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

by Shlomo Kalo

  He responded to the challenge with a broad smile, and then noticed that those eyes, with the ironical and inquisitive look that was also warm and sympathetic – were weary, weary not in a casual or a temporary fashion, and for the first time in all the years that he had known his teacher, he feared for him.

  Oshrich returned and placed before them a pair of thin-stemmed goblets of fine Egyptian glass, edged with a kind of tracery that was harmonious and of considerable aesthetic appeal.

  Denur-Shag tugged at the wooden bung with its deerskin wrapper, and not without some effort, pulled it from the long neck of the flask. A thin vapour rose from the mouth of the flask. Carefully, almost reverently, Denur-Shag tilted the neck of the flask over the goblet set before the host and filled it half-full, then, with a similar flourish, repeated the process with his own. The clear, rosy liquid glided smoothly into the elegant glassware.

  Having completed the task of pouring, Denur-Shag plugged the flask again, with deliberate movements, as if cautious of something, set it down beside him, raised his goblet and said:

  “In your homeland, they drink a toast ‘to life’, meaning the true life in the realm of the legendary King-Messiah! Let’s hope that in this story there is a spark of truth and optimism for the future, and let’s drink in honour of the King-Messiah, urging him to come with all possible speed and put an end to strife and error. So, to life!”

  “To life!” – he raised his goblet in turn and took a sip of the amber-coloured liquid. Denur-Shag was right – the wine was fine indeed, retaining its fragrance and with delicate flavours that refreshed the body and infused a sense of lightness and lustre. He was reminded of his homeland, the hills surrounding the Holy City, the road to Anathoth, the grove and the valleys, the enchanted air at nightfall, the paved streets, the temple of the Lord and the palace of the King, proud Jerusalem – long since trampled under the feet of foreign armies.

  “All Jerusalem,” the guest said softly, “the glory and the sanctity that hover above its temples and its houses and its alleyways, and give the air its special savour, and the hopes that have faded into nothing – all are embodied in this wine!”

  “Denur-Shag, you have seen my thoughts and read my mind!”

  The other did not respond.

  They took up their goblets again and sipped from them with a strange sensation of loss and longing, blended with a distant hint of hope.

  Denur-Shag wiped his lips, put down the goblet, and looked up at him, his little eyes dry and serious, and ominously acute.

  “As you know,” he began in a thoroughly practical tone, “our King, King Nebuchadnezzar, intends to march against rebellious Jerusalem and establish order there ‘once and for all’. Obviously, ‘once and for all’ is a purely rhetorical expression. And although a dauntless warrior and a divinely appointed conqueror like this King of ours, is far removed from anything even remotely resembling literature or art or suchlike – he too cannot resist using borrowed expressions, by which I mean those that hover in the ether, with neither depth nor substance to them. ‘Once and for all’, at best, may be regarded as extending over one lifetime, no more, and there are various rogue elements that will, naturally, do everything possible to frustrate the purposes of this King of ours, His Majesty. And there can be no doubt that the King and his entourage are aware of this. And establishing order in Jerusalem on a ‘once and for all’ basis will not be achieved without pain and suffering and without the sacrifice of many lives, in other words – without war. And war usually begins before it is officially declared, before the arrow is loosed and the shield wards it off, as your prophet Isaiah puts it so well. And this war has already started, meaning here, in glorious Babylon. Zedekiah, the Jewish King, who reveres everything except God, refusing to hear His voice as conveyed to him by the prophet Jeremiah – is sly and cunning, as has been typical of losers since this world was created and will be so until its final destruction.” Denur-Shag sighed, put the goblet to his lips and took a minute sip, replaced the goblet on the table and went on to say, broaching a subject apparently unrelated to all that had gone before:

  “There are here, in Babylon, a number of Jewish families, citizens of long-standing to be sure, but Jewish in every respect. And they live in certain houses, built in the space between the walls, as a sign and a symbol that on the one hand they do not belong to Babylon, and on the other, they cannot afford to ignore it.

  “And this strange community has put a proposition to King Zedekiah, or King Zedekiah has approached its elders with a proposition. One way or the other, and without the parties ever meeting face to face, something is being hatched between them that in any language would be called ‘intrigue’ or ‘conspiracy’, and this with the active collusion of those merchants, itinerant traders and wayfarers, who are the bridge between Babylon and Judah. And the plan is – to lie in wait for the King, who means to set out, two or three months from now, to bring Jerusalem to heel ‘once and for all’ – and strike him a mortal blow, thus making life easier for King Zedekiah, although all this is in defiance of the will of God, and the warnings uttered constantly, from morning to evening, by His prophet, Jeremiah.

  “Everyone has his own plans,” Denur-Shag stressed, going on to explain in the same tone, “and one of the couriers in the service of the Jewish community has a plan and an agenda of his own, or at least, that is the conclusion of my elderly brain.” Denur-Shag raised his round hand, finger lightly touching his temple.

  “It is possible that this courier, who is also attached to the royal trade mission, is eager to curry favour in the eyes of his King, and for this reason has chosen the route he has taken. In any case, the plan is known in all details and particulars to the soldiers of the royal guard and to the King himself. It has also been brought to my attention, but that, the King and his guard do not know. According to this ambitious plan, frightfully naïve in my opinion and for that reason, all the more dangerous and likely to succeed, a young man, an incorrigible fanatic, will arrive tomorrow, as darkness falls, at the south-eastern wall of the palace, a section of the wall that is overgrown with vegetation,” the guest explained – “and not regularly patrolled. A narrow path, also neglected and overgrown, leads from the wall directly to the King’s apartments and his private office. The young man is supposed to infiltrate this office, with a dagger concealed under his cloak, and if his luck holds and the King is present – attack him with the dagger and thus abort the whole of this expedition and the imposition of order ‘once and for all’ upon Jerusalem, which has been groaning under a heavy yoke since the day of its foundation to this very day. And confusion shall fall upon Babylon and someone will see in this the finger of God, and Zedekiah will be declared the winner of this war. We should also take into account the possibility – admittedly remote but just the kind of thing to inflame fanatical imaginations – that when Zedekiah marches in triumph through the land of the Chaldeans and takes Babylon by storm with his small but highly effective army, then that forgotten and outcast community will emerge from its anonymity, and they will exchange their hovels between the walls for the royal apartments, and rule over the pagan and dim-witted Chaldeans with a heavy hand and a firm purpose, and chastise them severely, as is written in one of the sacred books of that community. One way or the other,” Denur-Shag sighed, fidgeting with his elegant goblet and twisting it between his fingers but not drinking any of the wine, the wine with its pleasant, twinkling reflections of the bright candle-light – “this young man, brave and resourceful as he may be, and armed with his dagger, will be awaited by heavies from the guard detachment, Chaldeans through and through, their swords drawn and clubs in their hands, the shackles for his wrists and ankles set out ready on the thorny ground. And all that remains for us is to finish the consecrated wine from the chosen land, and hope that the chosen people will come to its senses in time and listen, solemnly, to the voice of God and not to the voice of weak-minded novices or crafty tradesmen.”

  Denur-Shag raised his
goblet and calmly sipped his wine. Rising from his seat, he shook the hand of his host and left the room without another word.

  A few moments later he rode into the night, calmly and steadily urging on his horse, which needed little encouragement but bore him swiftly over streets now emptied of people, as the stars flicked in the violet, infinite void.

  A little after midnight he came to the familiar houses between the two walls, all swathed in utter darkness.

  Without dismounting from his horse, he knocked hard on the door of the family home of Joseph Hanaggid. It was not long before somebody called:

  “Who is there?”

  “Daniel! Open the door! This is urgent!”

  The door opened. Saul, the father of Havatzelet, stood in the doorway, an oil-lamp in his hand.

  “I must speak to you!” he said, jumping down from his horse and tying him to the hitching-post, and without waiting for an invitation, he rushed inside.

  Saul closed the door behind him, and ushered him along the hallway and into the main living room of the house. Here he lit a dozen large oil-lamps, and every corner of the room was bathed in bright light.

  “Speak!” Saul demanded. His face glowered, his voice was aggressive – but there was deep fear in his eyes.

  “In the royal court there is talk of some kind of plot to murder the King, tomorrow at nightfall. The soldiers of the royal guard know when and where and how the assassin will strike. An ambush has been set for him and he has no chance of either doing the deed or evading capture. Take this to heart and act accordingly. And don’t forget, it’s the whole community that you’re endangering, including women and children and the old.”

  “Wait here a moment!” Saul cried, clearly shaken. He took a lamp and left the room.

  A few moments later he returned with Raphael, his elder brother, and a youth – lean, tall and wiry, with a pointed beard, black as pitch, lank hair and flashing eyes.

  “This is Eleazar, of the family of Nehemiah the priest,” Saul introduced him and added: “Please, respected Sir, tell him what you just told me!”

  In a few words he repeated all that he knew.

  For a long moment the four men stood in silence. No one sat. The bright flames of the lamps swayed calmly, this way and that.

  Suddenly the young man turned away, and when he turned back a split-second later, he had a dagger in his hand.

  “Death to the traitor!” he cried and lunged at him.

  The two other men managed to restrain him, and with Daniel’s help they wrested the dagger from his hand.

  “I have done my part!” he said. He moved to the door and before leaving turned and blessed them: “May God have mercy upon you and upon your household!”

  He went to his bed before daybreak and slept for a while, but fitfully. He got up finally and went to the window, feeling weary and heavy-hearted. The garden was in darkness and the sky turning pale, the last of the stars flickering and fading.

  He was pleasantly surprised to find that the slave had already prepared a bath for him, and he spent some time lounging in the warm water. When he emerged and dressed in shirt and breeches of soft blue fabric, with a white sash, and entered the dining-room – the table was set. On the other side of the table sat Nejeen, in a pink robe. Her smile was radiant, and her face spoke of tenderness, her eyes – of love. She greeted him and rose as he approached the table. He returned her greeting mechanically, and did not seem to notice she was standing. She sat after he had taken his seat, and asked the maid who was serving drinks to fill his goblet with light wine. For herself she poured a cup of the mountain spring water that was brought down to Babylon in great wooden barrels.

  He sipped the wine and felt its warmth restoring the vitality to his body and flushing his cheeks. How apt she was at guessing what he wanted and silently satisfying his desires, always finding a way of comforting him!

  He looked up at her with eyes filled with gratitude.

  She said as if answering a question:

  “I saw you riding out in the night and I waited for you to return.”

  “What were you doing all that time?” he asked.

  “I was praying,” she smiled at him, a smile that opened up again before him a wondrous world of soft radiance, of song and harmony.

  “Was it you who ordered the hot bath?”

  She nodded. “Did you enjoy it?” she asked.

  “It restored my strength.”

  “Praise be to God!” she exclaimed joyfully.

  “Amen and amen!” he confirmed her blessing.

  He was offered rye bread, a honeycomb, milk and butter. He felt his strength returning, with a healthy hunger that gratified him.

  He offered her a buttered slice and took one for himself.

  She thanked him and said:

  “One morning, not long before the Chaldeans came, at the end of spring, you invited me to stroll with you to the grove of pines on the road to Anathoth. We walked along a path that could hardly be called a path because of the long, fresh grass that covered it. Once we had gone a certain distance, you held my hand, as if you wanted to protect and reassure me. I tried to convey to you that I wasn’t afraid and your concern for me was unnecessary. We found the cave of a bear, or more precisely, a she-bear, and there were three little cubs there, full of energy and mischief. You had what was left of a honeycomb with you, and you gave it to me to share out among the cubs. I was the happiest girl in the world! And the main reason for this – I sensed how happy you were too, and what a delightful experience it was for you. At that moment – do you remember?” she asked curiously.

  “I remember!” he exclaimed, going back to relive that exceptional, thrilling moment.

  “At that very moment,” she continued, putting the slice back on the plate in front of her, “we both sensed something strange, a heavy and clumsy presence, but not hostile. And then, I’m sure you remember, we slowly turned round and found ourselves standing, face to face, with the mother-bear, looking into her placid eyes.”

  “I remember!”

  “She rubbed her muzzle, with more delicacy than you’d believe such a clumsy creature was capable of – on your shoulder and mine, and then she put out her tongue and licked your face and mine, and then she withdrew with a kind of contented purr and curled up in her corner, glancing at us with a look that seemed to say:

  You play with my cubs! They’re happy with you, and I’m happy to see them happy, and to see you happy!”

  “And that’s just what we did!” he reminded her. “We played and played for ages, we chased them and they chased us, and they climbed all over us and challenged us to catch them as they hid behind bushes and climbed trees. And all this time the mother was lying there contentedly, grooming her fur with her long, red tongue.”

  His marvellous wife had detected the tension that was troubling him and the fear that had penetrated deep into his heart, disturbing his rest and perhaps also souring his mood, and she had found just the right antidote, to assuage this fear and ease his depression – with the healing story of the she-bear and her cubs.

  His face shone with warmth and gaiety, as did hers, and each of them had no desire other than to share this gaiety and this warmth with the other, rejoicing in the other’s happiness, and finding relief and contentment in the relief and contentment of the other.

  When he rose and passed by her, he kissed her silky hair, gathered at the back of her neck, as well as the hand that was held out to clutch his, and before he had time to say another word she kissed the back of his hand, a kiss that was tender and at the same time, deliberate and protective.

  He worked in his office until evening, and after dining with his wife, invited her to join him for a stroll in the royal gardens. The walk refreshed them both, and they climbed the steps to their bed-chambers hand in hand.

  When they woke the next morning, the palace was in a ferment, like an ant-hill turned upside down. It emerged that the prospective assassin had not abandoned his plan but o
nly changed it – and had simply entered the palace by the main entrance. The man approached the gate and when asked to stand back in the customary manner and await clearance he pretended to obey, but the moment that one of the guards stepped forward to search him, he slipped past him and made a run for it, succeeding in getting as far as the royal gardens.

  A pursuit followed, ending with the would-be assassin cornered in one of the felt-covered tool-sheds, some distance from the royal compound. The shed was surrounded by a tight ring of guardsmen, who called upon the fugitive to surrender of his own accord rather than wait to be taken by force. The summons was repeated, but there was no response. Just as the soldiers were about to launch an attack, a pillar of thick smoke was seen rising from the roof of the felt building, and immediately after it a massive flame leapt into the sky, and within moments the whole of the shed was ablaze. The soldiers did not lose their nerve, but found buckets, pans and other utensils and ran to fetch water from the nearby well. As they were busy dowsing the fire, a figure emerged from among the panels of felt, a human figure wreathed in flames and burning like a torch, shouting with the last remnants of his strength:

  “Long live King Zedekiah! Long live Judah! Death to Nebuchadnezzar! Death to the ungodly Chaldeans!” – and a blazing hand still brandished a long dagger.

  Still yelling, the burning figure fell, collapsed there and then and lay inert. As no one had any intention of intervening, the figure burned on to the end, until only ashes were left.

  The day after the distasteful episode of the would-be assassin who was burned alive, there came to the royal palace a delegation of worthies from the ancient Jewish community of Babylon, and among them were Simeon and Raphael, Benjamin and Saul, who had been instigators of the assassination plot and its most ardent supporters. After they had been kept waiting for two days at the palace gate, the King agreed to receive them.