The Strength of His Hand (29 page)
Eliakim drew a deep breath, then exhaled. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
A hush fell over the council room as Eliakim entered and took the seat on the king’s right-hand side. Hezekiah decided Shebna’s absence needed no further announcement.
“Once again we face a critical decision,” Hezekiah began. “I’ve heard nothing from General Jonadab at Mizpeh for five nights now. Since the Assyrians have moved south to Ramah, I’m forced to assume the worst—that Mizpeh is lost and Jonadab is dead.” He paused, swallowing an unexpected knot of grief, then he cleared his throat.
“Meanwhile, Sennacherib has besieged Lachish and is using it as his base camp. I’ve been receiving desperate messages from my brother Gedaliah saying he is under a massive enemy assault and fighting for his life. He’s not sure how much longer he can withstand such a fierce pounding. If Sennacherib continues to tighten this noose, with forces advancing on us from the north and the south, Jerusalem will soon be strangled in the middle. Neither our military forces nor those of our allies seem capable of stopping the enemy, and the Egyptian army is nowhere in sight. So after much wrestling, I’ve decided that I’m left with only one option—I will submit to Emperor Sennacherib and pay whatever tribute he demands. It’s the only way to save what’s left of our country.”
A murmur swept through the room, then quickly died away.
Eliakim turned to him, frowning. “Your Majesty, pay the tribute if you have to, but you must not agree to surrender the city. The Temple is here. There can be no enemy occupation of Jerusalem.”
“I agree. I’ll accept the same terms we had during my father’s reign. We will be a self-governing vassal state paying annual tribute to the empire. I’ll send a delegation to Lachish tomorrow to negotiate the terms of their withdrawal. I’ll let everyone know what their
Late into the night Eliakim worked with King Hezekiah to draft a letter to Emperor Sennacherib. It began,
I have done wrong. Withdraw
from me, and I will pay whatever you demand of me
. They also decided to return the Assyrian vassal, King Padi of Ekron, whom Hezekiah had captured and kept in chains in Jerusalem. As they worked, Eliakim sensed the king’s deep discouragement and despair.
It was after midnight when Eliakim returned home. His house was dark, his family and all the servants asleep. He would have to wait until morning to share the news of his promotion. He crept up to his room without lighting a lamp, slipped off his robes, and carefully crawled into bed beside Jerusha, trying not to awaken her. But she stirred, then rolled over sleepily and snuggled beside him.
“Oooh, you’re so cold, Eliakim.”
“It’s chilly outside.”
“And your feet! They feel as if you’ve been wading in a mountain stream!”
“The palace always feels cold this time of year, even with all the braziers burning. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“No, your baby is the one who’s keeping me awake. He doesn’t seem to know it’s nighttime. Feel this.” Jerusha took his hand and pressed it against her stomach.
Eliakim smiled as he felt the vigorous movement in her womb. “What’s he doing in there?”
“I don’t know, but I wish he’d stop.” As she held his hand in place, Jerusha’s fingers brushed the ornate palace administrator’s ring. “What on earth is this?” she asked. She pulled his hand out from under the covers and held it in front of her face. “This isn’t your ring.”
“No. It’s Shebna’s.”
“What are you doing with his ring?”
Eliakim recalled the happiness they had all shared the day he’d announced his promotion to secretary of state. Now he had earned the highest appointed position in the land, yet he knew that the news would not be celebrated this time. As King Hezekiah had said, it was a dangerous time to be palace administrator.
“Shebna resigned tonight. The king asked me to replace him.”
She pushed him away and sat up. “No! You can’t accept it!”
“I already have.”
“But you know what the Assyrians will do to you if—”
“Yes. The same things they would do to me if I was the secretary of state.”
“Why can’t you resign, too? Why can’t we get out of Jerusalem before it’s too late?”
He tenderly brushed a strand of hair off her face. “Jerusha, there’s no place to go.”
“Can’t we go back to your cousin’s farm in Beth Shemesh?”
“The Assyrians are just a few miles away from there, in Lachish.”
“We could hide someplace safe, in the wilderness, maybe, or—” He sat up and took her into his arms, cutting off her words.
“Jerusha, the safest place to be is in the will of God. ‘A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you.’ ” She shivered, and he hugged her tighter. “Listen, I know that accepting this job is God’s will for me, so we don’t have to be afraid. ‘If you make the Most High your dwelling … then no harm will befall you, no disaster will come near your tent.’ ” “Eliakim, I’m so scared.”
“Please trust me, Jerusha. Right now this is the safest place for all of us to be.”
“THE ASSYRIANS WANT thirty talents of gold, Eliakim.”
“A
ton,
Your Majesty?”
“Yes, and three hundred talents of silver.”
“That is impossible—they may as well ask for a million.”
Hezekiah stood in his palace treasury with Eliakim, examining the accumulated wealth of his reign. The delegation to Emperor Sennacherib had returned with the Assyrian tribute demands, and they had staggered Hezekiah. Even with full storehouses, he could see that he might not have enough.
“The last time we were in here was with the Babylonians,” Hezekiah said. “God forgive me. I was such a fool.” A surge of anger swelled inside him, trying to force its way out. It pushed against his lungs, making it difficult to breathe. “I felt so proud of myself when I showed them all these things. ‘Look at all I’ve accomplished! Look at my wealth!’ I forgot that it was all a gift from God. And now I’m forced to hand over every last shekel of it.”
“Thank God you have it. It will save our nation.”
“Yes, I guess so.” He walked over to the golden box the Babylonians had given him, decorated with forbidden idols, and he grew so angry with himself that he had to fight the urge to smash the box into pieces. “Why didn’t I listen to you? Why did I accept this cursed thing and bring this disaster upon us?”
Eliakim didn’t answer. Hezekiah gave the golden box a shove with his foot. “Pride is an ugly thing, Eliakim. And it has caused the downfall of many other kings before me. I should have known better.”
For more than an hour Hezekiah helped Eliakim tally the weight of the items in the treasury. When they finished, Eliakim stared at his computations, his brow creased in a worried frown.
“It’s not enough, is it,” Hezekiah said.
“No. We’ll have to levy taxes.”
Hezekiah groaned. “I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to tax the people for my own mistakes.”
“I’m sure they’d rather pay than be annihilated, Your Majesty.”
“Of course. You’re right.”
Eliakim checked his figures again, then looked up. “But that still may not be enough.”
“Are you sure?”
“Eleven tons is a lot of silver. And a ton of gold?” He shook his head. “Even if we got a shekel from every man, woman, and child … there’s just not that much gold in Jerusalem except in the—”
“No! I won’t strip the Temple!”
“Then we may have to surrender.”
Anger raced through Hezekiah like a brush fire, hot and swift. He picked up a silver bowl and hurled it against the wall. “I curse them!
They can have everything I own, but I won’t give them Yahweh’s gold!”
Eliakim touched his arm. “Your Majesty, if we don’t pay this tribute, they’ll destroy us. Either way they’ll get Yahweh’s gold. Wouldn’t it be better to give it to them now and save the Temple from total destruction?”
As quickly as it had flared, Hezekiah’s anger cooled. The fire went out, replaced with the familiar leaden heaviness that wouldn’t lift. He was living a nightmare. “Let’s get it over with, then,” he said.
They trudged up the hill to the Temple in silence. For weeks now,
Hezekiah’s life had trudged uphill like this, while he carried a heavy weight on his shoulders and dragged huge stones of grief and sorrow from both of his feet. Time and events seemed to gallop past him at breakneck speed while he plodded slowly on, unable to keep up. His days and nights had reversed so that he felt groggy and exhausted during the day, then lay wide awake throughout the night, his eyes refusing to close, his mind unable to find rest. When would it end?
The high priest led them to the Temple storeroom, and Eliakim began tallying the weight of the meat hooks, platters, tongs, bowls, and all the other gold and silver utensils used for the sacrifices. Hezekiah remembered coming to this storeroom with his grandfather, staring at the naked shelves after his father had stripped them.
“Will this be enough?” Hezekiah asked when Eliakim finished.
He prayed that it would—that he wouldn’t have to do what his father had done and strip the holy sanctuary.
Eliakim bit his lip. “There’s probably enough silver, but … I’m sorry … we’ll still need more gold.”
Despair extinguished the fire of Hezekiah’s anger. He felt numb. “I’m sorry,” he told the high priest. “I’m so sorry …”
“It can’t be helped,” the high priest said.
“I never meant for this to happen. I …”
“I know, Your Majesty,” the priest soothed. “Lord Eliakim, if we strip the gold off the sanctuary doors, will that give us enough?”
Eliakim ran his fingers through his hair as he checked his calculations. “Yes, I think so, God willing.”
The priest nodded. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”
As they emerged into the courtyard again, the cold air and leaden clouds matched Hezekiah’s mood. He stared guiltily at the golden Temple doors for the last time. “I remember how excited I was as a child,” he told Eliakim, “when my grandfather said we were going to the Temple to see the golden doors. But when I got here they weren’t golden after all. They were made of wood—ugly, scarred wood. I was so angry with my father for stealing the gold … and now I’ve done the same thing.”
“As soon as our nation gets back on its feet, we can repair them,” Eliakim said. “We’ve done it before.”
Hezekiah shook his head. “I’ve brought our country right back to where I started when my father died. The treasuries are empty, the nation is bankrupt, we’re slaves to Assyria, the Temple is defaced and pillaged—even the prophets are speaking out against me.”
“It’s not the same, Your Majesty. King Ahaz’s idolatry caused his downfall, but—”
“There’s more to idolatry than worshiping statues, Eliakim. Putting our faith and trust in something other than God is also idolatry. I should have obeyed the Law instead of signing that treaty with Babylon. Now I’ve lost everything I’ve worked for these past fourteen years.”
“There’s one thing you can never lose,” Eliakim said quietly. “One thing your father never had: your faith in Yahweh. King David sinned, too, first with Bathsheba, then when he numbered the Israelites. He suffered the consequences of his sin, but Yahweh didn’t forsake him. And He won’t forsake you, either. As David himself has written, ‘The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love… . The Lord is near to all who call on him … he hears their cry and saves them.’ ” “If only I’d relied on Him to begin with instead of on the arm of the flesh.” Hezekiah felt an ache in the pit of his stomach as he looked at the morning sacrifice burning on the Temple altar. It seemed unfair that an innocent lamb had to die to pay the price for his sin. He turned away and began walking toward the palace.
“I guess we’ve finally hit bottom, haven’t we?” he said.
“Things can only get better, Your Majesty.”
“That’s because they can’t get any worse. We’ll pay the Assyrians their tribute—then maybe this nightmare we’re all living will finally end.”
The journey over Judah’s rugged mountain passes had exhausted Iddina, and by the time he reached Lachish, his mood had turned foul. Why would the emperor waste time summoning him back to headquarters? The besieged city of Anathoth had just fallen, and Iddina had wanted to participate in the slaughter. It was the last city standing in his path to Jerusalem and the Temple of Judah’s god.
Iddina found Emperor Sennacherib seated on his ivory throne outside his royal pavilion. A court scribe sat at his feet taking notes while the emperor’s artist busily sketched the besieged city of Lachish, which stood on the hill opposite them.
“Ah, General Iddina! You’re just in time to tell me what you think of the artwork I’ve commissioned.”
Iddina peered over the artist’s shoulder at the detailed drawings of the fortress of Lachish. In the picture, battering rams pounded the walls, portions of the city were in flames, Assyrian archers and slingmen launched a rain of missiles while Judeans tumbled from the walls to their deaths. Soldiers marched the prisoners of war away from the conquered city along with the booty of Lachish. But across the valley the actual city looked nothing like the drawing. The battering rams stood silent, the soldiers idle, and the city gates remained tightly barred. For some reason, the battle had halted without a victory.
“I’m going to have these drawings made into wall murals for my palace in Nineveh,” Sennacherib said. “What do you think of them?”
Iddina didn’t care about the emperor’s foolish art projects. He wanted to know why the siege had been called off and why he’d been summoned to Lachish.
“Nice pictures, Your Majesty,” he mumbled.
“Yes, I think so, too. And this is what I’m inscribing on the prism to commemorate our western campaign.” He motioned to his scribe.
“Go ahead. Read it to him.”
“‘As for Hezekiah the Jew, who did not submit to my yoke, I laid siege to forty-six of his strong cities, walled forts, and to the countless small villages in their vicinity. I conquered them by means of wellstamped earthen ramps and battering rams brought near to the walls combined with the attack by foot soldiers, using mines and breaches as well as sapper work. I drove out 200,150 people—young and old, male and female—horses, mules, donkeys, camels, cattle beyond counting, and considered them booty. Hezekiah himself I made pris- oner in Jerusalem, his royal city, like a bird in a cage.’ ” “Would you say that’s an accurate description of what we’ve accomplished, Iddina?”
