The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

by Lynn Austin

  “Show me those papers, Shebna.”

  “Are you certain? A more suitable punishment would be to—”

  “I’ve never been more certain!”

  Shebna sighed and passed him the scroll. Hezekiah tried to take it between his bandaged hands, but he lost his grip and the scroll tumbled to the floor.

  “I curse her for what she has done to me!” he shouted. “And Yahweh has cursed her, too. Now pick it up and let me sign it.”

  “But how can you possibly sign?”

  “I’ll find a way. Take these miserable bandages off me.”

  “I am not a physician—”

  “Take them off!”

  Shebna opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and carefully lifted Hezekiah’s right hand. He found the end of the bandage, untied it, then gently unwound the dressing. Hezekiah tried to hold his hand steady as Shebna worked, but his entire body seemed to shake with his rage and his pain. Beneath the gauze, huge pulpy blisters covered his swollen palms.

  “Good heavens!” Shebna breathed.

  “It looks worse than it is,” Hezekiah said, but he realized that he would not be able to grip a writing instrument or sign his name. He held out his left hand. “Take the other one off, too.” When Shebna finished, his dark face looked pale. “Now slide my signet ring off,” Hezekiah ordered.

  “But it will never come off. Your finger is too badly swollen.”

  “Coat it with oil first. There’s some over there, in the lamp.”

  Hezekiah wondered how long it would take him to grow accustomed to the constant, relentless pain and if there would ever come a time when he finally would be free from it. He had made up his mind to persevere in spite of it, but when Shebna rubbed the oil on his finger and tried to pull off the ring, Hezekiah cried out, unable to stop himself.

  Shebna shrank back. “I am sorry, my lord!”

  “I’m all right. Try it again.”

  “No. I will not do this.”

  “Shebna, I’m ordering you to slide this ring off my finger!”

  “I would sooner resign than inflict any more pain on you.” His eyes met Hezekiah’s and held them defiantly. In a battle of wills, Hezekiah knew that Shebna’s stubbornness matched his own. The valet broke the tension as he entered with a tray.

  “I’ve brought your breakfast, Your Majesty.”

  Hezekiah stared at Shebna a moment longer, then said, “You’re excused.” He refused to allow Shebna or anyone else to watch as the valet spoon-fed him his breakfast.

  “You will tell no one that I had to be fed, do you hear me? Or you will pay for it with your life.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Hezekiah had only managed to choke down a few humiliating bites when the shofar sounded from the Temple.

  “Fetch my prayer shawl,” he said. “It’s time to go.”

  The Temple seemed a hundred miles away, but he would make it somehow. He would offer his sacrifice. He would confess the sin of allowing an idol into his palace, the sin of loving an idol worshiper. He would ask God for forgiveness.

  Hezekiah stood, but he took only a few agonizing steps toward the door before pain made his legs crumple beneath him. Then the world went black.

  As Eliakim walked up the hill to the Temple with his father, he couldn’t stop thinking about King Hezekiah, remembering his terrible injuries and the nauseating sight of his burned flesh.

  “You got in awfully late last night, son,” Hilkiah said. “And you’ve been unusually quiet this morning, too. Is something wrong?”

  “I didn’t want to talk to you about it in front of the servants.”

  Hilkiah stopped walking. “Something happened, then? Something terrible?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Crowds of worshipers streamed past them, buffeting them where they stood in the middle of the walkway. Eliakim drew his father aside. Should he tell him about Hephzibah’s idolatry? He knew he could trust Hilkiah with any secret, but Eliakim ached inside from carrying the terrible knowledge of what she had done, and he hesitated to unload such a burden on anyone else. Hephzibah’s actions were unforgivable, an outrage that mocked everything King Hezekiah believed in and worked for. The fact that he loved her so deeply made her deception unspeakable.

  “Abba, there was a fire in the harem last night,” he finally said.

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “The king’s wife inhaled a lot of smoke, and she was badly shaken, but she’s all right.”

  “Thank God!”

  “But King Hezekiah fought the fire himself, and his clothes caught on fire. . . .”

  “Dear God.”

  “I was the first one to help him afterward, and I could tell that he was in a lot of pain. The physicians said his burns are very serious.”

  “We need to pray for him, then.”

  “Yes, Abba. We need to pray.”

  They rejoined the crowd of worshipers hurrying up the hill, but neither of them spoke again. When they reached the inner courtyard, Hilkiah tugged on Eliakim’s arm and motioned toward the royal dais with a tilt of his head. King Hezekiah wasn’t standing in his usual place.

  “He never misses a morning sacrifice,” Hilkiah whispered.

  Eliakim winced. “I know. He must be in bad shape. Pray for him, Abba.” He hurried to take his place on the king’s dais, alone.

  When the service ended, Eliakim quickly walked down to the palace, dreading what he would find. The corridors bustled with confusion and whispered rumors. Why wasn’t King Hezekiah at the Temple? Why was his throne room empty? A knot of courtiers spotted Eliakim and quickly crowded around him.

  “What’s going on, Lord Secretary?”

  “Where’s King Hezekiah?”

  “Is something wrong with the king?”

  Eliakim held up his hands to silence them. “King Hezekiah won’t be holding court today. Come back tomorrow.”

  He ignored their frantic questions and elbowed his way past them. When Eliakim reached the king’s private chambers, Shebna answered the door. For a moment the two men stared uncomfortably at each other, then Shebna motioned him inside.

  “I just came from the morning sacrifice,” Eliakim said, running his fingers through his hair. “Everyone’s wondering why King Hezekiah wasn’t there. How is he?”

  “Not good.”

  “Worse than last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I talk to him?”

  “No.”

  “Is he awake?”

  “He was.”

  Getting information out of Shebna was going to be like lowering a bucket into a deep well and raising one drop at a time. Judging by the glitter of anger in Shebna’s eyes and the history of animosity between the two of them, Eliakim guessed that he would probably bear the brunt of Shebna’s worry and frustration.

  Eliakim had never understood why Hezekiah had appointed Shebna—an Egyptian and an avowed atheist—to such an important position as palace administrator, seated at the king’s right hand. Shebna was undoubtedly a brilliant man, and Hezekiah had known him since childhood, when Shebna served as the king’s tutor. But the king also knew that the Word of God said, “Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked.” Ever since Eliakim had been appointed to the king’s council, he and Shebna had been frequent adversaries, especially when God’s Law was at the center of the issue. Eliakim wasn’t looking for a fight this morning, but he wouldn’t run from one either. He took another step closer and faced Shebna squarely.

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  Shebna paused a long time before answering. “The king woke up shouting orders. He insisted that he would walk up to the Temple, but—”

  “Walk! Why didn’t someone order a sedan chair?”

  “He refused it. When he tried to walk, he collapsed. The physicians are in with him now.”

  “Have they given you a report?”

  “They say he must rest. He cannot get out of bed again.”

/>   “Then let’s make sure that he doesn’t.”

  “How? You have not witnessed his stubbornness! Or his rage!”

  “No, but I’m witnessing yours. Stop shouting at me, Shebna. I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

  Shebna didn’t respond. He turned to stare out the window, his jaw thrust forward defiantly. Eliakim knew it wouldn’t be easy to deal with him in the king’s absence, but he was determined to try.

  “Let’s get to work,” Eliakim said after a moment. “Everything is in a state of confusion downstairs. What needs to be done?”

  “I have prepared the divorce papers the king requested. He has not signed them yet. He is not able.”

  “His hands?” Eliakim remembered Hezekiah’s swollen, blistered palms and shuddered.

  “Yes. But I do not understand why he is divorcing her. She should be stoned to death.”

  Eliakim exhaled. “I asked the king what he wanted to do last night. And as angry as he was, he said he didn’t want Hephzibah executed.”

  “That makes no sense. It is what your Law demands.”

  “I know. But he loves her.”

  “Love does not matter! We must convince him to put her to death. You know the Law; you must help me convince him.”

  Eliakim shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

  “She deserves to die!”

  “Yes, according to the Law, that’s true. But love allows room for mercy and . . .” He stopped. He could see by Shebna’s scornful expression that he would never understand. Shebna didn’t believe in a loving God; how could he grasp the concept of mercy?

  “She must be executed,” Shebna insisted. “The king must show by example what will happen to people who practice idolatry.”

  “The king doesn’t want people to worship God because they fear the death penalty. And God certainly doesn’t want that kind of worship, either. Faith in God involves more than outward ceremony. It’s a heartfelt belief.” And that’s why I never liked you, he wanted to say. You’re a hypocrite and as much of an idolater as Hephzibah.

  “You may as well return home,” Shebna said suddenly. “King Hezekiah will obviously not be holding court today. I will remain here with the king.”

  Eliakim knew that Shebna would take advantage of Hezekiah’s illness to do whatever he wanted, whether his decisions violated God’s Law or not. Eliakim couldn’t allow that to happen. Their eyes locked, and Eliakim saw that Shebna hated him as much as he hated Shebna. Perhaps more.

  “No, Shebna,” he said quietly. “I’m staying, too.”

  When Hezekiah awoke, a dark figure hovered over his bed. He focused his eyes and recognized Shebna, staring down at him with a worried frown.

  “All right, Shebna—you win. I’ll take the sedan chair.” He smiled weakly, but Shebna’s dark face remained somber.

  “Where do you want to go, Your Majesty?”

  “To the Temple. For the morning sacrifice.”

  “The sacrifice is over,” he said, shaking his head.

  “It is? How long have I been out?”

  Eliakim answered from the other side of the bed. “Several hours, Your Majesty. It’s past midday.”

  “That late?”

  Hezekiah felt much weaker than before. His anger had drained away while he was unconscious, and now he feared that the pain would consume him. For the first time he understood the seriousness of his injuries and realized he would have to fight to live.

  “Help me sit up.”

  “Please,” Shebna begged. “No more heroics. You need to rest. You are only making matters worse for yourself.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Even your valiant ancestors were not afraid to admit their weaknesses,” Shebna said. His somber expression frightened Hezekiah, but he knew it could prove fatal to give in to fear.

  “Since when are you an expert on my ancestors?” he asked.

  Shebna turned to Eliakim. “Help me convince him,” he said.

  “‘Be merciful to me, O Lord, for I am in distress,’” Eliakim quoted. “‘My strength fails because of my affliction, and my bones grow weak.’”

  “That was written by King David, I believe,” Shebna added.

  “Very good, Shebna. You’re becoming quite a Torah scholar. Now help me sit up. I’d do it myself, but ‘my strength fails because of my affliction.’” He saw Eliakim suppress a smile.

  The two men gently lifted him to a sitting position, propping cushions behind his back. Hezekiah gritted his teeth and blinked back the sweat that poured down his brow, careful to conceal any suffering that the movement caused him.

  “Now then, don’t we have work to do?” he asked. “Is the kingdom running on its own? Or have I been dethroned while I was unconscious?”

  “You want to work?” Shebna asked in alarm. “Now? Here?”

  “Well, since I can’t seem to walk more than two steps without falling on my face, I have no other choice, do I?”

  “Wouldn’t you rather rest?” Eliakim asked. “Shebna and I can—”

  “I know you can, but that’s not the point. I’m in too much pain to rest.”

  “I will call the physicians.”

  “No, Shebna. I don’t want their drugs. At least not until I can’t stand it any longer. What I need is a distraction.”

  “I understand. I will bring your work here.” Shebna bowed slightly and headed for the door.

  “Shebna,” Hezekiah called after him.

  “Yes, Your Majesty?”

  “I will sign those divorce papers now.”

  “Do you want me to read them aloud, Your Majesty?” Shebna asked when he returned a short while later. He had brought the certificate of divorce along with an armful of work.

  “No. I don’t even want to hear her name. Just give me the papers. I think I can seal them without taking my ring off.”

  “You are going to make your wounds worse,” Shebna warned.

  “They can’t get any worse! Now put something under the scroll to support it, like that tray over there. Then put the clay in place and bring everything here.” He would sign the papers if it killed him.

  Hezekiah positioned his hand, palm up, above the scroll, centering his signet ring over the lump of clay. “Now, push down on the back of my ring.”

  Shebna drew back. “No. I refuse.”

  “Eliakim! Do as I say! Push it hard so it seals.”

  Eliakim obeyed, and in a moment it was over. The official seal firmly imbedded in the soft clay ended Hezekiah’s marriage. He no longer had a wife.

  Memories of Hephzibah washed over him suddenly, nearly drowning him in their vividness and strength. He remembered the night he first went to her chambers, shortly after his coronation. Her beauty had taken his breath away, bewitching him, and he had fallen under her spell. Even after she had admitted to worshiping idols, he had abandoned all his concubines for her alone. He remembered her soft scent, the way her voice entranced him when she sang, the sweet taste of her kisses—and a cry of despair swelled inside him like a tidal wave.

  “Are you all right, Your Majesty?” Eliakim asked. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” he said hoarsely. “What else do I need to take care of?”

  Running his kingdom distracted Hezekiah for the remainder of the afternoon. But that night his sleep was shallow and fitful as the pain pushed into his dreams. He awoke weak and unrested. For the next few days, Shebna and Eliakim brought his work to him, diverting him for most of the day, seldom leaving his bedside. Hezekiah no longer tried to get up or to argue about going to the Temple, but he had little appetite for the food his valet tried to feed him, and he grew weaker and weaker each day.

  By the end of the week, Hezekiah’s work could no longer distract him from his agony. The torment in his leg had spread like a raging fire throughout his body until every joint and muscle ached and throbbed with it. For a moment or two, someone or something might divert his attention, but the pain always returned to its place of prominen
ce in his every waking thought. Sometimes it seemed to lessen slightly, but it was always there. Sometimes it would build and strengthen until it became excruciating and he couldn’t stifle his moans.

  Hezekiah could no longer hope that it would ever stop. He thought of nothing else but the pain as it became his tyrant, more terrifying than any Assyrian overlord. It pushed everything else from his consciousness and took control, holding his will and his body captive. He couldn’t break free.

  Lying in the same position grew intolerable, but changing positions brought agony. The servants left the oil lamps burning all night, since he could sleep only a short time before the torment roused him once again. Strong wine made him nauseous but did little else. He begged for distractions until Shebna and Eliakim were exhausted from their efforts, but the diversions worked for only a brief moment.

  Hezekiah wondered how much longer it would be until he went mad.

  Late in the afternoon of the sixth day, as Shebna read to him, Hezekiah’s mind began to wander into delirium. He struggled to concentrate as if Shebna were reading in a foreign language, forcing him to translate. Before long, Hezekiah could no longer keep up. He felt as though he were sliding down a long steep slope, away from Shebna and Eliakim, away from his agony and confusion.

  “Shebna . . . please . . .” Hezekiah turned his head on the pillow, and the room swirled as if the hand of God had shaken the entire palace. He closed his eyes to make the dizziness stop.

  “Yes, Your Majesty? What is it?”

  “Didn’t you feel that? It’s moving . . .” The two men sprang to their feet, but their abrupt movements triggered another wave of dizziness. “Don’t! Don’t move—you’ll make it fall.”

  “What’s wrong, Your Majesty?” Eliakim said. “What’s falling?”

  Hezekiah tried to focus on him but couldn’t. “Can’t you feel it, Eliakim? Why is everything moving?”

  Eliakim rested his hand on Hezekiah’s brow, and his fingers felt wonderfully cool, like stones from a mountain stream.