by Mesu Andrews
all those whom Nebuzaradan commander of the imperial guard had left with Gedaliah . . .
the men, the women, the children and the king’s daughters.
And they took Jeremiah the prophet and Baruch son of Neriah along with them.
So they entered Egypt in disobedience to the Lord.”
-Jeremiah 43:5–7
When Nebuchadnezzar received a messenger from General Nebuzaradan, we waited two nights in Aleppo for him to arrive, losing valuable time. The king insisted his harp player shelter at the same inn he chose for himself and his commanders. Merari shared a chamber with her handmaid, and Azat was chosen to sleep outside her door. He seemed too eager to spend more time with the Jewess. I was suddenly relieved I hadn’t killed the old slave, who now seemed an immovable wall of protection around her mistress.
When the general finally arrived at dusk of our second day in Aleppo, a watchman cried, “The king’s spoils approach!”
But the king’s spoils were rotten. Over half the captives would die within two days and the temple’s treasure had been chopped into small pieces, most items’ original form unidentifiable.
Seething, Nebuchadnezzar called the general and his commanders together after dark. “You’ve ruined the Temple treasures.” He swirled his goblet of wine as he spoke. “I hope you’ve brought good news about the prophet Jeremiah. Will he relocate to Babylon and pray for my prosperity and blessing?”
Nebuzaradan cleared his throat. “Jeremiah has been taken to Egypt, my king.”
Nebuchadnezzar slammed his goblet on the table. “Taken?”
The general went to one knee, head bowed for the retelling. “Jews from every nation flocked to Jerusalem when they heard the siege had ended. The governor you appointed, Gedaliah, was assassinated by Jewish insurgents, who also killed several of my men. They escaped to Egypt before my men could track them and took hostages—Zedekiah’s daughters, other wealthy Jews . . .” He cast uneasy glances at the commanders around the small circle. “The prophet Jeremiah and his scribe were among the hostages, my king.”
“Will the prophet curse Babylon and bless Egypt?” Nebuchadnezzar’s face flushed crimson, but his tone remained level.
“No, my king.” The general’s eyes brightened. “My spies say the exact opposite. The prophet tried to dissuade his captors from fleeing to Egypt, vowing Yahweh’s curse unto death if they went and His blessing if they took him to Babylon. But they refused to listen.”
Glaring at his general, Nebuchadnezzar spun his goblet between two fingers. “Any spy who can hear that conversation and fail to rescue my prophet deserves death. Make it so, General, and have your men ready to march before dawn.”
“But, my king, we just arrived from a week’s march without . . .” Nebuzaradan’s plea drowned in Nebuchadnezzar’s unspoken threat. “Yes, my king. We’ll be ready.”
I delighted in my lieutenant’s trumpet call barely a half-night later. We mustered our caravan to the day’s beginning, and the general and his soldiers could barely drag themselves from their tents.
“Idan.” Merari’s hushed voice startled me from my stallion’s hypnotic sway.
I looked over my shoulder.
“No, turn around. Turn around. I don’t want Azat to know I’m talking to you.”
“Then why are you talking? I have no secrets from my brother.” That was a lie, but I didn’t want her stirring more dangerous doubts.
“I’m afraid Azat may have feelings for me. You must talk to him. I’m going back to Babylon to find my husband.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I cursed my foolish friend. He’d warned me to avoid Tabiti’s spell. What about Merari’s power to charm? At the same time, I cheered a little for him. He’d always thought himself too short, too unworthy to please a wife, so he’d never let a woman capture his heart. But why this woman, Azat? If I ignored her, perhaps she’d stop talking.
“Idan!”
I groaned. “You are worse than a wrinkle on my saddle, woman. Give me a peaceful day, or I swear by Tabiti, I’ll stuff your mouth with gold and tie your head to that sedan.”
“You must talk with him. I don’t want to hurt him. Please.”
“All right!” I squeezed the camel’s reins. Perhaps I could relinquish them and escape her incessant chatter. But what if she cast her spell on others? A deep breath and controlled sigh focused my determination. Six days to the next city. Six days attached to this—
“What will you say to him?”
“Aaahhh!” I halted my stallion and faced her. “I’ll say he is never to speak to you again. You poison us with lies about an impotent god who either can’t or won’t protect his people, and I’m tired of your incessant ranting about his love and power. From now on, I will escort you to play your silly harp for the king, and you will stay away from Azat. Is that clear?”
Tilting her head with a strange little smirk, she looked around us before speaking quietly. “Are you angry because you believe in Yahweh or because Azat is spending more time with me than you?”
Stunned by her battle savvy, my fury was disarmed by a beautiful woman in a stinking sedan. “Both,” I admitted, turning my eyes on the road ahead. “Before I stepped across Jerusalem’s broken gates, I knew who I was and what I wanted. I knew there were seven gods in the highest heavens.” The caravan continued past us while I drew Merari’s camel aside and kept my voice low. “I believe Yahweh is real. Though I can’t accept everything you’ve said about him. But if you tell anyone, I’ll kill you—no matter how Azat feels about you or what Nebuchadnezzar has threatened. Do you understand?”
“I understand very well, Prince Idan, and I’m saddened by your captivity.”
Her comment hit me like an arrow to the heart, as I’m sure she intended. Ignoring her, I prodded my stallion and led both our mounts back into the caravan’s flow. Merari remained silent the rest of the day, even when Azat attended to her needs at respites along the way.
We were all ready for our mats after a light meal at dusk, so I was less than pleased when I heard Azat’s whisper in the growing gloom. “She won’t talk to me now. What did you say to her today?”
I let out a sigh that could have felled an oak. “If you want her, Azat, take her. She sleeps on the other side of that curtain.”
He slammed his hand over my mouth, and I bolted to my feet, dagger drawn. Azat stood opposite me, his blade at the ready. I lifted my empty hand. “Reflex, my friend. Reflex.” We dropped our knives into the ground.
I didn’t want to fight him, but something needed to change. Scrubbing my face, I stepped toward the tent flap. “We need to talk.” He followed and we sat side by side on a fallen log, arms resting on our knees, as we’d done since we were boys. But this conversation was more difficult than most. “I know you have feelings for Merari, but she’s going to Babylon to find her husband. You can’t have her.”
“Babylon has many provinces, Idan. What are the odds—”
“Only a few have a high population of Jews. Nebuchadnezzar tried to scatter them, but they regathered. They’re a determined people.” I faced him, not wishing to hurt him, but needing him to understand. “Merari has that same determination to find her husband, Azat. The connection of a husband and wife is hard to explain to someone who hasn’t yet experienced it. Though you and I have spilled our blood into a cup and drunk the wine of brotherhood, we remain two individuals with separate lives and paths. But Zoya and I are one. Our lives are one, joined by our son. My arms ache for them and—”
“I understand the difference—”
“No, Azat. You don’t. When I thought Merari was the goddess, I wanted her in my arms because she could return me to Zoya. Now, she’s a woman stirring unwanted questions about her foreign god.”
“When Merari was Tabiti, she held nothing I desired—no power, no promise, no purpose. Now, as a woman, she’s everything I’ve longed for.” He picked up a twig and began breaking it into pieces. “My heart will break if she finds her husband, but at l
east I’ll know she’s happy—and I will have known a beautiful woman of noble character.”
Chapter 19
Merari, Rezeph in Assyria
“Indeed, to them you are nothing more than one who sings love songs
with a beautiful voice and plays an instrument well,
for they hear your words but do not put them into practice.”
-Ezekiel 33:32
Water and food had been rationed for our six days of travel through the waterless forests between Aleppo and Rezeph, and on our sixth grueling day, I offered Helah the last drop of water from our shared skin.
“No, you take it.” She shoved it away, her lips cracked and dry.
I pressed it to her lips and tipped it up, ignoring her protests. “Idan promised we’d reach Rezeph by dusk. You’ll ride the rest of the way in the sedan with me.” I spoke loud enough for the Scythian commander to hear. My friend’s feet were blistered and swollen. She needed rest, and I prayed we’d stay at least a few days in Rezeph before the final, eighteen-day march along the Euphrates to Babylon’s first city.
Without asking permission, I led Helah to the sedan and began playing my harp. I’d started the practice on the first day out of Aleppo, with Idan’s secret declaration of faith in Yahweh. My words seemed only an annoyance to him. Perhaps my harp could offer some solace to the captives—and captors—as they walked.
On the first day, I played every Psalm of David I could recall, singing in less-than-perfect pitch but with all my heart. The soldiers laughed and sang over me with bawdy war songs, mocking and rude. By the second day, however, even the roughest were silenced by David’s praise. On day three, Idan joined with his mouth harp, and a few others—both captive and captor—unveiled instruments to play along. Soldiers from every nation tapped, blew, beat, and strummed praises to Yahweh, the God of heaven and earth. Tears streamed down my cheeks, a glorious grieving for Yahweh’s people, silent and bitter among the praise of ignorant pagans.
We reached Rezeph at dusk as predicted, weary and worn. The king still demanded his harpist, and Azat again volunteered to escort me. Idan allowed it, though Helah was too exhausted to attend. I urged her to remain at the tent, prepare a meal, and sleep in case we broke camp early tomorrow.
Azat was chatty on the way to the king’s tent since we’d spent little time together while traveling. “This King David you’ve spoken of, the harpist, he was a short man like me?”
“Short like us,” I corrected, mocking my own stature. “Though the smallest of his brothers, he killed a giant with a sling and a single stone because he trusted Yahweh.”
“No, Merari. He killed a giant with a slingshot, not his trust.”
I grinned, accepting the challenge. “Without trust, Azat, he would never have confronted a giant with a slingshot.”
Azat slowed as we approached the king’s tent, gently touching my arm to stop our progress. “Why is trust so important to your god? The Scythian gods don’t care if I trust them. I trust only Idan’s friendship and my courage. That’s enough.”
I looked into his sparkling, almond-shaped eyes, and placed a hand on his cheek. “People and courage may fail, but Yahweh is a Fortress whose mercies are new every morning.”
He captured my palm and turned a gentle kiss into it.
I gasped at the fire racing up my arm and pulled away. Yahweh, forgive me.
“Merari, I—”
I rushed past him into the king’s tent. He followed, thankfully, with my harp, removed its cover, and met my gaze, offering a tentative grin. A peace offering.
I resisted the urge to touch his cheek again.
“I want more singing!” Nebuchadnezzar roared from his throne, clapping. Servants scurried throughout the tent. His commanders sat in clusters on cushions scattered before the king. He held up a silver goblet and searched the tent. “More wine! I want more wi—My little harp maker. You kept me waiting. Play. Play right now!”
“Yes, my king.” I bowed, hands trembling, and took a step toward the throne.
Azat grabbed my arm. “Don’t get close,” he whispered, watching the king. “He’s drunk and agitated.”
“Leave the harp player to her business.” General Nebuzaradan appeared from the shadows and pulled me away from Azat. “The king will take good care of his pretty little Jewess tonight.”
Azat struggled against two of the king’s bodyguards. “Get your hands—” A blow to his middle doubled him over, and he was dragged outside.
The general pushed me to my knees at Nebuchadnezzar’s feet. “Your harpist, my king.”
“I thought I threw you out already.” The king’s lip curled, and he spit to his left side.
Backing away, the general stared at me like a cobra about to strike. The king touched my shoulder, and I jumped as if he’d shot me with an arrow.
“Play, Merari.” His tone firm and quiet. “Now.”
With trembling hands and a prayerful heart, I strummed the prayers of David, the song of Moses, the praises of Asaph—and tried with all my might to block out what might be happening to Azat outside the tent. Please, Yahweh, protect my friend. Forgive my unexpected desire. And help me find Elon—before my heart betrays me.
“Merari.” Someone shook my shoulder, interrupting my songs. “Merari, come. I’ll take you home.”
I opened my eyes and realized I’d been strumming my harp in an exhausted stupor. “How late is it?”
“Very late.” Arioch, the king’s personal guard, offered a rare smile. Motioning me to follow, he led me around snoring commanders. I glimpsed the king splayed on his throne in drunken slumber just before exiting the tent into the starry night.
The cool night air slapped me with a memory. “Where’s Azat?”
Arioch kept walking, his voice a coarse whisper. “I think the prince reached him in time to save him, but General Nebuzaradan is a dangerous enemy. You, too, must be careful, little Merari. The king’s favor is the only thing protecting you.”
Emotion tightened my throat, reality stirring both fear and sorrow. We drew near Idan’s tent, where two clay lamps sputtered under the canopy, illuminating Helah tearing a robe into thin strips. Bandages.
I ran to her, leaving Arioch behind. Sobbing, I fell to my knees and into her arms. “Is Azat inside? Is he alive?”
“Shh, yes. He’s—”
“He’ll recover.” Idan stood at the tent opening, arms crossed over a bare chest covered in blood. “No thanks to you.”
Arioch stood over me. “It’s your private war with the general that brought this on your captain, Prince Idan. Swallow your pride, and make peace with the general before you lose more good men.” He nodded at me and left.
Idan stared after him for a dozen heartbeats. “Azat is asking for you.” He ducked inside the tent before I could ask about his condition.
Hesitantly, I followed. A dozen lamps lit the space around a fresh reed mat. The man lying on it was unrecognizable. Both eyes swollen shut, his face was cut and bruised as were his arms and abdomen. Idan had covered him from the waist down with a light blanket and propped him against several pillows.
“Merari? Is it you?”
Idan turned his back to Azat and whispered his report. “Several ribs are broken, so I’ve got him propped up to breathe. We won’t know about his vision until the swelling resolves. The same goes for the movement in his legs. For now, don’t touch him.”
I covered my mouth to stifle a sob and gain control. All the rage I’d felt for my sister came rushing back. The hate. The fury. Not the same loss of humanity when I found my son’s body—no, that was another creature in me, more brutal than I could ever have conceived—but the thirst for vengeance rekindled.
Through clenched teeth, I ground out the words, “Kill. General. Nebuzaradan.” Idan’s shock was somehow satisfying.
“Merari?” Azat called for me again.
“Yes, it’s me.” I knelt, careful not to touch him, but when he gasped for air, I had to cradle his hand in min
e. Kissing his bloodied knuckles, I let my tears fall. “I’m so sorry. I saw the general take you out. I should have told the king.”
“The king saw them, Merari. He wouldn’t have stopped this.” He squeezed my hand. “I am sort of hoping you’ll let me ride in that plush sedan of yours.” He tried to smile, but I saw the cost in a cut that split open his top lip.
Everything in me yearned to stroke his cheek, tend his wounds, and care for this man who had been willing to give his life if the king defiled me.
“Letting me ride in the sedan doesn’t make you unfaithful to your husband, Merari. I know you must search for him.”
My silence had communicated rejection. “Of course, you’ll ride in the sedan. That’s not what I was think—”
He squeezed my hand again. “Please, listen. I won’t stop you from looking for him, but promise me something . . .” He paused. “Is Idan here?”
“Yes, Azat. I’m here.”
“If she doesn’t find her husband, my friend, I plan to marry this Jewess. You’d better get used to the idea.”
I heard a gasp and looked over my shoulder. Had the sound come from Scythia’s crown prince or from me?
Chapter 20
Idan
“The word of the Lord came to [Ezekiel]:
‘Son of man, mark out two roads for the sword of the king of Babylon to take,
both starting from the same country.
Make a signpost where the road branches off to the city.’”
-Ezekiel 21:18–19
I approached my tent as the sun glowed pink in the eastern sky. The old cow sat over the fire ring, striking flint stones. “King Nebuchadnezzar sent a messenger.” She looked up, her brow creased with genuine concern. “You should hurry.” Her words felt like boulders landing in my stomach.
I jogged toward the white tent in the center of camp and, while still a hundred paces away, saw General Nebuzaradan duck in before me. Rage stirred the boulders in my gut, and I was glad I hadn’t eaten anything. I’d spent all night tending Azat’s wounds, seething at his stubborn declaration to marry the Jewess, and I’d just left 3,100 angry Scythians in a clearing outside of town.
