Of Fire and Lions

by Mesu Andrews

  Startled by her tenderness, I was unable to speak.

  Mert patted my arm once and nudged me aside. “Good. Settled. Now, finish your weeding. You’re slower than the stable boys.”

  I laughed at this friend parading as a servant, and my heart felt a measure of peace. The younger servant girl arrived in the afternoon to help Mert with laundry, beer making, and preparing for the evening meal. I joined them to keep my thoughts from turning dark. When the sun rested on the city gates, Mert said Daniel and Allamu would return from class. My stomach turned a nervous flip, and my hands trembled as I set out goblets, plates, bowls, and spoons on a low-lying table in the formal dining area east of the courtyard.

  Mert had prepared a feast, so certain was she of Daniel’s promise to me and Yahweh’s good care. The roast lamb, simmered all day in broth and seasoned with onion, garlic, and cumin, would be served with mashed leeks and crocus bulbs on a bed of light-crusted bread. The bread, made from finely ground flour, was mixed with lamb’s broth, a little fat, and coriander. The sauce for dipping both lamb and bread was altogether paradise, but she refused to give up that recipe. I was still attempting to coax it out of her when I heard the squeak of our iron gate by the street.

  My first instinct was to race upstairs and hide from another confrontation that could steal Daniel from me again. Had Allamu refused to give his approval? Had they somehow been unable to come to terms on his inheritance? Would hate linger in my son’s eyes and disappointment shadow Daniel’s features? I faced the courtyard’s back wall, pretending to fuss over the food intended for my wedding feast.

  “Belili?” Daniel’s voice held both love and trepidation. I jumped like a virgin when he touched my shoulder. “Look at me, love.”

  “Tell me. Just tell me.” I wrapped my arms around my middle and drew in more breath, too anxious to exhale.

  He stepped closer, sliding his arms around mine and whispering in my ear, “Come, let’s celebrate our wedding feast with Allamu.”

  I exhaled and turned in his arms, offering a kiss salted with happy tears. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I lost myself in a sweet intoxication and thought of nothing but my Daniel. He was finally mine—and I his. Years of longing met this night. Too soon someone tugged at my arms, and I realized it was him. Caught somewhere between embarrassment and disappointment, I released him, feeling heat rise in my cheeks.

  “Oh. Oh yes.” His breathing was labored, and he cleared his throat, seeming as affected as I. “We’ll need to eat quickly.”

  I looked up then. Our eyes met. And we laughed at the passion neither could hide. “Mert has worked hard on the meal, my love. We can’t disappoint her.”

  His eyes softened and he pulled me into a gentle embrace. “Of all the people in our world, Mert will understand.”

  I nodded, resting my head on his chest, listening to the heart that was finally and fully mine. Yahweh—if You hear someone like me—thank You for giving me Daniel.

  I followed him into the dining hall, where Mert waited with Allamu. Both stood beside the ebony table. My son bowed stiffly. “I offer my sincerest congratulations, Mother.”

  His formality raked my heart, stealing some of the joy. I took my place at Daniel’s right side and inclined my head in an equally polite reply. “Thank you, Allamu. I hope one day you’ll understand we’re doing what’s best for you.”

  My son held up a rolled parchment. “Lord Belteshazzar has given his word to return with me to Achmetha when I complete the three-year training program.” He looked at Daniel and then back at me. “Reclaiming my father’s estate is what’s best for me.”

  His rejection still stung, but I refused to let it dampen our celebration. My son would live under our roof for three more years, and I would be Daniel’s wife. Surely Allamu’s heart would soften and he would make new friends in Babylon.

  Mert joined us at the table for our wedding feast, keeping the conversation lively with stories of Egypt and her childhood in Babylon’s palace. Allamu was transfixed, which gave Daniel and me the joy of being alone while still in their presence.

  He leaned over and pressed his lips against my ear. “I filed our marriage contract at midday after speaking with Allamu.”

  I’d been his wife all day long and didn’t know it. The reality both thrilled and frustrated me. “You should have come home at midday. I would have been satisfied with bread and cheese—and the rest of the day in your chamber.” I lifted my goblet and peered over the rim, hoping to tantalize him.

  “I assure you, we’ll have ample time to explore the reaches of our love.” Before I could respond, he stood and addressed Mert and Allamu. “It’s Hebrew custom that the bride and groom spend a week in their wedding chamber, uninterrupted by daily activities.”

  Allamu rolled his eyes. “I don’t need to know anything about it.”

  Daniel bowed slightly. “Understandable. I’ll see you next week in class.” Allamu waved his hand, burying his face in his goblet of watered wine.

  Mert began clearing the dishes. “Go, then. I’ll bring a tray of food every morning and evening.”

  Suddenly feeling awkward, I noted the huge mess on the table. “Mert, I can help with—”

  She huffed and pointed upstairs. “Get to his chamber, woman. You’ve waited long enough.”

  Laughing, Daniel swept me into his arms. “You heard her, woman.”

  Our eyes held each other as he climbed the stairs and carried me to his chamber at the end of the balcony. He stopped outside his door and set me on my feet.

  I leaned back and stilled his hand on the latch. “Does Zakiti still linger in your heart?” His expression was pensive but not defensive, and I added quickly, “It’s understandable.”

  Daniel placed his hands on either side of me, trapping me there in his love. “I have mourned Zakiti. She was dear to me, and I did love her. But Zakiti knew my heart always belonged to Abigail. Now it belongs to Belili.”

  I stared into his eyes, knowing this man spoke only truth. “You may call me Abigail if you wish.”

  He stroked my hair, the long flowing curls left free—as he’d requested. “I love you, and you are Belili now.” He leaned down and brushed my lips. Teasing me with his gentleness. “And I will always be Daniel.”

  Our wedding week was the happiest time of my life. Seven days with my best friend, my lover, my husband. A bliss beyond my wildest imagination. When we emerged from Daniel’s chamber, the villa seemed brighter, my son darker. He seldom spoke to me, and when he did, it was in clipped formalities prompted by Daniel’s instruction.

  By mid-Šabatu, when farmers had planted onions and were sowing grain crops, another seed grew within me. I hovered over a bowl most of every day for a week, emptying my stomach and moaning.

  At first, I thought I’d eaten bad figs or soured gruel, but Mert laughed at my suggestion. “Yes, and you’ll get those bad figs out of your system in about seven months, squalling in a little bundle on birthing stones.”

  Startled at the realization, her joy was lost on me. At twenty-nine, I would undoubtedly lose this baby as I had the others. If I carried to full term, I’d be thirty, and many women died giving birth at such an advanced age. Perhaps this was Yahweh’s plan all along—to give me Daniel, the one I loved most, and then kill me only months later. I deserved it, after all.

  When Daniel and Allamu returned from class that evening, Mert could do nothing but smile. Allamu noticed it first and exchanged a wary glance with Daniel. “Why is Mert so happy? It makes me nervous.”

  I laughed, trying to smooth over her peculiarities. “Mert had too much wine this afternoon.” My voice was unnaturally loud, and Daniel knew our friend drank only with her meals.

  My husband looked at us both, suspicion knitting his brow. “All right, you two. What’s going on?”

  Just then, the smell of lamb stew wafted from the pot,
producing in me a wave of nausea that sent me down a courtyard path to a tamarisk tree, where I emptied my stomach. I’d made it halfway back to our cooking area when both Daniel and Allamu met me, startled.

  “What is it?” Daniel cupped my elbow and led me to a cushion. “Are you ill?” Allamu followed, close but silent.

  Now I had to tell them. I sat down, Daniel beside me, Allamu and Mert across the table. “The midwife said I’d feel better in about a month—when the child inside gets a little older.”

  My husband’s sweet face transformed from worry to absolute delight. “A baby?” He grabbed me, squeezing so tight I thought I might throw up on him. A little groan was enough to loosen his grip and send him into protector mode. “Oh, did I hurt you?” He held his hand in front of my stomach. What did he plan to do there?

  I giggled and looked for Allamu’s reaction but saw only his back as he retreated upstairs to his chamber.

  Covering my mouth to keep from crying out for him, I squeezed my eyes shut. Why couldn’t he try to be happy? No. It was my fault. I lowered my hand and looked at my husband. “I should have told Allamu privately. I didn’t realize how much this would upset him. I thought it might even give him something to look forward to.”

  He gathered me into his arms. “I’ll talk with him. Change is hard for Allamu. He just needs time to adjust.”

  But Daniel didn’t get a chance to talk with him, and I never saw my son again. When we woke the next morning, Allamu’s chamber was empty. On top of his neatly made bed, we found the small pitcher and clay lamp I’d given him as symbols of Mithra’s initiation lying on top of a note: “Don’t need these. Will send word of safe arrival in Achmetha.”

  26

  [Yahweh spoke to Moses and said,] “Put the altar in front of the curtain that shields the ark of the covenant law—before the atonement cover that is over the tablets of the covenant law—where I will meet with you.”

  —EXODUS 30:6

  Babylon

  October 539 BC

  I led Allamu down the stairs to Mert’s chamber, silent amid my roiling emotions, while the rest of our family continued to clean up after the Medes’ invasion and the damage to our villa. Hesitating at Mert’s door, I stared at the son who had broken my heart forty-six years ago. “You never sent word from Achmetha.”

  He knocked on her door, glaring at me with the same turbulent expression of the boy who had run away. “I never reached Achmetha.”

  “You never—”

  The door swung open, and my son’s countenance lit like the sun. “Mert!” He opened his arms tenderly. “I didn’t believe it when I saw you were still serving Belteshazzar.” She was consumed in his embrace, and I turned my back, unable to witness their easy relationship.

  “You got old!” Mert chuckled.

  “And you still have no manners.” The delighted laughter that followed both warmed and condemned me. “Mother, come in with me. I have a few questions for you. I know Mert will tell me the truth even if you won’t.”

  I took a deep breath, swiped away tears, and crossed the threshold like a soldier advancing in battle. I had a few questions for him too. “What do you mean you never made it to Achmetha? Your note said that’s where you were going.”

  Mert sat on her favorite couch and patted the empty place beside her. Allamu started to sit down, but she shoved him away. “Don’t be rude. This spot is for your mother, and it sounds like you owe us both an explanation.”

  Allamu grudgingly pulled up a cushion opposite the couch, while I took my place beside Mert. “We’re going to listen to Allamu, Belili. No talking.”

  I started to protest, but her glare silenced me. The few times I hadn’t listened to her counsel, I’d regretted it. She turned to my son. “Perhaps you should begin by telling us why you left without saying goodbye.”

  His features softened for her. “They took me from my home, Mert. I am nothing without the Magoi.” His voice broke and he looked away, breathing deeply and exhaling through pursed lips. “You could never understand.”

  “I wouldn’t understand?” She ran her hand across the couch we’d imported from Egypt for her, its cushions embroidered with colorful designs depicting the land of her birth. “For the Medes’ chief wise man, you aren’t very smart.”

  He stiffened. “It’s different for me. My father raised me to inherit his position as chieftain of our tribe. When Mother took me from Achmetha, she took away my place as Gadi’s heir.”

  “We were protecting you from the power struggle,” I interrupted. “Magoi were dying to take Gadi’s position, and they would have killed you if we stayed.”

  “You couldn’t be sure.” His eyes narrowed like a petulant child, and I knew then he would hear nothing from me.

  “So what happened when you left here?” I asked. “You said you never arrived in Achmetha, but at some point you did, or you wouldn’t be chief magus.” My tone was as bitter as his, but did I give up the right to be angry because I was the mother?

  My son’s face lost all expression, but he started fidgeting with Gadi’s janbiya, hanging from his belt. “I joined a caravan heading east but was appropriated by Persian soldiers when I reached Susa. They didn’t care that I was a month away from manhood. They didn’t believe my father had been chief magus in Achmetha. They only cared that their horses needed to be brushed and their camels watered.” A mild snort escaped his cynical smile. “And my mother didn’t care enough to search for her son.”

  “Did you wish me to find you?”

  “No, but I wished for a mother.”

  His words pierced my heart—as was surely his intent. “Perhaps it doesn’t matter to you, Allamu, but we did search for you. For years. Daniel sent messengers to every city in the land of the Medes.” I looked away, shaking my head at the irony. “We never imagined you wouldn’t make it to Achmetha. You were so determined.”

  “Perhaps I’ve learned both determination and deception from you, Mother.” His condescending tone drew my attention, and I found a wry smile on his face. “I’m impressed that a priestess of Mithra has guarded her secrets so long. Lord Belteshazzar actually believes you worship his god.”

  “I do worship Yahweh, Allamu. Only Yahweh.”

  Shifting uncomfortably, his smirk changed to concern. “You swore a vow to Mithra, the god of oaths. You can’t simply discard him like soiled linen, Mother.”

  In that moment, I knew my greatest failures as a mother hadn’t been protecting my children too fiercely or even holding back secrets. My most dire mistake had been neglecting to trust Yahweh’s power and sufficiency in both their lives and my own. “Mithra is a lie, Allamu. Only Yahweh has ever displayed the kind of power and love for His people that is worthy of worship and honor. He is the only true God. He is the only God I serve.”

  The Mede’s chief magus straightened, seeming ready to pronounce judgment on me, but Mert leaned in to stop him. “Your ima has changed since you last saw her, boy, and you would do well to learn more before you speak more.”

  Red splotches crept up his neck, and his nostrils flared. I saw his thoughts whirling behind his eyes, building to a dangerous glint. Would he march upstairs and reveal my past to Daniel or announce it to everyone in the courtyard? I couldn’t stop him, but neither could I bring myself to confess it to them myself. The possibility of losing them all was too terrifying, the consequences too overwhelming.

  Finally, he stood, looking down on me as a mountain overshadows a valley. “I will send the guards to transfer yours and Daniel’s personal belongings to the new villa. You and I have no need for further contact.” He stalked out of the chamber, slamming the door behind him.

  Mert squeezed my hand. “I think that went as well as could be expected.”

  “How can I fix things, Mert? My children hate me.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “W
hat if telling them the truth—the whole truth—is the only way?”

  “Well, I don’t know…I…There has to be another—”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Belili!”

  “I can’t tell them the whole truth.”

  “Because keeping secrets has worked so well all these years?”

  “I don’t need your sarcasm.”

  “Then why did you come to my chamber?”

  I wanted to rail at her, but she was right. “I came because you’re the only one who knows it all—you old crow.”

  Her mischievous grin told me she wasn’t backing down. “Are you willing to risk losing your family to gain them fully?”

  She wanted me to numbly say yes, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I’d lived in the shadows so long that to emerge in light now could blind me. Mert was the only one I could trust with all my dark places because her shadows were darker still. She, too, had stayed alive by doing vile things that nearly killed her soul. She, too, held secrets that no one knew but me.

  “I can’t.” I held her gaze, my voice barely a whisper. “I lost Allamu when he discovered I was Hebrew. I’ve known Daniel ben Johanan for nearly seventy years. I know what would happen if he discovered I met Gadi while serving as high priestess of Mithra.”

  “He would forgive you.” Always so certain, but she couldn’t know that.

  I laid my head on her shoulder. “Daniel knows too much about a priestess’s duties in Mithra’s temple. He would realize how I won Gadi’s heart. He’ll know the countless men—” I covered my face, flaming with renewed shame. “I buried that part of my life years ago, Mert. I’m no longer that person.”

  She tugged my hands away. “Make your decision to tell them or not, but realize the consequences if Daniel and your family discover your history from anyone but you. Your betrayal will hurt worse than the truth.”