The Dead Line of Babel

Chronicle Entry
Recorded by Brother Wyn of Caermynach, Anno Domini 919
Known As: The Dead Line
Date of Events: Later years of the building at Shinar
Status: Recorded work practice within the hauling roads and yards
Primary Source: Yard tally notes from Shinar

A measure set on time, and made to stand in the road

I hold this as a record of a worksite rule and what it did to pace and bodies, with the understanding that writing made inside such labour carries gaps. The report survives as a copy in yard notes kept for tally and assignment, in the same hand that marked feed issue and rope issue beside the day’s counts, with the page corners worn by quick use.

The heading given is plain: “Dead Line of Babel.”

The rule that bound time to consequence

The Dead Line was established late in the building at Shinar, at the point where the scale of the works exceeded ordinary command. The origin given is a fear held among those set above the lines: delay, once tolerated, would multiply without limit. Fear was shaped into measure.

At first, missed counts brought ration reduction, reassignment, and removal of foremen. The notes say these proved ineffective. The road grew longer, loads grew heavier, the margin for correction narrowed, and delay moved from one man to the next along the pull. A decree followed that bound time itself to consequence. The Dead Line served as a finishing line for a given haul, and as the limit beyond which failure would no longer be borne.

Each hauling line was given a fixed allowance of time to complete its run, with the measure public and known to all. A line that met the count passed without remark or celebration.

When the count was missed, the failure was recorded.

The first failure carried no punishment.
A second was noted and warned.
A third, with no intervening success, summoned the Dead Line, with the small dryness of the record resting on the phrase that follows: no charge was read, no defence was to be heard, for the count itself served as judgement.

The bell, the choosing, the pull

When the third failure was confirmed, a bell was rung and all work ceased. The bell is described as a call for witness. Workers from the road, the yards, the ramps were required to attend. Absence was treated as a further failure. The line at fault was brought forward still harnessed to its sledge and oxen.

The workmen of the failed haul line were ordered to choose two from among their number. This choice was framed as necessity, not blame.

The weakest were to be named.

Strength was defined by the line itself, and that definition shifted with circumstance. When agreement did not come, the foreman was granted the final word. The record states the effect of this arrangement without commentary: blame and responsibility were fixed upon the line alone.

The measure did not guide the executioner’s hand.
It was the line’s failure that brought forth its dead.

It is not known whether this punishment was first conceived by King Nimrod himself, but the record claims it was set in motion with his approval.

The two chosen were positioned at the head of the haul, one on each side, between the oxen and the sledge. They were turned outward to face the gathered workers. Ropes already in use for the haul were placed upon them, and the oxen were urged forward. The act was brief and the method required no further intervention.

In many instances, the end came as expected. In some, it did not. The notes do not dwell on description, only on the point of failure.
When the full weight of the pull was taken at the moment of collapse, what occurred could not be undone, and what was seen was never spoken of afterwards. The bell was not rung again until the bodies were removed.

Replacement followed from among those watching. Two novices were selected, not for strength or skill, but for availability. They were placed immediately into the line and instructed as the work resumed. No pause was granted for mourning or adjustment. Many of these novices did not last the year, and some did not last the month. But the line continued, altered in its members and unbroken in its obligation.

What the measure did to the work, and to the builders

The Dead Line achieved its stated aim.

Hauls moved faster, and counts were met more often. Delays were concealed or absorbed by the line itself. The same notes set down what followed in the yards and on the road. Skill drained away as the weakest were repeatedly removed and replaced with the untrained before they could fully grasp the task at hand. Accidents increased as signals were missed. Oxen were susceptible to panic more often. Because of these additional pressures, the road grew less forgiving under hurried handling, and the count rose above the condition of the load. Men learned to finish rather than to hold. Some lines tried to spare their youngest, with elder men stepping forward to take the Dead Line rope, but foremen turned this back.

Where manipulation of the choice was found, the whole line was put to death.

The people were reshaped in the same motion. Lines closed ranks, and weakness was often hidden within. Injuries were concealed until they could no longer be carried. The Line Foremen became objects of quiet hatred. Bonds between workers thinned and were replaced by calculation, with speed treated as safety and silence treated as skill. Those who survived longest learned how to avoid notice above all else.

Final Entry

“So the LORD scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all the earth: and they left off to build the city.”
— Genesis 11:8 (KJV)

I set this down with my eyes on the fall that followed, the great citadel of Babel coming to its breaking with men trained for speed over care; to serve the count above the craft. The notes describe a measure that moved stone by terror and left no space for correction to live.

Whether this turning of men to haste instead of sound work had part in the Lord’s scattering, I cannot say; it is enough that the fall came.

I have copied it as a warning.