by Mesu Andrews
19
The king of Babylon killed the sons of Zedekiah before his eyes; he also killed all the officials of Judah. Then he put out Zedekiah’s eyes, bound him with bronze shackles and took him to Babylon, where he put him in prison till the day of his death.
—JEREMIAH 52:10–11
Babylon
October 586 BC
The trumpets blared, and Daniel stood in his customary position at the top of the grand stairway of Babylon’s palace, waiting once again to feign congratulations for another of King Nebuchadnezzar’s conquests. This time the victory for Babylon’s king meant devastation for Daniel’s homeland. Jerusalem and Yahweh’s Temple had been burned, razed to the ground, and now lay in total ruin. When Nebuchadnezzar climbed the stairs to lift victorious hands to the crowd, could Daniel suppress the anger and hatred that had been building for nearly twenty years and bow to the gloating king?
The roar of celebration moved like a wave of the sea as the king paraded toward the palace on the Processional Way. With every conquest, large or small, Nebuchadnezzar led his captives in a train with the wealth of their conquered kingdom trailing behind them on camels and ox-drawn carts. As a twelve-year-old boy, Daniel hadn’t realized that he’d been part of Nebuchadnezzar’s first train, but since then he’d witnessed every one. Nearly every autumn, the king added captives and treasure-laden carts to his burgeoning empire. And waiting at the palace entrance on every occasion were his royal counselors, Daniel included, to heap praise and glory on the best military mind in history.
The inner city gates opened slowly, and Daniel’s stomach clenched, remembering the sound of their creaking iron hinges when he entered Babylon in the first of Judah’s three exiles. Eleven years ago, Nebuchadnezzar brought ten thousand more Judean captives to Babylon—the finest soldiers, artisans, and scholars, as well as the rebellious King Jehoiachin, his officials, his wives, and even his ima. Daniel had begged for the royal lives to be spared. Nebuchadnezzar agreed but placed them in the palace prison, where they remained to this day.
Gasps and cheers erupted from the crowd of noblemen gathered in the courtyard when the first splash of sunlight reflected off gold and silver.
Daniel swallowed what felt like a boulder rising in his throat as the king’s royal guard escorted a line of treasure carts mounded with gold, silver, and bronze. A surge of anger pressed Daniel’s teeth together while he squinted against the sun’s glare, trying to recognize the treasure from his days in Jerusalem. Were they palace furnishings? The pieces were too small to be sacred items from the Temple.
As the carts paraded past the grand staircase, Daniel’s breath caught. Small pieces of bronze—engraved with pomegranates—filled one of the carts. They were undeniably pieces of what had been the stately pillars outside Yahweh’s Temple. Another cart held equally small chunks engraved with gourds unique to the sacred Bronze Sea. Other pieces were gold and engraved with almond flowers, buds, and blossoms.
Fury coursed through his veins. How could this king that Daniel had coddled, calmed, and cajoled have chopped into pieces the sanctuary of Yahweh’s presence on earth? Daniel had bowed to him, appeased him, even aided him in furthering his empire whenever Nebuchadnezzar returned to Babylon between military campaigns. Thankfully, the king was a warrior and builder, so he was gone often and for extended periods, allowing Daniel time for his true passion—coordinating records of their Jewish nation in exile.
Shortly after the miracle of the fiery furnace, while Nebuchadnezzar was favorably disposed to the Hebrew God, Daniel suggested an empire-wide census to discover where Yahweh worshippers dwelt. If a remnant of God’s people were to fulfill Jeremiah’s prophecy at the end of seventy years of captivity, they must know how far their people had been flung. The king had given his permission, hoping to curry the favor of Daniel’s powerful God, and placed Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in charge of the project. Had Nebuchadnezzar forgotten it was the same God who dwelt in the Temple he’d just destroyed?
Why won’t You release me, Yahweh? Daniel had prayed for Yahweh’s permission to escape Babylon and its insanity. But where would he go? And would Zakiti come with him, leaving all that was familiar to her, to follow Daniel and the God she’d only recently begun to trust?
The cheering surged, drawing Daniel back to the moment. King Nebuchadnezzar, the victorious conqueror, entered the courtyard riding his sleek black stallion and pulling a prisoner bound with bronze chains. A long captive train followed behind them to the jeers and taunts of the gathered noblemen. The king’s personal captive was barely recognizable, his face swollen and bruised, body caked with dirt and blood. But sweat gathered on Daniel’s brow despite the morning breeze as recognition dawned. Bearing the broad square shoulders of King Josiah’s descendants, Nebuchadnezzar’s prize was King Zedekiah—Daniel’s uncle.
Today, Nebuchadnezzar fulfilled centuries-old prophecies that Daniel had studied when he was six years old—that the temple would be destroyed. Daniel could never have imagined he would stand at the right hand of the king who would fulfill them—and be forced to honor his conquest.
Ashpenaz barked orders at the cart drivers, checking a scroll the king had sent in advance with orders to count and catalog their contents. Some of the loot went to the palace storehouses and other carts were directed to various temple treasuries. Most were sent directly to the Esagila—the temple of Marduk, Nebuchadnezzar’s patron deity.
The king reined his stallion to a stop at the foot of the grand stairway and dismounted. He charged up the steps two at a time, leaving his prisoner facedown in the street, too near death to cause trouble.
Nebuchadnezzar stopped toe to toe with Daniel and whispered through clenched teeth, “Will I be punished or rewarded for destroying Jerusalem? You didn’t reply to my messages.”
Daniel met the wild-eyed stare of the King of the Earth. “Our Chaldeans read the stars. We charted your travel. We sanctioned your battles. We even advised the king on which women to bring into his harem.” Daniel stepped forward and moved the king back. “But I cannot—I will not—relay a message Yahweh doesn’t give.” Daniel swallowed hard, refusing to look away. “You are the chastening stick in Yahweh’s hand, but even sticks are thrown into a fire and burned.”
The king’s eyes narrowed. “After all I’ve done for you, Belteshazzar, you wish me harm?”
Nebuchadnezzar had massacred Daniel’s family, burned Jerusalem, and destroyed Yahweh’s Temple. Without a Temple, why would a remnant return? How could they worship? Daniel looked at Zedekiah and felt as if the promise he’d made with Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah had been gouged out like his uncle’s eyes.
Did he want Nebuchadnezzar to be destroyed? Yes. But what then? Judah no longer existed. Was there another Babylonian whose rule would be kinder? Nebuchadnezzar was cruel and arrogant but also occasionally generous and open to wise counsel.
Daniel swallowed his rage and turned to face the king. “I wish you no harm, King Nebuchadnezzar. In fact, I pray for your peace.”
His expression turned to stone. “You might as well pray for my death, Lord Belteshazzar. A king who yearns for peace will lose his kingdom faster than a maiden her virtue on a ship full of sailors.”
This revelation—the fear behind his madness—was staggering. “It saddens me to think peace is such a tyrant for you. I hope someday you and Queen Amyitis can enjoy your eight children and their children after them.”
The personal comment seemed to disarm him, and Daniel hoped the small crack in his heart would widen to allow compassion for the captives. He pointed at the line of weak and sickly prisoners. “Many appear to be feverish and with open sores. Perhaps we could treat them before dispersing them throughout the empire.”
Nebuchadnezzar waved a dismissive hand. “They’re all sickly. More died inside Jerusalem than by our swords after the walls fell. We’ve no need to use up Babylon’s medica
l supplies when most will die before reaching their assigned provinces.”
“What about King Zedekiah?” Daniel pointed at his uncle. “Will we at least provide treatment for the royal family?” The rest of my family? Daniel wanted to shout.
Nebuchadnezzar glared at Daniel with the coldness of a warrior. “I killed most of those who lived in the palace but took Zedekiah’s sons to our camp at Riblah, where I had them killed slowly in front of him. Then I took out his eyes so the last thing he saw was his sons’ torture.” He held Daniel’s gaze, challenging him to react, to show any sign of disloyalty.
20
In the first year of Darius son of Xerxes (a Mede by descent), who was made ruler over the Babylonian kingdom,…I, Daniel, understood from the Scriptures, according to the word of the LORD given to Jeremiah the prophet, that the desolation of Jerusalem would last seventy years. So I turned to the Lord God and pleaded with him in prayer and petition, in fasting, and in sackcloth and ashes.
—DANIEL 9:1–3
October 539 BC
After choosing our villa on palace grounds, Daniel and I were exhausted, but my husband insisted Allamu return to our family villa in the walled noblemen’s city to help us decide what we should transfer to our new home. As if I don’t know what I’ll need in my new villa. It was a ploy to spend more time with my son. I knew it and so did Allamu.
My son stood atop the Processional Way and watched Daniel lean on my arm, struggling to climb the steps. He watched. He didn’t help. I ground out a vow. “If he doesn’t help you down the steps on the other side, I’ll find a switch and beat him with it.”
“That should make him feel welcome for his first visit to the family’s villa.” His mischievous grin ruined my sour mood, and I had to kiss his cheek. How had he put up with me all these years?
We crossed the Way, and Allamu offered his arm to my husband for the climb down. I followed them, two steps behind. We’d lived in our neighborhood since returning from Borsippa nearly twenty-five years ago. The thought of moving back to the palace complex with all the tensions of life at court sent a chill down my spine, but this General Gubaru had given Daniel no choice.
As we walked through our familiar streets, unfamiliar Medes now acted as overseers of Babylonian troops who removed corpses, scrubbed away blood, and tried to restore some level of normalcy. I recognized some servants who worked in the gardens, but which of Babylon’s nobility would remain in their homes? Many of the men had been murdered at Belshazzar’s banquet, leaving wives and children unguarded. Were the survivors sent to the unwalled city, or had they become servants when their villa was confiscated by a new Median owner? Would they be slaves sold at market? Or had unwitting widows become unwilling brides on the night of their husbands’ deaths? Oh Yahweh, have mercy on them.
Heart breaking for our friends, I asked Allamu, “Who decides which noblemen get to keep their homes?”
He stopped and glared at me. “Who decides? The Medes, Mother. Because we have the biggest swords.” He gave a condescending snort and started walking again. “Can’t you simply be grateful your real children kept their homes?”
Slapped by his bitterness, I swallowed my own pain and spoke gently to a son too angry to see me. “I’m deeply grateful that all five of my children have homes and thankful for whatever part you played in securing them.”
“Hmm.” He resumed his trek, following Daniel’s direction to our family villa twenty paces ahead.
Our garden had been partially harvested by hungry soldiers, our terraces destroyed, and the courtyard disheveled. All in all, we suffered little. Shesh was in the courtyard, organizing the servants into cleanup teams, while Kezia and Mert worked diligently at the cook fire.
Shesh was first to spot us. He raised his hand. “Welcome, Lord Allamu. Thank you for escorting Abba and Ima home.”
“This is no longer their home,” he said and then turned to Daniel. “Twenty men will arrive this evening to transfer whatever personal items you’ve packed.” He offered a curt nod and turned to leave.
Daniel caught his arm. “Surely you can take a few moments to come upstairs and help your mother and me know what we should take to the new villa.” Silence passed between them, and Daniel released his arm. “Please, Allamu. A few moments of your time.”
He glanced at me, then extended his hand. “Lead the way, Lord Belteshazzar.”
I followed the two men again, this time up the stairs into the chamber where my secret memories were hidden in plain sight. Familiar objects—a small pitcher and clay lamp—that had deeper meaning only to me. And Allamu. Why hadn’t I thrown them away or at least hidden them? Because I’d grieved for my son every day for over forty-five years, and I never imagined he’d return. Would he expose the only secret I’d kept from Daniel just to spite me?
My husband pushed open our bedchamber door, and Allamu entered as if he owned its contents. He began inspecting Daniel’s robes, offering comment on which were appropriate for Median court and which were too Babylonian. He then moved to our large baskets of linens. “You’ll need none of this,” he said, waving his hand over them distastefully. “The palace provides the finest Egyptian linens for all the noblemen’s homes.”
Next he approached the large wooden trunk at the foot of our bed and opened its intricately carved lid. How would he react to its irreplaceable treasures? Our daughters’ first sandals. Copies of their wedding contracts. Our grandchildren’s handprints in baked clay. He stepped back and lowered the lid quickly as if a cobra might strike him. “I suppose you’ll want all this.” I saw the pain on his face, and my chest constricted. He sniffed and moved on.
“Do you have a family, Allamu?” I asked, showing considerable restraint. I really wanted to ask, Do I have a daughter-in-law or more grandchildren?
“No.” Without further comment, he continued the inspection, opening a basket beside Daniel’s couch, where he kept two ancient scrolls.
“Those were written by the prophet Jeremiah,” Daniel offered. “It’s only a small portion of his writings, but Shesh came across them when King Belshazzar requested the goblets from Yahweh’s Temple for last night’s banquet. These scrolls were found with items taken from Zedekiah’s palace.” He picked up one from the basket and unrolled it. “You see? Hebrew is read from right to left.”
“I’m not interested in reading Hebrew, Lord Belteshazzar.”
Allamu hurried to escape, walking straight toward my dressing table. My heart rate set my feet into motion. “I’ll decide for myself which personal items to take, Allamu. You can help Daniel.”
But I was too late to block his path. He picked up the pitcher and lamp, one in each hand, and turned to me with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Why aren’t these hidden away in your treasure trunk, Mother?”
I glanced at my husband, who was absorbed in Jeremiah’s scroll, and lowered my voice. “Please, Allamu.” Shaking my head, I tried to communicate my plea for discretion without speaking.
His eyes widened with delight, and he drew close, stepping between me and Daniel. “He still doesn’t know you were high priestess?”
“Shhh. No one but Mert knows.” I looked over his shoulder. “Daniel, my love, I’m going downstairs with Allamu to find more baskets to pack our smaller items. He’d like a chance to see Mert again.”
“Of course, of course.” My husband, engrossed with Jeremiah’s text, waved us out of the chamber without looking up, and I tried to conjure words that would convince my son to keep my secret.
* * *
Daniel heard Belili say something before she and Allamu left, but his heart and mind were consumed by the words on Jeremiah’s scroll. He’d randomly pulled one from the stack and opened to these words: “ ‘But when the seventy years are fulfilled, I will punish the king of Babylon and his nation, the land of the Babylonians, for their guilt,’ declares the LORD.”
&nbs
p; Had the Medes’ invasion been Yahweh’s punishment on Babylon for their barbaric and inhumane attacks on Jerusalem? Daniel tried to swallow, but his mouth was as dry as the wasteland Judah had become. In the early years after Judah’s destruction, traveling merchants regularly mocked the once-great land of legendary King Solomon. Daniel had burned with indignation, but as the insults continued, he’d become calloused to their comments against the Jews, the term used now for Judean exiles in the empire.
But he’d also become numb to the passion he once felt to return to his homeland, believing that without a Temple in which Yahweh dwelt, there was no need to return. Had he been wrong? Was Yahweh now coaxing him back to the vow he made with his friends as a youth? A fist tightened in his gut, and he was forced to admit that if Yahweh actually fulfilled His portion of the vow, it would be difficult to leave the life he’d built here with his family.
Three more years. It was but a breath away.
A wave of grief drove Daniel to his knees. Oh, how he missed his friends. He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, wishing he could change the past.
After Nebuchadnezzar’s death, his heir had released the Judean prisoners from the second exile, and King Jehoiachin found special favor. In fact, hundreds of Jews were raised to positions of authority, including Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, who returned to Babylon to serve as Jehoiachin’s advisers. But danger and intrigue at the Babylonian court rose to boiling, and Daniel resigned his position as governor of the Chaldeans. He begged his three friends to step down as well. They refused, and a week later, the heir’s uncle staged a coup, seizing the throne and killing Nebuchadnezzar’s heir, Jehoiachin, and many high-ranking Judeans. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were among them. The loss hit Daniel like a mighty storm.
Jews scattered throughout the empire to escape the insanity of an imploding royal family. Those living in the cities where Daniel’s three friends had governed continued sending meticulous census records to his villa, detailing as many of the twelve tribes and their families as they could discover.
