by Mesu Andrews
“Get us out of here, Jehoshaphat.” Idan watched over his shoulder, but the caravan kept growing longer with more quffas, too long to see the end. He finally faced forward with a sigh. “I’ve given them ram’s horns to blow if there’s trouble at the rear.”
Jehoshaphat navigated the tributary split masterfully, heading west. He earned more than his weight in gold when he alerted Idan to a quffa’s wrong turn—one carrying a wagon full of gold. Another quffa pilot docked so the Scythians could recover the wagon—and kill the thieving quffa pilot. A horseman on land caught up to shout that the wagon was recovered and sailing again, allowing Idan to relax and the rest of us to enjoy a peaceful sail until well after midday.
We stopped near a small village to refresh ourselves. Jehoshaphat expertly sailed the vessel into the shallows so we could debark without a dock. “Babylon is around the bend, Commander.”
Idan merely nodded, his jaw flexed. Without delay, we were back on the river, sailing past the glory and splendor of Babylon. Both frightening and intriguing, the capital made me want to flee, yet drew me. Not for its wealth or splendor but because I longed to run through its streets calling Elon’s name.
Azat laid his hand over mine on the rail, deep creases on his brow. “You love him still?”
I placed my other hand over his, securing his friendship, not wanting to hurt him. “Elon was my first love. The father of my only child. I’ll always love him.” He nodded and watched Babylon grow smaller behind us. I watched, too, now anxious to forget it. “I’m a simple woman, Azat. I want only to love a family, to live in community, and to serve Yahweh with all my heart.”
He placed his second hand atop mine, our pile now four-hands tall, and then searched my eyes. “If that’s true, Merari, then we’re not so different after all.”
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and gently pulled my hands away. He brushed my cheek and moved over to talk with Idan. Closing my eyes, I repeated my husband’s name to focus my wandering heart.
Meshach had said some Jewish artisans actually thrived in Babylon. Two days, and I could be reunited with my husband. It was the thought that sustained me through the first night’s camp and the second day’s sail. Every time Azat’s glances unsettled me, I focused on the countryside and tried harder to remember Elon’s face.
By the time we docked at Nippur, I rushed off the quffa and dragged Helah with me onto the dock.
A large man in a dirty robe walked toward me. “That’s a lovely harp you have there.”
Suddenly, Azat stood between us like a shield. “We’re looking for Governor Shadrach.” He bowed, scooting me aside and making room for Idan who was hurrying our direction.
The stranger assessed the endless line of quffas, concern lifting his brows. “I’m Shadrach. Your cargo appears to be Jews. I knew the siege on Jerusalem had ended. Are these the only exiles that survived?”
“No. We left a thousand with the king in Rezeph and six hundred and fifty with your brother in Sippar. We’ll divide the remaining captives between Nippur and Erech.”
The governor visibly relaxed. “Good. Good. We’re an agricultural city as you can see.” He held his arms out, showcasing his straw- and dirt-covered robe. “Please, come to my villa this evening for a meal. You can tell me if Meshach still wears his extravagant robes. We’ll plan to place six hundred and fifty exiles after the sesame harvest is complete. Until then, your men can rest and enjoy the peace and quiet of Nippur.”
He offered his hand to Idan but the commander exchanged an awkward glance with Azat, leaving the governor’s hand hanging. “Your brother and the prophet Ezekiel have warned me to hurry to Erech.”
“Ezekiel?” Shadrach’s hand fell, and a lopsided grin chased away all offense. “A Scythian prince listens to Yahweh’s prophet?”
Crimson splotches bloomed on Idan’s neck. He dropped his gaze, scuffed his leather boot on the dock. “I saw proof.”
“Then listen well, my friend.” He extended his hand again. “Debark only the six hundred and fifty who are to remain in Nippur and be on your way.”
Startled by the urgency, I blurted, “Wait! I need to find Elon.”
“Elon?” The governor looked to Idan first but then nodded permission for me to explain.
“Elon is my husband, a harp maker from Jerusalem, taken in the exile eleven years ago.”
Pity replaced his curiosity, and nausea swept over me. “I’m sorry. We have no harp makers in Nippur.” He swiped dirt and straw from his rough-spun robe. “You should hurry to Erech. Abednego has more artists than soldiers.”
I smiled politely and bowed, not trusting my voice to offer gratitude. Helah’s arm came around me, guiding me to shore. Azat paused her departure, whispering something. We stayed near the docks, eating a quick meal from the supplies we’d purchased at Sippar. I wasn’t hungry.
“Merari, you must eat something.” Helah shoved a piece of bread at me. “Azat said it will be three more days of sailing to Erech. You can’t travel on an empty stomach.”
I took the bread and forced my greatest fear into words. “What if Elon isn’t in Erech? What then?”
“Then you trust Yahweh’s plan for you.”
Her response jolted me from melancholy, and I could only gawk.
“What?” she said, defensive, as if she talked of Yahweh all the time. “I can hardly deny a God who saved my life, healed Azat, and speaks to Scythians, can I?” She hurried to her feet. “Eat your bread and let’s say good-bye to our friends.”
I took a bite and watched her embrace the debarking exiles. Remembering the bitter woman she was, I praised Yahweh for the friend she’d become, and my spirit brightened. Yahweh, please give me Helah’s faith—to trust in Your plan for me—no matter what I find in Erech.
Chapter 28
Idan
“Therefore this is what the Sovereign Lord says:
‘Woe to the city of bloodshed! I, too, will pile the wood high.
So heap on the wood and kindle the fire.
Cook the meat well, mixing in the spices; and let the bones be charred.’”
-Ezekiel 24:9–10
Governor Shadrach ordered enough food transferred from Nippur’s markets to the docks so my men could purchase supplies quickly and get underway by midafternoon. The quffa pilots were expert on the river, so we sailed into the night—but even skilled sailors needed rest.
Progress felt painfully slow and hard to measure as even small villages grew sparse as we sailed farther south. Shorelines became an indistinguishable blur of grass and trees. Three days on the river and two short overnights on shore under stick-built shelters was grueling. Worse, however, was watching Azat and Merari battle their fear, their love, and the unknown.
When we finally reached Babylon’s southernmost city, Merari didn’t rush off the quffa as she’d done in Nippur. “Helah and I will wait until you’ve unloaded the supplies and horses.” She gripped the rail like she was chained to it.
While Azat and Yermek coordinated the debarking, I spotted a significant contingent of horsemen riding out from the city. Pointing, I asked Jehoshaphat, “Should I assume that’s Governor Abednego, or alert my archers?”
A smile overshadowed his weariness. “It’s Governor Meshach’s twin.”
“Twin?” I’d never met twin brothers. “Are they identical?”
Jehoshaphat laughed while unloading more supplies. “Governor Abednego is smaller in stature but has a bigger presence. He reminds me of your captain.”
A Jewish Azat. I smiled at the thought but sobered as the horsemen drew nearer, wondering when I’d face the prophet Ezekiel. Meshach said he lived in a small village not far from Erech but often visited Abednego. Would he somehow know I was coming and meet us here, or would Jehoshaphat know the way and perhaps take me to the prophet tomorrow while my men rested?
The governor’s contingent skidded to a halt, ten men on fine horses. Abednego and his deputy dismounted, and I immediately understood Jehoshaphat’s com
ment.
“Greetings, Scythians!” The governor waved, walking two steps ahead of a gray-haired, distinguished man dressed in similar royal attire.
I raised my hand in greeting about the time Azat appeared at my right side, the women following close behind. Azat spoke low without moving his lips. “He seems a happy fellow.”
The governor halted less than a pace in front of me, backing me up a step. “Our city always welcomes more citizens.” He raised on tiptoes, looking over my shoulder, and shot a panicked glance at the sober, middle-aged man beside him. “Are these the exiles?”
The older man nodded but was focused on me. “And you are Prince Idanthyrsus.”
My blood ran cold. Few in Babylon knew my full name. “Who are you?” But I already knew.
He looked through me, speaking as if reading an invisible scroll. “On the nineteenth day of Tebeth, you laid siege to Jerusalem. When you broke through the walls, you found a city of bloodshed before a sword was drawn—a cooking pot full of bones.”
My knees felt like water, memories pounding my head like a hammer. “Stop!” I cried, stumbling back into Merari. I glimpsed the eyes of the woman I’d found that day, revisiting the haunting images in her home. The pot of charred bones, the horrors beyond warfare. Azat steadied me.
Merari placed her hand on my cheek. “You kept me safe, Idan. You saved my life.”
How could she look at me with such kindness? After what she’d suffered? After all the blood I’d shed in my life. I looked at the borrowed harp tucked under her arm and groaned. “You have no idea what I’ve done.”
A gentle hand rested on my shoulder and drew my attention. “My name is Ezekiel, Commander. Yahweh has gone to a lot of trouble to bring you here.” He then raised his voice, addressing my troops. “Prince Idan will have an announcement for you shortly. Make camp within our city walls. You’ll find fresh straw for your horses and barracks for the men. All women will stay in the governor’s guest house. We’ve prepared for your arrival for seven years. You’re all welcome here.” He turned to Azat, Helah, and Merari. “You’re all welcome to join us for a meal. We have much to discuss.”
Abednego secured a carriage for the two women, while Azat and I started toward our stallions. Ezekiel tapped my shoulder and pointed to my supply donkey on a quffa that had just pulled into the dock. “You should bring the item you’ve hidden in that saddlebag since you took it from Jerusalem.”
Another bolt of shock stole my breath. Azat’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. The prophet mounted his horse and Azat followed the governor’s contingent into the city, while I hurried to the dock to retrieve the magnificent harp from its hiding place. On my way into the city, I glanced over my shoulder and watched my whole caravan obey this prophet’s instructions as if he were their commander. Were they driven by the same wonder and fear I felt?
The city of Erech was much like Sippar and Nippur, its lush green vegetation foreshadowing the market stalls overflowing with fresh fruits and vegetables. Life and laughter filled the streets. Children played with sticks, old women huddled to gossip, and young men viewed us with suspicion as we followed their leaders to the three-story brick home built into the city wall.
I caught up with the others in the governor’s courtyard. Abednego and Ezekiel talked quietly together, while Helah and Azat followed, arguing over something. Merari lagged behind, and I realized her whole body trembled.
A sudden wave of pity overwhelmed me. I tucked the hidden treasure under my left arm and wrapped Merari’s shoulder with my right. “We’ll ask about Elon right away.”
She nodded, keeping eyes forward. The fact that she didn’t resist my comfort was proof of her despair. What if she didn’t find her husband? What if she did? Either way, I should have returned her harp long ago.
We paraded through a courtyard, a long hall, a library, and finally into a grand banquet hall. Abednego invited us to sit around a rectangular table in a private corner. “Ezekiel, please sit at the head of the table.” He sat at the prophet’s right and placed me on Ezekiel’s left. Azat sat beside me and the women across from us.
Before the food was served, the prophet pinned me with a stare. “Have you any news on the prophet Jeremiah? His correspondence stopped over a year ago. I hoped for word from the Lord, but . . .” He shrugged, his forehead lined with dread.
Why had Yahweh told Ezekiel everything about me and nothing of Jeremiah? The Jerusalem harp scorched my conscience, and I realized there were two treasures I’d kept from Merari. “According to General Nebuzaradan’s reports, Jeremiah was taken to Egypt after Nebuchadnezzar’s appointed governor of Jerusalem was assassinated. Despite Babylon’s best efforts to capture him for his power to bless, your god freed him from Jerusalem’s chaos.”
A guilty glance at Merari affirmed the betrayal he’d dreaded.
“Praise be to the God of Heaven!” Ezekiel clasped Abednego’s shoulder, and the two men congratulated each other and their god for the victory. “Let’s thank Him now for our food. I’m sure you must be hungry.”
Folding his hands, he began. “Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one.” Abednego and Merari joined him in some sort of recitation. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Let it be so.” The three smiled at each other as if joined in a secret pact.
Ezekiel’s hard lines softened as he studied Merari, her borrowed harp still tucked beneath her arm. “What is your name, little one?”
“I am Merari, Master Ezekiel. I’ve come in search of my husband, who was taken captive from Jerusalem in the exile eleven years ago. His name is Elon, and he is—”
“The best harp maker in the world,” Ezekiel concluded. “Of course, we knew Elon well.”
Shock brightened Merari’s eyes, but only for a moment. “You knew him?”
The prophet extended his hand to her, as realization stole the color from Merari’s cheeks. Abednego wrapped his arm around her shoulders, speaking softly. “Elon died three months ago with a cough and high fever.”
“Three months?” She spoke in a whisper.
“But our city is full of his harps and musicians who play them.” He glanced at Ezekiel, almost panicked. A plea.
Merari dropped her gaze, studying her hands as if a new discovery. “I have no one left.” Her voice was small, childlike, wrenching my heart.
The prophet exchanged a wary glance with our host. “That’s not exactly true, Merari.” Ezekiel waited until she met his gaze. “Since you prayed the Shema with us, I assume you were faithful to Yahweh—as was Elon.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then you likely knew of Jeremiah’s prophecies that the exiles were to build houses, plant fields, and . . . marry. We have few visitors in Erech, since we’re the southernmost city in Babylon, so most of those who left spouses in Jerusalem gave up hope of ever seeing them again.” He paused a heartbeat, inhaled a deep breath, and closed his eyes. “Elon left a widow and three sons, my dear.”
Chapter 29
Merari
“This is what the Lord Almighty, the God of Israel,
says to all those I carried into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon:
‘Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce.
Marry and have sons and daughters . . . Increase in number there; do not decrease.’”
-Jeremiah 29:4–6
I heard Helah’s gasp and felt the news of my husband’s marriage like another rock on my grave. I felt sadness but not betrayal. How could he have imagined Yahweh would bring me to this place? I had grieved him for eleven years. Now I grieved for the completeness of my losses. Everything that was once Merari was gone. I had no family. No home. No legacy. Even Jeremiah was a world away. I was alone in this world and would live out my days in exile. A yawning void opened in my chest, stealing my very essence.
“Merari, come.” Helah was on he
r feet, speaking to the governor. “She needs rest. If you’ll tell me where the women are staying—”
“Bring her this way.” The governor, too, hurried to his feet. Both lifting me and leading me away. “You will both stay in one of my guest chambers,” he said.
I followed down a hallway, lined with colorful, patterned tapestries. Our sandals clicked on tiled floors, and a cool evening breeze stirred through the tall, narrow windows. For the first time, I wondered what my future held. Without a husband, I would be sold as a slave or married to a man I didn’t know. The thought tipped the boiling pot of my emotions, and I covered my first sob. I don’t remember entering the chamber or Abednego’s departure, only curling into a ball on a soft mattress and crying myself to sleep.
In the darkness, I huddled over a steaming bowl of lamb stew and heard the chilling sound of a jackal’s growl—and woke to Helah’s snoring.
An amethyst glow shone through the latticed window of an elegant chamber. I slipped out of bed, pushed open the lattice, and surveyed the city from my third-story perch. Multileveled, brick buildings spread out like a great sea. Erech was larger than Jerusalem. Streets fanned out like spokes on a wheel from a central ziggurat, and I felt a chill, wondering if Yahweh’s faithful had fallen into idolatry even in their exile.
“It’s a beautiful city.”
I gasped, whirling to find Idan seated on a cushion in the corner, his face lined with sleeplessness. “What are you doing here?”
“Helah said I could stay to give you this.” He held the borrowed harp King Nebuchadnezzar had given me.
“Thank you. You can leave it.” I turned back around to look out the window.
“That’s not all.” I looked over my shoulder, and he lifted a wrapped bundle that I’d seen strapped to his saddlebag for the duration of our journey.
