by Lynn Austin
Iddina grabbed a parchment scroll and began composing the emperor’s letter, demanding King Hezekiah’s unconditional surrender.
28
Hezekiah gazed at his wife sleeping beside him in the light of early dawn. Soon he would have to think about the Assyrians again and about his nation. He would have to face the fact that his enemy had destroyed all of his allies, that only his nation remained. He would have to decide what to do. But for now, he studied the contours of his wife’s beautiful face as she slept, savoring the miracle that God’s forgiveness had accomplished in their lives.
After a while Hephzibah stirred and opened her eyes. When she saw him leaning on his elbow, gazing at her, her eyes filled with tears.
“Don’t cry,” he said, wiping them away. “We’ve both shed too many tears already.”
“But I know I must be dreaming—and I don’t want to wake up.”
“It’s not a dream,” he said, kissing her.
When the first shofar sounded the call for the morning sacrifice, Hezekiah reluctantly rose and began to dress. “It’s time for me to go.”
“My lord, would it be all right if I went with you?” Hephzibah asked. He turned to look at her in surprise. “I want to thank God,” she said. “I want to learn about Him—and about what I’m supposed to do.”
“Yes, of course.” He pulled her into his arms again.
“When I was all alone in the villa,” she told him, “your secretary’s wife came to see me. Jerusha offered me her friendship when everyone else abandoned me. And she talked to me about your God, about His forgiveness.” Hezekiah listened in quiet amazement. “I was in so much pain that I wasn’t very kind to her. I refused her friendship and pushed her away. If it’s all right with you, could your servants take me to see her? I want to thank her.”
“Go this morning if you’d like. And Eliakim isn’t my secretary anymore—he’s my palace administrator. My most trusted advisor.”
As Hezekiah climbed the hill to the Temple, he found himself wishing once again that he had listened to Eliakim instead of Shebna. If he had, how differently things might have turned out.
“Jerusha? Are you awake? I brought you some breakfast.” Eliakim set the tray of food on a table and sat down on the edge of the bed beside her.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll finish feeding the baby his breakfast first. Is the sacrifice over already?”
“I just got back.” Eliakim watched his son struggle to suck, but after a moment he had to look away. The baby still fought to draw each breath, to live. Eliakim recalled his panic last night when Joshua had stopped breathing and remembered his own terrified prayer as he had breathed life back into him. He decided not to tell Jerusha what had happened, just as he had decided not to tell her that the Egyptian army had been defeated.
Jerusha caressed his hand. “You look so tired. How late were you at the palace last night?”
“I don’t know. I got home sometime during the second watch, I think.” Exhaustion numbed him. He had stayed awake all night making sure their son had continued to breathe.
“Why so late?”
“Lots of decisions to make. I have to go back in a few minutes. I’m sorry. When things get back to normal, maybe we can—Jerusha? What is it? What’s wrong?”
She heard the ominous, thundering rumble moments before he did. She cried out in terror and struggled to get out of bed, her eyes wild with fright. Her entire body trembled the way it had the day she’d collapsed in the palace courtyard.
“God of Abraham . . . no . . . please!” he whispered as he tried to take her in his arms.
“He came back for me! Iddina came back! He’s going to take my baby!”
“Jerusha, stop . . .”
“He’s going to kill you and our children just like he killed my mother and father! He found me again! I led him here—to you!”
“Shh . . . that’s not true. . . .” Eliakim tried to hold her and calm her, but she fought him off. He backed away, afraid she would crush the baby in her arms. The rumbling of Assyrian horses and chariots grew louder, closer. Eliakim knew he had to go to the palace. He had to prevent the king from surrendering Jerusalem. But how could he leave Jerusha?
“Jerusha, listen to me, please . . .”
“I should have stayed with Iddina. I never should have come here. I know what they’ll do! I know all the terrible things!”
“Stop it! Listen to me! I promise you that Iddina won’t hurt you. He won’t hurt our children. He’ll never set foot inside this city—I swear it to you. Don’t you trust me?” She didn’t answer. She lowered her head and sobbed. Eliakim took her by the shoulders, shaking her gently. “Jerusha, look at me! Do you trust me to protect you from him?”
She finally looked up. “I want to,” she whispered.
“I will protect you! I swear it!” Eliakim didn’t know how he would keep his promise, but he meant every word of it. He released her and raced into the hallway, shouting for the servants. “Where’s my father?”
“He already left for the marketplace, my lord.”
“Send someone to get him. I need him to stay with Jerusha while—”
“Lord Eliakim, I’ll stay with her.”
He leaned over the railing and was startled to see Hephzibah standing by his front door.
“Lady Hephzibah?” He couldn’t imagine how or why she was there.
“Please, let me take care of her,” Hephzibah said. And without waiting for his reply, she hurried up the stairs and walked past him into the bedroom. Jerusha’s weeping edged toward hysteria as Hephzibah went to her.
“Jerusha, it’s me, your friend Hephzibah.”
“The Assyrians came back for me!” Jerusha cried. “They came back!” She stood beside the bed, frantically searching for a place to hide.
“Jerusha, look at me—I’m free! I’m out of my prison. Hezekiah forgave me. And God forgave me, too. He helped me escape, just like He helped you. Here—sit down on the bed beside me.” She motioned to her, and Jerusha sat hesitantly on the edge of the bed as Hephzibah took her hand. “Will you teach me that psalm you recited, Jerusha? It was so beautiful, and I want to learn the words. How does it begin?”
Eliakim heard Jerusha draw a shuddering breath. “‘Praise . . . praise the Lord, O my soul . . . and forget not all his benefits. . . .’”
“Yes, that’s the one. Will you teach it to me?”
“My baby . . . Please don’t let Iddina take him.”
“May I see him, Jerusha? Oh, he’s beautiful! So tiny and precious. A gift from God.”
“Iddina took my baby before, and—”
“May I hold him? I don’t have any children of my own. My baby died before he was born. May I hold him, just for a moment?”
Eliakim stared in amazement as Jerusha tenderly laid Joshua in Hephzibah’s arms. He knew his wife still balanced dangerously on the edge of despair, but so far Hephzibah was holding her back, preventing her from falling. He had once forbidden their friendship; now he thanked God for it.
“Oh, look at him,” Hephzibah murmured. “He’s so sweet.” Then she looked up at Eliakim. “King Hezekiah needs you, Eliakim. Go. I’ll stay with Jerusha until you come back.”
Hezekiah leaned against the top of the city wall as he watched the Assyrians pouring into the Kidron Valley once again. They had brought many more soldiers than the last time—thousands more—with horses and chariots and enough swords, bows, shields, and spears to fill the palace armory from floor to ceiling. He felt shaken, as if he were trying to stand still in the midst of an earthquake. He could do nothing but brace himself as the world around him tottered.
“They’re surrounding the entire city this time,” General Benjamin told him. This invasion was the same as the last one, except magnified in intensity and power. Dazed, Hezekiah watched the Assyrians stream endlessly into the valley and set up their camp. Then, as if reliving a nightmare, he saw them drag tall stakes into the clearing in front of the gate. He shuddered
at what was coming.
“Dear God, please . . . make them stop,” he whispered. Again, he recognized the pitiful Judean prisoners being prodded forward; they were the elders of Lachish. Hezekiah gripped the wall and moaned when he saw his brother Gedaliah.
He felt the shock of Gedaliah’s pain shudder through him as they impaled him, screaming, before his eyes. Hezekiah forced himself to watch, feeling as helpless as when he’d watched his other brothers die in Molech’s flames, and he hated the Assyrians as much as he’d ever hated Molech.
“Shall I find another sharpshooter, Your Majesty?” General Benjamin asked.
Hezekiah remembered how Helez’s young life had ended so tragically. “No. I can’t ask one of my men to risk his life again. Gedaliah will die anyway. Nothing we do can save him.”
“It is hopeless, Your Majesty,” Shebna said. “We may as well surrender. No city has ever withstood an Assyrian siege, and—”
“No! Shut up, Shebna,” Eliakim shouted as he raced up the stairs two at a time to join them. “Keep your fear to yourself, or get down off the wall!” Shebna backed away, giving his place at the edge to Eliakim. Hezekiah was relieved to see him.
“King Hezekiah!” a voice suddenly shouted from the valley below. The arrogant Rabshekah had come forward again, standing with his hands on his hips, challenging him. “King Hezekiah! I have a message for you from Emperor Sennacherib!”
“I’ll go,” Eliakim said.
“Take Shebna and Joah—”
“No. Let me go alone this time.”
Eliakim saw his chance to keep his promise to Jerusha. He could make certain Iddina never hurt her again. But he didn’t want to endanger Joah and Shebna.
“Let me go alone this time, Your Majesty.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Very well,” Hezekiah said after a moment.
Eliakim quickly started down the stairs with General Benjamin following to supervise the guard at the gate. When they reached the bottom, Eliakim stopped.
“Let me borrow your dagger.”
“My dagger? What for?”
“Self-defense.” The general hesitated, studying him. Eliakim thought of his friend General Jonadab and unconsciously fingered the scar on his throat. Jonadab would have guessed why Eliakim wanted a weapon and would never have given it to him.
“You’re not going to do something foolish, my lord?” General Benjamin asked.
“No. Of course not. You’re wasting time. Give it to me.”
Reluctantly, the general pulled his dagger from its sheath and handed it to him. It felt strange in Eliakim’s hand, cold and menacing, and much heavier than he had expected. The general had finely honed both edges until they were paper thin and lethally sharp. Eliakim tucked it carefully under his belt on the left-hand side, hidden beneath his outer robe. Then he strode through the gate.
Iddina stood one hundred yards away, waiting for him. As Eliakim walked toward him, his hatred rapidly grew until it was almost out of control. He wanted to run forward and plunge the knife straight into Iddina’s heart for what he had done to Jerusha. Iddina had raped and humiliated her. He had killed her first child. He had murdered her father and mother. Eliakim’s tiny son had been born too soon and would likely die because of Iddina. He had tortured Eliakim’s friend Jonadab. For all of these reasons, Iddina deserved to die.
But Eliakim resisted the urge to run. A double row of Assyrian warriors stood behind Iddina with swords and spears in hand. Eliakim would take his time. He would listen to the emperor’s message. Then he would say, And I have a message for you . . . He would reach inside his robe, as if to remove a scroll, but he would take a step closer and plunge the knife into Iddina’s chest.
Eliakim knew he was committing suicide. He would never make it the one hundred yards back to the city gate alive. But he wasn’t afraid. Iddina would die. Nothing else mattered. He would keep his promise to Jerusha. She would never have to fear Iddina again.
Thou shalt not kill.
The words of the Torah suddenly startled Eliakim, echoing through his mind as clearly as if his father had spoken them in his ear. He felt the unfamiliar weight of the dagger pulling his belt down on his left side. It slapped gently against his hip as he walked.
But the Torah also said, Show no pity: life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth. Eliakim silently repeated those words to himself instead as he strode forward.
Iddina stood poised like a cat ready to pounce. He looked a few years older than Eliakim, but his muscular body was lean and deadly, armed with a warrior’s reflexes. Eliakim knew he would have to move very fast. He couldn’t let his face reveal his intentions. Life for life . . .
Eliakim stopped three feet from the Assyrian, closer than the last time. Iddina’s eyes glinted dangerously, but Eliakim stared into them without flinching.
“You again,” Iddina growled.
“You were expecting King Hezekiah? Sorry to disappoint you.” His voice remained calm, his anger and hatred under control. “What’s your emperor’s message?” Eliakim asked. He took a level stance, bracing himself for another onslaught of lies, directed toward the men on the wall like the last time. When Iddina suddenly reached inside his robe, Eliakim nearly backed away in fear. But Iddina produced a scroll and calmly handed it to him.
“From Emperor Sennacherib,” he said.
Eliakim quickly recovered his balance. The time had come. He could feel his heart thudding wildly. He accepted the scroll with his left hand, then reached inside his own robe with his right hand and gripped the dagger handle. “And I have a—”
“Eliakim!”
He froze when he heard his name.
“Eliakim . . . help me . . . !”
He looked away from Iddina for a moment and noticed the row of impaled bodies beside him. The closest victim, the one imploring him in a pain-racked voice, was Prince Gedaliah. He’d been horribly mutilated, and the agony in his voice gave it an inhuman quality.
“Please . . . I beg you . . . help me!”
Gedaliah had once been Eliakim’s bitter enemy. The prince would have surely killed Eliakim if King Hezekiah had died. But now Eliakim’s heart flooded with compassion for him. No human being deserved to suffer like that.
“You have what?” Iddina asked impatiently.
Eliakim’s hand tightened on the dagger handle.
“Eliakim . . . please . . .” The voice of his former enemy shivered through Eliakim. Then suddenly, he heard the voice of Yahweh, speaking to him through His Torah once again:
It is mine to avenge; I will repay.
“I have . . .” Eliakim repeated, his heart leaping. He stared defiantly into Iddina’s eyes for a long moment, then slowly uncurled his stiff fingers and released the dagger from his sweating palm. “I have faith in Yahweh my God, that He will destroy you and deliver you into our hands.”
Then he turned and strode back to the city, reciting softly to himself, “‘O God who avenges, shine forth. Pay back to the proud what they deserve.’”
“Are you all right, Eliakim?” Hezekiah asked. Eliakim’s confrontation with the Rabshekah had been briefer than the last time, with no shouts or threats from the Assyrian, but Eliakim looked pale and badly shaken.
“I-I’ll be fine,” he replied. He held a scroll out to Hezekiah. “Emperor Sennacherib sent you this message, Your Majesty.”
“Read it out loud.”
Eliakim’s hands shook as he unrolled it. He cleared his throat. “‘Don’t be fooled by that god you trust in. Don’t believe it when he says that I won’t conquer Jerusalem. You know perfectly well what the kings of Assyria have done wherever they have gone; they have completely destroyed everything. Why would you be any different? Have the gods of the other nations delivered them—such nations as Gozan, Haran, Rezeph, and Eden in the land of Telassar? The former kings of Assyria destroyed them all! What happened to the king of Hamoth and the king of Arpad? What happened to the kings of Sepharvaim, Hena, or I
vvah?’”
“The emperor is right, Your Majesty,” Shebna said. “All of our allies have been destroyed. Perhaps if we surrendered peacefully they would allow us to—”
“No! We will never surrender!” Eliakim shouted.
“That’s enough,” Hezekiah said quietly. He had tried to make these two men compromise and work together for years, but they remained bitter enemies. And suddenly Hezekiah knew that his own faith and his own pride were bitter enemies, as well. He had been wrong to think he could appease both sides of himself all these years. Only one side could win.
“Sennacherib spoke the truth in his letter,” Hezekiah said, as he stepped between the two men. “We’re outnumbered. Outmaneuvered. We have no allies to save us. So according to all human reasoning, according to all that Shebna taught me, all that my mind and my eyes tell me, it’s hopeless. I may as well give up.”
“No! You can’t—” Eliakim began, but Hezekiah held up his hand to silence his protests.
“Shebna wasn’t my only teacher,” Hezekiah continued. “My grandfather taught me that when I only trust in what I can see with my eyes, I’m committing idolatry. He taught me that faith in Yahweh is beyond the comprehension of our minds and our senses. So in spite of how hopeless it looks, Sennacherib needs to understand that I’m never going to surrender Jerusalem. Yahweh’s Temple is inside this city. It’s God’s holy dwelling place on earth. My ancestor King David once confronted an enemy who was bigger and more powerful than he was, and I’m going to tell this giant outside our city gates the same thing David told Goliath: ‘You come against me with sword and spear . . . but I come against you in the name of the Lord Almighty, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied. This day the Lord will hand you over to me . . . and the whole world will know that there is a God in Israel. All those gathered here will know that it is not by sword or spear that the Lord saves; for the battle is the Lord’s.’”
