by Mesu Andrews
Yermek, Azat’s first lieutenant, had arrived outside my tent when the sky glowed amethyst, just before dawn. He led me to a clearing beyond shouting distance, where all 3,100 Scythians had gathered—without my knowledge or command—to plan vengeance on the general and his regiment while they slept. “Valiant and brave,” I shouted, “but how will you fight the rest of Nebuchadnezzar’s army?” My warriors’ feats of bravery and daring were legendary, but strategy eluded them. I needed all 3,100 alive to take my father’s throne, but I also needed to retain their respect and loyalty. The rage I’d seen in Merari’s eyes last night was multiplied by thousands in dawn’s increasing light. I would lose my command if I couldn’t deliver a measure of justice for my friend, their captain.
“When Azat recovers,” I shouted, “we’ll take our vengeance. If we were to attack now, the very man we seek to honor—lying vulnerable and unprotected on a mat in our camp—would be their first target.” Begrudging nods allowed me to continue. “Trust me to lead you, Brothers, and we will return to Scythia as victors to build a nation where brotherhood and courage are the pillars on which we stand.” A mighty war cry sent me on my way, and Yermek took charge of the troops, beginning drills with both axes and swords.
I paused a moment before entering Nebuchadnezzar’s tent, gathering my wits. The general was laughing and chattering like a hoopoe about an Edomite soldier. Disgusted, I sighed and prepared for the coming battle.
The king noticed my arrival immediately. “Prince Idan, you’re late.”
“Apologies, my king. Since your general nearly killed my captain last night, I had to place my lieutenant in charge of this morning’s drills.”
Nebuzaradan cast a condescending gaze down his long nose. “I object to the Scythian’s accusation that—”
“Do you really want to lie to me?” The king leaned on the arm of his throne.
“No, I . . . Well, we didn’t nearly kill him.”
The king turned to me. “How will you exact your revenge, Scythian?”
“I’m open to suggestions, my king.”
“I suggest you forget it happened. We leave Rezeph in two days as a unified army with a meager captive train and significant bounty from Yahweh’s Temple.” He leaned forward. “A personal vendetta among my commanders can only complicate the long journey back to Babylon.”
“And a worthless leader can complicate a long journey.”
“Worthless leader? You filthy—” The general swung at me.
I blocked the blow and shrugged off further attempts while four of his own guards restrained him. I spread my hands, showcasing the unruly general. “I’m concerned, my king, that all the troops will be damaged by such an undisciplined leader.”
“Get your hands off me.” Nebuzaradan groused and straightened his armor.
The king waved the guards away. “Leave us, General.”
“What?” The general looked as if he’d been slapped. “I did nothing wrong, Neb. He’s trying to poison—”
“Leave now!” Nebuchadnezzar stood, towering over us.
“Neb?” I asked. Who called the King of the World, Neb?
A hint of a grin relaxed the king into his throne as the general stormed out of the tent. “Nebuzaradan has been my friend since childhood. Our mothers are still friends. I’d never hear the end of it if I killed him.”
I settled to one knee, relaxed but respectful. “Then you understand my difficulty. Azat is my childhood friend. He has no mother, no other family but me. We drank the cup of brotherhood, and I can’t—I won’t—let anyone hurt him.”
“And I won’t let a Scythian prince—or anyone else—kill Nebuzaradan.” He groaned while massaging his temples.
“Too much wine last night?”
“Yes. So much I hardly remember hearing your little Jewess play her harp.” His eyes brightened. “The Jewess!”
I shook my head, certain I’d hate any idea involving Merari.
“We’ll divide the Jews, sending part with you and your Scythians in two days to begin the journey to Sippar. Nebuzaradan and I will wait here in Rezeph for an additional week with the remaining Jews and the bounty from the Temple.”
It was ridiculous. “Why split the captives?”
“You’ll travel more quickly without the wagons and with fewer captives on foot.”
I stood before the greatest military mind in the world and could see no benefit for his troops in this plan. Why would he allow my men to strike out alone with the Jews? “My king, the Scythians have served you well with courage and might. Why not release us to go home now?” In a desperate effort, I added, “When I successfully assume my father’s throne, I vow Scythia’s lasting allegiance to Babylon in all military campaigns.” It was a long-term commitment to future mercenary service, but well worth early release.
He studied me, and my mouth went dry. When he leaned forward, I felt like a rodent in the path of a viper. “Your Scythians will escort two thousand Jews to the three largest Jewish-populated cities in Babylon. Then you may take your warriors home.”
Not what I’d hoped, but it was better than placing all the Jews. We could return to Scythia in half the time if we weren’t slowed by the whole caravan.
Merari’s husband! The thought struck me like a blade. What if he wasn’t in one of the three cities? Could Azat return to Scythia without her? Merari had never actually agreed to marry him, but she’d never agree until she was certain her husband was dead.
“I must be allowed to send messengers to inquire in every city where you’ve placed Jews.”
A crease marred his forehead—and then understanding dawned. “You wish to find Merari’s husband.”
“I must.”
He scrubbed his bearded chin. “The artisans and soldiers taken from Jerusalem eleven years ago were relocated to four cities. Three are governed by Jews I brought to Babylon when they were young boys; brothers named Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.”
“And the fourth city?”
“The fourth is the capital. The city of Babylon cultivates the finest talent of every nation.” He stood then, his final decision set in narrowed eyes. “You will place two thousand Jews in the three cities already thriving with their countrymen, but you will not step foot in my capital. After you’ve placed all your Jews, I’ll send you enough gold and troops to help steal your father’s throne.”
It was the promise I’d been waiting for. What were the odds that Merari’s husband was in the capital? “All right,” I said, offering my hand in pledge. “Keep your general away from me and my men during the next two days, and we’ll place your captives in three cities.”
We locked wrists, securing a promise I could live with—but could my troops live without vengeance? Could Merari live with the uncertainty?
Chapter 21
Merari
“When hope’s dream seems to drag on and on, the delay can be depressing.
But when at last your dream comes true, life’s sweetness will satisfy your soul.”
-Proverbs 13:12
Idan returned sullen from his meeting with Nebuchadnezzar and in a hurry to leave our tent. He rummaged through his saddlebag. “Where is my wrist guard?”
“Shh!” I laid my hand across the harp strings to silence the song that had lulled Azat to sleep and pointed at his swollen eyes. “I demand to know how you’ll repay the general.”
“I don’t answer to you, woman!” He stomped out.
Azat stirred. “Idan?”
I pressed his shoulder back against the pillows. “He’s gone now, my friend. Sleep.” I strummed again on my harp and hummed, hoping to calm myself as much as him. I heard Idan’s low rumble outside but couldn’t make out his words. I looked through the narrow slit as Helah scurried away at his command. She was my maid. Where was she going? Frustration welled up, and I clenched my teeth, strumming harder.
Azat’s hand halted my playing. “You’re agitated. I hear it.”
I sighed, silently upbraiding myself. “Idan
returned from his meeting with the king and won’t tell me what was decided.”
He brushed my hand. “I can tell you what was decided.”
“Oh, really? Your injuries have improved your hearing?”
“I am the mighty little man, after all.” A slight grin appeared between a patchy day’s growth of stubble. “Idan decided to do what’s best for Scythia.”
I shoved his hand away. “You mean he decided to do what’s best for Idan.”
“He will be king, Merari. It’s the same thing.”
“How can you lie there in pain with blind trust?”
“That’s what it means to be a soldier, Merari. I trust my commander. I obey without question. And I protect the brotherhood.”
I scoffed at his steadfast words. “I’ve seen you argue and even fight Idan when you disagreed. How can you say you obey without question?”
He chuckled then. “I was afraid you’d pick that one out. I’m better at protecting Idan than trusting and obeying him, but now”—he tried to lift both arms, but his left hand barely moved—“I can only trust and obey.”
The words struck me like a Scythian axe. Trust and obey. Trust and obey. Again and again, it rang in my head. “Rest now, Azat.”
I rushed out of the tent, fell to my knees, and wept alone. Our camp was quiet, the men drilling with weapons and Helah on her errand for Idan. I was left to focus on the Commander of Heaven’s Hosts. Could I trust and obey Him after so much loss? My son. My home. My life. And now . . . the near loss of an enemy who was stealing my affection.
Yahweh—the Great I Am. El-Roi—God who sees me. El-Shaddai—God Almighty. You, who knit me together in my ima’s womb, come near so I can pour out before you all my broken pieces. Death surrounds me. Evil mocks me. Life eludes me. Joy has fled. Anger is my food; sorrow the wine at my feast. Fear has gone and dread replaced it; death an intriguing place on my map. A shortcut perhaps? A blade at my wrist could shorten my days. Would I see You or forever lick the flames of Sheol? The risk too great, the fear stirs rage, and I can’t escape. Rescue me from the pit, O Lord. Only Your strong arm can reach so low. Only Your sharp eyes can see these depths. Only Your sweet heart can know my journey—and reach the end before me.
“Merari?” It was Helah’s voice I heard. Not Yahweh’s. Never Yahweh’s. How many times in my life had I prayed, but He never answered? Did He speak only to prophets like Jeremiah? What good had it done my cousin? Bitterness rose like bile, drawing my knees up and my head down in a cocoon no one could enter.
Helah drew near, but I remained sequestered in my despair. She dropped something beside me, and warm, soft arms enfolded me. “Has something else happened? Is Azat . . .” She ran into the tent, and I heard her huff. Then she ranted at me for frightening her.
I couldn’t answer. I was empty. Unable to move. I knew only that God had abandoned me. Hopelessness hid my face and sealed my lips, while Helah resumed her chores around me. By afternoon, I’d fallen on my side, eyes closed, and someone threw a blanket over my head. I woke after dark beside Helah in our tent chamber. Groaning, I turned over.
“Merari?” Helah raised on one elbow. “Love, are you all right?” Tears stung my eyes but no words came. I couldn’t face her. Had she been right? Was Yahweh a legend of prophets to frighten the masses? She rubbed my back. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
I woke to Idan’s face hovering above me. “Are you finished with your tantrum?”
“Get out of there! Leave her alone.” Helah flew at him with a dishcloth, waving it like a battle axe.
I rolled over and closed my eyes again, but Helah sat at my back and hung her head over my shoulder. “You must eat something, my girl. I can’t care for a half-dead soldier and you too. I need help. We leave in two days.” She shoved a piece of bread in my hand. “Eat!”
Helah won no awards for compassion, but within two days, she’d managed to prepare for our eighteen-day journey to Sippar, Babylon’s first city. Filling and stacking baskets, using her new mortar and pestle to crush dried herbs, and purchasing enough grain and wine to sustain our tent-family of four, Helah stayed busy while I held Azat’s hand.
Idan spent two days preparing his regiment for the journey but gave no inkling to the captives about our destinations. On the morning of our departure, he fought his first unexpected battle.
Helah kept her voice low but mirrored Idan’s posture, fists at her waist and feet apart. “How do I care for Merari and Azat if I walk on the ground and they’re on the camel? They both need me, and there’s plenty of room for all three of us in that sedan with the new pillows you bought.” Without waiting for his approval, she stepped around him and joined Azat and me in Mara’s sedan. It was the first time I’d smiled in three days.
Placing my harp in my arms, she nodded toward the soldiers falling into ranks behind us. “Play something soothing. Our lives may depend on it.”
Startled by the cryptic comment, I shaded my eyes and saw General Nebuzaradan approaching the three thousand tattooed Scythians with at least five hundred men on horseback. Idan’s warriors drew their battle axes, while the Jewish captives huddled in protective clusters. Idan prodded his stallion, placing himself between the Babylonians and his men. “Stand down! Stand down, all of you!” Turning to the general’s horsemen, he shouted, “Ride away, or we fight!”
Nebuzaradan raised his fist in the air, halting his horsemen’s advance. Grumbling and cursing Scythians drowned out more shouting, and Azat clutched at the cushions beside him. “Tell me what’s happening! I see black, only black.” His eyes, partially opened but still unseeing, were his greatest enemy now.
I slid onto the cushions beside him and breathed softly against his cheek. “Nothing’s happening, my friend. Idan is masterful. He’s safe, and he has diffused the situation.” I eyed Helah, who waited with an infusion of poppy tea. “You must stay calm, or Helah will make you sleep through our departure.” Any thrashing opened the knife wounds on his sides, arms, and legs.
Reaching for my hand, he gripped it with surprising strength. “Tell me everything you see, Merari. As if I were standing beside Idan.”
Fighting tears, I forced melancholy from my voice. “One day you’ll stand beside him again, Azat.” Helah’s brows dipped, but I warned her with a stare. Now wasn’t the time to tell Azat our concerns about his useless leg or sightless eyes.
“Idan has regained control, and Nebuzaradan is leading away his troops.” He knew I was lying. Both sides continued shouting threats. I saw only Idan’s back, and Azat didn’t need a description of Nebuzaradan’s smirk.
“Look in the opposite direction, Merari,” Azat whispered.
“I’m all right, Azat. I don’t need your coddling. I—”
“Look in the opposite direction, now!”
“What do you mean the opposite direction?” I rose to my knees in the sedan, searching the northeastern horizon, and saw a single horseman dressed in a wool robe.
Azat’s hand brushed my arm, his sudden tenderness matching his now gentle voice. “Is there a Babylonian soldier speeding out of camp—unnoticed?”
I swallowed hard. “It’s a single rider in a rough-spun robe, but yes. What does it mean?”
“Sit.” He patted the cushion beside him.
“If I sit, I can’t see over the sedan. How will we know if Idan is safe?” Or if he was sweetening his position for Scythia’s throne? He’d done nothing but appease the Babylonians for two days.
“Please, Merari,” Azat said, settling back into the cushions. “Play your harp louder than the noise.”
“But I—”
“Sit down, Merari, and play.” It wasn’t a request.
“You must be feeling better. You’re getting bossy.” He smiled, but I wasn’t kidding. How did a man who could barely move command me? But I obeyed and began strumming my harp, while Helah wiped Azat’s brow with a trembling hand. The shouting outside our cushioned world faded as Mara started her slow and steady pace. We traveled wit
hout stopping until midday, and my fingers continued to dance over the strings, numb by the time we reached our first respite.
Tapping Mara’s hind quarters, I planned to dismount and stretch my legs but recoiled at Idan’s outstretched hand. “I thought you said Nebuchadnezzar would keep his general away from you and Azat.”
He grabbed my arm, pulling me away from other ears. “General Nebuzaradan’s appearance at our departure was a diversion. My spies say a messenger on horseback left the camp, headed northeast.” He shoved me away. “Yermek!”
The baby-faced lieutenant bounded over. “Yes, Commander?”
“You will guard your captain and the women in the sedan during our respites. Escort them wherever they go. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” He pounded his fist against his chest and extended his other hand toward a copse of trees—as if I would relieve myself in front of a strange man.
“Never mind.” I would hold it until we reached Babylon if needed.
I started to climb back into the sedan, and heard Idan chuckle. “It’s going to be a long eighteen days.” Ignoring him, I returned to my perch, trying to block out the vile jokes of Scythian soldiers. Helah climbed down, anxious to find a private place in the trees.
Azat grasped the new headscarf Helah had purchased for me between two fingers, enjoying its silky softness. “Blue looks good on you.”
I covered a gasp. “You can see!” I shouted over the sedan wall. “Idan, Azat can see!” I nearly hugged him, but caught myself, awkwardly patting his arm instead.
He captured my hand and turned it over, kissing my palm. “Someday I’ll enjoy your embrace. For now, I’m simply happy to see you again.”
Warmth traveled up my arm and into my heart. His sight was an unexpected gift. Perhaps Yahweh hadn’t abandoned me completely. Thank You, Lord God of all Creation. If You are there, open my eyes to see You as You’ve opened Azat’s to see me.
