by Mesu Andrews
The morning meal had been awkwardly silent. Isaiah hated the tension between himself and Jashub, but what was he to do? Packing his shoulder bag for class, he released a sigh and resigned himself to being the parent of an adolescent boy.
The courtyard gate squeaked, and within moments Aya appeared at the door of his study, reading a scroll with a royal seal. Her face matched the color of the parchment when she looked up. “Queen Abijah has sent word that Hezekiah won’t be in class today—or for many days. He’s to accompany King Ahaz on a journey.”
A knot formed in Isaiah’s stomach. As far as Isaiah knew, the king had barely spoken to Hezekiah since the Molek sacrifice more than two years ago. “Where is King Ahaz taking him?”
“The Assyrians have subdued Aram and destroyed the capital, Damascus. King Tiglath-Pileser has invited all vassal kings to a special celebration to witness the way he treats rebellious nations.”
The name Tiglath-Pileser tightened the knot in Isaiah’s stomach. Assyria’s king was the most vicious ruler in recorded history. Whispers about his insanity were widely shared, but those who whispered too loudly found themselves impaled on six-cubit poles.
The thought of Hezekiah in that madman’s presence propelled Isaiah toward the door, but Aya blocked his way. “You can’t march into the palace and detain a prince.” She laid a calming hand on his arm. “Take Ishma with you. Say you’ve come to bid farewell. Try to reason with the queen. Maybe she’ll keep Hezekiah in Jerusalem.” She patted his arm and turned away, hiding her emotion.
Only a moment’s pause convinced Isaiah of his wife’s wisdom. “Ishma!” he shouted. “We will cancel today’s class and visit Hezekiah in the queen’s chamber instead.”
When she arrived at the door of his study, her gaze alternated from Aya to Isaiah and back again. “What’s wrong?”
Isaiah inhaled a sustaining breath and tried to smile. “King Ahaz is traveling to Damascus to meet Tiglath-Pileser and has asked Hezekiah to accompany him.” Fear flashed across her features, but Isaiah rushed ahead before she could speak. “We will go to Queen Abijah’s chamber to ask that the prince remain in Jerusalem to continue his education instead.”
Relief visibly calmed her. “Yes. Yes, let’s go, Master Isaiah.” She was out the door before Isaiah could kiss his wife.
Ishma was silent on their way to the palace, while Isaiah’s heart reeled with the gruesome possibilities Hezekiah might face in Damascus. Surely, King Ahaz wouldn’t sacrifice another son. Did he realize the Assyrians believed their patron god, Rimmon, averse to human sacrifice? But would Judah’s failure to pay their tribute last month place Hezekiah’s life in jeopardy for other reasons? Yahweh, protect Your people despite the foolish decisions made by this faithless king.
Isaiah and Ishma hurried up the palace stairs, through the Great and Middle Courts, and halted in front of the guards stationed at the harem stairs. “The child and I desire to visit Queen Abijah in order to wish Prince Hezekiah a safe journey.”
The harem guards exchanged a puzzled glance. “How did you know about the prince’s journey?”
The question sent a new bolt of fear up his spine. Was King Ahaz trying to keep Hezekiah’s accompaniment a secret? “I’m a prophet. Do you really need to ask how I knew?”
Grudgingly, they stepped aside, allowing Isaiah and Ishma to pass. They reached the queen’s chamber and found an old friend, Samuel, at her door. But he focused forward, offering no recognition when Isaiah and Ishma stood before him.
Isaiah had served four kings in his lifetime and dealt with many stubborn guards. He addressed Samuel and the other guard at the queen’s door loud enough for every soldier in the king’s family hallway to hear. “It’s obvious that Queen Abijah would wish to spend as much time as possible with Prince Hezekiah before he leaves for Damascus with King Ahaz tomorrow, but she’ll want to hear what I have to say. Do you think it’s coincidence that I—a prophet of Yahweh—have come instead of my wife on the eve of the young prince’s departure?”
The guard standing beside Samuel swallowed loud enough to be heard. “How did you know about Damascus?”
A slow grin softened Samuel’s features, but his focus remained forward. “Isaiah, you sly fox.”
Isaiah lifted a single brow—letting the guards draw their own conclusions—and hoped the bluff would gain him and Ishma entrance. Within two heartbeats, Samuel opened the door and led them into the room without asking permission. “The prophet Isaiah, my queen.” He bowed and exited quickly.
Queen Abijah sat on the deep blue couch, her back to the door, while Hezekiah sat on a second couch to her right. The prince looked up, saw Isaiah approaching, and whispered something to his ima.
“What is it, Isaiah?” Queen Abijah asked, rising slowly from her couch. With her back still turned, she stared out beyond her balcony.
Must he talk to the back of her head? Bothered by her rudeness, Isaiah moved straight to the point. “How could you allow King Ahaz to take Hezekiah to Damascus when you know—”
“Allow Ahaz?” Queen Abijah turned, revealing a swollen and battered face. “This is what happens when I try to stop Ahaz. He’s the king of Judah. No one allows him to do anything.”
Isaiah stepped closer, but the queen stepped back. “I don’t need your pity. I’ve learned how to use his rage to my advantage.” She removed her head covering and shawl, showing more cuts and bruises on her neck and arms. “It took a little patience, but Ahaz agreed to name Hezi crown prince on the journey to Damascus.”
Righteous fury rose in Isaiah’s chest. “What if he beats Hezi like that? We must stop him, my queen.”
“Who is ‘we’? You and me? Or perhaps you mean you and your god.” She scoffed. “Yahweh has done nothing to help me, and my abba is no longer high priest. So, you see, no power on heaven or earth will intervene for me.” Her eyes began to fill, but she looked up at the ceiling, blinking. “Isaiah, I appreciate your concern, but the king of Judah will do as he pleases, and I believe I’ve secured my son’s safety—my own way.”
What did she mean by her own way? She was desperate, but how desperate? “There are laws set in place, Queen Abijah. Ways to restrain a king’s behavior. The king’s counsel has the right to question him.”
“He replaces anyone on his counsel who disagrees with him. You know it. Everyone knows it. They’re all too worried about filling their stomachs and coffers to worry about justice.”
She was right. Hadn’t Yahweh spoken those very words to him in a prophecy just days ago? Isaiah held her gaze, saw the utter hopelessness, and offered the only way out. “Yahweh has not forgotten you, Abijah.”
“Well, I have forgotten him.”
“Queen Abijah…”
She turned away, hugging her bruised arms and wounded spirit.
Isaiah’s eyes fell on her son, still seated on the couch. “Prince Hezekiah, how do you feel about traveling so far with your abba?”
The boy said nothing. Simply stared at his hands.
His silence drew the queen’s attention. She nudged his shoulder, requiring him to stand. “Come, Hezi. Master Isaiah has addressed you. Answer your subject like the king you will be.”
The prince straightened his shoulders. Isaiah noted his red-rimmed eyes and wished he hadn’t asked. The boy’s chin quivered as he spoke. “I look forward to winning Abba’s favor with my intellect and wit. It is on this journey that I will win Judah’s throne.” The words were practiced and not Hezekiah’s own, but Isaiah could hope they were accurate.
Isaiah walked around the couches and knelt before his student. “You will undoubtedly win your abba’s favor if you show him yourself.” He pulled him into a ferocious hug, wishing his arms were shields to protect him. Finally, letting go, he turned to Ishma. “Do you have anything to say to Hezekiah before we leave?”
Confusion etched her features as she alternated glances between the queen and prince. “I don’t know who makes me sadder,” she said. “I’m sorry you’re so unhappy, Queen
Abijah, but I don’t want Hezi to go.” She raced around the couches and hugged her friend just as fiercely.
He laid his head atop hers. “I’ll see you when I get back. You must keep Eliakim and Shebna on their toes. They think they’re smarter than you, but they’re not.”
“Of course they’re not,” she said, “but you are. Master Isaiah says I need you in class to keep me from becoming proud.”
Even Queen Abijah chuckled at that, but she nudged the children apart, signaling the time for Isaiah’s departure.
He bowed to the boy he loved like his own. “When I see you next time, I will address you as Crown Prince Hezekiah.” Isaiah could only hope the title provided more safety for Hezekiah than it had for Bocheru.
12
In the time of Pekah king of Israel, Tiglath-Pileser king of Assyria came and…deported the people to Assyria. Then Hoshea…conspired against Pekah….He attacked and assassinated him, and then succeeded him as king [of Israel].
—2 Kings 15:29–30
Hezi woke with the morning sun gleaming off the polished white limestone of Israel’s palace in Samaria. How did anyone sleep past sunrise in this city? But it had been easier to sleep here than in Damascus.
He and Abba left Jerusalem six months ago, endured an excruciatingly long camel ride, and arrived outside Damascus to find conquered Arameans impaled on poles. Hezi’s aching backside was immediately forgotten.
Screaming. That’s what he would remember about the banquets King Tiglath-Pileser forced his vassal kings to attend in Damascus. The Assyrians screamed while they tortured. The Arameans screamed as they died. And Hezi screamed from night terrors every time he slept. He’d never been so relieved to flee city gates—what was left of a city and its gates, that is.
Hezi examined Samaria’s palace chamber. It had been both home and prison for two months now, though it was larger and grander than his chamber in Jerusalem. He missed Ima, Mattaniah, Eliakim—and Ishma. Hezi closed his eyes and remembered. Ima’s gentle hugs. Mattaniah’s chubby cheeks. Eliakim’s red, curly hair. Most of all, he wanted to see Ishma, the girl who would understand what his eyes had seen and his heart felt. Today, he and Abba would begin their journey home.
Abba had planned a short sojourn in Samaria after leaving Damascus, but King Tiglath-Pileser suggested Abba should “train Israel’s new king in Assyrian loyalty.” Abba obeyed the two-month time frame Assyria’s king suggested. Who wouldn’t agree after what they’d witnessed in Damascus?
Hezi moped for the first week in Samaria. Then a secret gift arrived: two parchments from home. Hidden under three layers of goat skins that covered his wool-stuffed mattress, Ishma’s most recent parchment beckoned. He reached for it and read:
To the honorable Hezekiah ben Ahaz, Prince of Judah, Son of David.
From Ishma bat Abraham, servant of Isaiah, Royal Tutor.
Grace and peace to you.
It is my greatest hope that you received my first letter and that you are well. I pray for you daily, asking Yahweh to keep you and give you wisdom for the day and hour.
Eliakim has entered his thirteenth year and left our class to begin military training, which leaves only Shebna to keep me humble. Return soon, or I may become insufferable.
Your friend.
The edges of the letter were worn and thinning, but Hezi still smiled when he read it. Leave it to Ishma to find a way to communicate. She was smarter than him and definitely braver. He hadn’t the courage to sneak a letter back to Jerusalem.
At the beginning of their second week in Samaria, a Judean messenger had delivered a pile of scrolls to Abba. He waited until Abba was busy reading before slipping Ishma’s letters from behind his back and passing them to Hezi. One of Ima’s purple ribbons decorated the scrolls that bore her seal. Though grateful for Ima’s help, he was suspicious. She’d seemed hesitant about his friendship with Ishma. Why encourage it now? He would question her when he returned home.
A knock at the door forced Hezi to stash the parchment under the mattress. “Come!” he shouted.
His chamber steward entered, bowed, and offered him a clean towel. “It has been my honor to serve you, Prince Hezekiah of Judah.”
The steward, Enoch, was midforties, short, balding, round—and very kind. He’d been balm to Hezi’s wounded soul after the trauma of Damascus. Enoch had rushed into the chamber each night when nightmares tortured Hezi, and he remained at Hezi’s bedside until sleep claimed him again.
“How can I repay your kindness, Enoch?” Hezi reached for the offered towel.
Enoch maintained his grip, causing Hezi to look up. “Be a better king than the two who rule Israel and Judah now.” He winked and released the towel.
Startled by his candor, the young prince stuttered. “I-I will be.” Hezi bowed, showing Enoch the respect his honesty deserved.
The surprise on Enoch’s face matched his pleasure. “I believe it, my lord.”
On this journey, Hezi had learned to study people. Really see them. Each one had a story, and each one could teach him something. He’d learned something very important while studying his abba. He was as tortured as those he tormented.
Ima had long warned Hezi, “Molek loves royal blood,” and the fear of sharing Bocheru’s fate taunted Hezi in the early days of the journey. But no longer. When Abba had introduced him as Crown Prince Hezekiah to both the Assyrian king and Israel’s King Hoshea, Abba essentially gave his word to the world community. To kill his crown prince now would display instability and uncertainty in decision making. Both foreign kings would deem him a disgrace and failure—something Abba feared more than Assyrian torture. For the first time since that horrible night, Hezi felt safe from Molek’s fires.
He threw the towel over his shoulder and splashed his face with water from a copper basin. Home would feel safer as crown prince. If Abba was willing to ride camels, they could be in Jerusalem by nightfall. More likely, he’d prefer lounging in the bouncy royal carriage, and they’d spend three days sweaty and grouchy. Hezi muffled a frustrated growl in his towel.
Enoch helped him slip into a fresh robe. Next came the gold belt, jeweled collar, prince’s crown, and sandals. He was ready to break his fast with King Hoshea as he’d done every morning since they’d arrived in Israel.
The steward led him to the king’s private chamber, where King Hoshea had begun hosting their morning meal six weeks ago when it became clear Abba wouldn’t rise before midday. From the whispers Hezi heard, Abba drank most of his meals long into the night with various women pouring the wine. King Hoshea said it seemed silly for him and Hezi to dine alone in the vast banquet hall.
When Hezi rounded the corner, he halted at the threshold of the king’s chamber, astonished at the waiting bounty.
“Good morning, young prince.” King Hoshea, reclining at a low-lying ebony table, swept his hand over the veritable feast. “I’ve had the cook prepare all your favorites for your last morning in Samaria. Let it never be said that Israel starves her guests.”
“Did I hear something about starving Judeans?” Abba rounded the corner, placing his heavy hand on Hezi’s shoulder. “Like the Judeans your soldiers killed or took captive because we refused to join the coalition against Assyria?” Abba’s challenge sounded like a clanging cymbal amid the morning pleasantries.
King Hoshea’s smile died, his face going crimson. “You mistake me for my predecessor, who joined with Aram in the coalition. It was King Pekah who attacked Judah—and I who killed him. Assyria’s king personally chose me to sit on Israel’s throne.”
“Yet it was King Tiglath-Pileser who sent me to measure your loyalty.” Abba squeezed Hezi’s shoulder and pushed him toward the table. “I fear you may be loyal to yourself alone, King Hoshea. For weeks you entice my son with rich food and me with fine women. I must ask myself, ‘What could Israel’s king want in return?’ ”
Again, Israel’s king spread his hands across the bountiful table. “Friendship, King Ahaz. Only friendship.”
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sp; Hezi’s heart raced in the silence. Two of Abba’s guards stood inside the chamber, but King Hoshea’s royal guards waited outside the door. Had Abba forgotten Israel’s army was within range of a ram’s horn? The same army that sent troops to Bethlehem to kill Ishma’s parents. Hezi had been safe during the raid on Jerusalem, hidden in secret tunnels beneath the city. He’d never faced an Israelite’s sword. Now, King Hoshea could order an end to Judah’s king and crown prince with the flick of his wrist. Why would Abba risk their lives?
But Israel’s new king was too calm. Too friendly. “Let us eat together and talk plainly. No more veiled words or hidden agendas. If Israel and Judah are to survive, we must rely on integrity and courage to withstand Assyria’s aggression.”
King Ahaz pressed Hezi onto a cushion beside the table. “In the four new moons we spent together in Damascus, did any of the dying men cry out for more integrity or courage?” He choked out a laugh and loomed over King Hoshea. “No. They begged for mercy against Assyrian justice. We would serve our nations better to speak of loyalty and service to Tiglath-Pileser.”
King Hoshea nodded his assent, and Abba sat across from him. Israel’s king passed a bowl full of pomegranates. “Here, Prince Hezekiah. I know these are your favorites.”
Hezi reached for a ripe fruit, but Abba nudged his hand away and reached instead for a bowl of dates. “Now that your nation has felt the sting of Assyria’s invasion, you speak of friendship. Judah has only just begun to harvest crops and drink from new wells after your predecessor’s attacks three years ago. Will you spread a banquet table like this for my people? Offer them fruit and bread as you’ve offered my son since we’ve been here?”
Only now did Hezi realize his abba had a plan. He was negotiating. The Assyrian king had honored Abba for his loyalty at the Damascus banquet by presenting him with gruesome gifts and gestures. Abba had received them without flinching, praising King Tiglath-Pileser’s god. Surely, King Hoshea knew the Assyrian king sent Abba as his spy—which gave Abba the advantage of Assyrian favor.
