The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

by Lynn Austin

  The prince took a few steps toward Eliakim. “You really enjoy forcing your outdated Torah laws on everyone, don’t you? But I’ll bet if we checked into your personal life, you wouldn’t be so holy and perfect.”

  Eliakim said nothing. His silence seemed to goad the prince.

  “You know, I’ve always wondered about your lovely Israelite wife,” he continued. “She claims that the Assyrians captured her and made her their slave—and that she miraculously escaped from them. But maybe she didn’t really escape at all. Maybe she was sent here to be the Assyrians’ eyes and ears.”

  Surprise and anger swept through Eliakim. “My wife doesn’t concern you.”

  “She does if she’s an Assyrian spy. What a coincidence that she found her way to your house, your bed—seeing that you’re such an important man.”

  Eliakim rushed toward Gedaliah, angry enough to punch him. Shebna quickly stepped between them. “You had better control your temper, Eliakim. Have you forgotten that Prince Gedaliah is heir to the throne of Judah?”

  Suddenly Eliakim realized why Gedaliah had come from Lachish, and his stomach rolled over again. He was so angry he could barely speak. “Listen, Gedaliah,” he breathed, “as long as King Hezekiah is alive, he’s the king—not you.” He turned to leave before he did something he would regret.

  “If you’re going to ask my brother his opinion on that petition,” Gedaliah called after him, “I don’t think you’ll find him very talkative today.”

  Eliakim kept walking, ignoring him. The thought of the corrupt, idolatrous prince inheriting the throne made him sick. But when he walked into the king’s bedchamber and saw Hezekiah, he nearly wept.

  The king no longer tossed feverishly, moaning in pain as he had for days. Instead, he lay deathly still, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow and uneven. His face had the colorless pallor of ashes. Eliakim touched his shoulder.

  “Your Majesty?” Hezekiah never moved or opened his eyes.

  Eliakim shook him, calling louder, “Your Majesty?”

  Hezekiah didn’t respond. The new Egyptian physician sat beside the bed with his head in his hands.

  “How long has he been like this?” Eliakim asked.

  “Since last evening when I lanced the boil.”

  Eliakim stared at the man, afraid to ask the question. Finally the doctor said, “We’re losing him, my lord.”

  “No,” Eliakim moaned. “God of Abraham, no.”

  He remembered Hezekiah saying, “I don’t want to die,” and he had the urge to shake him harder, to rouse him from the edge of death, shouting, “Fight, my lord! Fight to live!” Instead, Eliakim rolled the petition tightly in his hands and backed out of the room. Shebna and Gedaliah were waiting for him in the hallway.

  “Would you like me to take care of that petition now?” Gedaliah said, holding out his hand. Eliakim could see Gedaliah’s anger smoldering dangerously, but he didn’t care.

  “You miserable vulture!”

  “Is that any way to talk to the next king?”

  “You’ll destroy everything that King Hezekiah has accomplished!” Eliakim shouted.

  “Does that mean you’d like to resign, Lord Secretary, rather than work for me?” Gedaliah asked.

  “No one works for you yet. And as long as King Hezekiah is still alive, I’m still his secretary of state.”

  “Well, when he dies I have a word of advice for you from those holy books you’re so fond of quoting: ‘A king’s wrath is a messenger of death, but a wise man will appease it.’”

  Eliakim walked away.

  “Not very wise, is he?” Gedaliah said behind him.

  Eliakim wandered back to his office and dropped into his chair, staring sightlessly. Piles of documents covered his worktable, but he shoved them aside with a sweep of his arm, then leaned his elbows on the table and covered his face. He wanted to give up fighting and go home, but he knew he had to keep working. He had to make sure Shebna ran the nation according to the Torah.

  When he finally felt calm, he bent to retrieve the scattered papers. But as he pored over them, he found that nearly every one of them contradicted the laws of God. He recognized Shebna’s touch on them like a blight on summer fruit.

  Hezekiah must live. He must. Eliakim could never support Gedaliah’s reign. He hated everything about the prince, and the prince hated him. Suddenly Eliakim remembered the proverb Gedaliah had quoted—“A king’s wrath is a messenger of death”—and a chill trickled through his veins. He knew exactly what it meant. As soon as King Hezekiah died, Gedaliah would have Eliakim executed.

  He leaped from his seat, his heart galloping wildly. He hurried from the palace, up the hill to the Temple, fighting the urge to run. He had to find the high priest. He had to claim sanctuary in the Temple before the king died.

  But as he neared the Temple courtyards, he realized that his plan would never work. Gedaliah wouldn’t respect the sanctity of the Temple. He would kill Eliakim there as readily as anywhere else. Nor could he go into hiding and leave his family at risk. Gedaliah knew all about Jerusha.

  Eliakim hurried through the gates into the inner courtyard and sank to his knees in front of the altar. The more he thought of how hopelessly trapped he was, the more he panicked.

  “O God . . . O God!” he breathed. He struggled to catch his breath as fear squeezed his lungs. He bowed his forehead to the ground and tried to pray but couldn’t find the words. “Help me . . . please!”

  Footsteps crunched on the stones, coming toward him. He looked up. A white-robed priest bowed to him. “Good afternoon, Lord Secretary. Can I help you with something?”

  “Uh, no. Wait. . . . Yes! Yes, I need to talk to the high priest. Is that possible?”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  The priest led Eliakim past the storehouses he had built and into the Temple side chambers. He remembered all the other building projects he had overseen for the king: the walls, the fortifications, the garrisons, the tunnel. They had contributed to his rise to power. And now they endangered his life.

  The high priest seemed surprised to see Eliakim. “How can I help you, Lord Secretary?” He motioned for him to be seated.

  Eliakim remained standing. A sudden thought made him shiver with fear. If Gedaliah launched a purge of the religious faction, the priests and Levites would be included in it along with Eliakim. In fact, if Gedaliah found out where he was, he could accuse Eliakim and the high priest of conspiracy—especially after Eliakim had spoken with such contempt.

  “Oh, no . . . I’m sorry!” he moaned.

  “What is it, my lord?”

  “I-I shouldn’t be here. My life is in danger . . . and now I’m endangering yours by talking to you.”

  The high priest gestured to the chair again. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what this is all about.” Eliakim battled to control his panic as he sank down.

  “You already know that the king is ill.”

  “Yes.”

  “The truth is, he’s dying.”

  “Dying? So suddenly?”

  “I wish it weren’t true, but I just saw him, and his physician told me . . .” Eliakim couldn’t finish.

  The high priest closed his eyes. “Ah, Sovereign Lord. What a terrible loss.”

  Eliakim swallowed his grief and continued. “The king’s brother Gedaliah will succeed him. He’s as corrupt and idolatrous as King Ahaz was. Everyone who supported King Hezekiah’s reforms is in danger. That includes me and probably you, too.”

  The high priest’s voice remained calm. “What can we do?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think about it. I just wanted to warn you. . . . I don’t know what to do.”

  “I see.” The high priest stroked his beard thoughtfully. “How strong are Gedaliah’s supporters?” he asked after a pause.

  Eliakim shook his head. “None of King Hezekiah’s other brothers would stand a chance against him.”

  “Does the military support Gedaliah, too?” />
  General Jonadab. Eliakim saw a ray of hope.

  “No, the general hates Gedaliah as much as I do.”

  “Would he be willing to help us?” the priest asked.

  “I’m certain that he—oh no! Jonadab isn’t in Jerusalem! Shebna sent him to Beersheba yesterday to see about a disturbance and . . . They’ve had this all planned! I’ve been totally blind!”

  The priest sighed and gestured helplessly. “Then we can only wait and pray. King Hezekiah’s life and, indeed, our own lives are in God’s hands.”

  His words should have reassured Eliakim, but they didn’t. “Listen, can you call a special convocation tomorrow? A sacrifice to pray for the king?”

  “Yes, I can certainly arrange that.”

  “Good. Then if anyone asks why I came to see you, tell them that we were arranging the convocation.”

  The high priest rose. “It’s nearly time for the evening sacrifice, my lord. I’ve just decided that I will preside over it myself. Why don’t you go back to the courtyard and wait? Perhaps God will speak to you and give you guidance.” The high priest smiled faintly, then embraced Eliakim. “Shalom, Lord Secretary.”

  Eliakim wandered back the way he had come, oblivious to the increased activity around him as the priests prepared for the evening sacrifice. He trembled with anger when he thought of Shebna and Gedaliah plotting to take over, and he cursed his own stupidity for failing to recognize it. They had outmaneuvered him. They had sent his only ally, General Jonadab, fifty miles into the Judean desert to get rid of him. Even if Eliakim sent for Jonadab immediately, he would never make it back in time. King Hezekiah couldn’t possibly live much longer.

  Why did evil always have its way? Why did God reward wickedness instead of righteousness?

  Eliakim knelt down on the royal dais, but he couldn’t pray. As he waited for the crowds to gather and the evening sacrifice to begin, he carefully examined each of his alternatives and its consequences. But every avenue he explored, from starting a revolution to fleeing the country, led to a dead end. The only way to save his own life was to appease Gedaliah. To do that, Eliakim would have to compromise his faith in God.

  Never.

  The sudden call of the shofar jolted Eliakim from his thoughts. He stood up and looked around. Prince Gedaliah strode up the royal walkway and took his place on the royal dais beside Eliakim, looking pleased with himself.

  As he had promised, the high priest came forward to preside over the service, a highly unusual occurrence for an ordinary daily sacrifice. But when the Levites began to sing, Eliakim recognized immediately that this wasn’t an ordinary evening sacrifice. Instead of the scheduled liturgy, the high priest sent a message that Eliakim couldn’t possibly miss.

  Do not fret because of evil men

  or be envious of those who do wrong;

  for like the grass they will soon wither,

  like green plants they will soon die away.

  Trust in the Lord and do good; . . .

  Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him.

  The truth of the familiar words slowly calmed Eliakim’s fears. He had dedicated his life to God. Whether he lived or died, his life remained in God’s hands. Eliakim felt the peace of God filling him, replacing his panic and fear.

  Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him;

  do not fret when men succeed in their ways,

  when they carry out their wicked schemes. . . .

  For evil men will be cut off,

  but those who hope in the Lord will inherit the land.

  Eliakim stole a glance at Gedaliah. He appeared less self-assured than before. Eliakim looked back toward the Court of the Gentiles, but he couldn’t see Shebna in the crowd of worshipers.

  The wicked plot against the righteous

  and gnash their teeth at them;

  but the Lord laughs at the wicked,

  for he knows their day is coming.

  The high priest sprinkled the blood around the altar as the Levites sang. Then as he made his way up the altar ramp with the sacrifice, he deliberately paused to gaze down at the royal dais, staring long and hard at Gedaliah.

  The wicked draw the sword

  and bend the bow . . .

  to slay those whose ways are upright.

  But their swords will pierce their own hearts,

  and their bows will be broken.

  Eliakim glanced at Gedaliah again, and their eyes met. “This is your doing, isn’t it?” Gedaliah said. Eliakim looked away, suppressing a smile.

  All sinners will be destroyed;

  the future of the wicked will be cut off.

  The salvation of the righteous comes from the Lord; . . .

  The Lord helps them and delivers them;

  he delivers them from the wicked and saves them,

  because they take refuge in him.

  When the service ended, nothing had changed. Eliakim remained hopelessly trapped. But he knew that the priests and Levites stood courageously beside him. They had made that clear, even though Gedaliah’s forces could quickly overpower and destroy them. They had placed their lives in God’s hands, their trust in Him. Eliakim would do the same.

  He didn’t return to the palace after the service. Instead, he hurried home, concerned for his family’s safety. Even if he couldn’t escape, he determined to find a way to save them.

  Jerusha and little Jerimoth met him at the door. “You’re home early.”

  “I got tired of fighting with Shebna, so I decided not to go back to the palace after the sacrifice.”

  Hilkiah returned a few moments later, still wearing his prayer shawl. “That was certainly an unusual sacrifice,” he said. “What on earth is going on?”

  Eliakim shrugged vaguely and sank down on a bench to remove his sandals, hoping his father would change the subject. He didn’t.

  “Why do you suppose the high priest conducted the evening sacrifice?” Hilkiah persisted.

  “Maybe they drew his lot.”

  “But that wasn’t the usual liturgy, either. It—” Eliakim pleaded silently with his father when Jerusha’s head was turned, and Hilkiah stopped midsentence. “Oh . . . when’s supper? I’m starved. How about you, Jerimoth?”

  “Yeah, I’m starved, too.” The boy patted his round tummy in imitation of Hilkiah, and Eliakim managed a smile.

  It required an enormous effort for Eliakim to enter into the conversation during dinner, knowing that this family meal together might be one of their last ones. His mind strayed back to the king, and he silently prayed that Hezekiah would live—even though he was certain he would die.

  When dinner ended, they all went out to the garden to sit until the sky grew dark and the stars began to appear. As Eliakim watched his children playing, his heart squeezed until he could scarcely breathe. He had to get his loved ones out of Jerusalem. He had to hide them somewhere. He silently begged God to help him come up with a plan.

  Finally, Jerusha announced the children’s bedtime and held the baby out for Eliakim to kiss. “Abba . . . Abba,” she chattered happily.

  “Good night, Tirza.” He kissed her and stroked her soft hair; then his arm tightened around little Jerimoth, nestled on his lap. “How about you, son? Isn’t it your bedtime, too?”

  “Abba, say prayers with me, okay?”

  “All right. Get into bed, and I’ll be up in a minute.”

  Jerimoth climbed off his lap and skipped over to give Hilkiah a loud, wet kiss.

  “G’night, Grandpa.” He followed Jerusha upstairs.

  When they were alone, Eliakim slowly exhaled from the strain. “Abba, we need to talk.”

  “I could tell you had something on your mind all evening. What is it, son?”

  Eliakim forced himself to say the words out loud. “I think . . . it looks like . . . King Hezekiah is going to die.”

  “Oh no. Heavenly Father, no. Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  In the silence that fell between them, Eliakim
heard the laughter of his children through the open windows and Jerusha’s sweet voice as she talked to them. The happy sounds didn’t belong beside the sorrow in his heart.

  “But I didn’t think the king’s burns were that bad,” Hilkiah said, “just the one on his leg. Hasn’t he been working with you every day?”

  “We worked together at first, but the doctors say the poison in the burn has spread through his body. He’s been delirious with fever and only half-conscious for the past couple of days. And he’s in such terrible pain, Abba. Last night after I talked with him he fell into a coma.”

  Hilkiah closed his eyes. “Oh, Holy One of Israel. Help him, I pray. Send him a miracle.”

  “I’ve been praying for a miracle, too, because that’s what it’s going to take. I’ve even asked the high priest to hold a special sacrifice tomorrow to pray for him.”

  “He’s that close to death?”

  “Yes, Abba.”

  “And is this what the evening sacrifice was all about?”

  Eliakim nodded. “Listen, I’m going to need your help. As soon as you hear that King Hezekiah is gone, as soon as it’s official, you’ve got to get Jerusha and the children out of Jerusalem.”

  “Why?”

  “King Hezekiah’s brother, Prince Gedaliah, is preparing to succeed him and . . . and the prince hates me.”

  “He hates you? Why?”

  “Lots of reasons. Remember a few years ago when I made so many trips to Lachish to work on their fortifications? Gedaliah and I got into some terrible arguments, and it grew to the point that he wouldn’t speak to me anymore. He’s a liar, a cheat, and an idolater, Abba, and he makes little pretense of following God’s Law. I challenged his fitness to govern many times because of his hypocrisy, and eventually King Hezekiah learned of his brother’s idolatry through me. Gedaliah also has close ties with Shebna. He appointed Gedaliah governor in the first place. And you know how things stand between Shebna and me.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Eliakim ran his hand through his hair. “Abba, you know there’s always a time of transition between reigns, and there’s a good chance Jerusalem won’t be safe after . . . after King Hezekiah dies. Promise me that you’ll get Jerusha and the children away from here and see that they’re kept safe.”