The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

by Lynn Austin

  Hadad’s voice trembled when he spoke again. “I tried to make something of my life so I’d be worthy of her. I wasn’t born with a name, but I earned one . . . I earned one, Miriam! I worked hard to make this island our home, training the men to be soldiers, helping Joshua and Amariah run this outpost. I considered them my brothers, my friends. But real friends would never do this to someone, would they? They wouldn’t take away the only person I’ve ever loved.”

  “No, they wouldn’t,” she said. “What Joshua did was wrong.” Hadad’s grief forced Miriam to acknowledge Joshua’s cruelty. He had betrayed his friend. She loved Joshua, but Miriam realized that while most of the people in their community had been healing from their wounds this past year, Joshua’s need for revenge had been growing and festering. Tonight his hatred had hurt three innocent people who loved him. No, four people—because in revealing what was inside his heart, Joshua had hurt Miriam, as well. She couldn’t face Hadad.

  “I think you should know something else,” she said, staring at the ground. “Just before I left the house, Amariah and Dinah sealed their betrothal.”

  “No . . .” Hadad moaned. The night seemed to fall silent for a moment—the whisper of reeds, the chirp of frogs, the hum of insects all hushed in the face of Hadad’s grief. Miriam felt as though she had fired a fatal arrow and watched it strike its mark.

  “I swear before God, they’ll pay for this,” he breathed.

  “Is that all any of you can think about?” Miriam shouted. She grabbed his arms and tried to shake some sense into him, but he was as immovable as a pillar. “Revenge isn’t the answer, Hadad. It’s the cause! It will only bring more misery, more pain. This circle has no end!”

  He looked down at the ring in his hand, then closed his fingers around it again and drew back his arm to hurl it into the Nile.

  “No, don’t!” Miriam cried. She lunged to seize his upraised fist, halting his momentum. “Don’t do it, Hadad. That ring belonged to your grandfather.”

  He hesitated a moment, then slowly lowered his arm, gazing into the dark water as if his thoughts were far away. At last he slipped the ring onto his finger.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. He swiped at his tears with the heel of his hand. “You have a tender heart, Miriam. Don’t give it away to someone who doesn’t deserve it. Or worse, to someone who will poison it.”

  Miriam knew that he meant Joshua, and she wondered how he had guessed that she loved him. Was her love that transparent? But before she could speak again, Hadad walked away from her into the night.

  2

  “This is the way a festival should be celebrated,” Manasseh said. He lounged on his throne in the Temple courtyard, presiding in splendor over the midnight orgy. His palace administrator, Zerah, sat at his side. Manasseh watched as frenzied worshipers spilled over the edges of the plaza and into the streets below the Temple Mount, dodging animal remains and spirit shrines as they whirled in ecstasy, mumbling spells and incantations. Many of them wore nothing but tattooed symbols and splattered blood, and he wondered how they kept warm on such a chilly spring night.

  “Behold our future,” Zerah said with his arms spread wide. “The ritual acts performed tonight will ensure plentiful crops and herds in the year to come.”

  Manasseh watched three young maidens chase a goat that had broken free from its tether. “This is much more to my liking than sitting at a dull dinner table,” he said, “eating roast lamb and dredging up stories of the past.”

  “Nothing will be denied you at this celebration, Your Majesty. Remember, you’re free to enjoy everything!”

  Manasseh had long grown accustomed to indulging in practices that his Torah instructors used to call perversions. He remembered feeling shocked when Zerah first proposed them a year ago, but now they seemed ordinary, almost boring, and he constantly sought greater thrills. How easy it all had been once he freed himself from the false guilt that the priests had imposed on him, once he recognized that no one had the right to tell him how to live. He alone was responsible for deciding what was right and wrong. “I can’t imagine why I ever let anyone tell me what to do,” he said.

  Zerah smiled. He sliced off another thick chunk of meat from the platter in front of them and fed it to Manasseh. The king sighed with delight. It was cooked the way he liked it, roasted in its own juices, still pink in the middle. He mopped up some of the blood from the platter with his bread.

  “It’s hard to believe a year has passed,” Zerah said, “since the Levites left and the Temple was restored to its rightful priests.”

  “I don’t miss the Levites in the least. Good riddance to them.” Manasseh raised his wine goblet in salute, then drained it to the bottom. “Besides, all the property and wealth they left behind has greatly increased my treasury accounts.”

  “Doesn’t it make more sense to worship God in all his many forms—Baal, Asherah, Molech?” Zerah asked.

  “I can scarcely recall doing it differently.”

  As he rose from his seat, Manasseh suddenly remembered that this was also the anniversary of the night Dinah had stabbed him. Horror at his own vulnerability still gripped him whenever he caught a glimpse of the ugly, jagged scar on his stomach. He felt a sudden chill at the thought that he might have died, and he strode across the courtyard to seek the warmth of the bonfire, holding out his hands to the flames. Above him, dark, hulking clouds hung suspended in the sky, blotting the constellations from sight.

  “That’s how I feel,” he mumbled.

  Zerah, who had followed him, bent his head closer to hear above the clamor of music and squeals of drunken laughter. “Pardon, Your Majesty?”

  “I feel like there’s a dark cloud hanging over my head. It’s been a year, you know. A full year of not knowing where Joshua is or what he’s planning to do next.”

  Zerah gave a grunt of exasperation. “You shouldn’t allow your enemy to rob you of a night of pleasure.”

  “He’s plotting against me, I know he is. He has my brother, the Ark of the Covenant, my concubine . . . What more does he need?”

  “We have informants watching all the borders, Your Majesty. We would know about it the moment his forces crossed into Judean territory.”

  Manasseh gripped Zerah’s arm, pulling him closer until their faces were just inches apart. “How? You can’t guard every road. And what if he doesn’t use the roads? What if he cuts through the Judean wilderness? How are you going to guard against that?”

  “We’ll know it. The omens will warn us.”

  “We didn’t know it the last time!” He pushed Zerah away again. “Besides, for all we know, my guards might be part of their conspiracy. How did Joshua get past them before? He came right into my palace and left his calling card!”

  Zerah spread his hands in a soothing gesture. “You’re right. We need an advantage. The gods know everything, Your Majesty, so we will seek their help. Then we’ll perform a curse to—”

  “Your curses haven’t been working.”

  “Maybe we need stronger, more powerful magic on our side.” Zerah’s close-set eyes narrowed in thought. Manasseh knew the look. He was measuring his words, searching for a way to propose something shocking. “There are deeper levels of sorcery, Your Majesty. I know their mysteries . . . but I’m not certain you’re ready for them.”

  Fear crawled up Manasseh’s spine. The spirits Zerah already had conjured up for him seemed powerful and barely under the priest’s control. Manasseh could scarcely imagine even deeper levels of witchcraft. But he couldn’t deny the spirits’ power or his own fascination with it. He would do anything to defeat Joshua.

  “I’m ready,” Manasseh said. “Tell me how and when.”

  Dinah sat in the courtyard of her home, surrounded by her bridesmaids, waiting for her groom, Prince Amariah, to appear. Their wedding had all the trappings that Dinah had dreamed about as a girl, yet she was barely able to hold back her tears. This wasn’t a celebration but a somber, joyless affair. Each time she glanced a
t her mother or her brother Jerimoth, she saw dismay and disapproval in their averted eyes and lowered heads. They had tried to talk Dinah out of marrying Amariah right up until the moment she had dressed in her finest gown.

  “This marriage won’t change anything,” Jerusha had said, pleading with her. “It won’t bring any of our loved ones back.”

  “Manasseh has to pay for what he did,” Dinah insisted.

  “Then let God avenge his crimes,” Jerimoth said. “He’s the Judge of all the earth.”

  “Leave her alone,” Joshua said. “This is God’s plan for vengeance.” He was the only one who supported Dinah’s decision, and he had set all these plans in motion. But now that the day had finally arrived, Joshua didn’t seem very joyful, either. He was continually on edge, and Dinah knew he was watching for Hadad, worrying about the threats he had made.

  “I have soldiers guarding all the docks in case he tries to return to the island,” Joshua told her.

  “I’m not going to change my mind,” she assured him, “even if Hadad does come back.” Each time she’d thought of Hadad, Dinah had nearly lost her nerve, wondering how she could live the rest of her life without the man she loved. But then she would force herself to relive each moment of her year with Manasseh, remembering how his soldiers had beaten her grandfather to death, picturing her son’s tiny face. She resolved to pledge her life to Manasseh’s brother in revenge.

  The evening air felt warm as Dinah waited, the sky above the courtyard dotted with the first few stars. Suddenly a shout went up. “The bridegroom comes!” She saw torches bobbing and heard the music of flutes and tambourines as Amariah’s procession arrived at her gate. Dinah lowered the veil over her face, thankful that it would also hide her tears. She thought of King Manasseh as she watched his brother enter the torchlit courtyard. Prince Amariah slowly walked across the cobblestones and stopped in front of her chair. He looked pale and somber, not at all like a joyful, expectant groom. He reached for her hand and drew her to her feet. Dinah’s knees shook as she looked up at him.

  Amariah was so tall he towered above her. He was more than a head taller than Manasseh, half a head taller than Hadad. King Manasseh had been compact and sinewy, Hadad brawny and muscular. But Amariah was lanky and awkward, unsure of himself, and not nearly as good-looking as either of the other two men. Nothing about him stood out as extraordinary. His hair and beard didn’t have quite enough copper in them to be auburn, his eyes were an undistinguished hazel. Dinah felt nothing toward him except a faint loathing for reminding her of Manasseh.

  As she stood beneath the wedding canopy beside him, Dinah glanced at the courtyard gates one last time, searching for Hadad, wondering if he would force his way past the guards and carry her away. Hadad was a skilled warrior; Amariah would never be able to stop him if Hadad decided to fight for her. Joshua probably couldn’t win against him, either. But Hadad didn’t come to her rescue.

  Dinah brought her attention back to the ceremony and dutifully recited her wedding vows. Then it was over. She was Amariah’s wife.

  All of Elephantine Island’s most important families had been invited to the marriage supper, held in the courtyard of the home Prince Amariah had prepared for her. The feasting and music and laughter lasted long into the night, but Dinah enjoyed none of it. She found herself dreading the moment her husband would take her to their marriage chamber. She wondered if she could go through with it.

  Finally Amariah stood and reached for her hand. Dinah’s legs felt heavy and leaden as she allowed him to lead her to their bridal chamber. The sounds of the marriage supper faded in the distance as Amariah closed the door behind them. As she smelled the fragrant aroma of perfumed sheets and remembered her nights in Manasseh’s bedchamber, panic welled up inside her until she could scarcely breathe.

  “You are a beautiful bride, Dinah,” Amariah said. The sound of his voice, so different from his brother’s, brought her back to the present.

  “Thank you, my lord.” Gradually, her panic subsided as she remembered what Joshua had told her: She would have another son; she was doing God’s will. She looked up into Amariah’s eyes. They were wide and long-lashed like Manasseh’s and nearly the same color, but they lacked his startling flashes of topaz; they also lacked his glint of cruelty. She thought of Hadad’s eyes—deep, vivid brown like rich loam—and remembered the love she had seen reflected in them. Then she remembered the pain that had replaced it, pain she had caused. Tears came to her eyes.

  “It’s not too late to change your mind,” Amariah said softly. He had been studying her, as well. “We don’t have to go through with this.”

  She brushed away her tears. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “What’s wrong, then?”

  “I . . . I’m just so sorry that I had to hurt Hadad.”

  “I know. I am, too.” He folded his arms across his chest awkwardly, as if he didn’t know what else to do with them. She had expected him to embrace her, but he hesitated. They were both silent for a moment. Dinah could hear the distant strains of music from the wedding feast and the swish of palm branches against the window shutters.

  “I’ve been thinking about both of our fathers all day,” Amariah said. “Your father raised me after mine died. I loved him and Abba both.” He leaned against the door and sighed. “Joshua is convinced that this is what they would have wanted—that it’s what they would have expected us to do. But I’m still not sure. I never wanted to be king, you know. I still don’t.”

  “Then why did you agree to marry me?”

  “Joshua said it was what you wanted, and I . . . I wanted to make it up to you, somehow . . . for what Manasseh did to you.”

  “What your brother did wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t anything you could have done.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true, because I didn’t even try.” He unfolded his arms, gesturing fervently as if his hands could convey his feelings better than mere words. She noticed that he had graceful, artistic hands with long, slender fingers. “I should have done something to stop Manasseh from killing your father and Rabbi Isaiah. They didn’t even get a fair trial. And when Manasseh started worshiping all those idols, I should have known where it would all lead. I should have tried to save your son. I’m sorry.” He folded his arms again as if in defeat, tucking his hands out of sight.

  “I blame myself, not you,” she said, but he didn’t seem to hear her.

  “I want to make it up to you, Dinah . . . and so if I can give you another child, an heir to David’s throne like your first son, then that’s what I want to do.”

  His unselfishness touched her. But in spite of the bond of guilt they shared, in spite of the matching wounds Manasseh had inflicted on each of them, she didn’t love Amariah. She doubted if she ever would. Dinah was barely twenty years old, Amariah twenty-one. They might be married to each other for a long time. The thought of all those empty years stretching ahead of them exhausted her.

  Every moment she had spent with Hadad had seemed charged with energy and excitement, making Dinah feel breathless and alive. She smiled, remembering his broad, handsome face and dazzling smile. He was her savior, strong and vigorous yet surprisingly tender. An angel, she had told him, sent by God to rescue her.

  “It’s still not too late,” Amariah said softly. “Our marriage isn’t official . . . until we . . .”

  But Dinah knew that it was too late. Hadad was gone. She needed to focus instead on Manasseh—on her need for revenge. She took a step closer to Amariah. “We’re doing the right thing,” she said. “Neither of us was able to stop Manasseh. Now we’re finally fighting back.”

  Amariah nodded and carefully drew her into his arms. His embrace felt formal and unnatural. She remembered how comfortable she had felt in Hadad’s brawny arms, held against his broad, solid chest.

  Finally Amariah bent to kiss her. Dinah glimpsed the deep sorrow in his eyes before he closed them and wondered if it mirrored her own.

  3

 
Joshua paced restlessly in the courtyard of the military outpost, waiting for the recruits to assemble for their training in hand-to-hand combat. He seemed to spend far too much of his time in limbo—waiting for Amariah to reach a decision, waiting for these young men to solidify into a fighting force, waiting for God’s signal that the day of His revenge against King Manasseh had finally arrived.

  “Come on, let’s go! Take your places!” he shouted. The recruits moved lethargically in the morning heat. It was well before noon, but the sun already felt hot on Joshua’s back, the desert breeze moving across his bare arms and legs like warm water.

  A few weeks ago it had been Hadad’s job to instruct these men, but after he’d disappeared, the task had fallen to Joshua. He felt no satisfaction in the knowledge that the men looked up to him or had named their regiment in his honor. He wasn’t as patient with them as Hadad had been, and the setbacks they’d experienced after the change in leadership frustrated him. He gazed at the row of straw practice dummies in front of him and saw that someone had sketched an ox on one of the dummies’ tunics, over the place where the heart would be. He glanced at the gate one last time, wishing that Hadad would miraculously appear and take over this job, yet he feared the terrible consequences if he did return.

  Joshua straightened his shoulders and faced the assembled men. It seemed a lifetime ago that he and Manasseh had trained together like this, and he recalled how much he had hated his own military training. He removed his dagger from its sheath and repeated the words his instructors had once taught him. “Your point of entry is below your enemy’s rib cage, left-hand side. Put all your weight behind the knife, not just your arm muscles.” The straw crunched as Joshua plunged his knife into the dummy to demonstrate. “Stab in, then twist up to pierce—”

  Without warning, the terror-filled eyes of the young guard Joshua had stabbed to death reappeared in his mind. A shudder rocked through him. He released the knife as if it had just emerged from a forge, and stared at his hand as if expecting to see blood. The young soldiers watching him grew utterly still.