Blood of the Lion

John McRae

Review

Blood of the Lion is an exciting historical novel that offers a sweeping view of the turbulent era chronicled in the opening pages of the Book of Mormon. It weaves the factual threads of scriptural and ancient history into an action-packed, romantic saga that makes Lehi, Nephi, and their family come vividly alive.

The story unfolds before a backdrop of escalating wickedness and tense political climate in the tiny nation of Judah, six hundred years before the birth of Christ. Lehi publically condemns idolatry and the powerful apostate priests who encourage it. Laman and Lemuel, Lehi's two oldest sons, openly oppose their father's views and support of the prophet Jeremiah, believing it will hurt the family's prosperous business.

After Judah's king is murdered, Jerusalem is besieged and sacked by the Babylonians, who drive the leading citizens toward the slave camps of Chebar. The power-hungry lower class clamors to fill the leadership void, making the political climate treacherous. When Lehi is warned in a dream that his family is in danger and is shown a wonderful land of inheritance, his family flee into the desert, barely escaping with their lives.

A gripping ebb and flow of tension ensues as Lehi's sons make two perilous return trips to Jerusalem and as the families of Lehi and Ishmael spend eight years in the desert, enduring hardships of increasing magnitude.

The familiar scriptural account becomes a spectacular epic filled with action, romance, faith and insights into the characters' motivations. Tender romantic interludes between Lehi's sons and the daughters of Ishmael and the seething hatred Laman develops for Nephi make this a riveting fictional account of real people and real events in early Book of Mormon history.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1, 11

Chapter 2, 24

Chapter 3, 37

Chapter 4, 44

Chapter 5, 47

Chapter 6, 56

Chapter 7, 62

Chapter 8, 69

Chapter 9, 74

Chapter 10, 79

Chapter 11, 85

Chapter 12, 92

Chapter 13, 101

Chapter 14, 113

Chapter 15, 119

Chapter 16, 125

Chapter 17, 133

Chapter 18, 139

Chapter 19, 150

Chapter 20, 157

Chapter 21, 167

Chapter 22, 177

Chapter 23, 183

Chapter 24, 189

Chapter 25, 197

Chapter 26, 199

Chapter 27, 205

Chapter 28, 217

Chapter 29, 226

Sample Page

The afternoon gathered cold and forbidding over Jerusalem. Storm clouds hung in a grey sheet of sky, heavy with snow that already had whitened high peaks far to the north. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance.
The crowd gathering at the foot of the knoll of the sanctuary on Tophet, in the valley below the south wall of the city, gazed anxiously skyward, tugging their robes closer about them. Their mood was somber, the murmur of their voices subdued. People turned their attention back from the threatening clouds to the stone platform where the glowing, smoking form of Molech, the sun-god, towered above them.
A royal decree had been issued that human sacrifice would once again be offered to Molech on this festival of the new moon.
The idol hunched cross-legged atop the platform, an oxen head perched grotesquely on its fat, human body. The idol's arms were pressed close below the fiery opening of the belly, palms extended upward in evil supplication, an inferno of flames raging inside its hollow iron frame.
Two Nubian slaves, consecrated to the service of the temple priests, tossed cedar logs into the blazing innards of the idol. Despite the cold, their black bodies were bare to the waist, shiny with sweat and ceremonial oils. The logs caused hot ashes and smoke to spew from Molech's nostrils and sent talons of flame stabbing out the bulging openings of the eyes. A reddish glow spread slowly along out-stretched fingertips; the sun-god was nearing the heat of sacrifice.
Five horsemen rode out of the mouth of a wadi at the upper end of the valley. The riders, faces bitten red by the cold wind, reined in their mounts. They said nothing to each other, just sat and studied the lines of people converging from all directions into an ant-like mass of humanity about the slopes of Tophet.
An angry frown creased the face of the man in the lead. In his fifties, greying, he sat proud and straight in the saddle. His features were weathered, leathery. There was a forceful strength in the eyes that pierced over a bony nose, in the grizzled length of grey beard jutting from a stubborn chin. A chill gust of winter wind tugged at the man's robe but his stern concentration gave no sign of discomfort. Finally giving a signal to the four other riders with him, the older man nudged his horse into a walk and led the way on down into the valley.
Turning off the main caravan trail that led to the gates of the city, the riders continued in the direction of Tophet. Reaching a place near the foot of the slope where horsetrails and footpaths converged in confusion, the riders stopped. Again they sat, all five silently studying the people hurrying past them up the rocky pathways toward the smoking outline of Molech.
Near where they had stopped, a ragged and dirty blind man sat cross-legged on the ground. Rocking slowly back and forth, he was muttering words too low to be heard. Taking a handful of ashes from a sack between his knees, the blind man tossed them into the air, letting them fall into the wild bush of his hair and beard. Wide, blank eyes lifted toward the five horsemen. The beggar suddenly pointed a gnarled finger directly at the older man in the lead.
"It is Lehi—merchant of caravans, elder of the council." The blind man's voice cracked in wavery greeting. "May the blessings of Yahweh be poured out upon you. I counted five horses—your sons must be riding with you. Am I not right, Lehi?"
Lehi looked down at the beggar. He had known this man for many years, traded his wares for him in Egypt when he was still a good coppersmith, before illness had eaten away at his sight and his health, leaving fingers crippled and useless. Lehi knew there was still some sight left in those blackened, deep-sunken eyes but it made the old man feel better to pretend his affliction and present circumstances were due to total blindness.
"Your perception is as great as your sorrow, Amos," Lehi told the beggar.
"Not as great as the evil around us;” Amos muttered. He tossed more ashes into the air. "Destruction comes upon us all."
Laman, the oldest of the four sons who rode with Lehi, scowled down at the beggar. Laman's features were dark and lean, accented by a thin black circle of beard. He knew what the beggar was leading up to and was not in the mood to hear such words.
His brother Lemuel, shoulders hunched against the cold, sniffled and wiped a finger at the drip on his nose. His thin face was pinched, more blue than red, his left eye blinking and watering incessantly. Lemuel also scowled at the beggar, as if the man might somehow be responsible for the misery he felt.
Lehi's two younger sons, separated in age from Laman and Lemuel by at least a half-dozen years, paid little attention to their brothers or to the beggar. They were more interested in the activities around them, scrutinizing the faces of the hundreds hurrying past them toward the sacrificial platform. Sam and Nephi were close in age to each other, both in their late teens, both ruggedly built, both without beards. Their faces showed none of the jaundice and prejudice of the two older brothers.
"You are a fool and a fake, old man.” Laman snapped at the beggar. "You are no more blind than I am."
"I am truly without eyes, yet I see many things," Amos countered, "even as you, Laman, have eyes but are blind to many things."
"Watch your tongue, beggar—”
"Those who cannot see the destruction that comes with this rebellion against Babylon are worse than blind," Amos continued accusingly. "Death and calamity await us all if we lean upon the word of Pharaoh. He will not keep his promises."
Anger tightened on Laman's face. "Do not speak of Pharaoh, beggar. It is fools like you who bring destruction upon us.”
Laman lifted the whip threateningly, as if to strike the beggar. Nephi leaned over and gripped his brother's arm.
"The man is blind, Laman—”
Laman jerked his arm angrily out of his brother's grasp. "Do you want his beating—?"
Lehi interrupted impatiently. "Blind or not, Amos speaks the truth. You would do well to listen, Laman. Your friends bring serious trouble upon us all, as Amos says."
"My friends keep us from becoming beggars like him," Laman retorted angrily. "It is people like you, father, with blind allegiance to Babylon, who lead us to destruction—”
"Egypt is a broken reed," Lehi said flatly. "Yahweh has proclaimed it."
"You mean Jeremiah has proclaimed it—”
"Jeremiah is a prophet who speaks in the name of God."
“Whosoever speaks against Pharoah, speaks against the king. We are ruined, father,” Laman warned, “if you continue to stand with the enemies of Jehoiakim and the royal council.”
“There are more important things than our caravan trade, Laman.” Lehi pointed a finger toward the mound of Tophet. “The king brings idolatry upon us. It is a blasphemy that must be stopped.”
Laman started to say something but saw it was useless. He jerked his horse about and dug his heels into the animal’s flanks. The horse lunged forward, narrowly missing trampling the beggar. Laman headed toward Jerusalem in a reckless burst of speed, scattering people out of his way.

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Title: Blood of the Lion Author: John McRae Retail Price: $16.98 Available: Now ISBN: 0-88290-509-2 Order Number (SKU): 1981 Pages: 240 Size: 6" x 9" Binding: Hardbound with jacket