by Mesu Andrews
King Darius entered the room from a side door, gaining everyone’s attention. “Be seated,” he said without preamble. “We begin.”
More satraps hurried in and took their seats. Only one place on the benches remained empty, and Daniel prayed the man would arrive before the third and final trumpet sounded. Darius’s no-excuse policy, established on his first day, hadn’t relaxed but had been refined. The first trumpet called the officials, the second warned time was short, and the third signaled the doors closing. Three more satraps had died in six months. Darius was not to be tested.
The last satrap ran through the doors as the final trumpet blared. Barefoot, disheveled, and carrying his jewelry and sandals, he hurried to his empty place and sat down, trying to appear attentive.
Darius’s eyes narrowed, but he left his dagger sheathed. “It has come to my attention that canceling last week’s Akitu festival left Babylon and Borsippa in mourning.”
Daniel hadn’t heard it phrased that way, but it was an apt description and offered more than a little relief that he wasn’t the only one finding it difficult to keep pace with their new king.
“It’s our job,” Darius continued, “in the first year of my reign, to establish traditions and systems that will propagate peace and health throughout Babylon and the Lands Beyond the River. King Cyrus will not hear of a grieving Babylon.” He let silence grab their attention. “I said…King Cyrus will not hear of a grieving Babylon.”
His lifted brows invited the practiced reply. “Yes, my king!” the men responded.
With a single nod, he continued. “Before you eat your midday meal, you will suggest a celebration to replace Akitu. Something equal in splendor and significance. Something to capture people’s hearts, pique their interest, and tantalize their senses. Begin!” He sat down on his throne, and the satraps scooted together in groups, conversations growing lively immediately.
With a wave, Darius called Allamu, Orchamus, and Daniel nearer. Servants appeared from the shadows with their customary three stools, placing them in a tight arc in front of the throne. Like baby birds waiting to be fed by their mother, the overseers waited for Darius to speak. Only twice had he gathered them like this. Once, when he assigned their territories, and five months ago to announce Cyrus’s departure.
“Our current structure is ineffective. King Cyrus and I have corresponded and agree that I will rule the whole of my kingdom, rather than administrating details in Babylon alone. To administrate those details, I’ve chosen Lord Belteshazzar. He will also rule over the overseers and our one hundred twenty satraps.” He met Daniel’s gaze. “You have distinguished yourself in the past six months, my friend, above all others. Will you serve me in this way?”
Daniel wished he could say, “With all my heart, no!” But wisdom won over desire. “Of course, my king. I am honored.” He ventured a surreptitious glance at Allamu and Orchamus, finding their reactions varied.
Allamu extended his hand with a warm smile. “Prosperity and honor to the empire.” Gripping his wrist, Daniel felt the warmth and affirmation of a son’s pride.
Orchamus offered his hand as well, but his expression was trained in political rightness. “Yes, prosperity and honor to the empire.” The words were correct but forced, and his grip lasted barely the length of a heartbeat.
The king was last to offer his hand and held Daniel’s wrist as he spoke. “You will accompany me to my chamber, Lord Belteshazzar. We will speak of your duties while the others continue to form a plan for our replacement festival.” He pulled on Daniel’s arm, hoisting him to his feet.
“Of course, my king.” Giving the fire in his feet time to cool, Daniel bowed a quick goodbye to Allamu and Orchamus and then followed Darius out the side door.
Daniel felt the stares of his comrades like daggers in his back. Looking back, he found Orchamus scowling. Envy was an insidious master, and it appeared to have bound Orchamus with heavy chains.
Daniel followed Darius down a narrow hallway toward the private suite that had once been Nebuchadnezzar’s. Now eight guards stood watch at the door, one of whom was Zerubbabel. The Hebrew guard opened the door as they approached and nodded as Daniel followed the king inside. Daniel nudged him in jest without drawing attention.
Still looking over his shoulder at Zerubbabel, Daniel heard a low growl. “Yahweh help us!” he yelped when he saw a lioness lounging on a goatskin rug barely a camel length from the king. “Quick, my king!” Daniel grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door the way an ant might tug at a boulder.
Darius laughed and patted the hand that assaulted him. “Nergala is my toy, Lord Belteshazzar.”
The beast stood, and Daniel nearly left a wet spot on the king’s tiled floor. Darius lowered himself to one knee, and the giant animal lumbered closer, rubbing her rich golden coat against his chest like an Egyptian cat. He stroked her, hand over hand, and she melted to the floor, submitting to his petting.
“Come, Lord Belteshazzar,” he coaxed. “Pet her yourself. She is friendly to those I deem a friend.”
Daniel took a step toward the lion, hand outstretched, but Nergala’s ears flicked. She turned her head and roared, the sound of it vibrating his chest. Stopping where he stood, his knees nearly buckled. “I think not, my king. Should I return after Nergala has eaten her midday meal?”
Darius gave her a vigorous two-handed scratch behind her ears and instructed his chamber steward to remove her. The well-muscled man attached a heavy chain to Nergala’s jeweled collar and led her out an alternate door.
The king’s impish grin said he’d relished the interchange. “Should I have Nergala’s sister delivered to your villa?”
Finally breathing again, Daniel could chuckle. “Only if you wish to face the wrath of Mistress Belili.”
His eyes widened. “I’d rather face Nergala’s sister!”
Their familiarity felt right, nothing forced. Daniel had grown cautiously fond of this young man. Though he bore the unyielding harshness of a Mede, he’d shown some teachability and could become a fine leader.
“Sit down, Belteshazzar.” Darius pointed to a stool opposite the couch where he now rested. Daniel obeyed and waited while the king studied him.
A long silence ensued, both men skilled in waiting. “I’ve heard rumors,” Darius said finally. “Rumors that trouble me.”
Daniel thought they’d entered the private chamber to discuss his new duties. “Rumors are often lies begun with a seed of truth.”
Darius nodded and scratched his chin. “The rumors I’ve heard are that you worked evil magic on King Nebuchadnezzar and King Nabonidus—that you changed them into oxen.”
Daniel had to stifle a laugh at the absurdity, but the fear on the man’s features sobered him. “I am Hebrew, King Darius. I led Babylon’s Chaldeans as an asutu—a physician—and an astrologer. I interpreted dreams only through the power of the Most High God. It would be an abomination to Yahweh were I to use magic, as the asiputus do in their incantations.”
The relief on his face was likely the same as Daniel’s when Nergala left the room. Daniel leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “My God did, indeed, transform Nebuchadnezzar into the form of an ox for seven years. I witnessed the day Nebuchadnezzar acknowledged Yahweh’s sovereignty over all kingdoms on earth and regained his throne. However, I’ve only heard the rumors about Nabonidus. If it was judgment, however, I’ve heard nothing of it ending.”
A shadow of fear returned to the king’s features. “So you admit to using your God’s power to manipulate Nebuchadnezzar?”
“No, my king.”
“You are wily, Chaldean.” Darius sat back, eyes narrowing. “Will you threaten your God’s vengeance if I don’t do as you say? Will I become an exiled king like Nabonidus?”
“I don’t even know if the rumors of Nabonidus are true, and I did not threaten any vengeance. I’m
only a mouthpiece.”
Darius appeared unconvinced, his features darkening. “What am I to do with you, Belteshazzar? If I kill you, your god will turn me into an ox. If I promote you to chief administrator—as I planned—you will rule my kingdom.”
Daniel turned his wrinkled hands palms up in surrender. “I assure you, King Darius, I have no interest in ruling your kingdom, and I have no more power than any man in your court.” He straightened and offered his most penitent smile. “Only the God Most High holds all kingdoms in His hands. Occasionally He announces His plan through my lips. If you kill me, He’ll simply raise up another to be His voice.”
“He already did.”
“Raise up another prophet?”
“Another Yahweh magician.” Darius waved his hand in a circle as if conjuring someone. “My soldiers told me about another Hebrew who claimed he spoke messages from your god. He lived in a southern province by the Kebar Canal.”
“Ezekiel, yes.” Daniel’s chest constricted. “He died several years ago.”
“You knew him?”
“I knew of him, but we never met. Ezekiel was taken from Jerusalem in Nebuchadnezzar’s second attack. His message from Yahweh was always the same: Jerusalem will be completely destroyed, but Yahweh is with those who remain faithful in Babylon, and He will lead us back to restore Jerusalem at the proper time.”
“It sounds as if Ezekiel was inciting rebellion, hoping to overthrow his captors and lead an army back to Jerusalem.”
“No, no, my king. Just the opposite,” Daniel said. “He worked with the Hebrew governors, Abednego and Shadrach, to help our people put down roots in Babylon. They built homes, married, and started lucrative businesses, which in part will provide for a remnant of Yahweh’s people to return to Jerusalem.”
Darius leaned back on his couch, his features frozen in a scowl.
Daniel watched closely, waiting for him to reach for his dagger, and considered how he might soften the lines across the king’s forehead. “Perhaps you know more details. Did Ezekiel somehow unite an army before he died? Is that why you thought him a magician?”
The king shook his head, his tension easing. “I thought him a magician because he did exactly as you said. He instilled peace in his province—and the provinces around him. Why would he do that in the land of his enemies?”
Yahweh, is this the open door to ask for our remnant’s return?
Trying to tamp down his excitement and keep his voice level, he began. “Ezekiel believed, as do I, that our exile was discipline from our God that would last only seventy years. At the end of that time, Yahweh, in His mercy, will place a ruler over this empire who will allow a remnant of Hebrews to return to Jerusalem and rebuild His Temple—the place where His presence dwells on earth. The prophet Jeremiah spoke this message to our people when I was a boy, and the same vision was given to me.” Daniel’s stomach fluttered as though a dove had taken wing inside it. “It’s been nearly sixty-seven years, King Darius. Have you considered sending a remnant of Hebrews to our homeland with the satraps you’ve chosen?”
Daniel wanted to say more but let the weight of his question settle into Darius’s heart.
The king held his gaze, his expression never changing. “I’ve spent my whole life learning to read men, Lord Belteshazzar, and I don’t see any deceit in you. No guile or hatred toward me or the ambitious men in my courtroom who would rather cut your throat than eat at your table.” He shifted on his couch, cradling his chin in his hand as if deep in thought. “You’re either the most ignorant man in the empire or the most favored by his god—and a man who’s lived this long in Babylon’s court can’t be ignorant. I will consider what we’ve discussed before officially installing you as my administrator.”
Daniel nodded respectfully. “I believe that’s a wise decision, my king.”
Darius reached across the small space separating them and lifted the hem of Daniel’s robe. “I noticed your limp,” he said, pointing to both heavily bandaged feet. “Perhaps after we plan the new festival, you should let your pretty wife take care of those feet, Lord Belteshazzar.”
“I believe you would win much favor with Mistress Belili if you forced me to do so, my king.”
Darius stood and offered his hand to help Daniel to his feet. “Perhaps it is your wife I should fear more than you, Chaldean.” He chuckled and led Daniel out of his chamber.
40
The royal [overseers], prefects, satraps, advisers and governors have all agreed that the king should issue an edict and enforce the decree that anyone who prays to any god or human being during the next thirty days, except to you, Your Majesty, shall be thrown into the lions’ den.
—DANIEL 6:7
They exited King Darius’s chamber, and Zerubbabel led them down the hallway and through the door leading to the dais’s side entrance. The council’s lively chatter instantly ceased. Zerubbabel marched onto the dais with a hand on his sword, muscles taut, while Darius and Daniel followed. The king’s heavy footsteps were the only sound in the uncomfortable silence.
When they reached the throne and overseers’ couches, the king looked over his audience of averted eyes. “Your conversation appears to be something you’d rather Lord Belteshazzar and I didn’t hear.”
“On the contrary, my king.” Orchamus left the huddle of Phoenicia-bound satraps he’d been consulting and cleared the dais steps in two large strides. “I believe we’ve settled on a replacement festival that will erase the Akitu celebration from your new kingdom’s collective memory.” He kept glancing at Allamu, who sat sullenly among his Syrian group of satraps.
“I’m anxious to hear.” Darius’s impatient tone barely dimmed Orchamus’s enthusiasm.
“We haven’t yet named the festival, but we’ll construct an image much like the one of Nebuchadnezzar’s day on the Dura Plain. Except this image will be your likeness, my king. Then for thirty days hence, anyone who prays to any god except you, King Darius, will be immediately thrown into the pit of lions.”
He stole a glance at Daniel before motioning for the king’s scribe to approach the throne. Daniel felt the sharp blade of fear slice through his middle. Every one of his Palestine-bound satraps knew he prayed only to one God. They’d undoubtedly informed the Syrian and Phoenician groups of the fact, and Orchamus used the information to trap Daniel.
“The decision was unanimous,” Orchamus was saying. “Praying to you alone will unite the kingdom, and feeding the lions will provide some sport for those in the city who’ve never witnessed the sight.”
The decision was unanimous. Allamu’s eyes were downcast. His stepson’s betrayal cut him to the bone.
Darius joined in Orchamus’s excitement. “We could set several days during the festival for executions. I’m sure it would draw large crowds.”
Orchamus bowed deeply and slammed his fist to his heart. “This festival will teach our children—and men and women of all ages—the importance of magnifying our king, no matter what gods or goddesses they worship. No matter what cultures separate us, we can be united in our worship of Darius.” Orchamus turned his attention toward Daniel, and the eyes of everyone else followed suit. “Don’t you agree, Lord Belteshazzar? We knew you would laud the idea since it elevates the king who has so graciously elevated you.”
Daniel’s thoughts raced at the pace of his heart. “Our king is indeed most gracious, Lord Orchamus, and we would do him a great disservice if we neglected a single detail in planning this festival. Perhaps—”
“Yes, and for that reason”—Orchamus motioned the king’s scribe—“we must have the royal scribe enter this historic moment into the records of the Medes and Persians.”
Working to keep panic from his voice, Daniel turned and bowed to Darius. “Might I ask a few questions to clarify before the king speaks into law a decision that cannot be repealed?”
Ann
oyance shadowed the king’s eagerness. “Go ahead. Ask your questions.”
Daniel directed his questions to Orchamus. “Since King Belshazzar’s reign left Babylon’s coffers empty, has the cost of the statue been considered?” When Orchamus stumbled over an uninformed guess, Daniel pressed him with another question. “Perhaps you intend to request the silver, gold, and bronze from King Cyrus. Since the statue will honor only King Darius, how much metal should we request from the emperor for a statue that honors the king of Babylon and Lands Beyond the River alone?”
Orchamus glared at him with open disdain, while the king ignored them both. “Daniel is right, of course. Building an image is foolish. Too expensive and takes too long. A festival replacing the old tradition of Akitu should celebrate the new unity of my kingdom. Using the lions as part of the festival is brilliant. The people have been intrigued by them since they arrived.”
Daniel’s mind grasped for more objections, but he’d served enough kings to know Darius’s mind was made up. He watched the scene unfold as if it was another vision—except this one was more horrific than Yahweh’s glorious truths. This was the nightmare of vain men seeking fleeting glory from divided hearts.
Darius offered his hand to Orchamus. “Cyrus will approve of a festival in which our people pray in unity to the new king of my unified lands. You’ve done well, my friend.”
The ambitious overseer gripped the king’s wrist and then bowed to one knee, placing his forehead on their locked hands. “I seek only to serve you, my king.”
Barely noticing his groveling, Darius pulled from his grip and turned to the scribe. “My council has three days to coordinate the details of this new festival, but you will record its future dates for celebration as identical to Akitu—beginning on fourth Nisannu. All of Babylon’s temples will accept offerings made only to me for thirty days. Anyone caught praying to, presenting offerings to, or in any way worshipping another god will be arrested and held for execution on a date and time of my choosing.”
