by Austin, Lynn
“Because it would be too easy, too merciful to kill him myself,” Hadad finally replied. Anger and passion made his voice quiver. “You’ll make him suffer, King Manasseh. Joshua hates you with every ounce of strength he has. The knowledge that you won, that he died by your hands, will torture him more than I ever could.” Hadad curled his hands into fists. He felt the guards tighten their grip on his arms as his muscles flexed.
“Why do you hate Joshua?” Manasseh asked.
“He stole something that belonged to me.”
“What did he take?”
Hadad clenched his jaw, remembering. “Do you want me to deliver him to you, or don’t you?”
“What about my concubine? He has Dinah, too, doesn’t he? I want her back, as well.”
Hadad hadn’t expected Manasseh to ask for Dinah. According to Hadad’s plan, Joshua and Amariah would both die and he would escape somewhere—maybe back to Moab—to live with Dinah on his grandfather’s gold. He swallowed hard.
“Dinah is dead. She died of a fever when Joshua was hiding in the swampland near Gaza.”
Several emotions played across Manasseh’s face, but sorrow wasn’t one of them. He turned to his administrator. “What do you think, Zerah?”
Hadad tried not to flinch under Zerah’s intense scrutiny. Hadad knew nothing about the man, but the look in Zerah’s eyes told him that he was perversely wicked, without conscience.
“I think you should lock Hadad in prison until we find out whether or not he is telling the truth,” Zerah said.
Manasseh nodded to the four guards surrounding Hadad. “Can you beat the truth out of him?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Do it.”
Hadad’s first whiff of the airless hole made him gag. He had time for only a fleeting glimpse of his fellow prisoners in the palace dungeon before the guards disappeared up the stairs with the torches and left the prison in total darkness. He thought he had counted about five other men crowded into the tiny cell, some shackled hand and foot, others unfettered like himself.
The guards had stripped Hadad of his outer robe and sandals, and the sodden straw felt warm and mushy beneath his bare feet. He leaned against the barred door, determined he would collapse from exhaustion before he would sit in his own filth, much less lie down in it.
Someone in the corner on his right was moaning in agony. The sound was continuous, unending. Hadad waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, but it never happened. The darkness in the cell was total. He sensed someone standing very close to him, felt the moisture of breath on his face.
“Who are you?” a voice rasped. “Who did you kill?”
“No one,” Hadad mumbled. “Get away from me.”
“Where shall I go? Through the bars? Or maybe I can float up near the ceiling for a while.” His laughter had the timbre of insanity.
“You want space?” another voice in the darkness asked. “Why don’t you put that old man over there out of his misery and take his space?”
“What’s wrong with him?” Hadad asked. He heard several people chuckle.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” the voice nearby said. “They torture everyone in this cell sooner or later.”
“Yeah, sooner or later.” The voice came from someone sitting near Hadad’s feet. “If you confess, you’ll die sooner. If you don’t confess, you’ll die later.” Everyone but Hadad laughed.
For the first time, Hadad realized that he might die in this stinking hole. The knowledge should have staggered him, but he felt nothing—no fear, no regrets … nor did he long to cling to life at all costs. He realized then that he had no reason to live. Everything that usually drove a man—love, work, friendship, dreams of the future—had all been stolen from him. Even if King Manasseh set him free, Hadad had no desire to begin a new life all over again without Dinah. He had started a new life in Egypt and had ended up in this dungeon. All he wanted was vengeance—to make his enemies pay for stealing Dinah away from him—or death.
Hadad leaned his back against the door and smiled, but no one saw him in the darkness. “They can’t kill me,” he murmured. They couldn’t kill someone who was already dead.
Time must have passed, but living in eternal darkness, Hadad had no way to mark its passing. He might have been imprisoned for days or weeks or even years. The guards occasionally delivered meals of rotting food and stale water, but Hadad allowed the other prisoners to fight over his portions.
When Hadad had long since given up standing, the old prisoner’s moans finally ended in a death rattle. The guards didn’t remove the man’s body right away, and Hadad heard his cellmates fighting over his ragged tunic, hoping for a scrap of cloth for warmth against the dungeon’s cold nights. Then the other prisoners took turns sitting on the corpse, using it for a bench to avoid the filthy floor.
Every so often the guards dragged one of the prisoners away to be tortured. They didn’t take him far; Hadad could hear the muffled blows, the agonized screams, the guards’ laughter. The prisoner always returned unconscious. Hadad knew that the suspense of waiting for his turn had been carefully calculated to heighten his fear, but he felt strangely unafraid.
By the time the guards came for him, Hadad no longer cared what they did to him. He had retreated to a safe, dark place inside his soul where no one could ever hurt him again. He had searched hard for that place after his grandfather had died, hoping that strong wine might lead him to it, but now he knew that it could only be reached when all hope had finally died. His closest friends had betrayed him. He’d lost his home, his work, the woman he loved. He sat in a dark, stinking prison cell, surrounded by suffering and madness, hunger and thirst and cold. What more could anyone do to him?
The fact that he showed no fear, that he uttered no sound as the guards beat him, seemed to infuriate them. He heard none of their threats, felt none of their blows, because nothing could ever hurt him as much as Dinah’s betrayal had. He saw her face, heard her words over and over in his mind … and Hadad welcomed death.
Two weeks after he had locked Hadad in prison, King Manasseh summoned the warden to his throne room. “Well, what have you learned from the man? Is Hadad telling the truth?”
“We’ve learned nothing, Your Majesty. He refuses to talk.”
“Even when you tortured him? Threatened to kill him?”
“He doesn’t seem to care if he lives or dies.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Manasseh said. “Everyone fears death.”
The warden shrugged. “Not this prisoner, Your Majesty.”
“What about the informant you placed in his cell?” Zerah asked. “What does he report?”
“He says that Hadad has eaten almost nothing since we locked him up. He doesn’t seem to sleep, either. And he hasn’t said more than half a dozen words to anyone, even his fellow prisoners.”
Manasseh turned to Zerah in amazement. “What do you make of this?”
“Perhaps Hadad is telling the truth after all. If so, then the gods have answered your prayers, my lord. You asked for a decisive victory over your enemy; maybe it will come through this man.”
Manasseh felt the thrill of triumph. He had finally won the gods’ favor. His prayers had been answered. He would defeat Joshua at last.
“Take Hadad out of prison and clean him up,” Manasseh told the warden. “I’m going up to the Temple to make a thank offering. I’ll see him in the secretary’s chambers—his old chambers, where he lived with Shebna—when I’m finished.”
Manasseh climbed the walkway to the Temple, bursting with praise. The gods had sent Hadad in answer to his prayers. He would finally prevail against his enemy. Manasseh made an extravagant offering in return, and his only petition to the gods was for Joshua’s death.
When he returned to his palace a few hours later, Manasseh found Hadad sitting stiffly on the window seat, as if in great pain. Manasseh was amazed at how much weight he had lost in two weeks, how changed his appearance was. Hadad’s face wa
s purpled with bruises, his left eye swollen nearly shut, his nose bent where it had recently been broken. He didn’t rise when the king and Zerah entered or try to bow down to them. He appeared too weak to stand. Yet the warden said Hadad had never begged for mercy. Manasseh had remembered Shebna’s grandson as carefree and undisciplined, and he wondered what had happened in his life to produce the man who now sat before him.
“So, Hadad. You’ve had a taste of my prison; now I offer you a taste of my palace. What would you like first? I’ll send you anything you want … sumptuous food, excellent wine, someone to warm your bed …”
“I want to watch Joshua die.” Hadad’s speech was slurred as he tried to speak through lips that were cracked and swollen. “Set a trap for him. I’ll make certain he walks into it.”
Manasseh realized that Hadad’s pain wasn’t caused by his physical condition but by a hatred deeper than his own. Hadad was a driven man, so obsessed with revenge that he had withstood prison and torture and returned to this room not a weakened man but a stronger one. Manasseh felt a ripple of pleasure and fear. He stood in awe of such obsession. “Tell us your plan,” he said.
Hadad leaned forward, and the hatred in his eyes mesmerized Manasseh. “Announce that you’ll preside over a feast in one of the towns west of Jerusalem. Make sure your procession will have to travel through the narrow mountain pass on the Beth Shemesh Road to get there. I’ll convince Joshua to set up an ambush at the pass. But your forces will infiltrate the area first, surrounding him completely. When he attacks the procession, which will be a decoy, your soldiers will move in, cutting off his escape.”
“How many men will he have?” Manasseh asked.
“I can make sure that his army will be small and inexperienced. He’ll probably order them to distract your guards, then retreat. I’m certain that he’ll try to assassinate you himself. If you use a covered sedan chair, with guards waiting inside, you might take him alive.”
“What about Amariah?”
Hadad’s eyes glimmered with hatred. “Do you want him dead or alive?”
Manasseh smiled. “I’ll let you decide, Hadad. You deserve a small reward after surviving my prison.”
“I’ll deliver what’s left of him to you.”
“I thought you and my brother were friends. What happened?”
“He chose to become my enemy.”
“When would you like this ambush to take place?” Zerah asked.
Manasseh glanced at his advisor and fought a twinge of jealousy when he saw the greedy way Zerah eyed Hadad. Manasseh understood why. As weak as Hadad was, his hatred gave him an aura of strength and power.
“I’ll need a month to return to where Joshua is hiding in Egypt and plant the idea in his head,” Hadad said. “Joshua will probably want a few months to make plans and train his men. Why don’t we say the New Moon Festival, four months from now.”
“How will you convince him to follow your plan?” Manasseh asked. “If you and he are enemies, won’t he suspect that it’s a trap?”
“Joshua is my enemy. I never said that I was his enemy.”
Again, Manasseh saw Hadad’s powerful hatred and felt the grip of awe. “What did Joshua do to you?” he asked in a hushed voice.
Hadad stared at him, through him. “He cut out my heart. Now I want the chance to cut out his.”
5
JOSHUA HURRIED THROUGH BREAKFAST, his mind on the full day of work ahead of him. A supply ship was arriving from the north today with a shipment of military weapons from Pharaoh. And there was always more work to be done on the altar site. He pushed himself away from the table and stood, so abruptly that he nearly bumped into Miriam, who had been hovering behind him.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“No, I … I’ve been waiting to speak with you, my lord. I need to ask a favor.”
“Can you make it fast? I’m in a hurry.”
“It’s about Nathan.”
Joshua’s stomach clenched at the mention of his name. “What about him?”
“He’s been living away from home for two months now. Hasn’t he been punished enough? He’s just a boy.”
Joshua’s life had been peaceful without Nathan and the threat of blackmail hanging over him. He didn’t want Nathan to come back.
“I sent him away because he wouldn’t live by the rules of this house. How can I be certain that he’s ready to live by them now?”
“Because he’s suffered enough, my lord, being separated from Mattan and me.”
“He’s not suffering, he’s learning what it means to work. The apprenticeship will do him good. He didn’t want to go to school; he refused to obey or respect me. There was no other alternative than to make him earn his keep.”
“Please give him another chance.”
Joshua couldn’t meet her gaze. He stared past her through the open doorway to the courtyard beyond. “I’ve given him plenty of chances. I even offered to let him work with me if he didn’t want to study with the Levites, but he refused. I won’t take him back until he apologizes.”
“He’s too proud. He’ll never take the first step and come to you. Please …”
“I’m sorry.” Joshua spread his hands. “There’s nothing I can do.” He hurried away before she could plead with him further.
Miriam and her brother aroused too many disturbing feelings in Joshua—guilt over Maki’s death, shame because of the mistakes he had made, fear of being exposed. He could forget all of these emotions if Miriam stayed in the background and if he didn’t have to deal with Nathan. And that’s exactly what he intended to do.
He left the house and walked to the work site, but Miriam’s pleas lingered like a bitter taste on his tongue long after he arrived at the new worship area. The Levites were building an outdoor enclosure where the exiles could assemble and the priests could offer sacrifices, but today the sight of the huge unfinished courtyard aligned toward Jerusalem depressed Joshua further.
The new worship site was an alien place, so unlike the Temple in Jerusalem atop Mount Zion, with its clean air and panoramic views. This courtyard was cramped and dingy-looking; all the incense in Egypt couldn’t erase the pungent, fishy smell of the nearby river. Countless setbacks and supply problems continued to delay their work, so after more than a year of waiting, the priests were still unable to offer more than the daily sacrifices. Joshua hadn’t been able to make an offering for his sins or find relief from the guilt that plagued him. Maybe once the site was finished and he’d made his guilt offering, he’d be ready to deal with Nathan again.
He tried to push aside these thoughts as he bent to inspect the foundation trench for the enclosure’s walls. Engrossed in his work, he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps.
“Hello, Joshua.”
He looked up, then stood abruptly. Hadad stood a few feet away. Without thinking, Joshua gripped the hilt of the dagger he wore at his hip.
“You won’t need your weapon,” Hadad said quietly. “I’m not armed.”
He lifted his hands in surrender, but Joshua still felt uneasy. Hadad had left the island spouting threats, swearing vengeance. Joshua remembered being angry enough to kill someone after learning that Yael had married another man, and he knew he had good reason to fear Hadad. Or was it only his conscience confronting him with the truth of how he had wronged his friend?
Joshua released the knife but balanced his weight on the balls of his feet in readiness. “When did you get back?” he asked Hadad.
“This morning. I came on the supply boat.”
Hadad looked several pounds thinner than when he had left, with a lean hardness that often comes from suffering. Joshua noticed a ridge on his nose that made it look as though it had been recently broken, and a scar on his upper lip that he didn’t think had been there before.
“We need to talk,” Hadad said.
Joshua brushed the dirt off his hands and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m listening.”
“I want Amariah to hear what
I have to say, too.”
“He’s up at the fortress. We can talk there.”
Joshua allowed Hadad to lead the way, but as they silently walked the short distance to the outpost, Joshua’s mind spun with all the questions that Hadad’s return raised. Instinct warned him not to trust Hadad, and he considered sending soldiers to Amariah’s house to guard Dinah. He stopped walking when they reached the outer gate.
“You were furious when you left, Hadad. You made some pretty serious threats. I can’t let you near Amariah until I’m certain you’re unarmed.”
“You’re welcome to search me,” Hadad said. He turned to face the wall, resting his palms against it. Joshua searched him, carefully patting his clothing and inspecting the folds of his robes. He found no weapons.
“Shall we go in now?” Hadad said when he was finished. Joshua tried to read the expression on his face but couldn’t. There was something very wrong. Hadad showed no anger, no wariness … no emotion at all.
They found Prince Amariah inside the courtyard, watching as several dozen recruits sparred with one another and offering occasional words of advice and encouragement. Hadad gave a humorless laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’ve got the prince coaching them? He would have flunked his own training if he hadn’t been the king’s son.”
“We had no choice after you left,” Joshua said irritably. “I’ve had to divide my time between helping here and supervising the altar’s construction.”
Amariah turned as they approached, and Joshua saw his surprise and fear when he spotted Hadad. Hadad spread his arms wide as he strode toward Amariah, as if to embrace him, but Joshua quickly moved between them, holding Hadad at bay.
“Amariah, how are you, my brother?” Hadad asked.
“I’m well. And you?” Amariah gazed at him, wide-eyed. Joshua nodded to reassure him.
“We need to talk,” Hadad said. “Can you spare a few minutes?”
