“Take a good look, gentlemen,” he said, gesturing to the miniature city below. “You’re gazing at the birthplace of the New Babylonian Empire. In fact, you’re seated within her very womb, watching as she’s being formed.” He studied their sweating faces as they surveyed the view, then snapped his fingers to draw their attention back to himself.
“We’re closer to that miraculous day of birth now than when we stood here last New Year’s Day. And much closer than three years ago when I first conceived my New Babylonian Empire. Soon we will slay the Assyrian beast for good, and Babylon will rise to take her predestined place.”
“May almighty Bel, king of all gods, make it so!” the secretary of state shouted, leaping to his feet. He was a handsome, ambitious man with a tongue as smooth as his clean-shaven face. Merodach-Baladan enjoyed the secretary’s flattery and admired his zeal, but he kept the man close to his side, wary of what such charm might accomplish behind his back.
“And this time next year,” the king continued, “when we climb once again to Bel’s sanctuary to seek his blessings for a new year, we will be ready to begin the first stage of my master plan: attacking the weakened beast’s flank and bringing Assyria to her knees at last.”
“May the all-powerful Bel make it so!” the secretary declared again, and the other three men murmured in agreement.
“Civilization, gentlemen! That’s what the New Babylonian Empire will offer the world. Look at the order and beauty we have already accomplished here.” The king swept his hand in an arc, indicating the city below. “What nation wouldn’t gladly embrace such splendor after years of Assyrian brutality? Marching, conquering, oppressing. That’s all the Assyrians know. But now their empire is swiftly coming to an end, and Babylon will rise to take Assyria’s place with the glory and splendor of Shamash, god of the sun.”
The king’s military advisor raised his fist and shook it defiantly. “Death to the Assyrians! May they find no rest in the netherworld!”
“Hear! Hear!” the others echoed. The king gave them time to shout and cheer before continuing.
“For the next stage of my master plan, I’ll need time as my ally,” he said, pointing to the clock tower in the plaza at the base of the ziggurat. “The new Babylon isn’t quite ready to withstand an Assyrian assault, but if we can keep the beast at bay for another year—better yet, two years—we can use the time to make ourselves ready.
“In the meantime, we must continue to fan the flames of rebellion throughout the Assyrian empire.” He moved his hands back and forth as if pumping a bellows. “Our enemy has spread across too many fronts. They will never be able to quench a widespread rebellion. Look here . . .” He snapped his fingers again, and the prime minister hurried to produce a map, unrolling it awkwardly. The stiff parchment scraped against the stone as he struggled to spread it out on the bench and to prevent the curling ends from rolling up again.
“Here, let me help,” the commander said, pinning down two corners of the map. When it finally lay flat, the king proceeded.
“Emperor Sargon’s sudden death wounded Assyria, and she’s lying low, licking her wounds as Sargon’s son struggles for control. That’s the time to destroy a beast, when it’s injured and weak.”
“True, Your Majesty,” the prime minister said, “but that’s also the time when a beast will fight viciously—when it’s cornered and wounded.”
“You’re always a pessimist,” the military commander said. “Why do you have to look for problems instead of solving them?”
“We shall see,” Merodach-Baladan said. “We’ll see how much fight Sennacherib, son of Sargon, has left in him, especially when the nations he thought were his victims turn on him and become his foes.”
The king spread his broad hands over the map, slowly moving them from east to west, claiming the nations beneath them. “Elam will join with us . . . Moab . . . and Edom, too. The Philistines have rebelled before at Ashdod and will undoubtedly rally again. But we need Egypt on our side, and these nations in the middle. Syria. Israel. Judah. Is there a spark of nationalism left in any of them that we can fan into rebellion?”
The prime minister shook his head gloomily. “Syria and Israel are shattered. Their populations were deported and have disappeared into the empire.”
“And this one?” the king asked, looking down at the map. “Judah?”
“Now there lies somewhat of a mystery, Your Majesty,” the secretary of the treasury said, speaking for the first time. He was the youngest of the five men, newly appointed to office. His family controlled a vast international trading empire, and his experience and accounting skills were exceptional for a man his age.
“I enjoy solving mysteries,” the king said. “Proceed.”
“Well, Your Majesty, for centuries Judah has been a poor half-sister to Israel, living in her shadow. Yet within the last few years, Judah’s trade has suddenly blossomed. She has become a major player in regional commerce. Her economy is thriving while many of the nations around her are suffering because of the heavy Assyrian tribute.”
“Why is that?” the king interrupted. “Why does Judah thrive while the rest of us suffer?”
“Well, she used to be an Assyrian vassal, too, but the current king stopped paying tribute a dozen years ago. Now she’s prospering.”
“How did he get away with that?” the prime minister asked. “Why didn’t Sargon flatten him as he flattened all the other nations who rebelled?”
The treasurer shrugged. “I have no idea. That’s the mystery.”
“Maybe it’s because his capital sits protected on a steep mountain ridge,” the commander said. “Jerusalem isn’t as easy to conquer as Babylon.” He gestured to the broad, flat plains and grimaced.
“Does Judah have any allies?” the king asked. The advisors looked at each other, but no one seemed to know. “Well, whom did they support in the Ashdod rebellion a few years back?” he asked impatiently.
The commander shook his head. “I think they stayed neutral, Your Majesty. I don’t think they were involved at all.”
“Why not?” The king’s voice rose to a shout. “What is their king—a hermit? A coward?”
“He’s much too active in international trade to be a hermit,” the treasurer said.
“And he’s not a coward, or he’d be paying tribute like the rest of us,” the commander said.
“What’s this king’s name?”
There was a long pause.
“King . . . Hezi . . . Hezekiah!” the secretary of state said triumphantly. He looked enormously pleased with himself for being the first to recall the obscure king’s name.
“King Hezekiah,” Merodach-Baladan repeated. As he said the strange name aloud, he began formulating a plan that excited him. He located the tiny nation on the map and planted his index finger on it as if to hold it in place, under his control, while he mused out loud.
“Babylon is Assyria’s number-one enemy. We always have been. But suppose we convinced Assyria that they had another enemy to fear. Suppose Judah became the instigator of a revolution instead of us. If we could trick King Hezekiah into stirring up trouble, he could distract Assyria and buy us the time we need.”
“How are we going to do that?” the prime minister asked. “He didn’t join the last rebellion.”
“We’ll appeal to his pride. He isn’t joining a rebellion this time—he’s leading one. Babylon will seek his friendship on behalf of all the weaker, tribute-paying nations. We’ll send him gifts and ask how he has managed to rebel so successfully. Then we’ll beg him to help his suffering neighbors do the same.”
“A brilliant strategy, Your Majesty,” the secretary of state said, smiling broadly. “Cunning and brilliant.”
The prime minister frowned. “It won’t be an easy task to flatter an unknown king.”
“Then we’ll have to find out more about him, won’t we?” Merodach-Baladan said.
The young treasurer suddenly leaped to his feet. “Wait a minute, Your Ma
jesty! I have the answer! My brother sends caravans along those western trade routes. He’s the one who told me how prosperous Judah has become in the last few years. In fact, he traveled to Jerusalem last month and returned with an elaborate story about how Judah’s king was deathly ill and nearly died—”
“King Hezekiah was ill?”
“Yes. My brother said the entire city shut down for half a day so everyone could pray to the gods to heal him. He swears that not only was this king miraculously healed, but the gods gave him a sign of their divine favor—the sun moved backward across the sky!”
“The sun? That’s preposterous.”
“I know, Your Majesty. But my brother was there, and he swears he saw it. He said it was late in the afternoon and the shadows were growing long—then all of a sudden it was as bright as noonday and just as hot. And yet there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The effect only lasted a few moments; then it was late afternoon again. The whole city saw it, and the people started going crazy, wondering what the omen meant. My brother wanted me to check with your astrologers and see if they had observed it.”
“And had they?”
The treasurer shrugged sheepishly. “I never asked them. I didn’t want to sound like a fool. I would have dismissed the story altogether, except that my brother isn’t usually superstitious or quick to believe in omens. But he’s convinced he saw it. And so is everyone else in Jerusalem.”
“It’s too ridiculous,” the prime minister said. “We can’t use something so—”
“I don’t care if it’s true or not,” the king said. “The treasurer’s right. If the Judeans believe that it happened, then this miracle is the excuse we’re looking for. Babylon’s interest in heavenly signs is famous throughout the world. And what if our astrologers had seen it? Wouldn’t it be natural for us to pay homage to the man who caused it? Why wouldn’t we send gifts to him and request the friendship of such a wondrous king?”
“I like it!” the secretary of state said. “Do you think he’ll fall for it?”
“You have the smoothest tongue in all of Babylon,” the king said. “It will be your job to make sure he does. You’ll head up the delegation as my royal ambassador. But be careful how you approach him. Remember, we’re going as astrologers and diplomats. He mustn’t suspect our political motives. Let him be the one to stir up trouble by proposing an alliance.” He turned to the treasurer. “I want you to accompany him as deputy ambassador. Check out this king’s resources and wealth.”
“Your Majesty, I’d like to go along as an envoy, too,” the army commander said. “I want to see what kind of military power Hezekiah has that gives him the guts to rebel against Assyria.”
“Good idea. But go in civilian clothes, as an attaché. Make sure this king perceives us as friends and not as a threat. Assign some of your best scouts to pose as your servants, and have them take careful note of everything Hezekiah allows you to see—his fortifications, his armories, his personnel. Because when Assyria finally collapses after expending all her energy on a western rebellion, I may want to add Judah to my New Babylonian Empire—if there’s anything left of it.”
Merodach-Baladan scooped up the map, and it rolled into a scroll by itself as soon as the two men let go of it. “That’s enough business for one day,” he said, gesturing for his advisors to follow him into the temple. “Gentlemen, let’s celebrate the new year with the gods. May they bring about the final downfall of Assyria and, with the help of King Hezekiah, the birth of the New Babylonian Empire!”
11
Hezekiah heard about the mysterious Babylonian envoys and their caravan long before they knelt in front of him in the throne room. Messengers had raced to Jerusalem with news of their arrival as soon as the Babylonians crossed the border into Judean territory. By the time the procession passed through Jerusalem’s gates, the entire city had come to a standstill as people left work to gaze at the peculiar strangers.
The three diplomats, adorned with golden bracelets and earrings, wore magnificent fur-trimmed robes and rode in brightly painted chariots. Even their horses’ bridles were trimmed in purple and silver. Dozens of servants led the heavily laden caravan of camels. But the two men riding in the last chariot attracted the most attention; they wore the embroidered blue robes and strange conical caps of Babylonian astrologers.
Late in the afternoon Hezekiah sat on his throne awaiting their arrival. He was dressed in his finest robe and the heavy, ornate crown of Judah.
“I’m intrigued, Shebna. I can’t imagine why these Babylonians would make the long journey to our nation.”
“Nor can I, Your Majesty. We will have to wait and see.”
But waiting made Hezekiah restless. Dozens of nobles and court officials crammed into the throne room to watch the spectacle, and his servants glistened with sweat as they fanned palm branches to cool the air. At last the chamberlain announced the Babylonians’ arrival.
The ambassador entered first, a handsome, clean-shaven man in his early fifties. His two assistants and the two Babylonian astrologers trailed behind him as he approached Hezekiah’s throne. They lowered their eyes in respect, as if unworthy to gaze at him, then fell prostrate at his feet, waiting for him to extend his scepter.
“You may rise.”
“Thank you, most gracious Majesty,” they murmured. The ambassador rose to his feet, but the other men remained on their knees before him.
“Your honorable Majesty, King Hezekiah of Judah, we thank you for receiving our delegation. I am Nebo-Polassar, the king’s ambassador. We bring you a message from King Merodach-Baladan of Babylon and also these gifts to honor you.”
The ambassador motioned to his waiting servants, and they entered the throne room with arms laden. More than a dozen men piled bundles at Hezekiah’s feet, then bowed prostrate. Hezekiah stared in amazement, unwilling to believe his eyes. Had his tiny nation gained such worldwide fame that Babylon, one of the three great world powers, would send representatives to bow before him? Usually they paid no attention at all to his nation except as a possible vassal state or tribute-payer. Now Hezekiah knew beyond a doubt just how far he had brought his nation in the dozen years he had reigned.
“You may state your petition,” he said, working hard to conceal his amazement.
“My king asks for nothing except your friendship, Your Majesty. We’ve come because of the miraculous sign that occurred in your land and to present you with these gifts as a very small token of our esteem.”
The ambassador signaled to his servants again, and they rose to open their bundles, spreading the contents across the carpet in front of Hezekiah. They unwrapped dozens of golden cups and bowls, stacks of embroidered cloth and garments trimmed in jewels and fur, ivory chests and alabaster flasks filled with myrrh, calamus, nard, saffron, and other spices. The exotic fragrances filled the throne room as the servants opened each container for him to glimpse.
“This is only a small portion of the tribute we offer you, Your Majesty. King Merodach-Baladan also sent a gift made especially for you.” Two more servants entered, carrying a wooden crate suspended between poles. The other servants quickly cleared a space, and they set it on the floor at Hezekiah’s feet, then bowed low. “Open it,” the ambassador said.
They pried the lid off and drew out a dazzling golden box, two feet by three feet. The lid and all four sides were covered with elaborate engravings. It took two servants to lift it out of the crate, and when they opened it Hezekiah saw why. It contained dozens of bars of pure gold. He thought of all the wealth the Assyrian monarch had once forced his nation to send, and he gazed at this gift, stunned.
“Your Majesty, as our royal astrologer will explain, the pictures on this box tell your amazing story.” The ambassador turned to one of the astrologers kneeling before Hezekiah, and the man touched his forehead to the floor three times in reverence.
“Oh, most worthy king!” he murmured. “All the stars foretold your death. The god Nebo, scribe and herald of the gods, had written
your name beside the death star. Indeed, reports arrived in our nation that you journeyed close to the gates of death. But suddenly an even greater sign appeared in the heavens. Lord Shamash, god of the sun and of justice, saw the injustice of your untimely death and rolled backward across the sky, erasing your name with his shadow.” The astrologer touched his forehead to the floor again and said, “We pay you honor, O blessed one!”
The blasphemous box gave Hezekiah a start, as if the Babylonians had dashed cold water in his face. He stared uncomfortably at the images of foreign idols, knowing he should never accept such a gift. Yahweh’s Law forbade making images in the form of anything in heaven or on earth. Of course, their Gentile king didn’t know Yahweh’s Law; God had entrusted it to His chosen people. Yet if Hezekiah refused the gift, he would be rejecting the Babylonians’ offer of friendship, as well.
“Please convey my compliments to your craftsmen,” he finally said. “Tell them their work is extraordinary.”
“King Hezekiah, favored one of Lord Shamash,” the ambassador said, “you have commanded the blessing of the gods, and our King Merodach-Baladan seeks to pay you homage and to humbly request your friendship.”
The entire delegation bowed, pressing their foreheads to the floor once again. The throne room fell silent. Hezekiah glanced briefly at Shebna and Eliakim, seated on either side of him. Shebna’s mouth hung open slightly, and his dark eyes couldn’t hide his astonishment. But Eliakim stared at the floor, as if trying to avert his eyes from the golden box.
Hezekiah looked down at the chest filled with gold again. Less than thirty years ago, his father had stripped every last ounce of gold from Judah’s treasuries to pay tribute to Assyria. Now, after reigning only a dozen years, Hezekiah was receiving tribute from other nations! But the respect and honor that the king of Babylon was giving Hezekiah amazed him even more than the small fortune in gold. What a triumph!