THE CHOSEN : The Prophet: Historical Fiction (The Chosen Trilogy Book 2)

by Shlomo Kalo

  “Do you hear that, Benjamin?” – he spoke without turning towards the one the words were directed at, and he pursed his lips again. The momentary spark that had shone in his dark eyes disappeared as it had never been.

  “As I was saying,” Simeon continued, “we are proud of you because you are a compatriot of ours, although few of us have had the good fortune to see the holy landscape of our homeland and to breathe its enchanted air. Still, it lives in our hearts and its fire will forever burn there, unquenched – until the time comes for our return thither, as it written And the children shall return to their borders! And we have no doubt that you will do everything in your power to ease our long time of waiting, marred as it is by suffering and abuse – and to shorten it as far as is possible, and hasten and bring forward that wondrous hour, the hour of our return to Zion!”

  “It is not for me to hasten or bring forward the return of anyone to anywhere,” he declared. “It is God who knows these things and God who decides them!”

  “And what does God know, and what is he going to decide?” asked a man sitting close by, his voice low and barely audible, his garments suggesting that he was not among the elite of the community.

  “It is God who knows when you will be worthy to return to your homeland and to your patrimony, and He it is who will decide the time,” he replied.

  The men stiffened. Someone shouted:

  “Do you not think us worthy to return to Zion?”

  “That is not for me to judge,” was his answer. “God will decide.”

  “And we are sitting here at His command!” cried Benjamin, who had evidently mastered his confusion and regained his confidence, and he added: “So at least our fathers taught us!” The one sitting beside Benjamim leaned forward, with an emphatic movement, turned to him and said:

  “We are here to safeguard the border of the holy kingdom of Judah, as was promised in our Scriptures. Surely that border is – the Euphrates!”

  And at this point Simeon raised his voice, addressing him directly and saying:

  “And it is your duty to assist us in this.”

  “In what?” he asked calmly, his eyes keen.

  “In the destruction of the wicked kingdom!” shouted somebody amid the gathering, somebody he did not recognise.

  He did not respond.

  Silence fell in the room that was decorated with flowers, polished weapons and tapestries hanging on thick walls freshly daubed with lime – and yet in spite of this was sombre and chilly.

  “I have heard much about your family,” Simeon resumed his speech in a conciliatory tone, “from your friends and from many of the exiles who praise your father – a hero who fell honourably and died a martyr’s death defending Jerusalem the Holy City! His memory be blessed!”

  The gathering repeated after him in uncoordinated voices:

  “His memory be blessed!” – and as they did so, rose fractionally from their seats.

  “Yours, anyway, is the sacred obligation, as the loyal son of a valiant father and as a God-fearing man – to take revenge on his killers! As it is written in our Law, the Law of Moses – an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth! We shall all be with you and support you, and offer you all the help that you need and do as you command us to do, just so long as the death of your father, so much admired by all of us, does not go unavenged!”

  All eyes were turned towards him, in tense anticipation, and in a kind of impossible innocence – with darkness at its core.

  “It is written, For I am merciful and I shall not bear grudges, forever!” he replied, his voice reverberating in the stress-filled void.

  After a long moment Simeon regained some composure and cried:

  “You mean you’re not interested in avenging your father’s death?” – the tone of his voice resembled the snarl of a wild beast, ready to pounce and prey on whatever comes its way.

  The one sitting beside Simeon echoed his protest:

  “Will you refuse to take the field against the killers of your revered father, to fight them, strike a victorious blow and even die with honour – anything rather than do the bidding of one who ordered your father’s murder?”

  And Benjamin interjected:

  “No Jew forgoes the honour that is due to him, and if it is decreed that he shall fall in battle, like his father, then fall he shall – there is no escape for him!”

  And he replied:

  “I do the bidding of no man and obey the will of no man, but of God alone! And because I obey His holy will, Blessed be He, I can stand against any man, be he a King of great renown, be they my brothers and compatriots, who are too blind to see!”

  “And what is God commanding you now?” asked Simeon, clearly enraged.

  “That which He commanded through the prophet Jeremiah!”

  “Jeremiah is a traitor! A false prophet is Jeremiah!” Some of the men rose from their seats and waved clenched fists at him, their eyes shooting sparks.

  “Jeremiah is the prophet of God, and all his words are the truth, the word of the living God!” – he cried in a clear, ringing voice, filled with unshakable, impregnable conviction.

  “He who says that the Chaldeans shall defeat our holy people, this nation that the Lord chose from all the nations!” Benjamin intervened again from his corner.

  “Jeremiah says,” he insisted, “that if our people will not repent and mend its ways in time, nor cleave to the Lord, the loving Lord, nor uphold His holy Law that it swore to uphold – then it shall be trampled beneath the feet of its enemies.”

  “You too are an accomplice of this traitor!” cried the man who sat beside Benjamin, waving his fist menacingly.

  “Jeremiah is the living voice of God, and anyone that does not obey him is defying and opposing God!” he declared.

  Benjamin’s neighbour stood up from his place, pushing his chair back noisily, apparently intending to attack him with his fists, and three others seemed ready to support him. Simeon hurried to his protection, shielding him and sending those who had risen back to their places. Then he turned to him and said:

  “You have no intention, then, of taking up the sword to avenge the death of your revered father?”

  And he replied:

  “So long as I do the will of God, and hear His voice, I shall know for sure that my father is honoured and blessed in me!”

  “It is the fault of people like you that our honour has been defiled, our people are oppressed and our enemies rejoice in our undoing!” raged Simeon.

  “It is the fault of people who close their eyes from seeing and stop their ears from hearing the word of the living God, and call His prophet a ‘traitor’ – that calamity will come and disaster fall on our heads, and Judah will be ravaged and its people exiled from its land and dispersed among all the nations, to the ends of the earth!”

  He turned and left the room, leaving its occupants stunned and stricken dumb.

  Jahanur

  When it was that the King gave orders for the building of a gigantic statue in the valley of Dura, no one knew. It may be that it followed soon after those tempestuous days during which a dream was dreamed and forgotten, and the magicians and astrologers of Babylon were summoned to reveal and interpret it before the King, and when they failed Daniel came forward, the Jewish exile also known as Belteshazzar, and he revealed the dream and interpreted it, and earned high renown.

  It may have been in the wake of these events that the King set to thinking and made his decision, and ordered the construction of this gigantic statue, sixty cubits in height, to stand in the heart of the valley of Dura and be a landmark visible from far away.

  The building work proceeded, and Daniel paid no attention to it, nor did his friends, Mishael, Hananiah and Azariah. In their capacity as ministers they used to meet regularly to discuss matters of state, deciding which issues should have priority and precedence over others, which proposals should be dropped and which referred to the King for his approval. The business of the statue was never menti
oned in their conversations, nor did it occur to them to imagine how fateful this statue would prove to be, how it would determine the course of their lives for the future.

  One day Nashdernach came to his office, sat down facing him, cleared his throat and finally began:

  “If I understand it correctly, the God that you worship is not one of those who are represented by images of clay or wood or iron or gold.”

  “That is correct,” he answered him.

  “And you are not permitted to bow down to any image, embodying any element of the divine, even of your own God?”

  “Correct again!” he smiled.

  “Even if the King himself commands you, and you know with absolute certainty that anyone disobeying the King’s command shall surely die?”

  “Even if the King himself commands me, and I know with absolute certainty that anyone disobeying the King’s command shall surely die!” – he repeated Nashdernach’s words with clear and earnest conviction, leaving no room to doubt his sincere intentions.

  Nashdernach smiled awkwardly, rose from his seat, shook his hand warmly and left his office.

  About a week later Nashdernach came once again to his office, and sitting down to face him in his customary fashion, told him:

  “The King is asking to see you!”

  He rose from his seat and followed Nashdernach, and the two of them entered the same hall in which he had revealed to the distraught King the dream that he had forgotten, and delivered a clear and succinct interpretation of it.

  They passed between ranks of guardsmen standing to attention with swords drawn, bowed and prostrated themselves at the feet of the King, and when he had greeted them, rose and stood upright before him.

  There was something of a gleam in the stern face of the King, in those bronzed features that did not know the meaning of fear, that struck terror into all those who saw them and set their heart-beat racing.

  “My wish,” said the King, addressing him, “is that you go to the mountainous northern region and to the town of Jahanur. You are to stay there a month, residing in the royal summer palace. Inspect the town and discover all that there is to know about it, and report to me on the number of inhabitants, their sources of livelihood, and how firm is their loyalty to the Crown!”

  And Nebuchadnezzar turned to Nashdernach and said to him:

  “For this month you are to take his place and do his work according to his instructions, everything to be put in writing and sealed by your hand!”

  The two men bowed and prostrated themselves once again before the King, and saying in unison “His Majesty’s will be done!” they withdrew, faces towards the throne and backs to the door.

  On their return to his office, there was a certain awkwardness between them, for no apparent reason. He was entirely confident that Nashdernach was incapable of doing anything contrary to reason and integrity, and he was inclined to believe this was all down to caprice on the part of the King. Or perhaps this was the King’s roundabout way of sending him to the hills for a period of rest and recuperation, although he had never complained of feeling overworked; on the contrary, he had fulfilled his duties conscientiously and gladly. Or was it the King’s intention to treat him and his new bride to a honeymoon... But this explanation too failed to satisfy him.

  “The whole of this business,” Nashdernach said suddenly, “was arranged at my specific request!”

  This admission by Nashdernach was utterly unexpected, and he gave him a startled look, though still without the slightest hint of suspicion or resentment, even in the depths of his heart. He waited for Nashdernach to clarify this remark and he did not have to wait long.

  “About ten days from now the image that stands in the Dura valley will be dedicated, and the citizens of Babylon will be summoned by royal command to come and bow down to it, and anyone who does not come forward and bow to the image – will be thrown into the furnace! You will be among those summoned, and if you go to this place and refuse to bow to the image, in obedience to your God but in defiance of the King – you shall be thrown into the furnace. This is not what the King wants, nor is it what I want, your faithful servant! When the issue was explained to the King, just as I have explained it to you, he thought it over and came to his decision. As for that summer resort,” Nashdernach continued with a cheerful smile – “there’s no place that can match its beauty anywhere in the kingdom! It stands on a low hill surrounded by groves of pines with their sweet-smelling resin, and there are ancient vines in plenty, figs and olives and nuts and almonds, and bubbling streams. The inhabitants are hospitable, and the air is clear and invigorating!”

  “And what is to become of my three friends, Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-Nego?” he asked, more interested in their fate than in lyrical descriptions of Jahanur.

  “To the best of my knowledge,” Nashdernach replied, “they are not required to be present at the dedication of the image, unlike you – the King’s viceroy! And the solution that the King has devised for you is eloquent testimony – equivalent to that of a thousand witnesses – to the high regard and the warm favour in which he holds you. And this very day the leader of the council of Jahanur will be notified post-haste of your forthcoming visit and its purpose, and they are to prepare all the information that you require. I shall stay here, in your place, and do everything I can to expedite your projects in the best way possible, so you need have no concern on that account!”

  He shook Nashdernach’s hand firmly, and had to work hard to resist the impulse to embrace him – a mutual impulse as it was. They shook hands again, and slapped one another’s shoulder, and when they parted, each noticed that the other’s eyes were moist.

  Before three days had elapsed, the convoy heading for Jahanur set out from the royal palace. One wagon sufficed for their possessions and they themselves rode in a light chariot, drawn by a pair of white horses.

  As they approached the precinct of the shrines of the idols, they were halted by a procession of girls in white dresses, tallow candles burning in their hands, singing songs of praise and jubilation to Bel.

  He recognised the virgin priestesses of Bel, and seeing Adelain among them he stepped down from the chariot and approached her, to wish her well on the completion of her noviciate and her acceptance into the order. She gave him a look that sprang from the very depths of her eyes, with a smile that seemed to combine youthful innocence with turbulence of spirit, and exclaimed:

  “You are my God, to you I have dedicated myself and you I shall serve all the days of my life!”

  Nejeen also stepped down from the chariot and held out her white hand, and the young priestess clasped the proffered hand tightly, as if it were a life-raft in a stormy sea, and giving her candle to one of her companions, fell into the arms of Nejeen and embraced her fondly, kissing her forehead. Then stepping back, she retrieved her candle and hurried to catch up with the rest of the procession, receding in the distance without a backward glance.

  The staff of the King’s summer palace sent representatives to meet the new arrivals, among them the chief councillor of Jahanur, Avarnam, a pleasant, silver-haired man who delivered a brief speech of greeting and welcomed them in the customary fashion. And so it was that they entered the township, accompanied by their twelve-strong bodyguards and the chief councillor on his elderly mare, with the steward of the household leading the procession.

  At the gates of the palace, all of the King’s retainers were gathered – clerks, footmen, cooks, grooms, gardeners, and there was even an aged court jester, who had not wanted to return to Babylon and had asked the King for permission to live out his days in Jahanur, permission which was granted. There was a total of fifty-four servants to maintain the palace with its seventy-eight rooms, halls and chambers.

  The deputy steward came out to meet them, bowed low and offered them wine and bread, served on a gold tray covered by a white cloth, to celebrate their arrival. The maids and the servants followed his example, bowing low and holding the pose until
the guests had passed them.

  He replied to the greetings of the deputy steward and the leader of the town council, and expressed the hope that all would be conducted properly, and he assured them that he had no intention of changing their daily routine, and all the existing arrangements would remain in force. This was reassuring news for his audience, and there were smiles all around.

  Out of the plethora of bed-chambers available, lavishly furnished and decorated in all colours known to man with the exception of black – they chose for themselves a spacious room on the upper storey, furnished in pink, with huge windows overlooking a fertile, verdant valley crossed by a foaming river, the rhythmic plash of its waters clearly audible.

  She opened the window wide, and the air of the open spaces streamed into the room, bringing with it the light fragrance of wild flowers. At the end of the meadow, to their right, were thickets of pine trees.

  “Nashdernach mentioned the scent of resin,” he said, “and sure enough, I can smell it now!”

  “The air and the atmosphere are both reminiscent of our homeland,” she remarked.

  “You’re right,” he agreed. “And the residents of Jahanur, will they be like our fellow-countrymen?”

  “We shall have plenty of time to find out,” she replied.

  “I read some texts in the royal library about the inhabitants of this mountainous region in general and the inhabitants of Jahanur in particular. There is much that is known about them, and even more that is unknown.”

  Her calm gaze rested on him. Joy flooded his heart. How blessed he was in her!

  He was not aware of the walls of the palace, the spaces in the room, all the heavy furniture, the light and pervasive scent of fields and pines, in a dream – of her perhaps, in any thought whatsoever.

  The very fact of her presence prevented these things approaching him and disturbing that living depth that people fear to touch, even in imagination, lest they spoil the current of joy that is nourished by it.