Pharaoh (2 page)

They turned south towards Hebron, with the intention of reaching Beersheba and from there escaping into Egypt. King Zedekiah was followed by about 1,500 men, all those who were still capable of bearing arms.

But Ethan’s troops, exhausted and famished as they were, could not hold out for long under the counterattack of the Babylonians, so numerous, well fed and well armed; they were soon routed and massacred. Many of them were taken alive and tortured to death. One, his will broken by agonizing pain, revealed Zedekiah’s plan, and Nebuchadnezzar was immediately informed.

He was sleeping in his pavilion on a scarlet-draped bed, surrounded by his concubines, when an officer sent by his commander, Nebuzaradan, awoke him.

The King got out of bed and called his eunuchs to dress him. The officer was instructed to bring his armour and prepare the war chariot.

‘Call my guard,’ he ordered. ‘I shall not wait here for Nebu-zaradan’s return. Tell him to go directly to the valley of Hebron. I shall wait for him in Riblah.’

The officer bowed and left to attend to the King’s orders.

A short time later, Nebuchadnezzar left his pavilion and mounted his chariot. The charioteer cracked his whip and the entire squadron followed in a column, raising a dense cloud of dust.

Towards the west the clouds had dispersed and the pale light of dawn wavered in the sky. The song of the larks rose towards the sun as it slowly cleared the horizon. The Judaean prisoners were being impaled. Their commander, Ethan, in recognition of the great valour he had shown, was crucified.

W
HEN
K
ING
Z
EDEKIAH
reached the plain of Hebron, the sun had already climbed high in the sky. He sat in the shade of a palm tree to drink a little water and eat some bread and salted olives together with his men. His officers had gone off to look for horses, mules and camels in the stables of the city, to enable them to cover ground more quickly.

When he had eaten, the king turned to the army commander. ‘How long do you think it will take my servants to find enough animals to get us to Beersheba? My sons are exhausted and they cannot walk much longer.’

The commander began to answer, but suddenly fell still, listening to a distant sound like thunder.

‘Do you hear it too, My King?’

‘It’s the storm that was approaching Jerusalem last night.’

‘No, sire, those clouds are over the sea now. This is not the voice of the storm . . .’

While he pronounced these words his face filled with dismay and terror as he spied the war chariots of Babylon at the top of the high plain that rose above the city.

‘My King,’ he cried, ‘all is lost. All we can do now is die like men with our swords in our hands.’

‘I will not die,’ said Zedekiah. ‘I have to save the throne of Israel and my sons. Bring me some horses, immediately, and have the army drawn up. The Lord will fight at your side and tonight you will join me, victorious, at the oasis of Beersheba. The queen mother and my wives will wait here. They will travel much more comfortably with you on your journey to Beersheba.’

The commander did as he was ordered and drew up the army, but his men felt their knees buckle under as hundreds of chariots flew at them at great speed, as they saw the glittering blades protruding from the axles which would cut them to pieces. The ground trembled as if shaken by an earthquake and the air filled with the whinnies of thousands of horses and the din of bronze wheels.

Some of the soldiers looked back and caught sight of their King riding off, and shouted, ‘The King is escaping! The King is abandoning us!’

The army instantly scattered and broke up, the men running in every direction. The Babylonian warriors gave chase in their chariots as if they were hunting wild animals in the desert. They ran them through with their lances or pierced them with their arrows as if they were gazelles or antelopes.

The Babylonian commander, Nebuzaradan, watched and waited. Without warning, he swiftly took off after Zedekiah as the King of Judah fled on horseback with his sons, holding the youngest one tightly against his chest. Nebuzaradan raised his standard high as he rode and a group of chariots enlarged into a semicircle in response to his signal, abandoning the hunt to go after the runaways on the plain.

Zedekiah was soon surrounded and forced to stop. The Babylonian warriors brought him before Nebuzaradan, who had him put in chains, along with his sons. They were given nothing to eat or drink, and were not allowed to rest. The King was dragged through the plain littered with the corpses of his soldiers; he was forced to march alongside those who had been captured and taken prisoner, and was made to face the scorn and hate they felt for him because he had abandoned them.

The column of chariots turned north towards Riblah, where King Nebuchadnezzar awaited them. Zedekiah was brought before the King with his sons. The oldest, Eliel, tried to console little Amasai, who was wailing desperately, his face smeared with snot, dust and tears.

Zedekiah prostrated himself with his face to the ground. ‘I implore you, Great King. My inexperience and weakness made me fall prey to the promises and the threats of the King of Egypt and I betrayed your trust. Do with me what you will, but spare my sons. They are innocent children. Take them to Babylon with you. Allow them to grow in the light of your splendour and they will serve you faithfully.’

Prince Eliel cried out, ‘Get up, Father! Rise, O King of Israel. Do not soil your forehead in the dust! We do not fear this tyrant’s rage. Do not humiliate yourself for us.’

The King of Babylon sat in the shade of a sycamore on a cedar-wood throne, his feet resting on a silver stool. His beard, curled in ringlets, fell to his chest and on his head he wore a tiara set with precious stones.

It was hot, but the King was not sweating. Though a breeze arose from time to time his beard and his hair and even his clothing were as still as a statue’s. The King of Jerusalem lay at his feet with his brow in the dust but Nebuchadnezzar’s gaze was fixed on the horizon, as if he were sitting alone in the middle of the desert.

He said nothing, nor did he give any signal, but his servants moved as if he had spoken, as if he had given them precise orders.

Two of them grabbed Zedekiah by the arms and lifted him, and a third seized his hair from behind so that he could not hide his face. Another took Prince Eliel, dragged him in front of his father and forced the boy to his knees, pinning his arms behind him and planting a foot in the small of his back. Not a sigh escaped the young prince; he begged for no pity. He pressed his lips together as the executioner approached him, brandishing his sword, but he did not close his eyes. And his eyes were still open when his head, severed from his body, rolled to his father’s feet.

Zedekiah, crushed in horror, was overcome by a convulsive shuddering, swamped in a bloody sweat which dripped from his forehead and his eyes and ran down his neck. A deranged, uncontrollable hiccuping rose from his gut and his eyes wheeled around in their sockets, as if trying to escape the sight of that motionless trunk pouring and pouring out blood and drenching the dust. The desperate howl of young Amasai tore through his soul and his flesh, as Nebuchadnezzar’s servants took the second of his sons, Prince Achis.

He was little more than a child, but the sight of that abomination had tempered his soul like steel, or perhaps the Lord God of Israel Himself was holding His hand over that innocent head. The executioner’s sabre swung down on his neck as well, and his body collapsed, his blood mixing with that of his brother.

Amasai was too small to be decapitated and so the king’s servant slashed the boy’s throat like a lamb’s sacrificed on the altar on the first day of Pesach. The blade turned his wailing into a gurgle and his small lifeless limbs paled in the dust. His lips turned purple and his eyes, still full of tears, grew glassy and dull as life fled his body.

Zedekiah, drained of his voice and his strength, seemed to crumple to the ground, but then suddenly, with an abrupt burst of energy, he sprang from the hands of his guards and, grabbing a knife from one of their belts, rushed at Nebuchadnezzar. The sovereign did not move; he remained immobile on his cedar-wood throne, with his hands resting on its arms, while his servants seized Zedekiah and tied him to the trunk of a palm tree. The executioner approached, grabbed his hair with one hand to pull his head fast against the tree and with the dagger in his other hand gouged out both of his eyes.

Zedekiah was engulfed in a red flame and then sank into endless darkness. As consciousness abandoned him, he remembered the words of the prophet. He realized that from then on, he would walk in a place infinitely more horrifying than death and that never again, as long as he lived, would he be able to feel tears running down his cheeks.

King Nebuchadnezzar – his will having been carried out – had Zedekiah put in chains and began the journey to Babylon.

T
HE PROPHET
reached Riblah the next night. He travelled little-known paths to succeed in crossing enemy lines. As he journeyed through the night, he saw the maimed corpses of the soldiers of Israel impaled on sharp poles. Ethan’s body was hanging from a cross, covered by a flock of crows and surrounded by starving dogs that had bared his bones up to his knees.

The prophet’s soul was already filled to the brim with this horror when he reached Riblah, but when he saw the mangled and unburied bodies of the young princes, and when he learned that the king had been forced to witness their suffering before his eyes were put out, he sank into the dust and gave himself over to despair. In that atrocious moment he could think only of the endless affliction that his people had always had to suffer for having been chosen by God. He wondered how the Lord could have placed so intolerable a burden on the shoulders of Israel while other nations living in idolatry enjoyed infinite wealth, comfort and power. And these nations were the very instrument which God had chosen to punish the unfortunate descendants of Abraham.

And in that moment of profound discouragement the prophet was shaken by doubt. He thought that it would be better for his people to forget that they had ever existed, better to mix among the other peoples of the earth like a drop of water in the sea, to disappear rather than to suffer, generation after generation, the burning pain of the scourge of God.

He set off without having taken anything to eat or drink, his eyes filled with tears, his soul as dry as the desert stones.

N
EBUZARADAN
entered Jerusalem some days later with his troops and he settled into the royal palace with his officers, his eunuchs and his concubines. He had kept several of Zedekiah’s concubines found at Hebron or left behind in the palace for himself; others he had distributed among his men. The rest were sent to Babylon to be used as prostitutes in the Temple of Astarte. The queen mother, Hamutal, was treated with the honour her rank deserved and was housed near the Damascus Gate.

For more than a month, nothing happened: Nebuzaradan’s servants combed the city to hold a census of all the surviving inhabitants, taking special note of blacksmiths and farriers. The population began once again to hope, because the farmers were allowed to bring food into the city, which could be bought at high prices. No one, however, was allowed to leave, The gates were guarded day and night, and those few who had tried to escape by dropping ropes down the sides of the city walls were captured and crucified on the spot, so that they would serve as an example to the others.

The elders did not share in the people’s hope; they were certain the worst was yet to come. Inevitable punishment loomed frighteningly, unknown and menacing.

One night Baruch was wakened by a Temple servant. ‘Get up,’ the man told him. ‘The prophet wants you to meet him at the bean vendor’s house.’

Baruch understood the meaning of the message. His master had used it on other occasions when they needed to meet in isolated surroundings, protected from watchful eyes.

He dressed, put on his belt and walked through the dark, deserted city. He took a secret route, going through the houses of trusted friends or walking on the rooftops or along underground tunnels to avoid the patrols of Babylonian soldiers making their rounds.

He reached the assigned meeting place, a house falling into ruins that had belonged to a bean vendor at the time of King Jehoiakim and had then been abandoned because the man had no heirs.

The prophet emerged from the darkness. ‘May the Lord protect you, Baruch,’ he said. ‘Follow me. A long journey awaits us.’

‘But Rabbi,’ protested Baruch, ‘let me go home to get a knapsack and some provisions. I didn’t know we were leaving.’

The prophet said, ‘There’s no time, Baruch. We have to leave now. The ire of the King of Babylon is about to be unleashed on the city and on the Temple. Quickly, follow me.’

He swiftly crossed the street and started up a little road that led to the Temple. The immense building appeared in front of them as they turned into the square that flanked its western wall.

The prophet turned to make sure that Baruch was following, then set off down another little road which seemed to lead away from the square. He stopped at a doorstep and knocked. They heard scuttling within and then a man opened the door. The prophet greeted him and blessed him. The man took a lantern and led them down a hallway into the house.