Word Fulfilled, The (17 page)

Jonah scanned the eyes that bore into him from every face in the Council. He prayed for the words and the strength to deliver them. “Sons of Abraham, I bid you
shalom
from the land of our forefathers,
ha eretz
, the Land of Our Promise. Many of you have heard of Israel’s recent resurgence—how she has reclaimed lost land and thrown off the yoke of oppression under which we have suffered for so long.”

Most heads bobbed in affirmation.

Jonah continued. “I am the man who, six years ago, delivered
Adonai’s
message of deliverance to King Jeroboam at his court in Samaria.”

The murmurings rose again, excitement more evident in this round of whispers.

“Yes, I heard of a prophet.”

“Can it be the same?”

“It must be!”

“I have been given another message from
Adonai
through his angel. This time it is not for Samaria, but for Nineveh.” He paused. “I wish the message was as joyous this time as it was six years ago.”

His last comment cut the murmurs short. Brows furrowed, and the men leaned forward.

“The angel told me to preach repentance to the great city of Nineveh, for its evil has come up before the Lord.”

Not a man moved.

“If the city does not repent of its evil ways in forty days, complete destruction will befall it at the hands of
Elohim Adonai
, the Lord God.”

Jonah fell silent and waited for the reaction. He did not have to wait long.

With a single voice, the Council burst into shouts of dismay and disbelief.

Jonah stood his ground.

Hulalitu shifted her stance beside the spice-seller’s booth. She clutched her basket to her stomach and strained to hear through the hubbub. The cluster of men who sat nearby babbled and waved their hands in the air. The hubbub drowned out the words of the stranger who stood before them.

The
naditu
arrived on her weekly trip to the marketplace just as the group gathered near the booth she now shopped. She wore a plain cloak over the distinctive priestess’s tunic as she always did in public. Hulalitu detested the sidelong glances of passersby and the nervous looks the temple garb sometimes drew from the laity of the city. The common garment was an easy solution, although the other priestesses at the temple would not approve of the disguise. Service to Mother Ishtar was an honor, and most of the
naditu
priestesses reveled in the attention their appearance drew. But the disguise would serve her doubly today, as she knew her tunic would stifle the men’s conversation. She edged closer.

The white-haired man in the center of attention was curious enough, but what drew her attention was the unfamiliar language. People from many lands had settled in Nineveh, but seldom did they gather publicly in large groups and speak in their native tongues. What drew her suspicion most, though, was the young man seated next to the speaker. It was the man who had tried to steal Ianna away from the temple that night, the man with silly notions of a strange god. He had confused her precious Ianna, brought her to tears. Hulalitu clenched her teeth. What was his name? Oh yes, hadn’t the old man on the steps of Nabu’s temple called him “Jamin”—the same old man who led this gathering? If Jamin was part of this, nothing good could come of it. He would bear watching. They all would.

By this time Hulalitu had reached the outer ring of men. She stayed in the shadow of the wall, but now she could hear more clearly. She frowned again at the foreign tongue.

A man seated near her jumped to his feet and stalked to a spot only few paces away. He leaned against the wall with his head bowed. An idea grabbed her. It was improper for a woman to speak unbidden to a man in public, but she had to try. There was nothing to lose.

“Please forgive me, sir. May I have a moment?”

He jerked his head. “What is it, woman? Why do you approach me?” His face was dark.

“It is with the best intentions, please, sir. I am not here to proposition you. I have only a question, and I will leave you.” She kept her head bowed in respect and tugged the collar of her cloak closer to her neck. It would be disastrous for him to glimpse her tunic, as he would surely take her for a temple prostitute.

He narrowed his eyes. “Very well, what is it?”

“Please, sir, I hear the voice of your speaker, but do not understand the language. What could he be saying that distresses you so?”

“Him?” The man gestured with a thumb over his shoulder. “Hah! The end of the world, that’s what!”

She lowered her voice. “I don’t understand.”

The man snorted. “He fancies himself a prophet. He preaches destruction upon the city at the hand of the God of Israel.”

Hulalitu’s downturned face warmed, but she kept her voice even. “Destruction? From a god of Israel? What does a god of Israel have to do with Nineveh?”

He turned to face her. “Not a god, woman,
the
God.
Elohim Adonai
, the God of Abraham. If He determines to destroy, He will destroy. Make no mistake about that.”

It was all Hulalitu could do to subdue her anger. How arrogant for a foreign god to think he could have his way in Assyria with impunity! She forced calm into her voice. “But what of the gods of Assyria? What of Ashur, Marduk, or Ishtar? Surely they will not allow this to happen.”

The man snorted.
“Adonai
is the only true God, the God of all nations, of those who recognize Him as well as those who do not. Assyrian gods are nothing but stone idols. They are powerless before Him.”

Hulalitu nearly lost control. She came a breath away from slapping the man for his blasphemy. Instead she backed away, her head still bowed, her voice raspier. “Thank you, sir. I leave you now.”

The man turned and strode back to the Council.

Hulalitu hurried to the far side of the spice booth to collect herself. She gripped her basket until a reed snapped against her whitened knuckles. The furious priestess took a deep breath and strode across the marketplace toward the Tabiltu River bridge. When she reached the far side, she glared back over her shoulder at the assembly. She took a hard look at the strange prophet of this arrogant god. But she took a harder look at the young man who now stood at his side.

Twenty-two

Kal
ḫ
u, the Royal Observatory

Twenty-fifth Day of Simanu

akir focused his gaze through the observation hole in the roof. He shook his head, then bent back over his lunar charts and stared at their symbols and notations in the flickering light of a small oil lamp. He shifted through several clay tablets until he found one marked at the top with the symbol of the Moon God, Sin. His finger traced the wedged glyphs that forecasted the moon’s trajectory and phase. It stopped at a symbol halfway down the right column. He lifted his head and peered back through the sky hole. His bushy eyebrows twitched.

“Urdu, come here a moment, will you?”

The junior astrologer slipped to his master’s side. “I am here.”

Zakir pointed to a small wooden board on a low table, its wax inlay half-filled with pressed notations. “You annotated the log that Sin rose pure this evening at the expected time.”

“I did, Master Zakir.”

“Of course you did, boy. It is right here. But look now.” Zakir stepped from the circle etched onto the floor beneath the sky hole.

Urdu took his mentor’s place and peered upward. He squinted to adjust his eyes, then arched a puzzled brow.

“What do you see, Urdu?”

“Sin has faded. It appears his face has grown dim. I also see . . .” Urdu concentrated on the orb. “A dark cleft on his side.” The apprentice lowered his eyes. “He has lost his roundness.”

Zakir tapped his finger on the Simanu tablet. “A dark cleft, yes. How do you explain that?”

Urdu shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve memorized the chart, as you instructed. My annotation was correct. Sin rose when, where, and how he should have. I don’t know why . . .” Urdu’s voice faltered. He returned his gaze to the observation portal.

Zakir nodded. “There is a pattern to the dimming of Sin. No need to worry. You will learn it. However, it is not always seen well, so it is not always predictable. Rarely does his face go dark, any part of it. When it does, we watch for other
ittu
.”

Urdu dropped his startled eyes to his master.
“Ittu
? You mean omens? Could this mean something?”

Zakir replaced the Simanu tablet. “By itself, it might signify nothing. But if other signs follow, we must be vigilant.”

“But his face is not dark, merely dimmed. Perhaps it is part of Sin’s course.”

“True, Sin has his course and he does dim. However, tonight’s shadow is unpredicted. And do not ignore the dark cleft. As you know, Simanu is the month of Sin. He should be strong; he should stand proud in the skies. That he does not may mean he is displeased.”

Urdu fidgeted. He had aspired to be an astrologer since he was a young boy. The art of reading the skies to discern the will of the gods had always fascinated him. Honor awaited in the king’s court for the man who could interpret signs of the deities and recognize their moods, which he knew were varied and unpredictable. Now, faced with his first possible
ittu
, he found himself unnerved.

“If he is . . . displeased, then what do we do? How do we determine what causes his displeasure?” Urdu was visibly shaken.

Zakir chuckled and shrugged. “We never know the source of the gods’ displeasure; we only read the signs that tell us they are displeased. Theirs is not to reveal themselves to us. We are mere mortals. Perhaps they argue among themselves. Perhaps someone has transgressed a vow, insulted a priest or priestess, or failed to provide for a god’s needs at his shrine. Who knows?”

“Then what do we do? There must be some reasoning in this.”

“Reasoning? Why?” Zakir glanced up at his apprentice. “The gods need no reason. They are the gods. Here, let me show you something.” Zakir turned to a row of earthenware urns against the wall. The rolled ends of new leather scrolls protruded from the mouth of each urn. He scanned along the row, then pulled a short scroll from the fourth pot. “I think . . . yes, here it is.”

The old astrologer loosened the jute binding and spread the parchment over the table. He mumbled as he ran his finger down the Aramaic characters stained into the hide. “This is from an old clay tablet—” He glanced up at his assistant. “I have asked Remuttu, the senior scribe and an old friend, to rewrite the old language records from the clay tablets into the new language on these parchments we have begun to receive from the west.” He held up the cured animal skin and tossed it lightly from hand to hand. “Much easier to handle than mud bricks, don’t you think?”

Urdu began to reply, but Zakir laid the parchment back down. “Such modern innovations.” He smiled and shook his head. “What will they think of next?”

The senior astrologer continued his search. “It is a prayer by a forgotten sage of an age long past. He mused, as you do, at the fickleness of the gods. His conclusion is here somewhere on this—yes, here it is. Let me read it to you.”

Urdu peered over the old man’s shoulder at the scroll. “I don’t recognize the writing.”

Zakir nodded, still squinting at the text. “It is new to me as well, so I must read slowly. Remuttu has instructed me in its use, but my mind is old. I do not grasp as well as I once did.”

Urdu smiled. He knew no man of any age in the entire land whose mind was as sharp as his mentor’s. He was certain Zakir would digest this new tongue with little effort. And he was not disappointed.

Zakir scratched his nose and began, “It’s entitled ‘Prayer to Every God’:

‘The transgression I have committed I do not know;

The sin I have done I do not know;

The forbidden thing I have eaten I do not know;

The prohibited place on which I have set foot I do not know;

The god whom I know or do not know has oppressed me;

I am troubled, I am overwhelmed, I cannot see.

Man is dumb; he knows nothing;

Mankind, everyone that exists—what does he know?

Whether he is committing sin or doing good, he does not even know.’”

Urdu opened his mouth, but Zakir silenced him with an upraised finger. “And farther down there is more from a similar tablet. It is . . . here:

‘I wish I knew that these things were pleasing to one’s god!

What is proper to oneself is an offense to one’s god,

What in one’s own heart seems despicable is proper to one’s god.

Who can learn the reasoning of the gods in heaven?

Who could understand the intentions of the god of the depths?

Where might human beings have learned the way of a god?’”

Urdu leaned back as the old man straightened. Zakir rerolled the scroll, tied off the twine, and returned it to the urn.

The young astrologer frowned and stroked his wispy beard. “If there is no way to discern the cause of a god’s distemper, what is the value in what we do?”

Zakir chuckled. “My son, it makes what we do all the more valuable. If one knew the source of a god’s displeasure, he could ensure he does not arouse it by doing or saying only the right and proper things. But, as one does not know such things, he can only seek to appease the offended god when the need arises. To know when the need arises is the job of those such as the
muhhu,
who seeks communication with the gods, the
baru
, who reads the entrails of sacrificed animals for good and bad signs, and—most importantly, of course—we
tupsharri
, who are the first to see omens in deviations from the normal cycles of the heavens.”

Urdu did not look convinced.

Zakir continued, “And there are many others. There are those who read signs in the earth—”

“I understand, Master. I know of these seers.” Urdu knit his brow. “But what good is an omen if we do not know which god is offended, or what has occurred to offend him?”

Zakir waggled his finger. “The god and the offense are not important. What is important is the king.”

Urdu’s brow wrinkled again. “The king?”

“Of course the king, boy. The dispositions of the gods reflect on the king and his court. The legitimacy of his reign is measured by divine affirmation of his decisions and his plans. We seek good omens that affirm the king, as well as bad omens that portend problems for him. That is why we are in the court’s employ.” The elder
tupsharru
took his apprentice by the shoulders and gazed into his eyes. “King Adad-nirari relies on us—you and me, Urdu—to ensure his reign is stable and his legacy strong. We watch, we advise, and we warn. If we do that well, our job is secure. It is up to the king’s religious advisors to counsel him on which gods to appease and how to appease them.”

Urdu nodded, and Zakir released his shoulders. The senior astrologer moved back to the observation circle and peered through the cleft. “So, now, back to where we were. What action do we take based upon what we have seen this night?” Zakir glanced over at his apprentice.

The young astrologer thought for a moment. “You said we have too little to act upon with only the dimming of Sin, although the cleft in his face is more troubling.” He raised an eyebrow. “We watch for more signs?”

Zakir smiled. “You learn quickly, boy. More dangerous than delaying an advisement is rushing one.”

Urdu nodded, but he still couldn’t shake the uneasiness in the back of his mind.