Tartan

I am Tartan. I am a soldier.



Like my father and his father before him. Our lineage back four generations has never lacked a soldier. My son will become one, I already see the signs in the way he handles the wooden sword I had Hadrimel, the woodworker, make for him. I am a commander in the largest and strongest army in the world.

Only recently we vanquished Tel Assar—which was inhabited by the people of Eden—broke down their temples, looted and burned their cities and took their virgins and young as spoils. As we led them away, many cried for the homes they might never see again and the uncertain future that was certain. I have seen that scene replicated many times in different places: Hamath, Arpad, Sepharvaim, Hena and Ivvah. I have not gotten used to it. I have no intention of so doing.

Many a soldier laughed at the captives. I reckon they do not know what it is to lose something of value. I restrain myself from rebuking them; just as one ought to choose the battles they fight, it is not wise to speak on every occasion.

The king of kings summoned us the other day. He told us the next countries he has lined up for invasion and his timeline—Judah topped the list. Our duty was to come up with the strategies to execute his will. The High lord and Supreme Commander of the Assyrian Army, Rabshakeh, accepted the challenge on our behalf. For many hours after leaving the king's presence, we were still deliberating. By the time we ended, our shadows had so lengthened they had all but disappeared.

By the next appearance of the moon we began to get ready. On His Majesty, Sennacherib's order, The Supreme Commander, Rabsaris and I took a letter to Hezekiah informing him of what was about to befall him and his people. It is an art we have perfected: send word describing what we have lined up for a people and they either cower in fear or they encourage themselves. Whichever the case, they rarely ever stood a chance.

A report came to His Majesty that Tirhakah, the king of Cush, was marching out against us. He ordered us to withdraw from Jerusalem and defend our own borders. To Hezekiah, king of Judah, he sent a letter:
‘Do not let the god you depend on deceive you; Jerusalem will surely fall into my hands. And what you have heard Assyria did to other nations (Gozan, Harran, Rezeph and Lair) will be done to you. If their gods did not deliver them, rest assured you will not be either.’

I was there when the message was delivered. I witnessed the reactions. And I knew Hezekiah and the people of Judah were doomed. My opinion did not change when Eliakim, one of King Hezekiah’s officials, received the letter and took it back to his lord. I wondered what had possessed Hezekiah to revolt against my lord. Maybe it was his victories against the Philistines. In any case, my king rules absolutely and has no tolerance for opposition how much more rebellion. The fact that we were set to march out against Judah after she’d paid the three hundred talents of silver and thirty talents of gold he imposed on her was evidence. One thing was sure; he was going to make an example of Hezekiah, and his people.



I was told that when he got our missive he took it to the temple of their god and spread it out before him. They say he even wept in the course of his petition. I sympathized with him, but I knew it was effort in futility. We would go home, crush the army of Cush then come back and deal with Judah.
Back at Lachish, we instructed the men to get set; we would break camp the following day. Ordinarily, most soldiers would have found little sleep that night but my fellow commanders and I made sure they did not travel that route. We had a long march ahead of us. I was happy when all lights had gone out long before the Star of Adriech began to stand out from all the others in the sky.

The sleep came fast and without warning, one moment I was going over the plans for the next day in my head, the next the head was lolling against the tent. I woke up in that state and rose on popping limbs wondering how I could have slept so deeply. I who, on account of how lightly I slept, had been nicknamed a dog by the soldiers (they did not know I knew).

Then I saw them—the dead men.

They filled everywhere, from one end of the camp to the other. Men in all manner of poses—some seemed to be in some macabre runway modelling. No explanation we came up with, and we dredged up many, sufficed for the spectacle that stared at us. The few of us who still lived finally took a census (isn't that word supposed to refer only to the living?) One hundred and eighty-five thousand men had been massacred. We got out of that place as fast as our legs and mounts allowed. Nobody bothered with their belongings. No one cares stick around for too long, in the event that what killed the others changed its mind about the survivors.

A story that was both fantastic and plausible filtered into our ears days after we returned home. The people of Judah claimed responsibility for our misfortune. They asserted that their god had sent an angel who'd gone through the camp and wreaked that havoc. As you can imagine, the news served to exacerbate the despondency pervading the national mourning. No one knew what to make of it. It gained ground in the absence of logical explanation and an official position. What would we say?

Secretly, many of us suspected there might be truth, or strands of it, in the claim. Was this not the same God who was said to have performed many wonders on behalf of Judah and Israel?

Murmuring and dissention began to blossom. Why would the king send out soldiers to be slaughtered? They did not even die in battle, which would have been acceptable and representative of the Soldiers' Creed. No! They were murdered in their sleep!

King Sennacherib expected the discontent to blow over soon enough. When it did not, he realised he needed to handle the matter decisively. He went to the great temple of Nisrok that stood at the centre of Nineveh to offer sacrifices and seek guidance.

While he was worshiping, his eldest sons Adrammelek and Sharezer struck him down with the sword. The attack was so sudden and from the most unexpected quarter that both Commanders and Royal Guards present were caught of guard. By the time we charged, the deed was done. The conspirators got on waiting horses and escaped to the land of Ararat.

The day Esarhaddon—king-designate—succeeded his father; I resigned my commission and left the land of my fathers with my family. Things would never be the same again.


*This is a retelling of 2 Kings 18 & 19.
Images from Google.

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