this range, giving a sense of ancient production, though exploited over long periods of time. Iron Age production in Wadi Feinan was also “industrial,” where the site of Khirbet en-Nehas left 50,000 tons of slag from copper refining, with more sites in the area operating as well.¹⁰⁰ The same study that found sources of tin in the Iranian plateau noted that the pattern of settlement of this area, which had seen extensive exploitation of copper starting in the early second millennium BC, did not match the areas mined. For example, in the early second millennium the relatively small mine at Vešnāve may have been periodically exploited by semi-nomadic groups or metallurgical specialists.¹⁰¹ And while earlier models posited that regional centers, like Arismān, depended on a single location for their copper ore, geochemical analysis shows that the ores were more heterogenous. Important centers like Arismān depended on the discovery of new sources over time, and the near industrial pace of copper production in the early second millennium must have demanded the exploitation of copper ores that were increasingly difficult to access and smelt.¹⁰² From the perspective of later mining, 200 tons of tin per year is impressive but not impossible. There is clear evidence that the tin mines at Cornwall or

 Stech and Pigott 1986.  Zhimin 1998.  Eibner 1989: 32.  Černych 2003: 81.  Weisgerber 2006: 17.  The same could be said for fourth-millennium Feinan copper extraction, Weisgerber 2006.  Stiller et al. 2011.

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some other western mines were already producing tin in the first millennium BC, resulting in high tin content bronze daggers in the Singen cemetery in Germany.¹⁰³ A single purchase of 150 talents of tin (4½ tons) was made for the monumental statue Athena Promachos in fifth century BC Greece. Much later, Britain was exporting 1000 tons of tin in 1697, and around a century earlier was producing 750 tons of tin, most of it exported. Prior to the introduction of amalgamation processes, the tin mines at Potosí in highland Peru produced between 44 and 70 tons annually between 1545 and 1570, while work continued on the surface ores.¹⁰⁴ The Assyrian trade is by no means historically exceptional. However, we should expect the volume of tin to have been lower than textiles in most years. Even if the tin exports were half of this proposed amount, southern Mesopotamia could easily have furnished the textiles to load the extra donkeys. Although this review substantiates a much higher volume of trade than previous analyses, five thousand donkeys per annum should still not be considered the upper limit of possibility. Seventeen large caravans of 300 donkeys each year easily add up to 5000. Given our knowledge of the year of vengeance, it is possible to imagine that five such caravans could have left in the spring push alone. Pūšu-kēn and Lā-qēpum both led caravans in the spring, and Šalim-aḫum’s eighteen donkeys from Ilī-ašranni’s and Nūr-Ištar’s sections of the caravans, along with a donkey for each of Šalim-aḫum’s ten transporters, would account for nearly 2 % of such a spring push. A host of other people would also have been taking or shipping significant amounts: Pūšu-kēn, Lā-qēpum, Šū-Ḫubur, Āl-ilī, Aššur-imittī, Puzur-Aššur, Ḫinnāya, Dān-Aššur, and many more. The soon-to-be-married Ennam-Aššur, operating a joint-stock fund of his own, would have taken his own goods in tow, along with his father’s later in the spring. Assembling the figures of these merchants alone, we could account for ten percent of the spring push that year, to say nothing of Imdī-ilum, and many more merchants we know were operating in the same year. Ilabrat-bāni’s 6⅓ minas of tin feels increasingly small.¹⁰⁵ But conversely, the impact of contextualizing it in the annual scale of trade is increasingly significant. Perhaps more than the tempo of communication and transport, this view of the volume of the Old Assyrian trade is jarring in comparison to the estimates that have arisen from an anecdotal frame. The dissonance only underlines the importance of recovering Old Assyrian commercial time. But equally important,  Krause 1989: 25 – 32.  Brown 2012: 16 – 21.  In a different way, but with similar consequence, Richardson (2015) argues for the fact that though public projects occupy a large part of the documentary record, they in fact represented only a fraction of the actual labor performed in ancient Mesopotamia.

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it signals the weakness of a another frame of reference related to the anecdotal— the archival frame.

Chapter 19 Archives and the Deformation of Time All historians are prisoners to their sources. Half the challenge is understanding the cage. The year of vengeance suggests that the shape of Old Assyrian archives are different than supposed. The bulk of the year of vengeance, as a documentary collection, forms a significant part of the reconstructed archive of Pūšukēn. In fact, the year of vengeance forms the single largest and most tightlyknit event-based dossier in the Old Assyrian corpus. Thus its formation provokes a number of suspicions about the shape of Old Assyrian archives, and signals some risks of pursuing the archival approach without such suspicions in mind. Such suspicions can be expressed as two cases of mistaken identity. Old Assyrian archives are sometimes conceptualized, though not explicitly, as though they are both artifacts and corpuses, and we should be more wary of the utility of these two conceptualizations. Both attitudes toward archives have unfortunately helped to deform Old Assyrian commercial time. Archives are still an important unit of study.¹ But a brief exploration of Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive and its relation to the year of vengeance suggests that archival studies need narrative focus to avoid distortion, and that the combination of narrative and archival approaches can find and answer to larger questions. The year of vengeance, as a collection of documents, principally derives from Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive. Pūšu-kēn’s archive is part of the ‘old texts,’ those that were recovered first by the local villagers as early as 1880 up until Hrozný excavated the mound in 1925, and then, through luck or ruse, discovered the spot in the field where they had been digging. Hrozný made some notes of where he found his tablets, of which many are Pūšu-kēn’s documents, but to reconstruct Pūšu-kēn’s archive necessitates reassembling those documents which are recognizably his. The name Pūšu-kēn shows up well over 750 times in close to 600 documents in the Old Assyrian corpus. The overwhelming majority of these documents refer to our Pūšu-kēn.² A significant minority come from ex-

 The archival approach is, moreover, conducted well by all practitioners involved. Ichisar (1981); Larsen (1982; 2002; 2010; 2012); Bilgiç and Günbattı (1990; 1995); Bilgiç and Bayram (1995); Pedersen (1985; 1989; 1998); Michel (1991b); Kryszat (2001); Albayrak (2006); Donbaz (2008); Hecker (2008); Veenhof (2010; 2015b); and Dercksen (2015) have all provided good models for the archival approach in the Old Assyrian corpus, and excellent treatments of archives as objects of study can be found in Posner 1972; Veenhof 1986a; 1986b; Brosius 2003.  Pūšu-kēn’s grandson occupies some of these mentioned, and Pūšu-kēn s. Šarwaya is mentioned rarely (CCT 4: 16a). DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-019

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cavated archives, and thus are excluded from Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive. But more than 500 documents come from the ‘old’ texts, and are candidates for the portion of Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive that represents his life and death (See Appendix 3). Documentation recording Pūšu-kēn’s sons comes from both his lifetime and afterward and forms part of the second generation attested in the archive.³ Of the 516 documents that could be included in Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive from his life or the consequences of his death, the year of vengeance makes up a very significant part (Appendix 3). Between Šalim-aḫum’s letters, and the letters of Dān-Aššur, Ennam-Aššur, Šū-Ḫubur, Aššur-imittī, Šalim-Aššur and Aššur-mālik, Lamassī, Tariš-mātum and Bēlātum, and Puzur-Aššur, 143 documents pertain to the year of vengeance as reconstructed in this volume. Another sixty-one are suspected to be part of the year of vengeance, though they are not asserted directly in the narrative. Seventy-five documents belong to the settlement of Pūšu-kēn’s estate after his death, as a previous study has well shown.⁴ Another fifty-three documents can be established as certainly not from the year of vengeance. This leaves one hundred ninety-one more documents about which a determination has not yet been made. If we restrict ourselves to the documents from Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive from his own lifetime, then the year of vengeance makes up 34 % of the surviving documents. If those that are suspected are included, the percentage rises to 47 %. Most of the documents that are located in the year of vengeance come from the correspondence of specific people, largely tied to the year of vengeance. For example, twelve of the thirteen between Pūšu-kēn and Lamassī come in the year of vengeance. The thirteenth could indeed be part of the year of vengeance, but it is short and only mentions one person who doesn’t happen

 If the documents involving Pūšu-kēn’s son Buzāzu belong to this reconstructed archive, then Puzur-Aššur (the one who was helping Pūšu-kēn at the end of the year of vengeance) and his correspondence would account for a very large part of Buzāzu’s correspondence in the same way that Šalim-aḫum’s correspondence forms a large portion of Pūšu-kēn’s archive.  Hertel 2013: 346 – 67, 434. The appendix entry on p. 434 has 65 documents, but several are clearly not after Pūšu-kēn’s death, as they include Pūšu-kēn as a letter writer or reader: TC 1: 30; CCT 2: 35; CCT 2: 44b-45a; CCT 4: 40b-41a; KTS 1: 29b; 132-TC 2: 9. Moreover, several documents which Hertel (2013: 346 – 67) correctly identifies as part of the settlement of Pūšu-kēn’s estate, and the matter Ennam-Aššur s. Annīnum in one section are not listed in the index: ATHE 13; CCT 1: 9a; CCT 5: 25a; Contenaux 4; Dergi 4: 2; L 14; KTH 33; KTH 34; KUG 13; KUG 14; KUG 15; TC 1: 77; TC 2: 77. In addition, Prag I: 606 should be added to the list, and possibly also CCT 5: 26b, CCT 5: 27a. Though clearly not part of Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive, Kt m/k 7 (courtesy K. Hecker) also deals with Pūšu-kēn’s estate settlement.

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Figure 16: Breakdown of documents from Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive (a) during his lifetime and also (b) including the settlement of his estate after his death.

to show up in the remaining letters.⁵ There are seventeen letters between Pūšukēn and Aššur-imittī (the brother of Šū-Ḫubur). Of these, eight are included in the year of vengeance, and with more corroboration more may turn out to be included.⁶ Three more letters discuss shipments for Pūšu-kēn, which are more difficult to corroborate.⁷ Pūšu-kēn was not responsible to report what he was doing on his own behalf, so records of the disposition of his assets in Anatolia are only likely to arise within the so-called ‘private’ documents. Thirty-two letters survive from Pūšu-kēn’s correspondence with Šū-Ḫubur. Twenty-two of these belong to the year of vengeance. Three of those overlap with Aššur-imittī and Pūšu-kēn’s representatives, Aššur-bāni and Šalim-Aššur. But six letters that cannot be placed in the year of vengeance discuss shipments for Pūšu-kēn, again difficult

 “To Pūšu-kēn from Lamassī: Aššur-bašti brings you 2 textiles.Regarding the šurbuītum textiles about which you wrote, you said, “Send 1 textile for my clothing, inform me about the textile,” I made it. Later I will send up to you a šurbuītum textile for your clothing.” a-na pu-šu-ke-en6 qíbi-ma um-ma lá-ma-sí-ma 2 túg a-šùr-ba-áš-tí na-áš-a-kum a-šu-mì túg ša šu-ur-bu-i-a-tim ša taáš-pu-ra-ni um-ma a-ta-ma 1 túg a-na li-ta-ab-ší-a šé-bi-li-im túg wa-dí e-pí-iš iš-tí áš-lá-ki-im-ma a-dí-ni ú-lá ú-šé-li-šu iš-tí wa-ar-ki-ú-tim túg ša šu-ur-bu-i-a-tim a-na li-ta-ab-ší-kà ú-šé-lá-kum (Rendell obv. 1-rev. 18).  For example, CCT 2: 35, which mentions the death of a merchant named Puzur-Aššur—which could not be the same who worked with Pūšu-kēn. However, this would explain the letter in which Pūšu-kēn sent silver of Puzur-Anna (known to have died) and a Puzur-Aššur, and stated that it was not the silver of the father (96-VS 26: 10).  71-BIN 4: 24, TC 3: 33, CCT 6: 20a.

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to corroborate.⁸ The same kinds of ratios are apparent in Puzur-Aššur’s, Šalimaḫum’s, and Tariš-mātum’s correspondence with Pūšu-kēn.⁹ Because the year of vengeance is mostly made up of specific correspondents’ letters, there is a residual suspicion that more documents from the year of vengeance will be found among the letters of Pūšu-kēn’s other correspondents now in the undetermined group. These connections are sometimes difficult to corroborate when those other correspondents discuss with Pūšu-kēn only their own interests, or, at least, separate, concurrent events that do not overlap much with topics discussed by Šū-Ḫubur, Šalim-aḫum, and the others. While many documents among the large group of undetermined status are certainly from other years, the degree to which so many of the letters from the people in the year of vengeance come from the year of vengeance favors the probability that more from the year of vengeance will be found. Their specific circumstantial relationships are not yet recognized, and it lies to a future work to determine what more of Pūšu-kēn’s archive arises from the year of vengeance. In this way the year of vengeance leaves a residue of suspicion that other correspondents from Pūšu-kēn’s archive also belong to the year of vengeance. But these statistics and probabilities do not disclose the immediate impact of the year of vengeance as a collection of documents. Even a casual perusal of the letters included in the year of vengeance shows that for every surviving letter, three or four have not survived. Pūšu-kēn could have easily written and received over a thousand missives during the year of vengeance. This hearkens back to the paradigm shift suggested in the tempo of communication. If from the anecdotal frame it appears that “hundreds of letters” were sent each year,¹⁰ then in the year of vengeance, Pūšu-kēn received all the mail. Nor does this count debt notes, copies of debt notes, other contracts, notes, debt memoranda, shipping documents, dispute process records, and other types of documents. The total number of documents that could have passed through Pūšu-kēn’s hands and, had he saved copies of everything, made it into his archive during the year of vengeance, would have been larger than any multigenerational archive excavated yet. This brief set of observations raises questions about how representative the year of vengeance is within Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive, and, by extension, how representative his archive is of his life and activities. However many more  CCT 3: 22a; BIN 4: 226; BIN 6: 112; 123-Prag I: 653; Prag I: 704; TC 2: 6.  10 of 15 for Aššur-bāni and Šalim-Aššur, 10 of 11 for Tariš-mātum and Bēlātum, 10 of 12 for Puzur-Aššur, more than three dozen letters from Šalim-aḫum’s correspondence, though several are certainly from other years.  Veenhof 2008b.

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tablets may be identified as part of the year of vengeance, the part that is already secure shows that the distribution of dated references from Pūšu-kēn’s debt notes is in no way indicative of the distribution of non-dated documents in the archive. The dated documents from the reconstructed archive of Pūšu-kēn stretch from REL 78 to REL 98,¹¹ with a slight increase of dated documents in the last five years. The graph below shows the projected distribution of Pūšukēn’s documents as suggested by the dated debt notes compared with the distribution in which the year of vengeance documents (confirmed and suspected) are inserted into that distribution now as dated documents, producing a significantly different pattern.

Figure 17: Temporal distribution of documents in Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive

The year of vengeance undercuts the notion that Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive gives us a balanced picture of either his total activity, or an arc of his career. Instead, the existence of the year of vengeance as a documentary collection shows that surviving documentation is not necessarily distributed in ways that directly reflect the total activity and scale of the trade. The reviews of communication, transport, and volume of trade already suggest this. In fact, the proposed scale of trade volume from the previous chapter corroborates how much documentation has been lost. According to the previous chapter, thirty years of trade would represent 6000 tons of tin and 1.875 million textiles. The most recent  See already Kryszat 2004b: 46.

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documented tallies cited in the last chapter count 66 tons of tin and 32,000 kutānum textiles. These figures show that we could claim to have recovered documentation for more than one percent of all tin and one and a half percent of all textiles exported during the best documented period of Old Assyrian trade. From this perspective, what has been recovered is at the same time both impressive and reasonable. It also significantly lowers the likelihood that the recovered documentation is representative on its surface. The significance of the year of vengeance in the record of Pūšu-kēn’s life is echoed by large collections of documents from the published portions of two excavated archives: that of Aššur-rē’ī s. Pilaḫ-Ištar and of Šalim-Aššur s. Issu-arik. Both archives exhibit significant concentrations of documentation around the death of Aššur-rē’ī and Šalim-Aššur respectively, while the Šalim-Aššur archive also includes documentation arising from the death of two others. These concentrations suggest, like the year of vengeance, that the largest fragments of archives are most likely to arise around the death of one or another merchant. The house in which Aššur-rē’ī lived, about 150 meters east of Pūšu-kēn’s house, yielded an archive during the excavation seasons of 1987 and 1988. Most tablets were distributed on the floor of the house, but a significant portion were found in the strongroom. The portion published thus far deals with the life of Aššur-rē’ī, who, as established here, died during the year of vengeance. Most significantly, more than a hundred documents published were specifically stated on the documents themselves as copies of existing records, copied in the wake of Aššur-rē’ī’s death. And many of the letters in this portion are from the year of vengeance, discussing the deaths of some of the merchants who died in the plague. Aššur-rē’ī’s archaeological archive, at least the portion published recently, shows a significant number of documents concentrated on his death. Of the three hundred documents, small dossiers of three to nine texts exist for interactions with more than a dozen different merchants,¹² and another 70 or so texts with various Assyrian merchants. Nine more documents record settlements with Anatolians. Caravan reports and related documents make up another twenty-one, and there are thirty notes of various kinds. Perhaps most importantly, there are thirty-eight debt memoranda. But there are also thirteen letters between Aššur-rē’ī and the group of Puzur-Ištar, Aššur-bāni, Šū-Ḫubur, and Dadiya, and another five documents between Aššur-rē’ī and Puzur-Aššur, Šalim-

 Ikūnum s. Ilī-bāni, Lālum, Abum-ilī s. Aba, Aššur-bēl-awātim s. Šū-Anum, Aššur-ṭāb s. Qarwīya, Anaḫ-ilī s. Enna-Suen, Aššur-rē’ī s. Idida, Zikur-ilī, Amur-Šamaš, Ennānum s. Azua, Buzuzu, Uṣur-ša-Ištar, Aššur-dān.

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Aššur, and Ennānum. There are eight letters alone to an Ennam-Aššur, followed by another two dozen to various other parties. The collection is rounded out by seven legal documents and seven more texts which describe the contents of packages. Archaeologically speaking, perhaps the most interesting thing about the archive is that more than 200 documents were recovered in a pot and two bowls. The pot, which was sealed when recovered, contained 122 tablets and a bulla. The bowls yielded 54 documents and a bulla and 22 documents respectively.¹³ In particular, the sealed pot preserves an intentional deposition, but at present the reason for their interconnection is difficult to discern. The pot contained a number of caravan reports and debt notes. But it also contains parts of some dossiers that, when gathered by content, seem to represent wholes. For example, the pot had one of the three documents from the Aba dossier (No. 41 from AKT VIIa 38 – 41), and four of the five from a dossier of letters from Puzur-Aššur, Šalim-Aššur, Ennānum and others (AKT VIIa 253 – 257, missing No. 254). Meanwhile, the dossier of letters involving Puzur-Ištar, Aššur-bāni, Šū-Ḫubur, and Dadiya draws nine documents from the pot, one from the smaller bowl, and four others from tablets scattered on the floor. It may be that the documents in the pot represented some integrity separate, or useful, from the bowls and the tablets on the floor, but it is equally possible that their deposition in different storage containers was not necessarily meaningful in the first place. The house of Šalim-Aššur s. Issu-arik was just down the block and around the corner from Aššur-rē’ī’s house.¹⁴ The earlier parts of his archive show a mixture between large event-based dossiers and letters that seem to have survived more randomly. The event-based dossiers are not nearly so large as the remains of Aššur-rē’ī’s estate settlement, but most do surround a death. Iddin-abum’s death left a group of seventy-six documents in the archive. The editor identifies forty-four as part of a specific dossier, but hypothesizes that another eleven are also from the settlement. Another sixteen documents related to the creation of Iddin-abum’s joint stock fund should also be considered part of the estate settlement, given Aššur-rē’ī’s settlement documents also included earlier investment

 Özguç and Tunca 2001: 6 – 7. The excavation numbers for the documents coming from the pot run from Kt 88/k 592– 715. The 22 documents from one bowl number Kt 88/k 716 – 737. The numbers of the 54 documents and one bulla from the other bowl are not yet clearly reported. The number of the bowl is Kt 88/k 739, suggesting that the numbers might begin after that, but the number for the bulla is Kt 88/k 576, suggesting that the tablets could have been cataloged ahead of the documents from the pot.  Published in Larsen 2010; 2013; 2104; 2016; and one more volume to come.

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debts that are similar in character.¹⁵ An affair associated with a merchant named Ušinālum comprises more than twenty documents, while Šalim-Aššur’s death provides another eighty-eight more documents in the archive. A small dossier of eight about a man referred to as Samāya’s son are accompanied by less than a dozen documents from the life of Issu-arik, three dozen commercial letters to and from Šalim-Aššur, some nine contracts, and eleven legal texts of which four are about the same event. Thus, two-thirds of this earliest surviving section of the Šalim-Aššur archive, the portion from his lifetime, and for several years after his death, comprises documents that neither survive alone nor randomly. Beyond that point, only a few more event-based dossiers are identified, one having to do with the blood money for Ennam-Aššur after his death, and some small affairs that only comprise some three or four dozen more documents. In contrast, the commercial correspondence of Šalim-Aššur’s son Ennam-Aššur makes up another significant portion of the documentation, roughly two hundred and twenty-five documents, as does the correspondence of Ali-aḫum, where the organization of publication is broken down by correspondents. Further work may be able to discover more chronological bias among those documents. The Old Assyrian documentation has always suffered from temporal clarity. In comparison with the Ur III records, the Old Assyrian period is considered practically atemporal. A significant majority of the 150,000 records from the Ur III period are dated to a day, month, or year, or often all three. By contrast, only 1150 of the 10,000 published Old Assyrian documents yield 1250 dates. Of these, more than 850 are debt notes or debt note memoranda, which are quite difficult to link with the commercial letters.¹⁶ Only 100 dated references arise from letters. The presence of significant collections of documents within Old Assyrian archives, and particularly in the year of vengeance, offers a new basis for explaining a swell of documentation observed for a specific thirty year period. Using a revised annual chronology, a swell of dated references has been identified between REL 80 and REL 110, that contain roughly 90 % of the dated references recorded in the available Old Assyrian corpus.¹⁷ Grosso modo this distribution suggests that this roughly thirty year period holds a proportional amount of the documents without dates. Again, grosso modo, between REL 80 and REL 110, an average of 690 documents survive each year. Given that only roughly half

 Larsen 2010: 15 – 17. Larsen hypothesizes that the survival of the earlier joint-stock fund documents suggests that little was thrown away in the archive. Needless to say, comparison with the other Aššur-rē’ī documents from AKT 7a suggest otherwise, and the entire exercise here corroborates the difficulty of the interpretation.  See Barjamovic, Hertel, and Larsen 2012: 55 ff.  Barjamovic, Hertel, and Larsen 2012: 58 – 63.

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of all the approximately 23,000 tablets are now published, we might suggest that published average would be 345 per year.

Figure 18: Distribution of dated references according to Barjamovic, Hertel, Larsen 2012

The year of vengeance lies within this swell, as do its documents and the documents around the death of Aššur-rē’ī. Significantly, the year of vengeance and the documents created as a result of Aššur-rē’ī’s death are taken from only two of a dozen or so archives represented among the published documentation, yet they comprise a significant ratio of the expected 345 documents to survive from REL 82. Just as the year of vengeance disrupts a sense of an even distribution of documents from within Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive, it and Aššurrē’ī’s death suggest that the same could be true of the distribution of documents within the swell of documentation between REL 80 and REL 110. But the more interesting aspect is that the year of vengeance lies at the period when the swell of documentation seems to begin. While it is currently suggested that the swell ended because a large set of merchants died around that time,¹⁸ a range of possible explanations are offered for the dramatic increase in documentation around REL 80. One proposal suggests that the practice of using agents was just becoming common, requiring a concomitant increase in

 Barjamovic, Hertel, and Larsen 2012: 64– 73.

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documents, particularly letters. Another proposal suggests a simple increase of Assyrians in Anatolia, bringing documents with them, perhaps moving from the previous base at Ḫaḫḫum on the Euphrates. A rise in literacy is also suggested. However, the year of vengeance, at the beginning of the swell of documents, shows an Assyrian trade with all the elements needed to run the trade in place and at full operation. It is very difficult to see in the year of vengeance a trading community that was still adjusting to the use of agents, the increase in literacy, or the recent setup of a trading colony in Kanesh and the principal cities of Anatolia, Durḫumit, Waḫšušana, and Purušḫattum. Swift and efficient trade was already taking place, only frustrated by events that can safely be described as exogenous factors.¹⁹ The year of vengeance thus offers an alternative explanation for the rise of documentation. As already suggested by the review of archives above, the temporal distribution of dated documents that make up the swell is not necessarily representative of the distribution of other types of documents. Paradoxically, the most straightforward explanation for the beginning of the swell of surviving documentation seems to be connected to the most disruptive conditions of the year of vengeance: the plague. The death of a significant number of merchants in this year precipitated a break in the survival of documents and certainly some rearrangement of capital and networks. The disruption is well documented in the year of vengeance. But the irrelevant documents from before that period were largely discarded in one way or another. Granted, the ethos of the present study hopes for more corroboration of this proposition. Still, it seems clear that the beginning of the swell does not seem to represent an increase of original documentation or Assyrians in Anatolia. The year of vengeance instead underlines the need to more deeply analyze individual archives. There is certainly the possibility that if Pūšu-kēn’s house was archaeologically excavated, as was Aššur-rē’ī’s archive in 1987/88, we would perhaps have found the year of vengeance documents in a single pot. However, the same operations, the same narrative reconstruction engaged in here would still be necessary to demonstrate the individual nature of their relation. Even if the threshold of suspicion that they belonged together was lower at the beginning, it would not have precluded the need to place them in a narrative context. Some clay label on the pot may have given us some inkling of the year of vengeance, and if so, it is unfortunate that it was lost—it may have prompted a description of the year of vengeance earlier. But at the same time, the year of

 These explanations are laid out in Barjamovic, Hertel, and Larsen 2012, and reiterated in Larsen 2015: 67– 76.

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vengeance bids us as Old Assyrian specialists to discover any more large fragments of archives through historical reconstruction. With this new picture of Old Assyrian archives, we must turn back to the suspicions invoked in the introduction of this chapter. Old Assyrian studies have benefitted enormously over the last several decades from an increasing focus on archives as a frame for analyzing social aspects of the Old Assyrian trade.²⁰ Yet the year of vengeance suggests that the combination of the archival approach and the anecdotal frame has its limits in perceiving distortions within archives. In fact, the year of vengeance suggests that some of the assumptions underwriting some analyses of archives need to be re-evaluated. These assumptions have not been stated in plain terms, and yet, they seem clearly enough to guide the analysis of archives in the field. I’ll deal with these assumptions by arguing that Old Assyrian archives have been mischaracterized as both artifacts and as corpora. These mischaracterizations have been reasonable from the perspective of the anecdotal frame, but recognizing the year of vengeance exposes. Archive, of course, in ancient studies is used as a moniker for something broader than archives in the modern sense. Modern archives are curated and maintained for specific purposes—to preserve or secure legal claim, to amass data for further analysis, or even to broaden the knowledge of mankind. In ancient studies, the moniker ‘archive’ is used both to describe groups of documents recovered in some relation to each other and the original collection of which the recovered group is a fragment. In the first sense, archaeological integrity, the common locus where the tablets are recovered, defines the archive. In the second sense, the original integrity, the complete collection now lost, defines the archive. Because ancient archives are never accessed like modern research archives, only recovered, these two senses serve as the proxy states which relate the collections of artifacts and documents we mean when we talk about ancient archives with their modern counterparts. Mischaracterizing Old Assyrian archives as artifacts and corpora reflects the idealization of both archaeological and original integrity respectively. The first mischaracterization is that Old Assyrian archives can profitably be treated as a class of artifact, like pot sherds or tablets. When a pot sherd or tablet is recovered in a survey or excavation, its geometry indicates fairly quickly to the trained eye the overall shape of the original. The moment of its creation is embedded in its form, and if the precise circumstance of a pot sherd cannot be

 Larsen 1982; 1986a; 1986b; Larsen 2002; Veenhof 2003a; Larsen 2007; Michel 2008d; Veenhof and Eidem 2008: 65 – 75; Larsen 2015. The archive is an important unit of analysis in Dercksen 1996; Kryszat 2004a.

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known, fairly precise history about a tablet can, depending on its content. The key aspects of such artifacts are that a trace of both their creation and use is embedded in their materiality. The most direct way in which the archaeological integrity of archives can be considered like an artifact is when the archive is considered to have been recovered as a ‘living’ archive. If the archive was still in use when it was destroyed, then it is recovered as a ‘living’ archive. The most clear-cut case of this is Room G in the royal palace at Ebla. When the palace burned down, the tablets arranged on wooden shelves fell directly on top of each other, to the point that they can be virtually restored to their original order on the shelves.²¹ By contrast, a ‘dead’ archive was no longer in use when the occupational layer was destroyed. The Uruk IV tablets, used as fill for a foundation in the Eanna complex, are an excellent case of a ‘dead’ archive. This dichotomy between ‘living’ and ‘dead’ is too strict for the Old Assyrian archives. Two generations of merchants are represented in the Level II Assyrian archives, and the composition of those archives clearly show that sons retained pertinent records from their fathers’s lives. But few Level II archives, as they are recovered, continue all the way to the end of Level II, sometime between REL 138 and 141.²² Twenty of twenty-nine archives surveyed recently have no dated references beyond the period REL 103 – 115. Instead they fall within the swell of dated references between REL 80 and 110, and thirty years, a full patrilineal generation, separates the documentary swell from the end of Level II. By the time of the destruction layer, Pūšu-kēn had been dead for nearly thirty years, and the year of vengeance was fifty years in the past. It is possible that the archives had been maintained up until the destruction, sometime around REL 140, and that after the destruction, interested parties rummaged the homes for the most relevant records. This likely scenario paints the Old Assyrian archives as ‘living’ archives in negative, not dead at the moment of the destruction, but nearly dead soon thereafter, when the culling was finished. Yet despite the prominence of this scenario, a hope pervades that if the Assyrian archives had only been recovered in a more detailed manner than was the

 For the Uruk tablets, see Nissen 1993, for the Room G at Ebla, see Matthiae 1986.  Barjamovic, Hertel, and Larsen 2012: 28. Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive was considered to continue to REL 131 in that study. However, the basis on which Barjamovic, Hertel, and Larsen proposed this date was by virtue of the fact that Pūšu-kēn’s grandson, named Pūšu-kēn himself, appeared as a witness to one debt in a document recording a number of commercial arrangements for another man, Iddin-abum s. Aššur-ṭāb. If this document did belong to Pūšu-kēn’s archive, then it was an unusual addition.

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habit of earlier excavation procedures, some sense of the archives’ maintenance, and by extension, the operations of the relevant family firm, would appear more plainly. In some relation to this concern, careful analysis of excavated archives has confirmed the fear that some documents found in the houses could not clearly be related to the main family archive except by their findspot, in the strongroom of the house, the area in which many tablets in houses are found.²³ This second concern confirms that we will probably never know the precise size of Pūšu-kēn’s archive as an archaeological integrity. Because most of Pūšukēn’s tablets were excavated by the villagers, not archaeologists, those tablets that may have been in the house, but have no clear relation to the main family archive, cannot be recognized. When Hrozný confirmed Kültepe as the location of the tablets and his excavations, he did excavate parts of Pūšu-kēn’s archive, so the location of the house is secure. But which tablets the villagers excavated came from that house is impossible to know precisely. Making use of the archaeological integrity of the Assyrian archives is important. However, at the same time, because the archives generally seem more dead than living, the activities of humans—in the sense of their organization of the tablets in the strongrooms—seem in most cases to have likely been lost. It is worth asking what the arrangements of tablets would have told us about the commercial trade that something like the year of vengeance would not. More to the point, if we consider that the archaeological integrity suggested by the pot and bowls in Aššur-rē’ī’s house tell us little about Aššur-rē’ī’s death, then it is worth asking what significance is hidden by a better knowledge of the exact position of every tablet in the house as it was excavated. The moment of organizing these tablets seems lost to the distant past. While some useful information certainly may be gleaned from archaeological deposition, its loss will not preclude the kind of research that first puts the historical relation between the tablets in focus. In this way, the archives, especially without the kind of information communicated by something like the year of vengeance, cannot be treated as artifacts. The second mischaracterization has to do with the way we talk about the recovered tablets as representative of the original archives in their fullest form, as they existed during the lives of the merchants. With documentary collections, corpus signifies some sort of completeness, a metaphorical extension of the body, a meaning especially popularized with the advent of linguistics.²⁴ A docu-

 Larsen 2010.  The Oxford English Dictionary includes this as a separate sense of the word ‘corpus’ from the sense in which it is used in literature.

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mentary collection becomes a textual corpus when it is deemed a sufficiently representative body of evidence for linguistic analysis. This does not mean the body of evidence is complete, only sufficiently representative of some requisite completeness. No one supposes that the archives recovered from Kültepe are complete. However, statements are made about families associated with the archives that depend on the premise that the recovered archive is sufficiently representative of the overall character of its holders. For example, if a family archive holds many more references to business involving copper rather than tin, then it has been a reasonable supposition that the dominance of this subject is indicative of the predominance of that activity in the lives of the archive holders.²⁵ While these statements are never made as though final, the confidence with which we can make such statements is limited to the extent we can verify that the recovered archive is as representative as such statements intend. The concern here is that representativeness between the surviving documentation and the original documentation has been misjudged in the anecdotal frame. If the year of vengeance is any harbinger, then the undated letters of the Old Assyrian archives are just as likely to be gathered into short bursts of time, like the settlement of merchants estates, which currently form the most easily discerned event-based dossiers.²⁶ It is possible that many more letters than we have yet realized are preserved in a more lumpy distribution than has been thus far apparent. The lumpy distribution that the year of vengeance suggests further disturbs the sense that the surviving documents, especially when viewed within the anecdotal frame, are representative of the original whole. This renders some statements difficult to sustain. For example, consider a previous claim that the lack of overlap between existing debt notes and debt notes mentioned in debt memoranda in one archive signals that the debts mentioned in memoranda had been paid off and the debt notes discarded.²⁷ The ratio of surviving documenta-

 For example, Larsen (2010: 29 – 30) describes the Šalim-Aššur family as possibly focused on the copper trade, moreso than Pūšu-kēn or Imdī-ilum. Larsen expresses sufficient care in proposing this, considering the fact that the documentation that would correct our sense would have come from the houses in Durḫumit or Kuburnat, where we expect more of Šalim-aššur’s documents to have been stored during his lifetime. Nonetheless, Larsen’s comments reveal the difficulty of dealing with archival bias.  Hertel (2013) describes dispute processes making extensive use of diegetic logic to expose aspects of the structure of conflict resolution, both legal and extra-legal throughout his study. This results in the amiable effect of correcting errors that cannot be detected from an atemporal point of view.  “In all about 250 original debt-notes are known to me. The number of surviving debt-notes in two regularly excavated archives (those of 1990, published in TPAK and of 1991/2, which I am

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tion to the original documentation is simply too small to allow that what we now have can be used as evidence for such claims. In place of these mischaracterizations, reasonable as they seem in the anecdotal frame, I suggest that we should be suspicious of assumptions that rely on conceptualizing the Old Assyrian archives as either artifacts or corpora. If the year of vengeance suggests anything useful for how we view the shape of archives, it is the twofold demonstration that the documentation which survives from Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive is a very small percentage of the original documentation created, and at the same time this small fragment is concentrated in a short burst of time. No single approach to the Old Assyrian trade should predominate, but special status should be given to reading connected documents in a narrative fashion. Moving across these same documents, before a narrative understanding of the documents is well understood, has the inevitable risk of reducing the letters to their component parts. While a broad approach is worth taking, there is nonetheless the lack of enough narrative background. This is no easy task in the Old Assyrian trade. As with all endeavors to understand a world that was completely lost (until archaeological discovery), so many basic factors of reconstructing that world must be painstakingly grappled with. Narrative understanding has been preceded by philological, linguistic, and archival inquiry, as was necessary, and they have laid the foundation for such work. But at some point the gains made in these approaches will be hindered by the lack of context that can be brought to the documents through equally painstaking efforts at recovering, where available, the context of action. Until then, archival studies conducted from within the anecdotal frame run the risk of deforming temporal structures which are so poorly divulged in the Assyrian sources. Had the merchants dated every letter, the utility of temporal distribution of those letters would have been more obviously apparent. The lack of dates has tempered or removed any expectation of finding something like the year of vengeance. But the dimension of time can never be dismissed without consequences. The number of documents that may have originally been created, sent, read, used, referenced, stored, sifted, reserved, or thrown away was exponentially larger than the preserved remnants we now hold. And a large portion of these remnants and fragments may arise from particular periods of time. The year of vengeance shows that large fragments can arise from the commercial documen-

preparing for publication) amounts to about one every two years. Almost none of the debtclaims listed in memoranda is represented by its original debt-note, which implies that they were paid and subsequently discarded.” Veenhof 2001: 96 n. 7.

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tation, provoked by events not immediately obvious. The everyday commercial activity is not necessarily preserved randomly or proportionally within the archives. Instead of archives as archaeological artifacts preserving traces of maintained archives or corpora representing the gross activity of the merchants, our best chances of finding traces of action are bound up in burrowing down to a more detailed level to find large event-based dossiers like the year of vengeance. Only then will we have more reliable traces of the conduct of the trade as a historical activity.

Conclusion

Chapter 20 A Year of Vengeance The Old Assyrian trade certainly has the “most extensive documentation for ancient commerce from any region or period of the Near East and the Mediterranean world.”¹ And yet the year of vengeance demonstrates that in some ways that documentation is even richer than we thought. This richness is revealed only when it becomes clear that Old Assyrian documents, as they are preserved, sometimes belong to very specific moments, providing a sense of Old Assyrian commercial time. In part, the paradox that reveals Old Assyrian commercial time is precisely the paradox that has made time difficult to discover in the anecdotal frame: the Old Assyrian documents are at once both technical and intimate. By recognizing both these aspects, and the fact that the year of vengeance as a narrative reveals one particularly complex and unexpectedly large fragment of Pūšu-kēn’s records, it is necessary to develop a set of suspicions about the kinds of representativeness operative in the anecdotal frame. The argument in this first volume is a practicum in making the historical turn on the Old Assyrian sources. Both historians and philologists struggle to interpret documents which were not originally intended for them. Many philologists set up controls on their interpretation by using grammar, lexicon, semantics, and immediate context (of a passage or text), to prevent misinterpretations. Historians also use these methods, of course, but, in addition, treat all texts as documents—acts of communication composed by authors who had specific intentions that were affected by specific circumstances. For a historian, the final interpretation must not only attend to the philologist’s requirements, but also be consistent with our understanding of the past, or make reasonable amendments to that understanding. The case of the year of vengeance presents an instance where particular circumstances are fleshed out sufficiently that, with the obvious allowance for development over time, particular intents can be comprehended in a way unavailable from the anecdotal frame. In some circumstances, this advantage reveals that at a few select points, it will be necessary to show, for example, that the immediately available grammatical solution, and thus the most reasonable interpretation based on philological grounds (if those grounds are drawn too narrowly), is in fact wrong. Sometimes the consequences are small, such as the reference to price of tin when Šalim-aḫum wanted Ilabrat-bāni to pay a 6 shekels

 Larsen 2002: xi. DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-020

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rate, or how Šalim-aḫum listed several petty debts Ilabrat-bāni owed from REL 78, but in fact only one of them was from that far back. In other cases the interpretation is more consequential. Reinterpreting the relationship between Aššur-rē’ī’s death and the ‘plague,’ and hence its relationship to the year of vengenace is much more important. But even in the less consequential instances, misunderstanding the document can lead to missing connections with other documents, which can eventually lead to more serious misunderstandings. More often though, these examples simply mean that translation, if it is to be useful for a historian, will need to account for more than a strict grammatical rendering, and consider contexts beyond the document. Once connections between documents are recognized, the only appropriate path toward interpretation is to judiciously examine all the strands of activity that can be connected to the documents such that it will provide an understanding of the documents as reflections of particular moments in the past. At times this requires a more concerted effort to understand the broader circumstances from which documents arose in order to understand the author’s intent. This is not to say that such interests have not dictated interpretation of the trade thus far. However, there are many cases in which a fuller delineation of intereferrentiality between texts has fallen sufficiently short so as to leave Old Assyrian studies stuck in the anecdotal frame. Most historians strive to write to two audiences simultaneously. On the one hand, a commitment to narrative as an important form of explanation means that the narrative itself must be comprehensible to a reasonable non-expert. At the same time, historians write to their colleagues. The twin operation requires for the first audience the capacity to follow the story, and for the second, a crucial aspect that is still missing in Old Assyrian studies: the ability to write to an audience that is sufficiently well-informed about the chronological and historical intricacies of the period, and is sufficiently large so as to allow many small details to be considered possible to confirm but not necessary to footnote in exhaustive detail. Neither of these two aspects yet exist in Old Assyrian studies. To begin with, the field is very small. And while the annual chronology is now quite robust, a history of the period that places anything more than a few select events—deaths of merchants, individual debt contracts, and an occasional anecdote—is yet to be written. Causality is limited to the discussion of the span of archives, or occasionally to the beginning or end of archives. Moreover, the field, like all of Assyriology, deals with the compound difficulty of dealing with a dead language, and not yet having a forum in which all documents, with translations, commentary, photographs, and other tools to check the documents, are sufficiently present in a convenient form so as to allay the need for long notes pointing out rare forms etc. The second volume of this work will ad-

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dress some of these omissions. But pointing out the difficulties here is useful to more clearly identify several desiderata. It is hoped that this volume begins a more concerted effort to write a history of the Old Assyrian trade, especially during the best attested period from REL 80 – 110, from the bottom up. From the beginning of this work, it has been suggested that work on the microscale can yield much larger insights. For example, Ilabrat-bāni’s arrival in the spring must interact with our understanding of the passes in the Taurus Mountains, the known eclipses, C14 dating, the eponym sequence, and atttempts to correlate the Old Assyrian calendar to the Julian calendar. As a result, within the scope of this analysis, we should consider the Upper Middle Chronology preferable to the Lower Middle Chronology. As general principles, the arguments for the tempos of the Old Assyrian trade are important. From the present analysis, merchants must have been able to move between Assur and Anatolia at rates that were quicker than what we have perceived from the anecdotal frame. To account for both the activity witnessed in this year and the way that the merchants talk about their capacity to act, it seems that it took roughly a month to travel from Assur to Kanesh. And though we already have good evidence that letters could travel more quickly than bulk caravans, it seems as though they could travel twice as fast. Moreover, a review of the evidence on the hiatus shows that we must understand it in relation most specifically to the bulk caravan, nuancing how we should understand it in relation to wintertime. But these general aspects of the trade are built upon a narrative that brings together things as disparate as Lālum’s death with Šalim-aḫum’s need for gold, or Pūšu-kēn’s purchasing houses, with Šalim-aḫum and Šū-Ḫubur marrying their children, or Pūšu-kēn’s wife complaining about dealing with pushy neighbors and the growing up of their daughter with Dān-Aššur getting ill, or EnnamAššur delaying his return to Assur to get married with Ilabrat-bāni offering to buy Šalim-aḫum’s goods at a premium, or Šalim-aḫum pressuring Pūšu-kēn into entering into a joint venture with the disruption of trade from the south, or Šalim-aḫum’s anger in the beginning of the season with his disappointment that Dān-Aššur would not immediately return to Assur in June, or the death of Aššur-rē’ī with the pressures Pūšu-kēn felt from his investors to collect on dying merchants, or Šalim-aḫum’s concerns about the utukkū demons with Tariš-mātum’s concerns about the eṭammū spirits, or Šalim-aḫum seizing Ilabrat-bāni’s goods with the movement of a plague through the trade that killed Ilabrat-bāni’s father and prompted his mother to order her brother Pūšu-kēn to freeze Ilabrat-bāni’s assets. All these discordant events, in fact, must be understood in some sort of concordance in order to understand the context of

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the many decisions, pleas, complaints, orders, and reports given in the letters from the year of vengeance.

Figure 19: Seal of Waqqurtum d. Pūšu-kēn

These interwoven events form a foundation to understand the volume of trade that can proceed on a more materially and temporally sensitive basis. In turn, an understanding of the volume of trade and the concentration of documentation in the year of vengeance supports the sense gained from the narrative of the year of vengeance itself. The sense of history we gain from treating archives as semi-homogenous wholes does not hold up under closer inspection. The archival approach needs to be supplemented by the microhistorical approach. As the year of vengeance shows, contexts in letters often considered hopelessly missing in the anecdotal frame are sometimes available, and as fraught with complexity as we would anticipate. The merchants’ plaints and complaints make up our richest evidence on the trade, and no bureaucratic textual practices or forms mask their intentions behind some organizational principle. But this means that we cannot avoid considering their intentions as a fundamental aspect of their communication. For better or worse, the individual foibles, petty conflicts, odd situations, unforeseen contingencies and unpredictable reactions are woven into our material. No amount of broad archival or lexical surveys will completely cancel these factors out. If we have lost some sense of representativeness, or must become suspicious of it, I would like to conclude by discussing how the year of vengeance leaves something richer than the anecdotal frame in regard to three exchanges: In ex-

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change for anecdote we get narrative. In exchange for structure we get Old Assyrian commercial time. And in exchange for personalities we get historical individuals, the earliest in world history. The first exchange is anecdote for narrative. Merchants like Šalim-aḫum authored their letters and other documents to further specific interests in response to particular opportunities and risks, some of which are completely foreign to the modern experience. Narrative is the necessary and appropriate way to describe and understand the amalgam of familiar and foreign, of quintessential and particular, in the Old Assyrian trade, and by extension, the distant human past. Within narrative it becomes possible to perceive the Old Assyrian merchants more richly in material and social contexts within a temporal frame. Šalim-aḫum’s disgruntlement with Ilabrat-bāni becomes apparent according to the immediate context, and Šalim-aḫum’s strategies seem justified. In turn, Pūšu-kēn’s involvement in Šalim-aḫum’s affairs throw light on his own interests, actions, and contemporary dealings with investors, associates, suppliers, customers, transporters, contractees, confidants, relatives, and others. Before the year of vengeance provoked an altered approach to the Old Assyrian commercial letters, these letters gave us either structural or atypical situations. This is not singular to the Old Assyrian documents. It is often tragic circumstances that provoke the most colorful descriptions of past worlds. It was a fire in the lower town of Kanesh, or a series of fires (whether from accident or military action) that entombed the Old Assyrian records in the houses from which they have been excavated. And, as it seems in this analysis, it was the outbreak that caused so many deaths in the year of vengeance that prompted the retention of so many records from this year in the first place. Likewise, one of the most revelatory documents from the early medieval Geniza trade is a long letter from Salāma b. Mūsā to a partner begging him not to dissolve their partnership after a series of disastrous calamities, including a war, had reversed any fortune he enjoyed the year before. The letter has been cited to reference a range of practices in the Geniza trade.² But just like Salāma b. Mūsā’s extraordinary circumstances, it is likely that many surviving Assyrian letters were filed away in the first place because they represented someone’s interests that were not being met as usual. The narrative frame exposes the contexts of both structural and extraordinary situations. Sometimes, the mechanics of trade proceeded according to the expectations of the participants. For example, Šalim-aḫum’s interaction with Pūšukēn over Nūr-Ištar’s caravan proceeded smoothly through the first half of the

 Goldberg 2012, who owes its extensive use also in Goitein 1967.

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year of vengeance. But many of the letters recovered from the year of vengeance, and thus perhaps many more than we realize, were first written to stem losses, cut off delays, salvage opportunities, or even to simply control damage caused as undertakings were frustrated by unforeseen circumstances, resource shortages, divided interests, or even malicious intentions. And these contexts are crucial. The women who interacted with Pūšu-kēn in the year of vengeance, his wife, his sister, and his niece, have been marked as emotional. But in the narrative, their voices come through as dramatic but reasonable responses to the very difficult circumstances they found themselves in. Granted, the discourse of women was different than men,³ but it had little to do with any hysterical magnification of troubles. Nor were Šalim-aḫum’s fears of the utukkū demons simply an overreaction. By autumn, the year of vengeance was increasingly a difficult year through which to live. Turning from an anecdotal frame to a narrative frame, especially when the narrative is motivated by, or plotted as, a quest for ‘poetic justice’ or ‘revenge,’ raises the specter of narrative history as literature. The initial quest to characterize Šalim-aḫum’s revenge as one or the other motivated the reconstruction of the year of vengeance. If Šalim-aḫum’s revenge was in fact literally poetic justice— a convergence of exogenous plot factors that restore some sense of balance— then this work is in danger of being literature, perhaps even anachronistic literature, as Šalim-aḫum lived well before Plato fashioned the concept.⁴ There is no need to rebuff an argument that it appears some sense of balance was restored between Šalim-aḫum and Ilabrat-bāni. But the interplay between Ilabrat-bāni and Šalim-aḫum during this exchange was not conditioned by our desire to see such a balance, but by a number of contingent circumstances that arose from the documents, products of cultural norms, social pressures, and material realities. The question of revenge is also grounded in literature, its archetypal form playing out in literature like The Count of Monte Christo. But unlike poetic justice, the basic aspects of vengeance are human. It requires storing up provocation, planning, and, in some cultures, is best served cold. If Pūšu-kēn took revenge on Ilabrat-bāni, then his actions were undertaken within the human sphere, where we perceive actions to be bound up in intention. And any revenge Pūšu-kēn took was far more subtle than the archetypal revenge of the Count of Monte Christo.  Larsen 2001. Michel (1997; 2000; 2001a; 2006; 2008b; 2016) provides significant converage of the experience of women in the trade. See also Garelli 1979; Balkan 1986; Dercksen and Donbaz 1991; Bayram 2001; Kienast 2016.  For a discussion of Plato’s concept of poetic justice, and the coining of the term by Thomas Rhymer, a 17th Century English critic, see Zach 1986.

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And yet both Šalim-aḫum’s and Pūšu-ken’s possible revenge are thrown into doubt because the context in which the seizure of Ilabrat-bāni’s goods provides for the possibility that it was prompted by particular circumstances. Ilabratbāni’s father had died, perhaps from the plague, and many other merchants were also dying in this year. Ilabrat-bāni’s mother, Tariš-mātum, had told Pūšu-kēn to freeze all of Ilabrat-bāni’s assets sometime during the year, almost certainly before Ilabrat-bāni had been able to pay Šalim-aḫum his money. Thus Pūšu-kēn’s recommendation to seize Ilabrat-bāni’s goods on the road could have allowed Ilabrat-bāni to pay back Šalim-aḫum, without Pūšu-kēn crossing his sister’s instructions. It is impossible to completely corroborate that, in fact, Pūšukēn and Ilabrat-bāni colluded against Tariš-mātum, or that Pūšu-kēn took this step alone. But the logic of this strategy, given the context in which Šalimaḫum, Pūšu-kēn, Ilabrat-bāni, and Tariš-mātum found themselves, is equally likely to one in which either Pūšu-kēn or Šalim-aḫum sought revenge on Ilabrat-bāni in some literary sense. The exchange of the anecdote of “Šalim-aḫum’s revenge” for the narrative “year of vengeance” moves beyond literary qualities of narrative. With a move from anecdote to narrative, we must move from explaining Šalim-aḫum’s, or Pūšu-kēn’s, or Ilabrat-bāni’s, or any other Old Assyrian merchant sufficiently so documented, motivations that are archetypal to motivations consistent with the particular contexts we can recover. The year of vengeance crosses into narrative because that context for Šalim-aḫum’s, Pūšu-kēn’s, and Ilabrat-bāni’s decisions come from documentary sources that extend well beyond their own words, at times requiring us to recognize the limits of reading their language as recorded. The year of vengeance as a narrative account far exceeds an account that would come from one single letter. And only with the convergence of a sufficient amount of interwoven descriptions of the same developing situations can our capacity to translate the documents reach beyond a number of limitations that have been pointed out here. The range of voices which participate in the evidence for the year of vengeance forms one of the substantial dimensions of the substantive experience of the merchants themselves. Exchanging anecdote for narrative means to some extent that we also exchange the sense that the Old Assyrian texts are best viewed as evidence for structure, to a sense that the Old Assyrian documents evidence human action in time. Far more quintessential to the human experience than revenge is the experience of time. In fact, the real vengeance that plays out in the year of vengeance is not about Šalim-aḫum, nor Pūšu-kēn, nor the gods, nor even the biological agents of the plague; it is the vengeance that time itself takes on our understanding of the Old Assyrian trade. The narration of the year of vengeance

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exposes Old Assyrian commercial time in a way that likely will not occur otherwise, given the nature of the Old Assyrian sources. Just as historians are prisoners to their sources, the Old Assyrian merchants were prisoners to Old Assyrian commercial time. To improve our understanding of the Old Assyrian trade, and to transcend the limits of the anecdotal frame, we must begin to read the Old Assyrian documents more consistently as records of activity bound up in Old Assyrian commercial time. Old Assyrian commercial time was so deeply embedded in the lives of the merchants, that to expect their statements to reveal it to us as outsiders, without reading their documents from their own perspectives, is to flatten their world completely into language. This is to sublimate the material and temporal aspects of their world. To borrow from Riceour, narrative is the only form of explanation that at once partakes of both material time, the time we measure with clocks and calendars, and experienced time. While these forms of time are unbridgeable in abstract philosophy, narratives freely move through time to focus on one or another thing, but also always respect the physical flow of time. Riceour proposed that narrative is much more than plots, but draws on a world that we as humans already see infused with narrative qualities. With a world already represented by humans in this way as a first level of representation, the specific emplotment forms only the second level of representation in narrative. The third is how readers choose to interpret the narrative as meaningful of something. The interesting development in the year of vengeance is that instead of starting with an already concrete sense of time, as in many historical fields, we find the material constraints of Old Assyrian commercial time by interpreting the lived experience and narratives within the merchants’ letters, enabling us to build a bridge from lived time, expressed in their letters, to a more concrete sense of time. This connection to material time renders the tempos of Old Assyrian commercial time visible. In the year of vengeance, a range of seemingly discordant documents, once recognized as mutually contemporaneous, can be grasped together into a coherence. Riceour’s connection between time and narrative has been turned inside out, and yet remains intact. The lifeblood of each merchants’ commercial well-being pulsed at a rate that cannot really be detected by the beat of the annual chronology. Every Assyrian merchant was keenly attuned to a number of tempos: the tempo of the seasons and the calendar, of their credit transactions, of the transports, and of communication. Each winter brought snow-filled passes which slowed and then halted the trade. Each spring brought a flurry of activity amidst muddy conditions and still-cold alpine nights in the Taurus Mountains. Summers brought oppressive heat along the eastern half of the shipping route, and autumn heralded the looming approach of winter and pressure to squeeze the last sales and collec-

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tions before the snows descended. At the same time, merchants like Šalim-aḫum were bound by the metrics of cash flow of debts coming due and claims maturing. Most of these claims and debts flowed in months, sometimes weeks. Finally, every merchant depended on gaining timely information about sales made, price fluctuations, ornery debtors, and a range of contingencies in order to make sound decisions. Thus the speed at which the bulk goods travelled in caravans was important, but the tempo and flow of information was the lifeblood of any merchant who wanted to maintain tactical control of his operations across the distances of the trade. Finally, the exchange of anecdote for narrative, and structure for time, provoke one more exchange. With the year of vengeance we must exchange a sense that we can grasp Old Assyrian personalities for the sense that the Old Assyrian merchants are rather the earliest historical individuals in the human record. Some three decades ago, in the archival frame, it wasn’t possible, even when discussing a well-documented merchant like Imdī-ilum, “to provide a detailed portrait of him as a man, a clearly defined individual,” primarily because his letters rarely revealed a side of him other than his search for profit.⁵ Yet, the narrative frame inescapably engages in such judgments. Given the density of the evidence in the year of vengeance, we now have access to individuals without portraits. Also in the past, Šalim-aḫum has been described as “a nervous man.”⁶ And at the end of this work, to some extent this is still true, though in a different way than we have realized. The exchange of anecdote for narrative in the year of vengeance means that, ironically, we have to give up our sense of durable personalities. If his letters are understood as a random sample from his career, Šalimaḫum seems an angry, nervous, petty man. But as the year of vengeance reveals, the reasons for which we might think Šalim-aḫum pushy and controlling are nuanced by his stage in life, a failed attempt to procure gold, a difficult wedding, the disruption of supply, and a plague, all in addition to Ilabrat-bāni’s perturbing behavior. There is no way for us to know if Šalim-aḫum was typically cranky. And because most of the documents that witness his voice come from this year, a biography cannot be written for Šalim-aḫum. As much as we would like to say that we have a sense of the personalities of the Old Assyrian merchants, this is precisely the thing we do not have for Pūšu-kēn, Šalim-aḫum, and Ilabratbāni. What we have instead are several individuals acting under stress. One could say that this is to our advantage, that their true colors come out under

 Larsen 1982: 214.  Dercksen 1998: 220 – 24.

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the pressure of the year of vengeance. However, we would still require better evidence from the rest of their lives to balance their actions with the stress of the year of vengeance. This is not to dismiss evidence that some merchants were a pain to work with. Aššur-idī’s grandchildren seem to have judged him a thoroughly difficult man. But in the face of the collapse of a personality for Šalimaḫum, our confidence in characterizations of persons like Aššur-idī and others, are—to say the least—shaken. If not, we deny the impact that immediate circumstances had on the merchants themselves and the interactive relationship between those circumstances and the way they expressed themselves. This does not mean that all merchants are equally revealed. In the year of vengeance, Šalim-aḫum’s voice is clearly the strongest. His words make up much of the evidence on which we reconstruct the interaction between himself and Ilabrat-bāni. Pūšu-kēn’s voice is heard occasionally, but his actions are often perceived as though in a photographic negative, expressed through Šalimaḫum’s reactions. In Pūšu-kēn, we can glimpse an individual, though far more cryptic than fits his fame. Ilabrat-bāni’s voice is heard the least. The small number of his own words preserved during the year of vengeance are copied and contextualized by Šalim-aḫum. One of the paradoxes of the Old Assyrian evidence is that archive holders, persons like Pūšu-kēn or Aššur-rē’ī s. Pilaḫ-Ištar, often come through as far more passive than they might have otherwise been. This imbalance between letters received and sent is already well recognized, but in the year of vengeance, Pūšu-kēn begins to escape these confines. Even though these merchants and others are initially depicted in archetypal terms in the introduction of the book, each at least partially escapes the caricatures given there. Thus it is not too extreme to say that in the year of vengeance, Šalim-aḫum, Pūšu-kēn, Ilabrat-bāni, and in addition, Šū-Ḫubur, Lamassī, Tariš-mātum, and others come through as the earliest historical individuals in world history. Through narrative they are revealed to us as humans caught up in their environment, with voices revealing a significant dimension of their lived experience. They are fleshed out within specific circumstances, and come through as individuals who made particular decisions in a particular way. The least systemic, most capricious events of the year of vengeance, the disruption of the supply and the plague, were consequential. And it is precisely the manifold of constant and capricious, of complex and particular—evident only in narrative—that reveals Šalimaḫum, Pūšu-kēn, Ilabrat-bāni, and the others as historical individuals. Their intentions are portrayed by the actions they took, including the decisions to write what they did in the letters they sent. Šalim-aḫum and his co-sufferers of the year of vengeance made reasonable decisions and pursued rational strategies in response to specific circumstances during the year of vengeance in a way that transcends the anecdotal frame. Their motivations, inasmuch as we can as-

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cribe to them those motivations, are not archetypal but reasonable reactions to their own experiences. Considering the nature of the Old Assyrian sources, this is the best for which we can hope.

Appendix 1: Analytic Ledger of Šalim-aḫum’s Assets During the Year of Vengeance The analytic ledger of Šalim-aḫum’s assets is derived from the documents numbered and reviewed in this work. The ledger is separated into three tables. The first table (Table 2) covers all typical commercial traffic in tin and textiles, and the silver deriving from that traffic. The second table (Table 3) covers miscellaneous claims and goods including claims on gold. The third table (Table 4) collects silver received by Šalim-aḫum. While Table 4 is straightforward, the layout of Tables 2 and 3 require explanation. Both Tables 2 and 3 employ the same layout, with three vertical sections. These three sections represent the three basic stages of the tin and textile trade. The first vertical section tracks in two columns a) the shipment and transporter, and b) the goods in the transport respectively. The second vertical section tracks in three columns: a) shipping costs, b) customs duties, and c) remaining goods available for sale in Anatolia. The third vertical section tracks in six columns: a) lots of merchandise sold (sometimes from two different shipments), b) date sold, c) sale price, d) buyer, e) due date, and f) date collected. Table 3, on miscellaneous claims, follows this same layout, though most available information is limited to the third vertical section. Time periods for this appendix are broken into quarter-months. These dates are represented, as, for example, Apr1, Apr2, Apr3, Apr4, which represent the first, second, third, and fourth quarters of the Julian month of April. Table 4 tracks silver received, and is divided into two vertical sections. The first vertical section tracks in two columns a) shipment and transporter and b) total silver shipped. The second vertical section tracks in two sections a) shipping costs and duties, and b) silver received by Šalim-aḫum. All tables index (S)hipments sent to Anatolia (S01, S02, etc.), (L)ot of merchandise sold in Anatolia, (C)laims on silver arising from credit sales, or (P)ackets of silver sent back to Assur. These will be used in Appendix 2.

DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-021

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Appendix 2: Temporal Ledger of Šalim-aḫum’s Assets During REL 82 The temporal ledger here is derived from the analytic ledger in Appendix 1, with some simplifications in order to provide a double-entry bookkeeping approach to viewing the assets of Šalim-aḫum. This ledger only refers to Šalim-aḫum’s commercial assets reported in the commercial proceedings within the documents covered in this work managed by Pūšu-kēn. It does not include references to Šalim-aḫum’s assets that did not participate in the trade in Anatolia. For example, Šalim-aḫum’s payment of 10 minas silver for Pūšu-kēn’s house in Assur does not appear in this ledger, nor does Šalim-aḫum’s silver promised to his son Ennam-Aššur to remunerate him for the possible loss of silver from failing to follow up with the Anatolians. As in the analytic ledger in Appendix 1 the smallest unit of time recognized is the quarter-month. The temporal ledger is divided into three vertical sections representing Šalim-aḫum’s assets in three different palces: 1) in Assur, 2) on the road, and 3) in Anatolia. In the first vertical section, assets in Assur are represented in silver. Thus the departure of a shipment is recorded as a draw on Šalim-aḫum’s silver. Because Šalim-aḫum had no responsibility to report the prices and taxes he paid in Assur to his managerial agents in Anatolia, all these amounts must be estimated. The following table outlines the prices used. Table 5: Estimated Prices in Assur during REL 80 used in the Temporal Ledger

kutānum (k.) kutānum (k.) fine kutānum (k.) very fine šūrum (š.) tin/mina waṣītum tax/donkey harness & fodder/donkey hand-tin clothes, additions/transporter be’ulātum wages of driver

DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-022

Price silver (shekel)

(mina)

 .         .

. . . . . . . . . . .

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All textiles are valued as kutānum textiles unless otherwise identified. A be’ulātum is assumed as the default method of payment for shipments. The wage (igrum) for a driver (sāridum) is set to 12½ shekels of silver as taken from a range of documents referring to the trip between Assur and Kanesh. Amounts below 12½ shekels in other documents usually refer to situations where less than a full donkey-load has been entrusted to a merchant, a driver has been hired for only a portion of the journey, or some other special situation. The second vertical section tracks assets on the move in the caravans toward Anatolia. When goods were shipped from Assur, they enter the ledger as a debit to Šalim-aḫum’s account in silver in Assur, and then listed according to the merchandise shipped in the Caravan section. There are columns for tin, kutānum textiles (k.), šūrum textiles (š.), donkeys (ANŠE), silver (KB – for KÙ.BABBAR), and gold (KG – for KÙ.GI). Merchandise (tin, textiles, donkeys) listed in the Caravan section was travelling to Kanesh, while silver and gold was travelling to Assur. Merchandise listed in the Caravan section is not differentiated by individual transporter, though the shipments, listed by index number deriving from the analytic ledger, are noted in the Comments section for that line. Goods or silver or gold that are entered into the Caravan account remain there for the period of four quarter-months at which point the goods are represented to have reached Kanesh and sold on credit and now have become claims. The third vertical section tracks assets in Anatolia. As all evidence of Šalimaḫum’s business activities during REL 82 indicate that his goods were sold on credit, I assume that Šalim-aḫum’s goods were sold on credit even when much of the activity must be reconstructed. Šalim-aḫum’s goods are assumed to be sold immediately after they arrived in Kanesh, though this cannot always be confirmed. Claims remain in this column until it is known that they were collected and sent home. Because the documentation of what Šalim-aḫum received is more fragmentary than the record of how much he sent out, undoubtedly more claims remain credited to Šalim-aḫum in Kanesh but not yet collected in this ledger than was the case in REL 82.

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Appendix 3: Initial Analysis of Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive in relation to the Year of Vengeance and other periods. A

Documents from the Year of Vengeance:

1 From Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive (136) Adana 237 d ArOr 47, 42 – 43 ATHE 31 BIN 4: 8; 9; 10; 15; 22; 26; 38; 31; 32; 33; 61; 82; 221 BIN 6: 3; 7; 11; 24; 47; 56; 63; 79; 82; 87; 100; 102; 105; 113; 117; 221 CCT 1: 5b; 13a CCT 2: 1; 2; 3; 4b-5a; 36a; 36b-37a; 38; 41b CCT 3: 19b; 20; 21a; 21b; 22b-23a CCT 4: 4a; 5b; 9a; 15c; 21b; 25b; 34c CCT 5: 5a; 5b; 40b; 49e CCT 6: 11a; 30d; 47c EL 157 JCS 14: 1

KTH 19, KTS 1 21a, KTS 1 21b, KTS 1 23, KTS 1 24, KTS 1 25a, KTS 1 27b, KTS 1 29a, KTS 1 41a, KTS 1 42d, KTS 2 9, KTS 2 48, KTS 2 67, KUG 42, MDOG 102, 86 POAT 7; 19 Prag I: 426; 560; 571; 678; 679 RA 59: 23; 25; 28 RA 81: 4; 19 TC 1: 3; 6; 14; 28; 46 TC 2: 1; 2; 3; 4; 7; 8; 9; 10; 11; 14; 15; 21; 23 TC 3: 20; 22; 23; 25; 26; 27; 29; 34; 35; 44 TTC 5; 6 VS 26: 8; 10; 16; 17; 42; 47; 58; 59; 64; 65

2

From Ennam-Aššur s. Šalim-aḫum’s excavated archive (7)

AKT 3 66; 67; 71; 72; 73; 74; 78; 110.

B Documents suspected to be part of the year of vengeance though not incorporated into this volume: (65) AKT 3: 110 ATHE 32 BIN 4: 1; 20; 81; 85; 87; 222 BIN 6 55; 113; 156 CCT 3: 22a CCT 4: 32b; 35a CCT 5: 6b; 47b CCT 6: 20b; 20c; 26c KTS 1: 25b; 27a; 28 LB 1206; 1282 OIP 27: 62

OrNs 15, 396 Prag I: 472; 653; 676; RA 59: 24; 26; 27; 30 RA 81: 71 RSO 39, 185 f. TC 1: 17; 31; 55 TC 2: 5; 6; 12; 17 ; 23 TC 3: 21; 24; 30; 31; 36; 38; 39; 42; 106; 167; 210; 261 VS 26: 6; 9; 12; 24; 27; 55

Appendix 3

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C Documents confidently placed outside the year of vengeance (54) (Those with dates that exclude them have those dates listed in parentheses.) AnOr 6: 15; 21 (REL 97) ATHE 1 Envelope (REL 92); 2a/b (REL 93); 6 (tablet & envelope); 28 BIN 4: 18; 27 (REL 87) BIN 6: 150 (REL 82/84/85) CCT 1: 8c/CCT 6 1b (REL 97); 9a CCT 3: 36a CCT 4: 20a CCT 5: 9a; 18a/b (REL 102); 20b/d (REL 97); 20d; 43 (REL 98); 21c (REL 96 or 100); 26b; 27a; 33a CCT 6: 9a (REL 85/90/93); 20c (REL 80) CTMMA 1: 91 (REL 95)

D

ICK 1: 11a+18 Envelope; 11b Tablet; 124; 167; 192 ICK 2: 99 ICK 3: 46b KTH 20 (REL 94); 21 KTS 1: 57e (REL 85) KUG 17 Prag I: 431; 583 (REL 86); 651 SMEA 32: 4 (REL 93) TC 1: 30 TC 3: 29; 32; 186 (REL 85/89/or 94, by ḫamuštum); 231a Tablet; 233a/b (REL 96); 256 TMH 1: 14d; 15a Case TPAK 1: 203 VS 26: 119

Documents from the settlement of Pūšu-kēn’s estate after his death (75)

AKT 1: 11 AKT 2: 20 Ankara 1938 ARK. 166 – 9474 ATHE 13; 15; 21; 22; 23; 24; 33; 44 BIN 4: 21; 96; 105; 106 BIN 6: 8; 57; 59; 66; 68; 78 C 34 CCT 1: 9a; 17b; 49b CCT 2: 35 CCT 3 :12b; 41b-42a CCT 4: 31b CCT 5: 2b; 8a; 11d 21a; 22a; 25a; 26b CCT 6: 44 Contenaux 4 Dalley 11

Denver 1964.22.1 Derbi 4 2 L 14 Kt a/k 499b Kt n/k 94 KTH 7; 7ii; 33; 34; 49c KUG 13;14;15 OIP 27: 57 OrNS 50: 4 Prag I: 437; 606; 652; 680; 711; 744 RA 81: 83 Schmidt 2 TC 1: 21; 73; 77; 79 TC 2: 46; 48; 77 TC 3: 99; 199; 274 TPAK 1: 21; 114

364

Appendix 3

E Documents that cannot be confidently put in or out of the year of vengeance at this point (190) A 1; 2 AAA 1: 10 AKT 1: 28 ARK 197ATHE 29; 30; 32 BIN 4: 6; 7; 11; 12; 13; 14; 16; 17; 18; 19; 23; 25; 29; 30; 80; 90; 107; 139; 149 BIN 6: 14; 25; 34; 91; 94; 95; 98; 108; 112; 116; 148; 153; 169; 202; 204; 250 CCT 1: 13a; 13b; 15c; 16b; 17a; 20a; 35 CCT 2 28, CCT 2 34, CCT 2 35, CCT 2 44a, CCT 2 44b-45a, CCT 2 45b, CCT 2 47b, CCT 2 4a, CCT 2 5b, CCT 2 7, CCT 3: 9; 49b CCT 4: 6e; 11a; 12a; 16a; 23a; 27a; 29a; 40b41a; 42c; 49a; 50b CCT 5: 1a; 1c; 1d; 2a; 4a; 6a; 6b; 10a, 17c; 29c CCT 6 1a; 1c; 1d; 9b; 17c; 24a; 24c; 35a; 35b; 38c H.K. 1013 – 5542 ICK 1: 71; 84; 96; 171; 181; 187; 190 ICK 2: 85; 97; 112; 114; 123; 133 ICK 3: 21a; 21b JCS 14: 2; 4 JCS 41: 2

Kayseri 90 KTB 3; 11; 22a; 22b KTS 1: 22a; 22b; 26a; 26b; 29b; 20; 43c KTS 2: 12 KUG 18; 39; 40; 50 LB 1229 Liège PUL 100 Prag I: 430; 471; 484; 520; 545; 577; 590; 606; 608; 647; 671; 682; 734; 762; 836 RA 59: 29 RA 81: 1; 18; 36; 34; 84 Rendell TC 1: 7; 16; 49 TC 2: 13; 16; 18; 19; 20; 22; 24; 72; 78 TC 3: 28; 33; 34; 37; 40; 41; 57; 187; 190; 192; 276 TMH 1: 25 f TTC 24 VS 26: 18; 26; 28; 29; 43; 46; 48; 52; 67; 71; 73 Note: Some documents could be considered part of Pūšu-kēn’s archive or another: BIN: 6 34 (Imdī-ilum), BIN 6: 91 (Innāya). Other documents are liminal: BIN 4: 139.

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List of Figures 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19.

Visual correlation between Old Assyrian calendar in REL 82 and Julian calendar in 1891 BC Development of Šalim-aḫum’s sales from Nūr-Ištar’s caravan in REL 82 Seal of Ilabrat-bani s. Aššur-mālik Development of Šalim-aḫum’s deal with Ilabrat-bāni in REL 82 Seal of Pūšu-kēn s. Sueyya Development of Šalim-aḫum’s interaction with Puzur-Ištar in REL 82 Development of Dān-Aššur’s travels in REL 82 Development of Ilabrat-bāni’s involvement with Šalim-aḫum in the second half of REL 82 Map of routes from Assur through Jezireh toward Anatolia Seal of Ennam-Aššur s. Šalim-aḫum Development of Ennam-Aššur’s travels in REL 82 Families of Šū-Ḫubur, Pūšu-kēn, and Šalim-aḫum with reconstructed ages during REL 82 Seal of Šū-Ḫubur Development of the joint venture between Šalim-aḫum and Pūšu-kēn in REL 82 Seal of Aššur-rē’ī Breakdown of documents from Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive during his lifetime and also including the settlement of his estate after his death Temporal distribution of documents in Pūšu-kēn’s reconstructed archive Distribution of dated references according to Barjamovic, Hertel, Larsen 2012 Seal of Waqqurtum d. Pūšu-kēn

DOI 10.1515/9781501507120-024

Keyword Index anecdote or anecdotal (see frame (of reference)) archive 7 f., 11, 13, 18, 21, 60, 104, 133, 141, 161, 196, 206, 264, 266, 272, 297 f., 300 – 303, 316 – 331, 336, 338, 344, 384 calendar 13, 42, 44, 45, 47, 53, 342 – Amorite 131 – Assyrian calendar 37 – 39, 41, 43 – 46, 48, 50 f., 54, 278 n. 18, 337 – Assyrian months – allanātum 45 – kuzalli 42, 45, 121 and n. 19 – narmak Aššur ša kēnātim 41, 45 f., 48, 50, 55 f., 112, 264 n. 54 – intercalary month 45, 269 – Julian calendar 39, 42 f., 48, 50, 53 f., 57, 139, 337, 346 – lunar 44 n. 10 – lunisolar 44 and n. 10, 48 – February 55, 66 – March 43, 50, 52, 55, 65, 86 – early March (1st–10th) 112 – mid-March (11th–20th) 269 – late March (21st–31st) 56, 114 – April 11, 14, 56, 67, 83, 121, 183, 275, 346 – early April (1st–10th) 38 – 40, 49 f., 53, 56 – 57, 66 f., 70 f., 76, 96, 114, 121, 254 n. 14 – mid-April (11th–20th) 53, 57, 71, 73, 77, 84, 112, 269, 281 – late April (21st–30th) 3, 5, 39 – 43, 50, 53, 57 – 58, 76, 114, 177, 281, 283 – May 83, 114, 147, 200, 229, 250 – 251, 257 fn. 25, 264, 266 – 268, 270, 293 fn. 15 – early May (1st–10th) 5, 114, 184, 199, 222 – mid-May (11th–20th) 74, 86, 96 f., 100 – 102, 104, 149, 184, 190, 217, 222, 251, 289 – late May (21st–31st) 76, 86, 93, 97, 104, 162 f., 244, 268

– June 11, 117, 182, 222, 225, 248, 250, 258, 273, 276, 293 and n. 15, 337 – early June (1st–10th) 68, 84, 112, 115, 131, 164, 184, 186 – mid-June (11th–20th) 55 fn. 48, 71, 73, 76, 114, 145, 184, 294 and n. 16 – late June (21st–30th) 5, 52, 57, 84, 186, 243 – July 114, 219, 222, 265, 265 and n. 55, 273, 275, 281, 293 – early July (1st–10th) 55 n. 48 – mid-July (11th–20th) 71, 97, 111, 114, 187, 217, 222, 254, 265 and n. 55 – late July (21st–31st) 71, 112, 190, 201 – August 11, 52, 67, 107, 114, 229, 239, 246, 259, 269, 282 – early August (1st–10th) 52, 55 fn. 48, 57, 63, 112, 114 f., 145, 190, 201, 214 fn. 58, 217, 238, 241, 243, 255, 281, 289 – mid-August (11th–20th) 84, 231, 255, 281 – late August (21st–31st) 5, 112 – September 73, 111, 191 f., 229, 233 n. 26, 237 – 240, 250 – early September (1st–10th) 71, 112 f., 117, 123, 149, 182, 190, 203, 211, 219, 228, 238 and n. 49, 240, 244, 280 f. – mid-September (11th–20th) 71, 119, 124, 223, 231, 234 f. – late September (21st–30th) 14, 119, 121 f., 202 and n. 14, 204, 222, 281, 293 – October 56, 209, 213, 229, 240 – early October (1st–10th) 7 , 73, 111, 123, 149, 204, 223, 234, 242, 244, 278 n. 18, 280 – mid-October (11th–20th) 57, 66, 122 f., 278 – late October (21st–31st) 121 and n. 19, 122, 124 – November – early November (1st–10th) 55 n. 48, 71, 73, 121 f., 149, 236 – mid-November (11th–20th) 55 n. 48, 121 – late November (21st–30th) 55 n. 48, 122, 124, 237

386

Keyword Index

– December 269 – early December (1st–10th) 37, 49, 74, 121 f., 124 caravan 4, 6, 12, 14, 23 – 25, 30 – 33, 41 f., 49 – 51, 53, 55 – 61, 63 – 77, 81 f., 84, 86 f., 90, 96 f., 100 – 103, 106, 111 f., 114 f., 118, 121 – 124, 131 – 140, 145, 147 – 150, 152 – 157, 159 – 162, 165 f., 168 f., 184, 186 f., 218, 221 f., 229, 234 f., 239, 242 f., 248 f., 252 – 254, 257 f., 262, 268, 271, 291 – 294, 296 f., 300, 306 – 309, 314, 321 f., 337, 339, 343, 356, 384 – bulk travel 21, 166 – cycle 60, 65 – Mongolian 160 chronology 11, 19, 21, 25, 33, 41 f., 50 – 52, 60, 71, 73, 124, 323, 336, 342 – absolute chronology 42 f., 47, 49 f., 57 – Lower Middle Chronology (LMC) 42 f., 51 – 53, 337 – Middle Chronology 42 and n. 6, 43, 50 f. – Upper Middle Chronology (UMC) 43, 51 – 53, 55, 57, 337 climate 48 – 50, 53, 55, 121 communication 13, 18, 21, 45, 63, 99, 150, 154, 162 – 167, 169, 173, 176, 178, 207, 225, 254, 310, 320, 335, 338, 342 contract 12, 32 f., 47, 53, 87 – 95, 99 f., 163, 165, 176, 209, 244, 250, 260, 269, 304, 319, 323, 336, 339 – ša ḫarrān ālim 87, 90 – 92 credit 5 f., 13, 28, 30, 32 f., 41, 47 – 50, 53, 55 – 57, 61, 64, 66, 68 – 71, 73 f., 76, 78, 80, 82, 84, 94 f., 99, 107, 110 – 115, 117, 120 f., 164 f., 174, 178, 195, 208, 215, 253 f., 258, 268 f., 275, 281, 284, 294, 298, 304, 342, 346, 356 – claim 7, 11 f., 41, 63, 67 – 71, 73, 76, 93 – 95, 110 – 112, 114 f., 123 f., 132, 141, 157, 174, 186, 203, 213, 219, 221, 226, 230, 234, 236, 243, 247, 252, 256 f., 265, 267, 271, 277 f., 292 f., 298, 321, 326, 329 f., 343, 346, 356 – long-term 30, 67, 69 – 71, 74, 266 f. – short-term 66 – 71, 73 f., 107, 110, 190, 266, 294

demographics 21, 191, 274 demons (see also eṭammū and utukkū) 94, 97, 251, 273, 277, 337, 340 discordant concordance 11, 18 disruption of trade 215 f., 229, 236, 239, 248, 274, 337 donkeys 6, 23 f., 31 f., 48 f., 62, 66, 102 f., 107, 110, 118, 131 f., 134, 141, 148, 152 – 156, 161 f., 164, 169, 171 f., 174 – 176, 184, 204, 232, 234, 236, 248, 258, 291 f., 295 – 297, 299, 305 – 309, 311, 314, 356 eclipse 43, 51 – 53, 337 exports 44, 291 f., 294 f., 300, 303, 310, 312, 314 family and family relationships 31 n. 27, 94, 96, 121 n. 16, 190 f., 196 and n. 34, 197, 215 f., 261, 289, 328, 329 and n. 25 frame (of reference) 7 f., 13, 17, 21, 62 f., 84, 197, 285, 315, 326, 339 f., 343 – anecdote 7 – 11, 16 f., 19, 60, 124, 151, 196, 274, 336, 339, 341, 343 – anecdotal frame 17, 20, 73, 75, 124, 148, 151, 176, 247, 263, 266, 268 – 270, 272, 285, 297, 314, 319, 326, 329 f., 335 – 338, 340, 342, 344 – archival 12 f., 290 f., 315, 316 and n. 1, 326, 329 n. 26, 330, 338, 343 – grammatical 62, 75, 81 f., 89, 120, 270, 272, 335 f. – narrative 7 – 9, 11 – 13, 16 – 25, 33, 42 f., 55, 57, 67, 96, 101, 114, 132, 151, 163, 175, 177 f., 193, 197, 229, 270, 274, 284 – 286, 316 f., 325, 330, 335 – 344 – philological 21, 80, 84, 270, 330, 335 – structuralist 12 – 14, 17, 20, 24, 75, 146, 339 – structure 10, 13, 22 – 24, 33, 150, 155, 196, 201, 216, 267, 285, 329 f., 339, 341, 343 Geniza trade

339

hiatus 12, 49, 101 – 103, 106, 131 – 135, 139 – 147, 166, 197, 337

Keyword Index

historical individual 9, 11, 22, 339, 343 f. historical turn (cf. linguistic turn) 8, 12 f., 285, 335 Hittite 12, 77 horizon 52, 163, 176 – 178, 195 house 15, 18, 104, 143, 159, 171, 183, 195 – 206, 211, 214, 216, 218, 224, 226, 228, 231, 233, 235, 239 – 242, 244 f., 251, 254 f., 257, 261 – 264, 266, 270 – 272, 275 – 277, 280, 298, 321 f., 325, 328 house of our father 196 houses 33, 160, 164, 198 – 206, 209 f., 212, 216, 227 f., 244 f., 251, 278, 328 f., 337, 339 illness

108, 114, 118, 124, 250 f.

joint-stock fund 5, 30, 95, 106, 145, 186, 192, 194 – 196, 198, 209, 211, 213 – 216, 241, 255, 262 – 264, 266, 278, 298 f., 303, 305, 314, 323 KEL G

51

language 12 – 16, 18 – 21, 42, 48, 57 – 60, 63 – 65, 75, 84, 120, 134, 150, 175, 336, 341 f. linguistic turn (cf. historical turn) 12 lower land 248 f. manuals 153, 155 material 10, 12 f., 16 f., 19 f., 24, 42 f., 65, 68, 89, 95, 103, 125, 197, 236, 238, 285, 296, 338 – 340, 342 materio-temporal fact 20, 285 meteoric iron 29, 133, 233, 235 f. microhistorical 62, 338 mining 311 – 313 Mitterberg mine 313 months (see chronology) new year

44 – 46, 53, 124, 268

Oxus Civilization

312

Persian 155, 160 personalities 10, 17, 339, 343

387

personality 9, 17, 149, 344 philological (see frame (of reference)) plague 9, 19, 21, 216, 227, 250 – 253, 262 – 265, 270 – 274, 279 f., 282, 321, 325, 336 f., 341, 343 f. regime of communication (cf. tempo) 99, 118, 122, 172, 176, 178 REL 45, 47, 51 – 53, 55, 133, 194 f., 214, 247, 265 – 270, 272 f., 304, 320, 323 f., 327, 336 f., 355 REL 82 8, 21, 43, 45, 50 f., 53 – 55, 72, 85, 98 f., 101, 116, 135, 150, 188 f., 194, 220, 242, 245, 264, 266 – 270, 272 f., 304, 324, 356, 384 reputation 154, 218, 221, 224, 245 revenge (cf. vengeance) 3, 7, 9, 11, 16 f., 19 – 24, 60, 87, 124, 198, 251, 273 f., 280, 284, 340 f. seizure 75, 110, 112, 114, 120, 124, 283 f., 341 shame 142, 164, 218, 224, 249, 217 f., 224, 249, 294 shipping season 19, 23, 57, 65 f., 70, 101, 114, 123, 145, 148 f., 168, 175, 178, 246, 294 tempo – communication 57, 114, 147, 163 f., 172, 175 – 177, 254, 314, 319 – transport 73, 75, 147 f., 151, 163 f., 169, 177 f. textiles (for Akkadian names, see Akkadian word index) – production 27, 239, 310 – styles 28 time 5, 7 – 14, 17 – 21, 23, 26, 28, 32 f., 42, 44 – 49, 52, 55 – 60, 63 – 71, 73 f., 77, 79, 82, 87 f., 94 – 97, 99 – 101, 104, 108, 111 – 115, 117 f., 120 – 124, 131 f., 136 – 140, 143, 145 f., 148 f., 153 – 155, 158, 160, 162 f., 165 – 167, 169, 171 – 175, 177 f., 184 f., 187, 190, 193 – 199, 201 – 203, 205 f., 209, 211, 214 f., 217 – 219, 221 – 223, 225 – 229, 231 – 233, 235, 237 – 240, 242 f., 247 – 249, 251, 253 f.,

388

Keyword Index

256 – 258, 261 f., 265 f., 268 – 272, 274 f., 277 – 279, 281 – 285, 293, 295, 297 – 299, 302, 304, 307 – 309, 311 – 313, 316, 321, 324 f., 327 – 330, 335 f., 341 – 343, 346 – commercial time 8, 11, 13, 20 f., 42 f., 48, 56 f., 125, 150, 163, 274, 284, 314, 316, 335, 339, 342 – flow of time 20, 38, 49, 181, 270, 342 – material time 19, 284, 342 – phenomonological time 181 – time and narrative 8, 37 treaty 12, 31, 90, 291 f., 305 – 309

204 – 207, 209, 214 – 217, 226, 229, 244 f., 247 f., 251, 253, 257, 263, 265 f., 268, 270, 272 – 274, 280 – 286, 291 – 296, 298 f., 301, 303, 305 f., 314, 316 – 321, 323 – 331, 335, 338 – 344, 346 Venus tablets 42, 50 f. volume (of trade) 8, 11, 18, 20 f., 28, 175, 218, 226, 291 f., 294 – 297, 299, 302 – 314, 317, 320, 322, 335 – 338 votive – fund 5, 22, 78 f., 86 – 91, 94, 121, 146, 241, 248 f., 254, 256, 277 – 279, 282 – offering

Ur III

winter (see also nabrītum) 20, 43, 45 f., 48 f., 56, 69 – 71, 73, 84, 101, 106, 112, 114, 121, 124, 131 – 133, 135, 137, 140 – 143, 145, 147, 149 f., 219, 243, 264, 275, 342

25, 131, 169, 247, 310, 323

vengeance (cf. revenge) 7 – 9, 11, 16 – 22, 33, 41 – 43, 45, 47 – 49, 51, 53, 56 f., 60, 74 f., 95, 106, 120, 124, 131 – 133, 145 – 151, 162 – 165, 177 f., 183, 190 – 198,

Selective Index of Personal and Divine Names Aḫ-marši 298 Aḫ-šalim 61 n. 11, 68 n. 31 Aḫaḫa 99 n. 41, 214 and n. 59, 215 f., 242 n. 68, 245, 302 n. 59 Aḫātum 257 n. 27 Aba 304n. 65, 321 n. 12, 322 Abela 15 n. 32, 91 n. 20, 104, 105 and n. 20 Abī-sarē 247 Abu-šalim 95 n. 31, 205 n. 26 Abum-ilī 202 n. 15, 203 and n. 16 and 18, 214, 228 n. 4, 240 n. 57, 268 n. 69, 304 n. 65, 321 n. 12 Adada 230 n. 11 and 13 Adad-bāni 242 and n. 67, 257 n. 25, 261 n. 43, 262 n. 46 Adad-rabi 194 n. 30, 304 n. 66 Adudu 167, 216 n. 64 Agua 96, 102, 106 f., 159 n. 44, 186 n. 14, 194 n. 30, 239 and n. 52 and 53, 293, 304 n. 65 and 66 Akūtiya 268 n. 68 Al-ṭāb 96 n. 36, 267, 299 n. 45 Al-abum 159 n. 44 Āl-bēlī 234 n. 33 Āl-ilī 104, 105 and n. 20, 106 n. 20, 263 n. 49, 299 and n. 45 and 46, 302, 314 Alama 278 Ali-abum 95 n. 31, 303, 304 n. 65 Ali-aḫum 11 n. 24, 80 n. 13, 83 n. 24, 133 f., 139 f., 142, 168 and n. 23, 173 n. 39, 260 and n. 41, 261, 262 n. 46, 275 f., 297, 301 n. 58, 303, 304 n. 65 and 66, 323 Aluwa 134, 136 and n. 20 and 21, 137 – 140, 167 Amur-Aššur 80 and n. 13, 95 n. 32, 293, 301 n. 57 and 58, 304 n. 65 Amur-ilī 160, 299 n. 45, 303 Amur-Ištar 69 n. 33, 143, 144 and n. 47, 145, 233, 264 n. 54, 268 n. 70, 299 n. 45, 304 n. 65 Amur-Šamaš 258 and n. 29, 304 n. 65, 321 n. 12 Amurrum-bāni 61 n. 11, 63, 299 n. 45, 304 n. 65

Anaḫ-ilī 304 n. 65, 321 n. 12 Anali 299 n. 45 Anna (god) 246 n. 88 Annina 138 n. 32 Annīnum 264 n. 52, 317 n. 4 Aššur (god) 45, 90 n. 16, 184 f., 208 n. 36, 210, 214 and n. 57, 215 f., 239 n. 52, 240 n. 58, 245 n. 80, 246 n. 88, 253 n. 8, 256 n. 21 Aššur-ṭāb 192 n. 28, 205 and n. 27, 219 n. 7, 221 and n. 11, 237 n. 43, 299 n. 45, 301 n. 58, 304 n. 65, 321 n. 12, 327 n. 22 Aššur-bāni 198 – 201, 202 n. 13, 206, 213 n. 54, 214 n. 55, 228, 268, 303, 318, 319 n. 9, 321 f. Aššur-bēl-awātim 265 n. 55, 269 n. 76, 297, 299 n. 45, 304 n. 65, 321 n. 12 Aššur-dān 269 n. 74, 304 n. 65, 321 n. 12 Aššur-emūqī 152, 264 n. 52 and 53 Aššur-idī 10, 149 f., 166, 209 n. 38, 223 n. 23, 224, 242 and n. 66, 275 and n. 5, 293, 304 n. 65, 344 Aššur-imittī 99 n. 41, 143, 198, 201, 202 n. 12 – 15, 205, 207 and n. 30, 208 and n. 34 and 37, 209 n. 37, 212, 229 n. 6, 244 n. 74, 251 and n. 1, 254, 256, 257 and n. 25 and 28, 260, 261 and n. 43, 262 n. 46, 263 and n. 49, 264 f., 271, 276 n. 7, 277 and n. 12, 278 n. 21, 299 n. 45, 301 – 304, 314, 317 f. Aššur-lamassī 167 Aššur-mālik 77 – 80, 87 f., 94 – 96, 103, 121, 187, 191, 198, 200, 205, 212, 228 f., 240, 243 – 245, 248, 250, 252, 258 f., 262, 271, 273 – 278, 280 f., 283, 293 f., 301 – 303, 304 n. 65, 314, 317 f. Aššur-massui 204 Aššur-mutabbil 61 and n. 11 and 13 – 14 f., 62, 65, 95 n. 31, 111 and n. 50, 143, 204, 205 n. 24 Aššur-nādā 8 n. 15, 10, 111 n. 51, 142 f., 148 n. 1 – 2, 149, 151, 159 and n. 44, 166,

390

Selective Index of Personal and Divine Names

168, 196 n. 34, 204, 212, 221 n. 12, 224, 267, 293, 301 n. 58, 304 n. 65 Aššur-rabi 257 n. 28, 302 Aššur-rē’ī 90 n. 18, 95, 246, 252 f., 256 n. 22, 257 n. 25, 262 n. 46, 263, 264 and n. 54, 265, 266 and n. 57, 267, 268 and n. 68 and 70, 269, 270 – 272, 273 n. 85, 292, 298, 301 and n. 57, 302, 303, 304 and n. 66, 305, 321 and n. 12, 322, 323 n. 15, 324 f., 328, 336 f., 344 Aššur-rē’um 201, 204 n. 23, 228 n. 4 Aššur-šadū’ē 260 n. 39 Aššur-šamšī 63 n. 17, 68 and n. 29, 69 n. 33, 105 n. 20, 211, 214 n. 55, 228 n. 2, 252 n. 4, 293 Aššur-taklāku 68 n. 28, 95 n. 31, 142, 166, 168, 293, 303 Aššur-ṣulūlī 262 n. 46 Aššuriš-tikal 15 n. 32, 103, 104, 105 and n. 20 Attaya 203 n. 18, 240 n. 57, 299 n. 45, 304 n. 65 Aḫu-waqar 203, 204 n. 20, 229, 231 f., 233 and n. 26 – 27, 235 n. 34, 238 and n. 49 – 50, 240, 241 n. 59 Azuza 78 and n. 6, 79 n. 11, 121 n. 20, 267, 304 n. 65, 321 n. 12 Bāya 270 Baziya 271 Bēlātum 94 and n. 29, 275, 276 and n. 7, 277 and n. 11 – 12 and 14, 278 n. 21, 280, 302 n. 59, 317, 319 n. 9 Bēlum (god) 241 n. 60 Buburānum 143, 205 Būr-Sîn 247 Buzāzu 191 f., 194, 200, 317 n. 3 Buzua 264 n. 50, 271 Buzutaya 99 n. 41, 194 n. 30, 237, 262 n. 46 Buzuzu 244 n. 75, 321 n. 12 Dada 301 n. 57, 304 n. 65 Dadānum 221 n. 11 Dadiya 321 f. Dalaš 204, 237 n. 43

Damiq-pī-Aššur 132 f., 134 n. 15, 135, 136 and n. 18 and 22, 137, 138 and n. 30, 139 and n. 34, 140, 145 – 147 Dān-Aššur 6, 38 f., 68 and n. 32, 70 f., 73 – 76, 80 and n. 12 and 14, 83 and n. 24, 84 n. 27, 96, 97 n. 39, 100 f., 102 and n. 2, 103 and n. 6 and 8 and 11, 104 and n. 13 – 15, 105 and n. 20, 106, 107 and n. 29 – 30, 108, 110 and n. 38, 111 and n. 49, 112, 113 and n. 1, 114 f., 117, 118 and n. 11, 119, 121, 123 n. 21 – 22, 124, 131, 145 and n. 49, 146 n. 51, 147, 148 n. 2, 149 – 152, 162 f., 165 f., 182 f., 184 and n. 7, 185, and 186 n. 11 – 12, 190 f., 192 and n. 26, 194, 196 f., 204 n. 20, 214 n. 58, 217, 218 and n. 3, 219 n. 6, 221 and n. 9 – 10 and 14, 222 and n. 16, 223 and n. 22, 224 and n. 28, 226, 228, 229 and n. 5, 231 and n. 18, 233 n. 26, 235, 236 n. 39, 238 n. 49, 240, 241 and n. 59 – 60, 243, 245, 248 and n. 93, 249 and n. 94 – 95, 251, 252 n. 2, 255, 259 n. 37, 273, 282, 286, 293, 294 and n. 16, 303, 314, 317, 337 Danaya 304 n. 64 Duḫniš 303, 304 n. 65 Ea-šar 110, 229, 230 n. 11, 234 n. 31, 235 and n. 37, 238 and n. 49 – 50, 240, 241 n. 59, 245 n. 77 Ela 211 and n. 44, 239 Elāli 268, 304 n. 65 – 66 Elamma 27, 142 f., 297, 303 Eli 143 f. Eništārum 136 and n. 22, 137 n. 23, 138 and n. 32, 139 f. Enlil-bāni 95 n. 32, 257 n. 28, 299 n. 45 Enna-Suen 110 n. 39, 143 f., 241 n. 63, 271, 304 n. 65, 321 n. 12 Ennam-Aššur 6 n. 12, 8, 11 n. 24, 15 n. 32, 18, 68 n. 28 – 29, 71, 74, 88 n. 8, 101, 104 n. 14, 105 n. 20, 112 f., 119 and n. 12, 122 – 124, 133, 134 and n. 15, 135, 136 and n. 22, 137 – 140, 145 and n. 49, 149, 152 and n. 12, 182 f., 184 and n. 5, 185, 186 and n. 11 – 12, 187 and n. 15 and 19, 188, 190 and n. 22 – 23, 191 –

Selective Index of Personal and Divine Names

193, 194 and n. 30, 195 – 200, 206, 210, 216 f., 222, 223 n. 20, 225 and n. 32, 229, 231, 236 and n. 41, 251 and n. 1, 259 n. 36, 265 and n. 54, 267, 273, 276 n. 7, 281, 286, 289, 293, 294 n. 16, 301 n. 58, 303 n. 65 – 66, 304 n. 65 – 66 314, 317 and n. 4, 322 f., 337, 355, 362 Ennānum 41, 45 f., 50, 68 n. 28, 143, 194, 199, 201 n. 9 – 10, 202 n. 13, 204 n. 23, 228 n. 4, 244 and n. 74, 246 n. 85, 257 n. 25 and 28, 258 n. 30, 263 n. 48, 267, 299 n. 45, 304 n. 65, 321 n. 12, 322 Ennum-Aššur 304 n. 65 Ennum-Bēlum 99 n. 41, 237 Ennum-ilī 304 n. 66 Erra-iddin 61 n. 11, 63, 69 n. 33, 103, 294 n. 15 Gamadu

304 n. 65

Hammurabi 14, 16, 22, 51, 173, 247 Ḫannānum 142 Ḫanu 103 and n. 11, 146 and n. 50 Ḫanunum 254 n. 15, 256 Ḫartu 236 and n. 41 Ḫazu 160 Ḫinnaya 67, 69 n. 33, 143 f., 215, 235 n. 36, 278 n. 21, 280 n. 23, 293, 314 Ḫuraṣānum 80 and n. 13, 91 n. 22, 97 and n. 40, 103, 202 n. 14, 293 and n. 15 Ibbī-Sua 241 n. 59 Ibbī-Suen 229 Ibni-ilī 63 n. 17, 105 n. 20, 270 Iddin-Suen 142, 194 n. 30 Iddinaya 265 n. 54 Idī-abum 271, 304 n. 64 Idī-Aššur 46, 95 n. 32, 96 n. 36, 33, 235 n. 38, 261 n. 43, 262 n. 46, 264 n. 54, 268 n. 69, 304 n. 66 Iddin-Aššur 46, 94 n. 32 Idī-Ištar 95 n. 32, 148 and n. 1, 151, 275 Idī-Šamaš 252 and n. 2, 303 Idī-Suen 192 and n. 26, 218 and n. 3, 229, 239 f., 241 n. 59, 264 n. 50, 293, 294 n. 16 303, 304 n. 65 – 66 Idia 304 n. 66

391

Idida 321 n. 12 Idnāya 105 n. 20, 134, 194 n. 30, 304 n. 65 – 66 Ikūn-pīya 49 n. 29, 142, 154 n. 21, 203 n. 18, 229, 240 and n. 57, 241 n. 59, 254 n. 15, 256, 261, 263 n. 49, 304 n. 65 Ikūnum 164 f., 194 n. 30, 241 and n. 64, 252 f. 254 n. 14 – 15, 255 and n. 17 and 19 – 20, 256 and n. 21 and 23 – 24, 257 and n. 25, 259 and 38, 260 n. 40, 264 n. 53, 265 n. 55, 270, 299 n. 45, 301 n. 58, 303, 304 n. 65 – 66, 321 n. 12 Ikuppi-Aššur 230 n. 11 and 13, 239 n. 52, 261 n. 43, 262 n. 46 Il-bāni 237 n. 43, 256 n. 23, 261 and n. 42 Ilabrat (god) 185 Ilabrat-bāni 3, 4 n. 4, 5 and n. 8, 6 n. 12, 7 n. 14, 8 f., 13, 14 n. 30, 15 n. 32, 16, 17 and n. 36, 19 – 22, 38 f., 41, 43, 46 – 50, 53, 55, 58, 59 n. 5 and 8, 61 and n. 14, 62, 64 – 66, 68 n. 32, 70 f., 74 – 77, 78 and n. 9, 79 – 82, 83 n. 24, 84 n. 27, 85, 86 n. 2, 87, 88, 95 n. 32, 97, 99 n. 41, 100 f., 104 – 108, 110, 112 – 116, 117 n. 7, 118 n. 11, 119 f., 121 and n. 16, 122 n. 20, 123 n. 21, 124, 129, 147, 149, 153, 163, 176 f., 181 – 183, 187 n. 15, 190 – 196, 198 f., 215 – 217, 219, 223, 225 f., 229, 231, 249 and n. 95, 251, 269, 273 – 275, 280 – 284, 286, 289 – 291, 293, 294 n. 15, 298, 303, 304 n. 66, 314, 335 – 337, 339 – 341, 343 f. Ilī-ālum 58, 60, 63 – 66, 70, 76 f., 88 and n. 6, 111, 142, 166, 221 and n. 10, 260 n. 40 Ilī-ašranni 4 n. 4, 58, 64 and n. 20, 65 – 67, 70, 75, 76 n. 3, 77, 79, 82, 88 and n. 9, 96 and n. 37, 97, 114, 121, 134, 162, 183, 253 n. 13, 254 n. 14, 292, 303, 314 Ilī-bāni 99 n. 41, 159 n. 44, 211 n. 46, 231, 234, 237 and n. 42 – 43, 241, 242 n. 68 – 69, 278, 299 n. 45, 301 n. 57 – 58, 304 n. 65, 321 n. 12 Ilī-mālik 200 and n. 5 – 6, 231, 232 and n. 22, 233 and n. 31, 234 and n. 34, 245 n. 79 Ilī-mīšar 304 n. 65

392

Selective Index of Personal and Divine Names

Ilī-mutabbil 242 and n. 25, 67 Ilī-nādā 271 Ilī-tūram 134, 137 and n. 25, 138 Iliš-tikal 110 and n. 39, 141, 246 and n. 84 – 85, 257 n. 28, 263 n. 48, 271, 304 n. 65 Iliya 302 n. 60 Ilu-šumma 25 and n. 5 Imdī-ilum 10, 31 n. 27, 33, 80 n. 13, 91 n. 20 and 22, 143, 144 and n. 47, 145 and n. 48, 196 n. 34, 205 f., 208, 209 n. 37, 256, 258, 261 n. 43, 262 n. 46, 263 n. 49, 303, 314, 329 n. 25, 343 Imgua 230 and n. 12 – 13, 234 n. 33, 278 n. 21 Imlikaya 263 n. 49, 304 n. 66 Innaya 49 n. 29, 186, 187 and n. 16, 246 n. 83, 262 n. 46, 303, 304 n. 65, 364 Irišum 25 Irma-Aššur 258 and n. 30, 259 Išar-bēlī 278 n. 15 – 16 Išar-kitt-Aššur 304 n. 65 Išdu-kēn 304 n. 66 Issu-arik 204 and n. 21, 303, 321 – 323 Ištar-lamassī 302 n. 59, 304 n. 66 Itūr-ilī 239 n. 52, 264 n. 53 Kašlum 242 and n. 67 Kudadi 205 n. 27 Kuṣia 248 n. 93, 249 n. 94 Kula 266 Kuliya 303 Kulumaya 102, 141, 192 n. 26, 204 n. 22, 218 and n. 3, 229, 234 n. 32 – 33, 238 n. 49, 239 and n. 51, 240, 245 n. 80, 293, 299 n. 47 Kunania 204 Kurara 235 n. 37, 304 n. 66 Kurub-Ištar 61 n. 11, 70, 111, 142, 194 n. 30, 221 and n. 10, 257 n. 27, 260 n. 41, 263 n. 49, 304 n. 66 Kuzari 223 and n. 21 and 23, 224 and n. 28, 293 Kuziziya 204 n. 21, 304 n. 65 Kuzkuzum 239 n. 52 Kuzuziya 242 n. 69

Lā-qēpum 58, 59 n. 8, 60 and n. 10, 63 and n. 17, 64 – 68, 69 and n. 33, 70 f., 76 f., 78 n. 9, 102, 105 n. 20, 192 and n. 27 – 28, 193, 194, 208, 214 n. 55, 257 n. 27, 303, 304 n. 65, 314 Lālum 69, 251, 253, 257 and n. 27 – 28, 258 and n. 29 – 30 and 32, 259 and n. 35 and 38, 260 and n. 39 – 40, 264 and n. 52, 269 f., 303, 304 n. 65, 321 n. 12, 337 Lamadi-Ištar 260 n. 39 Lamassī 99 n. 41, 167, 199 f., 202 n. 13, 203 and n 18, 205, 214 and n. 58, 215, 229, 237 – 242, 244, 245 and n. 77 and 80 – 81, 246 and n. 88, 247, 250, 285, 302 n. 59, 317, 318 n. 5, 344 Libbaya 267, 303, 304 n. 65 Litpānum 260 n. 39 Lulu 63, 111 and n. 51, 219 and n. 6, 221 n. 9 and 12, 295 and n. 26, 303 Matāti 205 Mešar-rabi 212 Nāb-Suen 95 n. 32, 268 n. 70, 299 n. 45 Naram-Suen 304 n. 66 Nūr-Ištar 60 n. 10, 61 and n. 13 – 14, 62 – 70, 72, 76, 80, 82, 84, 103, 106, 111 and n. 50 – 51, 112, 114 f., 124, 129, 154 n. 22, 165, 206 n. 28, 221, 253 n. 13, 254 n. 14, 292 and n. 5, 293 n. 6, 306 n. 70, 314, 339 Nuḫšātum 183, 190 and n. 23, 200, 275 Panaka 97 and n. 39, 146 n. 51, 299 n. 45 Pilaḫ-Aššur 95 n. 32, 96 n. 36, 105 n. 20 Pilaḫ-Ištar 159 and n. 44, 160 – 162, 262, 264 n. 53, 270 – 272, 298, 321, 344 Pūšu–kēn 5 – 9, 14, 16 – 19, 21 f., 27, 43, 58 – 60, 63 – 71, 73 f., 77 – 80, 82 – 84, 86 – 89, 92 – 97, 99, 101 – 108, 110 – 115, 117 – 124, 140, 146 f., 149, 152, 154, 163 – 167, 169, 175, 177 f., 183 f., 187, 189 – 265, 273 – 283, 286, 293 f., 297 – 299, 301 – 303, 305, 314, 316 – 321, 324 f., 327 – 330, 335, 337 – 341, 343 f., 355, 384

Selective Index of Personal and Divine Names

Puzur-Anna 197 n. 37 – 38, 204, 210 n. 41, 212, 213 and n. 51, 252, 275 n. 1, 301 n. 58, 318 n. 6 Puzur-Aššur 6 and n. 12, 27 n. 15, 80 n. 13, 110 n. 38, 113, 118 and n. 12, 121, 123 and n. 21 – 22, 124, 141, 167, 203, 211, 213 n. 51, 214 f., 223 n. 22 – 23, 225, 229, 230 n. 13, 231 f., 233 and n. 26, 234 and n. 32, 235 and n. 35 and 37, 236, 237 and n. 43, 238 n. 49, 240, 243, 248 n. 93, 249 f., 260, 281, 285, 293 f., 298, 301 n. 57, 303, 304 n. 65, 314, 317 and n. 3, 318 n. 6, 319 n. 9, 321 f. Puzur-ilī 256 and n. 23 – 24, 271, 304 n. 65 Puzur-Ištar 65 n. 23, 73, 86 – 87 and n. 4 – 5, 88 and n. 7 and 11, 89 f., 92 – 95 and n. 31 – 32, 96 and n. 34 – 36, 97 – 100, 106 f., 114, 117, 123, 138, 149, 163, 176 – 178, 183, 191 n. 24, 199, 205 n. 27, 239 n. 52, 243 and n. 72, 244, 251 f. and n. 4, 256 and n. 22, 257 n. 25, 261 n. 43, 262 n. 46, 275, 279 and n. 22, 301 n. 58, 303, 304 n. 65, 321 f. Puzur-sadu’e 304 n. 65 Puzur-Šamaš 252 n. 4 Qarwīya 143, 192 n. 28, 301 n. 58, 304 n. 65, 321 n. 12 Qayyātum 197 and n. 37, 210 and n. 41, 211 – 213 and n. 52, 228 and n. 1 – 2, 252, 275 and n. 1, 276 Sabasiya 110 n. 39, 141, 260, 262 n. 46 Sadia 304 n. 66 Samāya 253, 256 n. 23, 260 n. 40, 264, 323 Sueyya 89, 166, 191 f., 235 and n. 37, 301 n. 58 Sukkalliya 260 n. 40, 301 n. 57 Sūmû-abum 247 Sūmû-El 147, 247 f., 252, 282 Sutiya 203 and n. 15 and 19 Ṣaḫer-ilī 142 Ṣilli-Ištar 96 n. 36, 254 n. 15, 255 Šalim-Adad

160

393

Šalim-Aššur 11 n. 24, 71, 96, 133, 141, 143, 168 n. 23, 196 n. 34, 198 – 201 and n. 10, 202 and n. 13, 206, 212 – 213 and n. 54, 214 n. 55, 228, 239 n. 52, 241 and n. 63, 242 f., 244 n. 74, 250, 251 n. 1, 303, 304 n. 65, 317 f., 319 n. 9, 321 – 323, 329 n. 25 Šalim-aḫum 3 – 9, 11, 13 – 24, 26, 32 f., 41 – 48, 50, 53, 55 – 90, 92 – 108, 110 – 124, 131, 135, 140, 145 – 149, 151, 153 f., 162 – 166, 168 f., 175 – 178, 183 – 187, 189 – 202, 205 f., 211, 215 – 231, 235, 244, 247 – 249, 251 – 253, 256, 270, 273 – 276, 278, 280 – 286, 291 – 305, 314, 317, 319, 335 – 337, 339 – 341, 343 f., 346, 355 f., 384 Šamaš-bāni 232 n. 24 Šamaš-taklāku 212 Šamši-Adad 51 f., 157 n. 39 Šarwaya 316 n. 2 Šāt-Aššur 187, 280, 302 n. 59 Šazua 105 n. 20 Šū-Ḫabura 206 n. 28 Šū-Anum 61 n. 11, 194 n. 30, 269 n. 76, 271, 304 n. 65 – 66, 321 n. 12 Šū-Aššur 68 n. 28, 252 f., 260 f. and n. 44, 262 and n. 46, 264, 275, 301 n. 58, 303, 304 n. 65 Šū-Bēlum 71, 194 n. 30, 206 n. 28, 235 n. 37, 271, 299, 304 n. 65 Šū-Enlil 68 n. 29, 69 n. 33, 304 n. 65 Šū-Illil 168 Šū-Ištar 80, 143, 166, 221 n. 11, 231 f. and n. 21, 233 and n. 24 and 31, 234 n. 33, 293, 299 n. 47, 301 n. 57 – 58 Šū-Kittum 304 n. 66 Šū-Kūbum 194 n. 30, 211, 275, 299 n. 45, 303 f. and n. 65 Šū-Nunu 252 n. 4, 278 n. 21, 279, 303 Šū-Suen 15 n. 33, 68, 80, 96 n. 34, 102 and n. 6, 110, 114, 145, 200 and n. 5, 252 n. 2, 293 Šū-Tibar 304 n. 65 Šū-Ḫubur 95 n. 32, 96 n. 34, 99 n. 41, 143, 164 f., 175, 183 and n. 3, 184 and n. 5, 185, 189, 191 f. and n. 28, 193, 197 – 199 and n. 4, 200 f. and n. 10, 202 and n. 13,

394

Selective Index of Personal and Divine Names

206 – 208 and n. 37, 209 – 211 and n. 44, 212 – 213 and n. 52 and 54, 214 n. 55, 216, 228 and n. 1, 229 n. 6, 242 and n. 66, 252 – 254 and n. 15, 255 and n. 17, 256 – 258 and n. 30, 259 f., 263 and n. 49, 264 f., 275 and n. 5, 276 n. 7, 285, 289, 301 – 303, 314, 317 – 319, 321 f., 337, 344 Šudāya 41, 45 f., 50, 194 n. 30, 244 and n. 75, 245, 257 n. 28, 264 n. 54 Šumma-libbi-Aššur 239 n. 52

Urāni 95 n. 32, 36, 202 n. 14, 244 and n. 76, 245 and n. 77 – 78 Uraya 304 n. 66 Ušinālum 323 Uṣur-ša-Aššur 95 n. 32, 191 n. 24, 221 and n. 11, 246 n. 85, 256, 263 n. 48, 265 n. 55, 275, 278 and n. 15, 279 and n. 22, 302 n. 60 Uṣur-ša-Ištar 134, 139 and n. 34, 205, 270 n. 80, 321 n. 12 Uzua 95 n. 32, 303 f. and n. 65

Tariš-mātum 94 f. and n. 32, 191, 193 f., 252 n. 4, 253 n. 11, 275 f. and n. 7, 277 and n. 12, 278 n. 21, 279 and n. 22, 280, 283, 302 n. 59, 317, 319 and n. 9, 337, 341, 344 Tarmana 237 and n. 43 Tatāya 105 n. 20 Tawiniya 304 n. 65 Tuli 304 n. 65

Waldi-ilī 304 n. 66 Waqqurtum 27 n. 15, 214 and n. 59, 215 and n. 63, 233 n. 28, 338 Wawali 110 n. 38

Ṭāb-Aššur 107, 186 n. 14, 293, 304 n. 65 Ṭāb-pī-Anum 159 n. 44

Zika 304 n. 66 Zikur-ilī 304 n. 65, 321 n. 12 Zizi 204 and n. 20, 233 n. 27, 235 n. 34 Zue 304 n. 65 Zukua 141 Zukuḫum 63, 295 n. 26, 303 Zupa 68 n. 28, 258 and n. 29, 262 n. 46 Zuwa 301 n. 57 Zuzu 194 n. 30, 266 f.

Index of Geographical Places Abbu Dabbab 312 Abitiban 4 n. 4, 76, 157 and n. 38,158 Aegean 24, 26 f., 108, 311 Afghanistan 311 n. 89, 312 f. Akkad 28, 147, 167, 243, 248 Aksum 247, 248 n. 91 Amasya 108 Amaz 160 Amurrum 6, 7 n. 13, 16, 74, 113, 118 and n. 9 and 11, 119 and n. 12, 120 n. 14, 121, 123 n. 21, 124, 190, 223, 306 n. 70 Anatolia 3 n. 3, 4, 6, 10, 12, 14, 16, 23, 24 n. 3, 25 – 27, 28 and n. 17, 29 and n. 20, 30 – 32, 33 and n. 35, 37, 45 f., 48 and n. 27, 49, 64, 67 – 69, 71, 73 f., 76, 84, 86, 87 and n. 4, 90, 91 and n. 19, 92, 96 f., 99 – 103, 106, 108, 110, 112 – 114, 117, 119, 121 – 124, 129, 131, 136 n. 18, 141 f., 145 – 150, 156 n. 33, 158 f., 161 – 166, 168, 170 f., 176 f., 182 – 184, 186 f., 190, 196 – 198, 200, 205, 209 n. 38, 210, 214 n. 58, 217, 219, 222, 227 f., 234, 236, 238 f., 242, 246 f., 251 – 253, 257 and n. 27, 258 f., 261, 264, 268 n. 70, 269 f., 273 f., 277 – 279, 291, 293, 294 n. 15, 295 – 298, 300 and n. 55, 302 – 305, 308 n. 75, 310 311 and n. 90, 318, 325, 337, 346, 355 f. Apum 156, 157 and n. 38 and 39, 158, 160 f., 305 f. Arismān 313 Assur 3, 5 and n. 8, 6, 7 n. 13, 10, 12, 15 f., 22, 23 and n. 1, 24, 25 and n. 4, 26, 27 and n. 15, 28 f., 31 and n.28 and 30, 32, 33 and n. 35, 37, 40, 44, 46, 55 and n. 48, 56 f., 61, 63, 65 and n. 23, 68 – 71, 73 – 77, 83 f., 86, 87 and n. 4, 89, 90 and n. 16, 91 and n. 19, 92, 97, 99 and n. 40, 101 – 103, 104 n. 15, 107 f., 110 – 115, 117, 118 and n. 11, 119 – 124, 129 f., 136, 138 – 140, 142 f., 145 f., 148 – 150, 153 and n. 15, 154 n. 21 and 22, 156, 157 and n. 39, 158 f.,161 f., 164 – 167, 174, 176, 178, 182, 183 – 186, 190, 193 and

n. 29, 198 – 201, 202 n. 13, 203, 206, 209 – 210, 213 – 214, 216, 218 f., 221 f., 224, 226 – 232, 233 and n. 26, 235 n. 36, 237, 238 and n. 49, 240 – 244, 248 f., 251, 253 n. 8, 255, 257 n. 27, 258 f., 268 n. 68, 273, 277 f., 280 f., 291 n. 1, 293, 294 and n. 15, 297, 300, 302 – 305, 308 – 310, 311 and n. 89, 337, 346, 355 f., 384 Austria 313 Badna 159 and n. 44 Balikh 6, 23, 118 and n. 9, 159 – 161 Batnae 159 Biriçek 161 Bolvadin 108 Burullum 156 Butnātum 159 n. 42 Çankırı 108 Cappadocia 23, 77, 113 Commagene 23 Cornwall 313 Darqum 157 n. 38 Diyala 310 Durḫumit 15 n. 32, 26, 67 f., 70, 108, 112, 114, 141 – 143, 152, 233, 251, 301, 325, 329 n. 25 Elbistan 49, 113 Ephesus 108 Euphrates 6, 23 and n. 1, 24, 31, 49, 56, 65, 74, 77, 118 n. 9 and 10, 119, 133, 156 and n. 33, 160 and n. 53 161 – 163, 178, 233, 305 f., 325 Gölbaşi

49, 113, 161

Ḫabur 6, 23, 118, 157 and n. 39, 160 f. Hanaknak 159 n. 42 Hassake 161 Ḫaḫḫum 49 n. 29, 159 n. 42, 161 f., 186 and n. 14, 203, 204 n. 20, 233 and n. 27, 235

396

Index of Geographical Places

n. 34, 256, 257 n. 25, 258 and n. 29, 265 n. 55, 299 and n. 47, 301, 305 and n. 67, 306 and n. 71, 307 n. 72, 308 f., 325 Ḫanika 159 Ḫattum 5, 58, 59 n. 8, 66, 77, 82, 281, 283 Ḫattuš 77 Ḫurrama 141, 251 n. 1 Igla Iran Isin

312 312 247 f.

Naḫur 118 and n. 9, 119, 161 Nuweibi 312 Oman

24, 26

Potosí 314 Purušḫattum 26, 29, 99 n. 41, 102 and n. 2, 103 n. 8, 104 n. 15, 108, 111 f., 141, 150, 159 n. 42, 167, 169, 213, 217, 223 n. 21, 224 and n. 28, 229, 233 n. 26, 235, 236, 237, 250, 271, 294 n. 16, 301, 311, 325

Jagjag 23, 157 and n. 39 Jebel Bishri 23 Jebel Sinjar 156 Jezireh 31, 56, 65, 77, 113, 156, 158 f., 163, 178, 229, 305, 308

Qaṭṭarā 76, 156, 157 and n. 38, 158 Qal’at Širqāṭ 157 Qamishliye 161 n. 54

Kanesh 4 f., 10, 14, 15 n. 32 and 33,16, 23 – 27, 29, 31 n. 28, 32 and n. 34, 33, 39 – 41, 43, 49 f., 53, 55 – 57, 59, 61 – 65, 69, 71, 73 – 78, 80, 82 – 84, 87 and n. 4 and 5, 88, 92 f., 95 n. 32, 97n. 40, 99 and n. 41, 100 – 102, 104, 107 f., 110 – 115, 117, 119, 121 f., 124, 131, 133, 138 – 140, 142, 144 f., 148 – 150, 153 n. 15, 154 n. 21, 156 and n. 33, 160 – 168, 174, 176, 178, 183 f., 186 and n. 14, 190, 198, 204, 206 and n. 29, 207, 213 and n. 53, 217 f., 223, 225 f., 229, 241, 243, 252, 256, 258, 261 f., 265, 268, 273, 278 n. 16, 280 f., 283, 296 n. 28, 298, 301 f., 305, 306 and n. 71, 309, 311, 325, 337, 339, 356 Karamaku 159 n. 42 Kargaly 313 Kazallu 247 and n. 90, 248 n. 91 Khirbet en–Nahas 313 Kızıl Irmak 26, 108 Kuburnat 329 n. 25 Kültepe 24 and n. 2, 33, 42 n. 6, 51, 161, 194, 264 n. 54, 300, 328 f. Kunanamit 143 Kurdistan 311 n. 89

Sadduwātum 157 and n. 38, 158 Šalatuwar 108, 159 n. 42, 173 n. 39 Samarkand 313 Samsat 23, 160 f. Šeḫna 157 Širmuin 299 n. 47 Southern Mesopotamia 25, 28, 44, 101, 247, 309 – 312, 314 Sumer 247 Susa 25 n. 4, 26, 155, 311 Syria 24, 169

Larsa Mamma

155 n. 23, 173, 247 f. 134 f., 137

Razamā

156, 157 and n. 38, 158

Tabriz 311 n. 89 Tajikistan 26, 312 Taurus Mountains 6 f., 24, 26, 31, 37, 42 f., 45, 48 and n. 27, 49 and n. 29, 50, 55 f., 65, 67, 70 f., 73 f., 77, 113, 118 f., 122, 132 f., 135 – 142, 150, 153, 156, 161, 163, 167, 178, 305, 307 – 309, 337, 342 Taurus Piedmont 23, 56 f., 101, 118, 161 Tell Arbid 160 f. Tell Leilan 157, 161 Tepe Yahya 313 Tigris 3, 23 f., 31 Timelkiya 49, 56, 159, 161, 305, 307 Tur Abdin 156 Turkey 311 Turkmenistan 312

Index of Geographical Places

Ulama 271 Unapsesi 134 f. Uršu 133 – 135, 137, 139 f. Uzbekistan 26 and n. 11, 311 n. 89, 312 Vešnāve

312 f.

Wadi Feinan 313 and n. 101 Wadi Tharthar 23, 76, 113, 156

397

Walama 235 n. 37 Wašḫaniya 159 n. 42 Waḫšušana 26, 48 n. 27, 49 n. 29, 53, 108, 159 n. 42, 166n. 8, 173 n. 39, 235 n. 38, 236 271, 301, 325 Wazida 159 n. 42 Zagros 311 and n. 89 Zalpa 134, 139 f., 259 n. 35

Index of Select Akkadian words abarnium 28, 308 ālikum 90, 91 n. 18, 175 amtum 270 f. awiltum 107 awīlum 14 awītum 64 n. 20, 258 n. 30, 293, 294 n. 16, 296, 297 and n. 34, 300 barā’um 131 f., 142 baštum 250 and n. 98, 253 and n. 9 bātiqum 175, 176 n. 56 be’ālum 83 dātum 31, 145 n. 49, 186 n. 11, 207 and n. 31 and 33, 209 n. 38, 265, 297 n. 33, 302, 306 n. 71 eṭammū 94 and n. 29, 277 n. 11 and 14, 337 epadātum 241 etalluttum 14 and n. 30, 15 n. 32, 16, 113 ḫamuštum 44, 46, 47 and n. 22, 48, 55 and n. 48, 56, 64, 81, 92, 110 n. 39, 164, 208 n. 36, 257 n. 28, 264 n. 52, 267 and n. 67, 268 and n. 68, 269, 278 n. 18, 301 ikribū

maḫā’um 246 and n. 83 mazzāzum 277 n. 14 mūṣium 236 n. 40, 308 f. mūtānū 252, 272 f. nabrītum 12 f., 39 f., 101 f., 131 and n. 3 and 4 and 7, 132, 133, 146, 184, 186, 192 nibrārum 107 and n. 30, 242 and n. 68 nisḫātum 32, 308 nukurātum 252, 273 pašallum 82 and n. 19, 84, 86, 87 and n. 5, 89, 91 and n. 20 and 22, 92 n. 24, 96 f., 99 n. 41, 141, 146 n. 51, 212 n. 46 paššūrū 269 n. 74 patiūtum 67 perdum 170 – 172, 173 and n. 39 qurbūtum

66

rab perdī 171 rāb sīsē 170 f. ṣuḫārum 154 n. 21, 175, 276 n. 7, 279 n. 22 ṣuḫrum 171 sāridum 297, 356 suqinnum 204 n. 20, 233 n. 27

86, 89 f.

kaṣṣārum 297 kārum 26, 218, 306 f. kusītum 4, 78 n. 9, 79 and n. 10 and 11, 107 and n. 30, 121 n. 20, 308 kutānum 27, 29, 58, 61 and n. 13 and 14, 66, 78 n. 9, 79 and n. 10, 81, 87 n. 4, 102 n. 6, 105 and n. 20, 106 and n. 22, 141, 204 n. 22, 232 n. 22 and 24, 233 n. 24, 234 n. 34, 235 n. 38, 239 n. 51, 258 n. 30, 292 f., 294 n. 15, 295, 299 n. 47, 308, 321 limmum 41, 44, 46, 233, 235 n. 36, 244 and n. 75, 245 and n. 81, 268 n. 68

ša ḫarrān ālim 87, 90 and n. 15 and 18, 91 and n. 18 and 21, 92 šinaḫilum 308 f. šiprum 175 šurbuītum 28, 310 n. 78, 318 n. 5 tamkārum 138 n. 30 tarkistum 93 and n. 26 ṭaḫḫu’um

175

ugbabtum 214 f. ummeānum 185 – mer’a ummeānim

176 n. 56

Index of Select Akkadian words

utukkū 94 and n. 29, 97, 251, 273, 277 n. 11, 337, 340

waṣītum 32, 246 wāṣium 175 zu’ābum

246

399

Index of Cited Texts Texts from Pūšu-kēn’s Archive, according to publication numbering in vol. 2 1-BIN 4: 61 3 n. 1, 4 n. 4, 7 n. 14, 18 n. 36, 41 n. 1 – 3, 58 n. 2, 59 n. 5 and 8, 67 n. 27, 76 n. 1 and 3, 81 n. 17, 87 n. 4, 88 n. 9, 96 n. 37, 121 n. 19, 153 n. 14, 349 f., 362 2-TC 2: 3 3 n. 2 – 3, 4 n. 5, 7 n. 14, 18 n. 36, 58 n. 1, 77 n. 4, 81 n. 15, 354, 362 3-POAT 7 5 n. 6, 7 n. 14, 18 n. 36, 58 n. 4, 59 n. 8, 60 n. 10, 62 n. 15, 77 n. 5, 78 n. 6, 177 n. 57, 362 4-CCT 4: 25b 78 n. 7, 362 5-TC 1: 26 58 n. 3, 78 n. 8 – 9, 80 n. 12, 81 n. 16, 82 n. 19 – 20, 86 n. 1 – 2, 97 n. 40, 106 n. 22, 115 n. 3 – 5, 178 n. 59, 282 n. 25, 293 n. 8, 349 6-TC 3: 22 5 n. 8 – 9, 68 n. 30, 83 n. 22 – 25, 362 7-C 26 5 n. 7, 83 n. 26, 84 n. 27 8-KTS 1: 41a 82 n. 21, 249 n. 95, 362 9-TC 3: 20 6 n. 10 and 12, 7 n. 13, 113 n. 1 – 2, 117 n. 7, 119 n. 12 – 13, 121 n. 17 – 18, 123 n. 21 – 22, 124 n. 23, 190 n. 22, 191 n. 25, 223 n. 22 and 24, 350, 362 10-BIN 4: 8 80 n. 12, 362 11-CCT 2: 3 5 n. 6, 60 n. 10, 79 n. 10 – 11, 117 n. 6 and 8, 120 n. 14 – 16, 121 n. 20, 166 n. 6, 177 n. 58, 362 12-CCT 2: 4b-5a 61 n. 12, 64 n. 21, 347, 362 13-Prag I: 426 59 n. 7, 61 n. 13, 62 n. 14, 63 n. 18, 67 n. 26 – 27, 153 n. 14, 187 n. 15, 294 n. 15, 347, 362 14-POAT 19 63 n. 17, 67 n. 26 – 27, 107 n. 30, 175 n. 54, 251 n. 1, 148, 348, 351, 362 15-TC 1: 14 63 n. 17, 68 n. 32, 184 n. 4, 362 16-VS 26: 130 68 n. 28 – 29 17-TC 3: 23 63 n. 18, 65 n. 24, 67 n. 26, 69 n. 33, 103 n. 7, 293 n. 6, 347 – 349, 362

18-CCT 5: 49e+50b 69 n. 34, 362 19-BIN 4: 26 61 n. 13, 67 n. 26, 70 n. 35, 103 n. 7, 107 n. 31, 111 n. 44 and 48 – 50, 124 n. 24, 219 n. 5, 221 n. 10, 293 n. 6, 295 n. 26, 347, 362 20-TC 2: 4 88 n. 5 – 6, 90 n. 13 and 15, 178 n. 59, 183 n. 2, 353, 362 21-CCT 4: 5b 88 n. 7 – 8 and 10, 89 n. 12, 93 n. 25, 178 n. 59, 362 22-TC 2: 2 80 n. 12, 94 n. 28 and 30, 96 n. 36, 97 n. 38, 106 n. 24, 178 n. 59, 199 n. 2, 201 n. 8, 353, 362 23-KTS 1: 27b 80 n. 13, 82 n. 19, 86 n. 3, 90 n. 13, 107 n. 25, 165 n. 5, 178 n. 59, 353, 362 24-CCT 5: 5a 69 n. 32, 80 n. 12, 102 n. 1, 103 n. 6, 106 n. 21 and 23, 107 n. 26 – 29, 110 n. 40, 165 n. 5, 293 n. 9, 349, 362 25-KTS 1: 42d 69 n. 32, 102 n. 2 – 3, 103 n. 8 – 10, 104 n. 13 and 17, 293 n. 10, 350 f., 362 26-TC 2: 1 69 n. 32, 102 n. 4, 103 n. 8 – 11, 104 n. 17, 362 27-AKT 3: 72 80 n. 13, 97 n. 39, 102 n. 5, 103 n. 9 and 12, 104 n. 14, 106 n. 20, 110 n. 41, 111 n. 42, 131 n. 1, 146 n. 50 – 51, 222 n. 18, 294 n. 15, 362 28-AKT 3: 78 15 n. 32, 104 n. 16, 105 n. 18 – 19, 167 n. 12, 362 29-AKT 3: 110 105 n. 20, 362 30-RA 59: 26 106 n. 20, 362 31-TC 3: 25 110 n. 37, 362 32-TTC 5: 6 110 n. 38, 362 33-BIN 4: 15 110 n. 39, 362 34-KUG 42 184 n. 5, 362

Index of Cited Texts

35-AKT 3: 67 88 n. 8, 145 n. 49, 184 n. 6 – 7, 185 n. 8 – 9, 186 n. 10 – 12, 197 n. 35, 362 36-AKT 3: 66 186 n. 13, 187 n. 14 and 16 – 17, 362 37-VS 26: 58 111 n. 43, 187 n. 15 and 18 – 19, 217 n. 1, 218 n. 2, 219 n. 6 – 8, 221 n. 11, 222 n. 15, 223 n. 20, 224 n. 29, 225 n. 31 – 32, 293 n. 12 and 14, 295 n. 26, 352, 362 38-VS 26: 47 111 n. 45 – 47 and 51, 112 n. 52, 148 n. 1, 187 n. 20 – 21, 219 n. 6, 221 n. 9 and 11 – 14, 224 n. 29, 232 n. 18, 362 39-MDOG 102, 86 222 n. 16 – 17 and 19, 226 n. 33 – 35, 229 n. 5, 293 n. 13, 351, 362 40-CCT 2: 1 148 n. 1, 192 n. 26, 217 n. 1, 218 n. 3, 223 n. 21 and 23, 224 n. 25 – 29, 235 n. 35, 362 41-AKT 3: 71 218 n. 3 42-BIN 6: 100 205 n. 26, 362 43-AKT 3: 73 229 n. 7, 248 n. 93, 362 44-AKT 3: 74 229 n. 7, 249 n. 94, 362 45-BIN 6: 82 252 n. 3, 362 46-BIN 6: 87 202 n. 1, 362 47-Prag I: 679 183 n. 3, 200 n. 5, 362 48-RA 81: 4 229 n. 6, 362 49-TTC 6 202 n. 10 and 14 50-VS 26: 59 279 n. 21, 362 51-CCT 2: 36a 241 n. 60 and 62, 245 n. 80, 362 52-CCT 6: 11a 99 n. 41, 241 n. 61, 245 n. 80, 246 n. 83, 362 53-BIN 6: 102 245 n. 80, 246 n. 84, 362 54-TC 3: 35 245 n. 80, 246 n. 82, 362 55-CCT 3: 20 203 n. 18, 214 n. 56 and 58, 239 n. 51, 240 n. 57 – 58, 241 n. 59, 243 n. 70, 245 n. 80, 362 56-BIN 6: 11 239 n. 51 and 54, 245 n. 80, 362 57-BIN 4: 9 214 n. 57, 238 n. 46 and 50, 240 n. 56 and 58, 245 n. 77 and 80, 250 n. 98, 253 n. 9, 362

58-BIN 6: 7 362 59-BIN 6: 3

401

238 n. 47, 240 n. 56, 245 n. 80, 244 n. 75, 245 n. 76, 362

60-BIN 4: 10 240 n. 55 – 56, 242 n. 68, 245 n. 78 and 80, 362 61-CCT 3: 19b 202 n. 13, 244 n. 73 – 74, 245 n. 79, 362 62-RA 59: 25 199 n. 3, 238 n. 25, 240 n. 56 and 58, 245 n. 81, 250 n. 99, 253 n. 8, 362 63-VS 26: 42 200 n. 6, 362 64-CCT 4: 21b 240 n. 56, 245 n. 80, 362 65-VS 26: 64 197 n. 37, 211 n. 41, 293 n. 11 and 13, 351, 362 66-BIN 6: 79 258 n. 30, 362 67-BIN 4: 28 207 n. 30 68-CCT 2: 44b-45a 317 n. 4, 364 69-CCT 3: 21a 258 n. 29 and 31 – 33, 362 70-RA 58, 126 200 n. 7, 258 n. 33 71-BIN 4: 24 318 n. 7 72-Prag I: 678 256 n. 22, 362 73-KTS 2: 48 254 n. 15, 256 n. 22, 362 74-KTS 1: 21b 254 n. 16, 256 n. 21 – 22, 264 n. 49, 362 75-VS 26: 65 255 n. 18, 256 n. 21, 258 n. 34, 362 76-JCS 14: 1 260 n. 38, 362 77-TC 2: 15 167 n. 17, 261 n. 41, 263 n. 47, 362 78-TC 3: 44 261 n. 44, 262 n. 45, 362 79-CCT 2: 41b 261 n. 42, 362 80-BIN 6: 63 207 n. 31, 258 n. 30, 362 81-BIN 4: 33 207 n. 32, 208 n. 33 – 36, 209 n. 37, 362 82-CCT 2: 36b-37a 246 n. 85, 257 n. 25, 263 n. 48, 265 n. 55, 302 n. 60, 362 83-BIN 4: 173, to appear in vol. 2 84-CCT 4: 9a 255 n. 19, 259 n. 36 – 37, 362 85-TC 2: 14 202 n. 12, 203 n. 15 – 16 and 19, 362 86-CCT 6: 47c 197 n. 38, 211 n. 42, 228 n. 23, 255 n. 17 and 20, 275 n. 1, 362 87-CCT 3: 22b-23a 253 n. 12, 256 n. 23 – 24, 362

402

Index of Cited Texts

88-CCT 3: 21b 214 n. 55, 362 89-BIN 4: 32 210 n. 40, 246 n. 86, 362 90-BIN 6: 105 213 n. 54, 362 91-ATHE 31 211 n. 45, 362 92-TC 1: 28 212 n. 46 – 47, 362 93-RA 81: 19 99 n. 41, 212 n. 46, 362 94-BIN 6: 24 212 n. 48, 362 95-TC 2: 10 197 n. 38, 212 n. 49, 213 n. 50 and 52, 275 n. 1, 362 96-VS 26: 10 213 n. 51, 318 n. 6, 362 97-TC 2: 11 200 n. 4, 201 n. 9, 228 n. 4, 362 98-TC 3: 36 91 n. 19, 204 n. 21 – 22, 362 99-VS 26: 8 197 n. 38, 202 n. 15, 203 n. 16, 228 n. 1, 275 n. 1, 362 100-Adana 237d 192 n. 28, 362 101-BIN 6: 56 264 n. 50, 102-KTS 1: 21a 264 n. 49, 362 103-AKT 1: 14 205 n. 24 104-VS 26: 16 242 n. 66 – 67, 250 n. 100, 275 n. 3, 362 105-VS 16: 17 96 n. 35, 229 n. 7, 241 n. 63, 243 n. 71, 244 n. 72, 275 n. 2 106-TC 3: 29 205 n. 27, 275 n. 4 – 5, 362, 363 107-BIN 6: 117 278 n. 16, 362 108-CCT 4: 15c 276 n. 9, 362 109-TC 1: 46 197 n. 38, 275 n. 1, 276 n. 8, 278 n. 17, 362 110-TC 1: 3 277 n. 13, 278 n. 18, 362 111-ArOr 47, 42 – 43 276 n. 10, 362 112-KTS 1: 24 94 n. 29, 275 n. 6, 277 n. 12 and 14, 278 n. 15 and 19, 362 113-KTS 1: 23 276 n. 7, 277 n. 12, 362 114-TC 2: 21 95 n. 32, 252 n. 4, 276 n. 7, 278 n. 20, 362 115-KTS 1: 25a 275 n. 6, 279 n. 22, 362

116-TC 3: 26 280 n. 23, 362 117-CCT 6: 30d 280 n. 23, 362 118-KTH 19 95 n. 32, 280 n. 23, 362 119-RA 59: 28 191 n. 24, 275 n. 6, 277 n. 11, 362 120-CCT 4: 49a 257 n. 27, 364 121-EL 157 257 n. 28, 362 122-BIN 6: 47 257 n. 28 123-Prag I: 653 258 n. 30, 319 n. 8, 362 124-KTS 2: 67 260 n. 40, 362 125-KTS 2: 9 260 n. 40, 362 126-CCT 2: 38 167 n. 11, 230 n. 8 – 12, 250 n. 96, 362 127-TC 1: 6 231 n. 13, 362 128-CCT 5: 5b 167 n. 15, 231 n. 14 – 17, 232 n. 20, 362 129-TC 2: 7 167 n. 15, 211 n. 43 – 44, 232 n. 19 – 21, 234 n. 32, 238 n. 45, 362 130-BIN 4: 221 204 n. 20, 232 n. 22 – 23, 233 n. 27 – 28, 235 n. 34, 362 131-TC 2: 8 233 n. 24 – 25, 234 n. 32, 362 132-TC 2: 9 215 n. 60, 233 n. 28 – 29, 234 n. 31, 317 n. 4, 362 133-CCT 4: 34c 233 n. 30, 362 134-Prag I: 571 234 n. 33, 362 135-BIN 4: 31 235 n. 37, 236 n. 38 – 39, 250 n. 97, 362 136-CCT 4: 4a 91 n. 19, 236 n. 40, 362 137-KTS 1: 29a 99 n. 41, 237 n. 42 – 43, 281 n. 24, 362 138-CCT 5: 40b 239 n. 52 – 53, 362 139-BIN 4: 22 362 140-BIN 4: 82 252 n. 4, 362 141-RA 59: 23 263 n. 46, 362 142-TC 3: 27 99 n. 41, 242 n. 65, 362 143-TC 3: 34 252 n. 2, 362, 364 144-RA 81: 44 264 n. 52

All other Old Assyrian texts A 1: 2 364 AAA 1/3: 1 95 n. 32

AAA 1: 10 364 AKT 1: 11 363

Index of Cited Texts

AKT 1: 28 364 AKT 2: 9 91 n. n. 21, 92 n. 24 AKT 2: 20 363 AKT 3: 75 294 n. 16 AKT 3: 104 190 n. 23 AKT 5: 18 134 n. 14 AKT 6a: 36 141 n. 36 AKT 6a: 143 296 n. 29 and 31 AKT 6a: 144 296 n. 29 and 31 AKT 6a: 145 296 n. 29 and 31 AKT 6a: 172 296 n. 29 and 31 AKT 6a: 166 152 n. 10 AKT 6b: 322 133 n. 13, 136 n. 18 and 21, 139 n. 34 AKT 6b: 323 136 n. 18, 137 n. 23 and 24, AKT 6b: 325 136 n. 18 and 20 AKT 6b: 326 136 n. 18 AKT 6b: 327 136 n. 18, 137 n. 26 – 28, 138 n. 32 – 33 AKT 6b: 328 136 n. 18, 137 n. 28 – 29 AKT 6b: 329 135 n. 16, 136 n. 19, 137 n. 25 AKT 6b: 330 135 n. 16, 136 n. 19, 137 n. 25 AKT 6b: 331 136 n. 18, 138 n. 30 – 31 AKT 6b: 481 96 n. 36 AKT 6c: 527 133 n. 12 AKT 6c: 638 168 n. 23 AKT 6c: 643 168 n. 23 AKT 6d: 809 141 n. 35 AKT 6e: 948 172 n. 38 AKT 6e: 982 168 n. 19 AKT 6e: 1099 134 n. 14 AKT 7a: 13a/b 303 n. 62 AKT 7a: 21 267 n. 65 AKT 7a: 30 264 n. 53, 266 n. 61 AKT 7a: 31 – 37 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 36 266 n. 61 AKT 7a: 37 266 n. 61 AKT 7a: 38 – 41 322 AKT 7a: 69 268 n. 39 AKT 7a: 43 264 n. 52, 269 n. 76 AKT 7a: 45 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 59 266 n. 61 AKT 7a: 69 265 n. 56, 267 n. 64 AKT 7a: 71 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 75 270 n. 80 AKT 7a: 78 264 n. 52, 267 n. 66, 268 n. 73 – 4, 269 n. 74

403

AKT 7a: 79 264 n. 52, 267 n. 66, 268 n. 73 – 4, 269 n. 74 AKT 7a: 86 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 91 268 n. 68 AKT 7a: 95 266 n. 58 AKT 7a: 96 268 n. 71 AKT 7a: 103 265 n. 56, 267 n. 62 AKT 7a: 112 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 114 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 126 267 n. 66, 268 n. 70 AKT 7a: 127 268 n. 68 AKT 7a: 136 270 n. 78 AKT 7a: 143 268 n. 72 AKT 7a: 144 264 n. 52 AKT 7a :146 270 n. 79 AKT 7a: 151 303 n. 64 AKT 7a: 152 303 n. 64 AKT 7a: 163 – 164 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 166 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 171 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 172 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 182 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 199 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 204 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 211 – 212 266 n. 59, 298 n. 41 and 43 AKT 7a: 213 – 215 298 n. 41 AKT 7a: 214 298 n. 41, 303 n. 64 AKT 7a: 215a 267 n. 63, 303 n. 64 AKT 7a: 216 267 n. 63 AKT 7a: 217 – 22 298 n. 41 AKT 7a: 218 266 n. 59 – 60 AKT 7a: 219 264 n. 52, 266 n. 59 AKT 7a: 220 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 221 268 n. 70 AKT 7a: 223 298 n. 41 AKT 7a: 224 – 236 298 n. 41 AKT 7a: 227 267 n. 66, 268 n. 70 AKT 7a: 228 90 n. 18, 267 n. 66, 268 n. 73, 298 n. 41, 303 n. 62 – 3 AKT 7a: 230 268 n. 70 AKT 7a: 233 90 n. 18, 264 n. 52, 298 n. 41, 303 n. 62 AKT 7a: 234 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 237 298 n. 41 AKT 7a: 238 298 n. 41 AKT 7a: 239 264 n. 52

404

Index of Cited Texts

AKT 7a: 240 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 242 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 253 – 257 322 AKT 7a: 258 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 276 – 277 264 n. 52 AKT 7a: 306 264 n. 52 AKT 8: 8 143 n. 43 AKT 8: 16 142 n. 39 AKT 8: 17 143 n. 41 AKT 8: 27 143 n. 40 and 42 AKT 8: 120 96 n. 36, AKT 8: 146 159 n. 42 AKT 8: 149 161 n. 56 – 57 AKT 8: 151 161 n. 57 Ankara 1938 363 AnOr 6: 15 363 AnOr 6: 21 363 ARK. 166 – 9474 363 ATHE 1 363 ATHE 2a/b 363 ATHE 6 363 ATHE 13 317 n. 4, 363 ATHE 15 363 ATHE 21 363 ATHE 22 363 ATHE 23 363 ATHE 24 363 ATHE 25 215 n. 62 ATHE 28 99 n. 41, 242 n. 69, 363 ATHE 29 364 ATHE 30 364 ATHE 32 362, 364 ATHE 33 91 n. 19, 363 ATHE 44 215 n. 63, 363 BIN 4: 1 BIN 4: 6 BIN 4: 7 BIN 4: 11 BIN 4: 12 BIN 4: 13 BIN 4: 14 BIN 4: 16 BIN 4: 17 BIN 4: 18 BIN 4: 19 BIN 4: 20

362 166 n. 8, 364 299 n. 47, 364 364 364 364 364 364 364 363, 364 364 362

BIN 4: 21 215 n. 61, 363 BIN 4: 23 364 BIN 4: 25 293 n. 7, 364 BIN 4: 27 80 n. 13, 294 n. 17, 363 BIN 4: 29 364 BIN 4: 30 91 n. 19, 364 BIN 4: 38 362 BIN 4: 52 142 n. 37 BIN 4: 66 91 n. 20 BIN 4: 68 167 n. 18 BIN 4: 80 364 BIN 4: 81 362 BIN 4: 85 362 BIN 4: 87 362 BIN 4: 90 364 BIN 4: 96 215 n. 63, 363 BIN 4: 97 49 n. 28 BIN 4: 105 363 BIN 4: 106 363 BIN 4: 107 364 BIN 4: 139 364 BIN 4: 149 364 BIN 4: 168 297 n. 35 BIN 4: 193 157 n. 38 BIN 4: 207 45 n. 17 BIN 4: 222 362 BIN 4: 226 319 n. 8 BIN 6: 8 363 BIN 6: 14 364 BIN 6: 25 364 BIN 6: 34 364 BIN 6: 53 297 n. 36 BIN 6: 55 362 BIN 6: 57 363 BIN 6: 59 215 n. 63, 363 BIN 6: 65 91 n. 19 BIN 6: 66 363 BIN 6: 68 363 BIN 6: 73 171 n. 34 BIN 6: 78 363 BIN 6: 90 131 n. 4 BIN 6: 91 364 BIN 6: 94 364 BIN 6: 95 364 BIN 6: 98 364 BIN 6: 108 364 BIN 6: 112 319 n. 8, 364

Index of Cited Texts

BIN 6: 113 BIN 6: 114 BIN 6: 116 BIN 6: 148 BIN 6: 150 BIN 6: 153 BIN 6: 156 BIN 6: 169 BIN 6: 202 BIN 6: 204 BIN 6: 221 BIN 6: 250

362 49 n. 29 364 364 363 364 362 364 364 364 362 364

C 34 363 CCT 1: 5b 362 CCT 1: 8c 363 CCT 1: 9a 317 n. 4, 363, 363 CCT 1: 13a 257 n. 26, 362, 364 CCT 1: 13b 364 CCT 1: 15c 364 CCT 1: 16b 364 CCT 1: 17a 364 CCT 1: 17b 363 CCT 1: 20a 364 CCT 1: 35 364 CCT 1: 48 53 n. 47 CCT 1: 49b 363 CCT 2: 2 362 CCT 2: 4a 364 CCT 2: 5b 364 CCT 2: 7 145 n. 48, 364 CCT 2: 28 167 n. 11, 364 CCT 2: 34 364 CCT 2: 35 317 n. 4, 318 n. 6, 363, 364 CCT 2: 44a 364 CCT 2: 45b 364 CCT 2: 47b 364 CCT 2: 46b+ 90 n. 18 CCT 3: 8b 142 n. 38 CCT 3: 9 364 CCT 3: 12b 363 CCT 3 16b 302 n. 60 CCT 3: 22a 91 n. 19, 319 n. 8, 362 CCT 3 28a 15 n. 32 CCT 3 36a 363 CCT 3: 39b 91 n. 19 CCT 3: 41b 215 n. 63, 363

CCT 3: 47a 91 n. 19 CCT 3: 49b 364 CCT 4: 6d 160 n. 46 CCT 4: 6e 364 CCT 4: 11a 364 CCT 4: 12a 364 CCT 4: 16a 316 n. 2, 364 CCT 4: 20a 363 CCT 4: 23a 364 CCT 4: 27a 364 CCT 4: 28a 160 n. 50 CCT 4: 29a 364 CCT 4: 31b 363 CCT 4: 32b 362 CCT 4: 35a 152 n. 12, 362 CCT 4: 36b-37a 167 n. 16 CCT 4: 40b-41a 317 n. 4, 364 CCT 4: 42c 364 CCT 4: 50b 91 n. 19, 364 CCT 5: 1a 364 CCT 5: 1c 364 CCT 5: 1d 364 CCT 5: 2a 364 CCT 5: 2b 363 CCT 5: 4a 167 n. 16, 364 CCT 5: 6a 209 n. 38, 364 CCT 5: 6b 362, 364 CCT 5: 8a 215 n. 63, 363 CCT 5: 9a 363 CCT 5: 10a 364 CCT 5: 11d 363 CCT 5: 17c 364 CCT 5: 18a/b 363 CCT 5: 20b 363 CCT 5: 20d 363 CCT 5: 21a 363 CCT 5: 21c 363 CCT 5: 22a 363 CCT 5: 25a 317 n. 4, 363 CCT 5: 26b 317 n. 4, 363 CCT 5: 27a 317 n. 4, 363 CCT 5: 29c 364 CCT 5: 33a 363 CCT 5: 37a 91 n. 19 CCT 5: 47b 362 CCT 6: 1a 364 CCT 6: 1b 363

405

406

Index of Cited Texts

CCT 6: 1c 364 CCT 6: 1d 364 CCT 6: 9a 363 CCT 6: 9b 364 CCT 6: 17c 364 CCT 6: 20a 318 n. 7 CCT 6: 20b 362 CCT 6: 20c 362, 363 CCT 6: 24a 364 CCT 6: 24c 364 CCT 6: 26c 362 CCT 6: 35a 364 CCT 6: 35b 364 CCT 6: 38c 364 CCT 6: 44 363 CCT 6: 46b 172 n. 38 Contenau 4 317 n. 4, 363 CTMMA I: 75 206 n. 29 CTMMA I: 84a 15 n. 32 CTMMA I: 91 363 Dalley 11 363 Denver 1964.22.1 363 Dergi 4: 2 317 n. 4 H.K. 1013 – 5542

364

ICK 1: 11a Envelope 363 ICK 1: 11b Tablet 363 ICK 1: 18 Envelope 363 ICK 1: 54 95 n. 32 ICK 1: 60 91 n. 21, 92 n. 23 ICK 1: 71 364 ICK 1: 84 364 ICK 1: 96 364 ICK 1: 124 363 ICK 1: 160 91 n. 21 ICK 1: 167 363 ICK 1: 171 364 ICK 1: 181 364 ICK 1: 184 90 n. 18, 160 n. 49 ICK 1: 187 257 n. 26, 364 ICK 1: 190 364 ICK 1: 192 363 ICK 2: 85 364 ICK 2: 97 364 ICK 2: 99 363

ICK 2: 112 364 ICK 2: 114 364 ICK 2: 123 364 ICK 2: 129 299 n. 48 ICK 2: 133 364 ICK 2: 305 95 n. 33 ICK 3: 21a/b 206 n. 29, 364 ICK 3: 46b 363 JCS 14: 2 JCS 14: 4 JCS 41: 2

364 364 364

Ka 1004 131 n. 7 Kayseri 90 364 Kt a/k 499b 363 Kt a/k 503 15 n. 35 Kt c/k 260 300 n. 49 Kt c/k 262 15 n. 35 Kt c/k 264 300 n. 49 Kt c/k 270 304 n. 66 Kt c/k 453 304 n. 66 Kt g/k 118 47 n. 22 and 24, 267 and n. 67 Kt k/k 65 45 n. 17 Kt m/k 2 15 n. 35 Kt m/k 7 317 n. 4 Kt m/k 21 172 n. 38 Kt m/k 72 15 n. 35 Kt m/k 147 260 n. 39 Kt n/k 94 363 Kt n/k 178 206 n. 25 Kt n/k 533 260 n. 39 Kt n/k 794 305 n. 67 Kt n/k 1429 273 n. 84 Kt n/k 1463 168 n. 20 Kt n/k 1472 99 n. 41 Kt t/k 1 172 n. 38, 173 n. 39 Kt t/k 25 173 n. 39 Kt v/k 150 216 n. 64 Kt 83/k 181 159 n. 42 Kt 87/k 34 90 n. 14 Kt 87/k 320 171 n. 33 Kt 87/k 457 45 n. 17, 265 n. 54, 266 n. 57 Kt 87/k 472 90 n. 18 Kt 88/k 101+633+198 298 n. 44 Kt 88/k 507b 264 n. 51, 270 n. 81, 272 n. 82

Index of Cited Texts

Kt 88/k 576 322 n. 13 Kt 88/k 592 – 715 322 n. 13 Kt 88/k 616 298 n. 44 Kt 88/k 716 – 737 322 n. 13 Kt 91/k 171 204 n. 23 Kt 92/k 108 156 n. 36 Kt 94/k 366 15 n. 35 Kt 94/k 375 48 n. 27 Kt 94/k 1176 172 n. 38 Kt 94/k 1226 171 n. 33 Kt 94/k 1673 131 n. 7 Kt 94/k 1756 172 n. 38 Kt 00/k 10 308 n. 76 KTB 3 364 KTB 11 364 KTB 22a 364 KTB 22b 364 KTH 7 363 KTH 7ii 363 KTH 20 363 KTH 21 363 KTH 33 317 n. 4, 363 KTH 34 317 n. 4, 363 KTH 49c 363 KTS 1: 10 160 n. 47 KTS 1: 20 364 KTS 1: 22a 364 KTS 1: 22b 364 KTS 1: 25b 362 KTS 1: 26a 364 KTS 1: 26b 364 KTS 1: 27a 362 KTS 1: 28 362 KTS 1: 29b 317 n. 4, 364 KTS 1: 30 15 n. 34 KTS 1: 43c 364 KTS 1: 57e 363 KTS 2: 12 364 KTS 2: 37 15 n. 35 KUG 13 317 n. 4, 363 KUG 14 317 n. 4, 363 KUG 15 317 n. 4, 363 KUG 17 363 KUG 18 364 KUG 39 364 KUG 40 364 KUG 50 364

L 14 317 n. 4, 363 LB 1206 362 LB 1229 364 LB 1282 362 Liège PUL 100 364 MNK 635

95 n. 32

Nesr. C: 1

91 n. 19

OAA 1: 2 166 n. 7 OAA 1: 39 167 n. 13 OAA 1: 44 167 n. 14 OAA 1: 50 48 n. 26 OAA 1: 62 168 n. 22 OAA 1: 74 27 n. 13 OAA 1: 118 48 n. 27 OAA 1: 130 159 n. 44 OAA 1: 138 148 n. 2 OAA 1: 142 10 n. 22, 148 n. 2 OIP 27: 57 363 OIP 27: 62 362 OrNS 15, 396 362 OrNS 50: 4 363 Prag I: 430 Prag I: 431 Prag I: 432 Prag I: 437 Prag I: 442 Prag I: 443 Prag I: 471 Prag I: 472 Prag I: 484 Prag I: 489 Prag I: 520 Prag I: 545 Prag I: 560 Prag I: 577 Prag I: 583 Prag I: 590 Prag I: 591 Prag I: 606 Prag I: 608 Prag I: 647 Prag I: 651 Prag I: 652

364 363 91 n. 21 363 95 n. 32 172 n. 38 297 n. 37, 364 362 364 145 n. 48 364 364 104 n. 15, 362 205 n. 26, 364 363 364 45 n. 17 317 n. 4, 363, 364 364 364 247 n. 88, 363 363

407

408

Index of Cited Texts

Prag I: 671 364 Prag I: 676 362 Prag I: 680 215 n. 63, 363 Prag I: 682 364 Prag I: 704 319 n. 8 Prag I: 711 363 Prag I: 734 364 Prag I: 744 363 Prag I: 762 364 Prag I: 836 364 RA 59: 8 95 n. 32, 96 n. 34 RA 59: 13 257 n. 27 RA 59: 24 362 RA 59: 27 362 RA 59: 29 364 RA 59: 30 362 RA 81: 1 364 RA 81: 18 364 RA 81: 34 364 RA 81: 36 364 RA 81: 71 362 RA 81: 83 363 RA 81: 84 364 RSO 39, 185 f. Rendell 318 n. 5, 364 Schmidt 2 363 SMEA 32: 4 363 TC 1: 7 TC 1: 16 TC 1: 17 TC 1: 21 TC 1: 30 TC 1: 31 TC 1: 35 TC 1: 49 TC 1: 55 TC 1: 73 TC 1: 77 TC 1: 79 TC 2: 5 TC 2: 6 TC 2: 12 TC 2: 13 TC 2: 16

364 364 362 363 246 n. 87, 317 n. 4, 363 362 95 n. 32 364 362 363 317 n. 4, 363 363 5 n. 9, 362 319 n. 8, 362 302 n. 61, 362 364 364

TC 2: 17 362 TC 2: 18 364 TC 2: 19 364 TC 2: 20 364 TC 2: 22 364 TC 2: 23 235 n. 36, 362 TC 2: 24 364 TC 2: 46 215 n. 63, 363 TC 2: 48 363 TC 2: 72 364 TC 2: 77 317, 363 TC 2: 78 364 TC 3: 1 168 n. 21 TC 3: 17 27 n. 15 – 16, 215 n. 63 TC 3: 21 67 n. 26, 362 TC 3: 24 294 n. 15, 362 TC 3: 28 364 TC 3: 30 362 TC 3: 31 362 TC 3: 32 363 TC 3: 33 318 n. 7, 364 TC 3: 37 364 TC 3: 38 362 TC 3: 39 362 TC 3: 40 364 TC 3: 41 364 TC 3: 42 362 TC 3: 43 91 n. 19 TC 3: 57 364 TC 3: 69 90 n. 14 TC 3: 70 15 n. 32 TC 3: 99 363 TC 3: 106 362 TC 3: 162 153 n. 18 TC 3: 163 157 n. 38 TC 3: 167 362 TC 3: 186 363 TC 3: 187 299 n. 45, 364 TC 3: 190 257 n. 27, 364 TC 3: 192 364 TC 3: 199 260 n. 39, 363 TC 3: 210 362 TC 3: 220 95 n. 32 TC 3: 231a Tablet 363 TC 3: 233a/b 363 TC 3: 261 99 n. 41, 362 TC 3: 274 363

Index of Cited Texts

TC 3: 276 364 TMH 1: 7e 95 n. 32 TMH 1: 14d 363 TMH 1: 15a Case 363 TMH 1: 25 f 364 TPAK 1: 21 363 TPAK 1: 114 363 TPAK 1: 189 53 n. 46 TPAK 1: 203 TTC 11 160 n. 48 TTC 14 27 n. 13 TTC 28 170 n. 28 VS 26: 5 224 n. 29 VS 26: 6 362 VS 26: 9 362 VS 26: 12 362 VS 26: 13 206 n. 28 VS 26: 17 252 n. 4, 362

VS 26: 18 364 VS 26: 19 363 VS 26: 24 362 VS 26: 26 154 n. 21, 364 VS 26: 27 362 VS 26: 28 364 VS 26: 29 364 VS 26: 43 64 n. 20, 293 n. 7, 364 VS 26: 46 364 VS 26: 48 364 VS 26: 52 364 VS 26: 55 362 VS 26: 67 364 VS 26: 71 143 n. 45, 364 VS 26: 73 364 VS 26: 74 152 n. 11 VS 26: 116a 15 n. 33 VS 26: 155 296 n. 32, 300 n. 50

409