The Strength of His Hand (23 page)
“In the meantime, let’s both pray that Shebna is right—that his dream of a coalition of nations will work. And that Assyria wouldn’t dare attack such a united front.”
T
HE ASSYRIAN WARRIOR
Iddina sat in Emperor Sennacherib’s palace in Nineveh and stared at the remains of the banquet in front of him. Neither the magnificent new hall nor the lavish meal he had just eaten could subdue his fierce restlessness and discontent. In fact, the scenes of battle and conquest carved in bas-relief on the walls around him had further inflamed his resentment. The emperor had promoted Iddina to four-star general, one of only three in the empire. The other two generals sat at the emperor’s table with him. But Iddina had never tested his new commission. After several tedious years of peace, he longed for the intoxication of battle, the feel of the hard ground beneath him at night, the sound of killing, the scent of death.
One panel of wall carvings had particularly disturbed him. It showed King Jehu of Israel bowing in submission before the Assyrian emperor Shalmaneser. Seven years ago Iddina had led the destruction and deportation of Israel, but he had never recaptured his Israelite slave girl, Jerusha. The knowledge of his failure, the knowledge that she had beaten him at his own game still haunted him and filled him with rage. He had unfinished business with Israel and with her sister nation, Judah. They worshiped the same god. And Iddina’s life would be incomplete until he saw every man, woman, and child in both nations slaughtered and their god defeated.
“How many men have you killed, Iddina?”
He turned to the high priest of Assur, seated across from him, and wondered how the man had come so close to reading his thoughts.
“Only men? Or women and children, as well?”
“Human beings. A dozen? A hundred? A thousand?”
Iddina decided to use the priest’s curiosity to amuse himself and relieve his boredom. He leaned closer. “Do you want to know how many I’ve killed with my own two hands? How much blood has stained my fingers? Or how many deaths I’ve ordered—how many I’m responsible for?”
“With your own two hands.” The priest looked fascinated and a little afraid.
Iddina smiled for the first time all evening. He fed off others’ fear; it nourished him like food and water. He laid his palms flat on the table in front of him, as if putting his hands on display.
“In my youth as a warrior the scribes always paid me well when they took their head count. I usually averaged two hundred to three hundred skulls in every battle. And I’ve been in hundreds of battles. My best count was four hundred sixty-three in a single battle against the Elamites.” The priest leaned closer, waiting. His breathing had quickened. “Of course, as the emperor promoted me through the ranks, I saw less hand-to-hand combat. He placed me in charge of the tortures for a while—impaling, beheading, flaying people alive. I tortured hundreds of people to death during those years. I’ve held the severed heads of countless enemy generals in these hands and stared into their vacant eyes, knowing they would never threaten me again.”
“Don’t you ever wonder about the spirits of all the people you’ve slaughtered?” the priest asked. “What a mighty host of demons those thousands of souls would make if they came back to you for revenge!
Yet I notice you wear no amulets or fetishes against these spirits.”
Iddina smiled. He was aware of the stillness at the table as everyone leaned closer to listen. Even Emperor Sennacherib, who had adorned his own neck and arms and ankles with charms against the spirit world, listened with interest. Iddina basked in his superiority over these childishly superstitious people.
“No, I’m not afraid of the power of demons,” Iddina answered. He savored the look of shocked surprise on everyone’s face.
“Those are brave words,” the priest said, “from a man who has killed—what would you say—more than five thousand people? I’m surprised you can sleep at night.”
Iddina waited until the nervous laughter around the table died away. “I was only a child when my father died on a battlefield somewhere, fighting for Emperor Tiglath-Pileser. He was never buried, and I spent my youth paying homage to dozens of demigods and demons, hoping to ward off disaster, hoping my father’s abandoned spirit wouldn’t avenge himself by cursing my family with illness or some other catastrophe. I feared that he would glide into our home at night disguised as a demon to terrify my family for not sending him to the spirit world with a proper burial. I built altars in my youth, made offerings of fruit and grain and meat. Sometimes the gods ate better than I did. Appeasing them was my foremost concern. My arms and neck were weighed down with all the fetishes and amulets I’d created.”
Iddina paused to sip his wine, and the priest grew impatient with the delay. “Then why do you no longer fear the spirit world?”
“Because now I have defeated hundreds of gods in battle.” The priest gasped. Iddina smiled in satisfaction. With the high priest silenced, Emperor Sennacherib himself continued the questioning.
“Are you a god yourself, Iddina, that you claim to have conquered gods?”
“Not at all. In fact, Lord Emperor, you have slain gods, as well.”
“Really. If this is flattery, Iddina, I like it. Explain yourself.”
“It’s simple. If you’ve conquered a nation, you’ve defeated their gods. Those deities weren’t able to protect their people from you. You’ve proven that you are more powerful than those gods were. You needn’t fear them.”
“Then in your view, I’m not only emperor over all the nations but emperor over their gods, as well?”
“Yes. When people are terrified, they turn to their gods for help. If those gods can’t save them, they surrender to whatever terrifies them: you, my lord. You’ve become their god.”
Sennacherib appeared pleased. “I like that. But tell me, Iddina— which gods
do
you fear?”
Iddina glanced at the priest. “I worship Assur, ruler of the gods.
But I no longer fear him. I’ve earned Assur’s favor by the countless human sacrifices I’ve made in his name and by the many lesser deities I’ve defeated for him. Dozens of gods have bowed to Assur’s sword, and I’ve brought their conquered images to his temple and laid them at his feet.”
Sennacherib stood and applauded softly. “Well said. But tell me, General Iddina—have you had your fill of killing men and conquering gods?”
“On the contrary, there are still a few gods whose images aren’t resting in Assur’s temple. As for killing men—” Iddina paused, fingering his wine goblet—“what motivates me isn’t seeing their blood on my hands, but seeing the fear in their eyes. Over the years I’ve grown bored with mere physical torture. Mental torture is so much more satisfying. The human mind can imagine far greater fear and pain than my two hands could ever inflict. I prefer to engage in warfare of the mind. I like to study my enemies carefully before my army marches, then exploit their superstitions and fears until they bow at my feet.”
“Interesting,” Sennacherib murmured. “Very interesting.” He slowly paced the length of the table, deep in thought. Iddina could feel the tension in the room. When the emperor finally came to a stop, all eyes were on him. “I’ve invited everyone to this banquet tonight for one reason: to announce that we’re going to war.”
Iddina sat forward on the edge of his seat, resisting the urge to cheer.
“As you know,” Sennacherib continued, “my father spent six years building his capital here in Nineveh, giving our empire six years of peace. But he ignored some of the distant nations in his empire and now they’ve grown restive and rebellious. I’ve invited my three generals to attend tonight so I could choose one of them to be commander in chief of my armed forces. I favored you for this job,
Iddina.” He gazed at him levelly. “We worked together closely under my father, and I admire your ruthlessness.”
Iddina battled to conceal his growing excitement. He wanted this job badly.
Sennacherib smiled. “But after hearing your views on conquering the gods, Iddina, I’ve changed my mind.”
Hidden beneath the table, Iddina squeezed his hands into fists until his fingernails bit into his flesh. His heart hammered with rage, and he wanted to snap the high priest’s neck for goading him into sharing so much about himself. He slowly relaxed his fists and cracked his knuckles, one by one, imagining they were the bones in the priest’s neck.
“No, Iddina, you won’t be my commander, because I believe I’ve found an even better job for you: my Rabshekah. I’d like a spokesman who fears neither man nor god.”
The emperor’s propaganda chief ! Instilling fear and suspicion, destroying minds! Iddina broke into a slow smile. “It will be a pleasure, Your Majesty.”
“Good. I have already consulted with the priests, and the omens for war have been favorable. First, I will attack Babylon. They are the real power behind all the unrest in my empire, so they will be the first to feel my wrath. I will lead my entire armed forces against them in a surprise attack, striking so swiftly and ruthlessly that they won’t have time to call on their feeble allies for help.”
The emperor’s fierce hatred for the Babylonians was well known, and it didn’t surprise Iddina to learn that he planned to eliminate them first. Iddina imagined the splendor of watching a quarter of a million men march into battle, the excitement of choreographing a relentless siege and attack, the thrill of witnessing mass genocide. He quivered with anticipation.
“When Babylon is finished,” Sennacherib continued, “I will destroy her allies one by one and watch my new slaves carry their pitiful gods back here to Assyria. I’ve decided to save Egypt for last. It is a prize that has eluded my ancestors, and I want it in my empire.”
One of the other generals asked for permission to speak. “Aren’t you afraid the Egyptian army will come to the defense of her allies? Together they could assemble an army nearly as large as ours.”
“That’s doubtful. Babylon holds this alliance together, in spite of the tricks she has employed to make me think otherwise. Without her, I predict the others will quickly surrender, especially once my new Rabshekah begins waging his warfare of the mind on them. That will clear the path to Egypt—and to world domination!”
As they drank a toast to their imminent conquests, Iddina studied the battle scenes carved on Sennacherib’s walls once more, especially the one in which Israel’s king bowed in submission. He could hardly wait to bring revenge on the Hebrews in retaliation for the girl who had escaped his grasp. She undoubtedly thought her god had delivered her from him. But he would soon defeat all of her people and carry her god to Assur’s temple in Nineveh. Only then would Iddina be certain that he had won at last.
The emperor held his glass high. “To victory!” he cried.
“To victory!” Iddina echoed.
After all that Hezekiah had so faithfully done,
Sennacherib king of Assyria came and invaded
Judah. He laid siege to the fortified cities,
thinking to conquer themfor himself.
_________
2
C
HRONICLES 32 : 1
T
HE KING OF BABYLON PACED
the length of the wharf, casting anxious glances at the cargo ship that stood loaded and waiting beside the canal. Only the sounds of croaking frogs and lapping water disturbed the warm, muggy night. As King Merodach-Baladan retraced his steps, scanning the darkened streets, the ship’s captain approached him warily.
“Your Majesty, we should cast off soon if you want to reach Basra before dawn.”
“Yes, yes—of course. Just a few more minutes. My officials should be here any— Ah, here they are now.” Torch lights bobbed toward him in the darkness, and as the figures drew closer, he recognized the pale, worried faces of his secretary of state and prime minister. “I’ll be ready to cast off in five minutes, Captain. Kindly tell my officials that I wish to speak with them alone.”
Merodach-Baladan moved into the shadows at the end of the wharf and waited. A few moments later, the two men edged nervously toward him. “Over here, gentlemen,” he called.
“Your Majesty?”
“Yes, it’s me. I’m sorry for all this secrecy in the dark of night, but as you’ll soon see, it was necessary.”
“What’s going on?”
“And why are you dressed like a peasant?”
The king glanced down at his coarse tunic, stained with sweat beneath the armpits, threadbare at the elbows. He leaned against a piling and sighed. “Because I’ve gambled and lost. I’m sorry, gentlemen, but our dream is finished.”
The prime minister’s melancholy eyes filled with apprehension. “What gamble? What on earth are you talking about?”
“The Assyrians are marching toward Babylon. They have more than a quarter of a million troops.”
The prime minister swayed as if his knees might give way.
“Obviously we’re not ready to withstand such a massive invasion,” the king continued, “so I have no choice but to surrender and submit to them.”
“What about our allies?” the secretary of state asked, his voice shaking. “Have you summoned them to help us?”
