The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

by Lynn Austin

  “So. He has no advice for me,” Ahaz said. “Do any of the rest of you?”

  From the back of the room, almost against the rear wall, a lone figure rose to his feet. “I do, Your Majesty.”

  “Who are you? Come forward where I can see you.”

  “I’m Uriah, high priest of the Temple of Yahweh.” He spoke in a deep, clear voice and, unlike Ahaz’s other advisors, he appeared calm. He was tall and powerfully built, and he strode forward with such a commanding presence that Hezekiah curled up in the shadows where he was crouching, suddenly afraid.

  He couldn’t help comparing the high priest to Ahaz, and the king came up short on every point. Uriah had muscular shoulders and a broad chest, but Ahaz was flabby and round-shouldered, with no muscles beneath the fat. Uriah’s black hair and beard looked full and thick, while the soft, reddish hair on Ahaz’s face formed only a scraggly beard. The priest seemed to have no wasted motion, his every gesture sure and powerful, while Ahaz’s hands fluttered and fidgeted nervously. Hezekiah was surprised to see his father lean forward in his seat as if in awe of the tall priest.

  “You have permission to speak, Uriah.”

  “Your Majesty, our nation needs a strong ally to come to our defense in this crisis. I suggest that we quickly approach one of our neighboring nations for help.”

  “An excellent suggestion,” Ahaz said, settling back on his throne again. “Now the question is, which nation would be most likely to help us?”

  “I’ve given it a great deal of thought—” Uriah began, but Ahaz cut him off.

  “Which nation does our enemy fear the most? I want to choose an ally that will fill the Arameans’ hearts with dread.”

  “Your Majesty, it might be better if we—”

  “I want an ally that will make them retreat out of Judah as soon as they hear the news of our alliance. Which nation would do that?”

  The man with the many rings rose to his feet again. “Your Majesty, the Assyrians are the Arameans’ greatest threat. The Assyrian empire is already vast and far-reaching, and I’m sure the King of Aram fears becoming the next target of their aggression.”

  “Perfect!” Ahaz shouted. “Would the Assyrians be willing to ally themselves with us?” he asked Uriah.

  “An alliance with us would certainly give them a foothold in this region, which is what they’re looking for,” Uriah replied. “But I think we should consider a less dangerous ally first. The Assyrians are a vicious, violent, bloodthirsty nation, and I think it would be a mistake to ask them to—”

  “Good! The more bloodthirsty the better,” Ahaz said. “I want the men who killed my brother to suffer!”

  His words jolted Hezekiah. He wanted to punish the man who killed his brother, too—but how? The man responsible was his father, the king.

  “Uriah’s right,” Ahaz continued. “We must convince another nation to come to our defense. We’re in no position to defend ourselves without an army. The stronger that ally is, the better.” He drew a deep breath. “We’ll send a gift of tribute to Assyria and propose an alliance. This gift must be very lavish in order to convince them that we are a worthy ally. We’ll need to send gold, silver, precious stones . . . and we’ll need to act quickly, before the enemy lays siege to Jerusalem.”

  “But, Your Majesty,” someone protested, “where will this gift come from? There’s no time to levy taxes, and we’ve already emptied the royal treasuries to equip Maaseiah’s army.”

  King Ahaz glanced all around the room, as if hoping that bars of gold would magically appear. Then his eyes fell on the high priest, still standing in front of him. “Uriah, you will remove the gold and other valuables from the Temple of Solomon.”

  Uriah looked distressed by Ahaz’s plan. “But, Your Majesty, the Temple storehouses are nearly empty. The only valuables remaining are the sacred vessels that are used for worship. It’s true that the Holy of Holies contains a wealth of gold, but it is part of the structure. There’s no way to remove it without permanently damaging Yahweh’s dwelling place.”

  King Ahaz didn’t appear to be listening. “A wealth of gold . . .” he repeated. “I’m favorably impressed with your wisdom and counsel, Uriah. I’m putting you in charge of the gift to Assyria. If you do well, you will be the new palace administrator in my brother’s place.” He gestured to the empty seat at his right-hand side. “Tear the Temple down, if necessary, but this gift must be acceptable to the Assyrians.”

  Uriah nodded slightly, his expression unreadable. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “When everything is ready I will send a delegation to the Assyrian monarch, along with my personal appeal for a covenant with his nation.” Ahaz looked confident for the first time that night. He rose from his chair and began issuing orders, gesturing to his advisors. “We’ll need to raise another army for the defense of Jerusalem. You three are in charge of that. As for the rest of you, begin spreading word of the coming siege as soon as you’re dismissed. Make sure the city and surrounding areas are prepared as quickly as possible. It may take some time for our new Assyrian allies to rally to our defense.”

  The task of making so many decisions seemed to exhaust Ahaz. He sank onto his throne again when he was finished. “That’s all we can do for now. You’re dismissed. Where’s my servant?”

  Hezekiah didn’t move aside in time, and Ahaz’s servant nearly tripped over him as he rushed into the anteroom to attend to the king. “What are you doing in here?” the man asked. He grabbed Hezekiah by the shoulders. “You don’t belong in here.”

  “Let me go!” Hezekiah said as he struggled to break free. He needed to run upstairs and hide before his father saw him. But Ahaz had already heard the commotion.

  “What’s going on over there?” he asked. “Where’s my servant?”

  “I’m here, Your Majesty. I’m coming. Forgive me.” He carried Hezekiah, still struggling, into the council room.

  “I found this boy in the antechamber. I don’t know how—”

  “You again! What are you doing down here?” Ahaz demanded.

  Hezekiah couldn’t speak. He wanted to rush forward and strike his father for killing Eliab, but he couldn’t seem to move. As he gazed up at Ahaz, a terrible darkness began building deep inside Hezekiah, growing moment by moment like a powerful storm. He was terrified of his father—that was certainly part of it. But this new feeling was much bigger, much more overwhelming than fear. It was hatred.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Ahaz asked. “Get him out of here!”

  The servant picked Hezekiah up and hustled him from the room.

  During the brief disturbance with the king’s son, Uriah had time to refocus his thoughts. He had been too astounded by his sudden promotion to palace administrator to think clearly a moment ago. Now that the boy was gone, he strode to the front again. “One moment please, Your Majesty. I’d like to make one further suggestion.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’d like to advise you to include a public sacrifice to Yahweh in your plans, my lord. We will need divine help in this crisis.”

  Ahaz sat up straight. “Another excellent suggestion, Uriah. I’m impressed with your wisdom. However . . .” Ahaz gathered the sparse whiskers of his beard together, looking thoughtful. Uriah heard the hesitation in the king’s voice as he paused.

  “However, I don’t think it would be appropriate to sacrifice to Yahweh after emptying His Temple’s storehouses,” he finally said. “I’m uneasy about that. Surely you understand. No, we have already sought the help of Molech, the most powerful of all the gods. He won’t desert us now, especially after I’ve personally sacrificed so much. So before the siege begins, we will hold another sacrifice to Molech.”

  Uriah’s stomach turned over in horror at what he’d unwittingly initiated. He searched for a way to argue with Ahaz, to contradict him, but came up blank. Only a fool questioned the king’s decisions.

  Ahaz turned to the rest of his milling advisors, challenging them. “Perhap
s those of you who withheld your sons from Molech the last time will consider the great danger this nation is in. We need Molech’s great power in this crisis, and so we all must sacrifice a son this time. He’s a demanding god, but surely we can father a dozen sons once Molech saves us from destruction.”

  Uriah reeled in shock at the king’s words. Ahaz planned to kill another son, another of Abijah’s children. As high priest, Uriah was sworn to fight against idolatry, not promote it. How had his advice to the king gotten so out of control?

  “The sacrifice to Molech must take place as soon as possible, before the siege begins,” Ahaz continued. He turned to Uriah. “I will leave all the preparations for it in your hands.”

  Uriah felt all the blood drain from his face as he stared at Ahaz. For a long moment he was unable to speak. When he finally did, his voice didn’t sound like is own. “I-I’m a priest of Yahweh, Your Majesty, not Molech.”

  “You’re the new palace administrator!” Ahaz thundered, gesturing to his brother’s empty chair. “Unless you don’t want the job?”

  Uriah stopped breathing. He had mere seconds to make the biggest decision of his life, a decision that would set the course of his future. He could sit at the king’s right-hand side—or he could refuse.

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” he finally said, bowing slightly. “As you wish.”

  “Good. Then you’re dismissed.”

  It took an enormous effort for Uriah to walk from the room on his trembling legs. Several of the other advisors tried to speak with him, to congratulate him as he left the council chamber, but he moved past them like a blind man. He needed to get out of the palace and find a place to sit down and think. Moving on instinct, he headed up the hill to the Temple.

  Dawn was only an hour or two away, judging by the fading stars in the eastern sky. He needed to assimilate everything that had just happened before his many responsibilities as high priest crowded out all his other thoughts. He crossed the deserted outer courtyard and sank down on one of the steps that led to the inner court. The stones felt colder than the night air as he leaned against them.

  It had been an astounding meeting. Uriah had seized the opportunity of Prince Maaseiah’s death to catapult himself from the back row of the council chamber to the king’s right-hand side. He had suddenly attained a position of enormous power in the nation, power he had worked hard to claim for over eighteen years. He should be overjoyed. Yet a gnawing unrest filled Uriah’s soul as he thought of the price he would pay for that power.

  He would have to desecrate Solomon’s Temple, plundering its gold for the Assyrian tribute. He dreaded being responsible for that destruction, but he knew that King Ahaz would take whatever gold he wanted whether Uriah approved or not. At least he could try to hold the damage to a minimum.

  No, the root of his unrest was the sacrifice to Molech. Uriah was Yahweh’s high priest—how could he deliberately take part in idol worship? Yet if he refused to preside over the sacrifice he would forfeit his new position as palace administrator. Once again, he would be a powerless priest in the crumbling Temple of Yahweh, struggling to scratch out a living from meager offerings. One of Molech’s priests would gladly do the king’s bidding, and he would be the one to gain preeminence as high priest of the nation.

  Uriah clenched his fists. Never! He would fight for what was rightfully his. Yahweh was the only God of Israel, and all the power belonged to His high priest, not Molech’s. Uriah determined to do whatever needed to be done. After all, the palace administrator merely made all the arrangements for the sacrifice; he wouldn’t have to officiate.

  Uriah looked up at the holy sanctuary, looming above him in the darkness. The white stones appeared solid and substantial from where he sat in their shadows, but he knew that daylight would quickly reveal the truth of how badly the structure had deteriorated over the years. In its prime, Yahweh’s Temple had been the pride of his nation. But now it stood forlorn, like a deposed queen, clothed in the remnants of her former glory. Uriah shook his head as if to erase the pitiful sight.

  Ever since he’d inherited the priesthood, he’d watched helplessly as the institution that he served decayed from apathy. His countrymen had neglected the Lord’s Temple and the required tithes and offerings for so many years that the priests and Levites could barely make a living, much less afford repairs to the building. Most of his brethren had deserted Jerusalem long ago, ignoring their regular terms of duty to pursue other means of supporting their families. Meanwhile, the worship of Yahweh had become stagnant, stuck in a routine of traditions and rituals that no longer had meaning for the people. Yet the priests and Levites who remained were opposed to change.

  Uriah had deliberately pursued a position of power in King Ahaz’s court, vowing to restore the Temple of Yahweh to its rightful place of authority in the nation. He had sat in the back row of the council chamber for nearly two years, watching for an opening, waiting for his chance at power. Now it had come. The only obstacle in his path was the sacrifice to Molech.

  He sat on the cold step for a long time, watching the eastern sky grow lighter and lighter. When the sun finally peeked above the Mount of Olives, he shaded his eyes from it. He would have to leave soon. The priests and Levites would be arriving to begin their preparations for the morning sacrifice. But Uriah couldn’t seem to move.

  As a man of God, he knew that he should pray about a decision as big as this one, and he found it odd that he hadn’t—that he couldn’t. The longer Uriah sat, the more he longed for someone to confide in, someone who could appreciate the opportunity that King Ahaz had offered him and help put his conscience to rest. He thought of Zechariah the Levite. His former teacher and mentor was a brilliant man, well versed in the minutest letter of the Law. He was also an astute politician, setting the example Uriah had followed in pursuing political power. And although Zechariah had lost his position in court after King Uzziah died, Uriah felt drawn to him now. Zechariah was one of the few men who could understand the dilemma that Uriah faced and offer him advice.

  He slowly rose to his feet, his body stiff with cold, and walked around the courtyard to the rusting door that led to the Levites’ quarters. He paused in the dim corridor outside Zechariah’s room. Seeing his former teacher always brought back memories of Abijah, and with those memories, a sense of hopeless frustration. Uriah had always known that she couldn’t belong to him, but that knowledge hadn’t stopped him from wanting her. He had loved Abijah since the first day he’d seen her, the first day he’d become her father’s pupil . . . and his love for her was the only thing in his life that he’d never been able to control. He loved her still—the king’s wife.

  Uriah finally forced Abijah from his mind and rapped on her father’s door. While he waited he thought of all the changes in his mentor’s life—how Zechariah had fallen from political power, how he’d lost his home, his wife, his health. When no one answered the door, Uriah realized that he hadn’t seen Zechariah in months. He nearly turned away, then decided to knock one more time.

  “Go away,” Zechariah called from inside. “Leave me alone.”

  Uriah stared at the closed door. He had put on a show of great self-confidence before the king a short time ago, but he suddenly felt inadequate before the man he had always admired and sought to emulate.

  “Rabbi Zechariah, it’s me, Uriah. May I have a word with you, please?”

  Several minutes passed before Zechariah opened the door. He looked confused, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused, his robes rumpled and sour smelling, as if he’d slept in them. Uriah nearly turned away a second time. This couldn’t be the respected Levite, the man who had once sat at the king’s right hand. But it was.

  The man Uriah remembered was tall and lean and strong, but now Zechariah’s shoulders stooped as if bearing a heavy load. The spark of intelligence had vanished from his distinguished face and green eyes, and his pale features looked drained of life. He was barely fifty-five, but his unkempt hair and beard made him appear mu
ch older.

  “Uriah . . . come in, come in,” Zechariah stammered. He led the way into the room, staggering slightly, and cleared a place in the clutter for Uriah to sit.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you,” Uriah began, “but I . . . I need to talk to you.” He struggled to conceal his shock at the change in Zechariah. He could barely remember why he had come.

  “I’ll get some wine,” Zechariah said. He tottered over to a shelf and produced a skin of wine and two goblets. Uriah winced with embarrassment.

  “Uh, no thank you, Rabbi. It’s too early for me. But, please . . . you go ahead.”

  He felt ashamed for Zechariah. Coming here had been a mistake. Uriah stared at the floor, groping for words, wishing he could leave. Zechariah took a few quick gulps from the wineskin. Then, with a pathetic remnant of his former dignity, he pulled up a stool and sat opposite Uriah.

  “What did you need to talk to me about?”

  Uriah saw the respected teacher he had come to seek as if through a dingy curtain. He cleared his throat. “Rabbi, I have just come from a meeting with King Ahaz. I wanted you to be the first to know—I’ve been appointed palace administrator.”

  “But—what about Prince Maaseiah?”

  “Our army has been defeated. We’ve suffered enormous losses. The prince is dead.”

  “I-it’s a great honor for you . . . but Prince Maaseiah . . . the . . .” Zechariah’s confusion didn’t seem to be caused by the news. His gaze darted all around the room as if he wasn’t quite sure where he was.

  “I want to accept this position, Rabbi. It’s an extraordinary opportunity, but it would mean—” Uriah couldn’t bring himself to admit that it would mean idolatry. He realized, suddenly, that he hadn’t come for Zechariah’s help in making a decision. Uriah had made his decision in the council chamber the moment Ahaz had offered him the prince’s empty seat. He had come to win Zechariah’s approval, as if his former teacher could somehow absolve him from guilt.