Pharaoh

  TO MARCELLO, MARZIA, VALERIA AND FLAVIA

  This novel was first published in Italian in February 1998, three years before the attack on the Twin Towers of September 11th, 2001.

  ‘And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind . . .’

  I Kings 19:11

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  Epilogue

  1

  Jerusalem

  On the ninth day of the fourth month in the eighteenth year of the reign of Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon

  In the eleventh year of the reign of Zedekiah, King of Judah

  THE PROPHET TURNED TOWARDS the valley, overhung with the smoke of countless fires, then raised his eyes to the empty sky and sighed. Trenches surrounded Zion; battle rams and machines of siege threatened its walls. In the ravaged houses children cried, begging for bread, but there was no one left to break it for them. Those who once looked after them had been driven out onto the streets, consumed by hunger, only to collapse in the city squares.

  ‘It’s over,’ said the prophet, turning to his companion, who followed close behind him. ‘It’s over, Baruch. If the King doesn’t listen to me there will be no salvation for his House, nor for the House of God. I know I must try to convince him, but I’m afraid all hope has gone.’

  As they made their way down deserted roads, the prophet stopped to let by a group of dry-eyed people transporting a coffin with a grim, quick step. The pale colour of the shroud that wrapped the corpse shone in the darkness. He watched them for a while as they scurried down the road leading to the cemetery the King had opened along the city walls which could no longer hold the cadavers that war and famine produced every day in such great numbers.

  ‘Prophet, why has the Lord our God chosen to uphold Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon and allow all the nations to suffer under his iron yoke?’ asked Baruch as they set forth again. ‘Why does He stand behind one who is already so strong?’

  They were close to the palace now, near the Tower of David. The prophet walked into the open square and then glanced back as the moon rent an opening in the clouds and illuminated the silent mass of Solomon’s Temple. His sorrowful eyes beheld the moonlight touching the great columns, shining on the sea of bronze and on its golden pinnacles. He thought of the solemn rites which had been celebrated for so many centuries in that square, of the crowds that had thronged there on feast days, of the smoke of the sacrifices that had risen up to the Lord from its altars. He knew in his heart that it was all over, that the Temple was destined to lie abandoned and silent for many years or for many centuries, and he struggled to hold back his tears.

  Baruch nudged him. ‘Rabbi, we must go. It’s late.’

  THE KING was still awake, despite the late hour, and had called the heads of his army and his ministers to council. The prophet walked towards him and all turned at the sound of his cane striking the stone floor.

  ‘You asked to see me,’ said the King. ‘What do you have to say?’

  ‘Surrender,’ said the prophet, coming to a stop directly in front of him. ‘Dress in sackcloth, cover your head with ashes and leave the city barefoot. Prostrate yourself at your enemy’s feet and beg his pardon. The Lord has spoken to me, and He said, “I deliver my country to the hands of Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon, my servant, I deliver unto him even the cattle from my fields.” You have no choice, My King. Surrender to him and implore his clemency. Perhaps he will spare your family and perhaps he will spare the House of God.’

  The King lowered his head and was silent. He was gaunt and pale, with dark, hollow circles under his eyes.

  ‘He is the heart of his nation,’ thought the prophet as he waited for Zedekiah’s response, ‘and he knows how numerous are the defences his people have raised to defend him: borders and garrisons, ramparts and forts. So when the enemy finally arrives at his door, his despair and his horror must know no bounds. His agony must be immense. Worse than that of the poorest and most humble of his subjects, who has always known he was naked.’

  ‘I will not surrender,’ said the King, raising his head. ‘I cannot believe that the Lord our God has truly spoken with you and has truly told you to deliver His people into the hands of a foreign tyrant, an idol-worshipper. I am more inclined to believe that it was a servant of the King of Babylon or the tyrant himself who spoke to you, and corrupted your heart. You speak out in favour of the enemy invader and against your own king, anointed by the Lord.’

  ‘You lie!’ the prophet cried in disdain. ‘Nebuchadnezzar put his trust in you. He made you the shepherd of his people in the land of Israel. It was you who betrayed him. You who plotted secretly with the Egyptians, who once held Israel in slavery!’

  The King did not react to the prophet’s words. He turned towards the window and seemed to be listening to a low rumble of thunder. The clouds had clamped down on the walls of Zion and the Great Temple was now just a shadow in the dark. He wiped his damp brow with his hand while thunder crashed over the desert of Judah.

  Total silence fell again, because there were no longer dogs or birds or any other animals in Jerusalem. Famine had devoured them all. And the women had been forbidden to weep for their dead so that the city would not resound with their perpetual wailing.

  The King suddenly spoke. ‘We have always had to fight for the land the Lord has given us, crushed as we are between powerful enemies. A land continually torn from us and yet which we must perennially, desperately, reclaim as our own. And each time we must stain our hands with blood.’

  The King’s face was as pale as a corpse’s, but his eyes seemed for a moment to burn with his dreams. ‘If He had given us another place, remote and secure, laden with fruit and with cattle, protected by the mountains and unknown to the other nations of the earth, would I have had to plot with the Pharaoh? Would I have needed his help to free my people from the yoke of Babylon? Answer me!’ he demanded. ‘And be quick, because time has run out.’

  The prophet looked at him and saw that all was lost. ‘I have nothing more to say to you,’ he replied. ‘The task of a true prophet is to invoke peace. But you dare to challenge the will of the Lord. You pretend to tempt the Lord your God! Farewell, Zedekiah. You have refused to listen to me and thus darkness will henceforth mark your way.’

  He turned to his companion and said, ‘Let us go, Baruch. There are no ears here for my words.’

  The King listened to the sound of the prophet’s cane tapping away through the pillared atrium and dissolving into silence. He looked at his counsellors and saw the terror in their eyes, the exhaustion brought on by their long vigil.

  ‘The time has come,’ he said. ‘We can wait no longer. Put into action the plan that we’ve prepared. Assemble the army in the utmost silence. Hand out the last rations, for the men will need all their energy.’

  At that moment, an officer of the guard appeared. ‘King,’ he said, ‘the breach is nearly open. A unit under Ethan’s command is about to leave from the eastern gate to make a sally as planned and divert the enemy’s attention. It’s time.’

  Zedekiah nodded. He took off his royal mantle and put on his armour, hanging his sword at his hip. ‘We shall go now,’ he said.

  He was followed by the queen mother, Hamutal, his wives, his eunuchs, his sons Eliel, Achis and Amasai, and the chiefs of his army.

  They descended the
stairs to the women’s quarters and from there entered the palace garden. A group of stone-cutters had nearly finished opening a breach in the wall near the pool of Siloah and two men had been sent out to explore the area to make sure that their passage would be unhindered.

  The King waited for the last stones to be removed and was the first to go through. From the valley rose a hot, dry wind that had crossed the desert and he leaned back for a moment against the stones of the wall, trying to overcome the anguish that was suffocating him. The officers hurriedly ushered out the others, directing them to sheltered positions behind the rocks.

  In the distance a trumpet blast suddenly sounded, followed by the clash of battle. Ethan had attacked the Babylonian siege line and horns blared throughout the valley to call Nebuchadnezzar’s men to the ranks. King Zedekiah felt encouraged: perhaps the sacrifice of his men would not be in vain, and he would be able to pass the enemy lines unharmed and reach the desert, where he would be safe. Shortly after, a light flashed down in the valley, swinging three times to the right and three times to the left.

  ‘The signal, finally!’ said the army commander. ‘The way is clear. We can proceed.’

  The password was relayed to the other officers, so they in turn could instruct their soldiers. The order for departure was given.

  The King marched at the centre of the line and with him his oldest sons: Eliel, his firstborn, who was twelve, and Achis, who was nine. The youngest, Amasai, was only five, and the King’s aide-de-camp carried him in his arms to keep him from crying and alerting any enemy spies in the vicinity to their flight.

  They reached the bottom of the valley and the commander turned his ear towards the east. ‘Ethan fights on,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we will be safe after all. May the Lord give him strength and give strength to the heroes fighting at his side. Onward now, quickly. We have to move as fast as we can.’

  They turned south towards Hebron, with the intention of reaching Beersheba and from there escaping into Egypt. King Zedekiah was followed by about 1,500 men, all those who were still capable of bearing arms.

  But Ethan’s troops, exhausted and famished as they were, could not hold out for long under the counterattack of the Babylonians, so numerous, well fed and well armed; they were soon routed and massacred. Many of them were taken alive and tortured to death. One, his will broken by agonizing pain, revealed Zedekiah’s plan, and Nebuchadnezzar was immediately informed.

  He was sleeping in his pavilion on a scarlet-draped bed, surrounded by his concubines, when an officer sent by his commander, Nebuzaradan, awoke him.

  The King got out of bed and called his eunuchs to dress him. The officer was instructed to bring his armour and prepare the war chariot.

  ‘Call my guard,’ he ordered. ‘I shall not wait here for Nebu-zaradan’s return. Tell him to go directly to the valley of Hebron. I shall wait for him in Riblah.’

  The officer bowed and left to attend to the King’s orders.

  A short time later, Nebuchadnezzar left his pavilion and mounted his chariot. The charioteer cracked his whip and the entire squadron followed in a column, raising a dense cloud of dust.

  Towards the west the clouds had dispersed and the pale light of dawn wavered in the sky. The song of the larks rose towards the sun as it slowly cleared the horizon. The Judaean prisoners were being impaled. Their commander, Ethan, in recognition of the great valour he had shown, was crucified.

  WHEN KING ZEDEKIAH reached the plain of Hebron, the sun had already climbed high in the sky. He sat in the shade of a palm tree to drink a little water and eat some bread and salted olives together with his men. His officers had gone off to look for horses, mules and camels in the stables of the city, to enable them to cover ground more quickly.

  When he had eaten, the king turned to the army commander. ‘How long do you think it will take my servants to find enough animals to get us to Beersheba? My sons are exhausted and they cannot walk much longer.’

  The commander began to answer, but suddenly fell still, listening to a distant sound like thunder.

  ‘Do you hear it too, My King?’

  ‘It’s the storm that was approaching Jerusalem last night.’

  ‘No, sire, those clouds are over the sea now. This is not the voice of the storm . . .’

  While he pronounced these words his face filled with dismay and terror as he spied the war chariots of Babylon at the top of the high plain that rose above the city.

  ‘My King,’ he cried, ‘all is lost. All we can do now is die like men with our swords in our hands.’

  ‘I will not die,’ said Zedekiah. ‘I have to save the throne of Israel and my sons. Bring me some horses, immediately, and have the army drawn up. The Lord will fight at your side and tonight you will join me, victorious, at the oasis of Beersheba. The queen mother and my wives will wait here. They will travel much more comfortably with you on your journey to Beersheba.’

  The commander did as he was ordered and drew up the army, but his men felt their knees buckle under as hundreds of chariots flew at them at great speed, as they saw the glittering blades protruding from the axles which would cut them to pieces. The ground trembled as if shaken by an earthquake and the air filled with the whinnies of thousands of horses and the din of bronze wheels.

  Some of the soldiers looked back and caught sight of their King riding off, and shouted, ‘The King is escaping! The King is abandoning us!’

  The army instantly scattered and broke up, the men running in every direction. The Babylonian warriors gave chase in their chariots as if they were hunting wild animals in the desert. They ran them through with their lances or pierced them with their arrows as if they were gazelles or antelopes.

  The Babylonian commander, Nebuzaradan, watched and waited. Without warning, he swiftly took off after Zedekiah as the King of Judah fled on horseback with his sons, holding the youngest one tightly against his chest. Nebuzaradan raised his standard high as he rode and a group of chariots enlarged into a semicircle in response to his signal, abandoning the hunt to go after the runaways on the plain.

  Zedekiah was soon surrounded and forced to stop. The Babylonian warriors brought him before Nebuzaradan, who had him put in chains, along with his sons. They were given nothing to eat or drink, and were not allowed to rest. The King was dragged through the plain littered with the corpses of his soldiers; he was forced to march alongside those who had been captured and taken prisoner, and was made to face the scorn and hate they felt for him because he had abandoned them.

  The column of chariots turned north towards Riblah, where King Nebuchadnezzar awaited them. Zedekiah was brought before the King with his sons. The oldest, Eliel, tried to console little Amasai, who was wailing desperately, his face smeared with snot, dust and tears.

  Zedekiah prostrated himself with his face to the ground. ‘I implore you, Great King. My inexperience and weakness made me fall prey to the promises and the threats of the King of Egypt and I betrayed your trust. Do with me what you will, but spare my sons. They are innocent children. Take them to Babylon with you. Allow them to grow in the light of your splendour and they will serve you faithfully.’

  Prince Eliel cried out, ‘Get up, Father! Rise, O King of Israel. Do not soil your forehead in the dust! We do not fear this tyrant’s rage. Do not humiliate yourself for us.’

  The King of Babylon sat in the shade of a sycamore on a cedar-wood throne, his feet resting on a silver stool. His beard, curled in ringlets, fell to his chest and on his head he wore a tiara set with precious stones.

  It was hot, but the King was not sweating. Though a breeze arose from time to time his beard and his hair and even his clothing were as still as a statue’s. The King of Jerusalem lay at his feet with his brow in the dust but Nebuchadnezzar’s gaze was fixed on the horizon, as if he were sitting alone in the middle of the desert.

  He said nothing, nor did he give any signal, but his servants moved as if he had spoken, as if he had given them precise orders.

  Two of
them grabbed Zedekiah by the arms and lifted him, and a third seized his hair from behind so that he could not hide his face. Another took Prince Eliel, dragged him in front of his father and forced the boy to his knees, pinning his arms behind him and planting a foot in the small of his back. Not a sigh escaped the young prince; he begged for no pity. He pressed his lips together as the executioner approached him, brandishing his sword, but he did not close his eyes. And his eyes were still open when his head, severed from his body, rolled to his father’s feet.

  Zedekiah, crushed in horror, was overcome by a convulsive shuddering, swamped in a bloody sweat which dripped from his forehead and his eyes and ran down his neck. A deranged, uncontrollable hiccuping rose from his gut and his eyes wheeled around in their sockets, as if trying to escape the sight of that motionless trunk pouring and pouring out blood and drenching the dust. The desperate howl of young Amasai tore through his soul and his flesh, as Nebuchadnezzar’s servants took the second of his sons, Prince Achis.

  He was little more than a child, but the sight of that abomination had tempered his soul like steel, or perhaps the Lord God of Israel Himself was holding His hand over that innocent head. The executioner’s sabre swung down on his neck as well, and his body collapsed, his blood mixing with that of his brother.

  Amasai was too small to be decapitated and so the king’s servant slashed the boy’s throat like a lamb’s sacrificed on the altar on the first day of Pesach. The blade turned his wailing into a gurgle and his small lifeless limbs paled in the dust. His lips turned purple and his eyes, still full of tears, grew glassy and dull as life fled his body.

  Zedekiah, drained of his voice and his strength, seemed to crumple to the ground, but then suddenly, with an abrupt burst of energy, he sprang from the hands of his guards and, grabbing a knife from one of their belts, rushed at Nebuchadnezzar. The sovereign did not move; he remained immobile on his cedar-wood throne, with his hands resting on its arms, while his servants seized Zedekiah and tied him to the trunk of a palm tree. The executioner approached, grabbed his hair with one hand to pull his head fast against the tree and with the dagger in his other hand gouged out both of his eyes.