Word Fulfilled, The (25 page)

Sudden shouts from the south end of the plaza rose over the hubbub. Heads turned and the crowd separated as a squad of soldiers pushed into the square. They formed two ranks and drove a wedge into the mob. The squad stopped at the foot of Nabu’s temple.

From between the soldiers stepped a tall man in the regalia of a royal advisor. His unexpected appearance silenced those closest to the squad. He mounted the steps flanked by four guards, and an uneasiness settled over the plaza. The dignitary stopped a pace away from the prophet and gazed intently at the white-haired foreigner.

Jonah returned an even look.

The official pursed his lips. “Are you the instigator of this riot?”

Jonah was surprised at the official’s flawless Hebrew, but his tone was steady in his response. “I have merely delivered a message.”

“I see. And your message, Israelite, did
it
instigate this riot?”

“The people have reacted in accordance with their hearts.”

Jamin and Hiram shifted as the royal official circled Jonah, his dark eyes appraising the foreign seer from head to foot. “Perhaps you can repeat your message for me, Israelite. I arrived in time to hear something about tearing down temples. I trust there is more . . . ?”

A sharp feminine voice cut into Ahu-duri’s inquiry. “I heard enough.”

All eyes turned toward the voice. Behind the squad of soldiers and surrounded by a cluster of priestesses stood a figure in the ornate robes of the High Priestess of Ishtar.

Jamin started at the woman’s voice. A guard on the second step blocked his line of sight, so he shifted his stance to peer past the soldier.

A familiar petite figure mounted the stairs and rose into his view. Her black hair streamed from beneath a gold cap and flowed over her slight shoulders. Her fiery eyes were fixed on the prophet.

Jamin’s jaw dropped. His vision tunneled, and a rush of lightheadedness threatened to drop him.
The High Priestess? How could that . . . when did she . . . the High Priestess?
Jamin could only stare.

Hiram narrowed his eyes at this most heathen of priestesses. He glowered at the imperiousness of her stride as she ascended the stairs and drew herself up beside the royal dignitary. Here stood the symbol of everything wrong with this city—the very reason it stood under the judgment of
Adonai
. He prayed for the earth to open up beneath those cursed feet and swallow the holy harlot for all to see the wrath of the Lord revealed. He knew Jamin would feel the same. But a glance at his nephew prompted a double-take.

Jamin’s face was pale; his jaw was dropped.

What is the matter with—oh, no!
The conversation Hiram had shared with his nephew on these very steps only a few days ago echoed through his mind.
This couldn’t be the girl. Not the High Priestess! What could he be thinking?

The
Entu
of Ishtar drew near, and Ahu-duri bowed in deference to the most powerful spiritual figure in Assyria, aside from the king himself. But his eyes remained riveted on her extraordinary beauty.
So, this is the new High Priestess of Ishtar. She’s so young. So beautiful. Her eyes are like—no!
He shook the notion from his mind and flushed involuntarily, lest his face betray his thoughts. He cleared his throat.

“You know something of this man, then, High Priestess?”

The High Priestess halted two paces from the foreign prophet. She addressed the royal advisor in a low voice but did not shift her eyes from Jonah. “He preaches death and destruction upon our city at the hands of a foreign god, my lord. He calls our gods—the great Ashur, the Mother Goddess Ishtar—false idols. Yes, he incites the people to riot, an understandable reaction to the blasphemy that we should abandon all we hold holy and dear.” Her eyes intensified. “He insists we bow to this unknown foreign god.”

Ahu-duri looked at the prophet, then back at the High Priestess. “So you consider him a threat?”

“Threat?” She sneered. “Not to Mother Ishtar, certainly. But to Nineveh? Well, my lord, look around you. What do you see?”

The vizier’s eyes flicked over the restless mob. Several men were down, obviously victims of assault. Subdued mutters floated above a sea of terse faces. It made for a volatile mixture—one that could ignite at any moment with the least provocation. Something needed to be done.

Ahu-duri glanced at his senior soldier. “Seize him. Bring him to the palace.”

Lll

Two soldiers reached for Jonah, and Hiram rushed forward. “No! He is an emissary of God! We must heed his message.”

Jamin shouted, “Uncle! No—”

The soldier struck without warning. He brought the butt of his spear up and thrust it into the elder man’s midriff. Hiram dropped to his knees and gasped. He teetered, then collapsed onto his side.

Jamin rushed to his uncle’s side. The soldier raised his spear again and Jamin rammed him with his shoulder. The guard toppled backward down the stairs into the crowd below. A woman screamed as two other soldiers raced up the steps.

“Take them!” Ahu-duri snapped.

Ianna sidestepped the soldiers, but her robe caught underfoot on the riser. She stumbled forward and collided with Jonah. The impact caught the prophet off balance and toppled him backward over Hiram’s prostrate body. Ianna teetered, then collapsed over him.

“Stop!” Ahu-duri warned the soldiers off with his hand and grasped the arm of the fallen High Priestess.

The soldiers stalled their advance at the command.

Ianna reddened at the spectacle she had created. No one here would forget such an indignity suffered by the High Priestess of Ishtar. She fought to right herself and regain some measure of decorum.

Ianna propped her hand against the downed prophet’s chest as the royal advisor lifted her other arm. Her palm settled against a hard object beneath his robe. As she pushed away, the object slid across his chest and dropped out through the neckline.

As Ianna righted herself, she caught sight of a large gold medallion affixed to a leather thong that lay beside the prophet’s head. Two soldiers jerked Jonah to his feet. The dignitary steadied Ianna, then hastened to remove his hand from her hallowed arm. Her eyes fixed themselves on the pendant that now dangled outside his robe.

Her lungs heaved in humiliation. She dared not make eye contact with anyone but flipped her hair back and straightened the ceremonial cap on her brow. She needed something—anything—to divert attention from her embarrassment. The medallion flashed as it twisted in the torchlight, and its glint caught her eye.

Ianna drew herself up and glared at the prophet, who stood with his arms pinned by two soldiers. She stepped forward with a challenge in her eyes. Then, with a thin smile, she dropped her gaze to the amulet.

Jonah’s eyes widened as she reached for his heirloom. The guards held him while he watched the heathen priestess lift his priceless treasure away from his chest. She inspected it front and back.

“Well, now, what is this?” Her eyes toyed with his. “A charm, perhaps. For good fortune?”

Jonah struggled against the soldiers’ grasp.

“But it appears your fortune has run out today.” She cocked her head and pouted.

Ahu-duri’s gaze flew between the medallion and the High Priestess.

“And so you won’t need this.” With a flick of her arm, she flipped the thong over his head and drew it from his neck.

The panic on the prophet’s face raised a smug smile on Ianna’s. Slowly, she lifted the thong and looped it over her own head. She guided the medallion down and let it drop against her robe. Its weight pressed against the silky material over her bosom and accented her delicate curves.

Her gaze went back to Jonah’s. “There, now, it looks so much better with my finery than hidden away under a dirty shirt.” Her eyes turned to Ahu-duri and caught him staring at the front of her garment, possibly at the amulet. “Don’t you think so, my lord?”

His startled eyes met hers. “Yes! Of course, High Priestess. It was meant for such a . . . robe . . . as yours.”

His flushed face was not lost on her.

She turned to throw one more smirk at the prophet when she caught a movement behind the soldier on his right. A young man bent over the prostrate form of the man the soldier’s spear had dropped. As he raised his head and gazed into her face, she recognized him as the same man who had entered her chamber weeks ago, the same man who confessed his love for her, who tried to convince her to flee from the temple unconsummated. The man who told her of a God who loved her.

This god? The god of this prophet? A god who would destroy an entire city?

They locked eyes . . . for how long she didn’t know. Long enough, though, for her to read hurt, sorrow, and—could it still be?—love in his eyes as his agonized gaze bore into hers.

A harsh command from Ahu-duri for his troops to take the prisoner away broke their silent exchange. Ianna blinked and straightened her shoulders. She averted her eyes and hardened her heart. With a flourish, she pivoted and descended the stairs. Her retinue of
naditu
priestesses fell into step behind her, then followed her across the road and up the steps of Ishtar’s temple.

As the servants of Ishtar disappeared into the building, one blue tunic lagged behind. Hulalitu peered from behind a pillar as the soldiers muscled the cursed prophet down the steps of Nabu’s temple and along the street toward Adad-nirari’s palace. The crowd began to disperse.

The two men who had attended the prophet remained alone on the portico of Nabu’s temple, both now forgotten by the soldiers. The younger man—Jamin, she remembered—helped his elder comrade to his feet, but the old man remained bent over from the jab of the guard’s spear. Jamin gave his uncle a moment to regain his breath. He spent that moment with his gaze locked onto Ishtar’s temple and the darkened porch her Ianna had just entered. After a moment, Jamin resumed his attention to the injured man. He straightened him, and together they limped around the corner and out of sight.

From her earlier vantage point among the priestesses on the stairs of Nabu’s temple, Hulalitu saw the look Jamin gave Ianna when their gazes met. More importantly, she saw Ianna’s expression.

Hulalitu gritted her teeth.

It was time to act.

Lll

Two rough hands shoved Jonah through the low door of the small prison chamber. He stumbled across a dirt floor, collided with the far wall, and collapsed. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his world closed in on him.

Thirty-three

Nineveh, the Royal Palace

Fourteenth Day of Du’ûzu, the Tenth Hour

hu-duri propped his cheek in his hand and stared absently at the cup he held over the garden wall. He tipped it slowly and watched the last dregs of wine trickle over the rim and soak into the soil around the roots of a newly transplanted oleander.

He sighed.
It should feel honored. How many plants merit a taste of the king’s wine?
He pursed his lips and laid the empty vessel on its side by the tray of half-eaten fruit and cheese. Sometimes wine just didn’t taste good.

The vizier settled back on his cushion and retreated deeper into his thoughts. Yesterday’s events weighed heavily on him. All this ugly business with the foreign prophet and calming the agitated citizenry of Nineveh stole precious time from the reason he came to the city. Adad-nirari wanted his substitute king, and he wanted him soon.

Ahu-duri mentally kicked himself for ever suggesting it. His inquiries to the upper class of the city yielded no results. They all had the resources to purchase the services of a surrogate, and the vizier was not ready to settle for a mercenary just yet. He snorted at the notion.
A substitute-substitute king. How silly is
that
?

“My lord?” Kaheri’s high-pitched voice pierced the vizier’s tranquility.

Ahu-duri threw an annoyed look at his aide. “What is it?”

“A visitor, my lord. The same woman who says she is your sister.”

Ahu-duri rolled his eyes. “It
is
my sister, Kaheri. See her in, will you?”

“Yes, my lord.”

The vizier rubbed at a headache that lurked behind his temples.

“Greetings, Brother.” Hulalitu stood at the center of the walkway, her head bowed.

Kaheri lifted an eyebrow at the priestess and backed away.

“Sister.” Ahu-duri nodded. “Please sit.”

“Thank you.” She settled herself onto the low wall.

Ahu-duri took the initiative and addressed something that had bothered him since the scene in the temple plaza.

“Your new High Priestess is quite lovely, is she not?” He searched his sister’s eyes for any reaction to his words. He knew she had been among the retinue of priestesses in the square. The mental lapses the enchanting High Priestess evoked in him still seared his forehead. He wondered if anyone noticed the effect she had on him.

Hulalitu paused, as though caught unaware by the question. Her voice assumed an added gruffness in its reply. “Yes, my brother. Very lovely.”

There was nothing in her tone to indicate she had noticed anything out of the ordinary in his notice of the High Priestess. He relaxed. “It was a tense moment yesterday.”

“It was, Brother. In fact, it is about yesterday that I would like to speak to you.”

He raised an eyebrow. He wondered if perhaps she had noticed something after all. “What might that be?”

Hulalitu took a deep breath. “When we last spoke, you mentioned your quest for a substitute king.”

“Yes.”

“How goes your search?”

Ahu-duri rose and paced the path, his arms crossed. Finally, he turned toward her. “Not well, actually. Not well at all.”

She looked down at her feet. “It is a weighty task.”

“Very. Why do you ask?”

Hulalitu looked up, her eyes intense. “You said there was precedence for a commoner to become the
ugu lugal.”

He nodded slowly. “There is.”

“I know of one who would be the ideal candidate, if I may be so bold.” She paused.

“Really. Who, and why is he ideal?”

His sister took a deep breath. “You saw him yesterday in the temple square.”

“Yesterday?”

“Yes. He was with the prophet.” She studied his face.

Her brother furrowed his brow.

She continued, “He was the young one, the man who shouldered your soldier off the steps.”

“I don’t understand. How could this man possibly be a suitable substitute king?”

Hulalitu leaned forward. “He must be known by the citizens to have taken a prominent role in the assembly. He showed courage and loyalty to his uncle when he protected him from the soldier.” Her voice picked up tempo. “He is young, vibrant—clearly one the people could accept on the throne as a substitute. He is just what you need.”

Curious, Ahu-duri asked, “His uncle? How did you know that was his uncle?”

Hulalitu’s cheeks tinged pink. “He . . . he has been to the temple plaza before. They both have. This is how I know of him.”

“So these two were here before the prophet came.”

She nodded, and her words rushed out. “This is how I know he would serve well as the substitute king. The details are not important right now, only your mission. I offer you a solution to your problem.”

Ahu-duri paced as he thought over his sister’s words. The choice of a commoner was not optimum, but it was acceptable, if done correctly. He had come up short in his search for anyone of nobility. And his sister was right. This was a potential solution.

Only four days remained for him to make his selection and send word back to the king. That meant only two days for the selection and two days for the scribes to record the decision and transport the sealed proclamation back to Kal
ḫ
u. He would stay in Nineveh and see to the
ugu lugal
installation, while others made preparations in Kal
ḫ
u for Adad-nirari’s solitude, hidden away from the notice of the gods.

He turned suddenly when a thought germinated in the back of his mind. “The young man. Do you know his name?”

“His name is Jamin.” A note of hope lifted her voice.

“Jamin. A Hebrew name, I think, which explains his presence with this prophet of Israel. But—”

A new thought gave the vizier pause. He smiled as the notion blossomed. Yes, this might work well, after all. If the young man was a Hebrew, his selection as the substitute king may avert the wrath of his god of destruction, this god of Israel. That’s what the substitute king was supposed to do: to protect the rightful king from the wrath of the gods—any gods. Whether that meant to absorb it or forestall it didn’t matter.

Of course, there would be no destruction from this god. It was a dream concocted by a vagabond who had spent too much time in the desert sun. But the people’s belief that there would be destruction was what was important.

Ahu-duri’s face lit up. Yes, this might offer the best opportunity to quell the unrest that gripped the city. And if the prophet’s threat did have some substance, Jamin’s presence on the throne would surely appease the Israelite god, even if only for one hundred days. That should be plenty of time for the god to tire of Nineveh, perhaps even to return to Israel.

He smiled to himself. Everything seemed to come together—except one thing. “This man. Is he married?”

Hulalitu’s face fell. “I don’t believe he is. Is that important?”

Her brother tapped his chin with a fingertip. “It would help. We need a substitute for the Queen Mother, too. A marriage could be arranged, though, if necessary.”

“I’m sure a suitable wife could be found.”

Ahu-duri went silent while his mind raced through the implications of such a decision. After a moment, he nodded to himself. It was his best option. Even if Adad-nirari did not approve, it would be too late. The selection would be made; the king’s seal would be on the declaration.

“Brother?” His sister looked hopeful.

“Your idea has merit, but I must think it over. I will decide before nightfall.”

Hulalitu leaped to her feet. In three steps she reached her brother and threw her arms around his neck, abandoning the protocol due the Senior Scholar. She drew back an instant later in shock.

Ahu-duri smiled. “Do not worry, Sister. I am glad you came. It has been wonderful—and profitable—to see you again.”

She bowed her head. “Thank you. It’s been good to see you again, too.”

“Back to the temple with you.” He signaled Khaheri, who waited across the garden. “I have work to do.”

The aide saw Hulalitu to the gate, careful to keep his distance from the priestess of Ishtar.