Gods And Kings (29 page)

Hezekiah stood before a tall bronze mirror as his servants dressed him in his wedding robes and placed a small golden crown on his head. He saw Shebna’s reflection as he stood behind him, nodding his head in approval.

“You’re looking very pleased with yourself,” Hezekiah told him. “I hope you realize this is all your fault. The only reason I’m getting married is because you said I should appease my father.”

Shebna grinned. “You look magnificent, my lord—like a king.”

“Well, I don’t feel like a king; I feel trapped. My life is controlled by a man I despise.”

“Try to smile anyway. It is your wedding day.”

His wedding day. Hezekiah knew he should try to act pleased, but instead he brooded over the fact that months had passed and King Ahaz hadn’t said another word about giving him a government position. Hezekiah still regretted losing his temper and wished he had kept quiet about Ahaz’s trade agreement, but maybe Shebna was right. Maybe after his wedding he would regain his father’s favor.

At last everything was ready—even if Hezekiah wasn’t. He followed the dancers and musicians as his groom’s procession journeyed down the hill from the palace. Crowds of people thronged the streets to join in the revelry, cheering and scattering branches and flowers at his feet. Hezekiah felt as if he were on display, like an article in the marketplace under a gaudy striped awning. He wished he could do something to earn cheers besides get married. His heavy wedding garb seemed to suffocate him.

Mercifully, Ahaz’s trade minister lived close to the palace, so Hezekiah didn’t have to parade through the entire city. The procession waited in the street while he and his brother Gedaliah, who was his groomsman, went inside.

His bride was waiting for him in her father’s courtyard, seated in a chair beneath a fig tree, surrounded by bridesmaids. He couldn’t see her veiled face, but she looked like a mere child to him, too young to be given in marriage. She was clothed in layers of embroidered linen, and Hezekiah wondered if she felt as hot and miserable as he did. But when he took her hand it was cold, and he felt a rush of pity for the girl. Perhaps she was as unwilling to endure this charade as he was.

Hezekiah spoke his wedding vows without paying attention to them. He wished the day was over, but he knew it was just beginning.

After saying their vows, he and his new bride would return to the palace to preside over the lavish wedding banquet that Ahaz had ordered.

The feasting and drinking lasted all evening and far into the night.

Long before the moon rose the king was drunk, his bellowing laughter heard in every corner of the banquet hall. He could scarcely walk without help, and his eyes were glazed and bleary as he made the rounds of his guests. His behavior disgusted Hezekiah, and he barely touched his own wine. He managed to avoid his father for most of the evening, but close to midnight Ahaz staggered up to him and pulled him aside.

“I think you’ll enjoy my delightful little gift, tonight. Picked her out for you myself. Delicate little child, isn’t she?”

Suppressed anger and hatred surged through Hezekiah. He didn’t want to accept any gift from Ahaz, and if his father had personally chosen Hephzibah, then he didn’t want her. As Hezekiah struggled against the urge to lash out, his father said, “Don’t wear yourself out too much, because I’ve decided to send you to Tyre with your new father-in-law when your wedding week is over.”

At that moment Hezekiah hated Ahaz more than he thought possible. Even more, he hated his own helplessness and the power his father held over his life. He was about to tell Ahaz to keep his gift and his worthless trip when Shebna gripped his arm, squeezing it until Hezekiah winced in pain.

“Your son is speechless with gratitude, Your Majesty,” Shebna said smoothly. “I thank you on his behalf.”

Hezekiah silently willed Ahaz to leave before he lost control, but instead his father inched closer, nudging him like a conspirator. “But maybe you won’t want to go away and leave her when the week’s over. Such a pretty little child. I should have kept her as my own concubine.”

Another rush of anger swept through Hezekiah. He was about to tell Ahaz he could take back his gift, when Shebna gripped his arm again and spoke before Hezekiah could.

“Thank you for your generosity in giving away such a lovely woman. Will you excuse your son now? There is something he needs to attend to.”

“Very well. He’s excused.”

Hezekiah pushed his way through the crowd and out to the palace courtyard, where the chilly evening air would cool his fury.

For Hephzibah, the long day of wedding festivities seemed endless as she waited for Hezekiah to take her away to their bridal chamber. There were dancers and music and unending courses of food, then a rambling speech by King Ahaz that seemed to honor her father. It was followed by more music, more dancing, more food. The opulence of the palace dazzled her; the attention lavished on her by everyone except her husband overwhelmed her. She had been in such a state of excitement all day that she felt exhausted.

But suddenly Hezekiah appeared beside her and reached for her hand, drawing her to her feet. The room fell still for the space of a heartbeat when the wedding guests saw them, then the hall rang with clapping and cheering. Her face grew warm, and she was grateful for the veil.

Hezekiah stared straight ahead as he led her away from the din, up the stairs, through the maze of hallways. She felt the pressure of his hand on her arm but had no sensation of her feet touching the floor. At last he led her inside their wedding chamber and closed the door. The sound of her own heart pounding in her ears drowned out the noise of the wedding feast below.

Neither of them spoke as Hezekiah unfastened her veil to see her for the first time. She hoped her father was right, that he would find her beautiful. But as he studied her face, she saw an unspoken question in his eyes. He frowned as if deep in thought, then his brows arched in surprise.

“Is your father paid so poorly that you have to fetch the water every day?” he asked.

Hephzibah’s heart stood still. She had never considered that he might remember her or recognize her from that day. But he had—and she didn’t know what to say. The marriage wouldn’t be official until it was consummated. He could still change his mind. She began to shiver as he stared at her, waiting for her answer.

“No, he isn’t poorly paid, my lord,” she said.

“I didn’t think so. Then maybe you can explain why you were standing by the guard tower several months ago with a jug of water in your hands. Or am I mistaken?”

“No, my lord. You’re not mistaken.”

Hephzibah’s heart pounded so loudly she was certain he could hear it. Would he annul their marriage and expose her shame before the entire wedding party? She felt a cry of despair rising from deep inside her, but she held it back along with her tears. She looked down, afraid to face him and see rejection on his face, but he put his hand under her chin and gently lifted her head until she had to look at him again.

“You must have had a very good reason to venture out unescorted like that.”

Hephzibah saw no anger in his eyes, only curiosity as he waited for her explanation. Her words tumbled out in a rush. “When my father told me I would be married to a prince I was terrified. I didn’t know what you looked like, and so I had to find out before it was too late because I was so afraid that you’d look like your—”

She stopped, horrified at what she had almost said.

“Like my father?” he finished for her.

Hephzibah felt the blood rush to her face and knew it betrayed her guilt. She had committed a grave mistake. How many times had Abba scolded her for being outspoken? How many times had he said it was unladylike? What would happen to her now for insulting the king?

The silence between them seemed endless. Then Hezekiah laughed out loud. It was the most welcome sound Hephzibah ever heard. Still, she knew she must apologize.

“I-I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean to say it. I didn’t mean to insult the king.”

He smiled, dismissing her protests with a shake of his head. “I like your honesty, Hephzibah. It’s very refreshing. But tell me, now that you’ve seen me—do you think I resemble my father?”

He stood before her with his hands on his hips, smiling broadly as he waited for her appraisal. He was so handsome that Hephzibah’s chest tightened until each breath hurt.

“No, my lord. You don’t resemble the king.”

“I see. And what if you’d gone to the guard tower that day and discovered a resemblance? Would it have made a difference to you?”

Hephzibah panicked. She could see no way to answer his question without insulting either Hezekiah or his father. She groped for words, aware that she had to say something.

“I did a very foolish thing, my lord. I never should have left my father’s house. Thank you for rescuing me.”

His smile faded, and his eyes grew serious once again. “I’m sorry, Hephzibah. It wasn’t fair of me to put you on the spot like that. It’s just that I was curious to know what would motivate a beautiful young woman like you to take such a risk. I suppose I was vain enough to believe that any woman in the nation would be honored to marry a prince, no matter what he looked like.”

“Oh yes, my lord! It’s true! Most women would!”

“But not you?” His smile returned, and she managed to smile back weakly.

“I would marry whomever Abba arranged for me, my lord.” And as difficult as it was to take her gaze off him, Hephzibah looked down at her feet again.

“Your honesty is refreshing, Hephzibah, and so is your daring, although I think your father would be outraged if he ever found out about it.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And I hope you won’t be fetching water any more now that you’re a married woman?”

She felt a glimmer of hope and looked up at him again. “I promise, my lord.”

He reached for her, drawing her into his embrace. The top of her head barely reached his chin. She felt the hard strength in his arms, the warmth of his body, and she clung to him, unable to believe it was real, that her prayers had been answered. Then, still holding her close, Hezekiah gave a heavy sigh.

“I guess a nobleman’s daughter has a lot in common with a king’s son. Neither one of us has anything to say about who we will marry.”

Hephzibah’s panic returned as she puzzled over his words. Was he unhappy about his father’s choice? Was there someone else he had wished to marry instead? She longed for the day when she would understand him completely and would be able to read his heart in his eyes. She would learn what each sigh and gesture meant, understand his half-spoken thoughts, and communicate with him without words as her parents often did. More than anything else, Hephzibah longed to be truly his wife, his lover, his friend.

His beard brushed her cheek as he bent to kiss her for the first time. And as she kissed him in return, Hephzibah prayed to the god-dess Asherah that she would win Hezekiah’s complete devotion, his trust, his undivided love.

But when Hezekiah left the bridal chamber after their week together, he didn’t return to Hephzibah again.

16

K
ING AHAZ SLOUCHED ON
his throne, browsing through a pile of documents. Uriah said they required only his seal to levy more taxes to meet the Assyrian tribute demands, but they were written in such heavy official language that Ahaz couldn’t make sense of them. The stiff, tightly rolled parchment curled in his hands, exhausting his limited patience. He finally tossed the scrolls onto the table beside his throne.

The tedious morning routine of signing documents and listening to petitions bored Ahaz. He sipped his wine and allowed his mind to wander to the more pleasurable activities he had arranged for later in the day.

A small commotion near the door to his throne room interrupted his thoughts. He looked up to see Uriah arguing with one of the chamberlains. Ahaz smiled. A good quarrel always made an interesting diversion.

“Tell Uriah and the chamberlain to come here,” he told his servant. He drained his wineglass as the arguing men approached and bowed before him.

“What’s the problem, Uriah?” he asked.

“There’s no problem, Your Majesty. I’ve given the chamberlain my decision, and he has defied me.” The chamberlain huffed in protest but Uriah ignored him. “I was about to summon another chamberlain—that’s all. I’m sorry if we disturbed you. We’ll continue our discussion outside.” Uriah seemed anxious to leave. He bowed and slowly backed away as if he had something to hide.

“Just a minute. Why did you defy my palace administrator?” Ahaz asked the chamberlain. The man glanced uncertainly at Uriah, then back at the king.

“I was trying to deliver a message to you, Your Majesty, but Uriah wouldn’t let me.”

“That’s because all messages and petitions must be cleared through me first,” Uriah said angrily.

“But that’s exactly the problem,” the chamberlain insisted. “They won’t give the message to you. They asked to speak directly to the king, and unless you let them, we’ll never find out what they want.”

Uriah glared at the chamberlain, as if demanding his silence. The priest was hiding something, Ahaz was certain of that. He sat up, no longer bored.