Nezzar

Part One: A Price For Rebellion

603 BC (24 years later) Nation of Judah

Nebuchadnezzar dragged his axe behind him, the scrape of metal against the courtyard stone floor breaking the silence of his approach. His shoulders burned with the rigour of swinging the weapon from midday to late afternoon.

He hated it in these planes, hated their ashen terrified faces, hated the sight of their tasteless structures. Even the palace before him paled in comparison to the home of a simple noble in Babylon.

His men stood at his right and left, their spears ready and shields held close to their breasts.

Kill the king. Head back home.

Visions of a warm bath in the inner pools of his quarters taunted him. His ire increased and with it the need to spill blood. He would teach these people, make them regret making his forces besiege their blasted wasteland for two full years.

Zedekiah, that worm.

Nezzar had placed the crown of rulership upon his worthless rebellious head, gave him the gift of his own life. To be repaid with what? Treachery? Consorting with the enemy?

Egypt will be next.

Right after making a fine example of Judah, he would crush Pharaoh Hophrah, march him naked along the streets of Tahpanhes, cut off his ear, feed it to his battle cats.

He took the stairs up the palace two at a time, more than eager to mete justice and be done with it all. The hot Jerusalem sun baked his skin. His hair stuck to the back of his neck and his helmet was slowly roasting his head. Vexation roiled in him like the raging of the sea.

Kill the king. Head back home.

Once he reached the spacious courtyard before the tall doors of the palace, Zedekiah, the king of Judah was in his rightful position-on his knees and head bowed. The members of Zedekiah's court were made to kneel to his far left, and the king's wives, children and immediate relatives connected to the royal line were at the right. His crown was in the grip of Nezzar's second in command, Nebuzaradan.

Stretching an arm, Nezzar gestured for one of his men to take his axe. "Sharpen this," he said without shifting his gaze from the stubborn fool on his knees. "And bring the translator."

A short round man dressed fine enough to be an official was shoved forward. He stumbled, nearly falling before righting his steps.

"Repeat what I say to Zedekiah word-for-word. I have those who understand your accursed tongue among my men." He turned his attention from the king to the trembling translator, taking in his balding head and sparse beard. "I will burn your tongue if you leave one word out."

The man nodded with enough vigour to make his jowls vibrate. Nebuchadnezzar shifted tired eyes back to the now trembling king. "Look at me."

Zedekiah obeyed with impressive speed. The man had a thin face with small sunken eyes-nothing within those shifty eyes showed the strength that deserved rulership. What had possessed him to install the sap as king?

"You did a dishonourable thing. Attempting to run; abandoning your people."

Nebuchadnezzar stared down at the man, quelling the desire to spit in disgust. Cowards nauseated him.

Sweat slid down Zedekiah's brow in rivulets, disappeared into his beard, and dripped upon the stone floor. "I... I..."

"Do you love your sons?"

Zedekiah gulped then snivelled. Growing impatient, Nezzar delivered a swift kick to his gut, sending him toppling.

Turning to Nebuzaradan, he said, "Bring his sons to me."