by Mesu Andrews
[Ashpenaz] was to teach them the language and literature of the Babylonians.
—DANIEL 1:4
Six Months Later
Babylon’s coolest months were warmer than Jerusalem’s winter, and my small world of friendships was warmer still. Hananiah’s dark-skinned Egyptian maid, Mert, became a quick friend and valuable teacher. The twins shared Gula, a maid who was more aloof, but her quiet, gentle nature seemed to instill a sense of peace over them.
Each of the noble youths in the eastern chambers was slowly assigned a maid as well. All the princes ate evening meals together in the gargantuan courtyard of our main level, while we maids sat at a respectable distance and enjoyed their stories about the day’s learning.
My four princes and we three maids enjoyed an almost immediate bond; however, during my first week of service, Ashpenaz surprised us with a morning visit and caught us breaking our fast together in Daniel’s room. Furious with our familiarity, he forced the boys to watch as we maids were beaten and told we must always use their Babylonian names. Our masters cried harder than we did, and we’ve called them Belteshazzar, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego since.
“What are you thinking about?” Mert nudged my arm as we bent over our laundry stones. Gula looked up too, pausing her scrubbing.
I took a moment to appreciate these girls who had been so kind. “I was thinking how fortunate I am to have friends like you.”
“Then I’ve hidden my true self well.” Mert cupped her hand into the canal and splashed me.
I splashed back, and even Gula joined the fun before we returned to our chore. Rinsing the imported Egyptian natron from Daniel’s white linen robe, I rolled the fine fabric and set it aside to wring out later. My small pile of laundry nearly gone, I reached for the last item—Daniel’s woolen cloak—and made sure the girls weren’t watching. I pressed it against my face, drinking in the aroma of frankincense mingled with his musky scent, and let it massage my heart. The image of his smile danced in my mind, and I submerged the robe in the canal’s cool waters.
A moment of regret tainted my joy. Barely a year ago, I’d lived in Jerusalem’s palace with Ima. I’d come to accept that I would never see her again, but knowing that others lived out the nightmare I’d escaped in the Esagila was a reality I could hardly bear. What right did I have to be so happy?
“Belili?” Mert’s hand rested on my arm. “Are you well?”
I nodded, lifting Daniel’s dripping robe to the rock and sprinkling it with natron before scrubbing away the beloved scent—and my sadness. Our masters were training to be leaders in Babylon. Perhaps they could help the Judeans who were being mistreated as I had been. And though I missed Ima, she would be happy for me. The freedom I had in Daniel’s service and the education he gave me was far beyond what I would have gained in Jerusalem. But more than that…he was wonderful. When I slept, I dreamed of him. While he attended his classes on palace grounds, he consumed my thoughts. And when we were together, my heart was so full, I felt as if it might burst.
After our evening meals, when Belteshazzar and I were alone, we studied his scrolls by the light of a lamp, and I called him Daniel. In those moments, I gave him my heart on the wings of first love, unmarred by the cruelties of our world. In his small chamber, in a villa so far from the city of our birth, I fell in love with my best friend. He taught me the world from his scrolls and said I was every bit as bright as the Babylonian princess Rubati, who sat beside him in class.
Rubati. The girl was the sum of everything evil in my world. Though I didn’t know her, I hated her. Though I’d never met her, she was my fiercest enemy. She spent her day, every day, with my Daniel, learning the language and literature of Babylon. He gave me only scraps of his knowledge after our evening meal, while she feasted at a banquet I would never attend.
Mert finished rolling Shadrach’s last robe, and we helped Gula finish double the laundry for the twins. My frustrations were well spent as my friends and I twisted out every drop of water from the sopping-wet clothes. Robes hung to dry, I said goodbye to my friends for the afternoon, suddenly in no mood for chatter. The thought of a Babylonian princess fawning over my Daniel stuck like pine sap in my mind.
By the time he entered our chamber at dusk, I’d grown especially cross. He didn’t even notice. “We studied the Babylonian story of creation today. Would you like to hear it?”
I set aside the scroll I’d been reading, thinking this my opportunity to prove myself Rubati’s equal. “Yes, of course. I’d like to discuss it with you.”
“The Enuma Elis begins very much like our creation story and actually predates Moses’s written records. The Babylonians agree that the earth was formless and void, a dark and watery chaos. Their supreme god, Marduk, created light the first day, then the heavens, and then set the cosmos in place. Finally, Marduk created man to tend all he’d made.” Daniel stopped, lifting both brows. “What do you think of their story?”
Indignant, I shot to my feet. “It was Yahweh, not Marduk. They’re trying to make you love everything Babylonian and throw away everything Hebrew.” Did he know I spoke of more than just Yahweh?
Daniel stood, pressing a single finger against my lips. “I know that is their intention, but I will always serve Yahweh and love all things Hebrew.”
I smelled the ink on his hands and the cloves on his breath. The sensation of his finger on my lips warmed me, and his eyes lingered too long on mine.
He removed his hand and stepped away quickly. “Let’s talk about how our creation story differs from theirs.” He crossed the room to the basket, searching for a scroll. “Their story begins with a battle between their many gods for supremacy. Yahweh doesn’t need to battle since He’s the only true God.” He found a scroll, brought it to our small table, and unrolled it. Searching out the story and then following with his ink-stained finger, he showed me the progression of the Babylonian creation. “Here, Marduk creates the sky by splitting open the goddess Tiamat and then creates man by draining the blood from the god Kingu.”
“Ick! Why so much blood?”
“There’s shedding of blood in all religious rites, but at least our God requires it of animals, not humans, and only for our eternal good. It’s Yahweh’s goodness that sets Him apart from other gods.”
I hadn’t considered Yahweh’s nature as a difference, only His laws, the procedures of our worship. I was suddenly struck by the memory of Jerusalem’s Temple and the Ark inside it. “Wasn’t the Temple created so Yahweh could dwell on earth again, like He once did in the Garden of Eden?”
Daniel looked at me as if I were a king’s crown. At moments like this, I didn’t feel like his maid. I wondered if I should tell him that I’d seen the cherubim and the Ark. That Yahweh took my broken piece of bread and made the loaf whole again.
“I explained the story of Eden to the council of Chaldeans today.” His eyes sparked with excitement, so I decided not to interrupt. “At first, my instructor patronized me and my archaic Hebrew legends. So I asked how he would reconcile my Hebrew ‘legends’ with our shared Chaldean ancestry.”
“Shared Chaldean ancestry? You were born in Jerusalem like me.”
“Yes, but Father Abraham came from the city of Ur, in the land of the Chaldeans. He was a great prince who would have been taught the same story of Marduk’s creation epic that my instructors were teaching me today. But when Yahweh led Father Abraham to Canaan, the Lord revealed Himself there as the one true God. Abraham and his descendants have been commissioned to serve and carry His blessing to all nations.” Daniel grew pensive, his eyes searching mine as if looking for answers inside me.
Unnerved, I crossed my arms. “What? What are you thinking?”
“What if part of Yahweh’s covenant with Abraham—to bless all nations through him—involves our exile to Babylon?” Before I could answer, he rushed on, excitement building. “What if
choosing to educate the princes of Judah and place us in government positions throughout the empire is to fulfill Yahweh’s ultimate purpose of spreading the truth of the one true God?”
“But you said Yahweh was good. The things we saw in Jerusalem weren’t good, Daniel. What happened to me at the Esagila…” My throat constricted, and I turned away. If everything that had happened to me was God’s will, what kind of God had my ima served?
Daniel reached for my hand, pulling me around to face him. “People make choices to sin and disobey Yahweh every day. Like a good Abba, He must follow through on His promised discipline and tolerate the consequences of a sin-sick world. Perhaps a good God can take something as terrible as our exile and make it beautiful.”
The thought salved my wound, though I wasn’t completely convinced. I could at least face him again. “How did your council of Chaldeans react to the argument?”
The satisfied grin on his handsome face told me more than words. “We spent the rest of the day going through Babylonian legends, while I explained how each related to Yahweh’s revelation of Himself to Abraham.”
“Brilliant!” I applauded.
His smile suddenly stricken, he reached for my hands to still them. “No, Abigail. No. It wasn’t me. Only Yahweh could argue so shrewdly and grant me favor among the council. They actually requested more stories about our God tomorrow.”
Without another word, he rerolled the scroll and placed it in the basket, seeming weighted by our conversation. I sat in quiet wonder at how real Yahweh was to him. “How can the God of the Hebrews speak to you in Babylon when the Ark still resides in Jerusalem’s Temple?”
He offered me a devastating smile. “How do you know the army didn’t bring the Ark to Babylon?”
I swallowed hard, feeling my palms grow sweaty. Would he think me brave or a blasphemer? “Ashpenaz found me hiding in the Holy of Holies. My ima told me to hide with the priests, and when I saw the army attack them in the Temple courts, I decided to die by Yahweh’s hand in His holy place instead of by an enemy’s sword.” I shrugged. “I even tore off a piece of sacred bread to offer Him. Yahweh made it whole again.”
He gaped at me, wide eyed and slack jawed, for more than five heartbeats.
“Well? Say something.”
“Shadrach!” He hurried to the door, shouting, “Meshach, Abednego! Get in here!” I feared he was angry, but he returned laughing and lifted me into his arms and twirled me in circles. “You must tell us everything! The Holy of Holies. The miracle of the bread. You must tell us all of it.”
He set my feet on the floor but my head still spun. Was it his nearness or the doubts that still nibbled at my heart? “Daniel, I’m not sure about the bread. Perhaps I only thought I tore off a piece.”
The princes arrived with their maids, and Hananiah was first to speak. “Abigail, you look flushed.”
Daniel brushed my cheek and then took my hand, leading me to our cushions beside the small table. “Come. All of you. Abigail has much to teach us about Yahweh’s Temple in Jerusalem.”
13
In the second year of his reign, Nebuchadnezzar had dreams; his mind was troubled and he could not sleep.
—DANIEL 2:1
The morning was cold and damp. Mert and I were among the maids hanging our masters’ linens on hemp ropes tied between two poles in the courtyard, while Gula prepared a midday snack for us of bread and date paste. We each wore one of the boy’s extra woolen robes under our own for warmth, hiding their generosity lest Ashpenaz inspect the villa unannounced. I heard the garden gate rattle open but didn’t look up, expecting the Hebrew gardener I’d met my first day at the villa. Instead, I heard the panicked voices of our masters.
“How could you promise to interpret his dream?” Shadrach’s voice held a disturbing tremor I hadn’t heard before.
Hurrying through the rows of billowing sheets and tunics, I watched all four young men march upstairs toward their chambers.
Daniel shouted over his shoulder at the three who followed, “What should I have done? Let them kill us?” Our masters didn’t notice the line of maids peeking from behind the hanging sheets. The other boys trickled in, sullen and silent, and climbed the opposite staircase without a glance into the courtyard, where we watched with growing concern.
Mert shoved me forward. “Go talk to Belteshazzar. I’ve never seen Shadrach so upset.” She felt about her master as I did for Daniel but would never admit it.
“Enough!” Daniel shouted, drawing our attention again. He stood outside Shadrach’s chamber, where the twins were huddled behind their brother. “You know I can only interpret a dream when Yahweh gives me its meaning. Stop badgering your weak friend on earth and start pleading with our powerful God in heaven.” He turned on his heel, entered his chamber, and slammed the door. Shadrach spoke something quietly to the twins, and all three disappeared into the oldest brother’s chamber.
I emerged from my hiding place, startled by Daniel’s uncharacteristic rudeness. The other maids looked to me, but I was at a loss.
“Go!” Mert nudged me again. “He’ll tell you.”
I wasn’t sure she was right, but her confidence emboldened me. With similar encouragement from the other maids, I padded upstairs to Daniel’s chamber and tapped lightly on the cedar door. No answer. I knocked harder and heard a muffled, “Come.”
When I entered, no lamp was lit, but enough sunlight shone through the window to see my master’s red-rimmed eyes. He knelt in the middle of the chamber. Looking up, he wiped his nose on his sleeve. “What is it?”
His coolness wounded me. I bowed. “I’m here to help, but first you must tell me how.” I dared not look up in the silence.
“Come in then, and close the door.”
With a measure of relief, I entered and knelt opposite him, hands in my lap, eyes averted.
“King Nebuchadnezzar experienced some sort of nightmare last night. He summoned the council of Chaldeans—every magician, enchanter, sorcerer, and astrologer in his kingdom—and asked them to tell what he had dreamed.”
I lifted my gaze. “You mean to interpret the dream?”
“No. To tell what he dreamed.”
“Can they do that?”
Daniel shook his head. “When the council tried to explain that no one could do such a thing, the king said they were merely stalling for time and ordered the execution of all wise men in the kingdom—including the students of the Chaldeans.”
“No!” I covered a gasp.
“We are safe.”
Confusion. Fear. Hope. I couldn’t make sense of his report. “Did the king change his mind?”
“The council sent Arioch, commander of the king’s guard, to our class. He planned to begin executions with the most easily expendable. I recognized him from Jerusalem and approached him, asking what brought him to our classroom.” Daniel offered his first slight grin. “I think he was intrigued by a fourteen-year-old boy foolish enough to talk to the executioner. He actually listened to me.”
Captured by his story, my heart was beginning to brighten. “What did you say?”
“I told him Yahweh could tell me King Nebuchadnezzar’s dream and interpret it, but I needed until tomorrow morning to pray and hear from Him.”
Momentary relief was swallowed up in anxiety. “So, Yahweh has done this before—I mean, told you the dream before interpreting it?”
He reached for my hands and held my gaze. “No, but I’d never heard of Yahweh mending a loaf of bread in the Holy of Holies until we were faced with exile.”
I yanked my hands away and bolted to my feet. “He did that in Jerusalem. In His Temple. How could you even imagine that Yahweh will hear and answer a prayer in this pagan city?”
Annoyingly calm, he offered his hand, bidding me return to my place opposite him.
“No! You must tell Arioch you n
eed more time. You must find another way.” His hand waited in stubborn tenderness. I knew he wouldn’t answer until I resumed my place, so I refused his hand but knelt. “Well? Will you rescind your promise?”
“Yahweh created the heavens and the earth, He divided the waters of the Red Sea, and He summoned a fish to swallow Jonah. I think He can reveal a king’s nightmare to those who trust Him in Babylon.”
“We think so too.” Shadrach stood in the doorway, his brothers huddled around him. “I’ve sent Mert and Gula to cancel our evening meal so we can fast and pray.”
A slow, wide smile bloomed on Daniel’s face. “The God of heaven will reveal this mystery, and the whole empire will hear of it.” The three princes closed the door behind them and joined Daniel and me on the reed mat, ready for an all-night vigil if necessary.
“Thank you, my friends,” Daniel said, looking around our circle.
“May we join too?” Mert asked, standing at the doorway with Gula.
Daniel exchanged a glance with Shadrach, who scooted over to make room for the newcomers between himself and Meshach. Daniel welcomed them with a nod and offered a word of instruction. “Focus your prayers on what you know of Yahweh. Praise Him and consider how it might bring Him glory to reveal this mystery to King Nebuchadnezzar.” Without another word, he bowed his head and left us to find Yahweh in prayers of our own.
On the floor of that small villa, seven children cried out to a Hebrew God whose presence rested on a golden box far away in Jerusalem, asking that He reveal the dream of a king who had killed their families.
And He did.
The moon was well past its zenith when Daniel fell on his side, eyes fixed on a distant nothing. His pallor faded to the color of fresh cream, almost translucent in the lamplight. He pawed the air, grasping for something we could not see. Fearful he’d fallen ill, I retrieved the washbasin and thought to cool his face with the cloth.
Shadrach hovered over him like a mother hen. “Don’t touch him. I think Yahweh is speaking.”
