Look, I confess that my hands are a little pudgy – and my legs too, to be honest – but nothing like Belshazzar. He is pudginess personified. Yet those pudgy knees were knocking together quite firmly earlier this evening, despite the fact that all of him was wobbling with fear.
And, yes, I must confess that as well – I was also a little scared, and may have been shaking in my boots as well. Ha-ha-ha! But I was a bit tipsy at the time, since we were in the middle of a wonderful party. Now, of course, I’m completely sober – because of that hand.
Of course, Belshazzar isn’t really the king, and everyone knows why, although we never talk about it, and we all call him “king”. After all, you can’t say anything against a king who is… but never mind. I can’t say that we don’t talk about it and then talk about it, can I?
Back to the point.
The party started well. In fact it was just the sort of party that we all like: the sort of party that makes a king popular. I was pleased as punch to be invited, although I wasn’t really surprised. One thousand lords were invited and, of course, I would always be included in a net cast that widely! One thousand? Why, I would be in the top hundred, perhaps. Yes, I’m sure I would – the top hundred, to be sure. After all, wasn’t I invited to his
investiture when he was announced king? And haven’t I attended many – well, at least several – of his parties over the years since?
No-one could dispute the fact that I move in the upper echelons of Babylonian society. And if Urukh or Nergal ever try to tell you about that time when I was not invited to that celebration, there was a perfectly simple explanation, because… Oh, never mind – they are as narrow minded and self-seeking as their fathers were. I shouldn’t even acknowledge their snide remarks!
This is just to be a simple account of what happened tonight, just in case it really was important. And maybe by tomorrow I won’t remember what happened – it wouldn’t be the first time.
Now let me get the order right. I’m a bit fuzzy on the details, although I clearly remember being led to my seat by a servant and being greeted and welcomed by no less a person than Muranu, who is one of Belshazzar’s relatives! He spent several minutes talking to us, and I noticed Urukh watching, green with envy, from where he sat at a table that was definitely lower than ours – and further from the king.
I was revelling in it until I noticed Nergal looking at me with a supercilious smirk – you’ve probably seen it before whenever he is advanced in any way. There was that last celebration in the Esagila when he was put in an honoured position – accidentally, I think. I firmly believe that the steward mixed him up with someone else when he offered him that special wine. As if he deserves to be honoured in such a way, when people like me are treated with little respect, despite my
constant attention to the worship of all of our gods. After all, who was it who began the habit – a habit that everyone now follows – of wearing a square of coloured material on the feast days or when the priests tell us that we should be remembering particular gods? Wasn’t it me? And yes, I know that others have claimed the idea, but they only ever used ragged shreds of material, and they only acknowledged a few gods on whom they had set their preference. I was
the one who had the original thought of hemming the material and dutifully acknowledging all of our gods with consistently shaped and trimmed clouts, not just a few scraps.
Now, almost everyone follows my example. Why, even at tonight’s feast, a day when there was no feast for any particular god, some people were still wearing a patch of orange from yesterday’s religious feast. I am humbly, but justly, proud of my success in this. Even some of the priests have told me that they are pleased with this acknowledgement of the gods.
And that brings me back to the subject of tonight’s feast. I don’t seem to be able to concentrate on one subject. Maybe I’m not as sober as I thought, despite that scare a while ago. Just let me go back to the beginning so that I can get my thoughts in order.
Belshazzar started the feast with food, but it wasn’t long before there was a lot of wine flowing too. Belshazzar is rather proud of his ability to put away litres of wine without becoming, ah, “tired and emotional.” I have to admit that he puts me to shame – it’s a real gift he has.
He was seated at his special table, raised above the floor level of the banquet hall. His chair is not only beautifully carved, but also rather heavily reinforced, so he has two slaves standing behind him all the time, ready to move the chair whenever he needs them to.
Many of his wives were there too, trying to look regal and relaxed, while covertly jockeying for position with the king. Most of the time, though, he seems to be more interested in his concubines anyway – and some of them will dress up in amazing ways to get his attention.
So that was the front table: the king and his women.
Then, the nearest tables contained the king’s closest advisors and friends, hanging on his every word and trying to emulate his skill for tolerating strong drink. No advisor will ever get far with the king if he can’t carry his wine well.
There were also some of the religious elite. They’re always good with wine, and good with the women too – although they have to careful near the king’s women. Their religious importance won’t save them if the king suspects anything.
None of this will be new to anyone. There was nothing unusual in anything that happened in the earlier parts of the feast. Everything followed the established practices. That’s why I’m writing it down: all of this has happened before, but without the aftermath.
The food was exquisite, brought in on large platters by beautiful slaves, and some of the exotic dishes there would have cost me a month’s income – and I’m not poor!
Wine flowed freely, and gradually the room got noisier and everyone was happy. Even my wife was enjoying herself for once, although she wasn’t pleased with the way she said I looked at one of the slave-girls; but then, she’s always been a bit like that. And anyway, it was only a slave-girl!
There were jugglers too, and I tried to imitate one of them – and I was doing very well too, until my wife knocked my elbow and made me drop the goblets I was juggling. Everybody on the next table had been cheering me, before she interfered.
Yes, everything about the party was going well, but nothing unusual was happening until the king suddenly had an idea. He was holding a golden goblet at the time, and I just happened to be watching him as he looked at it and ran his finger around the rim. He was talking to his chief wife at the time and looking a bit bored. Sometimes she treats him more like a child than her king – lecturing him, you might say – and he doesn’t like it.
Suddenly he threw the priceless goblet down on the floor and called his steward.
“I’m bored with these goblets,” he cried. “Don’t we have some different ones that we can use? Ones from some far distant country that we of Babylon have conquered?”
The steward looked a bit nonplussed and then said, “I’ll go and see what I can find, sire.”
He hurried out and Belshazzar waited.
One of his closest friends, Zikar-sin, had obviously been watching and heard what was said, for he called across to the king, “Why not get some of the golden cups that were taken from one of the temples we have conquered? Drink yourself drunk out of cups dedicated to a failed god! Show everyone that a king of Babylon is greater than any of these foreign gods.”
Belshazzar still looked completely sober, but his laugh was a little too loud; a little too shrill.
“Ah-huh,” he said, gurgling with laughter. “Yes, I’ve wanted to do that for years with the cups from the temple of that god in Jerusalem. Some people treat him as so important, but he’s just another failed god like all the rest of them.”
Zikar-sin looked a little uncomfortable as he replied, “Are you sure, sire? I’ve heard some things about that god that make me wonder – at least when I’m sober.”
“You’re just a coward, Zikar-sin,” said the king, and banged on the table with a silver tankard until the under-steward came.
“Go and tell… the steward, whatever his name is, that I want all of the cups from the temple of Yahweh in Jerusalem,” said Belshazzar. “We’re going to have fun with them.”
“Yes, sire. Anything you say, sire.”
He hurried off and Belshazzar drank another tankard of wine to stave off his thirst while he waited.
It really wasn’t long, but Belshazzar was getting a bit edgy by the time the steward returned with five men, each carrying a wooden box. He signalled to one of the men, who opened his box and passed the king several heavy-looking cups. They were obviously made of gold, and Belshazzar studied them one by one.
“Are these from the temple of Yahweh?” he asked.
“Yes, sire.”
“Were they used in worship of Yahweh?”
“I believe so, sire. They have been sitting in the treasury ever since they arrived. They have never been used for anything in Babylon.”
“Well, now they will be. And much better things than they were used for in Jerusalem.” Belshazzar leaned forward and spat in one of the cups. “Hah-hah,” he said, emptying the cup on the floor. “They’re not very clean! Is this all there are?”
“No, there are thousands of them, my lord.”
“Good.” He waved an unsteady hand around the room. “Clean up enough cups for everyone here to have one.”
“Everyone, sir?” asked the steward, looking around the crowded room at the throng that had fallen strangely silent.
“Yes, everyone.”
“Very well, sire.”
The cups were duly cleaned, and soon about 50 men were distributing the golden cups amongst us. I took the cup I was offered and looked at it carefully. I, too, had heard some rumours about the god of Israel, and if I had been sober, maybe I would have thought twice before taking it. But I wasn’t sober – not completely – and I quickly had the cup filled with wine.
Nothing could go wrong. I knew that.
[to be continued...]
