Word Fulfilled, The (33 page)

“To what do I owe this unexpected, but quite pleasant, surprise, High Priestess?”

 
Ianna smiled, her voice softened with a practiced breathiness. “I wanted to call on you at least once before you returned to Kal
ḫ
u. It seemed proper, as you represent the king himself.” She lowered her gaze, then flicked it back up to his.

“Yes, I . . . I am glad you thought to do that. It is always a pleasure to receive so . . . so exalted a personage such as yourself.”
Personage?
Ahu-duri groaned in the back of his mind, which was quickly turning to mush.

Her coy smile broadened. “It has been an eventful trip, has it not?”

“Yes. Yes, quite eventful. Very much so. Eventful.”
Stop it! What is the matter with you?
Ahu-duri cleared his throat and forced a smile.

Ianna averted her eyes to the oleander bushes that lined the garden wall. She lifted her cup of wine and cradled it between delicate fingers. The tip of her thumb massaged the lip of the vessel while she dipped her head, apparently lost in thought.

Ahu-duri stared at the cup.

The thumb stopped just before his breath did. Ianna cocked her head and dropped her voice to a whisper. “You handled the crowd in the temple plaza masterfully. Thank you.”

His brain melted. A moment passed—at least, he hoped it had only been a moment.
Say something! Preferably something intelligent.

“Of course. Yes, it was . . . tense for a moment.” He recovered. “Your presence was the key, though, I’m sure, High Priestess. You drew the crowd’s attention away from the foreigner.”
Oh,
did you
ever
draw attention. . . .

She looked down with a slight shake of her head. “No, not at all. I merely reported the information you needed to arrest the man.”

“Oh, you did much more than that, I assure you.”

Ianna raised her eyes. She set the cup down and turned to face Ahu-duri. “Speaking of the prophet, I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes?”

Her face grew thoughtful. “His message, in spite of its harshness, intrigues me. I wonder if I might be free to speak with him, to learn more about the intention of his god. Mother Ishtar should be made aware.”

Ahu-duri nodded. “Certainly. I could arrange a visit for you in his cell.”

She sat back. “Oh my, no. I couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be at all proper for me to enter the prison.” She pursed her lips and frowned, as though she tried to work through the dilemma.

The vizier reddened at his faux pas. He scrambled to repair the damage. “Of course. Stupid of me. A thousand apologies for even suggesting it. I could bring him here for an interview.” He relaxed as the smile returned to her face.

“Possibly, but I hoped to question him where I would have the advantage. Perhaps at the temple?” Her expectant eyes lifted to his.

Ahu-duri frowned. His mind raced through the practical considerations of her request. He thought of the detail of soldiers required to escort the prisoner, ensure the High Priestess’s safety, and then return him to the prison. Then there was the commotion the prophet’s appearance in public might arouse, and the irregularity of the soldiers’ presence within Ishtar’s sacred shrine.

“High Priestess, I would worry for your safety. I’m not sure—”

“I’m not concerned, my lord. In fact,” she paused, “I question whether the prophet presents a threat anymore.”

He raised an eyebrow.

She continued. “The crowd has dispersed from the marketplace. Calm returns to the city. Perhaps his release would quell any further unrest from his supporters. He could be forbidden to preach openly again, or even be banished from Nineveh. With him imprisoned in the city, he may become a rallying point for his followers.” She shrugged.

He frowned while he considered her words.

She glanced up again. “Of course, that would require a pardon. I suppose you would have to petition the king for such a thing.”

Ahu-duri drew himself up. “High Priestess, I carry the king’s seal. I have leave to act with his authority in all matters here in Nineveh.”

Her eyes widened. “You carry the king’s seal? Oh my, I had no idea you were so . . . empowered.” Her cheeks flushed.

Ahu-duri straightened his back. “The king and I are very close.”

Her gaze flickered to his, which sent a new wave of heat to his forehead. Her voice grew husky. “You have the power to pardon? You could really do that?”

Renewed confidence reverberated through his voice. “I can.” He lifted his head. “And I will. It will be done today. I’ll have him escorted to the temple this afternoon. My soldiers will remain outside while you interrogate the prophet. Their presence will deter the threat of any crowd that might gather, and they can take charge of him again when you have finished and escort him from the city.”

Ianna beamed at him.

The vizier dared a prolonged look into the High Priestess’s exquisite almond eyes. He sensed the draw his powerful position held for her. He also noticed how quickly she averted her eyes, clearly to avoid betraying too much admiration—perhaps, attraction? He smirked inwardly. Yes, attraction. It was all over her face.

Ianna bowed respectfully to Ahu-duri, then exited the garden. She assumed an imperious stride up the road, well aware that his gaze lingered on her from behind. Fortunately, her
naditu
escort remained dutifully behind her. They would not notice the subtle smile spread over her face, or the mirthful tears fill her eyes as she recalled the final look on the smitten vizier’s face. It was all she could do to subdue her laughter. The twinge of guilt she felt at such blatant feminine manipulation suffocated under the elation of its success.

Jonah would be free by nightfall.

Thirty-nine

Nineveh, the Royal Palace

Sixteenth Day of Du’ûzu, the Tenth Hour

onah mulled over the tale Hannah told him that morning. She had spent half the day in his cell, as nearly as he could reckon it. They shared stories of their families, of their years growing up. She told of how difficult it was to live a denied heritage, to try to meld into a heathen society and never quite succeed. He described the verdant hills of northern Israel, the Land of Promise, of his family’s tannery near Gath-hepher. He related the events of his journey to King Jeroboam’s court six years earlier and explained that the cleft in the face of his medallion came from the tip of a guard’s spear. Her face shone, and she appeared rapt with his descriptions of his homeland, his life, and especially his call as a prophet. She interjected questions several times, very good questions, he thought. Jonah was pleased, even enthusiastic, to answer them. Her smile came more easily as the morning wore on. He realized with some surprise that his did, too. He became oddly comfortable with this stranger—a woman, no less. The oddness didn’t strike him, though, until she left.

When Hannah departed, it was with reluctance, he sensed. She left his medallion with him and promised to return with something to eat. Jonah slipped the leather thong back over his head and tucked the precious amulet under his robe. The rest of the day was lost in thought over this woman and her story. But he soon found his thoughts dwelling more on the woman than her story, and that perplexed him.

Jonah’s reverie broke as his cell door ground again on its pins. He pushed back against the wall.

“Come out. You’re leaving.” The guard’s raspy voice grated through the opening.

Leaving?

“Come on! You’ve got your own escort, you do. Out!”

Jonah pushed to his feet. He shuffled to the door and peered through.
Escort?

A hand reached through the doorway and grabbed the front of his robe. It yanked him through and shoved him down a short corridor. End the end of the passageway, Jonah stepped into the bright daylight and shielded his eyes. He arched his back, the first time he had been able to stand erect since he was thrown into his cell. When his eyes became accustomed to the brightness, he discovered himself in a large walled courtyard with an enormous structure on his right. Scaffolding gave evidence of a building under construction.

He looked over his shoulder and shied back at the sight of three armed soldiers by the wall. One of them beckoned to him with a finger.

“Follow us.” The warrior pivoted and strode toward a gate in the courtyard wall. The other two soldiers moved behind Jonah and nudged him on the back to follow.

He stumbled forward on stiff legs. They passed through the gate onto a narrow road and turned right. As they marched up the street, his surroundings became more familiar. He peered over the shoulder of the lead guard and saw the road open into a broad plaza between two large buildings.

Temples. They were taking him back to the temple square!

“Where are we going? Where are you taking me?”

They ignored him until the group came abreast of the larger temple on the right. The soldier turned around. He jerked a thumb toward the portico.

“This is it.”

Jonah stared at the Temple of Ishtar.

The soldier grinned. “You have a fancy audience waiting for you. I hope you bathed.”

The other two guards chortled and pushed him toward steps that led up to the columned veranda. Jonah tripped onto the second step and looked back. The three soldiers stood abreast, their arms folded. The leader narrowed his eyes and jutted his chin toward the porch.

Jonah turned to see a stocky woman in a blue tunic by the nearest column. She motioned to him to follow her, then turned and disappeared into the shadows. He swallowed, threw one more nervous look at the guard detail, then trudged up the steps.

He passed into the shade of the porch and saw the priestess poised by a massive doorway. She nodded again, then slipped into the building.

Jonah stepped through the doorway and squinted into the dim interior. The woman beckoned and turned down a long corridor. They rounded a corner to the right and she halted next to a large door. She rapped lightly, and Jonah heard a muffled reply from within. The priestess eased the door open, stood aside, and motioned him to enter.

Jonah edged into the large chamber and stopped short at the sight of a large statue of Ishtar. He flinched when the door latch clicked behind him. The click echoed to silence and a heaviness of more than stuffy air pressed down on him. He started to turn back toward the door when a movement caught his eye.

From beside the pagan statue, the High Priestess of Ishtar, the woman whose words condemned him in the temple plaza, stepped forward. She wore a plain silken robe, the ceremonial cap and staff absent.

Jonah’s throat went dry when the priestess took a step toward him. “What is this? What do you want?” His eyes darted around the room.

“Please. Don’t be alarmed.”

He drew up at the words. He knew that voice, and it didn’t belong to the High Priestess.

Hannah?

Hannah appeared beside the statue from where the High Priestess had emerged. She placed her arm around the young girl’s shoulders, and it came back to him that the High Priestess was her daughter.

Jonah swallowed, at odds between Hannah’s warm familiarity and the cold sterility of the temple. “I don’t understand.”

Hannah and her daughter exchanged glances.

“My daughter—Ianna—had you released from prison.”

“But how? Why?”

Hannah whispered something into her daughter’s ear, then nodded at the reply. “The how is not important.” She smiled and squeezed her daughter’s shoulders. “The why is very important. Ianna has learned of her Jewish heritage. There’s much to explain. Perhaps later. For now, we must get you out of the city.”

“Out of the city?”

“Yes. For your safety.”

“But what of my commission to preach? The reason I was sent to Nineveh?”

Hannah shook her head. “I don’t know. I only know you’re in danger of being taken again by the soldiers or mobbed by the people if you remain. You’ve delivered the message. It’s time for you to go.”

Jonah frowned. “But it’s all turned into such a mess. In fact, my whole trip has been disastrous since I left Israel. Why would—”

“Jonah, I don’t have the answers to your questions.
Adonai
knows and we must trust Him. I only know we must leave. We’ll go after dark.”

“Go where?”

Hannah whispered to her daughter. Ianna nodded.

“My daughter and I agree. The gates will close at dark, so there’s no chance for you to leave the city tonight. But it would also be dangerous for you return to the house where you were staying.”

“With Jamin?”

Hannah creased her brow. “Jamin?”

Jonah nodded. “Jamin ben Obadiah. It is the name of the young man who helped me. He lives in the artisan quarter with his Uncle Hiram and Aunt Rizpah. His uncle was the old man the soldier attacked on the steps of the temple.”

Hannah spoke again to Ianna. Jonah saw a change come over the face of the High Priestess as her mother spoke the name “Jamin.” Her eyes seemed to brighten, then she looked down at the floor, as though deep in thought. Hannah had already turned back to Jonah and her daughter’s reaction apparently escaped her notice.

“The only safe place for you is . . . my house.” Her cheeks reddened, and her eyes faltered for a moment. “For now, that is. We can find you a change of clothing among my late husband’s things. Then we can decide the best way to get you away from Nineveh.”

When Ianna lifted her eyes again, Jonah said to her, “I . . . I should thank you. Although I still don’t understand.”

Ianna’s gaze flicked to her mother, who whispered a few words to her.

Hannah looked back to Jonah with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Ianna does not speak Hebrew. We—” her eyes misted and she glanced back at her daughter—“neglected the language of her people, as we did so many other things during her childhood. Perhaps we can correct that after today.”

Jonah nodded at the young girl. She returned the gesture.

Lll

Twilight crept into the chamber while Hannah related what she knew of Ianna’s visit with the royal official. She and Jonah sat on tufted cushions next to the wall, their heads close in the quiet of the room. They passed the hours until darkness with more stories that filled the gaps from their earlier conversation in the prison cell. Jonah again found himself strangely at ease with this woman. The convergence of their pasts, evidenced by the twin gold medallions, lowered barriers that would otherwise have set his nerves on edge—which was their normal state anytime he was around a woman outside his family. He studied her face and felt she should look familiar to him, that he should somehow already have known her.

Hannah’s tone was soft and her language informal, yet not presumptive. It was as though she sensed a kinship with him, as well. The social impropriety of their closeness in such an intimate setting would have weighed on him at any other time. This evening it never crossed his mind. They huddled in the waning light, drawn together by spiritual weightiness of the pagan temple and the physical danger to Jonah.

Jonah began to wonder if there might be more that drew him to her. The feelings she aroused were unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. The closeness of her face pricked a sensual notion in him, but, unlike other times in his life, he didn’t fight it.

Ianna had left earlier to attend to rituals. It was important that the evening activities proceed as usual, that nothing seem out of the ordinary. When the time was right, she would send for them. What would happen from that point, he had no idea.

A click at the door startled them. The priestess who had escorted Jonah to this room appeared in the doorway, a torch in one hand and two bundles cradled in the other.

Relief flooded Hannah’s voice. “Hulalitu. You startled us.”

The
naditu
smiled her apologies. “I have clothes for you to change into and a pouch of food for the prophet. There are
ishtaritu
rites tonight. You will have to dress the part not to be noticed.”

Hulalitu slid the torch into an iron holder affixed to the wall, then pulled a hooded cloak from a bundle and handed it to Jonah. From the same bundle she produced a light blue tunic.

“I can’t wear that. It symbolizes everything I hate. I won’t—”

The
naditu’s
raspy voice cut her off. “You must. There is no choice. It’s the only way to pass without notice.” Her eyes softened. “I know it is distasteful to you. But perhaps what the goddess uses for evil, your God will use for good.”

Hannah cocked her head at the pagan priestess’s words, much like those of the patriarch Joseph’s message to his brothers in Egypt so many years earlier. It struck her how easily such profound truth passed the lips of the uninitiated—perhaps unintentionally, but then, perhaps not. She stared at the garment draped over Hulalitu’s outstretched hand. Then she nodded and accepted the tunic.

The priestess stepped between Hannah and Jonah, who had pulled the cloak on over his soiled desert robe. She faced him and put her hands on her hips, an eyebrow raised. Jonah looked at her in puzzlement. Hannah’s face, tinged pink, peered over Hulalitu’s shoulder with an awkward smile.