Of Fire and Lions

by Mesu Andrews

  Allamu and I rode on a single camel in a cushioned sedan, third in line after Nabonidus and Daniel on their fine horses. The city gates opened to receive us, but as the last of our four-hundred-man escort entered, I heard the awful clang of them shutting. When had they started closing the city gates in the middle of the day? Niggling dread ran through my veins, but I couldn’t ask Daniel. He’d become Lord Belteshazzar again, riding beside the king’s son-in-law.

  Nabonidus lifted his fist, signaling the caravan to halt.

  Allamu looked at me with wide eyes. “Why have we stopped?”

  I didn’t know, but dread turned to fear when I saw Ashpenaz approach with a contingent of the king’s guard. “Greetings, lords.” He bowed and turned his attention to the king’s son-in-law. “Welcome home, Lord Nabonidus. King Nebuchadnezzar sends his gratitude for your service and commands you to govern Babylon in his stead while he brings the rebels at Tyre under submission.”

  Nabonidus’s mouth gaped and then erupted with a string of curses I hadn’t heard since I’d served coarse soldiers in the temple. Gathering control, he glanced over at me as if only then realizing a lady and child were present. “Forgive me, Mistress Belili.” He leaned down and spoke to Ashpenaz in a tone his regiment couldn’t hear. “My men and I must rebuild a plague-infested city while Nebuchadnezzar chases more glory for himself?” The eunuch didn’t answer, so Nabonidus turned to Daniel. “Fine. Belteshazzar, you and I will take this city to new heights.”

  His stallion lurched forward through the palace gates, nearly knocking Ashpenaz to the tiled street. The chief eunuch scowled and moved aside, allowing Nabonidus past but halting Daniel as the rest of the soldiers rode their wearied animals to the royal stables. Daniel, Allamu, and I waited at the side of the street, watching them file past.

  “I see you two are together again.” Our eunuch friend looked at Daniel with a glint in his eye that could easily reveal my past to my son.

  “Yes, Lord Belteshazzar arrived in Achmetha on the day our food ran out,” I said, wrenching his attention to me. “My son and I are still grieving my husband’s death, Ashpenaz, and Lord Belteshazzar has graciously agreed to care for us here in Babylon.” Please don’t mention my Hebrew captivity. I held my breath, hoping the formal address would signal caution.

  Ashpenaz barely had time to look puzzled before Daniel pinned him with a stare. “Why would King Nebuchadnezzar suddenly decide to besiege Tyre, an island nation that will require more time and resources than he’s ever been willing to expend?”

  Ashpenaz scuffed his sandal on the blue tile, seemingly at a loss for words. Very unlike him. “You know my loyalty is always first and foremost to my king.” He looked up, meeting Daniel’s gaze. “But because I believe you, too, are loyal to our master, I will tell you that Nebuchadnezzar left to avoid your return. He fears your god—and now fears you, Belteshazzar.”

  “I have no power, Ashpenaz. The king has nothing to fear from me.” Daniel clucked his tongue at his horse to move, but the eunuch stepped in front of the palace gates.

  Ashpenaz pointed to a street across the Processional Way—opposite palace grounds. “Your personal servants and belongings have been moved to the villa where you first lived when you arrived in Babylon. The king has deeded it to you as his gift. I’ve been instructed to ensure your comfort in Babylon for the rest of your days. In return, you must pray for your god’s blessing on our great king and promise never again to enter his presence.”

  Daniel’s face remained a blank parchment. Was he angry or relieved? “May I continue teaching the Chaldeans on palace grounds?”

  “Yes.” Ashpenaz answered with equal calm. “As long as you enter the school through the south gate and not through palace halls.”

  Daniel offered a respectful nod. “Please relay my agreement to King Nebuchadnezzar’s terms.” With a forced smile, he turned to Allamu and me. “Come, we’ll get settled in our new home.”

  I prodded my camel to follow, issuing a glare at Ashpenaz, filled with the anger and betrayal Daniel’s response lacked. After descending the animal ramp from the Processional Way, our camels lumbered along narrow streets that were once so familiar, churning up memories and emotions from a lifetime ago. When we neared the villa we had known as captives, Daniel let out a sharp whistle. Two servant boys rushed to greet us. Perhaps eight and ten years old, the two boys were surely brothers and reminded me of Mishael and Azariah as young princes—with much dirtier faces.

  They’d been playing inside a neighboring building that looked to be stables, built very recently. The villas on either side of our previous home had been demolished and our original building expanded to a more elaborate dwelling. Three stories now, iron gated, with gardens, waterfalls, a stable, and free-standing servants’ quarters. When Nebuchadnezzar promised Daniel he would ensure his comfort, he meant it.

  Daniel ruffled the boys’ heads. “Where’s your abba? We must tend the animals. They’ve had a long, hard journey.”

  The red-haired boy nodded. “I’ll fetch him, Lord Belteshazzar. He’s in the house.” He ran inside. “Aahh-baah!”

  Daniel started to correct him for shouting but shook his head, sharing a grin with me instead. The other boy—boasting a few more freckles—stood gawking and then pointed at Allamu and me. “Who are they?”

  Daniel had dismounted his camel and gathered the little one’s arm to his side. “It’s not polite to point. This nice lady is Mistress Belili. She is to be my wife. And the boy is Allamu, her son and my friend.”

  I felt Allamu stiffen beside me. “I am the son of Gadi,” he said, tapping our camel’s right shoulder. The camel lowered itself, and Allamu hurried out of our sedan. My feet touched the ground for the first time since early morning, and I sighed with relief. Albeit, short lived.

  Allamu nudged me aside and reached for his bag. “Which chamber is mine, Lord Belteshazzar?”

  “You may choose whichever chamber is vacant.”

  My son stomped away, and I turned to Daniel apologetically. “He’s tired. I’m sure he’ll get used to—”

  He pressed his finger against my lips and looked down at the boy. “You may go inside and tell Mert we’ll have two extra mouths to feed.”

  “Are you going to kiss her?” The boy giggled.

  “Go, Eli.” Daniel made sure he was in the house before returning his attention to me. “Allamu is grieving. He loved and admired his abba, and he’s committed to the Magoi people. We must come to terms with the fact that he may never accept being a part of our lives. If Allamu chooses to return to Media when he is of age, can you let him go?”

  “He won’t,” I said, ignoring the wise man. “He’ll come to love you as I d—” I stopped myself and looked down at my sandals. Why say it again? Daniel had never said he loved me.

  He drew me close, and I pressed my head against his chest. His heart beat fast.

  “I have loved you, Abigail bar Jonah, since the day we met as captives in Jerusalem.”

  “You are Hebrew?” Allamu’s voice exploded behind me.

  I pulled away from Daniel, feeling more exposed than if stripped naked before the king’s court. Fire blazed in my son’s eyes. “How could you lie to me, Mother? I thought you were Babylonian nobility.”

  “I didn’t lie, Allamu. I just never corrected your assmptions. I let everyone believe as they wished.” The words sounded hollow—even to me.

  Revulsion marred my son’s face. “You should have been Abba’s slave.” He spit on the ground and ran inside the villa.

  “Allamu, wait!” I started after him, but Daniel caught me in his arms. Sobbing, I tried to pull away, but my strength was sapped by the long journey, the illness and death, the joy that had almost been mine—and now was ripped away. “I didn’t mean to deceive them. I didn’t. I feared losing too much with the truth.” I pounded Daniel’s chest. “I was his wife, Daniel, a
Median noblewoman. I had to survive. I am Belili.”

  I fell against his chest, spent. Sheltering me under his arm, Daniel guided me into the villa, up the familiar stairs, and into the balcony chamber we once shared. I lay down on a soft mattress and turned my face to the wall. Whispers filled the room, but I didn’t care who spoke, because none of the voices were my son’s. The light through the window faded, and I drifted between sleep and wakefulness.

  A knock on the door startled me. “Yes?” I sat up.

  Daniel opened the door a crack and peered around the small opening. “You have a young visitor who would like to speak with you.” He opened the door wider, and Allamu trudged in, eyes averted. Daniel followed him and shut the door. “We’ve been talking most of the day, and Allamu has chosen to stay here with us.”

  Rage warred with gratitude. Of course my son was staying! I drew a breath to say as much, but Daniel lifted a hand behind Allamu’s head, warning me to be silent. “This very grown-up young man would like to say something to you, Belili.”

  Eyes still focused on his sandals, Allamu cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for the things I said to you, Mother. I was unkind. Will you forgive me?”

  I wanted to leap off the bed and squeeze my boy till he popped, but when I scooted to the edge, Daniel shook his head and issued a forbidding look. Should I listen to my heart or to Babylon’s chief wise man?

  I stayed on the bed. “Of course I forgive you, Allamu. I know I should have told you and your father about my Hebrew heritage.” I paused, knowing Gadi would have sent me to the slave market had he known a Hebrew slave deceived her way to the highest echelons of Mithra’s service. “As chief magus, your father valued all people,” I said instead. “He knew Lord Belteshazzar was Hebrew, yet he respected him more than any other Babylonian nobleman. Still, I should have told you both. Will you forgive me?”

  He looked up then, his eyes intense and cold. “I forgive you, Mother, but I will never trust you. You are not Magoi. You aren’t even Babylonian. How can you understand one born to be a seer?” Without waiting for my answer, he turned to Daniel and bowed. “I have been respectful to my mother—as is required of an honorable Magoi. May I return to my chamber to prepare for tomorrow’s classes?” Daniel returned the bow, and my son left the chamber without a goodbye.

  Cut to the heart, I sat on my bed, unable to form words. Daniel came and knelt before me. “I agreed to begin his training early.”

  “That’s how you convinced him to apologize.” The realization left me cold.

  Taking my hands, he turned them over and kissed each palm. “These hands have scrubbed palace floors, emptied waste pots, and escaped the whims of corrupt priests at the Esagila.” He traced the shape of my jaw, sending a shiver through me. “Your beauty captured my heart and won the love of the Medes’ chief magus.”

  He stared into my eyes until I grew uncomfortable and turned away. He drew my chin back to face him. “Hard work and a pretty face can’t define you. The love of another can’t be your sole purpose.” His fingers brushed gently from my chin to the hollow place between my breasts. “It’s who you are here that gives you strength. Are you Abigail? Or are you Belili?”

  I could barely breathe. I wanted to be Abigail, for I knew that’s what he wanted of me. But my Hebrew self died somewhere in the streets of Achmetha, begging bread from strangers before the midwife took me in. Belili had survived and would continue to do so, never begging again.

  “I am Belili.” I pulled him into a kiss before he could ask more questions or speak more wisdom I didn’t want to hear. This—loving Daniel—I knew how to do, and I would love Daniel ben Johanan until death took my last breath.

  He returned my passion, laying me back on the soft mattress. But just as suddenly, he pulled away and stood by the bed, eyes wide as if waking from a dream. “No, Belili.” He straightened his robe and averted his eyes. “I won’t take you as my wife until we’ve drawn up the legal documents to secure Allamu’s inheritance of Gadi’s property in Achmetha.”

  “Achmetha? He’ll be of age in less than a year. If you secure his inheritance now, he’ll return to the Magoi the moment he’s twelve.” I choked on anger and humiliation. “My son is staying here in Babylon with us. He’ll make his life here.”

  But Daniel was already shaking his head. “At the age of manhood, he must be allowed to choose, my love—”

  Anger surpassed humiliation, hurling me off the bed to escape the chamber and go—I didn’t know where. “He’s a child. He can’t choose. I’m his mother.”

  Daniel snagged my waist and pulled me close, burying his whisper in the bend of my neck. “You’re terrified for him, I know, but I will love him like my own. I will teach him and train him, beloved, with the help of Yahweh. And when I take you to our wedding chamber, it will be with Allamu’s approval and Yahweh’s blessing. We will not hide in a guest chamber like impassioned teenagers—though that once described us.” He placed a gentle kiss on my neck and bowed like the nobleman he was. “Good night, Mistress Belili. I will have our wedding documents prepared in the morning, and we’ll secure Allamu’s blessing by tomorrow’s evening meal.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Tomorrow night, you will lie in my bed, and our passion will find its true home.”

  25

  I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride;

  I have gathered my myrrh with my spice.

  —SONG OF SOLOMON 5:1

  The next morning, I hid in my chamber like a coward. Too wounded to face another of my son’s rejections and too terrified something else would impede the second marriage proposal Daniel had offered in this chamber. When the low buzz of conversation in the courtyard below had died, I threw on my robe and opened the door a crack. Only the sound of clanking dishes and pouring water met my ears. Mert was washing the morning’s dishes. Feeling safer, I padded barefoot onto the balcony and chanced a peek below.

  “You can come down now,” Mert said without looking up. “They’re gone.”

  I’d forgotten she had knife-sharp intuition. Drawing my robe tighter and cinching the belt, I hurried downstairs and through the now-lavish courtyard to the back wall, where Mert still huddled in the cooking area. She’d saved me a bowl of barley gruel and a piece of bread slathered with date paste. I reached for the bowl and a spoon. “Thank you.” The rich flavors of coriander and honey warmed my tongue and my heart. No one made gruel like Mert.

  Before I had time to compliment her, she turned on me like a cross ima. “Why, in the name of Anubis, did you and Master Daniel sleep in separate chambers last night? Have you lost your mind?”

  I might have been angered by her interference had she not sounded so ridiculous, calling on an Egyptian god in the house of Babylon’s most pious Hebrew. A little chuckle preceded my answer. “Daniel wishes to secure Allamu’s inheritance and approval before taking me as his wife.”

  She returned to washing the dishes, clucking her tongue and shaking her head. “Sometimes I think that man is too righteous for his own good. No one in Babylon would think any less of either one of you for marrying privately last night.”

  Mert was right. No one in Babylon would have judged us. But after Daniel left my chamber last night, I realized how wise he truly was. To marry without providing Allamu with a secure future would have driven the wedge between my son and me even deeper.

  Mert had already begun replacing the dishes on the shelves, and I wasn’t in the mood to chat. I took my bowl of gruel and wandered along the courtyard paths, noting the various plants and finding an ample herb garden in the northwest corner. After eating my fill, I set the bowl aside and began weeding, a mindless task that allowed my thoughts to peruse the possibilities of this day. Would tonight’s meal be a celebration of my marriage to Daniel? Or would it be a tense gathering with a son who had disapproved of our marriage?

  “We’ll need some of that mint for tonig
ht’s lamb.” I jumped at Mert’s voice as if lit on fire. She knelt beside me, a coy grin on her face, and began weeding the herb bed. “Your hearing hasn’t gotten any better.”

  I nudged her, enjoying the ease of our friendship. Silence built my courage to ask a question I knew my friend would answer honestly. “Should I return to Achmetha in the spring and marry a Magoi?”

  Astonished, Mert looked at me as if I’d grown a camel’s hump and then returned her hands to the dirt. “I heard Allamu and Daniel talking last night. You had no food in Achmetha. No one to provide for you. After this horrible plague there is no guarantee you would even find a husband. Why in the name of Osiris would you ever consider returning to Achmetha?” She leaned back on her knees and stared at me. “I’d say Daniel’s God is watching out for all three of you.”

  I sat back for a moment too, wanting to believe her. Hoping Yahweh would someday include me in His watchful care. But I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was somehow trading Allamu’s happiness for my own. Everything my son had known or dreamed of had been connected to his father and the Magoi. The very fiber of his being, the beating of his heart, pounded to the rhythm of their secrets and traditions. Gadi had been the air Allamu breathed.

  What was I to my son? I’d given him life, yes; provided protection for him as a babe. But the moment he could talk and reason and learn, he became his father’s treasure. I was but a stream in the oasis of their fellowship, a source of provision and comfort while their kinship deepened. When Gadi died, Allamu lost a portion of himself, but could the Chaldean ways become a new identity? Hadn’t Daniel and I adapted to new cultures, new food, new cities, new lives? Perhaps after a few months he would realize Babylon was our only survival.

  I felt Mert’s eyes on me and raised a hand to block the burning stare. “I don’t want to fight.” She couldn’t understand a mother’s difficult choices.

  She pulled me close with her dirt-encrusted hand and laid her cheek atop my head. “Your son needs a man to help raise him. There’s no man on earth better than Daniel.”