by Mesu Andrews
He clenched his fists, not knowing what to do next. If he interrupted Isaiah’s class, it might draw too much attention and alert Abba to his return.
“You must be thirsty,” she said, walking toward the house. “Won’t you join me for a goblet of spiced wine?”
He followed, not wishing to offend.
Mistress Aya continued past the study down a short hallway and led him into a large open space. She pointed to a worn pillow beside a large low-lying table—the only furniture in the room. “Please, sit down, King Hezekiah, and I’ll tell you why my son Jashub delivered Zibah’s robe to your tent last night.”
He stopped where he stood. “You sent it? Why? How could your son make it past my sentries? Who else knows my abba attacked Zibah?”
Her face lost all expression. “Sit down, Hezekiah.”
He obeyed, mind spinning, and watched her pour the wine.
“When Yahweh protects, He can blind the eyes of even the finest soldiers.” She returned to face him. “How do you think our family has successfully hidden Yahweh’s prophets and provided for their needs all these years? Yahweh is faithful—and my son Jashub is quite good at being silent and unseen.”
When she placed the goblets on the table, he could stand it no longer. “Who else knows Abba attacked Zibah?”
Eyes ablaze, she leaned in. “I would think you might ask, How is Zibah?”
He felt blood drain from his face. “The note said Abba had not defiled her.”
Mistress Aya changed from sweet mistress to ima bear. “Must a woman be defiled or have broken bones to be wounded and scarred? Have no fear, King Hezekiah, your queen will stain the white sheet on your wedding night, but what of her spirit? Can its innocence be restored? Your ima’s guard, who stopped King Ahaz before he could ruin my daughter, was executed at dawn.” Tears escaped down her cheeks. “Zibah carries shame and blame that are not hers to own.”
Hezi bowed his head, letting the full horror of what Zibah experienced pierce him. The helplessness. The terror and revulsion. Sobs erupted from the center of his being with a new realization. “Does she hate me for leaving her here unprotected?”
Aya cupped his chin, forcing him to look her in the eye. “I’m the one who sent Zibah to visit Abijah’s chamber unescorted. That responsibility is mine to bear. You have no share in the blame, Hezekiah. The evil is in King Ahaz. God will judge him alone for this crime.”
Hezi seethed. “Perhaps I will be God’s wrath on my abba.”
“No, son,” she said, brushing his cheek. “That would be a mistake.”
He pulled away, firm in his decision. “My next visit will be to Abba’s chamber to mete out justice long overdue.”
“Don’t you realize that’s what he wants?”
Hezi stared at her, confused. “You think Abba planned to attack Zibah so I’d kill him? That’s absurd.”
“Yes, it’s absurd, and it’s politics. Ahaz is terrified of your success, Hezekiah. As long as he maintains power over the larger army in Jerusalem, he is the stronger co-regent. If you charge into his chamber to defend your betrothed, he’ll call it insurrection, and Jerusalem’s standing army will kill you as well as anyone who tries to defend you. I don’t believe he planned to attack Zibah, but he will certainly use your rage to destroy you—if you let him.”
Hezi could only stare in disbelief. Her political acumen was spot on. Abba had stirred Hezi’s anger to the point of murder—whether calculated or impulsive, it didn’t matter. King Ahaz would, without hesitation, kill his son for treason. That was the level of depravity on Judah’s throne. “Yahweh, save us.”
She lifted her brows. “My husband says He’s called you to do that.”
The thought terrified him. He reached for his goblet and his first sip of wine. It was mostly water. His heart softened toward this woman who would someday become his ima by marriage. “What can I do to help Zibah?”
Aya exhaled a deep breath and reached for his hand. “She is confused and broken, Hezekiah. I fear only you can reach her. Be here tonight for the evening meal.”
“I will. I promise.”
Four new chamber guards bowed but blocked Hezi from Ima’s doorway. “I’m sorry, my king, but Queen Abijah cannot be disturbed.”
Anger flared, but Hezi remembered that he was no longer a prince. He was co-regent and king. “Has King Ahaz ordered my ima sequestered in her chamber?”
The guards exchanged a nervous glance, and the one on the left ventured the truth. “Yes, my lord.”
“I see your dilemma. Let me make it simple. I am also your king. If you don’t obey me and step aside, I’ll have all four of you arrested for treason.”
The one wearing captain’s leather knocked on the door and announced as he opened it, “Your son, King Hezekiah, my queen.” All four guards bowed as Hezi entered.
The chamber was dimly lit, with heavy tapestries pulled over the tall windows and balcony. Ima emerged from her bedchamber, head lowered. “Hezi, what a lovely surprise.”
“Is it really?” He grabbed her shoulders. She cried out, and he released her. “What—” Then he saw her face, swollen and bruised. Worse than he’d ever seen it.
Gasping made her wounds more pronounced. “How did you find out?”
Rage roiled in his belly. “Did he do this before or after he attacked my bride?”
“Zibah should never have told you.” She turned her back, walking toward the window and parting the tapestries.
“You wouldn’t have told me, would you, Ima?” The realization infuriated him.
“Zibah doesn’t understand nobility, Hezi. She can’t be the queen you need her to be. Marry another first. Let Zibah become a second or third wife.”
“Zibah will be my only wife, and she is everything I need in a queen. Intelligent. Honest.” Stepping closer, he repeated, “Honest.”
Ima whirled to face him. “What about reckless and opinionated, Hezi? Don’t forget those.”
Her level of disapproval birthed a thought too horrific to consider. She was capable of deception, but surely, she couldn’t…she wouldn’t…Hezi closed the distance between them and gently cradled her elbow, leading her to the couch they’d shared for serious talks since he was a boy. “Sit with me, Ima. I need to ask you a difficult question.”
Suspicion laced her features, but she obliged, her graceful movements impeded only by the way she protected her sides. No doubt, her ribs were broken.
With a deep sigh, he asked the hardest question of his life. “Did you arrange Abba’s attack on Zibah?”
A slow, menacing grin graced her swollen lips. “I did not arrange it, but I wouldn’t mind if you killed him for it.”
A chill ran through Hezi’s veins.
Her smile died, and a shadow of real grief darkened her features. “The only man brave enough to lift a sword against Ahaz was executed this morning.” She gazed into the distance. “It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. Gedor wasn’t supposed to die.”
“How was it supposed to happen, Ima?” Had she just confessed? He stood and backed away.
“I didn’t plan it, Hezi.” She stood and stepped toward him, pleading. “Ahaz has been entranced by Zibah from the moment he saw her. He could talk of little else. The other wives have been jealous, but I…” Ima tilted her head and spoke as if he were eight years old. “Hezi, I simply stoked the fire. I knew someday your abba would act on his impulses, but I thought you would be here to protect her. I thought you—my brave boy—would take the throne that is rightfully yours.”
She moved closer, but Hezi stepped back again, feeling ill. “You encouraged Abba’s obsession with my betrothed? You are as depraved as he.”
“Hezekiah ben Ahaz! Don’t speak to me in that tone—”
“Don’t ever call me by Abba’s name again, Ima.” Yahweh, how can I obey Your command to honor parents like these? “Your deception makes you dangerous to yourself and others. I can’t talk to you right now.” He would spend time praying in his chamber
before going to confront Abba in the king’s private chamber.
With his first step toward the door, Ima blocked his departure. “Please, Hezi. Everything I do is for you, for your throne.”
He gripped her arms and stared into her weepy eyes. “If you believe that, Ima, you have deceived yourself most of all.”
24
Wisdom makes one wise person more powerful than ten rulers in a city.
—Ecclesiastes 7:19
Hezi woke on the floor of his chamber to the sound of panicked voices. He must have dozed off while praying. Hurried footsteps outside his door hurled him from slumber to the hallway. Abba’s wives and other children peeked out their doorways on the family wing while at least two dozen royal guards poured into Ima’s chamber. Her screams filled the air, but what frightened him most were his abba’s angry shouts. Why had Abba returned to Ima’s chamber after all that had happened?
Hezi shoved his way past the crowd of guards and found the queen shackled, a bloody dagger in her hand.
“Ima, where did you get that?”
She lifted her head, swollen eyes wet with tears. “Gedor dropped it after he stabbed Ahaz. I hid it, knowing your abba would come back to gloat over Gedor’s death.” Her features twisted into a face he didn’t recognize. “Ahaz just won’t die, Hezi. No matter how hard I try.”
“Get her out of here!” King Ahaz shouted from behind the bedchamber curtain. “Where is my physician?”
The guards started to march Ima out of the chamber, but Hezi stopped them with a command. “Close the chamber doors!” The men halted, most looking uncertain, but one obeyed.
Hezi stood in the middle of the soldiers, turning to face those who had witnessed the ugly relationship of Judah’s royal couple. He spoke in barely a whisper. “You will not tell anyone of my ima’s actions here today. If you are asked—even by the other royals on this floor—you will not lie but will answer with a generality. Say, ‘The king and queen experienced a marital skirmish—as they often do.’ Am I clear?”
The men exchanged questioning glances, but Hezi had no time for indecision. “I am your king. You will do as I say or face the executioner. I have no patience with soldiers who can’t follow my commands.” He received general affirmations, but Hezi couldn’t wager his ima’s life on a general consensus. “Form two lines to pledge your allegiance.” Hezi made his way down both lines of soldiers as every man saluted him, fist to chest.
Ima stood in the corner, chin held high—shaking. “Take Ima to my chamber. Get her maids to clean her up, and keep her there.”
“Yes, my king.” Two guards grabbed her, nearly lifting her off her feet.
“Gently! She is your queen!” Hezi shouted.
Two other guards opened the chamber door and found the physician waiting with his basket of herbs and potions. “Come in.” Hezi welcomed him at the threshold and spoke loudly enough for those down the hall to hear. “Abba has taken ill and will recover in Ima’s chamber.” He draped his arm around the physician’s shoulder and guided him into Ima’s chamber. The guards bowed to their king as they filed out of the room. The last man closed the chamber doors behind them.
The physician looked up, wary. “I take it the king isn’t simply ill.”
Hezi shook his head at the absurdity of his life. “I’m afraid not. If you’d like to stuff something in your ears, now is the time. If you repeat anything you hear in this chamber”—he patted the man’s back—“it will cost you your life.”
“I think you’ll discover I’m quite good at keeping secrets.” The man walked alongside Hezi down his ima’s crimson carpet.
The young king threw back the dividing curtain, exposing the disheveled bed in his ima’s chamber. His abba lay on his side, hugging a cushion. Four guards surrounded him, his personal guard pressing a blood-soaked cloth against his back.
Ahaz looked over his shoulder and scoffed, “Your ima is as mad as a rabid dog!”
Everything within Hezi wanted to finish what his ima started. Yahweh, I can’t forgive him. I can’t even look at him without Your help. He took a step closer to the bed, and every guard placed a hand on his sword. They were good men, protecting their king. They need not die for doing their jobs.
Hezi lifted his hands in the air. “I am no danger to my abba, I assure you.” Slowly, he unbuckled his sword belt and placed it on a nearby table. Then he removed the dagger he had tucked behind his back in his belt and laid it on the table as well. “I have no other weapons.” Again, he held his hands aloft.
The guards relaxed somewhat, so the physician nudged aside the one nearest the king to check the wound. “This will require several stitches. You’re still breathing, my king, so the blade missed your heart.”
Ahaz grunted. “Many will be disappointed with that news.” He looked over his shoulder again. “Including my son. Right, Hezekiah? Did you suggest your ima’s attempt on my life, or did she muster the courage to do it herself?”
The royal guards stared at Hezi, equally interested. “I had nothing to do with this attempt on his life, men.” He met the gaze of each one and waited to receive a nod before moving to the next man. “I must now speak with King Ahaz alone. Take my weapons with you if you like, but I assure you, my abba is safe with me. Now, go.” He grabbed a stool from the corner and pulled it close to the mattress on the side the king was facing. The guards exchanged uneasy glances but finally took his weapons and filed out.
His abba lay with his eyes closed. Good. Maybe Hezi could talk to the man he’d feared his whole life if Abba’s eyes remained closed. “Why did you come to Ima’s chamber? Didn’t you beat her enough yesterday?”
Abba’s eyes shot open. “Your ima is the only one who tells me the truth. Don’t act like you know anything about marriage, boy.”
Hezi saw rage in those deep-set eyes, and his insides quaked. Tamping down his own rage, he said, “I know only a coward hits a woman—and attacks his son’s betrothed.”
Ahaz closed his eyes again. “Abbi told me you knew I tasted a little honey from your betrothed.” A slow grin replaced his anger and sent a shiver up Hezi’s spine.
He clenched his fists. Yahweh, control the anger his taunts arouse. “Are you surprised Ima wants you dead? You’ve mistreated her for years.”
Abba laughed, wincing at the physician’s first stitch. “Many people want me dead. Why do you think I keep my guards close and pay them so well?”
The summation of Abba’s life. No accountability. Problems fixed with force and bribery. “I don’t want you dead, Abba. I want you to be a better man.”
“It would be easier to die.” A long pause while the physician sewed.
“You don’t mean that, Abba.”
“The physician says I’ll be dead in five years if I keep drinking. I considered letting your ima do the job quickly but decided it would be more fun to watch her die for the attempted assassination.” He choked out a laugh. “Abbi should have waited five years. She could have danced at my burial. Now I’ll look at her cold, dead face.”
“No.” Hezi’s single word opened his abba’s eyes. “You will stop drinking and forgive Ima for tonight’s mishap.”
Abba laughed this time, a full belly laugh—and then groaned with pain. “You’re mistaken, boy. I will enjoy both my wine and your ima’s execution.”
Hezi’s hands were around his abba’s neck before he realized it. The physician dropped his needle and backed against the wall, eyes as round as shields. Hezi pressed against his abba’s throat, cutting off his ability to cry out—or breathe. “You have mocked me and bullied Ima for the last time. Zibah is not a toy for your amusement. Do we understand each other?”
King Ahaz nodded, his face growing crimson. Hezi released him, and Ahaz seethed. “You will regret that.”
“No, Abba. We’re about to negotiate a treaty, you and I. It’s what kings do.” Hezi nodded to the physician, who resumed his work on Ahaz’s back.
“Aah!” King Ahaz roared. “Hurry up with those
stitches.” He turned a heated look at his son. “Why should I negotiate with a cowardly weakling who can’t even protect his betrothed?”
Hezi looked into the bloodshot eyes and yellowing face of a dying man and pity suddenly replaced his anger. He need not take his abba’s life when it was already crumbling around him. “Why should you negotiate, Abba? Because I have the loyalty of the Judean army and the hearts of our people. The palace guards obey you but hate you. You’re behind on tribute payments to Assyria, and you’ve squandered your relationships with foreign allies. You are in no condition to fight a civil war. Do not cross swords with me.”
Real fear flashed in Ahaz’s eyes, and Hezi knew he’d won before negotiations began.
“What do you want, Hezekiah?”
“You will never again see or speak to Ima. When the physician finishes sewing you up, you will return to your chamber on the first level, and Ima will occupy this chamber. Guards of my choosing will ensure she remains here or visits the private gardens when you aren’t present, for her own safety and yours.”
Relief lightened Ahaz’s features. “Agreed.”
“You will never see or speak to Zibah again.” Hezi leaned close. “Never.”
The king whispered through gritted teeth. “Agreed.”
“And I will continue rebuilding the fortresses and city walls of Judean cities until you summon me back to Jerusalem.”
Ahaz curled his knees to his chest. “Wrong. You will leave Jerusalem immediately and return only for my burial.”
Hezi’s heart ached. He must see Zibah tonight, to make sure she was all right. “I will return to Jerusalem occasionally to see Zibah.”
Another pause, and Hezi searched his abba’s expression. Would this sticking point sink all negotiations?
Finally, Ahaz squeezed his eyes shut as if the words he was about to say pained him. “To be crowned sole king, the high priest must place the crown on your head and anoint you with oil in Jerusalem. If you stay away, the people here—who see me die more each day—may not crown you until I’m gone.”
