The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

  “It’s Hadad! He’s dead!”

  For the first time since leaving Jerusalem at dawn, Benjamin felt a seed of fear begin to take root. Something had gone horribly wrong.

  “Everyone alert!” he shouted. “Take your positions!” As he emerged from the carriage, his men scrambled to form a protective circle around him, bows strung, swords drawn, shields raised. He crouched in the road and gazed into Hadad’s staring eyes.

  “This just happened,” he murmured. “His body is warm; his blood hasn’t thickened. Whoever killed him must be in the area.”

  Benjamin rose to his feet and inspected the abandoned trenches, where Hadad’s men had planned to hide in ambush. They had fled hastily, without bothering to replace the loose brush that would have hidden them from view.

  “Hadad must have given himself away at the last minute,” he mused aloud. “This sword that killed him is Egyptian-made. It belonged to one of his own men.” He shook his head. “Too bad. It was an excellent plan.”

  His men stood alert, watching him, waiting for orders. “Spread out! Quickly! They can’t be far. Fan out in all directions until you meet with our forces closing in.” He had spread a huge net around this hill. Joshua’s men couldn’t possibly escape. There was no place to go.

  One of his men pointed to the cliff. “Could they have escaped that way? Down there?”

  Benjamin peered over the edge. “There’s no sign of life.”

  “Should we send some men down, just in case?”

  Benjamin considered it, then shook his head. “Too dangerous without ropes. If our enemies made it down safely, they could easily kill us as we descend the cliff. We’ll send a squadron by the valley road to search the area later.”

  “I wonder how the traitors learned it was a trap?” his aide asked.

  Benjamin shrugged. “What worries me is that Hadad was an excellent soldier. He assured me that all of his men would be young recruits. How did he let himself take a sword in the gut like this? Someone knew how to fight.”

  “Maybe he had more than one attacker.”

  “Perhaps. But Hadad burned with enough hatred to fight an entire squadron by himself. And he took the fatal wound face-to-face, not in the back.”

  The general watched as his men began to fan out, combing the area in an orderly fashion, ascending the ridge, disappearing down the road. His seed of fear burrowed deeper. He knew one fact for certain: If he failed this mission, if he failed to capture King Manasseh’s enemy, he would forfeit his own life.

  “Hadad underestimated someone,” he said slowly. “Let’s not make the same mistake.”

  Joshua remained close to the base of the cliff, out of sight, until long after the road above him grew quiet again. It was safer to stay here than to venture out of hiding with hundreds of Manasseh’s troops searching the area. He would stand a better chance of eluding them after dark.

  How had his plans gone so terribly wrong? Why hadn’t he been successful this time? He was doing his best to serve God, trying to win back the nation for Him. Now, inexplicably, Yahweh had abandoned him to this disaster. Alone in his confusion and grief, Joshua struggled to comprehend why God had failed to help him.

  At first he thought the faint moaning he heard was a mourning dove. It took several moments for him to realize that it was Miriam. How could she still be alive? It was impossible.

  He crawled out of his hiding place and shifted the tree branch that covered her body, shielding it from the soldiers’ view above. Her eyes were open. Joshua called her name, and she slowly turned her head to face him. “It’s a trap,” she murmured again.

  “I know, Miriam. I know. Hadad betrayed all of us.”

  “Run. . . .”

  Her unwavering concern for him moved him deeply, especially when he considered where it had led her.

  “I’ll run when it’s time,” he said gently. “After dark. I’m safe here, for now.”

  “Where . . . are we?”

  “At the bottom of the cliff. Well hidden. Hadad is dead, and I think Manasseh’s soldiers are finally gone.” He lifted her lifeless hand and held it between his, stroking it gently. “You saved my life again. I wish I had more words to say than just ‘thank you.’”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Am I going to die?”

  Joshua looked up at the cliff, towering above them, then back at Miriam. He knew in his heart that it was hopeless to think that she’d survive, even if the tree had broken her fall. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her. “Shh . . . don’t think about dying.”

  “But I don’t know what happens after I die.” The terror in her eyes pierced his heart.

  “We go to paradise and rest in Abraham’s bosom,” he answered gently.

  “But will I be accepted there? My parents were never married. . . . My . . . my mother . . .”

  “The Torah says that children aren’t judged for their fathers’ sins, nor fathers for their children’s.” As he repeated the familiar words, he realized for the first time how deeply ashamed she was of her background and how much he had taken his own parentage for granted. He had been highly esteemed because of who his father was, but he hadn’t earned that good reputation any more than Miriam deserved to be tarnished by her mother’s bad reputation. He thought of Hadad, who had been unfairly judged because of his father’s sins. All he had ever wanted was a name.

  Hadad’s pain-filled cries echoed through Joshua’s mind. Against his will, Joshua relived the moment he had run his sword through Hadad, then cruelly twisted it deeper, killing him. But Joshua knew that he had really killed Hadad months earlier at the Passover table. Now he was reaping the terrible consequences of his actions that night. He began to tremble until every inch of his body seemed to shake.

  “I’m so scared,” Miriam whispered. “I’m afraid to die.”

  “Shh, it’s all right. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  Words. Worthless, inadequate words. How many times had Miriam rescued him, waited on him, cared for his needs? Yet all he could offer her in return were meaningless platitudes. It wasn’t all right. He feared death as much as she did. He groped for something better to say.

  “It’s written in the psalms, ‘Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me.’ And it’s true, Miriam. You can believe His promise.”

  “Joshua . . . will you hold my hand?”

  He looked down at her hand, clenched tightly between his own, and dread filled his soul. “Are you in pain, Miriam? Tell me where it hurts, and maybe I can do something.”

  He watched her take stock for a moment, then her eyes widened in horror. “I can’t . . . I can’t feel anything! I can’t move! My legs . . . they won’t move! My arms—!” Her panic wrenched his heart as painfully as the sword had wrenched Hadad’s. He couldn’t imagine the terror of being paralyzed, of lying totally helpless.

  “Shh . . . it’s all right, Miriam. Everything’s all right. It’s God’s blessing that you can’t feel anything. You fell such a long way that you would be in agony. I couldn’t bear that.” He lifted her hand so she could see it between his. “I won’t let go. I won’t leave you.”

  “But they’ll capture you if you stay here. I don’t want them to capture you.”

  “I’m safe here, for now. I can escape when it’s dark and meet up with the others.”

  “Will Amariah and Dinah be all right?”

  He marveled that she could think about someone else when her own condition was so grave. “They have two guards to protect them,” he said. “They’ll make it back to the caravan.”

  “No, the guards left us. And Amariah didn’t even have a sword.”

  “You mean he and Dinah are all alone out there?”

  “He wanted me to stay with them, but I had to warn you.”

  Miriam’s loyalty shamed him. There was no explanation for it, especially after the way he’d treated her and Nathan these past two years. He wanted to ask her why she had risked her life for him, but he was afraid to
hear her answer. He feared it had something to do with Maki’s loyalty to Joshua’s family. And Miriam had no idea that Joshua had caused her father’s death.

  “How did you know it was a trap?” he asked instead.

  “Amariah figured it out. I told him Hadad had come to the cave . . . then the two guards disappeared . . .” She closed her eyes and her voice trailed off as she lost consciousness again.

  Joshua watched the shallow rise and fall of her chest, afraid that each breath would be her last. Dread and guilt consumed him, forcing him to face the truth: Miriam was dying because of him. His sister and Amariah were alone and defenseless because of him. It was his fault that Hadad had sought revenge.

  He realized, then, that this disaster wasn’t Yahweh’s fault—it was his own. If this mission had been God’s will, Manasseh would be dead and Joshua would be in Jerusalem by now, not huddled at the bottom of a cliff watching Miriam die. God didn’t make mistakes—His purposes were always fulfilled. People made mistakes, and Joshua had made plenty. His biggest one had been not trusting God for vengeance but pursuing it himself. Striving for his own way instead of yielding to God’s will was rebellion. That meant he had rebelled against God just as surely as Manasseh had.

  Joshua punched the ground with his fist. Then why didn’t God punish him? Why wasn’t he dying instead of Miriam? She had never done anything wrong. He shuddered when he thought of all the other innocent people who would suffer because of his rebellion. Their blood was on his hands: the soldiers who had volunteered for this ill-fated mission; Prince Amariah, who faced arrest and execution as a traitor; Joshua’s brother, Jerimoth; his sister Dinah. If Manasseh captured Dinah again . . . if Joshua had delivered her back into his hands . . .

  He let out a strangled cry and fought to catch his breath, horrified at the enormity of all that he’d done, the terrible consequences of his mistakes, the innocent blood he had shed. But there was more, much more. He had killed Hadad, whose only crime had been falling in love with Dinah. Hadad would still be drinking wine in Moab, spending his grandfather’s gold, if Joshua hadn’t involved him in his rebellious quest for revenge.

  And Miriam. Joshua’s eyes filled with tears as he looked down at her. She had no business getting mixed up in all this. She shouldn’t be lying here in his place. It wasn’t fair. . . . God of Abraham, it wasn’t fair!

  “Forgive me,” he murmured. “Please, Miriam . . . please forgive me!”

  Her eyes fluttered open. “For what?”

  He knew then that he had to confess everything. He had to ask her for forgiveness before she died. It was the only way he’d ever be free from his tormenting guilt. If only he could find all the others, too, and ask their forgiveness. He swallowed the lump in his throat so he could speak.

  “Miriam, I need to ask you to forgive me for something that happened two years ago. It was my fault that your father died. I rushed out of the house too soon. Maki was—”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “You know?”

  “Mattan told me the night after it happened.”

  “You mean all this time you knew I killed your father?” She nodded, her eyes fastened to his. He wanted to look away in shame, but he forced himself to face her. “But . . . but why don’t you hate me, Miriam? How could you risk your life for me again and again if you knew that my mistakes killed him?”

  “I forgave you.”

  Her words devastated him. He understood hatred and vengeance but not forgiveness. He would have understood if she wanted to avenge her father’s death, but he couldn’t understand her willingness to forgive his murderer. He shook his head in bewilderment. “I don’t deserve forgiveness.”

  “No one does, but God forgives us anyway. Your mother taught me that.”

  “My mother?”

  “Yes. Didn’t she teach you, too?”

  Of course she had. Jerusha had taught all her children about forgiveness when she’d told them the story of her life and how much she’d been forgiven. Joshua had always condemned Miriam for her mother’s lifestyle, but he suddenly realized that his own mother had once lived the same way. Miriam knew all of this. She knew how he had caused Maki’s death. And yet she forgave him.

  He could no longer avoid the question he feared. “Miriam, why did you save my life? Why did you go back to the Temple for me a year ago? Why did you come back to warn me today?”

  She uttered a weak sigh and closed her eyes. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore if you know.” A tear escaped from beneath her lashes to roll down her cheek. “Because I love you.”

  Joshua groaned in despair. “No, that’s impossible. You should hate me. You should be happy to let Hadad kill me. I used you. I used your father. It was my fault he died!”

  She shook her head faintly, too weak to reply.

  Joshua gazed at Miriam’s pale face as she lay motionless and saw for the first time what a truly lovely woman she was, what a beautiful, unselfish heart she possessed. He had never bothered to see her, to know her. And now that it was too late, he realized that losing her would be his greatest loss of all. He pressed her lifeless hand to his lips and wept.

  Amariah found a hiding place in a dense thicket at the bottom of a wide ravine and remained there all day with Dinah. By late afternoon, when they still hadn’t seen any soldiers, he began to hope that they might escape alive. Amariah had insisted that Dinah eat the remainder of their food, and now he felt shaky with hunger.

  “As soon as it’s dark we’ll find the village where Jerimoth is waiting,” he whispered. “It’s only three or four miles from here. We’re going to make it, Dinah. This ordeal is almost over.”

  “What if Jerimoth isn’t there?”

  “He will be.” Amariah chewed his lip, searching for a better way to reassure her. “Dinah, when the Assyrians surrounded Jerusalem, our fathers did everything they could, then they left the outcome to God. We have to do the same. We’re in Yahweh’s hands. Whatever happens to us is His will.”

  She huddled close to him in the cramped thicket, resting her face against his. “How did you end up with so much faith and Manasseh with none?”

  He sighed. “I pity my brother. He was only twelve years old when he became king. I can’t imagine that kind of pressure, can you? I’ve run from the responsibility of governing our tiny community of Elephantine, and I’m an adult, not the child that Manasseh was when he became king.”

  “But he had my father to help him.”

  “Yes, and I’ve had Joshua. Even so, I’ve never really faced up to the task. People’s lives are at stake, Dinah, and I was so afraid of making a mistake that it immobilized me. It wasn’t until I had no other choice—until the guards disappeared and Miriam left and I was faced with the responsibility of caring for you and our baby all by myself—that I finally decided to put my trust in God.” He listened to the stillness around them, the rustling of the wind in the trees, the cry of birds in the distance, and felt strangely at peace.

  “Amariah? Why didn’t you run when you realized Hadad was coming back to kill you? You were willing to die for me.”

  “You’re my wife. I’m responsible for you and our child.”

  “But you don’t love me. Why would you sacrifice your life for me?”

  He shifted so he could look into her eyes. “I don’t think I really know the answer yet myself. Maybe when this is over we’ll have a chance to sort out our feelings, but for now—”

  “I know this was all my fault, and I’m so sorry. I loved Hadad. If I hadn’t betrayed him, all of this never would have happened.”

  He pulled her close again. “Dinah, don’t blame yourself. I could tell you all the reasons why this is my fault. I suspected Hadad’s motives from the beginning. I should have stood my ground with Joshua and refused to have anything to do with his stupid plot. I certainly should have forbid you to come. I’m the community’s leader, not Joshua. But I shirked my responsibilities, just as I’ve done all my life. My father would have used sound
judgment and would have sought God’s will. He never would have allowed his second-in-command to coerce him into—O God, no! Dinah, get down! Lie still!”

  He pushed Dinah toward the back of the thicket and crouched over her protectively.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s a soldier coming this way.”

  Amariah watched in horror as the man moved methodically toward them, using a spear to poke at clumps of grass and thickets like the one where they were hiding. The soldier carried a bow and a quiver of arrows on his back, a sword strapped to his side. In the distance, another soldier appeared on the first soldier’s right, searching the same way. A third soon became visible to his left.

  Amariah’s heart raced as he tried to decide what to do. The first soldier was coming straight toward them, as if following their trail. He couldn’t miss them. Amariah watched in frozen horror, praying that the man would veer to one side, bypassing them. In a few minutes he would spot them unless Amariah did something. He pushed the bread knife into Dinah’s hand.

  “Stay here,” he whispered. “No matter what happens, stay hidden until dark. Then follow the road to Nahshon.”

  “Don’t leave me!”

  “I want you to live. You and our child.” He leaped up and clawed his way out of the thicket, his robes tearing in Dinah’s hands as she tried to stop him.

  A moment later he was free. Amariah ran, dodging behind trees and rocks as if trying to escape the soldier’s notice but doing it clumsily enough to attract his attention and draw him away from Dinah’s hiding place. He knew he’d be captured, but it didn’t matter as long as Dinah made it safely home. Funny, he thought of Egypt as home. When did that happen? And what did it matter now?

  “Halt!”

  An arrow whizzed past, barely missing Amariah’s head. He dove to the ground, then crawled through the grass to take cover behind the nearest tree. His heart pounded in terror. When his limbs stopped shaking enough to control them, he stood and carefully peered out. Instantly, a second arrow sank into the tree trunk, inches from his face. The noise it made as it buried into the bark sounded like an explosion in the quiet forest. His knees went weak again, and he leaned against the tree for support.