The Strength of His Hand (8 page)

“Not yet.”

“Well done, Shebna, my faithful steward!” Gedaliah relaxed against the cushions again. “Does this mean you’re supporting my claim to the throne?”

“I want to make sure there is a smooth transition of power—for the good of the nation.”

Gedaliah laughed out loud. “What a cunning mongrel you are, Shebna. You want to make sure you hang on to your precious job— am I right?”

Shebna didn’t answer. He didn’t dare open his mouth for fear of what he might say.

“All right, all right, we can work something out,” Gedaliah said, laughing. “I suppose I owe you that much for not gathering all the grieving heirs to the dying king’s bedside. Let’s talk about what else needs to be done—to ensure a smooth transition of power, as you put it.”

Shebna sighed deeply. “What do you want to know?”

“To begin with, who are my enemies? And sit down, will you? You get on my nerves pacing back and forth like a caged lion.”

It was exactly how Shebna felt. Trapped. “No, thank you. I prefer to stand.”

“Start with the Royal Council. Do I have any enemies there?”

“The only enemy you need to worry about on the council is Eliakim ben Hilkiah. He is intelligent, resourceful—”

“And as cunning as you are?”

“Perhaps. If anyone could successfully rally support behind another heir, it would be Eliakim.” It galled Shebna to admit the truth.

“He’s a threat to me, then?”

“Yes. He has very close ties to the priests and prophets.”

“What do you suggest I do about him?”

“Nothing, for the moment. I have buried him under a mountain of worthless paper work. He believes he is faithfully running the nation during the king’s illness, and I have given him little time to think of starting a rebellion. I assigned someone to watch him in case he tries to contact one of your brothers, but so far he has not even accepted the fact that the king is dying. With luck, he will not realize what is happening until it is too late.”

“Clever, Shebna. Very clever.”

“Your other major concern is the military.”

“General Jonadab?”

“Yes. He is fiercely loyal to King Hezekiah. I also believe he would sooner take orders from Eliakim than from you or me.”

“Do you think Jonadab will cause trouble?”

“Possibly. That is why I sent him to Beersheba this morning, along with a large contingent of the king’s army. For the sake of security, I chose a few ambitious young army officers to remain behind, men who are looking to advance themselves.”

“You sly fox,” Gedaliah laughed. “You realize, of course, that I am deeply in your debt. You’ve handed me the crown on a silver platter! Come on, Shebna. This calls for a toast.”

Gedaliah poured himself another drink and raised his glass. Shebna didn’t move. “You will have to excuse me, but I am in mourning. My king—my friend—is about to die.”

“Have it your way, then.” Gedaliah raised the glass to his lips and sipped noisily. “Naturally, you’ll want to plan a lavish and fitting funeral for my dear brother. He was a pretty good king, all things considered, and very popular with the people. I think he should be buried in the tombs of David’s descendants. Let’s lay him to rest with great honor, Shebna. Too bad he never had a son.” He drained his glass. “We should also begin preparations for my coronation, don’t you think?”

“You would be wise to stay out of the public eye until after the funeral.”

“Is there a sympathetic priest we could persuade to perform my coronation at the Temple, or do they all hate me?”

“I will have to give it some thought.”

“Let’s see—who else do I need to worry about? City elders? Court judges? Any troublemakers among the nobility?”

“None of them know how seriously ill the king is. He was running the kingdom from his bed until a few days ago.”

“Good, good. I’m glad you kept things quiet. By the time everyone recovers from this shock, I’ll be king.”

“Yes. You will be king. It is what you have always wanted.”

Gedaliah refilled his glass and raised it high, once again. “Long live King Gedaliah!” He laughed before draining it.

Shebna turned away, his eyes burning. Finally Gedaliah hauled himself to his feet. He was in high spirits from the news of his good fortune and from the wine. He was beginning to slur his words.

“Well, if that’s everything, why don’t we go pay our last respects to my brother?”

Shebna couldn’t look at him. “I am sorry, but I cannot go.”

“Why not?”

“Because I cannot bear to watch him dying inch by inch.”

Gedaliah shrugged. “All right, Shebna. After everything you’ve done for me, I guess the least I can do is excuse you.” He moved toward the door. “Is Hezekiah in his bedroom?”

“Yes, but for the sake of mercy, do not visit your brother unless you are prepared to show him some compassion.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It is immoral to gloat in the face of a dying man.”

“What would you know about morality, Shebna?” Gedaliah let the door slam on his way out.

Shebna felt filthy after his conversation with the prince, and he had the urge to wash his hands. Gedaliah was right; if he had any moral integrity at all, he would resign rather than help the prince destroy everything that King Hezekiah had accomplished. But in Gedaliah’s eyes, only traitors resigned—and Shebna valued survival more than integrity. It was too late. He had already cast his lot with the prince.

Shebna turned to stare out of the window, wishing the fire in the harem had never happened. As he gazed into the darkness, bitter tears rolled silently down his cheeks.

6

ELIAKIM SAT IN HIS
palace office and read through one of the petitions stacked on the huge pile in front of him. The request contradicted the Law and would have to be denied. But then he saw Shebna’s note approving it, and Eliakim’s anger flared. What was Shebna trying to get away with? He knew this decision couldn’t stand.

Arguments with the haughty Egyptian had become daily events since Hezekiah’s illness, and as much as Eliakim dreaded another one, it couldn’t be avoided. He headed down the palace hallway to find Shebna.

After a long search, Eliakim found him in the royal archives, deep in conversation with someone who stood in the shadows. Shebna stopped midsentence as soon as he spotted Eliakim.

“Now what do you want?”

Eliakim waved the parchment. “We need to discuss this petition. Your decision contradicts the Law.”

The other man stepped forward. Eliakim’s stomach rolled over in revulsion when he recognized Prince Gedaliah.

“Well, if it isn’t the busybody engineer,” Gedaliah said. “King

Hezekiah’s faithful messenger boy. I’ve heard that you’re a big man now—secretary of state!”

Eliakim ignored him and held the petition out to Shebna. “Do you have a minute to discuss this in private, or should I come back later?”

“There is nothing to discuss,” Shebna said. “It is a simple decision. The man owes a debt, and he will have to pay it.”

“Yes, but you can’t take away his land without leaving him the right of redemption. According to the Torah—”

“Here we go again,” Shebna sighed. He and Gedaliah exchanged glances.

The prince took a few steps toward Eliakim. “You really enjoy forcing your outdated Torah laws on everyone, don’t you? But I’ll bet if we checked into your personal life, you wouldn’t be so holy and perfect.”

Eliakim said nothing. His silence seemed to goad the prince.

“You know, I’ve always wondered about your lovely Israelite wife,” he continued. “She claims that the Assyrians captured her and made her their slave—and that she miraculously escaped from them. But maybe she didn’t really
escape
at all. Maybe she was
sent
here to be the Assyrians’ eyes and ears.”

Surprise and anger swept through Eliakim. “My wife doesn’t concern you.”

“She does if she’s an Assyrian spy. What a coincidence that she found her way to your house, your bed—seeing that you’re such an important man.”

Eliakim rushed toward Gedaliah, angry enough to punch him.

Shebna quickly stepped between them. “You had better control your temper, Eliakim. Have you forgotten that Prince Gedaliah is heir to the throne of Judah?”

Suddenly Eliakim realized why Gedaliah had come from Lachish, and his stomach rolled over again. He was so angry he could barely speak. “Listen, Gedaliah,” he breathed, “as long as King Hezekiah is alive, he’s the king—not you.” He turned to leave before he did something he would regret.

“If you’re going to ask my brother his opinion on that petition,” Gedaliah called after him, “I don’t think you’ll find him very talkative today.”

Eliakim kept walking, ignoring him. The thought of the corrupt, idolatrous prince inheriting the throne made him sick. But when he walked into the king’s bedchamber and saw Hezekiah, he nearly wept.

The king no longer tossed feverishly, moaning in pain as he had for days. Instead, he lay deathly still, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow and uneven. His face had the colorless pallor of ashes. Eliakim touched his shoulder.

“Your Majesty?” Hezekiah never moved or opened his eyes.

Eliakim shook him, calling louder, “Your Majesty?”

Hezekiah didn’t respond. The new Egyptian physician sat beside the bed with his head in his hands.

“How long has he been like this?” Eliakim asked.

“Since last evening when I lanced the boil.”

Eliakim stared at the man, afraid to ask the question. Finally the doctor said, “We’re losing him, my lord.”

“No,” Eliakim moaned. “God of Abraham, no.”

He remembered Hezekiah saying,
“I don’t want to die,”
and he had the urge to shake him harder, to rouse him from the edge of death, shouting, “Fight, my lord! Fight to live!” Instead, Eliakim rolled the petition tightly in his hands and backed out of the room. Shebna and Gedaliah were waiting for him in the hallway.

“Would you like me to take care of that petition now?” Gedaliah said, holding out his hand. Eliakim could see Gedaliah’s anger smoldering dangerously, but he didn’t care.

“You miserable vulture!”

“Is that any way to talk to the next king?”

“You’ll destroy everything that King Hezekiah has accomplished!” Eliakim shouted.

“Does that mean you’d like to resign, Lord Secretary, rather than work for me?” Gedaliah asked.

“No one works for you yet. And as long as King Hezekiah is still alive, I’m still his secretary of state.”

“Well, when he dies I have a word of advice for you from those holy books you’re so fond of quoting: ‘A king’s wrath is a messenger of death, but a wise man will appease it.’ ”

Eliakim walked away.

“Not very wise, is he?” Gedaliah said behind him.

Eliakim wandered back to his office and dropped into his chair, staring sightlessly. Piles of documents covered his worktable, but he shoved them aside with a sweep of his arm, then leaned his elbows on the table and covered his face. He wanted to give up fighting and go home, but he knew he had to keep working. He had to make sure Shebna ran the nation according to the Torah.

When he finally felt calm, he bent to retrieve the scattered papers. But as he pored over them, he found that nearly every one of them contradicted the laws of God. He recognized Shebna’s touch on them like a blight on summer fruit.

Hezekiah must live. He must. Eliakim could never support Gedaliah’s reign. He hated everything about the prince, and the prince hated him. Suddenly Eliakim remembered the proverb Gedaliah had quoted—
“A king’s wrath is a messenger of death”
—and a chill trickled through his veins. He knew exactly what it meant. As soon as King Hezekiah died, Gedaliah would have Eliakim executed.

He leaped from his seat, his heart galloping wildly. He hurried from the palace, up the hill to the Temple, fighting the urge to run. He had to find the high priest. He had to claim sanctuary in the Temple before the king died.

But as he neared the Temple courtyards, he realized that his plan would never work. Gedaliah wouldn’t respect the sanctity of the Temple. He would kill Eliakim there as readily as anywhere else. Nor could he go into hiding and leave his family at risk. Gedaliah knew all about Jerusha.

Eliakim hurried through the gates into the inner courtyard and sank to his knees in front of the altar. The more he thought of how hopelessly trapped he was, the more he panicked.

“O God … O God!” he breathed. He struggled to catch his breath as fear squeezed his lungs. He bowed his forehead to the ground and tried to pray but couldn’t find the words. “Help me … please!”

Footsteps crunched on the stones, coming toward him. He looked up. A white-robed priest bowed to him. “Good afternoon, Lord Secretary. Can I help you with something?”

“Uh, no. Wait… . Yes! Yes, I need to talk to the high priest. Is that possible?”

“Of course, my lord.”

The priest led Eliakim past the storehouses he had built and into the Temple side chambers. He remembered all the other building projects he had overseen for the king: the walls, the fortifications, the garrisons, the tunnel. They had contributed to his rise to power. And now they endangered his life.

The high priest seemed surprised to see Eliakim. “How can I help you, Lord Secretary?” He motioned for him to be seated.

Eliakim remained standing. A sudden thought made him shiver with fear. If Gedaliah launched a purge of the religious faction, the priests and Levites would be included in it along with Eliakim. In fact, if Gedaliah found out where he was, he could accuse Eliakim and the high priest of conspiracy—especially after Eliakim had spoken with such contempt.

“Oh, no … I’m sorry!” he moaned.

“What is it, my lord?”

“I-I shouldn’t be here. My life is in danger … and now I’m endangering yours by talking to you.”

The high priest gestured to the chair again. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what this is all about.” Eliakim battled to control his panic as he sank down.

“You already know that the king is ill.”

“Yes.”

“The truth is, he’s dying.”

“Dying? So suddenly?”

“I wish it weren’t true, but I just saw him, and his physician told me …” Eliakim couldn’t finish.