The Middle East of the 12th century BC was marked by a profound geopolitical reorganization, a consequence of the upheavals that occurred around 1177 BC. As always for this period, I like to recall the book that inspired me greatly. Indeed, these troubles, described in Eric H. Cline's book "1177 BC: The Year Civilization Collapsed," saw the collapse of the great kingdoms and city-states of the Mediterranean and Near Eastern worlds. Mycenae, Hattusa, Ugarit, and many other centers of power crumbled under the pressure of invasions, wars, natural disasters, and economic turmoil. In Mesopotamia, these upheavals created a power vacuum that ambitious kings sought to fill. Among them was Nebuchadnezzar I, King of Babylon, who reigned in 1125 BC. The heir to a rich and powerful city, he dreamed of restoring Babylon's lost glory in the face of its dreaded enemy: Elam, ancient Persia. Located east of Mesopotamia, the kingdom of Elam represented a constant threat to the Babylonians. Rich in resources and soldiers, the Elamites proved to be as strategic as they were ruthless. For decades, they had ravaged Babylonian territories, even attacking temples and pillaging sacred treasures, provoking the ire of Mesopotamian kings.
The story begins with a crushing failure. In 1126 BC, Nebuchadnezzar I launched a first expedition against Elam, galvanized by the idea of restoring Babylon's greatness. With thousands of seasoned soldiers and meticulously prepared logistics, he embarked on an ambitious campaign, hoping to quickly end this age-old threat. However, the march toward Elam proved long and difficult. The dry plains of Mesopotamia gave way to marshy regions where the heavy air clung to the soldiers' skin. The incessant buzzing of insects and the suffocating heat made each step more arduous than the last. The Babylonian troops traversed inhospitable regions where climatic conditions tested their endurance. But it was an invisible threat that proved to be the fatal blow for this first campaign: the plague.
However, Namtar, the god of diseases, sent by the underworld goddess Ereshkigal, was about to curse the Babylonians.
The first signs of the disease appeared as Nebuchadnezzar's troops advanced through the stifling lands at the border of Elam. This scourge spread at lightning speed, striking soldiers and officers indiscriminately. Within days, the disease decimated the ranks, plunging the Babylonians into chaos where terror and despair reigned. Nebuchadnezzar, powerless, watched his plans crumble. How could he wage war with soldiers dying, consumed by fever and pain? The king spent his nights scanning the skies, desperately seeking a sign from the gods to understand this curse. Had he neglected a rite? Forgotten a sacrifice? The failure was total. Nebuchadnezzar I, overwhelmed by this epidemic, had no choice but to retreat to preserve the few troops still able to fight. The defeat was bitter, and he knew that the Babylonian people would not fail to see this failure as a sign of divine curse. The honor of Babylon was shaken, and the Elamites, emboldened by this unexpected setback, became more than ever an imminent threat.
Upon returning to Babylon, Nebuchadnezzar could not resign himself to accepting this defeat. This king was a man of faith, and he knew that the struggle against Elam was not just military; it was also spiritual. One of Babylon's greatest treasures, the sacred statue of the god Marduk, had been captured years earlier by the Elamites. For Nebuchadnezzar, it was as much about recovering this relic as it was about defeating an enemy. The defeat by the plague was only a temporary obstacle: he was convinced that the gods would grant him their favor if he persevered.
The following months were marked by religious ceremonies. The king himself oversaw the rituals, kneeling in the great temple of Babylon, before the empty representation of Marduk, a painful absence that fueled his rage and determination. The priests recited ancient hymns, calling on the gods for their aid. In parallel, Nebuchadnezzar strengthened his army, recruited new soldiers, and improved his logistics. He observed the movements of his enemies, and a bold idea began to form in his mind. He had learned from the mistakes of the first campaign. This time, he would not attack Elam in the spring, when the Elamites expected it most, but in the height of summer, a period when no one would think of waging war in this heat-scorched region.
Summer arrived, and the sun mercilessly burned the lands of Elam. The Elamites were convinced that the Babylonians would never dare attack at such a time. The plains turned into furnaces, and even the rivers seemed to dry up under the relentless sun. The Babylonians advanced at night to avoid the stifling daytime temperatures. Arriving on the outskirts of Susa, the capital of Elam, they caught the Elamites completely by surprise. The sight of Nebuchadnezzar's soldiers appearing like specters in the dawn light completely destabilized the enemy. The ensuing battle was brutal. The Elamites, disorganized, could not contain the Babylonian assault.
Finally, Babylon became the main power in the region once again.
The victory was not just about capturing Susa. There is an episode that I like to imagine. Nebuchadnezzar enters the main sanctuary and recovers the statue of Marduk. The statue, tarnished by time but intact, is the symbol of his spiritual as well as military triumph.
But during his exploration of the treasures of Susa, another artifact caught his attention. In a remote room, surrounded by rubble and ancient relics, an imposing black basalt stele stood proudly. On this monolith, several meters high, rows of cuneiform inscriptions stretched out in divine rigor. At the top, a carved scene depicted Hammurabi, who had made Babylon the most powerful city in the ancient world, receiving the laws from the god Shamash. The king slowly approached, his gaze fixed on the engraved texts, testimonies of a glorious era. Kneeling before the stele, Nebuchadnezzar placed his hand on the cold stone. He murmured a prayer, asking the gods and Hammurabi to bless his reign. This moment, filled with reverence, was a reminder to him that his mission went beyond conquests: he carried the heritage of Babylon on his shoulders. The king decided to leave it in place, marking Babylon's presence in Susa.
Today, this stele, known as the Code of Hammurabi, resides in the Louvre Museum in Paris. Discovered in 1901 in the same Susa where it had been left, it attracts millions of visitors fascinated by this masterpiece of antiquity. Through this stele, Nebuchadnezzar and Hammurabi remain linked, each embodying an era of Babylonian power: one through his laws, the other through his conquests. Their legacy endures, reminding us of the greatness of Babylon and its visionary kings.
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