Prophet From It

Whether you consider the shouting match he’d just had with his wife, Zakutu, over her treatment of Vashti, his new concubine, the cheeky Babylonian Ambassador who had just offered Marduk’s help in relieving the devastating summer drought they’d been suffering, if only His Majesty would be good enough to authorize a new temple to his chief rival’s god, or the stifling heat in the main audience hall of his spacious palace, Senachreb, by the grace of Ashur and Ishtar, King of the Four Corners of the World, not to mention his magnificent capital, Nineveh, was not having a good day.

And it was promising to get worse by the look on Ahikar’s face. The vizier clasped his own hands in a suppliant gesture, his stance unsteady, plainly afraid of his king’s displeasure at what was to come next.

Well, if it’s displeasure he wants... Senachreb screwed his face into a mask of sheer royal annoyance, concentrating on lowering his impressive, henna-dyed eyebrows. This should do the job. “What is it, man? Spit it out!”

Ahikar paused to appreciate His Majesty’s effort while invisibly gesturing to the scantily dressed slave girl fanning the king to increase her pace. “Funny you should choose those words, King of Kings, but that appears to be exactly what happened. According to eyewitness accounts, at least. He was spat out. But now he’s here.”

Senachreb sighed the weary sigh of a benevolent god-king. Was he working his vizier too hard? The man made no sense whatsoever. “Who was spat out?” he asked at last. “And where?” He spread his arms wide as his eyes scanned the audience hall. “I see but the usual courtiers and hangers on?”

Ahikar nodded his understanding. “An Israelite, sire. Goes by the name of Jonah. From the tribe of Zebulun…” He attempted to continue, but his king interrupted with an impatient wave of his impeccably manicured right hand.

“I can’t ever keep those twelve tribes of theirs straight. And so, was he spat out here? Into your dungeon, no doubt?”

Ahikar cleared his throat nervously. “Not exactly, Your Majesty. He was spat out onto the shores of the Great Sea. By a whale. And then came straight here.”

Senachreb permitted his eyes to widen, sparing a moment to check his face in the handy bronze mirror that lay next to his massive golden throne. Vashti is absolutely right, this new eyeliner is perfect. His lips started curving upward, but stopped as the memory of the morning’s argument soured his mood again. “What, straight here? A day’s journey as the crow flies, and nearly a month for a caravan?”

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” came the quick reply. “We verified the story with local fishermen, though there was some debate as to whether this was a whale, a leviathan, or just a plain old fish.” Ahikar paused as if to collect his thoughts. “But all that we interviewed swore that a creature rose from the depths, and deposited this Jonah onto the beach.”

Senachreb dismissed the report with a shrug. “Since when is a fisherman a reliable witness, Ahikar?” He chuckled. “No doubt they told you this when you threatened them with exile to Assyria. Land of milk and honey… riiight. They’ll do anything to move here. But instead of seeing it for the tall tale that it is, you chose to believe them. They must have been disappointed when you left them there.” He laughed out loud.

Ahikar smiled politely; one does not get to be vizier and fail to laugh at the King of Kings jokes, after all. “Ahem, sire, as you’ll recall, we did take most of them back to Assyria, and moved some of our people there? It’s those other tribes that are left…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “That unfortunate dysentery incident during the siege of Jerusalem…” He stopped himself short when he saw Senachreb’s hands clench the throne’s handles. “Apologies, Your Majesty. I momentarily forgot the prohibition on discussing that subject.” He stood silent, afraid to say any more.

Senachreb surveyed the room again. No courtier showed any sign of having overheard the man’s unfortunate mistake, which was just as well, as he’d already gone through two other viziers this year. He let the man sweat for what felt like an appropriate amount of time before continuing: “Perhaps I shall let you live, Ahikar,” he said, opening his palms. “Do go on. What does this miraculous fishbait want? I presume that is why you are here?”

Ahikar carefully considered his options before answering. Soften the man’s words, and the king might blame him for not being forthright if the prophecy turned out to be true. Share it out right, and he was bound to run into Senachreb’s prohibition and meet the fate he just narrowly avoided.

He’d have gone on vacillating longer, but the king’s increasingly impatient impression finally left him no choice.

“Your Majesty,” he continued at last, “Jonah warns us that unless we repent from what he calls ‘our sinful ways’, the idolatry, the child sacrifices, his god will…” He took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “He said his God will make what happened in Jerusalem seem like child’s play. He said ‘Be sure to tell that to your king’, specifically.”

For a brief moment, Ahikar thought that he’d gotten away with it, though the king’s face went white with rage at the second mention of the Jerusalem incident. But the king’s laugh, coupled as it was with the words, “repent, sure. He’s right, that child sacrifice stuff is truly distasteful, after all,” gave him hope. For a brief moment.

Then the king’s guards grabbed him by his armpits and started dragging him, struggling and screaming as he was, toward the dungeon. “Your Majesty! Your Majesty! I had no choice!” he protested, but to no avail.

“Bring that Jonah character here at once!” he heard Senachreb command as he was being dragged out. “He sounds like a hoot. And I need a new vizier!”