Gods And Kings (13 page)

“I’m not sure, Your Majesty,” Uriah said, shrugging as if it didn’t matter. “No time to look for a wife, I guess.”

“Well, if you ever get lonely, just let the servants know,” Ahaz said.

“They’ll arrange to have a few concubines sent to your quarters.”Ahaz reached to caress Abijah again, and Uriah nearly choked. Everything about this dinner disgusted him: the lavish opulence, the wasted food, the inane small talk. Ahaz was a fool, discussing concubines when his city was under siege. Uriah could no longer stand the sight of him. He studied his plate, toying with his food, wishing he had an excuse to leave.

The sudden crash startled him. He looked up to discover that Ahaz had just hurled a plate to the floor. “You’re lying to me!” the king said. “All my advisors are lying. The Assyrians aren’t coming and we’re all going to die, aren’t we?”

Uriah wondered how much longer he could disguise the hatred he felt toward his king. “It will all work out, Your Majesty,” he said calmly. “The Assyrians will come.”

“But that’s the trouble! Remember what Isaiah said? What if they don’t come as allies? What if they attack us, too?”

“They will come to help us, Your Majesty. I’m sure of it. Don’t listen to Isaiah. He’s a fool.”

Ahaz pushed his plate away and rose ponderously from his seat. “I don’t want any more food. I’m going to the council chamber and wait for the reports.” When Abijah rose to help him, Ahaz boldly kissed her. “Wait in my chambers,” he said.

Uriah couldn’t bear to see them together. He stood, doing his best to ignore Abijah, and followed the king out of the banquet hall and across the open courtyard. The air felt cooler now that the sun had set and the first few stars appeared in the sky above their heads. Uriah wished he didn’t have to go inside. He longed to walk slowly up the hill to the Temple Mount and enjoy the stars’ dazzling brilliance from the highest point in the city. Instead, he followed the king into the council chamber and sat down on the dais at his right-hand side.

Ahaz waited to start the meeting until a servant filled his wineglass. He drained it in one gulp and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Uriah tried to recall how many times Ahaz had drained his cup during dinner, but they were too many to count. When the king finally spoke, his words came out slurred. “Let’s get this over with. Somebody start.”

The army chief rose to his feet, shuffling through his scrolls with quick, nervous gestures. “Our casualties have been light today—only 24 men killed and 17 wounded. But our supplies of weapons are getting dangerously low, and we don’t seem to be recovering very many weapons from the enemy. They make sure every shot hits its mark.None are wasted.”

As he droned on in a boring monotone of statistics, Uriah noticed that Ahaz wasn’t listening. When the chief finished his report and sat down, several moments passed in silence as Ahaz gazed unseeingly into space. Uriah decided to take over, nodding to Ahaz’s defense minister.

“We’ll hear your report next.”

“The enemy concentrated their assault against our most vulnerable area, the northwest gate,” he began, making no attempt to disguise his anxiety. “We sustained only minor damage, but their repeated attempts to set the gates on fire were almost successful. We managed to douse the flames, but our water supplies are becoming critically low. In fact, there was nearly a riot at Solomon’s Temple today when a mob tried to break through the gates to draw water from the bronze laver.”

King Ahaz shouted a curse. “Do I have to take a sword and guard every cistern in this city myself? Doesn’t anyone ever listen to me? I told you from the start of this cursed siege to post guards at all the cisterns and to ration the water!”

The defense minister spread his hands. “But, Your Majesty, every available soldier is needed to defend the walls.”

Ahaz shouted another curse. “No wonder we’re in such a sorry state! I give orders that nobody bothers to follow!” He turned on his defense minister in a rage. “Get out! Get out of my sight right now!”

The atmosphere was tense as the minister gathered up his things and hastily left the room. Uriah knew it was his job to appease Ahaz.And for the good of the country, he shouldn’t allow the king to make any decisions when he was this drunk.

“Your Majesty,” he said soothingly, “you shouldn’t have to listen to this. It’s upsetting you. I’ll finish hearing the reports for you, and we can decide what measures need to be taken in the morning, after you’ve rested. A weary king will be no help to his nation, my lord.”He took Ahaz’s arm and pulled him to his feet, then led him to the door as if he were a child. It didn’t take much to convince Ahaz. He stumbled from the room, allowing Uriah to steer him to his chambers. Too late, Uriah remembered that Abijah was waiting inside.

“Send my servants in here with some more wine,” Ahaz said, slurring his words. “You have no idea what unbearable pressure I’m under.”

“Get some rest, Your Majesty. I’ll take care of everything.” But as Uriah turned to leave, Ahaz suddenly clutched his arm.

“Are sacrifices being offered night and day?” he asked. “To Baal … Asherah … Molech?
All
the gods?”

Uriah felt his patience being strained to its limits. He drew a deep breath. “Listen, Your Majesty. There is very little wood, and we can’t spare many animals because of the siege—”

“Check on it!” Ahaz ordered. “I want sacrifices! Make sure none of the gods is being offended!”

“I’ll see to it, Your Majesty. Rest well.”

Uriah hurried away, wondering what he would do if Ahaz ordered another sacrifice to Molech. It was impossible at the moment with enemy troops camped in the Hinnom Valley. But what about when the siege ended? He remembered how Ahaz’s sons had cowered in fear, and his revulsion for the king was so great that Uriah wanted to keep walking, past the council chamber, out of the palace, back to the Temple of Yahweh on the hill above the city. But the king’s advisors were waiting for him in the council room. Uriah was second in command of the nation.

He passed a trembling hand over his face and straightened his shoulders, then strode into the council chamber to take his place as head of Judah’s royal court.

When Ahaz opened his eyes, slivers of sunlight were streaming through his shutters, intensifying the pain that throbbed behind his eyes. He could remember nothing of the night before, but he found himself on the couch in his sitting room. His body ached from sleeping in such a cramped position. He groaned, and when he tried to sit up, his stomach churned as the room spun.

“Your Majesty?”

The voice startled him, echoing loudly through his head. He tried to focus on a blurred figure standing in his doorway.

“Who is it? What do you want?”

“It’s Uriah, Your Majesty.”

Ahaz groaned and covered his eyes to stop the pain. “More bad news of the siege, no doubt,” he mumbled, remembering the unfinished reports from the night before. “Just go away. I can’t take this anymore.”

But as Uriah approached the couch, his stony features, usually unreadable, were curiously cheerful. “Your Majesty, they’re leaving!”

“Who’s leaving? What are you talking about?” Ahaz’s mouth tasted sour and dry. He searched for a drink of wine and spied a halfempty goblet on the table beside his couch.

“The armies outside the walls have broken camp. They’re retreating.” “What?” Ahaz forgot about the wine and struggled to his feet, trying to comprehend Uriah’s words. As they slowly penetrated his foggy mind, he wondered if this were a cruel joke designed to send him over the brink of sanity. “Are you telling the truth?” He grabbed the front of Uriah’s tunic with both hands and tried to shake him, but the brawny priest didn’t budge. “Are they really leaving?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he replied calmly. “It’s the truth. Come to the wall and see for yourself.”

Ahaz released his grip and eased down onto the edge of his couch.

“So. They’ve come at last. My plan worked. The Assyrians came to our defense.”

“Yes—they’re probably attacking Aram from the north. The Ara-means obviously received word of an invasion and have gone back to defend their own land. It’s over.”

Ahaz breathed a sigh of relief as he felt some of the strain lift from him for the first time in months. It was over. He had survived. Now he could return to his accustomed lifestyle and leave all the day-today decisions to Uriah.

“No one will dare attack my country now that Assyria is our ally,” he said. “Molech answered my prayers, Uriah. I paid a great price for Molech’s favor, but it was worth it, wasn’t it?”

Uriah remained silent. Ahaz never could decipher the high priest’s thoughts, and his stony silences made Ahaz nervous. He waved his hand, dismissing Uriah. “Thank you for the news. You may go.”

When he was alone again, Ahaz slumped back on his couch, silently planning the feast of celebration he would hold. He smiled as tantalizing visions of revelry danced before him. But his smile faded as he recalled his cousin Isaiah’s words:
“Your hands are full of blood … you will be devoured by the sword.”

Ahaz’s mood darkened. He glanced at his hands as he reached for his wine goblet, as if expecting to see blood on them. He took a gulp, but the warm wine tasted like vinegar, and he spewed it out in disgust, cursing Isaiah for intruding on his thoughts like an unwanted guest.

Gradually, Ahaz became aware of shouts coming from the courtyard below his window. He crossed the room and cautiously peered between the wooden slats. News of the retreat seemed to be spreading like a grass fire throughout Jerusalem, and the relieved citizens emerged from their homes into the streets to celebrate.

The siege was over. Nothing was going to spoil his mood today, least of all Isaiah, whose prophecies of doom had obviously proved worthless. He rang for his servants. It was time to get dressed. He must lead his nation in a celebration of victory.

The shofar sounded, announcing the morning sacrifice as Abijah left the palace and hurried up the hill to the Temple. The long siege of Jerusalem was finally over, and she was eager to attend the daily worship services again. This morning her heart overflowed with praise to God for answering all of her prayers. Her nation’s crisis had ended and Ahaz wouldn’t need to offer any more sacrifices to Molech. But more than that, Abijah wanted to thank Yahweh for healing her son.

Hezekiah was fully recovered—his fears forgotten, his nightmares a thing of the past. He had grown very close to Zechariah over the past few months, almost as if he imagined that his grandfather was Yahweh and would protect him from any danger. Zechariah still lived in the palace, still slept in Eliab’s bed every night. Abijah didn’t know how Ahaz would respond if he ever found out, but she had taken care to keep her father’s presence a secret.

As Abijah made her way to the women’s courtyard to watch the sacrifice, she was surprised to see that the Temple grounds looked nearly deserted. The invading armies had just retreated, the city had been spared—why hadn’t more people come to offer their thanks to God? In fact, why hadn’t her husband, the king of Judah, come?

It seemed to Abijah that worship at Yahweh’s Temple had declined very rapidly since she was a child coming to watch with her mother—and that idolatry had flourished since Ahaz had reigned. She felt a stab of guilt, knowing that she had also neglected to worship God after her marriage. But that would change from now on. Yahweh had answered her prayers, saving Hezekiah from Molech and restoring him to normal again. Abijah would praise God for that as long as she lived.

She heard a lamb bleating and saw one of the Levites leading the animal toward the altar where the priest stood waiting. But she had to close her eyes as the priest slit the lamb’s throat, her stomach too queasy to witness the bloodshed. Years ago, her father had recited the story of Abraham offering his son, Isaac, to Yahweh—and how Yahweh had provided a ram in Isaac’s place.
“Every time you hear the sound of the ram’s horn,”
Zechariah had told her,
“remember that God himself will provide a sacrifice for our sins.”

She opened her eyes in time to watch the priest sprinkle the blood on the altar, and she remembered Moses and the story of the first Passover. The lambs had died in place of Israel’s firstborn sons, the blood marking the doorposts so that the Angel of Death would pass over those houses. Abijah wondered how her nation could have forgotten the stories of Abraham and Isaac and Moses so quickly. How could they offer their sons to Molech in order to save themselves?