Of Fire and Lions

by Mesu Andrews

  My heart leapt to my throat. The realization that he might refuse me had never been real until that moment. “My son is sick.”

  He looked at me, the sadness in his expression having grown deeper. “A son. Congratulations.” He buried his face again. “Zakiti…Zakiti was barren.”

  I closed my eyes, wishing I could trust some god, any god. Gadi had begged me to visit the temple of Mithra, but I knew every priest’s trick, every secret rite. None of it was real. I’d keep their secrets—as I’d sworn—but I’d never again worship a god who couldn’t match the power I saw in that blazing furnace on the Dura Plain. And the only God worthy would never hear the prayers of a woman like me.

  “Daniel, my son has the plague too.”

  Nothing. His face still buried, my friend didn’t respond.

  I knelt, pressing my forehead to his bare feet. “Please, my lord, I beg you. I would never ask for myself, but he’s just a boy. Allamu is good. He’s nothing like me. Please, Daniel. Please pray to Yahweh for my child—” Sobbing cut off my pleading, and I fell into a heap on the floor.

  Strong hands gripped my arms, pulling me into a tight embrace. “Shhh, Belili. All right. We will pray. We will ask Yahweh together.” His tears wet my forehead, sealing his promise, and then he held me at arm’s length. “But you must understand. Yahweh will do what Yahweh will do, Belili. He takes one and leaves another. We will pray, but He will decide.”

  I shook my head, silently pleading that Daniel might tell me all would be well. He didn’t. He held my gaze, unrelenting. My friend had never lied to me, and he was telling me the hard truth even now.

  He led me to the chamber where his servant had taken my son and the eunuch. At least we had a roof over our heads—no thanks to the king and queen of Babylon. If I had been the one praying that evening, the plague would have struck Nebuchadnezzar and Amyitis dead. Instead, I sat beside my fevered son and watched Daniel pray.

  He prayed. And prayed. And prayed. Until my eyes closed in a fitful sleep.

  22

  Let no one be found among you who sacrifices their son or daughter in the fire, who practices divination or sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft, or casts spells, or who is a medium or spiritist or who consults the dead.

  —DEUTERONOMY 18:10–11

  I had experienced the atrocities of war but never witnessed a battle like the one my son fought for his life during the week of his illness. Seizures, fever, seeping wounds, and hallucinations kept him in constant terror.

  Finally, on the morning of the seventh day, he awoke from his first restful sleep with clear eyes. “Mother, I’m hungry.”

  Lying beside him, I hugged him close, laughing through my tears. “Mert will prepare any food you desire, my son.”

  Daniel bolted through the door, panic on his dear face. “I heard you crying. Is he—”

  “He’s hungry.” I sat up and wiped my face, considering my unkempt appearance for the first time in a week.

  Mert peeked around Daniel’s arm in the doorway. “What would the young master like to eat? Name it. I’ll fix anything.”

  I chuckled and peered down at my son. “See? Didn’t I tell you?”

  Allamu’s strength returned quickly under Mert’s watchful care. A daily diet of bone broth, fruits, and vegetables—much like the food our four princes had eaten when we first arrived in Babylon—brought Allamu back to me. Within two weeks, he began eating the same rich foods Mert prepared for Daniel and me. She had become quite an accomplished cook, carefully following Daniel’s Hebrew dietary laws so well that other guests would never have noticed.

  Too soon, Allamu and I were standing beside a caravan headed back to Achmetha.

  Daniel’s hands were clasped behind him, mine clasped in front of me. The urge to cling to each other was stronger than ever. “Thank you seems such an insufficient offering for the gift you’ve given me.” I stepped closer, but he moved back. Of course. Allamu was standing beside me. Gadi waited in Achmetha. Daniel was a righteous man. “My husband and I will forever be indebted to you, Lord Belteshazzar.”

  He bowed deeply and rose to meet my gaze. “The debt is mine, Mistress Belili. You offered someone other than myself to focus on during the darkest days of my grief. My villa will feel quite empty now.” He cleared his throat and turned away, looking to the eastern hills. “I will pray the snow holds off in the mountains until after you’re home. Safe journey.” Again, he bowed, but this time he walked away without a backward glance.

  “Come, Allamu.” Tamping down frayed emotions, I busied myself with details for our return home. My son would ride with me in a luxurious sedan atop the second Bactrian camel, the safest place, behind the caravan master. On the ten-night journey, we slept in a two-room tent. Each afternoon, the master sent a servant ahead to prepare our temporary home at our overnight location. Lying awake each night, I listened to Allamu’s deep and steady breathing and thought of Daniel.

  Yahweh, I know You are real. I’m not worthy to ask, but Daniel is worthy of Your mercy. Comfort him as he mourns Zakiti. Give him a wife to love and care for him.

  Praying for another woman to fill Daniel’s empty arms felt like placing my own heart in an olive press. But he needed to be loved. He deserved a woman to love him. Mert appeared as a possibility, but I waved the thought of her away, refusing to believe she would betray me.

  Betray you? my inner voice mocked. I had no claim on Babylon’s governor of Chaldeans.

  Our caravan approached Achmetha just before dusk on the ninth day of the eighth month. Built on the jagged Zagros Mountain peaks, Achmetha’s multileveled stone buildings looked like mountains on top of mountains. The grazing meadows outside the city were empty of flocks, the villages strangely quiet, stirring a heavy foreboding I’d felt all day. Although the weather had turned chill, farmers should be sowing broad beans, and goats should be nibbling the last green shoots before winter.

  As we climbed the cobblestoned road leading to Achmetha’s gates, my fears went from blossom to bloom. The gates were closed, and the towers appeared empty. Our caravan master turned. “What do you suggest, Mistress Belili?”

  “Did you send a messenger to alert my husband that we would arrive today?”

  His single nod deepened my fears. I halted my camel and searched the parapets. There. A shadow of movement. But had I really seen it or only hoped someone was guarding the city?

  “You there! In the tower! I demand you open the gates.” No reply. “Do you hear me? I am Mistress Belili, wife of Lord Gadi, chief magus. You will open the gates immediately.”

  “Only you and the boy,” a man’s voice shouted, but still no one showed himself in the towers or on the wall. “The others must remain outside until someone inspects them.”

  The caravan master pulled back his cloak at his waist, revealing the janbiya—a curved dagger—he wore at his side. “They should not attempt to inspect me, Mistress. It will end badly.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  Without answering, he shouted at the invisible voice, “Why the extra precaution?”

  “Plague. The magi sent word from their school in Rhaga, commanding we refuse entry to anyone with symptoms. We must inspect you.”

  The answer landed like a rock in my belly and painted fear on my guide’s face. “We escaped Babylon unharmed, Mistress. I have no wish to tempt foreign gods who are punishing this city with a similar plague. My men and I will go south and return to Babylon by way of Susa, since the mountain passes will soon close with snow.” He clucked his tongue and reined his camel to retrace its steps toward the empty meadows we had passed earlier.

  Everything inside me wanted to retreat with him. Allamu had survived the plague because Yahweh heard and answered Daniel’s prayers. But neither Daniel nor his God lived in Achmetha. Who would protect us here?

  The decision to
stay was made for me when the gates opened and Gadi stood waiting for us. “It’s Father!” Allamu squirmed as if he would leap from our sedan.

  “Wait!” I tapped our camel’s hindquarters with the prod and cast a withering glance at the retreating caravan.

  The caravan master shouted, “May the gods protect you and your boy, Mistress.”

  I righted myself on the camel, focused on my husband, and forced a happy countenance. We were home. Allamu was alive. Life would resume its normal rhythms. I stepped off the sedan and caught up with my son, who had already covered half the distance to Gadi.

  As we drew nearer, I heard Allamu gasp. “Mother, look.”

  Gadi’s neck was covered with sores, and he bent slightly as if standing straight might break him. “Welcome home, my dove.” His smile was pained, but his joy was real. “Allamu, my son, you look well.”

  Allamu ran to his father but stopped short of embracing him. “Are your sores all over, Father? May I hug you?”

  “You are nearly a man now, Allamu. Perhaps we should greet each other as men.” Gadi reached for his son’s wrist and winced only a little when Allamu locked onto his. My husband’s eyes found mine. “Are you well, Belili?” The tremor in his voice exposed his fear.

  I hurried to his side, pressing a kiss to his lips—the only place I was certain not to hurt him. “I am well, Husband. Let’s get you back to the villa. You look like you need—”

  “I have all I need right here.” He gathered me under his right arm and Allamu under his left, steering us toward the palace complex. Like Daniel’s villa in Babylon, the home of the chief magus in Achmetha was the most lavish villa on palace grounds. We climbed the cobblestoned streets, noting the beautiful colors of autumn’s changing leaves. The streets were deserted and the market booths closed. Only a few servants busied themselves in their masters’ courtyards, washing bandages and harvesting herbs.

  “When did those in Achmetha first show signs of plague?”

  Gadi ignored my question and lifted our son’s pock-scarred arm. “When did our son show his first symptom?”

  The guilt I’d felt returned. “A few days after the Judean captives arrived in Babylon.”

  My husband released Allamu’s arm. “Nebuchadnezzar sent captives here as well—as a gift for King Astyages—before he realized they were so ill. The first palace servant died five days later.”

  “Is King Astyages well?”

  “Yes. He’s fine.” His brows knit together. “Do you care nothing about the proof I’ve found that sickness spreads through proximity as well as the power of the gods?” He’d received much criticism from the whole Magoi tribe for his radical theory.

  “Or perhaps,” I countered, “Judah’s God judges any nation who subjects His people to servitude.”

  He warned me with a glare. “You’re being ridiculous. Their god has no power or he wouldn’t have allowed them to be destroyed. Jews have been captives for years. Nebuchadnezzar favored them by rescuing them from that wilderness in Canaan.”

  Rescued? I needed to change the subject before I lost my temper and revealed too much. “I’ll have the servants make bone broth for you when we get home. It helped Allamu recover.”

  “I think it was Lord Belteshazzar’s Hebrew god who made me well,” Allamu said. Our son looked up at his father. “He prayed a lot, and I got better. Perhaps we should pray for you, Father.”

  Gadi shot me an angry look, but I refused to be cowed. “Our son lived, when all others died.”

  I saw years of disregard turn to loathing in my husband’s eyes, but his features softened when he looked down at Allamu. “I’ve made my oaths to Mithra, my boy, and one day, you’ll hold the greatest power in the empire. Your mother is teaching you the rites of Mithra, and I’m teaching you the ways of the Magoi. Because you will have skills of both the sacred and wise, you will be the greatest chief magus the Medes have ever known.”

  When we arrived at our villa’s fenced garden, the untended plants and fetid water in jugs sparked more concern. Gadi hurried us to the front door and lifted the heavy cedar latch. We were met by only one servant, her skin pallid with a sheen of sweat on her brow. Gadi rushed past her. “My family is hungry, Tabni. Deliver our meal to my bedchamber.”

  She bowed and left without a word. Two other servants worked in the kitchen. Six were too sick to stand. Those six died the next day. Gadi and Tabni joined them three days later.

  Allamu wept over his father until his strength left him. He stopped sleeping. Stopped eating. Not that I had much food in the house to feed him. With the city gates closed to traders, Achmetha’s supplies dwindled quickly. Only a week later, our remaining two servants also fell ill. I sent them home to their families in a nearby village. Perhaps the gods were kinder in the countryside.

  We survived for another week because I searched for and found Gadi’s janbiya, used it to slaughter our only goat, and prepared bone broth the way Mert had taught me. The weather had turned, signaling winter’s icy approach. A blessing and curse. I dug a hole in the frozen ground of our garden, then buried both the cooked meat and leftover broth. The cold kept it from spoiling but made us tremble day and night.

  Gadi had stockpiled enough fuel and food to last only two weeks. Market stalls remained deserted. We burned wood furnishings for heat. We went to bed at night hungry, cold, and alone in an extravagant villa less than thirty camel lengths from a king’s palace.

  Two nights after our supplies ran out, we woke to the sound of horses’ hooves and men’s shouts.

  I ran into the hall that connected the family’s chambers, where Allamu stood wrapped in a woolen blanket. “Is it an attack?”

  I pressed the hilt of his father’s janbiya into his hand and herded him out like a mother hen. “Get back to your chamber. Lock the door. Use the blade if anyone comes in.” I closed it and heard the lock fall into place.

  The shouting outside stilled, and the pounding of horses’ hooves stopped. The eerie silence proved we weren’t under attack. But who would enter Achmetha in spite of a raging plague? Desperate to know who the gatekeepers allowed entrance, I hurried into my chamber and donned my finest robe. I would demand an audience with King Astyages. He knew me well. He’d even been to my villa to dine with his daughter.

  I sat on my stool and released my hair from its long braid, wishing my handmaid was here to help brush and plait it with ribbons and pearls. I tried braiding, but my hands got twisted. I tried a knot, but my long tresses only tangled. Frustration set in, and I released a groan. I heard footsteps behind me and whirled on the intruder with my comb lifted, ready for battle.

  Allamu chuckled. “Planning to comb someone to death?” Our tension drained as he reached for the comb. “Let me help.” Tears pricked the back of my throat as he pulled the ivory teeth through my long hair. He’d never treated me so tenderly. Perhaps our journey to Babylon had been worthwhile.

  He tied my hair at the nape of my neck with a string as leather soles scraped the tiled floor outside my door. Our eyes met in my hand mirror.

  “I left the janbiya in my chamber.” Fear filled his whisper.

  “Stay here and lock the door behind me.” I hurried across the room, slipped through the door and closed it, rushed into the hallway, and ran headlong into a man. I looked up. “Daniel?” I breathed the name. Was my mind playing tricks? The six soldiers behind him appeared shocked too, and I realized my mistake. “I mean, Lord Belteshazzar.”

  Before I could bow, my friend pulled me into a ferocious hug. “Astyages’s guards assured me this was your villa, but when we found it deserted, I feared…” His voice broke, and he released me. Turning to the men, he cleared his throat. “Return to the palace. I will remain with Mistress Belili.” They lingered only a moment before obeying Babylon’s chieftain.

  Daniel sniffed and wiped his nose before returning his attention to me. When
he did, he seemed almost startled, his eyes traveling the full measure of my appearance. Seeming mesmerized by my waist-length, deep-brown curls, he lifted a lock between his fingers. “It’s grown so long since we were young.” His expression held a strange mixture of sorrow and trepidation. “Your king told me of your husband’s death. I’m sorry.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but there were no words, so I turned away. What should I say about a man I had tried to love but couldn’t to the man I’d loved longer and deeper—to the man I loved still. “I suppose we both grieve now, don’t we?”

  “There is no time to grieve,” he said, drawing my chin to face him. “Achmetha is nearing famine, and your son must have an abba. Marry me.”

  Startled, I choked on a laugh. “You can’t be serious. Did you come all the way to Achmetha because you miss Zakiti?”

  Indignation knit his brow and raised his voice. “King Nebuchadnezzar sent me—I mean, he sent me with Nabonidus, his son-in-law—to provide wisdom and guidance on a treaty between the Medes and Lydians. We were told about the plague in Achmetha by some merchants after we crossed the mountains. Nabonidus wanted to turn back, but that night I dreamed of a ewe with her lamb, lost in a snowstorm in the mountains.” His eyes softened and he stepped nearer, bolder now. “I knew Yahweh was telling me to find you.”

  His eyes lingered, searching me for something I’d lost long ago. “Daniel, I’m not—”

  He laced his fingers through my hair. “I know you loved Gadi. I loved Zakiti too. But you can’t stay in Achmetha. You have no food, and Allamu needs an abba. He’ll soon be twelve, a man, and he must begin his training.”

  I closed my eyes, the musky scent of his nearness weakening my defenses. “Stay with us then. Give Allamu time to—”

  “There’s no time,” he said. “King Astyages has refused the Lydian’s terms and won’t bend. We leave for Babylon at dawn. Nabonidus can resume negotiations with Astyages in spring after the Medes have had a cold, hungry winter to reconsider.”