Shinar, Mesopotamia
2000 BC
“Terah!”
At the shout from the throne, King Nimrod’s chief officer came running—not easy for a man of seventy. He panted and bowed low. “King Amraphel,” he managed, using the name the ruler had bestowed upon himself.
“How wonderful to see that at long last Belessunu is great with child! Send word to me with haste when she brings forth your firstborn so that I may rejoice with you.”
“I will, oh King,” Terah said. “But may I speak forthrightly?”
“Of course!”
“Why did you forbid me concubines when for decades Belessunu was unable to bear me children? Even she fretted over her failure and was willing …”
The king looked away. “It was convenient. For me and for you. It freed you to do so much more for me. You must share my pride in how the realm has grown.”
“I do! But my legacy, my name—”
“Will forever be linked with mine and the glory of Mesopotamia, the Land of Nimrod. Even if Belessunu does not bear a son.”
“I pray the gods will grant me a lad.”
“Naturally,” the king said. “I will also pray that Utu will favor you with a manchild. And may he live a thousand years.”
“I am deeply grateful,” Terah said.
That royal blessing was not beyond reason, for Terah’s first child would be the tenth generation since Noah, still alive and nearly 900 years old. And Noah’s grandfather had been Methuselah, who had perished in the great flood at 969.
The king was himself a grandson of Noah’s son Ham. Noah had cursed Ham’s offspring in the wake of Ham having mocked his father for passing out drunk and naked. So Nimrod bore no royal blood. In fact, because of Noah’s curse of Ham, by rights Terah was the more likely king and Nimrod the servant.
But Nimrod had made himself kingly by growing up mighty and strong, a cunning hunter and leader of men. He built legions of admirers—including Terah, who early on had turned his back on his and his wife’s God-fearing heritage and became Nimrod’s chief assistant. As his kingdom grew, Nimrod soon declared himself a deity, called himself Amraphel, and worshipped and prayed to a plethora of divinities—primarily the sun god Utu.
When Terah left the throne room, Ikuppi, whom he had hired years before as a member of the king’s guard, beckoned him from the shadows. “Tread carefully with the king,” the guard said.
“Did you not hear him, Ikuppi?” Terah said. “He’s praying we’ll have a son and wants me—”
“To bring him word, yes. I long to be mistaken, Terah, but he has been consulting with his stargazers.”
“What are they saying? Will we have a son?”
“The king’s meetings with them leave him sour.”
“You heard them talking about me, about our child?”
Ikuppi looked down.
“Tell me, my friend!” Terah said. “Else I must take him at his word. I have served him faithfully for many years, so he has no reason to—”
“Bring him only news, then, Terah,” Ikuppi said. “Do not bring him the child.”
“Terah, please …”
“Ikuppi, your countenance gives you away. If you know more, tell me.”
“I owe you my role in the realm, Terah, and I know whereof I speak only because of access you have given me. But if I speak ill of the king, you hold my life in your hands.”
“Rest assured I will not betray your confidence. But I fear you are suspicious without cause.”
“I am not.”
“Then visit me tonight and pray tell me of any danger to my child.”