Gods And Kings (7 page)

Abijah quickly brushed away a tear. She couldn’t think of him without remembering Eliab, but she couldn’t descend into grief tonight. She had to forget that this man she would pretend to love had killed him. She sat down on the sofa as the hours passed, and dozed.

At last the door opened and King Ahaz entered. He didn’t seem to see Abijah at first, and she glimpsed, in his expression, all his unguarded feelings. He was afraid, unsure of himself. Then Ahaz noticed her and his expression changed to one of surprise—and relief. He seemed glad not to be alone and pleased that she had come to him.

Abijah went to him quickly, not allowing herself time to think. She stroked her hands down his arms. “What’s wrong? You look so unhappy, my lord. Is there something I can do for you?” He pulled her to himself, gripping her as if to keep from falling.

“My brother Maaseiah is dead.”

“Oh no. I’m so sorry.” It was a lie. Abijah felt no grief for Maaseiah. She had begged him not to take her sons away, but he had turned his back on her. Eliab’s death had been Maaseiah’s fault as much as it had been Ahaz’s, and she was glad that he was dead. She stayed in Ahaz’s arms, resting her face against his chest so she wouldn’t have to face him. She couldn’t let him see through her lies.

“How you must mourn,” she murmured as she caressed his back.

“Yes. I relied on Maaseiah. And now he’s gone.” The grief she heard in his faltering voice made her angry. He had shown no grief for Eliab.

“I never should have sent him into battle,” he continued. “I should have led the army myself.”

But Abijah knew that the idea was preposterous. Ahaz had inherited the fair, ruddy coloring of his famous forefather King David, but unlike David, Ahaz was no soldier. His indulgent lifestyle had made him so unfit that he could barely walk up a flight of stairs without pausing for breath—let alone lead troops into battle.

“How can I even begin to comfort you?” she soothed.

“My brother’s life wasn’t our only loss,” he said shakily. “My army has been nearly wiped out. The Arameans are invading us even now, taking thousands of prisoners. They’re going to lay siege to Jerusalem.”

His words frightened Abijah. If he had sacrificed his son at the threat of an invasion, what would he do now that the situation had grown so much worse?Would he offer a second son? She had to learn his plans—and try to stop him.

“What have you decided to do, my lord?”

He sighed, and his arms went slack as he released her. She saw how deeply worried he was. “It’s so hard to know if I’ve made the right decision,” he murmured.

“I’m sure you have. Tell me.”

“I’m going to seek an alliance with the king of Assyria and ask him to come to our defense. It was the only worthwhile piece of advice that my counselors had to offer, and it came from Uriah, the high priest of Solomon’s Temple.”

Abijah’s heart speeded up as she pictured Uriah. He was everything that Ahaz was not—strong, disciplined, a devout follower of Yahweh. Something stirred inside as she imagined herself in Uriah’s arms. If Eliab had been Uriah’s son, he would have lived to serve Yahweh instead of dying as a sacrifice to Molech.

Ahaz seemed to notice her distraction and leaned toward her. “Do you know him?”

“Yes, I know Uriah. He was my father’s student. And of course I’ve seen him serving as high priest at the Temple.”

“He was the only one of my advisors that had any common sense. I’ve offered him my brother’s job as palace administrator.”

A rush of relief flooded through her. Uriah would never advise Ahaz to sacrifice his sons to Molech. In fact, he would argue strongly against it. Abijah knew she had an important ally.

“You’ve made a very wise choice, my lord. Uriah will be a strong, capable advisor.”

“I hope so,” Ahaz mumbled. He looked forlorn, and Abijah knew him well enough to appeal to his self-pity.

“My poor husband. What a terrible strain you’re under. Why don’t you lie down and get some rest?” She led him into the bedchamber and helped him remove his outer robe. She could see that he was too deeply shaken for his desire to be stirred, and she was grateful. He was clinging to her for comfort, nothing more. He sank into bed and closed his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be alone in your grief,” she said as she snuffed out the oil lamps. “I’ll stay with you, if you’d like.” She lay down beside him without waiting for his answer, and he clung to her. But Abijah lay wide awake beside him for a very long time.

Ahaz awoke after dawn, all alone. Abijah had gone, and he felt the ache of loneliness. He had been so surprised—and grateful—for the comfort she had given him last night. He wished she were still here.

He was exhausted, but sleep eluded him. He tossed and twisted in bed for over an hour, battling with the ensnaring bedcovers and his doubts and fears. Everything had been taken care of, he assured himself. He had done the right thing. Hadn’t he?

The decision to call on the Assyrians for help had made sense in the council chamber, but now that he was alone he wasn’t so sure.What if they didn’t come to his defense? He suddenly recalled what Uriah had said about the Assyrians—that they were a vicious, violent nation—and he wondered if an alliance with them was truly the only solution.

He cursed his father for dying so suddenly, leaving him in control of the nation at the age of twenty. Ahaz had enjoyed being a prince, indulged and spoiled by his father and all the court, but now he found the pressures of his reign intolerable, the burden of decisions and responsibilities unbearable.

At last he kicked the bedcovers onto the floor and gave up his attempt to go back to sleep. He had no other choice but to call on the Assyrians. Maaseiah was dead, and the thought that he might die as well made him weak with fear. He rose and crossed to the window, peering out through the lattice as if from a prison cell. The sun had risen above the Mount of Olives, and the streets below him bustled with activity. People were flocking to Jerusalem from nearby villages and towns to take refuge behind the city’s massive walls as news of the invasion spread.

A hot, dry breeze blew up from the Judean wilderness and rustled through the branches of the tree outside Ahaz’s window. He stared at the quivering leaves, and it seemed to him that the whole city trembled as the leaves did. Fear, like a starving animal, gnawed at his insides, slowly consuming him.

He stepped away from the window, afraid to watch the bustle of activity, feeling helpless. He remembered his counselor’s warning about the city’s inadequate water supplies, and his anxiety increased. A long line was probably forming down by the Gihon Spring as slaves and servant girls made their way through the Water Gate and down the steep ramp, balancing clay jars on their heads. Water would be as crucial to his nation’s defenses as swords and spears, yet Jerusalem had no source of fresh water within its walls. The Gihon Spring and aqueduct lay outside of them—but a solution to the problem eluded him.

Maybe he shouldn’t remain idle, hiding in his rooms as his nation prepared for the siege. He needed to make a public appearance, to be visible to the people of Jerusalem, to convince them that he was confident and unafraid. After all, that was a great king’s duty in a time of crisis. And maybe he could convince himself, as well. He decided to take an inventory of his water supplies himself, and he rang for his servant.

The man entered with his head lowered, bowing like a dog about to be beaten. “Forgive me, my lord,” he muttered as he touched his forehead to the floor. “I don’t know how the boy managed to slip past me.”

At first Ahaz had no idea what his servant was talking about. Then he recalled his son’s outrageous appearance in the council room and his anger flared. “You should have been at your post. It could have been an intruder instead of my son. You know my enemies are plotting to kill me.”

“I swear to all the gods that it will never happen again, my lord. Please, have mercy.”

“I should have you beaten, or maybe I should beat you myself, but there’s no time for it. Get up. We have a siege to prepare for.”

“Thank you, my lord. Thank you.” The man scrambled to his feet, bowing repeatedly.

“What did you do with him?”

“With your son, my lord?”

“Who else are we talking about? Yes, my son!” The word sounded peculiar to Ahaz, as if he’d spoken of his son for the first time. His sons had never seemed like real people to him, merely faceless infants, possessions under his sovereign control—until last night, that is. Twice he had seen his son face to face and looked into his accusing eyes.

“I took the boy to his room, Your Majesty.”

“Bring him here.”

“But … but, he’s only a child, my lord. He didn’t mean any harm.”

“I said bring him here.”

Ahaz stared out the window as he waited for the servant to return, and he felt pleased when his son bowed properly in respect when he finally entered. Abijah’s son had been well trained. Ahaz suddenly recalled her request to be his favorite wife and knew she undoubtedly wanted her son to be chosen as his heir instead of one of his concubines’ sons. But there was plenty of time for that, wasn’t there? This boy was a mere child. And he was a fine-looking boy, with Abijah’s wide brown eyes and tawny skin. His dark hair had a coppery cast, inherited from Ahaz’s own family line—the House of David.

“You are Eliab?” he guessed.

The boy looked startled, then shook his head. “I’m Hezekiah.”

Ahaz remembered then. Eliab had been his firstborn—his gift to Molech. He recalled the way Eliab’s small body had tumbled helplessly into the flames, and he shuddered. He stared down at Hezekiah, trying to determine what emotion he read in his dark eyes. Fear? Yes, certainly fear—but something else, as well.

“So. I find you everywhere it seems—sleeping in my wife’s chambers, inviting yourself to my council meetings. Maybe you would like to be the king in my place?”

Hezekiah didn’t answer. He stood very still, staring up at him, his gaze never wavering. Suddenly Ahaz deciphered the look in Hezekiah’s eyes and his jaw dropped in astonishment. It was hatred.

“How dare you!” Ahaz barely restrained himself from slapping him. “Someday you’ll be in my place. Someday you’ll see what it’s like to face one crisis after another. You’ll be the one who has to make decisions, regardless of the cost. Do you think it’s so easy?”

Hezekiah’s eyes filled with tears, but he remained in control of himself. Ahaz had to admit that his son had courage, and he suddenly felt foolish for losing his temper.

“Why am I wasting my breath on a child?” he muttered. “So. You enjoy following me around? Get dressed. You can accompany me on my inspection tour. Get him ready,” he told his servant. “He’s coming with me.”

An hour later, with his son by his side, Ahaz walked down the long main street of Jerusalem with his entourage, inspecting the levels of rainwater in the city cisterns. The fact that most of them were barely half full distressed him. Swarms of curious citizens joined in the procession—children and servant girls and farmers fleeing the surrounding countryside, along with city elders and noblemen who were hoping to be noticed and acknowledged by the king.

At first Ahaz tried to appear dignified and older than his years, but soon the sight of so many people looking to him for strength and trusting him for deliverance began to heighten his anxiety. He felt the weight of his responsibility like an enormous burden, as if he were required to carry everyone on his shoulders. The load exhausted him and the siege hadn’t even begun yet.

When he finished examining the cisterns, he led the procession out of the city through the southeast gate to the Shiloah Pool, a manmade reservoir built to hold the overflow from the Gihon Spring and supply the southern section of the city with water. From there he followed the aqueduct up the Kidron Valley, coming at last to the spring. But once he reached it, Ahaz found that there was little for him to do except stand and stare into the water, in spite of his grand procession.

The city’s protecting walls on the cliff above his head receded in the distance like a fading mirage, and the gap between the walls and the spring seemed infinite. He could see no way to defend the spring against the enemy, and he wondered how long Jerusalem could survive without fresh water. Long enough for the Assyrians to come to his defense—if they came at all? Ahaz’s plans seemed useless to him now, like a dream that makes sense during the night but turns absurd in the light of day.

The waters of Gihon were black and cold and deep, as if no bottom existed. Ahaz stared at the spring, not really seeing it, and saw, instead, the defeat of his city and his own certain death. This inspection tour had been a mistake. He felt worse than before. What’s more, he no longer had his brother by his side, but his son, a mere child.With Maaseiah dead, Ahaz had no one to turn to with his doubts and fears. He could only hold his feelings inside, turning them around and around in his mind until they sucked his soul down into the darkness of depression. He stood immobilized. The crowd grew still. The procession waited in awkward silence.

Dimly, he heard the rustle of robes and footsteps approaching on the path. Ahaz looked up as the crowd parted, and he recognized the slender, aristocratic man walking toward him, holding a small boy by the hand. His distant cousin’s regal bearing and reddish beard confirmed his kinship to Ahaz and the royal line of King David. Father and son bowed in respect, then stood before Ahaz and his son.