The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

by Lynn Austin

  The prophet’s words alarmed Hezekiah. He wanted to know if this part of the vision would be fulfilled within his lifetime, during his reign, but he was afraid to ask. Perhaps it was better not to know.

  “Yet a remnant will survive,” Isaiah added, as if reading his thoughts. “And though the nation will be invaded again and again, it will be like a tree cut down. Israel will be like a stump that still lives to grow again.”

  The promise of a surviving remnant should have comforted Hezekiah, but it didn’t. “Rabbi, I think I understand why you can’t serve in an official capacity,” he finally said, “but may I still come to you for advice?”

  Isaiah spread his hands. “My own advice will be of little use to you, I’m afraid. But I promise to reveal the Word of the Lord to you, just as I spoke it to the kings who ruled before you. Whether or not you heed that Word will be your decision, as it was theirs.”

  Hezekiah sat alone for a long time after Isaiah left, trying to decide who to appoint as palace administrator. Isaiah’s refusal had disappointed him nearly as much as Zechariah’s had. Both men possessed a deep relationship with God, and Hezekiah found it curious that neither of them wanted any part in his government.

  The job of palace administrator was an important one. Hezekiah knew that he needed someone intelligent and uncorrupted, someone who would support his reforms, someone he could trust as a friend, and, most importantly, someone who was faithful to Yahweh. He knew a man who fit every requirement but the last one: Shebna, his tutor. Shebna would make an excellent choice except for the fact that he refused to believe in the existence of God.

  Hezekiah continued to ponder a mental list of all the officials and nobles in his court, weighing each of their qualifications carefully. But he always returned to the same frustrating conclusion—none of them was as intelligent or trustworthy as Shebna. Unable to make a choice, Hezekiah finally decided to send for Shebna and seek his advice in making this difficult decision. All his life Hezekiah had relied on Shebna to help him examine all aspects of a problem and make a choice. The lanky Egyptian had been Hezekiah’s closest friend for as long as he could remember, and he felt a sense of relief as soon as Shebna strode into the throne room. He knew he could come straight to the point.

  “Shebna, I’ve asked the two most qualified men I know—Zechariah and Isaiah—to serve as palace administrator. They’ve both refused.”

  “Both of them? That is astounding!”

  “Yes, and their reasons were even more astounding.” He considered sharing Isaiah’s vision with Shebna, then rejected the idea, knowing that he would never understand it. “So where do I go from here? Who’s left? My brother Gedaliah?”

  “I do not think that would be wise.”

  “What about the precedent my father set?”

  “Gedaliah lacks the experience for such an important job.”

  Hezekiah sighed in frustration. He was tired of sitting, and he rose from his throne to pace the room, his hands clasped behind his back. “Let’s be honest, Shebna. I’m inexperienced, too, thanks to my father.”

  “But you have always worked diligently, my lord. And hard work will quickly compensate for inexperience. On the other hand, Prince Gedaliah . . . May I be frank, Your Majesty?”

  “Of course. That’s why I asked you to come.”

  “Prince Gedaliah seldom works hard unless it involves personal gain. I doubt that he cares about the good of the nation.”

  “I know. That’s what bothers me the most about my brother. He seems to have inherited our father’s love of pleasure.”

  Shebna said nothing, but his grim expression confirmed his agreement. Hezekiah continued to pace for a moment, then stopped near the shuttered window. He could hear the slashing rain beating against the wood.

  “So, who’s left?” he finally asked. “The truth is, I want to appoint you as my palace administrator, but . . .” He sighed again.

  “I understand, Your Majesty.”

  “Shebna, I need someone who’s not connected to Ahaz’s administration, someone who can’t be bribed. I don’t know much about my other advisors, but I know I can trust you. The others might tell me one thing and believe another, but I know exactly what you believe—”

  “And what I do not believe,” Shebna finished for him.

  “I’ll admit your lack of faith is a big problem for me. I need your sharp mind, your reasoning skills, your loyalty. You’re not an idol worshiper, but . . .” Hezekiah felt as though he’d run into a wall and couldn’t find the doorway. He turned to his friend. Shebna nodded in understanding.

  “Your Majesty, more than anything else I want to continue to serve with you in your new government. But I can never say that I believe in Yahweh. I would be lying if I did.”

  “And I’m determined to build my kingdom on Yahweh’s laws. I don’t know how we can reconcile that.”

  Both men were silent for a moment as thunder rumbled in the distance. Finally Shebna said, “Your Majesty, consider this: I have read your code of laws, your Torah, and found them to be good laws. I would have no problem conforming to them, and I would even submit to your rite of circumcision. But you must understand that my religion is only external. I have no faith in any god.”

  “I’m sure there are men in my court who will look me in the eye and tell me they’re believers when, in reality, they have no more faith than you do. You could have done the same thing just to obtain power. At least you’re honest.” Hezekiah thought for a moment about what Shebna had suggested. “You would really agree to follow all the laws, Shebna—including circumcision?”

  “Yes. But you had better think it through carefully, Your Majesty. You are certain to meet with opposition to my appointment. My religious views are not a secret, nor would I lie about them if anyone asked. I would not wish to cause a controversy for you so early in your reign.”

  Hezekiah knew that he needed Shebna. There was no one else he could trust. The thought that Shebna’s appointment would spark a controversy didn’t deter him. He made up his mind. “I’m the King of Judah, Shebna. I don’t need to justify my decisions to anyone. I want you to serve as my palace administrator.”

  4

  The eerie silence that suddenly filled the grove of trees terrified Jerusha more than the sound of screaming had. She lay on the ground, numb with shock and pain, listening. The agonized cries had all stopped. The other girls were dead. And now Jerusha’s captor would kill her, too. He rolled off of her and stood. She watched in horror as he removed a short dagger from his belt.

  “No—please! Please don’t kill me.” Her voice was barely audible.

  She stared up at his dark face and saw him clearly for the first time. He was lean and muscular with wavy black hair and a short, squared-off beard. His deep-set eyes looked cold and cruel. She held up her hands as if to fend off his knife thrust.

  “Please don’t!” she begged.

  His eyes narrowed as if considering her plea. Jerusha braced herself for the first painful stab of his knife, but he reached down and grabbed her hand instead, jerking her to her feet. Jerusha could barely stand, much less walk, but he shoved her down the path ahead of him, pressing the point of his knife to the base of her spine to keep her moving.

  As she stumbled through the trees, Jerusha discovered the fate of the other captives. Their bodies lay scattered all over the grove. When she saw her cousin Serah, recognizable only by the embroidered wedding dress, Jerusha fell to her knees and vomited. Her Assyrian captor laughed. It sounded out of place amid the horror all around her. Then he suddenly grabbed Jerusha’s hair and thrust her head back, pressing the blade of his knife to her throat. Fear pulsed through her. She was going to die.

  But a moment later he released her. He said something in his language, and his thick brows arched as if asking her a question. Jerusha understood. He was offering her a choice: submit to him or die. She had only a moment to decide. She bowed before him, clinging to his feet.

  “Please, I’ll do any
thing. . . . I don’t want to die.” He laughed and pulled her upright by her hair, then shoved her down the path again.

  They found the other soldiers waiting for them beside the horses. Jerusha’s captor began barking orders, and she noticed that the men moved quickly to obey him. He was older than the others—probably in his mid-thirties—and clearly in charge of the group. One of the men tied Jerusha’s hands and tossed her like baggage across the back of a horse. Then they all mounted and rode off with her.

  For almost a week the soldiers made their way northeast at an exhausting pace, stopping occasionally to raid an unsuspecting town as they had raided Dabbasheth, burning and killing and destroying. There was no reason for it that Jerusha could see except to instill terror throughout the countryside. Between the villages, they left a trail of blackened fields, slaughtered livestock, and devastated vineyards and olive groves. Jerusha wondered if the Assyrians had destroyed her father’s little farm before attacking Dabbasheth. She prayed that they hadn’t, knowing how very much Abba loved his land. Beloved Abba. Jerusha wept when she thought of him and his desperate efforts to save her. She tried to remember his smile, his voice, but every time she pictured him she saw the Assyrian’s sword slashing toward him and Abba’s face, covered with blood.

  Please, God, she prayed. Please let him be all right.

  She remembered Mama and her sister, Maacah, cowering beneath the cart, and she wondered if the soldiers discovered them. Had they taken Maacah captive, too?

  Please, God . . .

  Jerusha thought about her family constantly in the days that followed and vowed that somehow, someday, she would find a way to escape and return home. She would live through this somehow and one day be reunited with her family. Her love for them gave her the will to survive the seemingly endless days of terror and cruelty. But the farther away from home they traveled and the more unfamiliar the terrain became, the more she felt her hope trickling away like water from a cracked jar.

  Jerusha had learned that her captor’s name was Iddina. He had shouted it at her, pointing to himself and making her repeat it. Iddina terrified her. There was no mistaking the cruelty in his dark eyes or his hunger for violence, his thirst for bloodshed. The sight of him, the smell of him gagged her as he forced her into his tent, night after night. But she remembered the mutilated bodies left behind in the little grove of trees and knew that her only hope of survival was unquestioning submission.

  Six days after the raid in Dabbasheth, the Assyrian raiders finally reached their destination many miles to the north. Jerusha smelled the Assyrian camp before she saw it, sprawled like a vast black wasteland around a besieged city. Thick smoke and the scent of death hovered everywhere; the air carried the scent of blood and decay. All the trees—which Jerusha imagined had been centuries-old olive groves, vineyards, and fruit trees—had been cut down, and the farmland had been trampled beneath a blanket of black tents. The entire world of the Assyrians seemed dark and oppressive to Jerusha, and she saw more soldiers and chariots and horses than she imagined existed. Her chances of escaping from such a dreadful place seemed hopeless.

  It was early evening when they arrived in the camp, and Iddina led her to the officers’ section, where the larger, three-roomed tents offered more luxuries than the enlisted men’s quarters. Iddina stopped beneath one of the few remaining trees where three more Assyrians, dressed in officers’ tunics like his, sat on mats beneath the tree, eating their evening meal. The other officers seemed pleased to see Iddina and greeted him with hearty shouts. He pushed Jerusha in front of them, a hunter proudly displaying his trophy, and the men quickly lost interest in their food as they gaped at her in undisguised lust.

  “No . . . oh no, please . . .” Jerusha whimpered as she edged away from them.

  Without warning, Iddina slapped her across the face and shoved her toward the other men. Then he shouted something, and a woman who had been kneeling by the hearth jumped up and hurried over to them. She was the first woman Jerusha had seen in days, but she seemed more animal than human, with the cowering, skittish movements of a beaten dog. Her every gesture reeked of fear.

  “I am Marah,” she said in a toneless voice. “They want me to translate for you.”

  Jerusha was amazed to hear her speaking perfect Hebrew. “Y-you’re from Israel?” she stammered. Marah nodded. In spite of the deadness in Marah’s eyes and the lifeless pallor of her skin, Jerusha could see that she had once been a beautiful woman. She seemed to be gazing straight through Jerusha as she translated Iddina’s angry tirade.

  “Iddina says that the Assyrians always share their spoils of war. He says he will not be selfish and keep you for himself. You belong to all of them now.”

  Jerusha instinctively drew back. “No . . . no!”

  As swiftly as a pouncing cat, Iddina grabbed her from behind and held his dagger to her throat. Jerusha knew what he was saying even before Marah translated it. “Iddina says you must choose. Do you still wish to live?”

  Fear paralyzed Jerusha.

  “Choose,” Marah repeated.

  Jerusha began to sob. There was no choice. Both alternatives horrified her; either choice would destroy her. Her tears produced laughter, not pity, among the men. They seemed more like animals than human beings.

  “Die, you little fool!” Marah whispered harshly. “Die while you still have the chance to die quickly!”

  Jerusha could no longer see the waiting men through her tears, but she felt the tension and strength in Iddina’s arms as he gripped her, the blade of his knife pressed against her throat.

  “O God, please help me,” Jerusha sobbed. “I don’t want to die.”

  Marah mumbled something and Jerusha felt Iddina’s arms relax. He seemed pleased with her decision. He laughed as he sheathed his knife and shoved her toward the waiting men.

  5

  King Hezekiah studied the faces of the men bowing before him, pledging their support, and wondered how he could tell the honest ones from the impostors. They assembled in an audience before his throne, waiting for him to begin.

  Outside the palace windows, cold, slashing rain continued to pelt the city, turning Jerusalem’s creamy beige stones a deep golden color. The spring rains were as precious to his nation’s economy as gold, and they had been plentiful this year. Hezekiah hoped they marked the beginning of God’s blessings.

  The windows of the throne room had been shuttered tightly against the rain and wind, and they admitted little light. Hezekiah had ordered all the torches and bronze lampstands to be lit, but the throne room remained gloomy, the atmosphere tense as the assembled men waited for him to speak.

  “Our nation has stumbled around in darkness, without God’s light to lead us, for much too long,” he began. “But this is about to change. I’m going to rebuild this government from the ground up, and I intend to rule this nation according to the laws of Moses. That means changing the way things were done in the past. From now on you will consult the Levites and the teachers of the Law in every judgment and decision you make and in every action you take. We must remain faithful to the laws of the Torah. Positions of authority in my government will be reserved for men who live by those laws and who haven’t compromised with idolatry.”

  A gust of wind whistled outside, and the driving rain beat against the wooden shutters as Hezekiah paused. When no one questioned the fact that Shebna—an unbeliever—sat at his right-hand side, Hezekiah knew that he faced an audience of seasoned politicians skilled at hiding their thoughts and emotions. The throne room was cold, but a trickle of sweat ran down Hezekiah’s neck.

  “I’m going to oversee the administration of all levels of government at first, in order to eliminate the bribery and corruption of my father’s reign. I’ll also hold open court to hear all petitions, so that the injustice toward the poor that’s currently taking place at the lower court levels will come to an end. Micah of Moresheth has recently made me aware of how angry God is with such injustices,” he said, gesturing to the p
rophet, “and I trust that he’ll continue to hold us all accountable.”

  “Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” Micah replied. He wore his left arm in a sling, and his many bruises had discolored to a deep, purplish black. With his tanned face and simple clothing, he looked out of place among the wealthy nobles.

  “I have ordered the priests and Levites to reconsecrate the Temple,” Hezekiah said, “so that the regular daily sacrifices can be offered once again. But first the Temple will need repairs as well as cleansing from everything that wasn’t commanded by Yahweh. I’ve asked Eliakim, son of Hilkiah, to join our council.” He motioned for him to come forward, then paused for a moment while he bowed low. “Eliakim, you’ve been recommended to me as a capable engineer as well as a faithful follower of Yahweh. I’m putting you in charge of the structural repairs to the Temple. You’ll also serve as a member of my advisory council from now on.”

  Hezekiah detected a murmur of surprise, or perhaps discontent, as a newcomer lacking royal credentials was given such an important commission. Eliakim’s speechless expression covered a wide range of emotions including astonishment and awe, but he quickly recovered and bowed again.

  “I . . . I am honored, Your Majesty. It will be a great privilege.”

  “As for the repairs,” Hezekiah continued, “I’ve recovered a small sum of gold that Uriah stole from the tribute to Assyria. Since this treasure originally came from the Temple, I’m using it to finance the repairs. When the Temple is ready, I plan to offer a sacrifice for the sin of our nation and to renew our covenant with God. I’ll be contributing animals from the royal flocks, but members of my court and city officials are welcome to participate, as well as everyone in Judah who wants to ask forgiveness for his sins.”

  He gazed at the faces assembled before him, trying to discern their thoughts. He believed there was discontent, mistrust, perhaps even conspiracy among them, but he saw no outward signs of it. He wanted to shock them into speaking their minds, coax them out of hiding and see where the battle lines were drawn. Zechariah had helped him choose an explosive topic beforehand, and he decided to raise it now, hoping to elicit a response and discover where the divisions lay.