Of Fire and Lions

by Mesu Andrews

  “No!” I pulled away, blinking back tears.

  Soft hands cradled my shoulders from behind. “The mistress and I will follow everyone else.” Mert’s voice was like honey on a wound. “We won’t get lost, Master Shesh. I promise.”

  “All right,” he said, holding my gaze. “Abba Daniel will look for us here first, Ima.” Righteous, pious, tenderhearted Shesh. I lowered my head, suddenly siezed by the fear and shame that paralyzed me as a child in this dark place.

  Mert stepped in front of me, looking fiercely into my eyes. “You are the wife of the nobleman Belteshazzar, who was chief of Nebuchadnezzar’s wise men and governor of the Chaldeans. The priests here have no power over you.” She looped her arm around mine and instructed the servants to follow our family. Shesh’s position as chief scribe had secured shelter for our seventy-plus-member household, but I felt anything but safe in the southeast treasury, where my skin crawled with memories. I held my breath while passing every priest’s and priestess’s chamber and almost fainted as we approached the room that stored some of my deepest pain. Thankfully, Shesh opened a door two chambers before we reached it.

  My family’s gasps ushered Mert and me into a world so different from the chaos and blood we’d left in Babylon’s streets. Gold, silver, gemstones, purple robes, exquisite furs, gilded armor, and large chunks of precious metals lay in piles around the large room.

  “Some of these chunks look familiar,” I said to no one in particular. While others oohed and aahed, I found Shesh and pointed to an ornately carved bronze piece. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “It’s one of the bronze capitals from the two pillars of Jerusalem’s Temple. See the pomegranates in rows around it?”

  I nodded, heart pounding as I pointed out other treasures. “That’s a golden lampstand, and over there is the golden altar.”

  Shesh turned to face me. “How do you know what the lampstand and altar looked like?”

  Excitement had overtaken my senses. I’d been careless with my words. Though my son-in-law had been born in Babylon, he’d been faithfully taught the Law and Torah and understood the Temple restrictions. A jumble of emotions tied my tongue. Fear of past secrets warred with the joy of seeing Yahweh’s sacred items again.

  Kezia heard our exchange and drew close, brows lifted. I refused to offer more grain for her gossiping hens at the market. “Are all the treasures from Jerusalem housed in this single room?” A slight shift of subject might work. “Surely this isn’t everything Nebuchadnezzar brought from the palace, the Temple, and all the wealthy landowners in Judah.”

  Shesh grinned, acknowledging my redirection. “No, of course not. Though it was logged before my time, the records show King Nebuchadnezzar divided most of Jerusalem’s treasure between all the temples in Babylon. Some of it was also given to his father-in-law, King Astyages of the Medes, to aid in military campaigns. King Belshazzar, however, has squandered most of the other temple treasuries with his banquets and revelry. He’d left the Esagila’s valuables largely undisturbed until two days ago, when he requisitioned all gold and silver goblets from Solomon’s Temple to serve wine at his banquet.”

  Fear vied with shock, and my mind began to spin. “No wonder Yahweh brought judgment on Babylon tonight.”

  Shesh’s eyes grew wary, glancing from me to the Temple items. “You think Yahweh sent the Medes to attack Babylon because Belshazzar used the sacred goblets?” He folded his arms across his chest and gave me a forbearing smile. “If Yahweh was so quick to protect His holy items tonight, why didn’t He strike down the Babylonians when they destroyed His Temple?” His expression said he thought he’d confounded me.

  Kezia, too, waited for my answer. Fully aware that whatever I said could lead to more questions, I walked away to inspect the piles of treasure. Some mounds rose higher than two men. Some had been sorted according to composition—gold, silver, or bronze. Another pile held only more manageable chopped pieces of what had once been larger objects.

  Shesh and Kezia followed close on my heels. My son-in-law took a piece of hand-sized gold from the pile and placed it in my hands. Its weight nearly toppled me. Appreciation shone in his eyes. “We don’t often realize how heavy the golden Temple items would have been. Imagine the Ark of the Covenant, for instance.”

  I swallowed the instant lump in my throat. “Yes, imagine.”

  He took the gold from my hands, giving me a sidelong glance. “It’s been recorded that much of Jerusalem’s wealth—including the Temple items—was cut into pieces this size.” He held it before me. “Which makes it impossible to identify the original items.”

  Renewed panic gripped me. First my Daniel had been taken and now Yahweh’s Ark? “Yahweh’s presence cannot be cut into pieces, Shesh. He would not allow it.” But even as I said it, I felt the hypocrisy of my words. Hadn’t He allowed His Temple to be burned? And His cherished people to be scattered and made a mockery among nations? “There must be a way to trace the journey of the Ark from its capture in Jerusalem to wherever it sits today.”

  The son of my heart gazed into the windows of my soul. “We can only trace the Ark if those who have seen it tell their stories.”

  He knew. Somehow he knew I’d seen the Ark. Mert’s hand slipped into mine. “Tell him.”

  “Tell us what?” Kezia’s tone was clipped, her eyes flitting from Mert to me.

  Sadly, I could more easily confide in my son-in-law than my gossiping daughter. But she feared family shame more than tonight’s invaders. Perhaps Kezia’s life as daughter of King Nebuchadnezzar’s chief wise man and wife of Lord Sheshbazzar, with the pomp and privilege those roles ensured, was more important than her standing among her gossiping friends.

  Reaching out to cup her cheek, I couldn’t even imagine my eldest spending a night cold or hungry, homeless or enslaved. She could have withstood only a portion of the memories flooding my mind. “When Crown Prince Nebuchadnezzar invaded Jerusalem to steal the young nobility, I saw the Ark in the Temple. In his following two attacks—eight years later and eleven years after that—the priests included in both of those exiles spoke of their continuing sacrifices and annual Day of Atonement celebrations. How could they without His presence above the Ark?”

  Turning to Shesh, I placed my hand on the piece of gold in his hand and held his gaze. “I’ve imagined all these years that Yahweh’s presence still rested on that Ark tucked away somewhere in a king’s treasury. I can’t bear to think it may have been chopped into…” I squeezed my eyes closed, and Daniel’s sweet face came to mind. I couldn’t forfeit my husband and Yahweh’s presence in the same night. I lifted my chin. “Please, Shesh. Will you try to discover in which of the exiles the Ark was captured and where it might be?”

  3

  In the third year of the reign of Jehoiakim king of Judah, Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon came to Jerusalem and besieged it. And the Lord delivered Jehoiakim king of Judah into his hand.

  —DANIEL 1:1–2

  Jerusalem

  August 605 BC

  The morning was already steamy, the sun barely peeking through the tattered curtains in our single-windowed servants’ chamber.

  Ima jostled me awake. “Hurry, my little joy. We must clean the king’s private chamber before he returns.”

  I was on my feet before fully awake, knowing I couldn’t delay. King Jehoiakim prowled his wives’ chambers through the night and often returned to his private chamber shortly after dawn.

  Ima slipped my sleeveless woolen robe over my tunic, and I tied a rope around my waist for a belt. She called out as we hurried without a lamp toward the door. “I freshened the linens last night so we need only replace the water in his washbasin, empty his waste pot, and tidy the room. You can fluff the pillows on his couch and sweep the floor.”

  “Yes, Ima.” I followed her through the darkened hallways as I’d done every day of my life. At
least every day I could remember. I tried to count the number of steps between our small chamber and the king’s but always lost count. King Solomon’s palace was enormous, but at three hundred years old and neglected by our king, Judah’s royal residence was rather run down.

  We arrived at the king’s private chamber. Ima and I set to work feverishly. I pounded the couch pillows hard, remembering the one time King Jehoiakim returned while we worked. Abba had been with us, and the king had burst through the heavy cedar doors, startled at our presence. Then, donning the look of a predator, he advanced toward my ima with a smile that seemed more mean than happy.

  My abba stepped in front of her. From my place beside the washbasin, I saw only the king’s back and watched Abba fall to the floor, his blood soaking the tapestry. One of the king’s guards took me outside the chamber, but I could hear Ima crying inside. We hadn’t spoken Abba’s name since—or the king’s.

  Trying to erase the memory, I reached for the hyssop broom and swept the floor as if an army chased me.

  “Finished yet?”

  “Yes, Ima.” I scuffed the pile of dust under the bed. I could return this afternoon to finish while the king was at court.

  As Ima reached for a tray of half-eaten food, I felt the floor vibrate under my feet. “Ima, what’s happening?” Before I crossed the room to her open arms, the vibration grew to a rumble. A silver goblet on the tray skittered sideways on the slanted table.

  She reached for my hand and led me onto the king’s balcony that overlooked the Kidron Valley. Below us, speeding toward Jerusalem’s Horse Gate, was an army so vast it looked like ink spilling onto a page.

  “You must hide!” She shoved me back inside the chambers, but she returned to the balcony, watching the activity below.

  “Ima, come on! We must hide!”

  She rushed inside, her eyes wild. Looking back at the balcony and then at the chamber door, she seemed confused. Undecided. “He let them in. Why would he open the gates for them?”

  “Who let who in, Ima?”

  She shook my shoulders. “King Jehoiakim! He opened the gate to let in the Babylonians.” She pulled me into a fierce embrace, praying her panic through hysterical sobs. “Yahweh, You must save my child. You must. Show me where to hide her. She’s all I have. Please.” She laid her cheek atop my head, whispering words I couldn’t hear, while I clung to her middle.

  “The Temple!” she said suddenly, slipping my hands from her waist to hold them in hers and then looking into my eyes. “Abigail, the Babylonians surely won’t harm the priests.” She ran with me toward the door. “Go to Yahweh’s Temple. The priests will save a child.” Before I realized her intention, she pushed me into the hallway, slammed the door, and locked it. “They would care little about a woman, but they’ll have mercy on a child.”

  “No, Ima!” I kicked and pounded the door. “Ima, come with me!”

  “Go, my precious girl. Go now before the Babylonians enter the palace. I love you. Go!”

  Chaos surrounded me. Palace guards, servants, women, and children screamed in terror through the hallway. Having no choice but to obey her, I gave the door a final kick and ran toward the servants’ wing. I kept my my head covering low, eyes averted, and hugged the wall. Sounds of invasion rose as I neared the servants’ entrance. Men shouting in Hebrew were joined by myriad foreign tongues I’d never heard and didn’t understand. Swords clanged and death cries echoed in my ears as I emerged from the palace onto the street leading to Yahweh’s Temple.

  Panic threatened to swallow me, hysteria beginning a low moan and weakening my knees. Run to the Temple. Run to the Temple. I ordered my feet to move and focused on the Guard’s Gate, which connected the palace grounds to the Temple courts. The priests will save a child.

  I ran through the upper city’s market, while soldiers fought, merchants fled, and women huddled with their children in dark corners. The Temple’s gate was unguarded, so I rushed into the Great Court and found both priests and Levites busy at the far reaches of the large building, filling wagons with gold and silver from storerooms. The Temple guards were gone, probably fighting in the streets with Judah’s army.

  But who was guarding Yahweh?

  Looking right and left to be sure I wasn’t seen, I skittered across the outer court and up the stairs toward the Bronze Altar, where the high priest made sacrifices. I hid between the twelve bronze bulls that held the Bronze Sea on their backs. I’d seen these sacred items when Ima took me to daily sacrifices, but we watched from balconies and porticos. It all seemed more real now as I scraped the blood from the altar with my fingernail. I stood at the doorway to the Temple, studying the colossal bronze pillars—named Jakin and Boaz—and wondered for the thousandth time what lay beyond. Did Yahweh truly dwell on top of a gold box in the Most Holy Place?

  Panicked voices drew my attention, and Temple guards flooded the courts, followed by foreign soldiers, swords clashing. Angry priests left the storerooms and their wagons, trying to escape the advancing violence. Fear sped my heart and choked my breathing.

  I glanced at the pillars and the forbidden door between them. Yahweh, if I must die today, I’d rather die by Your hand than by the sword of an enemy soldier. With a little more faith than courage, I bolted across the upper court to the doors meant only for priests.

  To my shock and great relief, the handle opened easily. I slipped into a silent world of glittering golden lamplight. Tipping my head back, I examined floor to ceiling glory. I ran to one golden lampstand, my fingers tracing the etchings of pomegranates, lilies, and almond blossoms. Then to the table, where gold bowls, dishes, censers, and wick trimmers were carefully placed and two stacks of sacred bread—each pile of six warm loaves—filled the room with a fresh-baked aroma. I snatched a loaf to quiet my rumbling tummy as the noise outside grew louder. If I was to die, I wouldn’t die hungry. The sounds of fighting grew nearer, driving me closer to the One whose holiness would likely thrill me—to death.

  I hesitated outside the Holy of Holies, separated only by a floor-to-ceiling curtain with cherubim woven in golden thread, and called out in a strained whisper, “Yahweh, if You’re in there, please have mercy on me. I’m simply obeying my ima.” As if I were swallowing a spoonful of fish oil, I broke through the curtain and ran inside. Eyes closed, I waited for the death blow.

  Nothing. No rumble of thunder or fire from the sky.

  I opened my eyes, repositioned the large flat loaf of bread under my arm, and scanned the wide room. Two gargantuan golden cherubim extended their wings over the famed golden box that ima called the Ark of the Covenant. She said Yahweh dwelled atop it, but I saw no cloud or fire of our invisible God—which I supposed made sense. He was invisible. I walked under the cherubim’s wings and around the gold box, studying the greatest treasure of my ancestors. Dare I touch it?

  I broke off a piece of bread and placed it on top of the Ark. Maybe Yahweh would appear if I gave Him small bites.

  “No! You must not enter—” A priest’s Hebrew warning was cut short by an enemy’s blow as sounds of war erupted on the other side of the curtain.

  I crouched low behind the Ark, but there was nowhere else to hide. Yahweh, if You’re here, save me!

  More pleading priests. More mocking replies. I covered my ears and stared at the gold box. Waiting. Praying. I squeezed my eyes shut, imagining the God of my forefathers sweeping away the enemy as He’d done to the Egyptians when they chased the Israelites into the Red Sea. But the screaming continued. There would be no divine rescue today. No righteous anger when soldiers entered Yahweh’s Temple. Why?

  An iron grip cinched my waist. “Noooo!” I kicked and flailed at the monstrous brown arm that held me against a broad chest.

  A huge hand clamped over my mouth and nose, making breathing impossible. “You can fight me now and die or serve the chosen royal princes of Judah under Babylon’s protection.” My
captor spoke in broken Hebrew, but I understood.

  Spots formed in my vision. Desperate for air, I searched the top of the golden Ark again. Please, Yahweh. Show me Your presence.

  In little more than a blink, I saw a glimmer, a shimmering of air above the Ark, and then it was gone. You are real! My arms and legs relaxed, and the giant’s hand fell away.

  I gasped sweet breath. “What protection can Babylon offer?”

  Strong arms whirled me to face a grinning giant. His black hair was close cropped, and I tried not to stare at his thin-plucked eyebrows and beardless chin. “You think you’re in a position to negotiate, little wildcat? You’re not. Babylon offers protection from Judah’s primitive culture and the constant threat of invasion.” The dimple in his chin made him seem almost human. “I am Ashpenaz, Prince Nebuchadnezzar’s chief eunuch. I serve him with unswerving devotion in exchange for Babylon’s protection. You see? We are not so different.”

  “I must find Ima and tell her I’m leaving so she won’t worry.”

  All traces of humanity fled as he leaned to within a handbreadth of my face. “You have no ima. You have no abba. You have only Babylon, and no one will ever worry over you again.” He straightened his fine linen robe and took two quick glances at the sacred bread I’d dropped. “That’s a strange looking loaf of bread. You can take it with you if you like.”

  I noticed the piece I’d laid on top of the Ark was gone. “Did you eat the piece I placed on the Ark?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I would never steal an offering to any god.”

  I bent to retrieve the bread from in front of the Ark and gasped. It was whole—as if I’d never offered a bite to Yahweh.

  Ashpenaz shoved me toward the curtain, and I cradled the loaf as if it were as sacred as the Ark itself. Yahweh was real! He hadn’t saved Jerusalem from the Babylonians, but He’d shown Himself to me.