By the Waters of Babylon

by Mesu Andrews

  “What is it?”

  “I said you could stay if you didn’t wake her.” Helah groused from the mattress, stretching and yawning.

  “I didn’t wake her. I woke you. Go get something to break your fast.”

  Helah scooted off the bed. “I refuse to leave you two alone. It’s not—”

  “Go. Now.” Idan’s threatening glare sent her out the door, but he fell silent, the bundle still in his hands.

  With emotions still tight as a harp string, I couldn’t stand it. “Either give it to me or leave.”

  He dropped his head, and I regretted my harshness. Walking over to the bed, he laid the bundle down and removed the dirty cloth.

  Even in the dim light, I knew what it was. The streaks of dark and light in the polished olive-wood harp glimmered in dawn’s glow. I covered my mouth with a trembling hand and ran my fingers over the inlaid ivory and lapis, memories flooding in. “Elon played this for me on our wedding night to calm me.” I swept my fingers over the strings, the sound rich and deep. “He played it every night until he was taken captive, and I played it for our son every night until . . .”

  Idan went to one knee beside me. “Merari, please forgive me. I should have given it to you long ago.”

  I reached for it with trembling hands and placed it in my lap. Eyes closed, I tried to lose myself in the music. The sound was familiar, but the feel was now foreign. Opening my eyes, I pointed at my borrowed harp in the corner. “That is my harp, Idan. This one is Elon’s.” My heart knew the action I must take, but my will cried against it. Why must I give up my last memory of him, Yahweh?

  You will always have your memories, but your hands must be empty to embrace new treasure.

  My eyes shot open. “Did you say that?”

  Idan looked as startled as I felt. “Say what?”

  Heart fluttering, I knew I’d heard Yahweh’s voice.

  Idan reached for my hand, eyes wide. “What did you hear?” He knew it too.

  “This treasure belongs to Elon’s widow, Idan. Will you give it to her?” I laid it aside and brushed his cheek. “Yahweh offers new treasures for me.”

  “What treasures?” Azat stood beside Helah in the doorway, eyes focused on Idan and his hand holding mine.

  Both he and Helah carried trays of food. Azat took four steps toward the bed and slammed his tray on a table. Nudging Idan and the harp aside, he leaned over me, a handbreadth from my face. “You and Yahweh are my treasures. Embrace me, Merari.”

  I could barely breathe, and then I realized . . . “Where is your crutch?” He’d crossed the chamber without it.

  “Marry me.” He didn’t flinch.

  A thousand questions assaulted me, but only one truly mattered. “If I return with you to Scythia, you’ll be killed for worshiping Yahweh.”

  “He’s not returning to Scythia.” Idan stood next to him, grinning. “He’s remaining in Erech as the governor’s new bodyguard.”

  Astounded, I met Azat’s intensity once more. “Marry me, Merari.”

  This time, I saw the hint of a grin on his handsome features, and my heart fluttered, not from fear but with certainty that Yahweh had done a great work after I left Abednego’s table last night. I cradled his face in my hands. “With the approval of Erech’s elders, I will marry you, my friend.” I brushed a kiss across his lips and felt a tingle to the tips of my toes.

  “That’s enough of that!” Helah bustled across the room, tray in hand. “Out. Men out. If we’re to have the wedding today, there’s a lot of planning—”

  “Today?”

  Azat kissed the tip of my nose. “So you can’t change your mind.”

  Chapter 30

  “Yet in the towns of Judah and the streets of Jerusalem that are deserted,

  inhabited by neither people nor animals, there will be heard once more

  the sounds of joy and gladness, the voices of bride and bridegroom,

  and the voices of those who bring thank offerings to the house of the Lord, saying,

  ‘Give thanks to the Lord Almighty, for the Lord is good; his love endures forever.’”

  -Jeremiah 33:10–11

  The moment Idan and Azat left my chamber this morning, six giggling handmaids descended on me, creating a woman I barely recognized in the polished-bronze mirror I now held in my hand. A single brazier gave us warmth and light now that the sun had set. Had I ever lived a whole day without doing any work at all?

  On the day I married Elon, my family had much to prepare for the wedding feast and little wealth to cover such an extravagance. My wedding garment was a new but sensible woolen robe with a crown of wildflowers to hold my veil in place. I’d barely finished helping bake the last loaves of bread when we heard the bridegroom’s march; Elon’s rich, bass voice leading his friends to my parents’ home to collect his bride. I had been utterly content, fulfilled, and happy with the one my heart adored.

  Tonight, I felt like a queen. My fingers strummed the gemstones dangling before my eyes, each one secured with a silver chain to an elegant silver headpiece. “Helah, I can’t accept this extravagant gift from Ezekiel.”

  “You can and you will.” She tied the last of my pearls into my braid, these from Abednego. “Ezekiel and the governor are your family now. These gifts serve as your dowry.”

  Hearing the tremor in her voice, I sniffed back tears for fear of smudging my kohl-rimmed eyes.

  “There,” she said, securing the last braid with a leather tie. “Beautiful.”

  The maids painting my feet with henna stepped away. “We’re finished, too,” one of them proclaimed.

  I rose from my cushions on unsteady feet, stretching arms and back after the long day of sitting. All seven women huddled behind me, and an awkward silence crept into the room. I turned to find them all staring. Weeping with beaming smiles.

  Helah rushed to embrace me. “Your groom will think he’s marrying a dream.”

  As if summoned by their words, lively strains of the bridegroom’s processional whispered on the night breeze. My heart skipped as my eyes met Helah’s.

  Delighted squeals filled my chamber. “The bridegroom comes!” Seven women scurried to last-minute tasks, more frenzied than hens when a fox is stalking. “Get her veil. Hurry!” Four of them, one on each corner of a tapestry-weight, colorful cloth, lifted it above my head and centered it over me, letting it fall to cover my hair, jewels, and the lovely makeup they’d spent all afternoon applying. I chuckled at our silly traditions, thankful no one could see.

  Helah pressed her lips against my ear. “Listen for the music, Merari. It will become a cacophony outside your door. You’ll feel as if your heart might burst with anticipation, and then silence will tip you over the edge. The sound that follows is more glorious than your harp playing.” She cradled my head in her hands and kissed me through the cloth as the room fell silent. Had she forgotten I’d been married before?

  But as the processional drew near, every word of Helah’s description came to life. The intensifying music, the joyous celebration ever building and then halting abruptly outside the door. I held my breath. The knock.

  “I’ve come to claim my bride!” There it was. My bridegroom’s voice. And it was, indeed, more glorious than any harp.

  “Your bride has made herself ready,” Helah answered.

  I sat on a cushion, my back to the door. The veil obscured all of me except the cushion and my trembling hands clasped in my lap. Footsteps shuffled out, but only one pair of sandals drew near. Jeweled, with familiar feet in them.

  Azat knelt before me and slowly, timidly, rolled up the veil that separated us. His hands trembled as violently as mine, but his face lit with wonder when he saw me.

  “You are mine,” he whispered.

  Covering a laugh, I cupped his face. “Yes, and we are Yahweh’s.”

  He held my gaze for an excruciating moment, then let his eyes travel to my lips. Time stood still. My breathing grew ragged. Kiss me, or I’ll die. He leaned in.


  “None of that until after the ceremony.” Helah appeared beside him, and I jumped like a child caught stealing dates.

  Azat chuckled and whispered, “I should have had Idan keep her in the hall.” He tapped my nose and lowered my veil. “Let’s get to the ceremony, then.” He exited my chamber to the congratulatory cheers of his friends, having confirmed the identity of his bride—a tradition necessitated by our patriarch Jacob’s ancient deception, when he was tricked into marrying the wrong sister.

  Helah helped me to my feet, and a man’s hand cradled mine. “It is my honor to serve as your abba on this special day, Merari.” Ezekiel kissed my hand, and my heart melted.

  “I am the one most blessed, Lord Ezekiel.” The prophet and Helah volunteered to perform the parental rites of the ceremony since I had no living relatives. In many ways, their presence felt every bit as warm and secure as family joined by blood. When hearts are woven together by faith and tears, the love is everlasting and the bonds stronger than iron.

  As we neared the banquet hall, I heard a choir of harp players and squeezed Ezekiel’s arm, certain they were another gift from him. “The music is lovely. How many harps are playing?”

  A slight hesitation before he answered made me curse the blinding veil. “Several, my dear. But this surprise we should let your husband unveil.” His word choice was witty but annoying. I fell silent, trying not to pout on my wedding night. It was a simple question. Why couldn’t he at least describe the musicians?

  The music changed to a familiar bride’s song, its familiar words ringing in my mind. “Listen, daughter, and pay careful attention: Forget your people and your father’s house.” The growing clamor of Scythian whispers carried me to my groom. Tonight, I would relinquish my claim as God’s chosen. My children would be considered mixed-blood, never worthy to return with the exiles to Jerusalem when Jeremiah’s prophecy of seventy years of captivity was fulfilled.

  A seed of panic bloomed in my chest as Abednego’s voice commenced the ceremony. “We have gathered tonight under this wedding canopy to remember Yahweh’s promises to Abraham. First, that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars; and second, that Abraham would bring Yahweh’s blessing to all nations as we have witnessed this day with our Scythian brothers.”

  One of the warriors released a jubilant howl, setting off the whole regiment—including Azat and Idan—and it spread to thousands outside the governor’s villa. What had happened while I’d been bathed, lotioned, and bejeweled in my chamber? Without seeing anyone’s face, I could only hold my breath. Would Ezekiel condemn this behavior at a wedding? Would Abednego order the Scythians’ silence? I had agreed to marry a Scythian. I’d grown accustomed to their strange customs. The tattoos. The loud celebrations. But could the Jews of Erech tolerate them?

  Incredibly, I heard Ezekiel chuckle with Abednego as the Scythian shouts faded. “Azat,” Abednego began again, “we hold to our traditions loosely in order to honor your brotherhood and the faith you’ve proven in Yahweh. Merari remains a Child of Abraham and by your solemn vow, you will enter into Abraham’s covenant of circumcision after your wedding week, giving you equal rights and responsibilities with all Yahweh’s chosen. Would you like to present your gift to the bride now before we continue with the ceremony?”

  “I would indeed, Governor.” Ezekiel left my side, and without warning, Azat lifted off my veil, handing it to a stunned Helah. He brushed my cheek, and led me by the hand. “I’d like to introduce you to our musicians.”

  Weaving past the canopy and around the private table where we’d eaten last night’s meal, I saw ten musicians tucked away in the banquet hall’s corner. Six men, one woman, and three boys—one, no older than ten; and the others twins, perhaps seven years old. I knew them without an introduction. All three boys looked like my son, Neriah.

  I covered a gasp and stared at Elon’s harp in the woman’s arms.

  Azat wrapped his strong arm around my shoulder and whispered against my ear, “Abednego summoned Elon’s widow and sons to the villa to present Elon’s harp. She was overwhelmed by your sacrifice and offered to gather her friends to play for our wedding.” He kissed my forehead and turned to the musicians. “My friends, this is Merari, Elon’s first wife and a skilled harp maker.” He extended his hand toward the woman. “Merari, this is Mistress Selah and her three sons: Ethan, Mahli, and Malluk.”

  All four stood and we bowed to each other in greeting. Selah took my hand, her eyes overflowing with emotion. “Your kindness in giving me a harp my husband—our husband—made in Jerusalem is a great treasure.” She turned then to Azat, including both of us in her next words. “I realize life in Erech will be very different for you both, and perhaps you can’t give me an answer now . . .”

  Dread rose prickly flesh on my arms, and I reached for Azat’s hand, preparing for the worst. What might she ask?

  “My sons and I would consider it a great honor if you, Merari, could teach them their abba’s skill of harp making. Elon hadn’t trained an apprentice, and his death was so unexpect—”

  I pulled her into a hug, my heart aching at her loss. But I felt certain teaching Elon’s sons to carry on his trade would begin the healing—and provide steady income for these boys to care for their ima. I looked over her shoulder to gain my new husband’s permission.

  His nod was all I needed. “It would be my privilege, Selah. We’ll begin after the wedding festivities.”

  Azat offered his hand. “I have a gift for Idan before I’m officially wed and become Abednego’s guard.”

  He led me back to the chuppah, where I now saw all the attendants standing. Four Scythians held the poles of the canopy, while Abednego stood beneath it waiting with Idan. Ezekiel and Helah stood side by side at the edge of the covering, ready to offer the daughter of their hearts.

  Yermek stood in the shadows but approached with a wrapped bundle when we neared the canopy, offering it to Azat. “Thank you, Captain Yermek.” My groom placed his fist over his heart. “You’ll lead my men well.”

  The baby-faced captain saluted and bowed, stepping back as Azat turned his attention to his commander and friend. His lips quivered, failing many times to speak. I reached for his hand, and he inhaled deeply, lifting it to his lips and then releasing it. A silent reminder I couldn’t help him through this. He must give his heart completely to his friend one last time.

  Lifting his gaze to the mountainous man standing three heads taller, he spoke quietly but with utter confidence. “I leave you in good hands, my brother. Yahweh is with you and is returning you to Scythia with a qualified captain, a regiment that would die for you, and three thousand warriors who, because of Ezekiel’s prophecies fulfilled before their eyes, now believe He is real.” Shouting now to the regiment who stood as witnesses to our ceremony, Azat unwrapped the bundle Yermek delivered—the most beautifully carved mouth harp I’d ever seen. “Idan, to show their devotion—to you and to Yahweh—one of our men carved this harp from a piece of olive wood he brought from Jerusalem. They will stand with you in Scythia, my friend.”

  Idan’s features twisted with emotion, and he covered his face to regain control. Unable to do so, he lifted his hands and shouted his praise to Yahweh in an ear-splitting cry that rattled the stars. Every voice in the room joined him, Jew and Scythian, captive and free.

  I wrapped my arms around my husband’s neck. “Yahweh has healed us. He has freed the captives, given comfort when we grieved, and anointed us with joy instead of mourning. You, Azat, have been His instrument of healing to me.” I brushed a kiss across his lips, smiling into sparkling eyes.

  “And you, my love, have shown me the One True God.” He shook his head, daunted. “I have so much to learn.”

  Ezekiel drew us back to the wedding canopy. “We’ll learn together—after the wedding.”

  With lifted hands, Abednego quieted the raucous worshipers but only for a time. Our ceremony was short but the most beautiful I recall, and the feast afterward is a legend in Erech’s h
istory. The marriage has been even better.

  Impossible, you say, for a Jewess and Scythian to dwell in harmony for a lifetime? I say you’re right, but God . . .

  Author’s Note

  I hope you’ve enjoyed Merari’s fictional story, and though Idanthyrsus was an actual Scythian king from the sixth century BC, his participation with King Nebuchadnezzar’s troops in the destruction of Judah was also fictional.

  Why would I build a biblical novel on two fictional characters? Because when I read this verse from Jeremiah, my research led me to the very real possibility of Scythia’s involvement.

  This is what the Lord says: “Look, an army is coming from the land of the north; a great nation is being stirred up from the ends of the earth. They are armed with bow and spear; they are cruel and show no mercy. They sound like the roaring sea as they ride on their horses; they come like men in battle formation to attack you, Daughter Zion” (6:22–23).

  Scythia’s history is fascinating but difficult to piece together. Here are a few insights that helped me choose Idan as the main character:

  Scythians were legendary warriors, known for their cruelty, horsemanship, archery skills, and war cries.

  Scythians had a singular passion and devotion to their national gods. Anyone found worshiping a foreign god—even the king’s brother—was put to death. What a perfect culture to understand and mete out Yahweh’s judgment on the people of Judah, who had worshiped foreign gods for centuries.

  Historical records conflict as to the story of Anacharsis, a Scythian who tried to incorporate Greek worship into his culture’s pantheon. Some sources say Idanthyrsus was his brother and the one who killed him for his blasphemy. Others say Idanthyrsus was his nephew, and it was Anacharsis’ brother, King Saulius (Idan’s father), who killed his brother. When resources conflict, I get to choose details that fit my story line—as did Idan’s inner struggle of obedience to his father’s command against the inner niggling of conscience and Yahweh’s conviction.