Word Fulfilled, The (30 page)

Thirty-seven

Nineveh, the Artisan Quarter

Fifteenth Day of Du’ûzu, the Eleventh Hour

unt Rizpah paused with her pestle over the dried cumin seeds and frowned at the quiet tap on the door. Her house had known no peace since Jonah arrived. The elders met daily; gawkers loitered in the narrow street outside the house that harbored the prophet; her husband and nephew ran in and out at all hours. All the commotion wobbled the delicate balance of life in the poor quarter. Nothing was the same since the prophet arrived.

Granted, life began to settle after the soldiers took Jonah away. She felt guilty in her relief at the gradual return to normalcy, given the price it carried. Personally, she still wasn’t sure what to think of this message of destruction anyway. How did they know Jonah was genuine, that he had really been sent by God? She had never heard of this prophet from anyone who passed through the city from the West. Nobody in the community had heard of him—even those who spent more time in the marketplace than she. Wouldn’t there have been some forewarning before a prophet with such a terrible message showed up on her doorstep?

Another tap roused her from her thoughts. She sighed and set aside the pestle. She brushed dried bits of herbs from her hands and opened the door.

“They aren’t home. There’s an elders’ meeting—” Rizpah stopped short at the sight of a hooded figure in a full-length cloak.

The stranger stood silently with hands clasped at the waist.

Rizpah raised an eyebrow. “May I help you with something?”

The head lifted to reveal a face of such uncommon beauty that Rizpah was actually startled. She stared at a young girl’s dark almond eyes, delicate cheekbones, and unblemished olive skin. A wave of ebony hair swept a graceful forehead from beneath the hood, accenting her face as a delicate border might frame a costly tapestry.

A hesitant silence fell between the two. Then Rizpah’s cheeks reddened as she realized she was staring. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I wasn’t expecting . . . visitors.”

The girl shook her head and returned an apologetic smile. “The fault is mine. I hope I’m not intruding.”

“No, please. Won’t you come in?” Rizpah stepped back from the doorway.

“Thank you. Just for a moment. I won’t keep you.” The girl slipped into the room, and Rizpah latched the door behind her.

“I have hot water. May I offer you some herbal tea?”

“Thank you. That would be very nice.” The tentative smile flashed again.

Rizpah retrieved two cups and reached for a small bag of tea. Her visitor eased her hood off her head, and Rizpah stole another look at the silky black tresses that spilled over the girl’s shoulders. She forced herself not to gape at the exquisite maiden—at least she assumed she was a maiden. Rizpah suddenly felt quite plain next to her, almost unworthy to share the same room. She shook the thought away as silly.

Rizpah ladled hot water into the cups. She turned and mustered a smile. “We have not met. Are you . . . of the artisan’s quarter?”

The girl’s eyes dipped, and a tinge of pink colored her cheeks.

“No, I live not far from here.” She looked back into Rizpah’s face. “My name is Ianna.”

The two women settled onto a thin mat against the wall, their fingers laced around their earthenware cups. Neither spoke for a moment. Rizpah wondered how to inquire as to the reason for the visit without appearing too blunt. Ianna seemed to struggle with her own thoughts. Twice her lips quivered, as though she wanted to speak, but then fell still again. Her apparent discomfort troubled Rizpah’s heart, and she searched for a way to soothe her guest’s nerves.

“I hope the tea is not too strong,” she offered.

The girl appeared startled. “No, it’s very good. Thank you.” She dropped her gaze, then looked back up, fervency replacing her hesitancy. Words tumbled out. “Tell me of God, the God of Israel. Of
Adonai
. Please.”

Rizpah lowered her cup to her lap as she fumbled for a response. “I don’t understand. Tell you of God?”

“Yes, of
Elohim Adonai.”
Ianna’s hands shook, sloshing drops of tea onto her cloak.

Rizpah swallowed. “There is so much. I don’t know where to begin.”

Ianna reached out and grasped her hostess by the wrist. Her eyes pleaded beyond her words. “Start from the beginning.”

Lll

The elders’ meeting lasted longer than expected. Jonah’s arrest had thrown the Jewish community into turmoil. Nothing made sense. Questions flew from all directions.

“What do we do, Hiram?”

“If
Adonai
is truly in this, how could the prophet be arrested?”

“Who will carry the message now?”

“Not me! We are being watched. My family cannot afford for me to be imprisoned, too.”

Jamin tried to help his uncle calm the assembly, but to no avail. His own mind was in pieces. The horror of Jonah’s arrest, the ugly mob scene in the temple square, and the demands of the elders all weighed on him. But the burning image of the girl he loved in the robes of the High Priestess of Ishtar pushed all else aside. It tore at his heart every time the incident resurfaced in his mind. Numbness had overtaken his brain at the first sight of her on the temple steps. Then, through the shock, he remembered her gaze on him after the assault on his uncle. It was all such a blur, he wondered if he had imagined that part. The encounter seemed lifted out of time. She had stared at him not three paces away; then she was gone.

A sudden quiet of the assembly roused Jamin from his thoughts, and he scanned the group of men. They all stared past him. Jamin turned around.

Two squads of soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder in an arc. Their formation hemmed the Council into a corner of the marketplace. For several moments, neither the soldiers nor the elders moved. Finally, a movement to his left pulled Jamin’s attention. An older soldier, presumably the leader of the troops, strode to the front and centered himself before the group of elders.

“There is one of you here named Jamin,” the commander bellowed. “Identify yourself.”

Jamin froze. How did they know his name? What could they want with him? He threw a panicked glance over his shoulder toward his uncle, who returned the startled look.

“I said, identify yourself!” The soldier’s voice rasped to a growl.

One of the elders behind Jamin hissed at him, “Speak up. You want them to slaughter us all?”

A hand shoved him in the small of his back, and Jamin stumbled forward. He stopped five paces away from the soldiers.

The commander looked him over. “That you, boy? I’ve seen you before.”

Jamin couldn’t speak; he could only stare into the eyes of the soldier.

“I remember now.” A taut smile pulled at the commander’s jaw. He jerked his head at two of his men. “Take him.”

When Jamin regained his senses, he was being hustled out of the market square, his arms pinned to his sides.

Lll

“The people entered His promise, and the Lord God fought for them to occupy the land.” Rizpah paused. She had recited the story of her God and her people for over an hour.

Ianna sat spellbound. She had never heard such a tale of a god who interacted in the lives of people like this God did. She shook her head as Rizpah related how time and time again the people rebelled against Him and forsook the covenant He established through a man named Moses. A covenant? Imagine a God who would reveal Himself to mortal man. Even more shocking was the notion that one would enter into a covenant with them. The gods she knew expected to be served without question. Why should the
Igigi
reveal themselves? Man was of no consequence, other than to provide for their needs. But the God of her heritage needed no sustenance, no provision, no one to do His work for Him. He didn’t want the labor of their hands; He wanted the willingness of their hands. This God didn’t force blind obedience; He revealed Himself so man would desire to be obedient. He didn’t want to be appeased; He wanted to be loved—loved as He loved them.

Love? From a god?

But didn’t that make Him weak? To seek the hearts of man rather than to coerce them? Perhaps not, she reasoned. Perhaps it took a more powerful God to grant His people the power of choice. He would know some would reject Him, yet He still maintained His sovereignty over all. Ianna struggled to sort out the paradoxical nature of this God.

“Are you understanding this, or is it too much?” Rizpah’s voice interrupted Ianna’s thoughts.

“Yes . . . and yes. I understand all you’ve told me, but this God you describe is difficult to grasp. There are still so many questions, but I’m not sure how to ask them.”

Rizpah smiled. “Yes, the ‘what’ is straightforward. It’s the ‘why’ that gives us fits, no?”

Ianna’s face lit up. “Yes, exactly. What this God has done, how and with whom He has acted, is clear. But why He chooses to act this way puzzles me. It seems so strange.”

Rizpah cocked her head. “You know, you still haven’t told me anything about yourself. Where do you live and what brought you to this house? Why does our God interest you?”

“I—”

The door slammed against the wall, and Hiram barged into the room, red-faced and out of breath. Rizpah jumped up. Her cup flew to the floor and shattered into a splatter of wet herbs and clay shards.

“Rizpah! They’ve taken Jamin. He’s—” Hiram stopped in his tracks at the sight of Ianna. His mouth fell open.

Ianna shrank back at the sight of the old man the soldier assaulted on the portico of Nabu’s temple.

Rizpah looked at her husband, then at Ianna. “Hiram?”

He raised a finger at the High Priestess of Ishtar.
“You!”

Lll

The soldiers led Jamin through the arched gateway into the garden courtyard of the new palace. The gate slammed behind them, and the leader turned to his men.

“You’re dismissed. Leave him here.”

The soldiers complied, and when the two were alone, the commander crossed his arms and glowered at his prisoner. Jamin stretched his arms, cramped from the grip of the guards.

“We have unfinished business,” the warrior snarled. “You attacked one of my men during the riot.”

Jamin raised his eyes, and anger rose in his own throat. “I protected my uncle. Your soldier struck him with his spear and was ready to hit him again. He’s an old man and was unarmed. He was no threat to you.”

The seething commander took a step toward Jamin. “Listen, whelp, if you—”

“Anardu, that is enough.” The voice froze the soldier.

A tall man in fine robes stood behind the commander.

The warrior turned to face him. “Yes, my lord. I only—”

“I know. I think your man did survive, though, did he not?” Ahu-duri raised an eyebrow.