Babylon by Hannah MacFarlane

Author:Hannah MacFarlane
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scripture Union England and Wales
Published: 2011-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-six

Babylonian plains

The plains of Dura were crowded. Most of the population of Babylon and the surrounding villages had gathered there at Nebuchadrezzar’s command. Looming over the crowd and imposing its indomitable presence on them, tall, proud and dazzling, was a golden image of the king. Even the plinth it stood on dwarfed the citizens. And from its feet above their heads, it stretched endlessly upwards to its head in the clouds. It towered high. The entire statue was covered in a thick layer of gold, so that it appeared solid and glittered brightly in the sunlight. This statement was not about Babylon, but about its king. Etemenanki stretched into the heavens, Amytis’ gardens were a botanical treasure trove, the walls a defensive triumph and the processional way stunningly beautiful because of its attention to detail. Groundbreaking construction techniques had been employed throughout Babylon to defend it against the power of the Euphrates, to support and water the gardens, to build a gateway to the gods. Nebuchadrezzar was more proud of his endeavours in building the city than in any of his conquests in battle. He loved his city. Lived for it. But this image surpassed all the other triumphs. The statue of Nebuchadrezzar was the most lavish, resplendent and vain addition to Babylon so far. The statement proclaimed, ‘I am Nebuchadrezzar; the greatest ruler of the greatest civilisation on earth. None will ever surpass me.’

There was a hushed reverence as people craned their necks to view the face of their king, to consider its likeness. They shielded their eyes from the glare with cupped hands or by squinting. The craftsmanship left them flabbergasted. They were awe-struck. Speechless.

When Nebuchadrezzar ordered the crowd to bow down in front of the statue to worship it, compliance was automatic. Most didn’t question his authority even for a moment, or consider his request strange. Most depended on him and had been driven to greater collective achievement under his guidance and leadership. Why wouldn’t they thank him? Why wouldn’t they make a display of their servitude to this great man of wisdom and power? They fell to their knees and buried their faces on the ground. A sea of bodies fanned out from the foot of the statue and spread out across the plain, like ripples in water. Nebuchadrezzar watched with deep satisfaction. He surveyed the scene, scanning from one far edge of the populace to the other.

And then he stopped. The feelings of pride, happiness and self-importance that bordered on narcissism were obliterated in an instant. Rage flooded his head and swamped his chest. He was a thunderbolt – focused, angry, devastating – and ready to strike. Three figures stood within the crowd. Their conspicuous stances – glaringly contrary to the king’s command – betrayed the rebellious nature of their hearts. These were dangerous men. And their insult was devastating in its intensity – because these were not just ordinary men. Nebuchadrezzar recognised them immediately. He had recently promoted them. Hot, angry blood pumped fast through Nebuchadrezzar, fuelling his fury.

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