THE CHOSEN: A Man Much Loved: Historical Fiction (The Chosen Trilogy Book 3)

by Shlomo Kalo

  They urged them to drink a cup of milk, fresh and bubbling still. His father knew that refusal would offend the family, and he accepted the offer. They sat at the table, pronounced the benediction and quaffed the milk which tasted sweet and light and was refreshing and invigorating. They took their leave of them and set out on foot, following the old and narrow goats’ path, its imprint barely perceptible, climbing up through the tall holm-oaks, casting their shade on the solid ground. Soon the village disappeared behind them, and the silence of the young morning enveloped them again.

  He had come to understand, even at ten years old, that his father would never take him anywhere or go out walking with him, unless the journey held some lesson for him, some intellectual exercise, which was invariably accompanied by a pleasant surprise. So he was expecting a surprise, and it was not slow in coming: as they walked along the downward path of the tall cliff, overlooking the Dead Sea, he made out on a broad plateau a kind of fawn-yellow mass, blending in well with its surroundings but somehow distinguished from it by some quality that at first he did not recognise. All at once, as they approached the yellowish mass, they realised it was something alive, and moving.

  With measured pace they came closer, and then the surprise – that yellowish mass was nothing other than a lioness. And not far from the lioness crouched the lion.

  He could not remember afterwards exactly what it was that made him feel no particular emotion other than that pleasant sense of surprise; was it the smooth, balmy morning with its easeful air and serene light – or was it the confidence that his father inspired in him, walking steadily by his side, without any change in facial expression or tone of voice?

  He realised at once that his father’s attitude to these large predators was exactly the same attitude that he showed to features of the landscape – a rock, a tree, a bush. And he followed his example. They drew closer to the lions until they, the two of them as one, were revealed in all their regal splendour: their firm, powerful bodies crouching without a hint of unease on the solid ground, the calm gaze of their eyes moving over their faces with a kind of casual indifference.

  They came closer still, as his father drew his attention to the nimble flight of a pair of birds unknown to him, darting around them and chirruping melodiously.

  “That’s the wagtail!” Naimel told him, pointing.

  And then the lioness rose and with slow, leisurely tread, her head held high, she approached them and rubbed against his father’s thigh and then, with great caution, turned to nuzzle him, her head on a level with his head and her muscular back on a level with his shoulder. It was a pleasant sensation – and strangely gratifying. He remembered a hazy thought occurring to him – something about all living creatures blending into a higher symmetry, a symmetry that is all praise of the living God. And after the lioness came the lion, approaching them and following the example of his mate. And the two beasts did not leave them; on the contrary, they accompanied them on their way – the lioness to his right, and the lion to his father’s left – their muscular, yellowish bodies undulating slightly as they walked, the mane of the lion swaying to the rhythm.

  The lion tried to scratch his mane with his paw, but failing in the effort he approached his father and nudged him again, as if asking him for something. His father stood his ground, stooped and ruffled the majestic mane, probing until he found what he was looking for – two ticks deeply embedded in the skin of the animal. He removed them one after the other. A nudge of gratitude, and they were on their way again.

  When they reached the summit of the rock the beasts stood their ground, and then took their leave of them with deep guttural growls, but muted – as if saying: “We have enjoyed your company, please visit us again!” All the same, he was glad to clutch his father’s hand and feel its reassuring warmth.

  “Lions,” his father told him without releasing his hand, “are very special creatures. They can sense the spiritual being of a man and act accordingly. As a rule – the lion does not prey on mankind, but it will hunt down a coward and expend its wrath on the sinner and the fool, and it will kill a murderer. Sometimes, the kings of olden days used to throw to the lions men accused of crimes. If the charge was valid, the miscreant was eaten; if the man was innocent, the lions did him no harm. When the kingdom of God is established on the earth, lions will eat straw, as was prophesied by Isaiah Ben Amotz.”

  “And why do they hunt prey now?” he asked.

  “Because mankind, in rejecting God, has exerted a malign influence on all living and growing things, inanimate things too. And the beast longs for the time when he shall eat straw, and prey no more.”

  “When will this time come?” he asked.

  “When mankind is born anew!” – his father smiled, and his smile, inspiring confidence and igniting the spark of hope, made his heart beat faster. He let go of his father’s hand and ran up the narrow path, leaping from rock to rock and skipping across a brook, like a young gazelle in the first flush of freedom.

  His father caught up with him and so, at a run, they reached the springs of Ein-Gedi, washed in the foaming water and drank their fill, before returning to Hephtzi-Bah. They mounted their horses and rode the narrow paths, crossing familiar territory on the homeward journey.

  O my father in Heaven, my God! Guide me in the ways of humility, and I shall sanctify your name as is fitting, and I shall delight in you at all times and always, and I shall not fear what flesh can do to me!

  When he glanced at the face of the King, for a moment he was shocked by his appearance: the King had aged suddenly and looked like an old man dealt a mortal blow and knocked to the ground, falling – never to rise again. His cheeks were wrinkled and their normal rosy hue had changed to an earthen grey. His eyes were dim with weariness and his breathing was heavy. He wanted to reassure him, if only with a look, but had no opportunity to do so.

  “You have disobeyed my commandments – you, my viceroy-designate!” The voice croaked, a sound so empty and so dry it seemed the very fabric of his lungs had decayed beyond repair. “And since you have left me no choice,” Darius sighed – “I hereby command that you be thrown into the pit of the lions, and the God that you serve, may He protect you from their jaws!”

  “Indeed,” he had time to say, “my God shall surely save me!” And the quiet confidence that his words expressed shook all those present to the very fibres of their souls; they turned to stare at him in wonder, and in the eyes of his accusers, a sudden flash of fear was clearly visible.

  So he was thrown into the lions’ pit, and a great boulder was brought and laid against the entrance to the pit, and the King sealed it with his seal and the seal of his ministers, so it could not be moved without this being detected. And King Darius returned to his palace and fasted, and cancelled the courtly entertainments arranged for that evening, and he could not sleep and did not close his eyes all that night.

  And before daybreak, the King rose from his bed weary and in a dejected mood, and he hastened to the pit, where the seal on the boulder was unbroken, and cried out in a quavering voice, almost without hope

  “Daniel, servant of God, are you alive, Daniel? Could the God that you serve and in whom you trust save you from the jaws of the lions?”

  The King’s voice fell silent. He saw his loyal guardsmen standing by, ready to support him or carry out any orders he might give.

  And then the voice was heard. And for a moment no one knew where it was coming from; they reckoned it was the wind that was deceiving them, mimicking a voice; a voice rising from afar, from the depths of the earth, but speaking with perfect clarity:

  “Long live the King! The God whom I serve sent His angel to stop the mouths of the lions, for I have earned the favour of my God, and before you too, my lord the King, I have committed no offence, nor sinned in any way whatsoever!”

  And suddenly the King’s spirits were restored to him and he stood erect once more. And he called the men of his guard and ordered them to move the boulder f
rom the mouth of the pit and lower a rope to Daniel, and they drew him up from the lions’ pit, and not one of the beasts made any attempt to spring at him and all remained frozen where they stood, because an angel had stopped their mouths.

  And there and then King Darius issued a hasty edict, and he sent the guards to fetch at once the twenty-one slanderers from the community of satraps and governors, and to throw them into the pit, with their children and their wives and all the members of their households. And before they had even touched the floor of the pit, the lions were upon them and ripping them to shreds.

  And then the King summoned his scribes and his secretaries and dictated the following decree:

  “To all peoples and nations of every language throughout the whole world, Greetings! It is my command that in all my royal domains, men shall fear and revere the God of Belteshazzar, who is the living and the everlasting God, whose kingdom shall never fail, nor his power come to an end. He is the saviour and deliverer and a worker of signs and wonders on the Earth below and in the Heavens above, who sent his angel to stop the mouths of the lions and saved Belteshazzar, known also as Daniel, his loyal servant, from their clutches.”

  And this Daniel prospered during the reigns of Darius and of Cyrus the Persian.

  Zedekiah

  After the upheavals that affected the government of Darius the Mede in Babylon, his capital, the young Abiriuch was appointed to lead the one hundred and twenty satraps and governors, most if not all of whom had been replaced by new personnel – men loyal to the King who had not served in any capacity in the court of Belshazzar and had not been among his cronies.

  No one was more pleased by this arrangement than young Abiriuch himself, working under the immediate supervision of Belteshazzar, the man he admired most of all, and reporting to him on affairs of state and on conditions in the outlying provinces and territories of the empire. Belteshazzar would then take his proposals to the King and confer with him; these audiences invariably concluded with the King agreeing to Belteshazzar’s proposals and acting accordingly.

  One day, when Abiriuch had finished reading to him from the scrolls in his hand, had heard his comments and noted them in red ink on the margins of the scrolls, and it was time for them to part company with the mutual benediction “May God light your way!” – Abiriuch remained seated and did not extend his hand in the usual fashion. The King’s viceroy noticed this odd behaviour and looked up at him with a quizzical air. Abiriuch shifted uneasily in his chair, looked away, drummed lightly with his fingers on the table-top and finally ventured to say:

  “In the King’s prison, in the cellar, among the tanners and the cutters of parchment, there is a man whom Nebuchadnezzar brought back from the ruins of Jerusalem; he is blind and his hands and feet are chained, and I have been told that he is sick and his condition is serious – and his days are numbered. I thought this information might be of interest to the King’s viceroy,” Abiriuch explained and added: “The man’s name is Zedekiah and so they say, he was the last King of Judah and lived in Jerusalem before it was sacked.”

  He thanked Abiriuch warmly, and confirmed that the information was indeed of great interest to him. As soon as the young man had gone on his way, he left his office and set out in search of the King.

  He found Darius in the palace garden, tending his goldfish in the basin beneath the fountain. The King’s face radiated goodwill and equanimity, his bright eyes sparkled with the innocence of a child, the grey hair that framed his big, round head set off the rosy glow of his forehead and cheeks, while his broad and red nose testified to a penchant for strong liquor.

  “They multiply in this season!” the King exclaimed with enthusiasm, responding with a nod to the deep bow of his viceroy.

  “The goldfish, I mean!” the King added, by way of clarification. “Theoretically, this isn’t their breeding season, but I suppose if they are feeling contented and relaxed they get the urge to propagate, just as people do in those conditions!” It seemed that the unseasonable fecundity of his fish both intrigued and amused the monarch.

  He responded to the King’s smile with a smile of his own – typically warm and sincere. He felt a deep affection for King Darius, and knew that essentially he was a tolerant and amenable man, easily pleased. The image he projected, of a caring and attentive grandfather, distributing gifts with a generous hand, was more in keeping with his personality than the traditional regal epithets of “warrior” and “conqueror”. Darius returned his affection in like measure, secretly admiring him and openly trusting him.

  Now he waited to be asked why he had sought this unscheduled audience, and after a few more comments regarding the eccentric habits and exquisite pedigree of his goldfish – to say nothing of their astounding beauty – Darius turned to him again with that attentive, avuncular smile:

  “What urgent business brings you here?”

  “Long live the King!” he began, knowing this was a salutation guaranteed to reassure Darius, who was becoming increasingly conscious of his age. “In the prison, in the cellar, among the tanners and the leather cutters, a man is confined in chains. He was blinded by order of King Nebuchadnezzar, and he was the last of the royal line of the Jews, King Zedekiah!”

  “Ah!” exclaimed Darius, making no effort to remove the jovial smile from his face – “Zedekiah the rebel! He who brought down ruin upon his land and disaster upon his people! How is he faring?” he was curious to know.

  “He is sick, and his sickness is mortal. I ask the King’s permission to take him into my house, so he may know a little ease before he returns his soul to his Maker!”

  “You really want to do this, ease the suffering of a rebel who did not listen to the voice of God, warning him of disaster? You Jews have more than your fair share of holy men, prophets and seers and saints – it’s kings that you’re short of! With most nations, the opposite is the case. The question is, which is preferable? And to this question – there is no answer!” the King declared with undiminished good humour. “As for that wretch who has fallen ill, if his condition is indeed terminal, then by all means take him into your house and make his last days comfortable. He might yet find it in himself to repent and express some regret over his blunders, some remorse for the calamity which he brought down upon his compatriots. May your God go with you!”

  He bowed again, and withdrew. Accompanied by two armed guards, he made his way to the dungeon.

  The former king he found sprawled on a threadbare mat, on the coarse stone floor of the prison. At first sight it seemed he was dying. The hair of his head and his beard had turned completely white, but looked dirty and ragged – there was nothing venerable about it, nor any dignity in his general air of decrepitude. His cheeks and his narrow, domed forehead were lined with deep furrows.

  “By your leave, my lord King Zedekiah!” – he addressed him in Hebrew, and saw the tremor of surprise that set the lean and wasted body quivering beneath the ragged, stained robe. “From this day forward, I shall be honoured to serve as your host, in my home which is not far from here. And I extend this offer with the explicit permission of King Darius.”

  “Who… who are you… Sir?” His voice resembled the sound of water, bubbling in a cracked gutter-pipe.

  “I am Daniel, whose Chaldean name is Belteshazzar. I was exiled to Babylon in the days of King Jehoiakim.”

  “Aha!” the prematurely aged man remembered, sitting up on the mat with a perceptible effort, and gasping with the strain of speech: “Daniel…Belteshazzar… I know you! The former right-hand man of King Nebuchadnezzar who did nothing to save his land or deliver Jerusalem, the holy city! But you, Daniel… or Belteshazzar… don’t misunderstand me! I’m not blaming you!” And in the same breath he went on to say: “You have every right to castigate me for the error of my ways, and my failure to heed the warnings of Jeremiah, the words of the living God.” Zedekiah seemed on the point of collapse, but he recovered sufficiently to say:

  “Now… it is your pleasure
to invite me into your home. I shall not resist! Even if I were minded to resist – I don’t have the strength… Blindness, and confinement in this damp dungeon have taken their toll…”

  “I must beg your pardon, King Zedekiah, for having forgotten your very existence. I am ashamed of this, and I ask you to forgive me!”

  “But Daniel, my lord and master, viceroy to King Darius, even if you had remembered me, you could not have helped me! Nebuchadnezzar would not have changed his mind. Nebuchadnezzar was a king, a king to his fingertips, a king and only a king. I knew him well! He it was who gave me my throne, he who crowned me a king, and he who had me swear in the name of my own God to keep faith with him, and he who slaughtered before my eyes all the members of my family, everyone who was dear to me, and it was he who gouged out these eyes of mine and threw me into this prison, so I could relive in my mind all my foolish deeds and torment myself to distraction over the fate of my people and my family and my own fate. Nebuchadnezzar was not the flexible type; once he had made up his mind, there was no shifting him. And Belshazzar? Ah – Belshazzar!” – a kind of smile twisted the blind man’s bluish lips – “He was no friend to you, Daniel, wise counsellor that you are, knowing secrets, seeing visions, interpreting dreams by the grace of God – I heard of Belshazzar and of his scheming against you, and I was glad! I said to myself, even this man of God is not immune from punishment. Well, he deserves it! And I expected Belshazzar to go further, and throw you out of his palace, perhaps even banish you to the fever-ridden swamps of the southern provinces. Or he might chain you, as I was chained, and throw you into the dungeons.

  “I enjoyed these thoughts, and I wasn’t ashamed of them and unlike you, I ask no forgiveness for them… they were the only consolation that I had, in my agony of body and mind, my utterly hopeless state. Anyway, pleading with Belshazzar on my behalf wouldn’t have got you anywhere, it certainly wouldn’t have released me from this furnace!