by Lynn Austin
“All right, then. Lead the way.” Hezekiah stood aside.
Shebna was waiting outside the tent, kicking a huge mound of rock with his foot. “I thought you had a plan to get rid of all this rubble, Eliakim.”
“I do. We’re filling in the new extensions on the northwest wall, making a solid wall twenty feet thick.”
“Then why are all these piles still here?”
“Well, we can’t haul the rubble away instantly. It’s a long, slow process, requiring a lot of manpower. In the meantime, it accumulates down here.”
A work crew emerged from the tunnel with another load of rubble and added it to the pile as if to underscore Eliakim’s point. Shebna shook his head in disgust.
Hezekiah had no idea what caused the friction between Shebna and Eliakim, but it wearied him. Eliakim was the only man on his council whose intellect matched Shebna’s, and they could accomplish a great deal if they put their minds together. Instead, they never failed to antagonize each other.
“Is it piling up by the other tunnel, too?” Shebna asked.
“Yes, but I can’t help it. It’ll all be used as fill eventually. I don’t see the problem.”
“It is ruining any secrecy we may have hoped for,” Shebna said. “If we were mining the rock for fill, we would not be digging it out faster than we are using it.”
“I’m supposed to dig this tunnel as quickly as possible, and—”
“Hire more workmen to haul it away,” Hezekiah interrupted, “but don’t slow down the digging. Now, we came to see the tunnel.”
They skirted piles of tools and more rubble as they walked to the edge of the spring, then they stopped again as Eliakim explained the work to them. His obsession with the project was clear, despite his fatigue.
“We start with a natural fissure and dig a tunnel wide enough and high enough for one man to crawl through. Then a second crew enlarges the tunnel. My men work day and night—there’s no difference down there. Each crew rotates jobs; digging for a while, then hauling out rubble, then resting. It’s going very smoothly.”
“Are we going to stand out here all day, or are you going to let us go inside?” Shebna asked.
“I have to get the work crew out first. I just told you—it’s only wide enough for one man.”
Hezekiah flashed Shebna a warning look as Eliakim went inside to order the workmen to take a short break. Only the worker at the tunnel’s end was allowed to continue. When the path was clear, Eliakim led the way inside. He had enlarged the entrance and had cut grooves in the walls, several cubits apart, to hold oil lamps.
“It’s a lot brighter in here than the last time we visited,” Hezekiah said. “Where did you get these lamps?”
“I designed them. We can carry them like this—see? Or fit them in the grooves.” He gave them each a lamp to carry.
“But they are burning your air supply,” Shebna said, frowning.
“Yes, but that’s better than stumbling around in the dark and bumping into walls. Would you like me to extinguish them and show you how dark it is?”
“No, that’s not necessary,” Hezekiah said. “I remember how dark it was.”
They wound through the narrow slit in the rock until they reached the old Jebusite holding pool. The water barely reached their knees. The entrance to the new tunnel stood off to Hezekiah’s left, and a small dam kept the spring water out of it.
“You should dam it up on the outside,” Shebna said. “Then you could keep all of this dry.”
Eliakim shook his head. “When the tunnel is farther along I plan to let some of the water trickle through the natural fissures so I can watch for seepage in the other tunnel.”
“I still do not understand how you think they will meet.”
“It’s my job. I know what I’m doing.”
Hezekiah grew tired of listening to them. “This arguing is unnecessary,” he said sharply. “Lead the way, Eliakim.”
As the three men started down the new tunnel, Hezekiah had to duck his head to keep from smashing it on the ceiling. Even with the oil lamp for light, the tunnel felt dark and oppressive. His broad shoulders brushed both walls, and he twisted sideways, fearing he would become stuck. It was such a tight fit he wondered if he could turn around again, or if he would have to back out. Unlike the ragged Jebusite tunnel, these walls and ceilings were neatly squared off. He ran his hand along the wall, feeling the slanting pick marks.
“We’ve had only one or two false starts,” Eliakim explained as they came to an alcove off to one side. “We struck a vein of harder rock after a cubit or so and had to change direction.”
They walked several more yards, winding first to the right, then meandering to the left, until Hezekiah lost all sense of direction. He could hear the clanging of a pick against stone in the distance.
Eliakim stopped when the opening tapered down to knee height. The rhythmic ring of hammer and chisel was very close. “This is as far as we can go—unless you’d like to crawl.”
“No, thanks,” Hezekiah said. “This is cramped enough for me.” He could almost feel the weight of the mountain above his head and his own frailty beneath the tons of solid rock.
“How can the workmen stand it in here?” Shebna grumbled.
“We’re all used to it, I guess.”
“Well, it is too confining for me,” Shebna said. “I am getting out.” They managed to turn around, and Shebna, who had been last, led the way.
“I’m very impressed,” Hezekiah told his engineer when they were outside in the warm air again. “You’ve made incredible progress in the last four months.”
Eliakim managed a tired smile. “Thank you, Your Majesty. We’re not quite halfway to where the two tunnels will meet.”
“If they meet,” Shebna mumbled. “Have you dug this much of the other tunnel, too?”
“No, the work on that side’s been going a lot slower. The Jebusites gave us a head start on this end, remember. Over there, we had to clear the land, then dig a shaft down to the starting level, then find a cave system with a vein of the softer limestone. We’re also digging the new Pool of Siloam to hold the water once the tunnel is functioning.”
Eliakim turned to Shebna. “Is there anything else you’d like to see, my lord?” Shebna shook his head. Hezekiah knew the brooding Egyptian well enough to know that he was deliberately holding back whatever opinions he held.
“Good job, Eliakim,” Hezekiah said. “Thank you for the tour.”
“Anytime, Your Majesty.”
The sun blazed down on Hezekiah as he and Shebna followed the shadeless path up the ramp to the city, and he almost envied the workers in the cool tunnel. When he reached the Water Gate, he finally turned to the scowling Egyptian.
“All right, Shebna. Let’s hear what you’re thinking.”
Shebna shook his head. “He will never do it, Your Majesty. You saw how that tunnel meanders. He will be groping like a blind man down there, trying to find the other end.”
Hezekiah stopped walking and paused to catch his breath. “What is it between you two? What do you have against Eliakim?”
“It is nothing personal. Merely a difference of opinion.”
“I’ve known you a long time, Shebna, and I think it’s deeper than that. Are you still holding a grudge because of that refugee business when Eliakim came to me at the Temple?”
Shebna started walking again, and Hezekiah kept pace beside him. “Maybe you should ask Eliakim why he has never respected me.”
“I wish you would work together instead of fighting all the time. Can’t you forget your differences long enough to help him? We need this tunnel.”
Shebna stopped abruptly. “There is nothing I can do to help him. I have studied his plans, and he will never get those two tunnels to meet. He is attempting the impossible.”
Hezekiah remembered how crazily the tunnel had meandered, and he wondered if Shebna was right—if finding the other tunnel would mean groping in the darkness like a blind man. “‘
My God turns my darkness into light,’” he recited to himself, and he hoped that Eliakim was praying.
“May I bring you anything else, Your Majesty?” Hezekiah’s servant asked as he helped him remove his royal robes.
“No. I’m waiting for Shebna to bring me some documents, then I will be going to see my wife.”
Hezekiah sank down on the window seat and stretched his long legs. The day had been hot, and all the shutters in his private chambers stood open to allow in the evening breezes. They carried with them the fragrance of the sacrifice from the Temple, and Hezekiah closed his eyes, trying to recall the words of the evening prayers: “‘Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.’”
The words of David’s psalms comforted him, and he made an effort every night to read and memorize some of them. He picked up his Torah scroll and unrolled it.
“Your Majesty, Lord Shebna is here,” his servant announced.
“Good. Send him in.”
“I am sorry for interrupting your privacy,” Shebna said when he saw Hezekiah stretched out comfortably with the Torah scroll. “I’ve completed the itinerary, but it could have waited until tomorrow.”
Hezekiah laid the scroll aside. “No, I’ve been expecting you. I want Eliakim and Jonadab to get an early start in the morning. Let me see it.” Hezekiah studied the list of cities the two men were scheduled to visit, scattered along all the possible invasion routes. The men had orders to inspect the fortifications and offer advice on reinforcing them. As usual, Shebna had taken care of every detail, and the document was ready for Hezekiah’s seal.
“You think it will take them about two months, then?” he asked.
“Two months at the very least, Your Majesty.”
“It looks excellent, Shebna.” Hezekiah pressed his ring into the small lump of clay, then handed it back to him. Shebna looked tired. “You work too hard, my friend. You should learn to relax. Would you like to take some time off?”
Shebna blinked in surprise. “No, of course not.”
Hezekiah remembered how Eliakim had given him the same answer, and he realized again how alike the two men were. The tunnel foreman had told Hezekiah that Eliakim rarely went home, staying in the tunnels almost day and night. Maybe traveling would be good for him.
“Would you like to go along on this trip, too?” he asked Shebna.
He quickly shook his head. “Travel is not for me. I prefer my own bed at night. And I will need to observe the progress on the walls and the tunnels while Eliakim is away.”
“I realize that’s asking a lot of you, Shebna, but Eliakim has assured me that his project foremen are capable men. All the preliminary work is finished.”
“Of course, my lord. I am happy to do it.”
Hezekiah smiled slightly. “I know you don’t think much of Eliakim’s tunnel—”
“It is your tunnel, my lord, and it must be completed.”
“I’m glad you see it that way, my friend.”
As Hezekiah stood up to stretch, one of his servants hurried into the room. “Your Majesty, General Jonadab wishes to see you right away.”
Shebna turned on the man. “Unless we are being invaded, it can wait. The king is tired, and Jonadab has no right to intrude in the king’s private quarters.”
“But the general said it was urgent—”
“It’s okay, send him in,” Hezekiah said. “I don’t think Jonadab would come at this late hour unless it was important. Maybe it concerns tomorrow’s trip.” He sank down on the window seat to wait.
When Jonadab entered he seemed deeply shaken. He was a battle-hardened soldier, but as he groped for words, Hezekiah could see how upset he was. “I’m very sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty, but something terrible happened tonight.”
“Sit down, Jonadab, and take your time.” But the general refused to sit.
“Your Majesty, one of my watchmen at the Valley Gate saw a man and a woman leave the city after sunset, carrying a small bundle. They headed down toward the Hinnom Valley, and a few minutes later the watchman saw what looked like a bonfire over by the cliffs.”
An icy chill passed through Hezekiah. “Oh no . . .”
The general drew a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, but we were too late. By the time we arrived, the baby was dead. This is all that was left.”
He handed Hezekiah a small funeral urn. Tiny, charred bones lay on the bottom. Hezekiah’s stomach turned as he read the inscription. The baby had been sacrificed to the goddess Asherah to fulfill a vow.
“Where is the couple now?”
“Outside your throne room.”
“Let’s go.”
As soon as Hezekiah was seated on his throne, Jonadab’s soldiers brought in the prisoners. The handsome couple was dressed as if attending a lavish social function, the woman adorned with expensive jewelry. But panic showed on their chalky faces as they cowered before the king, staring at the floor. The woman’s shoulders quaked with silent sobs.
“Why did you do it?” Hezekiah asked. They made no reply. “I asked why you sacrificed your child!” he shouted. “Answer me!”
The husband finally looked up. His voice had the defiant tone of a man who knows he stands condemned and has nothing more to lose. “We made a sacred vow to the goddess a year ago. She answered our prayers and granted me what I asked for, so we’ve kept our part of the vow in return.”
“You vowed to kill your own child?”
“He’s our son. Aren’t we free to do whatever we want with him?”
Hezekiah gripped the urn until his knuckles turned white, controlling his anger with great effort. He didn’t need to consult the Levites. He knew exactly what the Torah said. When he finally passed the tiny remains back to Jonadab, his hands shook.
“Give this little one a proper burial, then take his parents out of the city and stone them to death.”
“No!” the woman screamed. She dropped to her knees. “Have mercy on us, please!”
“The same mercy you showed your own son?” Hezekiah asked. “You burned him alive, and you’re asking for mercy?”
“We have other children at home,” she pleaded as the soldiers hauled her to her feet.
“You should have thought of them before you committed murder. The sentence stands. Stone them both.”
Her cries gradually faded as the soldiers hustled her away. Jonadab remained behind, clutching the urn. The room fell silent as Hezekiah struggled to compose himself.
Finally Shebna spoke for the first time since the incident began. “You should have waited until morning for this, Jonadab. The Law is very clear in this case. A lower court could have judged them without disturbing the king.”
“No, he did the right thing,” Hezekiah said quietly. “I asked him to report any incidence of idolatry directly to me.”
“But why upset yourself with matters that can easily be judged by—”
“Because I started these religious reforms, and it’s important to me that they succeed. It’s important to our nation, too. Don’t you understand that yet?” But he knew that Shebna didn’t. Hezekiah sighed and walked out to the hallway with the two men. “Go home and go to bed, General. It’s been a long night for all of us.”
But as Jonadab turned to leave, Hezekiah stopped him. “Wait. Make sure that their other children are cared for, first.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The incident left Hezekiah badly shaken. An hour later he was still trembling, and he debated whether or not he should go to see Hephzibah. He needed her to help him erase the events from his mind, but he didn’t want to burden her with what had been a revolting duty. At last he decided to go but to remain silent about what he had been forced to do.
“What happened, my love?” she cried the moment she saw him. “What’s wrong?”
Hezekiah drew her into his arms, clinging to her. “You don’t want to know.”
“Please tell me. Mayb
e it will help if you talk about it.”
He finally released her, and she led him over to a pile of cushions in front of the empty charcoal brazier. He sank down and stared at the smudges of soot on the bronze, feeling sick, while Hephzibah gently rubbed his shoulders.
“I had to order a couple to be executed,” he said at last.
“Why?”
“They sacrificed their son to Asherah.” For a moment Hephzibah’s hands froze on his shoulders. “I remembered how we grieved when our son died,” he continued. “We both wanted a son, and I . . . I just can’t . . . I don’t know how anyone could do that, Hephzibah. Sacrificing their own child to a . . . to a lifeless slab of stone.”
Hezekiah hadn’t thought of his brothers in many years, and their faces had faded with the passing of time. But he remembered all too well the heat of the flames, the terror, and the stench of their burning. He pulled Hephzibah into his arms again and opened his heart to her, hoping to find relief from his painful memories.
“When I was a child my father ordered the priests to sacrifice me to Molech.”
“Hezekiah, no!”
“First he sacrificed my brother Eliab, and I had to watch him die. But that wasn’t enough. He ordered them to sacrifice me, too.” Hephzibah clung to him fiercely, and he remembered clinging to his mother the same way, desperate for her protection. “Someone made a mistake—and they sacrificed my brother Amariah instead of me. He died in my place, Hephzibah. But I was the oldest son. I was supposed to die—burned alive—like the little boy who died tonight.”
Hezekiah stared at the cold black charcoal and heard the sound of the drums pounding in his ears. “My own father . . . ordered his children put to death because he was in trouble. How could anyone do that, Hephzibah—to his own children?”
He felt her warm tears on his chest, but she didn’t answer.
“And then this happened tonight. I thought I’d purged such abominations from my land. I thought I’d smashed all the idols. I thought . . . I thought my people knew better than to worship lifeless stones.”
Grief overwhelmed him, and he covered his eyes. “If you could have seen those tiny bones—he was so small, so small and helpless. . . .” His voice faded away as his heart raged at the monstrous injustice.
