The Secret Book of Kings: A Novel

by Yochi Brandes

  “My mother saw it right away.” I sighed.

  “What’s done is done, but now we need to plan the visit more carefully. Do not go to the Palace of Candles before you meet with Adoram. Tell him you’ve brought your family with you because your wife yearned to see the most glorious temple in the world with her own eyes.”

  Elisheba clenched her teeth in the expression of restrained anger that I knew so well. I squeezed her shoulders to let her know I felt the same way. Neither of us wanted to visit the temple of Judah when the temples of Israel’s other cities were in ruins. “You think Adoram will talk to me about that story?”

  “Let’s hope so. Because if he doesn’t, it would be a sign that he suspects you made it up to appear more like Moses.”

  “So, what should I tell him?”

  “You must convince him that you made the story up out of despair and insecurity, with no ill intent, because your true origins are so lowly. Tell him your mother was a whore.”

  My hand pressed into Elisheba’s. “I won’t do it!”

  “Your grandmother’s scribes have determined that it’s the only way to fix their mistake. Tell Adoram you were born at the whorehouse of Shechem and that Benaiah, who was a regular visitor, took pity on you and took you into his home. After Elisheba was born, your adoptive parents decided that you would marry her, so they told you that you weren’t their son. To make you feel better, they told you that you were like Moses, an orphan found in a basket. But after you ran away from home, they became angry and revealed the bitter truth to you about your dubious origins.”

  “Adoram will ask me why I spread the story if I knew it wasn’t true.”

  “Tell him that after you married Elisheba you had to convince the people of Ephraim that she wasn’t your sister, and you decided to use the old lie you were raised with so as not to humiliate yourself.”

  “There are too many stories about my birth floating around now. Adoram won’t believe me.”

  “He’s used to these kinds of complications. Anyone who lives in the court of the king knows that every episode has several versions. Do what we’re telling you, and everything will be alright. You have to trust us. Your visit won’t go as planned, that much is true, but the important thing is for it to go peacefully.”

  “Hadad won’t allow me to visit the Palace of Candles in the end.”

  “He really did wonder if it was worth the risk, but he doesn’t have a choice. This is the only thing keeping your grandmother alive. Tell Adoram nonchalantly that you’re planning on visiting Hadad and your old friends. Most of them have left the Palace of Candles, including your good friend Prince Ithiel, who is married and living with his wife’s parents in Hebron, but you still have a few friends left there.”

  “Why isn’t Ithiel living with his wife in the king’s palace?”

  “That’s a long story. We’ll tell you some other time.”

  * * *

  We arrived in Jerusalem near evening and were given the largest room in the palace’s guest wing. The conversation with Adoram went exactly according to plan and ended with his solemn promise not to make my lowly origins known. The next day, I gave him a detailed report on the tax collection in Ephraim, reading him endless columns of numbers. I was hoping he’d grow weary of it and let me be on my way. My longing for Grandmother and Hadad was excruciating, and I felt like I couldn’t wait any longer, but he was riveted and showed no signs of impatience. At a certain point, I couldn’t take it anymore and told him that before I returned to Ephraim I had to take my wife to see the Temple and visit my friends at the Palace of Candles, but he just muttered coolly that our work was not yet finished and that I would have to prolong my visit so that we could go over all the calculations and make important decisions that would help us successfully execute the changes.

  “What changes?”

  “The king is going to fill the gap in the wall of the city of David.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we need five thousand more forced laborers from Ephraim.”

  “How soon?”

  “In six months.”

  “I can do it. Many young men will be willing to work in Jerusalem to free their families from their tax burden.”

  “We cannot give you any further tax reductions. The king’s treasury is empty.”

  I was so flabbergasted that I was speechless. “Without tax exemptions, we won’t be able to recruit anyone,” I finally said.

  “I have faith in you,” Adoram said with an amused smile. “When the people of your tribe hear about this important building project, they will accept the burden with love.”

  “The people of Ephraim enthusiastically built the fortifications of Hazor, Megiddo, and Gezer. The Judeans should build Jerusalem themselves.”

  Adoram furrowed his brow. “Am I hearing criticism of the king’s judgment?”

  “I’d be happy to meet with him in person and explain my views.”

  “The king has more important matters to deal with. That’s what you have me for.”

  I only managed to get away from him two days later, and I was so upset and shocked that I waited a few hours before taking Elisheba and Nadab to the Palace of Candles. I didn’t want Grandmother to see me in such a state. Hadad deciphered my mood immediately and asked me what new edicts I’d received from the great taskmaster, as he called Adoram. When I told him what the situation was, his red face grew suddenly pale.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. These edicts will bring about a famine in Ephraim. All my accomplishments are liable to go down the drain.”

  “We’ll discuss it later. Your grandmother can’t wait any longer.”

  “How is she?”

  “Not well. At night, she lights her candles without screaming. That’s how weak she is. But she became twenty years younger when I told her you were coming.”

  There was nothing I wanted more than to bound over and hand her my son, but I knew I had to take care to introduce her to my family gradually. Elisheba remained in the doorway watching her from afar, her eyes wide with wonder. I walked in slowly, cradling Nadab, trying not to let the excitement cause my knees to buckle. Grandmother saw us and burst into tears. Her crying stunned me. Six years ago I sat across from her on the mat, and she told me how her father died in the battle of Mount Gilboa, how her mother fell on her sword, how her brother was murdered in his sleep, how they slaughtered her sister, how her loving husband died alone in the fields, and how they hanged her only son on the top of a mountain. She told me all this with dry eyes; not a single tear ran down her cheek over the course of the entire story. And now this strong woman was sobbing at the sight of my little boy. I bent down and placed him in her lap. I hoped he wouldn’t cry at the sight of the old, unfamiliar woman now suddenly hugging him and staining his face with her tears. To my relief, he was looking at her with curiosity, then he reached out his little hands and yanked the golden tiara off her head.

  Grandmother was laughing and crying at the same time. “He wants the crown. It’s obvious that the blood of kings runs in his veins.”

  I put the crown back on her head and took Nadab from her.

  “‘I never expected to see your face again, and now God has allowed me to see your children too. Now I am ready to die.’” Grandmother mumbled the familiar words Jacob had spoken when his son Joseph had presented him with his grandsons.

  “You will not die,” I whispered. “You’ll have the chance to see more great-grandchildren.”

  I turned and signaled for Elisheba to approach. She walked over to Grandmother with quick strides and bowed before her.

  “Princess Michal.” Her voice trembled with excitement. “I don’t know what you looked like when you were younger, but you are still the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  Grandmother took her in her arms. “My sweet child,” she said. “You remind me so much of my sister.”

  “Of Merab?” I marveled.

 
“Of Rizpah daughter of Aiah,” whispered Grandmother.

  Now even Hadad couldn’t hold back his tears.

  We talked for a few minutes, and then Grandmother asked to speak to Elisheba in private. I wanted to stay with her a little longer, but Hadad gave me a pat on the shoulder and pushed me out.

  “Come,” he said. “We’ll leave the girls alone.”

  Ten

  Elisheba wouldn’t tell me what Grandmother had said to her. On any other day, I would have interrogated her and managed to get her to tell me the secret, but now all my strength was focused on the new forced labor tax that had been imposed upon us. I convened the elders of Ephraim for an emergency meeting and gave them a report on the harsh edict. I was so angry that I let them yell and curse to their hearts’ content, and I didn’t stop them in time, as I had been doing ever since Hadad had come to Ephraim and warned me not to call King Solomon names, especially if they actually fit him.

  “The new Pharaoh is afraid of us because we’re the most populous tribe in Israel!” cried the chief elder of Bethel. “He is making our lives bitter with harsh labor and weighing us down with bricks and mortar so that we’ll be unable to reproduce!”

  By the time I realized what was going on, it was too late, and I couldn’t stop the flow. The nickname “new Pharaoh” made its way not only through Ephraim, but also throughout the rest of the kingdom, and it reached Jerusalem, too, of course. A commission of inquiry headed by Adoram appeared at the house of administration in Shechem and questioned me about the nickname’s origins. The investigation went on for many long hours and included explicit threats to my servants and veiled, but rather obvious, remarks about the poverty my wife and son could anticipate if the head of their family was sent to prison and their land was expropriated by the king. It was the first time I felt that the torture I had experienced in the tunnels hadn’t been in vain. Thanks to the ability to freeze myself that I had learned from Hadad, I managed to get through three days without sleep and still not give away the name of the elder from Bethel.

  With relaxed confidence, I reported on the recent chain of events and told Adoram that the elders had indeed compared the new tax edicts to Pharaoh’s hard labor, but that no one ever imagined comparing King Solomon to Pharaoh, and that I had no idea how any such expression might have come about. After a week, Adoram’s patience wore out, and he decided to return to Jerusalem, but not before I was warned that the next royal slander to come out of Ephraim would result in my going to prison, along with all the elders.

  “If you forego the additional forced labor tax, I promise you that the people of Ephraim will compose songs of praise for the king and spread them throughout the kingdom,” I told Adoram.

  To my surprise, he replied that my request would be seriously considered. I didn’t get my hopes up, but within only a few days a special messenger arrived to inform me that the most gracious king had decided to make do with the forced laborers who were already in Jerusalem. I immediately convened the scribes of Ephraim and ordered them to sit in the house of administration and compose songs of gratitude for Solomon.

  “How long do we have?” asked the scribes.

  “As long as you need,” I replied.

  When the songs were finished, I summoned players of harps, drums, flutes, and lyres so that the songs could be turned into a musical performance that would draw crowds. I planned to send companies of musicians to the market squares of the cities of Ephraim, in the hope that doing so would spread the songs throughout the land. The first performance was scheduled to take place at the large house of administration in Shechem, in the presence of the elders and their families. The scribes asked me to bring my family as well. Elisheba stated with revulsion that she wanted no part of such a disgrace, but she finally gave in and attended with Benaiah and Bilhah.

  When I heard the first song, I froze in fear and ordered them to stop the show, but the crowd had already memorized the words and sang them again enthusiastically:

  Moses freed our ancestors

  From Egyptian slavery,

  Shelomoam will free our sons

  From Jerusalem’s slavery.

  Shelomoam will say to Solomon:

  Let Ephraim go,

  Let my people go.

  Shelomoam will make Ephraim grow.

  Make my people grow.

  Let Ephraim go,

  Let my people go.

  I had to act quickly. I knew that Adoram’s spies might be in the crowd, and even if they weren’t, the song would reach their ears shortly. I silenced the audience and delivered a speech. I appeared calm on the outside, but I’d never been so scared in my life. I’d faced my share of dangers in the past, but back then I’d been a reckless, adventurous youth. Now I was a husband and father to a little son.

  When I finished my speech, the people didn’t stand up and cheer, as they usually did, but rather they remained in their seats with reserved expressions on their faces, their lips quivering with disappointment. My declaration of absolute loyalty to the king had convinced them that I wasn’t the redeemer who would save them from his hands. And, though I didn’t say so explicitly, they understood that if the song were to become public, I would no longer be able to serve as commissioner.

  I don’t know whether it was that Adoram didn’t hear about the performance, or whether he decided to forgive me because the songs written for Solomon by the scribes of Ephraim met his expectations. Either way, the matter ended peacefully, and no delegation led by him came to see me in Shechem. But from my perspective, the event had long-lasting repercussions, for it led me to meet Ahijah the Shilonite.

  That day, I was sitting in the small house of administration of Zeredah making complicated calculations in order to figure out how many peasant families I could return to their lands in return for the excess taxes I had in my treasury. I was trying to concentrate, but constant shouting from outside kept interrupting my thoughts, which forced me to step outside. The servants apologized for the disturbance and said they were trying to get rid of a young musician from Shiloh who had been part of that performance in Shechem and had been waiting for me since the early hours of the morning. I asked them to tell him I’d gladly meet with him the next time I visited Shiloh, but the fellow was persistent, and I could see that I had best let him in and try to get this unwelcome meeting over with as quickly as possible.

  He fell to his knees and bowed deeply before I could stop him.

  “A quick bow of the head would have done just fine,” I said coolly.

  He looked around quickly and brought his head closer. “I know who you are,” he whispered.

  I chuckled loudly and told him I was the commissioner of Ephraim.

  “You’re a prince.”

  “Very funny.”

  “My grandfather and your grandfather were friends.”

  “Which grandfather?”

  “King Saul.”

  Now it was my turn to look around. Just in case, I decided to freeze myself and weigh my next moves carefully. It was the first time I had ever felt deep in my bones the danger that Mother and Hadad, and Grandmother for that matter, were so afraid of. Until now, for me it had been merely an event from the distant past that had caused my mother’s imprisonment, but now, in a single instant, it had become a real and tangible danger that threatened not only me, but my little son, too.

  “Do you know that he was a prophet?” the man asked.

  “Who?”

  “Your great-grandfather.”

  I blew out a sigh of relief. I realized there was nothing to worry about. No sane person would take seriously the words of a madman claiming that King Saul had been a prophet.

  “You think I’m mad.”

  I spoke in my commanding tone and ordered him to leave willingly, so that my servants wouldn’t have to drag him out by force. I don’t like it when people read my mind. Hadad was one thing; I’d grown used to him. But not some odd character who had somehow managed to discover the most hidden secret of my lif
e.

  He smiled. “Let me tell you a short story, and after that I promise not to bother you anymore. You’ve heard many stories in your lifetime, so what’s one more to you?”

  That statement also made me anxious. How did he know which stories I’d heard?

  At first, I listened to him impatiently, but I soon realized that I did find him interesting, and not only because I like stories. I was smiling from the very beginning, as he vividly described the way my expression had changed all of a sudden the moment I’d absorbed the words of the song at the performance in Shechem.

  “The final lines were mine,” he said proudly. “You will make the nation of Israel grow. That isn’t a hope or a prayer; it’s a prophecy. I’m a member of the company of prophets of Shiloh.”

  I was familiar with the various companies of prophets that operated throughout the kingdom, and of course I admired them. Many of them did not experience revelations even after long years of study, but the ones who did reach that exalted level had the honor of delivering the word of God to the nation. There were, of course, also prophets like Nathan, whom Grandmother had told me about, who was mostly concerned with the palace intrigues of Ahithophel and Bathsheba, but most prophets were dedicated to spreading morality and knowledge, as well as to helping us cope with hardship and draw faith and strength.

  “How long have you been studying?”

  “Five years.”

  “And have you had a revelation yet?”

  He laughed. “Listen to my story, and you will see how my revelation is connected to you.”

  And this is what Ahijah the Shilonite, the young novice prophet, told me:

  “My grandfather is an unknown prophet who was once a member of the company of prophets of Samuel. My father did not follow in his footsteps, becoming a fig grower instead, but I have known that I would become a prophet ever since I can remember. I have friends who’ve studied for fewer years than I have and who have already experienced several revelations, but my grandfather consoled me, telling me that sometimes a great deal of time passes before someone’s first revelation comes. In the meantime, until I become a prophet, I make my living playing music. In the context of my studies of prophecy, I’ve learned to play six different instruments. The harp is the instrument that brings me closest to God, but when I found out about your scribes’ performance and arrived in Shechem, the only instrument they offered me was a drum. Oh well, what won’t one do to make a living?