The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

  Amariah waited. Except for his own gasping breaths, there wasn’t a sound. Was the soldier creeping up on him or waiting for him to move, poised to fire again? Amariah’s heart thrashed wildly in his rib cage. He prayed that Dinah wouldn’t leave her hiding place, prayed that she and his child would escape to safety.

  When the soldier suddenly leaped in front of him, Amariah cried out. A sword blade flashed in the sun, blinding him momentarily.

  “Throw down your weapons!”

  Amariah couldn’t see his captor’s face behind his shield. He raised his arms in surrender.

  “I . . . I don’t have any weapons.”

  The soldier’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Amariah over the top of his shield, then they widened in amazement. “Prince Amariah?”

  “Yes.” The shield lowered, and relief washed over Amariah when he first glimpsed his captor. General Benjamin was his father’s loyal friend. He had been Amariah’s military tutor and guardian.

  But Benjamin stared back with eyes as cold as slate. Clearly he worked for Manasseh now. Amariah was his prisoner, a traitor. Benjamin briskly searched the folds of Amariah’s robes and glared in disdain when he found no hidden weapons.

  “Where is your sword? Why aren’t you armed?” He seemed angry with Amariah, admonishing him just as he had years ago when Amariah had struggled through military training. Back then, he had never been able to do anything right. Now he was alone, unarmed, clumsily trying to flee from hundreds of well-trained troops. Once again, the general seemed disgusted with his performance.

  “I couldn’t use a sword even if I had one,” Amariah said quietly. “You know that better than anyone, General.”

  Benjamin surveyed the surrounding area warily. “Where are all the others? What kind of friends would desert you to die alone and unarmed?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  The general shook his head in pity. “What are you doing mixed up in this plot in the first place? You’re in over your head, son.”

  “I let myself be talked into this against my better judgment.” Again Amariah felt embarrassed to have performed so poorly in the older man’s eyes. Benjamin had been a father to him, doing his best to train Amariah in spite of his ineptitude and lack of interest. But regardless of his humiliation, Amariah still had enough respect for the general to meet his gaze and confront him with a hard question of his own. “Why are you working for my brother? You know that the things Manasseh is doing aren’t right.”

  “A soldier obeys his commanding officer and his king.” Benjamin’s voice was stiff and cold, as if he addressed a stranger, not someone he had helped raise from boyhood.

  “So you’ll blindly obey the king,” Amariah asked, “even when he is wrong?”

  “It isn’t up to me to decide who’s right and who’s wrong.”

  “But surely you can see a difference between my father’s reign and Manasseh’s.”

  Benjamin didn’t reply. He looked away, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet.

  “You served under my father, didn’t you, General? Do you remember him at all? I was only ten years old when he died, and sometimes I . . . I have a hard time remembering him. I have more memories of you and Lord Eliakim than I do of Abba. But I know that God’s Law was important to him. . . . I know how hard he tried to live by that Law. And I know that my brother—” He couldn’t finish. Amariah stared at the ground, ashamed to be fighting tears. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

  “Your father was the greatest man I’ve ever known,” Benjamin said. Amariah looked up, surprised by the gentleness in his voice. “You’ve always reminded me of King Hezekiah. Not your face, but the set of your shoulders, the way you stand. You have his hair. His voice.”

  Amariah nodded, still fighting ridiculous tears. “We both know that Manasseh is going to kill me. I won’t ask for mercy, General, but will you do one thing for me? Will you tell me what you remember about Abba? It’s been so long . . . and I need a piece of him to hang on to when my brother . . .” Amariah’s knees gave way, and his back slid down the tree trunk until he slumped to the ground—hunger, exhaustion, and fear taking their toll at last.

  “Poor kid,” the general mumbled. He sighed and sheathed his sword, staring into the distance for a moment as if Amariah’s distress embarrassed him. But when he finally crouched down to face him, the general’s eyes were kind.

  “What I remember most about King Hezekiah was his courage and his faith. They were fused together so tightly that you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. I was very young to be in command, barely thirty-five years old when the Assyrians attacked Jerusalem. Hundreds of thousands of them. Everyone was terrified, certain we would all die by their swords or be carried off as their slaves like all the other nations had been. But your father defied them.” A faint smile passed over his stony face. “He and Lord Eliakim walked through the streets, comforting everyone, telling us to trust God. I stood watch on the wall beside King Hezekiah all that night before the miracle. He never slept, never showed fear, just calmly recited King David’s psalms and waited. He had surrendered to God, not to the enemy.”

  Amariah swallowed. “Then how can you . . . How can our nation—?”

  “How can they tolerate King Manasseh?” Benjamin gave a humorless laugh as he rose to his feet. “Manasseh gives the people exactly what they want—anything they can imagine or lust after. Nobody wants moral laws; nobody wants to be told that his life is sinful. Why wouldn’t they freely embrace a leader who abolishes all the rules? People don’t want a leader whose purity puts them to shame. They want someone like themselves, maybe a little worse than themselves. Your brother is exactly the kind of leader the people want.”

  “I see. And what about you, General? Would you rather serve Manasseh than my father . . . or me?”

  “I serve whoever happens to be the anointed king of Judah.” His voice turned cold again. “I don’t have the luxury of choosing who that is.”

  “Then let’s get this over with.” Amariah stood, shakily brushing the dirt from his robes, determined to face death as courageously as his father had. But Benjamin didn’t move.

  “Tell me where the others are, son. Where’s Joshua?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since we split up yesterday.”

  The general glanced around nervously, as if considering something dangerous. For a moment Amariah had the insane hope that Benjamin was going to let him go free.

  “Listen, son. I’ll trade your life for Joshua’s. Tell me what your escape plans are and help me capture him. In return, I’ll convince King Manasseh that Joshua held you against your will all this time. I’ll swear that I rescued you from him. For all I know, that’s the truth. After all, you weren’t even armed when I found you.”

  Amariah’s pounding heart seemed to fill his chest as he considered Benjamin’s words. The general wasn’t offering freedom, but Amariah might win mercy at his brother’s hands. He thought about continuing his life where he’d left off a year ago—living in the palace again, working for Manasseh and Zerah, worshiping idols at the Temple. He slowly shook his head.

  “I wasn’t held against my will. I was an accomplice in Joshua’s plot.”

  Benjamin gave a snort of frustration. “King Manasseh doesn’t know that. Listen, we’d be helping each other. I’m responsible for this mission, and if I don’t capture Joshua, my life is over. I’ll be sitting in the palace dungeon beside you. Why don’t we help each other? Tell me where I can find him, son.”

  Amariah hesitated, tempted by the opportunity to escape certain death, aware that Joshua had manipulated all of them into this mess by his blind quest for vengeance. Then he remembered Hadad. “I can’t do it, General. None of this would have happened in the first place if I hadn’t betrayed a friend. I won’t betray another one. You told me you admired my father’s courage. Well, I’d also like to be remembered as a man of courage.”

  “But you’re signing my death warr
ant as well as your own!”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. Now let’s get this over with.”

  Amariah had decided to accept his fate and face the inevitable consequences when suddenly, for the second time, he felt an absurd ray of hope.

  “Wait a minute, General. I think I know how we can both get out of this alive.”

  “How?”

  “Why don’t you escape to Egypt with us?”

  Benjamin glared at him. “And walk out on my sworn duty? Leave all my men?”

  “We live on an island in the Nile, a military garrison. We could use someone with your experience and skill to help with the training. You swore allegiance to the House of David and to God—well, I’m an heir of David, the only one who’s still faithful to God.”

  “I can’t just walk away from—”

  “From what? From evil? From immorality? What’s keeping you in Manasseh’s service besides fear?”

  He witnessed the struggle being waged in General Benjamin’s soul as decades of duty and loyalty battled his wish to live. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. “I can’t leave my family.”

  “Who’ll take care of them if my brother executes you? Listen, even if you capture Joshua, even if Manasseh lets you live, you’ll forfeit your soul if you continue to follow my brother’s orders. ‘Above all else, guard your heart,’ the Scriptures declare, ‘for it is the wellspring of life.’”

  Sweat trickled down Benjamin’s face, leaving trails on his dusty skin. “I need time to think,” he breathed.

  Amariah sank down at the base of the tree again as hope turned his knees to water. “I can wait.”

  12

  Amariah was still waiting for General Benjamin to reach a decision when he spotted another soldier moving toward them. “Someone’s coming, General.”

  He looked up. “That’s my aide. I was supposed to meet him outside Timnah.”

  When Amariah saw the icy determination in Benjamin’s eyes, fear pounded through him. “Do the right thing, General. Come to Egypt with us.”

  Metal hissed against leather as the general drew his sword. He turned and waved it high in the air to catch the approaching soldier’s attention. The aide spotted him and waved in return, then began jogging toward them. Amariah stayed where he was, too weak with hunger and fear to stand, but Benjamin strode forward to meet his aide. They were too far away for Amariah to hear their words, but he saw the general gesturing broadly as he talked, and the younger man nodding, pointing behind him in the direction he’d just traveled. Amariah’s chest ached from the relentless hammering of his heart.

  Finally the two men parted—the soldier heading back the way he’d come, Benjamin returning to the tree where Amariah still sat. The general’s face betrayed nothing as he sheathed his sword. “Tell me what our escape route would be. How did you plan to get out of Judah and back to Egypt again?”

  “You’re going with us?”

  “I’ll point my men in the wrong direction, then meet up with you and the others. Tell me where.”

  Amariah couldn’t speak. What if he was walking into another trap? What if the general was using him to lead his men to Joshua? And what should he do about Dinah?

  “We didn’t have an escape plan,” he finally managed to say. “Joshua never imagined that his plot would fail.”

  Benjamin shook his head impatiently. “I don’t believe you. I trained Joshua better than that.”

  “I . . . I’m sorry, General . . . but how do I know this isn’t a trick?”

  He smiled slightly. “You’re not as naïve as I always thought you were. And very wise to be suspicious. But you can trust me. A soldier is a man of his word.”

  “Hadad wasn’t.”

  “I’m not Hadad. I won’t betray you.”

  Amariah had never made a decision of this importance in his life without turning to Joshua or someone else for guidance. He didn’t know what to do. So many people’s lives were at stake, including his own. He thought he now understood how it had been for his father when he was forced to decide whether to trust God or surrender to the Assyrians. This was what leadership was all about—and what Amariah had always tried to avoid. He needed to make a decision. He would have to trust God to help him make the right one.

  Benjamin gestured impatiently. “Look, we know you probably smuggled everyone into the country on a caravan—Hadad told us that much. I figure that’s how you’re getting everyone out again, right? What city are you leaving from and which caravan is it?”

  Amariah whispered a silent prayer, then told him. “The village of Nahshon. We’re leaving with Ishmaelite spice traders.”

  “Good. Now go back to your hiding place and stay there. I’ll clear all my men out of this area so you can make it to Nahshon after dark. I’ll meet you there early tomorrow.” He was gone before Amariah could reply.

  Uncertainty consumed him as he watched General Benjamin disappear over the rise. There was nothing more Amariah could do. He turned and slowly made his way back to the thicket where Dinah was hiding.

  As the sun set and the first stars appeared in the sky, Miriam still lay unconscious. Joshua no longer considered leaving her as long as she was alive. If Manasseh’s men found him, so be it. It was time he paid for his own mistakes instead of involving innocent people.

  Hunger gnawed at him, and he realized that he hadn’t eaten all day. His sword wounds, coated with dirt and dried blood, throbbed and burned like fire. He should cleanse them to avoid getting a fever, but he didn’t have any water. Besides, if he was going to die of something, it would probably be of thirst, not his wounds. He couldn’t recall ever needing a drink of water so badly. He’d lost both sweat and blood, then sat exposed to the sun all day with nothing to drink. He knew the dangers of going too long without water, but he hadn’t wanted to leave Miriam’s side, fearing she would awaken and spend her last moments of life alone.

  He still gripped her hand as he’d promised. It had felt icy all day in spite of the warm afternoon sun. Now that the sun had set, the air would turn cool in the Judean hills. Joshua took off his outer robe and covered Miriam with it. Then he lay down beside her to share the warmth of his body with her.

  He lost all track of time after darkness fell, but no matter where his thoughts wandered, they always seemed to drift back to Miriam. If he thought of his childhood—his home, his family—he would remember the crude shack Miriam had called home, the pitiful scraps of love she had been accorded. If he thought of the work he’d done and the praise he’d received for it, he would remember the hard, thankless labor Miriam had performed since joining his family two years ago, the indifferent way he’d treated her in return. Joshua had been given so much, Miriam so little. They had both faced enormous losses, yet hatred had emerged from his, love from hers. In spite of all she’d been through, her sweet, uncomplaining nature had never changed.

  Miriam deserved better than a cruel death at the foot of a cliff. She deserved to live, to marry a man who loved her, to raise a family. Joshua knew that the odds against her survival were very great. But the odds that he would survive as a premature infant had been equally great. His father’s prayers had beaten those odds. Joshua closed his eyes and cried out to God.

  As the constellations marched across the sky above him, Joshua prayed harder than ever before, pleading for Miriam’s life.

  Joshua awoke with a start, angry with himself for falling asleep. It was still night. A pale moon had risen above the cliff behind him, bathing the valley with silvery light. He shivered in the chilly air and leaned on one elbow to check on Miriam. Her eyes were open. She turned her head to look at him, and a faint smile crossed her lips.

  “You’d better pray that I die,” she whispered.

  “No, I’m praying that you’ll live!”

  “But the Torah says if you sleep with a virgin, you have to marry her.” Tears shone in her eyes. “You were asleep. I heard you snoring.”

  He gaped at her, too stunned to speak. Her smile widened.
>
  “Don’t look so horrified. It was a joke.”

  “A joke?”

  “You do know what a joke is, don’t you, Joshua?”

  “Of course, but I—”

  “Do you know that in the two years I’ve known you, I’ve never heard you laugh or seen you smile? I’ll bet you have a nice smile, too. Like your mother’s. She told me that ‘A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.’”

  Joshua tried to smile, but his heart felt as if it were breaking. “Would it help you to heal faster if I laughed?”

  She considered for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I think the shock would probably kill me.”

  He did laugh then, but it was bittersweet. He sat up and wiped the tears from her cheeks because he knew that she couldn’t do it herself.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed. And I’m so tired of feeling this way. Grief has affected every area of my life—it’s hamstrung my work, blinded my judgment, poisoned all my relationships—but I don’t know how to shake it off. I can’t get free of it.”

  “It isn’t grief that did all that,” Miriam said. “It’s hatred.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because your mother’s grief was every bit as deep as yours, but she never tried to kill anyone.”

  Joshua saw the truth of her words, and her insight stunned him. “I thought that if I killed Manasseh, if I could return to the life I once had, the pain would go away and I would be myself again. But now . . . now I know that I’ll never get my old life back again.”

  “It wasn’t your life that changed, it was your heart. You were so tender that first day Abba brought you home. You gave him your cloak and your shoes, you thanked me for nursing your fever, you bought salve for Mattan’s leg, and you spoke so kindly to Nathan when you offered to be his father. You said, ‘I know how much a father means to a boy. I’ll try to be a father to you if you’ll let me.’ I still remember your words and the way that you said them.”