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THE BOOK OF DANIEL

Daniel stood at the edge of the pit and prayed. God of my ancestors, wise in all things, powerful beyond measure, thank you for my life. All praise is yours.

Daniel’s rivals at court stood around the pit, almost daring to smile.

King Darius—a proud king, susceptible to flattery and prone to suspicions—would not face him. He could not look Daniel in the eye as he condemned him, however much Daniel stared at him, trying to meet his gaze. Darius had trusted him, once.

“Put him in,” the king said and turned away.

The royal guards shoved Daniel onto the ramp that led into the brick-lined pit of lions. Daniel fell and rolled down. The thick wooden lid closed overhead, and the light was gone.

For a man who had been twice-conquered, Daniel had done well. He stood among the advisers to Darius, King of Persia. Before that, he had counseled Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon. Then Persia invaded. Because Daniel was not Babylonian, he was spared the fate of the conquered. He was an Israelite and already in exile.

The Persian king held court in the great atrium of the palace at Babylon, which until five years ago had been the seat of the kings of Babylonia. Civilizations had risen and fallen on this spot for countless centuries. Cities, palaces, and the fortunes of men like Daniel rose and fell with them.

The atrium of the palace reached several stories high, a tower soaring to heaven, a triumph of empire and ambition. Fountains and artificial streams watered a jungle of vegetation, trees—palms, cedars, poplars—and rare flowers that climbed for the sunlight shining through windows set high in the reaching walls. The splash and trickle of water made a constant sound that blended with the murmur of voices in conversation and with the music from the chimes and lyres of the musicians. Darius nominally conducted business when he held court here, but the setting was pleasant and distracting—a world apart from the dirt and heat outside.

Near the musicians, a court dancer performed, a piece of living artwork. Suza moved like a sapling in the wind, swaying, her limbs curving. Her bare feet touched the floor with the lightest grace. Bangles around her ankles rang at each step. Her gold tunic, tightly cinched, showed the curves of her hips and breasts. Her dark, curling hair—loose and unadorned, scandalous and alluring—fell down her back. She had almond-shaped eyes the color of mahogany.

Much food and wine circulated, carried by slaves in gleaming white tunics, bearing bronze ewers and platters. Supplicants to the king were lulled and diverted. Unfortunately, many of the advisers and administrators were as well. Not to mention the king himself, so noble in his tunic and robe, whiter than the plumage of egrets. His rich headdress sat perfectly on his head, pressing on his curled and oiled hair, even as he leaned back in his throne, half-asleep.

Daniel drank water, to keep his senses clear.

The court was in the midst of hearing an adultery case. Two prominent merchants claimed they had seen the wife of a judge in a dalliance with a young man. The woman was young and beautiful. The rumors flew. Many could believe such a deed of her, no matter that her husband was well respected and their family admired. If found guilty, she would be put to death.

In the marketplace, around the wells and plazas where people gathered and talked, Daniel had heard other rumors: The merchants had made advances toward her, she had rejected them, and now they took revenge on her. When Daniel focused on the merchants, he could smell the sweat of a lie on their skin, even through the smell of spice, flowers, honey, and perfume.

The merchants made a great deal of the story they told the king, dramatically relating how they chanced upon the house’s garden, saw the lady send her maids away, watched as the young man in question appeared from his hiding place, and then how the couple sported in the shade of a tree outside her husband’s very window. The witnesses did not seem concerned that the identity of this young man remained a mystery.

The husband—a self-made man who seemed uncomfortable in his finery—looked stunned, uncertain, glancing back and forth between the merchants and his wife. The lady stood apart. She was draped in a rich silk tunic and shawl. Two veiled maids stood with her. Her gaze was downcast, but her posture was proud.

The merchants finished and begged the king for his judgment.

Darius glanced at the husband, then at his advisers. He said, “It is difficult to deny the firsthand testimony of such esteemed citizens of our empire. What say my advisers?”

They agreed, bowing and murmuring, that yes, the account told by such respected witnesses was undeniable, the lady must be guilty, yes, yes.

Hands clasped behind his back, Daniel stepped forward, leaned close to Darius’s ear and said, “Sire, question them separately. Discover if their testimony remains as sure.”

One of the advisers spoke angrily, “Why must you always be contrary, foreigner?”

Lifting a brow, the king said, “You do enjoy making things difficult, Daniel.”

“I seek only the truth, Sire.” He was out of place in his simple tunic belted with a plain brown sash.

“And if such truth goes against my wishes?”

“Truth is truth, Sire,” Daniel said with a careful bow.

From another adviser, a not-so-subtle whisper reached them. “See how arrogant he is, he thinks his truth is greater than the king!”

Daniel met the king’s gaze and did not flinch.

Darius looked away and gestured, “You. Come forward.”

The first merchant approached the dais and bowed. Did his hands tremble ever so slightly? Darius tipped a finger at Daniel, indicating he should proceed.

In a low voice, so that only the king, the other advisers, and the merchant could hear, Daniel asked, “What kind of tree was it that you saw them under?”

The man shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at his fellow, but Daniel stepped beside him and held his shoulder, to keep him facing forward. The man said, “How should I know? I’m not a gardener.”

“Just describe it.”

“It … it was wide. With many branches spreading out.”

“And the leaves?”

“Dark green. Oval.”

“Did it have fruit? Lemons, perhaps? Or apples?”

“Yes, yes. Perhaps they were lemons.”

“Thank you.”

Released, the merchant retreated from the dais. Darius called the second forward. Daniel guided him, so the two merchants could not exchange words.

When asked what tree it had been, the second merchant said, “Why, I’m sure it was a date palm.”

The most common tree in all of Babylon, of course.

“Tall?” Daniel said.

“Yes, yes. Very tall.”

“And the leaves?”

“Fronds, high off the ground. You know what a palm looks like.”

“Thank you.”

As the second merchant retreated, Daniel said to the king and the other advisers, “Sire, they are lying.”

Darius nodded and announced his verdict. “Their story is invention. They have witnessed falsely against an innocent woman.”

Then came an uproar, because the punishment for false witnessing was death. Darius ordered guards to come, the advisers shuffled and grumbled among themselves, and the courtiers sighed in wonder. The husband ran to his wife. When she lifted her face to him, tears covered her cheeks. They embraced, abased themselves before the king, and begged leave to return to their home.

Daniel stood out of the way, smiling wryly at the havoc he’d created.

“That was well done, Daniel, my friend.” He looked behind him to find Suza leaning on a marble pillar, her arms crossed, grinning. “But you make enemies. The sycophants hate it when you make them look bad.” She nodded at the advisers who huddled in conversation. Occasionally one glanced at him. Daniel could almost taste their envy of the attention he garnered from the king. It was like sand, dry and coarse.

King Darius eyed him as the advisers whispered around him.

“They make themselves look bad. I don’t have to do anything.”

“They’re jealous of your wisdom.”

He shook his head. “It is not my wisdom, but God’s.”

“You always say that.” She touched his arm. “Have supper with me at the bazaar tonight.”

“I’ll be there.”

She drifted away, her footsteps ringing.

Pavilions and awnings in a hundred colors spread across the marketplace. Beneath them, merchants sold wares from across the empire: the gold of Egypt, the silk of the far eastern lands, horses from Anatolia, coral and pearls from the coast. A dozen different languages clashed and made music, cheers went up as an acrobat finished a series of backflips in the plaza, a camel brayed across the street. Meat roasted and wine spilled, turning the air heady.

This was truly the most wondrous city in the world. This was truly a wondrous time to be alive. This was the height of civilization. Except for the cruelty of empires and conquerors.

The sensations would have overwhelmed Daniel, if he hadn’t been used to them. He could hear conversations a block away, smell a dozen different scents on the air. He’d grown used to the complex barrage of information. It was a part of the curse he’d learned to use.

On the steps leading from one level of houses to the next, he leaned against the wall, eating a handful of dates one by one. He smiled when he saw Suza running toward him, weaving around market crowds and crates of pottery.

He might have guessed Suza was a dancer, even when she wore a loose-fitting tunic the color of dust and hid her hair and striking face under a wrap and veil. She moved with the grace of mist rising from a pool of water, effortless and peaceful.

In the same movement, she stopped and sat beside him. “You’ve started without me.”

“Nonsense. I was saving this one for you,” he said, and offered her the last date. She laughed.

They wandered the marketplace in search of delicacies. Suza bought her supper from a woman who roasted spiced pork on a skewer. She offered some to Daniel, who shook his head.

“There’s a booth on the next row that’s run by a Hebrew family. I’ll find food there.”

She smirked. “You and your Hebrew law. You understand, I had to offer you some out of politeness, even though I knew you wouldn’t accept.”

“I know.”

They rested at a terrace overlooking the marketplace and watched the sun set over the palace gardens. Suza leaned on the wall, her mood turning somber.

“The full moon rises tomorrow.”

And they’d been having such a lovely evening. “Do you think I don’t know that?”

“Come with me. I hate for you to be alone on those nights.”

“I will stay at home and pray, like always.”

“You always say you will, but you never do. You can’t, any more than the rest of us can.”

“I will pray.”

“Your devotion to your Hebrew God—it makes you both a hero and a fool. Everyone says so. You’re admired for it—but because of it you’ll never belong here.”

“I don’t belong here. I belong to my God. I trust in Him.”

“There is another tribe you belong to.”

More angrily than he intended he said, “It’s not a tribe, it’s a curse.”

She touched his cheek, a fleeting gesture that he barely felt. “I will pray for you to Ishtar. The lion is her beast. So you are hers, whether you like it or not.”

She left him. He almost called after her, wanting to explain, to make her understand. But he remained silent.

Persia, Babylon before it, venerable Egypt, and all the kingdoms in the world were empires built on false idols. But what glorious idols.

Bulls with wings and the heads of men, full-bearded and wearing tall headdresses. Human bodies with the heads of cats and jackals, cows and ibis. And lions. Lions with the heads of men. Powerful, animal bodies governed by human reason. They recalled a time when men and animals lived more closely than they did now, when men were known to run as animals in the wilderness and each knew the other’s language. Those times were gone, but signs of them lingered.

Some of the offspring, the spawn of mortals and these animal gods, beings who were both and neither, lingered.

The Ishtar Gate opened north from the palace to the road outside the city. Tall enough to block out the sun, the walls, glazed blue and gleaming, marked the Processional Way, wide enough for a pair of chariots to travel abreast. Along the walls, gold lions prowled on blue tiles, row after row of them.

At twilight, Daniel had every intention of staying in his room and praying to God for protection, for self-control, for freedom from the curse. At first dark, but before the full moon had risen, he was walking past the lions stalking around the walls, through the Ishtar Gate and out of the city. Suza was waiting for him.

“I knew you’d come,” she said, falling into step beside him.

They did not speak for the next two hours as they walked away from the city to a forest near the Euphrates River. Smells of the city—cooking and crowds—gave way to hot winds and rich vegetation, alive and rotting. They took a wild path that disappeared in a ravine near a village, so they would not be followed. Others came. Daniel recognized some: a palace guard, a priest of Marduk, a prostitute from the bazaar. Those were other lives. Here, those roles meant nothing. Here was the place to run wild.

By not exposing their identities or this place, they ensured that they would be able to run in safety when their beasts broke free on full-moon nights. In the city, they kept each other’s secret; they were part of the same tribe of the cursed.

Some relished this time. The palace guard stripped off his tunic and turned to the moon, low on the horizon. His face, awash in silver light, grew longer, a snout formed where his mouth had been, and sharp fangs emerged. Before their eyes he became a wolf. With a gleeful bark, he ran away, claws digging into the earth.

Let me go, set me free—a beast writhed inside Daniel, clawing and scratching to get out.

He shut his eyes. “I hate this,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“Fighting it makes it worse,” said Suza. She pulled her tunic over her head and dropped it. A sheen of brindled fur was growing on her naked skin.

Around them writhed half men, half beasts, the images of a dozen false idols.

Daniel dropped to his knees.

“Oh Lord my God, I am Your servant, and by Your power I bear this burden. By Your will I carry this curse. By Your mercy I do not fear. Oh God. Help me bear this burden.”

Where Suza had been, a leopard stood, stretching her body, flicking her long tail. She jumped, kicking her feet as if for joy, graceful as a dancer. Then she ran.

Bones melting to a different form, skin stretching, a coat of tawny fur sprouting—Suza was right, fighting it made it worse. But he fought. Every month, every full moon, he fought.

And lost. He changed. His lion’s roar echoed in the night.

When folk of the city heard the howls of creatures in the dark, they huddled in their houses, safe in their tribes, and prayed to their animal-shaped gods for protection. If the doors stayed barred and the fires stayed lit, they had faith their gods would protect them. People prayed, because it made them feel safe.

The beasts hunted, then returned to the oasis to sleep.

Daniel started from a nightmare, his eyes growing wide all at once, his breathing fast and panicked. There had been blood. He could taste it. Gazelle. He would have to purify himself after this ordeal and pray for forgiveness.

“Hush, Daniel. You’re safe.” Suza put her hand on his shoulder.

Groaning, he rested his head on a pillow of grass. His body was his own again. Naked, he was tucked in the hollow under a leafy thicket. Dawn was close. The sky was gray and chill.

Suza propped her head on her hand and watched him. Her hair was tangled in a halo around her face, her eyes shadowed and weary, her smile amused.

She smoothed his hair behind his ear. “Good morning.”

“At least it’s morning.”

“You sound surprised.”

He stared up at the tangled pattern the tree’s branches made. “I’m afraid that one day the lion will not leave me. That I won’t wake up.”

She kissed his forehead and whispered nonsense sounds of comfort.

He continued, “The others who were captured with me when Babylon invaded Jerusalem, they said, ‘Why has God done this to us? Why has He punished us like this?’ But I knew. God sent me here to be an example, to show the empires of idols what it is to be a servant of God. To show them the wisdom of God, so that they might understand.

“But this—this, I don’t understand. I have faith, I must have faith that there is a reason, that God has afflicted me thus for a reason. But I cannot see it.”

“Don’t look for reason from a god. The gods are petty, they act on whims, and we are their playthings.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Then perhaps your god did this so that we might meet and become friends. Would we have, otherwise? You a Hebrew and me a Persian, you a respected counselor and me a courtesan?”

She sounded so matter-of-fact, he couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t know, Suza.”

Somehow, as they did every month, they found their clothing, dressed, returned to the city and pretended that they were normal, that they had no affinity for the clawed and fanged statues that populated the city, that watched them from every street.

In his quarters, Daniel prayed, kneeling on bare tile toward the west, toward Jerusalem. The prayer fumbled—on these mornings his faith was weakest. He did not belong to the Hebrew tribe of his forefathers, of his God. He belonged to a tribe he hated, and when he searched for the reasons, his mind was empty. He was used to God answering him with some flash of reason.

He washed and dressed and made his way to the palace of Darius.

The business of the day had already started, earlier than usual. The other advisers were in a flurry, clustered around the king. Not even noon, and they were urging Darius to some action. Across the room, Daniel’s keen sometimes-lion’s ears heard the whispers:

“Sire, it is dangerous to put faith in people who have no faith in you.”

“Sire, this law will curb the influence of foreigners on your glorious empire.”

“Sire, it will protect your own power. You will be the one whom everyone looks to.”

The king had a clay tablet before him, which a moment later he stamped with his seal. A couple of the advisers chanced looks at Daniel. Their smiles were cold.

Then the new law was read aloud. “‘Those who beseech any god shall be put to death. All faithful citizens of the empire shall rightfully seek boons from one being alone, the person of His Most Divine Majesty. All other prayers are unworthy and condemned.’”

Daniel was famous for his piety. The advisers wrote this law and persuaded His Majesty to endorse it for one reason only: to incriminate Daniel.

Suza, clothed in her silk tunic and jewelry, stepped beside Daniel. Her face was still as stone, but her eyes showed fear. “Surely your god will forgive you if you forsake him for this little time, until the king’s whim changes.”

“Every morning I pray. Every evening I pray. That is right and just. In fact, I feel I must pray now. If you’ll excuse me.” He would show them true faith, as he believed he came here to do.

“Daniel—”

He returned to his chamber, to the window that faced west over the city, toward the Promised Land, and he prayed.

My faith has brought me this far. I will not falter now, though I face death. Oh Lord, You are great.

He knew he could be seen, knew his enemies would be watching. He almost taunted them. When, no more than a dozen breaths later, the king’s soldiers splintered the wood of his door, he was not surprised and did not flinch. He went quietly, prepared to be a martyr.

For defying the king’s edict against prayers, he was arrested. By royal decree he was convicted. He was marched under guard down the street, toward whatever death the advisers planned for him. King Darius, carried on his litter and flanked by his advisers, led the procession. Frowning, he kept his gaze above the crowd, to the stone of the walls, and seemed unmoved.

At the gate outside the city, Daniel saw Suza, standing on her toes to better see over the crowd. He decided to look strong, to impart some comfort to her, for he expected to see her upset at his predicament, and was astonished and confused when she was not.

Rather, she wore a smile, thin and puckered as if she was trying to hide it. Her eyes were shining, and she waved to him. He learned later that she had discovered what method of execution was planned for him, and she had no fear at all.

The lid was shut over the pit, the light went out, and the only sensations Daniel could discern were the thick, musky scent of lions and the echoing sound of their breathing. He crouched at the base of the ramp and listened to claws scratch on stone, to the hollow growl as one of them yawned. A dozen of them lived here, fed by victims of the empire’s laws and the king’s whim.

He blinked. His half-lion eyes became accustomed to the darkness. One of the beasts was approaching him—the king of this pride, a tawny giant of thirty stone with a tangled black mane that flared around his head like a crown. Daniel bowed, ducking his gaze as the massive beast came close enough to breathe on him. He let his lion’s instincts fill him and tell him what to do.

Daniel waited, bowing his shoulders in a way that said, I am the weaker of us, I am not here to fight. The king’s nostrils flared. Daniel held his breath, careful not to meet the beast’s gaze in challenge.

Their languages were not so different. It was as if he could hear the lion speak, and he knew how to answer.

“Why are you here?” said the lion.

“I am a traveler seeking rest among your pride.”

Daniel felt the lion’s hot breath on his skin—dry and fierce like the desert and reeking of old blood.

“You smell like beast. But there is also the scent of man on you.”

“The men are all outside.”

The lion lifted his head, and gooseflesh rose on Daniel’s suddenly cool skin. He kept his head low, but in the corner of his vision he saw the lion’s amber gaze judge him. Then, the animal turned and padded back to his place. The other lions had been sitting watchful, but now they rested, stretched out on rocks, cleaning themselves with thick pink tongues.

“Rest here, traveler,” the lion bade him from across the pit.

Tension left Daniel’s muscles as though lifted by a breeze. Slowly, he stood. The lions paid him no more attention than if he had been one of them. Which, he supposed, he was. A young male stretched out a few boulders away from the king looked at him and invited him to share his place. Daniel did, lying on the rock beside the beast, who returned to cleaning his paws. Daniel was warm here, and safe. He closed his eyes and made a silent prayer.

The next day, the lid was lifted from the pit, and Daniel walked up the ramp. He was cramped and tired—even his lion self preferred the cushion of a bed, or at least a tuft of grass, to the rocks of the pit. But he was alive, praise God for it.

The king and his retinue waited at the rim of the pit, and all gasped when he appeared well and whole, without a scratch.

Darius, reclining on his litter, surrounding by gaping sycophants, could not maintain an indifferent mask. He’d become dumbfounded, barely able to move his mouth to speak. “Daniel! How—how did you survive?”

Daniel gave a wry smile. “I prayed, and my God sent angels to hold closed the mouths of the lions.” Later, he would pray for forgiveness for that fib.

His voice filled with awe, Darius said, “Your God is powerful.”

“And wise,” Daniel said, thinking of all the full moon nights he had asked why. Of course God had known why. “God is most wise.”