Gods And Kings (6 page)

Uriah’s stomach turned over in horror at what he’d unwittingly initiated. He searched for a way to argue with Ahaz, to contradict him, but came up blank. Only a fool questioned the king’s decisions.

Ahaz turned to the rest of his milling advisors, challenging them.“Perhaps those of you who withheld your sons from Molech the last time will consider the great danger this nation is in. We need Molech’s great power in this crisis, and so we
all
must sacrifice a son this time. He’s a demanding god, but surely we can father a dozen sons once Molech saves us from destruction.”

Uriah reeled in shock at the king’s words. Ahaz planned to kill another son, another of Abijah’s children. As high priest, Uriah was sworn to fight against idolatry, not promote it. How had his advice to the king gotten so out of control?

“The sacrifice to Molech must take place as soon as possible, before the siege begins,” Ahaz continued. He turned to Uriah. “I will leave all the preparations for it in your hands.”

Uriah felt all the blood drain from his face as he stared at Ahaz.For a long moment he was unable to speak. When he finally did, his voice didn’t sound like is own. “I-I’m a priest of Yahweh, Your Majesty, not Molech.”

“You’re the new palace administrator!” Ahaz thundered, gesturing to his brother’s empty chair. “Unless you don’t want the job?”

Uriah stopped breathing. He had mere seconds to make the biggest decision of his life, a decision that would set the course of his future. He could sit at the king’s right-hand side—or he could refuse.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he finally said, bowing slightly. “As you wish.”

“Good. Then you’re dismissed.”

It took an enormous effort for Uriah to walk from the room on his trembling legs. Several of the other advisors tried to speak with him, to congratulate him as he left the council chamber, but he moved past them like a blind man. He needed to get out of the palace and find a place to sit down and think. Moving on instinct, he headed up the hill to the Temple.

Dawn was only an hour or two away, judging by the fading stars in the eastern sky. He needed to assimilate everything that had just happened before his many responsibilities as high priest crowded out all his other thoughts. He crossed the deserted outer courtyard and sank down on one of the steps that led to the inner court. The stones felt colder than the night air as he leaned against them.

It had been an astounding meeting. Uriah had seized the opportunity of Prince Maaseiah’s death to catapult himself from the back row of the council chamber to the king’s right-hand side. He had suddenly attained a position of enormous power in the nation, power he had worked hard to claim for over eighteen years. He should be overjoyed. Yet a gnawing unrest filled Uriah’s soul as he thought of the price he would pay for that power.

He would have to desecrate Solomon’s Temple, plundering its gold for the Assyrian tribute. He dreaded being responsible for that destruction, but he knew that King Ahaz would take whatever gold he wanted whether Uriah approved or not. At least he could try to hold the damage to a minimum.

No, the root of his unrest was the sacrifice to Molech. Uriah was Yahweh’s high priest—how could he deliberately take part in idol worship? Yet if he refused to preside over the sacrifice he would forfeit his new position as palace administrator. Once again, he would be a powerless priest in the crumbling Temple of Yahweh, struggling to scratch out a living from meager offerings. One of Molech’s priests would gladly do the king’s bidding, and he would be the one to gain preeminence as high priest of the nation.

Uriah clenched his fists. Never! He would fight for what was rightfully his. Yahweh was the only God of Israel, and all the power belonged to His high priest, not Molech’s. Uriah determined to do whatever needed to be done. After all, the palace administrator merely made all the arrangements for the sacrifice; he wouldn’t have to officiate.

Uriah looked up at the holy sanctuary, looming above him in the darkness. The white stones appeared solid and substantial from where he sat in their shadows, but he knew that daylight would quickly reveal the truth of how badly the structure had deteriorated over the years. In its prime, Yahweh’s Temple had been the pride of his nation.But now it stood forlorn, like a deposed queen, clothed in the remnants of her former glory. Uriah shook his head as if to erase the pitiful sight.

Ever since he’d inherited the priesthood, he’d watched helplessly as the institution that he served decayed from apathy. His countrymen had neglected the Lord’s Temple and the required tithes and offerings for so many years that the priests and Levites could barely make a living, much less afford repairs to the building. Most of his brethren had deserted Jerusalem long ago, ignoring their regular terms of duty to pursue other means of supporting their families. Meanwhile, the worship of Yahweh had become stagnant, stuck in a routine of traditions and rituals that no longer had meaning for the people. Yet the priests and Levites who remained were opposed to change.

Uriah had deliberately pursued a position of power in King Ahaz’s court, vowing to restore the Temple of Yahweh to its rightful place of authority in the nation. He had sat in the back row of the council chamber for nearly two years, watching for an opening, waiting for his chance at power. Now it had come. The only obstacle in his path was the sacrifice to Molech.

He sat on the cold step for a long time, watching the eastern sky grow lighter and lighter. When the sun finally peeked above the Mount of Olives, he shaded his eyes from it. He would have to leave soon. The priests and Levites would be arriving to begin their preparations for the morning sacrifice. But Uriah couldn’t seem to move.

As a man of God, he knew that he should pray about a decision as big as this one, and he found it odd that he hadn’t—that he couldn’t. The longer Uriah sat, the more he longed for someone to confide in, someone who could appreciate the opportunity that King Ahaz had offered him and help put his conscience to rest. He thought of Zechariah the Levite. His former teacher and mentor was a brilliant man, well versed in the minutest letter of the Law. He was also an astute politician, setting the example Uriah had followed in pursuing political power. And although Zechariah had lost his position in court after King Uzziah died, Uriah felt drawn to him now. Zechariah was one of the few men who could understand the dilemma that Uriah faced and offer him advice.

He slowly rose to his feet, his body stiff with cold, and walked around the courtyard to the rusting door that led to the Levites’ quarters. He paused in the dim corridor outside Zechariah’s room. Seeing his former teacher always brought back memories of Abijah, and with those memories, a sense of hopeless frustration. Uriah had always known that she couldn’t belong to him, but that knowledge hadn’t stopped him from wanting her. He had loved Abijah since the first day he’d seen her, the first day he’d become her father’s pupil … and his love for her was the only thing in his life that he’d never been able to control. He loved her still—the king’s wife.

Uriah finally forced Abijah from his mind and rapped on her father’s door. While he waited he thought of all the changes in his mentor’s life—how Zechariah had fallen from political power, how he’d lost his home, his wife, his health. When no one answered the door, Uriah realized that he hadn’t seen Zechariah in months. He nearly turned away, then decided to knock one more time.

“Go away,” Zechariah called from inside. “Leave me alone.”

Uriah stared at the closed door. He had put on a show of great self-confidence before the king a short time ago, but he suddenly felt inadequate before the man he had always admired and sought to emulate.

“Rabbi Zechariah, it’s me, Uriah. May I have a word with you, please?”

Several minutes passed before Zechariah opened the door. He looked confused, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused, his robes rumpled and sour smelling, as if he’d slept in them. Uriah nearly turned away a second time. This couldn’t be the respected Levite, the man who had once sat at the king’s right hand. But it was.

The man Uriah remembered was tall and lean and strong, but now Zechariah’s shoulders stooped as if bearing a heavy load. The spark of intelligence had vanished from his distinguished face and green eyes, and his pale features looked drained of life. He was barely fifty-five, but his unkempt hair and beard made him appear much older.

“Uriah … come in, come in,” Zechariah stammered. He led the way into the room, staggering slightly, and cleared a place in the clutter for Uriah to sit.

“I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you,” Uriah began, “but I … I need to talk to you.” He struggled to conceal his shock at the change in Zechariah. He could barely remember why he had come.

“I’ll get some wine,” Zechariah said. He tottered over to a shelf and produced a skin of wine and two goblets. Uriah winced with embarrassment.

“Uh, no thank you, Rabbi. It’s too early for me. But, please … you go ahead.”

He felt ashamed for Zechariah. Coming here had been a mistake. Uriah stared at the floor, groping for words, wishing he could leave. Zechariah took a few quick gulps from the wineskin. Then, with a pathetic remnant of his former dignity, he pulled up a stool and sat opposite Uriah.

“What did you need to talk to me about?”

Uriah saw the respected teacher he had come to seek as if through a dingy curtain. He cleared his throat. “Rabbi, I have just come from a meeting with King Ahaz. I wanted you to be the first to know—I’ve been appointed palace administrator.”

“But—what about Prince Maaseiah?”

“Our army has been defeated. We’ve suffered enormous losses. The prince is dead.”

“I-it’s a great honor for you … but Prince Maaseiah … the …” Zechariah’s confusion didn’t seem to be caused by the news. His gaze darted all around the room as if he wasn’t quite sure where he was.

“I want to accept this position, Rabbi. It’s an extraordinary opportunity, but it would mean—” Uriah couldn’t bring himself to admit that it would mean idolatry. He realized, suddenly, that he hadn’t come for Zechariah’s help in making a decision. Uriah had made his decision in the council chamber the moment Ahaz had offered him the prince’s empty seat. He had come to win Zechariah’s approval, as if his former teacher could somehow absolve him from guilt.

“It’s just that some of my duties as palace administrator may go against the teachings of the Torah,” Uriah explained. “But if I use this opportunity to establish myself as a close advisor to the king, I will be in a position to teach King Ahaz about Yahweh’s law. And ultimately I can do a great deal of good.”

He leaned forward on the edge of his seat, almost pleading for Zechariah’s approval. “All my life, all my ambition and striving has been with one goal in mind: to revive the role of the priesthood and make the Temple an influential force in this nation again. Now I can do that. I’ve worked my way up from the bottom, waiting for an opportunity like this. I’ll be second in command to the king.”

Zechariah stared at him blankly, as if wondering where he fit in.

“I know there are some priests and Levites who will object to what I’m doing,” Uriah quickly continued, “and I’ll need your help in winning them over. You’re a man of influence here in the Temple.Surely you can understand what I’m trying to accomplish. You once held the same position in the palace, and you—” Uriah stopped, keenly embarrassed for reminding this broken, disheveled man of the power and position he had once held and lost. “I-I just wanted to ask if I could have your support,” he finished.

“My support?” Zechariah echoed. He stared at Uriah for a moment, then a faint smile flickered briefly across his face.

“Yes, Rabbi, please support me in this. If I make a few concessions to Ahaz in order to gain his confidence, I can begin to teach him Yahweh’s Law, the way you once taught King Uzziah.”

Zechariah’s head jerked backward at the mention of Uzziah as if Uriah had slapped him. Zechariah stared at him with watery eyes, then stood and shuffled to the shelf to retrieve the wineskin. “You’re going to teach Ahaz? Make him stop his idolatry?” he asked with his back turned.

Uriah winced. “It may take some time, Rabbi, but that’s what I hope to accomplish … eventually.”

Zechariah raised the wineskin to his lips and swallowed, then wiped his mouth with his fist. Uriah waited.

“You’ve always had more ambition than any of the others,” Zechariah said at last. “I won’t oppose you if you decide to accept the position.” His voice carried no enthusiasm.

“Thank you, Rabbi.” Uriah stood and inched toward the door, eager to leave. “There are several announcements from the king that I need to discuss with the chief priests and Levites, so I’m calling for a meeting at noon today. If you’ll contact the chief Levites, I’ll notify the chief priests.”

Zechariah nodded but didn’t face him.

“Thank you, Rabbi. Shalom.” Uriah hurried from the room, closing the door quickly. His mentor’s pathetic state had unnerved him, and he struggled to regain his composure as he wandered down the corridor. When he finally emerged into the sunlight again he stopped, closing his eyes to summon the image of himself that he had so carefully practiced, the one he had successfully portrayed before the king—the erect posture, the controlled gestures, the intimidating stare of a man of authority. Then he willed his body to conform to that image. Once he felt outwardly in control, Uriah battled to untangle his conflicting thoughts and feelings.

He couldn’t imagine how a man as great as Zechariah had ended up in such a state. But now that Uriah had a chance to be as influential in the nation as Zechariah had once been, he was determined not to let the opportunity pass, even if it meant temporarily violating the Torah. A nagging voice tried to remind him of the price he would pay for disobeying the Law, but Uriah chose to ignore the voice.

Yahweh’s Temple would regain the power and glory it once enjoyed in the days of King Solomon. Uriah would not let this institution crumble into obscurity. He would not.

3

A
BIJAH WAITED IN
K
ING
Ahaz’s private chambers for a long time, hating herself for what she was doing. She had never been in his rooms before—an opulent sitting room where he received visitors and a private bedchamber beyond—and she felt no better than a prostitute, giving herself in return for favors. But the payment was for Hezekiah’s sake, not her own. If she kept thinking of Hezekiah, she could do this.