by Mesu Andrews
The scribe’s reed scratched the parchment, keeping time with the king’s dictation. When he looked up, nodding the completion of his task, Darius turned to his court of eager satraps. “You’ve done well, men. Send messengers to traders. I want plenty of food and supplies brought into the city for feasting. I’ll provide a loaf of bread to every family in Babylon, and we’ll starve the lions between now and then to make sure their first meal is especially entertaining.”
The raucous room of nobles clapped and shouted, openly celebrating their king’s approval with unbridled relief as the king descended the dais to congratulate his satraps.
Zerubbabel followed Darius into the fray. A quick and concerned glance over his shoulder told Daniel he understood his predicament. Many in the city strolled past Daniel’s open west window at midday and had seen his regular practice. Allamu also knew he prayed toward Jerusalem three times a day. “The decision was unanimous.” The words pierced Daniel afresh, and he searched the jubilant crowd for his stepson’s face.
Allamu sat alone, head in his hands, and Daniel’s hope rose. Perhaps “unanimous” had been overstated.
Weary to the bone and with feet on fire, Daniel felt an unbearable pull toward home. For the first time since accepting a place on Darius’s council, he must admit his weakness. “Forgive the interruption, my king.” Daniel lifted his voice, and the celebration quieted. Darius turned, and Daniel swallowed the bitterness of age as if he were drinking a cup of vinegar. “I am unwell. Might I be excused from this afternoon’s session?”
Concern propelled the king up the dais steps two at a time. “Of course, but we’ll likely name the festival and settle on details. Are you sure…” He looked down at Daniel’s feet. “I’ll call for my palanquin, my friend.”
Daniel nodded in defeat. “I would be most appreciative, my king.”
“I’ll secure the palanquin and escort him home.” Allamu’s voice startled him.
“That’s a good idea.” Darius’s brows drew together. “Shall I send my physician?”
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary,” Daniel said, offering a wan smile. “Mistress Belili has become quite proficient with herbs.”
Allamu supported his elbow and helped him stand. Daniel clenched his teeth to keep from crying out. “Wait, please,” he said, the pain stealing his breath. When it subsided enough to take a step, Allamu helped him down the stairs. Humiliated, Daniel walked down the aisle of Darius’s throne room, while every satrap averted his eyes. An overwhelming sense of finality swept over him that today would be his last day to serve in Darius’s court.
Daniel leaned heavily on Allamu’s arm. Neither spoke until they descended the grand stairway and stood, awaiting the promised palanquin.
“What’s happened?” Allamu asked. “Why are you limping like this?”
Daniel lifted the hem of his robe, revealing his bandages.
Allamu released a frustrated sigh. “What is it? Did you burn them?”
“No. I believe it’s what we call Rich Man’s Disease.”
Allamu nodded. “Have you stopped eating meat?” He ducked his chin and gave him a “you should know better” look from hooded brows.
Consternation locked Daniel’s lips into silence.
“How long have you been like this? You shouldn’t have come to the session this morning.” Then he mumbled, “Perhaps none of this would have happened.”
“Are you referring to my swollen feet or the law commanding me to pray to Darius?”
Allamu kept his eyes focused on the approaching palanquin. “You know exactly what I’m referring to, and we’ll speak of it when we get to the villa.”
Allamu had dismissed him as if he were a ten-year-old child, but his feet hurt too much to protest. The soldiers lowered the conveyance on its knee-high stilts, and Daniel fell onto the cushioned elegance with a relieved sigh.
Allamu walked beside the lead soldier, stoic and brooding, but his concern had sparked a glimmer of hope that perhaps he’d maintained some loyalty to his mother and Daniel. Perhaps a greater proof that he hadn’t joined Orchamus’s conspiracy was his willingness to face Belili. Surely he wasn’t foolish enough to vote to kill Daniel and then confess it to his mother.
They arrived at the villa before Daniel had time to consider how to tell Belili about the new law. Allamu appeared at the curtain as the soldiers lowered the palanquin. “Let me tell Mother.”
Daniel eased himself from the seat and cried out when his feet touched the ground. “Wait. Please.” Breathless, he stood still, adjusting to the pain. Bowing his head, he prayed silently—for himself, yes, but also for Belili. Yahweh, give her courage to support my decision.
“All right,” he said, leaning on Allamu. “Let’s go tell your mother.”
Allamu matched Daniel’s slow pace and called out to the soldiers, “Return to the palace. I’ll walk back later.”
“Thank you, Allamu.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
“You mean since you agreed to let them kill me?”
“I didn’t agree—”
“What’s this?” Belili swung open the courtyard gate. “Allamu, what happened to him?”
“He didn’t tell me his feet were swollen, Mother.”
“Daniel, my Daniel…” She cupped his cheeks and then pointed toward the courtyard. “Help him in. Help him. Thank you for bringing him home, Allamu. You’re a good boy.”
Her son obeyed without a word and eased Daniel onto a cushion in the shade of two date palms. He stood and clasped his hands behind his back in uncomfortable silence.
Belili alternated glances between them. “What is it? Which of you has bad news?”
Daniel patted the cushion beside him. “Sit down, my love. Allamu and I had a very difficult morning. I think he should tell you about it.”
“Wine,” Belili said. “Do we need wine?”
“Sit down, Mother.” Allamu grabbed another cushion and placed it opposite them. “King Darius made Belteshazzar the single administrator over his entire kingdom, placing the overseer positions and one hundred twenty satraps under his authority.”
“No, no!” Belili covered a gasp.
“That’s not the bad news.” Allamu looked at Daniel, completely bewildered. “Any other wife would be proud—overjoyed.”
“Haven’t you seen the way the other noblemen look at Daniel?” she asked. Allamu closed his eyes and nodded.
Daniel actually felt sorry for him. He had no idea how perceptive she was. When Allamu opened his eyes, his expression softened. “You’re right, Mother. Orchamus and the other officials hate Daniel, and now they’ve found a way to kill him if he continues to flaunt his faith in Yahweh.”
“What do you mean, flaunt?” Belili sat a little straighter. “How does anyone flaunt the one true God?”
Faint splotches appeared on Allamu’s neck. “Aren’t you more worried about how they plan to kill your husband?”
“Of course, but first I must know why you used the word flaunt, because you said he was flaunting—”
“Enough!” Daniel covered his ears, unable to endure their verbal sparring today. “Orchamus instigated a new law in which everyone must pray to Darius for thirty days. Anyone who prays to any god or human except our new king will be thrown into the lions’ pit.”
Belili’s mouth flew open, but no sound escaped. Allamu’s head fell forward. Perhaps their bickering would have been better. Daniel reached for his wife’s hand. “You know I must continue to speak with Yahweh three times a day, kneeling toward Jerusalem. It is who I am, not just what I do, beloved.”
Tears gathered on her lashes as she pulled his hand to her lips. “I know, my love, but couldn’t you pray with the shutters closed? Just for thirty days?”
Close the shutters. Such a simple solution. Pray in secret. Nothing in the
Law prescribed shutters being open or closed.
Allamu’s eyes sparked. “Yes, thirty days with your shutters closed, Belteshazzar. Secret prayer inside your chamber.”
The relief on their faces twisted his gut. What would happen to Belili if he was arrested? To Shesh and Kezia—to the whole family living in the villa deeded to him by Nebuchadnezzar?
But secret prayer?
The creation story flickered through his consciousness, and he remembered Adam and Eve’s reaction after they sinned. They hid from Yahweh. Deception allows sin to lurk in the shadows. To hide his daily practice would be to deny his God and deceive his king. For him, it would be sin.
His decision made, he brushed his wife’s soft cheek. “I’m sorry, my love, but I cannot live a lie. How could I boldly testify to King Darius of Yahweh’s faithfulness if he thinks I was unfaithful to my God when it served my purpose?”
Something in her expression changed. Daniel couldn’t define it or even describe it, but she sat up straighter and turned to her son. “I cannot ask my husband to live a lie and die inside.”
Allamu’s neck mottled crimson. “Mother! Did you hear the penalty? The lions. He’ll be thrown—”
“No, Son.” Belili studied her hands. “The penalty if Daniel betrayed Yahweh would be far worse than a pit of lions. My husband would cease to be himself.” She lifted her eyes to meet her son’s. “Our God can protect my husband if He chooses. The way He protected all the Chaldeans by giving Daniel the interpretation of Nebuchadnezzar’s dream. As He saved our three friends from the fiery furnace. Our God saves His faithful ones, Allamu. Daniel has always been faithful.”
Allamu’s anger smoldered into seething. “Look at his feet, Mother. Yahweh can’t even dull Daniel’s pain—”
“You must go.” Belili stood, towering over him. “I love you, but in this matter, you must either be silent or leave.”
Daniel wanted to counsel moderation, but years of failed mediation between mother and son told him to hold his tongue. Yahweh, You must be their mediator.
“I cannot be silent, Mother, when a man I respect is being foolish.”
At this, Daniel looked at Lord Allamu, his peer and friend. “When my ancestor King David was mocked for dancing before Yahweh in worship, he said to the mocker, ‘I will become even more undignified than this in His name.’ Allamu, my son, if Yahweh grants me more years to proclaim His faithfulness, you can call me a fool every day of my life.”
Daniel tried to stand but couldn’t. “Help me up before you go. I’m going to our bedchamber to pray—as I do every day.”
Allamu set his jaw and offered his hand in silence. Daniel pulled against it, stood, and hobbled toward the stairway. The steps felt like a mountain today, but he would climb them, praising Yahweh with all his strength.
41
[Daniel] went home to his upstairs room where the windows opened toward Jerusalem. Three times a day he got down on his knees and prayed, giving thanks to his God, just as he had done before.
—DANIEL 6:10
My husband’s feet had worsened over the past two days until he could barely walk with two sticks to help balance him. Even with myrrh bandages, changed four times a day, he found the pain hard to bear and sleep nearly impossible. He’d sent word to the king of his illness and was pardoned for three days from his duties. I sent word to the family villa that I needed Mert’s help but didn’t inform them of his condition. I didn’t want to alarm the children by telling them about Daniel’s feet until they could see him in person, see his resilience and determination. A report on the physical condition without witnessing his joyful countenance could lead them to wrong conclusions. Today was different. There was no joy, and the conclusion was grim.
Kezia accompanied Mert, which didn’t surprise me. I met them in the courtyard. “It’s his feet,” I said while we climbed the stairs. “Worse than I’ve ever seen them.”
Without waiting to hear more, Kezia bolted up the remaining steps and through our chamber door. I heard her knees hit the floor and then…“Abba, your toes are so swollen the skin looks as if it might split.” When Mert and I arrived at the doorway, Kezia was kneeling by our bed, unwrapping her abba’s bandaged left foot.
My daughter looked up, pouring out her worry in anger. “These bandages are obviously old rags. Didn’t you call for the king’s physician?”
I knelt beside her, trying to hold my temper. “Kezia. Daughter. Your abba has been governor of the Chaldeans for nearly seventy years. He knows more than any physician in the land and has shown me how to—”
“Surely the second-highest official in the land can afford to have a trained physician tend his feet.” She began unwrapping his other foot, more concerned about telling us what to do than with the pain on her abba’s face. “Look at his joints!”
“Mert?” But my friend was gone. I hoped she had gone to gather two bowls of water to soak my husband’s feet.
“Ima, did you hear me?”
“What, Kezia?” I shouted. Daniel patted my shoulder, his encouragement to be calm. He didn’t speak much, since the pain drained his energy. I would try to keep the peace. “I’m sorry, Daughter. What did you ask me?”
She knelt, head bowed, hands in her lap. “I’m sorry I was impatient.” She swiped at her cheeks and looked up at her abba. “We never get to see you since you’ve been appointed to the king’s council. Your family misses you terribly.” Turning to me, her pleading changed to accusation. “Why did we have to hear about Abba’s promotion from my friends in the market?”
Daniel’s hand tightened on my shoulder, and I grinned at his silent warning. Normally, I would make a harsh comment about Kezia’s gossiping, but not today. None of us could stand the usual grousing. “Your abba’s new position hasn’t been made official yet, and it shouldn’t have been shared outside the king’s council.”
Mert arrived with two bowls of cool water, the scent of mint oil filling the air. She set them on the floor in front of Kezia and me. Kezia and I each cradled one of Daniel’s feet and lowered it into a bowl. He released a shuddering breath. The pain was chipping away at him. I was losing him a little more each day.
Our daughter didn’t seem to perceive it. “I heard in the market that the king has ordered the new festival to begin tomorrow. He’s named it the Hidati, the Unity Festival. The stalls are packed with goods from everywhere. I saw a new stall filled with pottery from Egypt. The bowls, the amphorae and vases—beautiful.”
I nodded. She needed no reply. She’d begun the inane chatter that won the hearts of her gossiping friends in the market.
“And did you hear, Abba? King Darius has commanded everyone in his kingdom to unite in prayer to him alone for thirty days. It’s why he named it Hidati, so all peoples and tribes under his authority can celebrate unity as a single nation.” She shrugged. “I suppose we don’t actually have to pray to him. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea—”
“Don’t you dare!” Daniel pushed himself to his feet, towering over Kezia and me with one foot in each bowl. “We are to have no other gods besides Yahweh. Do you hear me, Kezia bat Daniel?”
Mert chuckled. “Well, don’t you look silly, Lord Belteshazzar, standing in two bowls of water?” I had desperately missed my friend’s candor, but now wasn’t the time to reintroduce it.
Kezia looked up, her expression a mix of surprise and offense. “I wouldn’t actually pray to the king, Abba.” She bowed her head only a moment and then stood. “I should return to the villa. Shesh will arrive for his midday meal…”
It was barely midmorning. I rose to my feet. “Kezia, don’t go. We need to talk.”
She turned to her abba, waiting. He sat back on the bed and rolled over on his side, dragging his wet feet onto our clean blankets. I would have killed him if he hadn’t been hurting so badly.
“Please, Kezia, my love. We must talk.
” She looked longingly at her abba and walked toward the door. Mert followed us down the stairs.
“Let’s go to the open courtyard,” I said when we reached the bottom step. “It’s a lovely morning.” Mert stopped by the kitchen and asked one of our maids to bring something cool to drink. When Mert arrived in the courtyard, I’d already directed Kezia to the plush cushions beneath the date palms where Allamu and Daniel had told me about Darius’s terrifying law.
Had it really only been two days? I’d nearly drowned in a sea of guilt. Me, the one who’d been hiding my whole life, must tell our daughter that her abba would willingly die rather than hide behind shutters to worship the God who could heal but chose not to. He’d never been stronger in his faith, nor weaker in his body.
“Ima?” Kezia’s soft tone shattered my brooding.
How long had the maid been standing over us with the tray of watered wine? “Yes, thank you. You may set the tray here.” I waited until the Egyptian girl left before reaching for a goblet, unable to lift my eyes and meet the inevitable questions.
Kezia’s hand stayed mine on the goblet. “Ima.” She waited in silence, holding me there.
I felt tears sting my throat. The secret pounded at my heart’s door, begging to be freed. I can’t tell her. Not Kezia. She’d hated me longer and stronger than any of my daughters. I inhaled a deep breath to relieve the urge to confess, but still my secret screamed inside me. I pulled my hand from Kezia’s grasp. “I should explain your abba’s mood.”
Both she and Mert looked at me in surprise. “What is there to explain?” Kezia asked. “He’s in pain.”
“It’s more than that.” I took a slow sip of my wine and set the goblet down. “You both know his routine. At dawn, midday, and dusk, he goes to our window facing Jerusalem, opens the shutters, and prays.”
