On This Foundation (2 page)

The Lord determined to tear down the wall around the Daughter of Zion.

He stretched out a measuring line and did not withhold his hand from destroying.

He made ramparts and walls lament;

together they wasted away.

Her gates have sunk into the ground;

their bars he has broken and destroyed.

L
AMENTATIONS
2:8–9
A

S
USA
, P
ERSIA
D
ECEMBER
,
TWENTY
-
EIGHT
YEARS
LATER

N
ehemiah descended the winding staircase to the palace kitchens, then paused in the arched doorway, savoring the warmth from the blazing hearth fires and enormous ovens. The aroma of roasting meat and baking bread greeted him. He enjoyed this part of his job, especially on early winter days like this one when it was difficult to heat the cavernous palace rooms upstairs. He watched the sweating, red-faced cooks and scullery lads bustle around, chopping vegetables, skinning a goat, and plucking waterfowl. These men would probably prefer to work in a cooler room.

No one glanced up as Nehemiah entered the huge work area, which was large enough to prepare food for the king and thousands of his guests. As the king's trusted cupbearer, Nehemiah inspected the palace kitchens and storerooms daily, making sure that nothing and no one who might pose a threat to King Artaxerxes ever passed through the delivery doors and into the kitchen and up the stone stairs to his dining room.

The narrow windows stood open, and Nehemiah heard the rumble of wooden wheels outside and the heavy tread of oxen
as a delivery wagon approached. The shipment of wine he expected had arrived. He crossed the smoky work area to unlock the wide delivery doors, opening them to a blast of chilly air that rushed inside along with a swirl of dried leaves. A cart piled high with clay storage jars and cushioned with straw pulled to a halt outside. Nehemiah unsheathed his sword as he prepared to probe the straw for stowaways. “Good morning, Shaul,” he said to the driver who had led the yoked team of oxen. The driver finished fastening the reins to a post and turned. It wasn't Shaul. It was a stranger. Nehemiah tensed.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“I'm Shelah ben Hobiah. I'm making deliveries for Shaul today.”

“Not without consulting me, you're not! Why wasn't I told? Who let you through the gate? Who's responsible for this?”

“I said it would be all right,” a voice from behind Nehemiah said.

He spun around to face Joed, the palace clerk who kept track of deliveries and payments.

“Shelah is a friend and—”

Nehemiah still had his sword in his right hand, but he gripped the front of the clerk's tunic with his left one. He pulled Joed close until their faces were inches apart. “No one enters this citadel without my authorization, understand? No one! I want both of you
out
! And don't come back.” He released Joed and pushed him outside through the open door.

“But . . . m-my lord . . .” Joed sputtered. “I-I've known Shelah since childhood. I can vouch for him and—”

“I don't doubt that you can. And King Xerxes also knew the man who entered his bedchamber and murdered him. One of his own courtiers.” The familiar rage boiled up inside Nehemiah, and in an instant he was back in his bedroom the night his father opened the door to an acquaintance and forfeited his life. He gave the clerk another shove, propelling him backward and
causing him to stumble against one of the oxen. “King Xerxes' heir can't afford to trust anyone,” Nehemiah said. “Every leek and lentil and wineskin will be carefully inspected by my staff and me before it enters this palace—along with every man who delivers it, cooks it, or serves it. It's the only way to keep our sovereign King Artaxerxes safe and secure.”

“Please, my lord . . . I won't let it happen again—”

“You're right, Joed. You won't. Guards!” He shouted for the king's guards, watching from their posts inside the kitchen. “Escort these men all the way over the bridge and out of the citadel.”

“And the shipment of wine, my lord?” one of the guards asked.

“Send it back. Tell them the next time there's a new deliveryman I need to be informed.”

Nehemiah turned and went inside again, slamming and locking the door behind him. All activity in the kitchen had halted, as if the icy wind had frozen the men in their places. He saw two young cook's assistants exchange looks, as if they thought him an unreasonable tyrant. They hadn't worked in the kitchen very long, and even though Nehemiah and his staff of cupbearers and security personnel had thoroughly investigated these newcomers' backgrounds, they would always be suspect until they'd proven themselves. He walked toward the table where they had been plucking a brace of fowls, the feathers sticking to their hands and dusting the table like snowflakes. “You think my actions are extreme? That I'm being overly cautious?”

“No, my lord.” Both young men shook their heads, but the look they had exchanged said otherwise.

“Listen, all of you,” he said, addressing the entire kitchen staff. “In just a few months the king's official representatives will arrive from every satrapy and province in the empire, and the annual round of banquets will begin. The month-long event could easily turn into a security nightmare if we let down our
guard. The Persian court has a history of intrigue and power struggles and assassinations. One tiny slip, such as accepting a shipment from an unknown deliveryman, and King Artaxerxes' life could be in danger.” Indeed, as his cupbearer, Nehemiah would also forfeit his life.

He gazed at the cooks and assistants and scullery lads until satisfied by their submissive cowering that they understood the seriousness of today's breach. “Back to work, then. The king expects to be fed on time.”

Nehemiah stayed at his post in the kitchen for the remainder of the morning, watching over the kitchen staff as they finished preparing the midday meal. When King Artaxerxes called for his food, Nehemiah ascended the winding stone stairs to the dining room along with the waiters who carried and served the lavish meal. He bore the king's flask of wine and golden drinking
rhyton
himself, his presence assuring Artaxerxes that every morsel of food, every drop of wine had been carefully inspected. If the king so desired, Nehemiah stood ready to taste each dish and sip from every flask before the king did.

After the meal, Nehemiah was on his way down to the kitchen again when one of the other cupbearers met him on the stairs. “There's a man at the Gate House asking to see you.”

“Do you know who it is? Not that hapless clerk I fired this morning, begging for his job back, is it?”

“No, my lord. I've never seen him before. But judging by his clothing and appearance, he's a Jew.”

Nehemiah wondered if his fellow cupbearer or any of the other security personnel he worked with knew that he was also a Jew. Probably not. Like them, Nehemiah wore the uniform of the palace staff.

“I'd better go and see who it is. Take over my duties until I get back.” He strode through the palace corridors and across the open plateau to the Gate House, annoyed at the disruption. Whoever the visitor was, he would have to pass a security check
before being allowed into the palace and citadel. Nehemiah swung open the door, prepared for an argument—and there stood his brother. Was he seeing things? He gave a cry of joy before swiftly crossing the room and sweeping him off the floor in a massive bear hug.

“Hanani! What in the world are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Jerusalem!”

Hanani gave a gasp of laughter. “Put me down, you crazy man! I can't breathe!”

Nehemiah set him down again, laughing as he held his brother at arm's length. “Let me look at you! I can't believe you're here! I didn't think we'd ever see each other again.”

“Nor did I,” Hanani said, wiping his eyes.

“How long has it been, my brother? Twelve years?”

“Nearly thirteen.”

Nehemiah embraced him again, then said, “I should have gone to Jerusalem with you and Ephraim. As soon as you left, I regretted my decision and wished I had chosen differently.” He remembered praying all night as he'd agonized over whether or not to join Rebbe Ezra's caravan and move to Judah with his brothers. At the time, he felt that he owed Mordecai a great debt.

“You look wonderful, Hanani!” he said. “The Promised Land must agree with you. I can't tell you how happy I am to see you! How is Ephraim?”

“He's well. Married with a baby on the way.”

“And you? Are you married?”

A grin lit up Hanani's face. “Yes. My beautiful wife has given me a little son and a daughter. What about you, my brother?”

Nehemiah waved away the question. “Too busy to look for a wife. But tell me, why are you here? You haven't decided to return, have you?”

“No, not at all,” Hanani said. “I'm an aide with the official delegation from Judah. I work as a scribe, like Abba did.”

Nehemiah's smile faded at the mention of their father. For
the second time that day, he felt a stab of grief as he relived the night when their father opened the door to his assassin. “Do you remember Abba, Hanani? You were only four.”

“Not very well. I remember that he was very tall with thick black hair—like you. And I remember his laughter, booming like thunder, and how he used to throw me up in the air and catch me.”

They both fell silent for a moment. “So, why are you here?” Nehemiah asked again. “Your delegation is a few months early for the tribute ceremonies.”

“We came to present our report to King Artaxerxes ahead of time and request a reduction in tribute. The drought in Judah has lasted for two growing seasons. Our people are suffering. And we're required to pay taxes to the provincial treasury, too.”

“Is Governor Ezra with you?”

“No. He retired as Judah's governor a few years ago. The nobles and district leaders convinced him that he had accomplished his work as our leader and teacher. He's writing and studying now, using his vast knowledge to compile a history of our people. I understand it's something he has always wanted to do.”

They had remained standing all this time, and now Nehemiah felt restless to be on the move again, unable to contain the nervous energy that fueled him and kept him working from before dawn until long after sunset. “Would you like to walk with me, Hanani? I'll show you the palace courtyards and the
apadna
, where the king holds banquets for several thousand people. They're quite impressive.”

“Maybe tomorrow. I was hoping you would come with me to meet the others. There's so much to tell you.”

“Now? I would love to hear about life in the Promised Land but . . .” Nehemiah glanced around for a moment, wondering if he could spare a few hours this afternoon. He scrolled through a mental list of his responsibilities before deciding. “Very well. I'll come with you. But I can't stay long.”

Hanani led the way out through the King's Gate and across the bridge to the city. “I had forgotten how imposing the citadel of Susa is,” Hanani said, glancing over his shoulder at the towering palace. “Some of the others who've never been here before were awestruck by the sheer size of everything. They said they feel like ants beside all these soaring buildings.”

“That's exactly the king's intention,” Nehemiah said. “Such grandeur is a fitting backdrop for the throne of the Persian Empire.”

“Yes, but does the king understand the true cost? His taxes are crippling us. Many of the people in his empire are destitute, including our fellow Jews in Judah.”

“Truly? I had no idea.” Nehemiah wondered if living here in Susa all his life had blinded him to the empire's problems. If he had returned to Jerusalem with his brothers, would he also view such Persian opulence with different eyes?

“So, what's your job now, in such a splendid palace?” Hanani asked, breaking into his thoughts as they walked.

“I'm King Artaxerxes' cupbearer.”

“Really!” Hanani halted in the middle of the crowded street, causing several pedestrians to bump into them.

“Yes, really. It's my duty to ensure the safety of his food and wine. But the job involves much more than that. The king's cupbearers are responsible for many other aspects of security in the citadel besides the food. As you can imagine, Artaxerxes is extremely concerned about safety after what happened to his father.” He paused, then added, “Of all people, you and I can understand that. Right, Hanani?”

“Of course. And I'm very proud of my big brother. Tell me,” Hanani said as he continued walking through the busy streets, “how did you rise in prominence to such an important job? When I left, you were working as a government aide.”

“King Artaxerxes assigned court security to Mordecai when he learned that, years ago, he had uncovered a plot against the
king's father and was honored for it. He asked Mordecai to find and employ trustworthy court attendants to handle security in the citadel. I didn't want the job at first. I couldn't see how I could serve the Almighty One as a cupbearer. But Mordecai convinced me that God needed men of prayer and faith in all occupations, that a cupbearer held a position of even greater trust than a palace guard. And he was right.”