By the Waters of Babylon

by Mesu Andrews

  Merari

  “They killed the sons of Zedekiah before his eyes.

  Then they put out his eyes, bound him with bronze shackles

  and took him to Babylon.” -2 Kings 25:7

  Nebuchadnezzar dragged me from the tent and into the waiting circle of judgment. Jeering soldiers surrounded at least a hundred half-naked, beaten, and starving men. All shackled in bronze chains. King Zedekiah was among them, and I recognized a few other officials who had purchased harps from Elon or me. But there was one face I could never forget . . .

  Jehukal.

  The flirty nobleman who harassed me every day in the market now cowered among the captives. Bloodied and stripped to his tunic, he was half the man I’d seen strolling through Jerusalem’s streets. I blinked away tears, refusing to cry for a man I didn’t even like. But no one deserved this.

  “Where are the wives and children?” Nebuchadnezzar roared and then looked down at me, grinning. He reminded me of a serpent. I waited for a forked tongue to slither between his lips. “Surely, the goddess Tabiti cares nothing about the death of a few Jews.”

  Jews? My mind reeled, the strange term tumbling like a pebble in an empty basket. We were Yahweh’s chosen. Hebrews. Israelites. Judeans. But Jews?

  The king raised his voice again. “Bring me King Zedekiah, his wives, and his sons!”

  My knees weakened. My senses soared. Sounds, smells, and sights overwhelmed, knocking me to the ground. The king’s brown hand seized my arm, his musky odor overpowering.

  Idan’s face was close. “Tabiti, are you well?”

  The ground beneath felt as if it was spinning, and I braced myself, trying to look up. Soldiers’ armor caught the glint of sunshine. So many shapes and types of armor in the circle of brutes. Nations of the world, assembled against my people.

  Water splashed my face, startling me to reality. “I wouldn’t want you to miss the victory celebration.” Nebuchadnezzar threw an empty clay cup to the ground and turned to King Zedekiah. “I set you on Judah’s throne, protected you from marauding nations, and still you conspired with Pharaoh Hophra. Your relative, a man you would know as Daniel ben Johanan, is chief of my wise men. He tells me your demise is judgment from your god and I’m the instrument of wrath in Yahweh’s hand.” He placed his dagger under Zedekiah’s eye. “Do you believe I’m your god’s weapon of destruction?”

  Zedekiah swallowed hard. “I believe whatever you say.”

  “Of course you do.” Eyes locked on Zedekiah’s, he ground out the words, “Should I kill your family because you’re a traitor or because your god told me to do so?”

  “Kill me, my king. Not my sons.”

  Nebuchadnezzar withdrew his blade and looked over the rest of the captives. “But what lesson would my soldiers learn if I killed only you, Zedekiah?” He raised his hand, motioning to his men. “Arrange the officials with their families according to rank. We’ll kill them slowly.”

  I hid my face, while the barbarians began their war games, but a soldier pushed my hands away. Idan shoved him but without his dagger, he was helpless to protect himself or me.

  “Stop!” Nebuchadnezzar shouted, and every living thing stilled. He crouched beside me and whispered, “You will watch every moment of Yahweh’s wrath, or you will see your Scythian prince in chains with the Jews.” He smiled up at Idan, having spoken loud enough for him to hear, and then stood and shouted at his soldiers. “Prove you are the victors!”

  I set my gaze on the captives and found Jehukal watching me. A woman stood beside him. His wife, no doubt, with an expression hard as flint. If she could stare, I could stare. Barely blinking. Never flinching. Hardly breathing. All afternoon I watched. By dusk, the only ones left to kill were Zedekiah, two of his sons, three officials, and their wives. Jehukal and his wife were among them, their eyes now glazed and empty.

  “I’ll finish the evening with final verdicts on Judah’s highest officials, my general, and Scythia’s crown prince.” The circle collapsed as blood-covered soldiers crowded nearer. Azat shouldered his way to the front directly opposite us, exchanging a nod with Idan. I searched the circle, looking for the rest of their regiment, and found them sprinkled throughout. I glanced up at Idan, questioning, but his subtle warning returned my eyes forward.

  Nebuchadnezzar extended his hand to me, and I stood. When he led me toward Zedekiah and Jehukal, I pulled my hand away, stopping so abruptly Idan bumped into me.

  The king extended his hand again. “You will come.”

  His hand waited there like the abyss. I placed my hand in it and was swallowed up by the King of the World. Numbly I followed, and he halted before Judah’s broken king. “You worship many gods, do you not, Zedekiah?”

  “Yes, I . . . I suppose I—”

  “Have you ever heard of the Scythian goddess, Tabiti?”

  “No, my king. Never.” I felt Jehukal’s stare, but tried to focus on Nebuchadnezzar’s words.

  He scratched his oiled beard, feigning confusion. “Scythia’s crown prince thinks his goddess lived in Jerusalem, and you never knew she was there? That troubles me, Zedekiah.”

  In a single step, he blocked me from all others, towering over me with his imposing presence. “You will tell me who you are, or I will make your life worse than death.”

  I stared into the eyes of evil and shuddered. After the tortures I’d seen today, I knew death was a gift, and his threat was real. Without considering any consequence but my own, I inhaled my last thread of courage and exhaled the truth.

  “My name is Merari. I’m a Hebrew woman from Jerusalem’s lower city, a harp-maker’s wife, but now a harp maker myself, because you took my husband to Babylon eleven years ago. I was unconscious when Prince Idan found me, but I mumbled a name he thought was Tabiti. When I woke, I let the ruse continue in hopes Yahweh would somehow reunite me with my husband when I reached Babylon.” My words had spilled out like wine on a white robe, and the king’s eyes widened with each revelation.

  In those harrowing moments of silence, the king’s intermittent glances from Idan and then back to me, I was certain my life was over. Then King Nebuchadnezzar burst into a fit of laughter.

  Slowly, tentatively at first, others joined him, and then the whole circle of soldiers fell into uproarious hysteria. I dared a glance at Idan and saw crimson splotches rising on his neck. I bowed my head, surprisingly saddened for him but relieved to have spoken truth—whatever the outcome.

  Nebuchadnezzar wiped tears, letting his laughter wind down. “Prince Idan, it appears you and your men have been duped by a lovesick harp-maker’s wife.”

  Idan stepped forward and knelt, head bowed. “I realize it sounds ludicrous, my king, but if you will hear me out. I—”

  “I will not!” Nebuchadnezzar’s anger erupted, silencing the folly. “You acted independently of your commander and abandoned your post. For this you will continue in my service until you have placed all of Judah’s captives in Babylon. Then—and only then, Prince Idanthyrsus—do I give you and your Scythians permission to return home.”

  I fell to my knees and kissed the king’s filthy feet. “Please, don’t punish Idan because of me.” Looking up, I found his brow furrowed. At least he was listening. “He truly believed I was his goddess. He’s a good man, who cared for my wounds and my illness, and he has a wife and son waiting for him. Please, let him go.”

  Nebuchadnezzar’s rough, callused hand scraped my cheek. “You’re quite captivating, little harp maker. Perhaps you’re worth saving.”

  I sagged to my side, and Idan bent to help me, but the king’s guards pulled him away from me. The circle of soldiers shouted for blood, and a slow, wicked grin bloomed on General Nebuzaradan’s face.

  The king lifted his hand, quieting the hecklers. “I’ll finish the administrative details before celebrating the Jews’ final verdicts. General Nebuzaradan . . .” The man looked startled but quickly knelt before the king. “You will return to Jerusalem and oversee the cataloguing of Temple treasures,
the transfer of all captives to Riblah, and the complete destruction of the city. Reassure the prophet Jeremiah he is welcome in Babylon or he may remain in Jerusalem, but I ask for his prayers to the Hebrew God on my behalf in return. You will then escort the treasure back here to Riblah in an orderly caravan. I will see you within four weeks. Understood?”

  Nebuzaradan lifted his head and pounded his fist over his heart. “Yes, my king.”

  The king leaned forward, lowering his voice. “If your careless command of my troops has angered Belteshazzar’s god, I will make you wish—”

  “The Scythian is lying. I never lost contro—”

  “You’ve proven yourself unable to command the Scythians.” This, Nebuchadnezzar shouted for all to hear. “Prince Idan is no longer under your command. Return to your tent, and leave for Jerusalem at dawn.” Nebuzaradan shot a burning stare at Idan but swallowed his words and stalked away.

  Angry and tense, the king’s attention now turned to Idan and me. “Kneel before me, both of you.” We hurried to obey, heads bowed. “Prince Idan, you will oversee troops here in camp, organize captives as they arrive, and help assign them to cities in Babylon.”

  I turned to see if he was angry at the verdict or anxious about mine. Our eyes met for only a moment before the king continued. “I will spare your pretty little Jewess and allow one of the officials’ wives to become her handmaid. She speaks and acts like deity, so deity she’ll become—at least until she arrives in Babylon.”

  The soldiers jeered and cajoled, disappointed at the king’s mercy. He addressed the officials’ wives at the end of the captive line. “You have a choice, ladies. Die now with your husbands and children or live and serve the harp maker. Step forward if you’d like to live.”

  Jehukal’s wife was the only volunteer, and Nebuchadnezzar looked at me like a hungry lion. “I’ve made you a goddess. What will you give me in return?”

  Heart pounding in my ears, the words escaped before approved by wisdom. “If you find a harp, I’ll play it for you.”

  Part II

  “The word of the Lord came to [Ezekiel]:

  ‘Son of man, if a country sins against me by being unfaithful

  and I stretch out my hand against it to cut off its food supply and send famine upon it

  and kill its people and their animals, even if these three men

  —Noah, Daniel, and Job—

  were in it, they could save only themselves by their righteousness . . .

  Or if I send wild beasts through that country and they leave it childless

  and it becomes desolate so that no one can pass through it because of the beasts . . .

  even if these three men were in it, they could not save their own sons or daughters.

  They alone would be saved, but the land would be desolate.

  Or if I bring a sword against that country . . . even if these three men were in it,

  they could not save their own sons or daughters. They alone would be saved.

  Or if I send a plague into that land . . . even if Noah, Daniel and Job were in it,

  they could save neither son nor daughter.

  They would save only themselves by their righteousness . . .

  How much worse will it be when I send against Jerusalem my four dreadful judgments

  —sword and famine and wild beasts and plague—

  to kill its men and their animals! Yet there will be some survivors . . .

  and when you see their conduct and their actions,

  you will be consoled regarding the disaster I have brought on Jerusalem . . .

  for you will know that I have done nothing in it without cause.”

  -Ezekiel 14:12–23

  Chapter 15

  Idan - Three weeks later

  “[Jeremiah] took the cup [of wrath] from the Lord’s hand and made all the nations . . . drink it: Jerusalem and the towns of Judah, its kings and officials . . .

  Pharaoh king of Egypt . . . all the kings of Uz; all the kings of the Philistines . . .

  Edom, Moab and Ammon . . . all the kings of Tyre and Sidon;

  the kings of the coastlands across the sea;

  Dedan, Tema, Buz and all who are in distant places;

  all the kings of Arabia and all the kings of the foreign people who live in the wilderness;

  all the kings of Zimri, Elam and Media; and all the kings of the north,

  near and far, one after the other—all the kingdoms on the face of the earth.”

  -Jeremiah 25:17–26

  Seeing the bleeding had stopped, I pulled the strip of linen from the cut on my forearm. This morning’s attack left another of General Nebuzaradan’s spies injured and humiliated. His men lurked behind every date palm and acacia tree to prove me disloyal to the three thousand Scythian brothers I’d left to fight with the general in Jerusalem. But my men knew better. Three weeks in Riblah, and I’d passed Nebuzaradan’s every attempt to discredit me. Instead, his constant tests had proven both my skill and determination to my men. The general was a fool.

  But Scythians weren’t made for lounging in one place. My 3,100 troops had bickered and fought all day. Dusk descending, I squeezed the back of my neck and considered calling for one of the camp harlots to massage my aching muscles. Stopping at the tent flap, I added another pebble to our daily count. Twenty-one. We needed to get back on the road.

  I pushed open the flap. “Azat! Merari!” Empty. I kicked the cold stones around the cookfire. My belly growled, fueling my anger and loosening my tongue. “If she’d been a goddess, she could have conjured up our evening meals.” It was the second time in a week I would eat dried meat and leftover bread.

  I pawed through some baskets to find something edible and then sat cross-legged until my three stragglers appeared, shadows long in the setting sun. I met Azat before he reached the tent’s awning. “Merari doesn’t need both you and the slave to guard her while she plays for the king.”

  “I’m not a slave!”

  Back-handing the old cow, I silenced her familiar objection.

  “Stop!” Merari stepped between us, flinching as if I might hit her.

  But who could beat the harp player for the king—even if she had delayed my plan to take Scythia’s throne. “Why defend a servant who hates you and refuses to obey?”

  Three weeks of the king’s provisions had pinked her cheeks and sharpened her tongue. “Slave or free, no one should be beaten like an animal.”

  The slave crossed her arms over an ample bosom. “Why not let them kill me?”

  Merari whirled on her. “Hush, Helah. Start the fire.”

  Azat nodded at the old woman, eyebrows raised with a silent, This is why I must take both. The old cow would get herself killed with that impudent tongue, and Merari believed herself responsible for the slave. I kicked a couple of baskets toward the women. “Surely, you can fix something for tonight’s meal. It’s a wonder your husbands didn’t starve . . .” My careless words died, when I remembered too late that barely a month ago, they were starving in a siege I inflicted.

  Azat grabbed my arm and pulled me into the tent, saving me from humiliation. I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes and rolled onto my mat. “Why do I always say the wrong thing to that woman?”

  He reached for a pitcher and splashed his arms with water. “Every man she meets stumbles over his words and shoves someone out of the way to get closer. I had to take down two enthusiastic Edomites today.” His expression clouded. “The king hasn’t defiled her—yet.”

  I sat up, noting the fervor with which he dried his arms and hands. “Do you expect him to take her?”

  Azat’s hands stilled, back turned to me. “Not if he expects to live.” He tossed the cloth aside and turned to leave.

  “Azat!” I lunged and caught his arm. “Tell me you won’t get yourself killed.” Our first day in Riblah, he’d scattered our regiment among the circle of celebration and planned a coordinated attack if Nebuchadnezzar ordered my execution. Brave. Noble. Bu
t suicide, and he knew it. “Talk to me, brother.”

  Azat scrubbed his head, leaving his hair tousled, and let me tug him toward our mats. We sat opposite each other. “I believe Nebuchadnezzar is too frightened of Merari’s god to touch her.” His eyes were so intense, they nearly burned me. “The King of the World is afraid, Idan. So, no. I wouldn’t kill King Nebuchadnezzar if he touched Merari. I don’t think I’d have to. Some of the stories about Yahweh they’ve told each other—especially the stories about this Belteshazzar, whose Hebrew name is Daniel . . .” He let his words sink in and then raked his fingers through his hair again. “If Yahweh is as powerful as Merari says—as powerful as Nebuchadnezzar believes—we should be afraid, Idan.”

  “No!” I glanced out the slender tent opening and saw the women talking quietly. “I will warn you as you warned me. You must never let anyone think you believe in another god—”

  “I know,” he said, “but the stories, Idan. You should hear—”

  “That’s all they are.”

  “No! Listen to me.” He grabbed my face. “King Nebuchadnezzar sentenced three Jews to execution by fire and threw them into a smelting furnace on the plain of Dura. His own soldiers were burned up from the intense heat while throwing the Jews into the fire, but the Hebrew god stood inside a smelting furnace and protected the three men.”

  “Impossible,” I said. “He’s mocking you.”

  “No! He said when he called the Jews out, they walked from the furnace and bowed before him without being singed or even the scent of smoke on their clothing.”

  I peered again out the slender opening of our tent and caught Merari’s silhouette in the fire’s glow. If her god was so powerful, why had he allowed his temple and patron city to be destroyed?

  A strange howl in the distance was joined immediately by a shriek. Terror erupted in the camp.

  “Get your axe, Azat!” We rushed out of the tent as Merari and the old cow screamed and ran in.