by Marek Halter
On his right stood the chiliarch, and behind, the three scribes of the Book of Days, helped by some twenty young eunuchs, crouching quietly until they were needed. To his left, the musicians waited for a gesture from the King. All around, fifty guards, among the tallest ever seen, formed a circle.
As he reached the boundary marked previously by the veil, Antinoes bowed. He went no further, but Ezra continued walking straight towards the King.
A murmur went through the courtiers.
The King’s face remained impassive.
Ezra took a few more steps, put his head down and made a little bow, right hand dangling towards the floor. The ring slipped from his fingers, and he bent as if following it in its fall. He stayed down for a brief moment, then straightened, and blew on his palm as Axatria had done.
Unfortunately, he lacked her grace: the movement he had made was so unlike a bow that the chiliarch Tithraustes signalled to the guards. Artaxerxes raised his hand from the armrest of his seat and smiled with amusement.
Taken aback, Tithraustes glanced uncertainly at his master, before doing his duty. ‘Ezra, son of Serayah, Jew of Zion,’ he announced. ‘My king, he has come to ask you for help and support in leading to Jerusalem those of his people who have been living among us, in the Susa region and in Babylon, since their fathers’ exile. That goes back, my king, to the days when Darius was not yet King of Kings.’
Like all the people in the hall, Ezra remained still until the King, who was no longer smiling, spoke. ‘Your greeting, Ezra, is not that of a man who loves me, yet you have come to ask my help.’
Antinoes saw Ezra’s shoulders and neck stiffen. Then he heard his clear voice: ‘Do not see it as an offence on my part, my king. I give you all the respect I owe you. But it is true, my love goes to Yahweh, my God. As for bowing down, I obey the Law that Yahweh gave my people.’
The answer was so unexpected that the scribes and the chiliarch turned to Artaxerxes, waiting for him to explode. Instead, the King gazed hard at Ezra. ‘That is not a pleasing answer,’ he said, ‘unless you can explain it to me.’
‘My king, as the chiliarch said, my people are the people of Jerusalem and Judaea, the land that Yahweh, master of the universe, apportioned to us at the birth of time – provided that we follow His laws and decrees. Your father, your father’s father and the great Cyrus, King of Kings, recognized the justice of Yahweh’s laws. They considered them good and useful. That’s why the great Cyrus, having conquered Babylon, made a decree in Ectabana, giving us the right to live according to these laws and to establish them in Jerusalem and throughout Judaea.’
Artaxerxes appeared to reflect for a moment, then turned to the scribes. ‘Is this true?’ he asked. ‘Is it written in the Book of Days?’
There then began a strange ballet. The scribes and their aides rummaged through the chests with which they were surrounded. From these, they took out hundreds of papyrus scrolls, checking their contents on the wooden handles. They performed this task swiftly, indifferent to the eyes watching them. At last, after what seemed quite a short time, given the scale of the work, one of them unrolled a scroll some five or six cubits long. With an expert eye, he looked through it, then smiled, stood up and bowed.
‘Yes, my king,’ he said. ‘Cyrus the Great spoke in favour of the Jews of Jerusalem.’
Artaxerxes, who seemed now to be enjoying this battle of wits, turned to Ezra. ‘And you, do you know the words he spoke?’
‘Yes, my king,’ Ezra replied, without flinching. ‘Cyrus, King of Persia, declared, “Yahweh, God of heaven, gave me all the kingdoms of the earth and entrusted me with the task of building him a temple in Jerusalem, in Judaea. Whoever among you is of his people, may his God be with him! May he go up to Jerusalem and build the Temple of the God of Israel, the God who is in Jerusalem.”’
There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by murmuring among the onlookers. Artaxerxes pursed his lips, and ran his fingers through his golden beard. ‘Are you claiming that Cyrus knew your God but knew nothing of Ahura Mazda, Anahita and Mithras?’
‘Those were the words he spoke, my king.’
Artaxerxes grunted, and pointed at the scribes. ‘What does the Book of Days say?’
This time, the answer came quickly. ‘O my king, what Ezra has just said is written word for word.’
There were more murmurs. Artaxerxes looked thoughtfully at Ezra. ‘These laws of your God of heaven,’ he asked, ‘who knows them?’
‘I do, my king.’
‘All of them?’
‘All of them.’
‘How can this be?’
‘Because I’ve studied them every day for many years.’
‘Where?’
Ezra raised the leather case and took out Moses’ scroll. ‘They are written here, my king.’
‘And who wrote them?’
Ezra recounted how Moses had led Yahweh’s people out of Pharaoh’s Egypt to the mountain of Horeb where Yahweh had dictated his Commandments to him, laws and rules that concerned all things and all occasions in life, so that then, through the children of his brother Aaron, they could be transmitted from generation to generation.
‘And you claim to know each and every one of them?’ Artaxerxes asked.
‘Yes,’ Ezra replied.
Artaxerxes smiled and pointed to Ezra’s hat. ‘If everything proceeds from a law, why did you have that candlestick embroidered on your hat?’
‘Because Yahweh commanded Moses, “You will make a candlestick of pure gold. Its base and its shaft will be of hammered gold. Its flowers, buds and branches will form one piece with it. Six branches will extend from its sides …”’
When he fell silent, Artaxerxes made a sign. A guard came up to Ezra, took the scroll from his hands, and handed it to the scribes, who proceeded to search in it for the commandment Ezra had just quoted.
‘My king,’ they said at last, ‘what Ezra has said is written here word for word.’
Now there was only astonishment and silence. Ezra’s audience lasted so long that no one else was received that day. Artaxerxes asked a thousand more questions and each time had the answers checked in the Book of Days. Then he asked Ezra what help he expected from him.
Ezra explained what Nehemiah’s task had been and why it had remained unfinished. He recalled how King Darius had instituted a search of his archives and cellars for the objects stolen by Nebuchadnezzar during the sack of Jerusalem, as well as the measurements of the Temple that had to be rebuilt. That, too, Artaxerxes commanded to be checked in the Book of Days. Once again, Ezra was found to have told the truth, word for word.
‘Ask me for what you want,’ he said at last, ‘and you shall have it.’
‘It can only be to your advantage for law and order to prevail in Jerusalem, my king,’ Ezra declared. ‘Today the walls of Jerusalem are again cracked and broken. Disorder enters in like the wind and profits your enemies. Day after day, Jerusalem becomes a more and more open breach in the frontier of your kingdoms. And through this breach the chaos of war, the chaos of nations without laws, can reach even you. Give me the power to leave Susa with those of my people who wish to follow me. Give me what I need to rebuild the Temple and make it worthy of Yahweh, and I will give you calm, peace and stability. Jerusalem, made strong again by the Law of Yahweh, will protect you from the Egyptians and the Greeks.’
‘May Ezra’s words be written in the Book of Days,’ Artaxerxes replied. ‘May it also be written that I, Artaxerxes, King of Kings, grant him what he asks.’
‘Ezra came back to the lower town a hero,’ Lilah said. ‘It was already dark. Zachariah and his family escorted him with candles and torches from the royal city to his house. They sang and danced all night long, and then, as soon as dawn rose, they ran to the Jewish houses to spread the good news. By now, there isn’t a single child of Israel in the upper town who doesn’t know that Ezra, son of Serayah, is going to leave for Jerusalem, with the agreement of Artaxerxes, in order to rebuild the Temp
le.’
There was a touch of mockery in Lilah’s voice, but mostly it was calm and gentle.
They were in Antinoes’ bedchamber. The shutters had been carefully lined with blankets so that no light could be seen from outside. ‘It’s when you think Parysatis’ spies are dozing that they’re most alert,’ Antinoes had said.
‘Ezra is the only one who doesn’t seem happy,’ Lilah continued. ‘As soon as anyone congratulates him for impressing Artaxerxes with his answers during the audience, he cries, “I know very little. You think it’s a lot because you’re ignorant.” Or else, “Until I have a letter from Artaxerxes in my hand, it’s pointless for you to sing my praises. It isn’t yet certain that Yahweh’s hand is upon me. I’m carrying on with my studies.” Zachariah protests, of course. Then Ezra loses his temper: “Where are the Levites who are supposed to be going with me? You promised me hundreds. But when I count you, I can’t even see ten who are capable of reading Moses’ scroll. There are thousands of exiles in Susa, yet I don’t see them crowding into the lower town, ready to set off for Jerusalem. They say they’re impatient to leave, but where are they?”’
Antinoes laughed at her imitation of her brother’s voice. Lilah rolled onto her back, stretched out on the bed and gazed up at the dark ceiling.
‘Uncle Mordechai is impressed too,’ she went on. ‘He won’t go to Jerusalem – his workshop and my aunt’s mean too much to him. But he feels guilty. He’s going to give my brother some chariots so that he can travel comfortably. When I told Ezra, he replied, “They’re all like our uncle, my sister. All those fat children of Israel are ready to give me their gold as long as they’re not obliged to get up from their cushions. They have no desire to see Jerusalem again. They’re content here, in the arms of Artaxerxes. Do they imagine Yahweh isn’t judging them?”’
Antinoes had stopped laughing. They were both silent. The silence weighed on them, but the words that remained to be said weighed even heavier on their hearts.
Antinoes’ face crumpled. ‘But you’re not like your uncle,’ he whispered. ‘You’re Ezra’s sister, and you’ll go with him to Jerusalem …’
Lilah did not reply at once. She closed her eyes. Antinoes looked closely at her mouth, her chest swelling as her breath came faster.
‘Yesterday,’ she said at last, ‘Ezra asked me, “And what of you, my sister? Will you follow me or will you stay with your Persian?” That made me angry. I replied that my Persian had a name. And that I shan’t give him an answer until he has spoken it.’
She fell silent, her eyes still closed. Antinoes did not dare move – he hardly dared to breathe. He had no doubt about Lilah’s decision. But his hands shook as if he expected something different to emerge as if by a miracle from her beloved mouth.
‘I went to the lower town,’ Lilah resumed, softly. ‘He greeted me more tenderly than he has for a long time. “Antinoes told me,” he said. “He told me you went to see Queen Parysatis for me.”’
Lilah’s voice broke. She bit her lip, and tears formed beneath her closed eyelids.
‘He said, “I know it was Antinoes, your lover, who wrote the letter in my name seeking an audience with Artaxerxes. I’ve been unfair and harsh towards him. I can speak well of Antinoes now. But that changes nothing. You must understand that all I’m doing is following the Law of Yahweh. I have no other choice. How could my sister live her whole life with a man who’s not a child of Israel? At the foot of the mountain of the Commandments, Yahweh said to Moses and Aaron, ‘How dare you let the women who have lain with Midianites live? They are unclean. The bitter water of my curse will flow over them.’”
Antinoes had seized Lilah’s hand. She clung to him, holding him so tightly that she seemed suspended in the air. ‘He keeps saying he needs his sister,’ she said. ‘And it’s true. I know it. I’ve always known it. Just as I know that what he’s doing is great.’
‘I know it, too,’ Antinoes replied at last. ‘And so does Parysatis. There’s no miracle. You must go with Ezra to Jerusalem.’
Lilah opened her eyes, and her tears flowed. She gazed into Antinoes’ face. ‘I could hide. Only go as far as Babylon. Wait there until Parysatis forgets me. We can meet again in a year – yes, in a year Parysatis will have forgotten me. She might even be dead.’
‘Parysatis will never forget you. Wherever you are, if you’re with me, her cruelty will reach you. And don’t count on her death. Demons live on for a long time. In any case, Ezra will never leave you in Babylon either.’
Lilah raised Antinoes’ hand to her lips. ‘Will you forget me, then?’
‘No. I’ll carry you within me all the days of my life.’
Gently, he made her stand, then took off her tunic. He held a candle in each hand, the better to see her naked body, and walked round her.
‘Every inch of you will be stamped on my eyes,’ he promised. ‘I will see your face, kiss your breasts and your belly in my dreams. I will be inside you, night after night, and in the morning I will have the scent of your kisses on my lips. In the morning, my penis will grow hard at the memory of your hips.’
Lilah realized that Antinoes was weeping too. She smiled. ‘You came back to Susa to make me your wife …’ she said softly.
‘There are too many people who don’t want our marriage.’
‘I made a promise, I must keep it.’ She took the sheet from their bed and held it above her, like a canopy. Then she began to move round Antinoes, with a light, dancing step. ‘I am Lilah, daughter of Serayah,’ she whispered. ‘I choose my husband according to my heart and before the Everlasting, Yahweh, my God.’ A radiant smile lit her face, while she danced the wedding dance and her arms moved the sheet so that it was over her lover’s head. ‘I choose Antinoes, he who chose me on the first day of love.’
Antinoes started to laugh and raised his arms to hold up the sheet. They both turned and turned, looking into each other’s eyes, hips swaying.
‘I am Lilah, daughter of Serayah. As long as Yahweh gives me breath, I will have no other husband.’
‘I am Antinoes, lord of the Citadel of Susa. May Ahura Mazda and Anahita protect my love for Lilah.’
They laughed, tears glistening on their cheeks, their joy as intense as their despair.
‘I am Lilah, daughter of Serayah, and before the Everlasting I keep my promise. I am Lilah, wife of Antinoes. That is written in the Book of Days to the end of time.’
‘I am Antinoes, husband of Lilah. May Ahura Mazda bring me Lilah’s kisses to the end of time.’
Part Two
The Rejected Women
ANTINOES, MY HUSBAND,
Almost a year has passed since we turned beneath the wedding canopy. A year since your lips last touched mine, and your hands last caressed my breasts and hips.
A year that has been so long, I no longer have any yardstick by which to measure it.
Not a day or night has passed that I have not whispered your name, that the desire to hear your voice and feel your breath on the back of my neck has not wrenched my heart and crushed the few joys that are left to me.
Yet I have been patient.
On our wedding night, I promised that one day we would meet again, in Susa or in Babylon, perhaps in Jerusalem, perhaps somewhere else in the world. I promised that Yahweh would not keep us apart for the rest of our lives. I promised that a day will come when Lilah, your wife, will be at your side, will bear your children and watch them grow. Antinoes and Lilah will be a real husband and wife, not just ghosts and memories.
Today, however, I fear I cannot keep that promise.
It is not of my own free will that I say this. Not at all!
But something so terrible has happened that I no longer know what tomorrow will bring. I no longer know what I can and cannot do.
I am writing to you because I am afraid, because I no longer know what is just and what is unjust.
It is like being swept away by a swollen river, struggling in the current while the banks recede.
And yet, as I write, I tell myself it is madness to blacken this papyrus with words. For I know nothing about your present life. I know nothing about you, my beloved husband. In truth, I am not even sure you are still alive. But I cannot think about your death. That is impossible, Antinoes, my love.
Have you been in many hard battles? Have you sustained wounds, known victory?
Sometimes, during the hours of despair, when solitude becomes as cold and clinging as winter mud, when the colour has gone from the trees and the sky, and the beating of my own heart frightens me, I think that another woman may have taken the place I left empty and become your wife.
Then I reproach myself. I punish myself by dreaming about the things I chose to reject: going away with you, far from Parysatis, far from Ezra, far from Susa; being at your side, seeing your eyes and mouth, watching your nostrils quiver with each dawn, each twilight.
I know that a man as handsome and strong as Antinoes my husband cannot remain alone. How could he live with only memories of a woman’s love and caresses – memories that by now may be no more than smoke scattered on the wind?
For that is our truth, my husband. We are no more to each other now than the ghosts of memory.
These thoughts torture me endlessly.
But they torture me less if I talk to you like this, putting words down on the yellow fibres of the papyrus.
I am writing this letter to you, but I have nowhere to send it. No country, no city, no camp, no house. This is just my madness, my dream of keeping you alive and by my side.
Antinoes, my beloved, my husband before the Everlasting, the only man who has placed his lips on me.
To make you understand – if that is possible – the madness around me today, I must begin with our departure from Susa.
The order that separated us came the day after our wedding night. That very day, you had to leave Susa for Karkemish in the Upper Euphrates. Parysatis had done her work: she was separating us with an expert hand.