by Mesu Andrews
“No…I mean…I’ll assign some of the Levites to present the sacrifices, my lord.” Azariah hurried to obey, shouting at Levites, priests, and Temple guards to receive the offerings of all who came.
Isaiah stood like a boulder, silent and immovable. “You’ve just ordered Yahweh’s high priest to break the Law of Moses. You know Levites are to assist in sacrifices only. They are never to touch the sacred utensils or approach the altar.”
The condemnation sizzled like a branding iron in Hezi’s gut. “You haven’t stepped onto Temple grounds for years because you said Yahweh was weary of meaningless sacrifices. Now look, Isaiah.” He pointed at the waiting crowd. “These people yearn to offer Yahweh gifts—meaningful sacrifices—and we will not turn them away.”
“I’m not the enemy, Hezekiah.” Isaiah’s tone never changed. “I’m here to remind you that Yahweh gave us His Law to protect and guide us. There will be unforeseen consequences if you break His commands. As with the atoning blood, we may not fully understand, but we must trust and obey Him.” Isaiah walked away, his sackcloth robe billowing in the wake of his judgment.
Hezi wanted to follow him and continue the debate, but he need not prove himself to his teacher any longer. Hezekiah was king. The thought did little to comfort. If Isaiah was right, and Yahweh was displeased with the Levites’ hands on the offerings, consequences could be severe. Please, Yahweh, know our hearts. See the yearning of Your people to honor You.
He looked for Zibah in the crowd. She would have an opinion and perhaps offer insights neither he nor her abba had considered. The eastern portico bulged with people, but he didn’t see his wife or her family. They must have returned home, making room for more worshipers. A disturbing realization struck. His ima hadn’t attended the consecration ceremony even though he’d ordered a guard to escort her.
Troubled, he began walking toward the Guard’s Gate and signaled Samuel. “We’re returning to the palace,” he said as the big man fell into step with him. “Did you send a guard to the Gevirah’s chamber this morning to collect her for the consecration ceremony?”
“I did, my king.”
“And did he report why she didn’t come?”
“He said she refused him entry.” Samuel’s voice held no judgment or hint at more of the story.
They finished their walk to the palace in silence, and Hezi bid his guard farewell at the door of his chamber. Yaira was inside, preparing the table for their evening meal.
“Where’s Zibah?” She rarely went anywhere without Yaira.
“She went to check on your ima. She was concerned when we didn’t see her at the Temple.” Yaira placed a vase of buttercups and tiger tulips on the table. “I thought she would have returned by now.”
A chill raced up Hezi’s spine. “How long has she been with Ima?”
Yaira’s face dawned a sickly gray. “Too long.”
He ran out the door, through the Middle Court, and up the harem stairs. Isaiah’s warning rang in his mind. “There will be unforeseen consequences if you break His commands.” Was Zibah’s life in danger because Hezi had broken Yahweh’s Law?
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You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the parents to the third and the fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing love to a thousand generations of those who love me and keep my commandments.
—Exodus 20:5–6
My intentions were purely innocent. I was concerned that Abijah might be ill when I didn’t see her at the Temple consecration. Amram escorted me to her chamber, and we found only one guard at the door. Odd. He took a wide stance as we approached.
“I’ve come to check on the Gevirah’s health. Is she well?”
“Yes, my queen.” The guard bowed but kept his eyes fixed on Amram. “Extremely well. I’ll inform her you inquired.”
Had I just been dismissed by a chamber guard? “Announce me.”
“I’m sorry, my queen. I can’t do that.”
“Ridiculous.” I tried to step past him and reached for the door, but he blocked my way, bumping me inadvertently. My feet tangled, and I landed on the floor. The next moments were a blur, but drawn swords clanged, and somehow Amram stood over the guard with the tip of his sword poised at the man’s throat.
“You may go in now, my queen.”
On wobbly legs, I stumbled past the two men and opened the door slowly. Amram released the guard and shooed him away. He followed me inside, sword at the ready. Tapestries were drawn over the windows, and the cloying smell of incense made my head swim. Low droning chants came from the bedchamber, and I heard the voices of both a man and woman. I stepped toward the dividing curtain, but Amram grabbed my arm and shook his head no. After pulling me aside, he entered the bedchamber, leaving me to hear the ugly truth.
Abijah screamed, and her guard cursed.
“Get your clothes on, both of you.” Amram’s voice dripped with disdain.
“Get out!” Abijah’s indignation was as sharp as Amram’s sword. “Leave while I dress.”
“After the Asherah ritual I just witnessed, you have no right to feign modesty.” Amram stood at the curtain while giving me instruction. “Light some lamps, my queen. I’ll escort them to the audience chamber, and you can decide how to proceed.” He tossed me a figurine, a multibreasted woman with six arms and a tree budding from her head. Asherah. I’d never before held an idol in my hands.
I set it aside and found two flint stones and a basket of twigs to light the lamps. Decide how to proceed? This is the Gevirah. Hezi’s beloved ima. Master Isaiah never taught a class on this. Yahweh, give me wisdom.
Amram directed the Gevirah and her guard to the couches. “Sit down, both of you.”
I gawked at them like a stupid camel until the twig in my hand burned down to my fingers. I dropped it and had to step out the sparks on her crimson carpet.
No one moved. No one spoke. It was my turn, I supposed. “Why, Abijah?”
She tilted her head and affixed her smile. “Hephzibah, dear, give me a chance to explain.”
I shot a glance at Amram, but he’d retreated into the role of silent protector. Abijah’s guard, too, sat like a lump on a log.
“Of course. Explain.”
Her smile dipped only for a moment before using the singsong voice that signaled deceit. “I began worshiping Asherah after Ahaz killed Bocheru. She was the mother goddess who understood my pain. She is sympathetic to a woman’s tears, Zibah.”
I retrieved the statue and shook it in front of her. “She is a piece of rock, Abijah! Trampled underfoot for centuries before a merchant chiseled her into something he could sell for profit.”
“You don’t understand.” The Gevirah’s condescending smile was infuriating. “To enjoy the companionship of a female goddess is beyond any comfort I received from the stiff rules and rituals of Yahweh. Yahweh demands blood. Asherah offers pleasure.”
“Who taught you Asherah’s pleasures, Abijah?” I nodded to her silent guard. “Was it him?”
She measured me before answering. “King Ahaz taught me and then forced me to…” Her eyes darted to Amram and her guard, then back to me. “I learned the priestess rituals from my husband. I suspect he taught them to every woman in the harem.” There was challenge in her voice. She wanted me to think idolatry flourished in King Hezekiah’s palace. Did it?
“Do the other wives in the harem perform these rituals with their guards?”
A slow, sinister smile curved her lips. “I suppose you must ask them. I’m sure you’ll be fast friends after that conversation.”
A shudder worked its way through me. All along I’d imagined Abijah the victim. I thought she’d gained power over the guards because of their pity. How long had she purchased loyalty with her body and beauty? Would Hezi even believe me? His love for his ima sometimes blinded him.
As if the thought summoned him, he opened the door and looked as stunned as I felt. “Zibah?” He ran and gra
bbed me, lifting me off the floor, burying his face in my neck. “You’re all right. I was afraid…”
Emotion choked me. I wasn’t all right. Nothing was right. “What were you afraid of?”
He set me down and only then seemed to notice the Asherah in my hand. He snatched it away. “What’s going on here?”
Abijah jumped off the couch. “I’m so glad you came, Hezi. Zibah and her guard barged into my chamber—”
Hezi lifted his hand to silence her and turned to me. “Tell me what happened.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and pulled him toward the bedchamber. “I’d rather show you.” The remains of the pagan rituals spoke for me. He couldn’t argue with what he saw. The bed askew. Another Asherah on the bed. Incense smoldering on leaf-shaped brass plates.
My husband staggered and fell against the wall. “Yahweh, no.”
“I’m sorry, Hezi.” Bowing my head, I began the hardest explanation of my life. “I came to check on your ima because she didn’t come to the Temple this morning. When Amram and I arrived, one of her guards refused me entrance, so Amram forced our way inside. He shielded me from seeing what happened here and kept them under guard while I questioned your ima.”
Hezi turned slowly, an eyebrow lifted in challenge. “You questioned my ima?”
I kept my voice steady, keeping in mind how upset he was. “She said she began her worship after Bocheru’s death. That your abba taught her. She insinuated that some of your abba’s other wives also perform Asherah’s rituals with their guards.” I bowed at the waist, keeping my eyes on the floor. “I questioned your ima only to discover the truth. You said on the night of our wedding that there would be no more deceit in your palace, no more games or hidden agendas. I am living by your rules, my husband—my king.”
He held my head between his hands, kissed it, and returned to the audience chamber. I sighed my relief, but relief was short lived.
Hezi halted barely a handbreadth from his ima. “How could you do this?” Trembling with rage, he waited in silence.
Abijah resumed her seat on the couch, pale as goat’s milk. “Everything I’ve done was to survive.”
“No, Ima. No!” Hezi leaned close, trapping her between his hands on the couch. “Abba has been gone for weeks. There is no threat to your life. You have everything you could want or need.”
“I want love, Hezi! I need love!” she shouted into his face, and tears finally came. “I’ve never been loved.”
He wilted then, gathering her into his arms, letting his own tears fall. “I love you, Ima. Mattaniah loves you.” He paused, squeezed his eyes closed as if in pain. “And I remember a time when Abba loved us all.”
I turned away, respecting their private grief. Only they knew what their lives were like before Ahaz’s battle fury and pagan gods stained his soul. Was Abijah a loving ima before she’d been beaten and tossed aside by her husband? Mistress Aya once said that as a child, Abijah was carefree, growing up on Temple grounds with her abba, the high priest.
The Gevirah sniffed and pulled from her son’s embrace. “Please, Hezi, listen to me. Asherah speaks to me. She comforts me, and I feel loved while worshiping her. I won’t tell anyone. I’ll—”
Hezi bolted to his feet, horror on his features. “You have seen what Abba’s idolatry did to Judah. To you! To Bocheru! How could you even ask me to turn aside?”
She scooted off the couch and knelt at his feet, hands pressed together, pleading. “All right, all right. Just let my guards remain. I trust them. They are loyal to me, and—”
Hezi reached for her arm and lifted her gently to her feet. “I give you this one chance, Ima, to go into your chamber now and gather whatever idols and pagan images you own.” He hugged her and spoke softly. “One chance, Ima, as I’ve given every person under my care. Yahweh has promised us incredible blessing if we obey and cursing if we continue on Abba’s path. Please, Ima. Be obedient to Yahweh and return to His love and presence.”
I watched her walk woodenly to her chamber. Hezi caught my eye and motioned for me to follow her.
Before I ducked behind her dividing tapestry, Hezi’s voice echoed in the chamber. “Samuel!” His personal guard entered. “Ima’s chamber guard is under arrest. Take him to the dungeon until I pass sentence.”
Abijah was quiet when I entered, her tears dried. “You’ve won,” she said, tossing incense and idols onto her bed.
“Nobody won, Abijah, and Hezi lost most of all.” I pulled one of her veils off a peg and laid it on the bed, transferring the trappings to its center to make a pouch in which to carry them.
“You’ve taken my son, my guards, and my gods. What more could you possibly do to me?”
“Someday, I hope to love you, Abijah.” Startled, she looked up, and I cocked my head. “Not today, but someday.”
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Wounds from a friend can be trusted,
but an enemy multiplies kisses.
—Proverbs 27:6
Hezi flopped across his bed after another exhausting afternoon with Ima. For a week, he had canceled his court sessions after his midday meal in order to spend time with her.
Not that it helped. Ima still refused to speak to him because he’d sent her guard to Moab. Hezi had merely “cut him off from his people,” even though the strictest interpretation of the Law required stoning.
Isaiah would undoubtedly accuse him of shunning the Law again, something the anointed King of his prophecies would never do. But Zibah had reminded Hezi that no one in Judah had been stoned for idolatry during the purification after Abba’s reign. In the end, Hezi felt the whisper of Yahweh’s mercy and listened to his wife.
The other idolaters in the harem—both Abba’s wives and their guards—were given the same chance he’d given Ima. One more opportunity to discard any idols, incense, or other items with pagan engravings. Their lives would be forfeit if any were discovered in their chambers or on their persons in the future. The bad news was that the pile of collected items filled two storage chests. The good news was perhaps Ahaz’s wives and guards had truly relinquished all their idols. Hezi reassigned the guards to surround the Temple, and placed the royal guards he trusted to guard the angry, hurting women. It felt like a victory among impending wars.
Spring breezes carried the scent of almond blossoms, and war among nations was as certain as the season. Surely Yahweh would prosper Judah as the people proved their faithfulness to Him.
Lord, how will You fill our treasuries when Assyria keeps raising our tribute payments? He turned over with a groan and heard the stonechats squawking. He glanced toward their woven cage and saw a flutter of feathers. Hurrying to his feet, he went to the cage and cooed as Zibah had taught him, trying to soothe them. The male clung to the lattice at the top, but the female huddled in a corner at the bottom. His friend told him this might happen. Stonechats paired only for the winter. The guard had seen only single stonechats flying from spring to fall. The realization of war in springtime had dawned in his own chamber. He must separate the birds. But how would he tell Zibah?
“Hezi?” The door opened. Zibah and Yaira tiptoed into the chamber, lifting the muddy hems of their robes off the marble floors. It was the sight he needed to lift his heart.
“I see you’ve been distributing food in the southern city again.” He ran at them both, grabbed their waists, and swung them in a circle till their feet flew. They squealed like children, threatening him with his life if he didn’t put them down.
He obeyed and was immediately rewarded with a kiss from his bride. Yaira laughed all the way to her chamber, lifting her robe to her ankles to keep mud off the tiles. Zibah cradled his face when their kiss was over. “You seem in better spirits this afternoon. Did Abijah talk with you today?”
He kissed her nose and led her to the couch, caring little about the mud trailing behind her. “No. She worked on her embroidery, and I read a scroll. But we were together. I hope in time that will mean something.”
Zibah forfeited t
he couch and chose his lap instead. “You’re a great king and an even better son.”
“How was your day in the city?” He was stalling on the stonechat issue.
“Good. We delivered twelve baskets of food, three robes, and a blanket. It seems Abba’s allowance has increased with his new position on the king’s—” Her brows knit together. “What are you not telling me?”
Hezi saw the concern in her eyes and didn’t want to scare her. “It’s not awful, but it’s disappointing.”
She settled on the couch beside him. “What is it?”
Pointing to the birds’ cage, he explained, “My friend told me we might have to separate the birds come springtime. I think it would be best to do it today.”
She sprang off the couch and knelt by the cage to inspect them. “Is she hurt?”
“I don’t think so. Not yet. But I fear she might be if we leave them together in the cage.”
Placing her hand flat against the lattice, Zibah was silent.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Hezi said.
“Will we need to be separated someday?”
He lifted her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “Stonechats were meant to be free, Zibah. Frankly, they were simply my attempt to calm you on our wedding night. I wasn’t even sure they’d last in a cage this long.”
She hid her face against his chest. “I’ll miss them. They’ve helped me transition from my doves.”
His heart constricted as his mind whirred. Surely there was a place on palace grounds where he could build a dovecote for her. The thought of working with his hands again pleased him. He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s take the stonechats to the balcony and release them together.”
She pulled away, stricken. “Now?”
“It must be soon, Zibah.”
She nodded, sighed, and Hezi carried the cage to the balcony. “Why don’t you open the door when you’re ready,” he said, “and we’ll see if they fly out by themselves.”
She leaned down to coo, but the birds began flapping at each other again. “No, no! Don’t!” Zibah shouted, and opened the door. Both birds flew out, one turning right, the other going left.
