The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

  “Bring it here, son.”

  As Nathan returned to his room to fetch the idol, he had the urge to run out of the house and just keep going. Joshua wouldn’t care. He would have a child of his own in a few more months. Nathan was nothing but a troublemaker. He never would amount to anything. This whole affair just confirmed what Joshua had believed about him all along.

  Nathan retrieved the image from beneath his mat and stared at it for a moment, turning it over and over in his hands, examining the beautiful carving, the smooth, flawless ivory. He had wanted to help Miriam, but everything had gone wrong. Now he was in serious trouble. Once again, he was tempted to run, to steal a boat and let the current carry him away. But if he fled he would never know if Joshua really would have forgiven him or if it was all a lie. He longed to find out. He returned to the main room and found Joshua standing exactly where he’d left him. When he saw the idol in Nathan’s hands, Joshua lowered his face again and covered his eyes.

  Blind terror, worse than in his nightmare, coursed through Nathan. He tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter what Joshua thought of him, that it didn’t matter if Joshua abandoned him, but it wasn’t true. He did care. Again, Nathan faced the maddening silence as Joshua battled his emotions. When Joshua finally looked up, he spoke only one hoarse word.

  “Why?”

  How could Nathan explain his fear for Miriam’s life, the guilt he felt for causing her first child’s death, his longing to help her somehow? Suddenly it was important to Nathan that Joshua know the truth.

  “I took it for Miriam’s sake,” he blurted. “I know how much she wants a baby, and I didn’t want this one to die like her last baby did. The goddess Taweret protects women who are pregnant, and I thought maybe this time I could help Miriam.” The idol felt heavy and clammy in his sweating hands. He waited for Joshua’s angry tirade, but it never came.

  “What is the idol made out of?” he asked quietly. It seemed like an odd question.

  “Ivory. From a hippopotamus.”

  “And where is the animal now?”

  “I don’t know. Dead, I guess.”

  “Powerless? Unable to protect itself?”

  Nathan shrugged.

  “Then how can it protect Miriam’s baby?”

  “I didn’t think it would hurt to try. Your God isn’t answering any of your prayers. Her last baby died!”

  “God did answer my prayers, Nathan. If you could have seen how far your sister fell eight years ago, you’d know that she should be dead. I prayed that she would live, and God answered me. I know Miriam would like a child, but it’s not the most important thing to me. I’d rather have Miriam than a baby. I already have a son who bears my name.”

  Nathan didn’t trust himself to speak. He didn’t want to be moved by Joshua’s words, didn’t want to admit even to himself the fierce emotions raging inside him. He watched Joshua warily, fearing that he would try to embrace him. Part of Nathan wished that Joshua would hold him, but another, harder part knew that something vital to his survival would break if he did. He quickly turned his back and walked to the far side of the room.

  “What happens now?” he asked.

  He heard Joshua sigh. “You and I need to go see the elders, son.”

  The walk with Nathan from their home to where the elders were assembled in the city square was the longest Joshua had ever taken. He felt devastated with shame. How could his son do such a terrible thing? Joshua’s own failure as a father was now exposed for all to see. But far worse than his own shame was his staggering fear for Nathan’s soul. How had he lost his son to idols? How could he draw him back to God?

  The city officials paced restlessly as they watched him and Nathan approach, as if anxious to finish with this business before the evening sacrifice. When Joshua saw the Egyptian authorities standing to one side, he knew he couldn’t face this ordeal alone.

  “Send someone for Jerimoth,” he said. His brother would remind him of their father’s example. He would help Joshua do what Abba would have done. He tried to draw a deep breath to calm himself but couldn’t. He remembered the aching numbness he had felt for weeks after the Temple explosion, as if he had been slapped by a giant hand. But this pain was deeper, more paralyzing than any physical pain.

  Jerimoth was panting slightly as he came to stand beside Joshua and Nathan a few minutes later. His gaze traveled from Joshua’s face, to the idol in Nathan’s hands, to the Egyptian authorities standing in the background, and Joshua saw that he understood. “O God of Abraham, help us all,” Jerimoth whispered.

  “How does your son plead?” the chief elder asked. His voice was kind, not accusing.

  “Guilty, my lord.” Joshua took the idol from Nathan and handed it to him. The elder carried it to the Egyptian authorities as if it harbored an infectious disease, then he faced Joshua again. Fear for Nathan swelled inside Joshua, making it difficult to breathe.

  “The Law says that a thief must pay back what he stole plus an added restitution of twenty percent. Are you willing to pay your son’s fine?”

  “Of course. But I think it would be better for Nathan if he worked to pay the fine himself. I’ll loan him the silver in the meantime.” The elders nodded in agreement as Joshua untied his silver pouch. He prayed that this ordeal would soon be over, but one of the Egyptian authorities suddenly stepped forward.

  “Just a minute. How old is your son?” he asked.

  Joshua felt a rush of fear. He pressed his fist to his chest to ease the pain. “He’s eighteen, my lord.”

  “Then he is of age. We demand that he be flogged according to Egyptian law.”

  “No, please . . .” Joshua breathed. Jerimoth gripped his arm, bracing his body against Joshua’s to support him as the elders quickly crowded around them to confer.

  “You’re not in a position to argue with them,” the chief elder said in a low voice. “The crime took place on the mainland, not on our own island this time.”

  “Please, I’m not arguing . . . I’m begging. Tell them I’ll make sure he never returns to the mainland. Explain that he’s only a boy.”

  “This isn’t his first offense. Under the circumstances, since it’s more than a simple theft, since it involves bringing an idol to our island . . .”

  “No, listen, please!”

  “We agree with the Egyptians, Joshua. Nathan needs to suffer the consequences of his actions.”

  “I’ll punish him. I’ll—”

  “If he had been caught on the mainland, they would have flogged him on the spot,” the elder said in a whisper. “And if they knew that he has stolen before, they would cut off his hand.”

  “Then I’ll take the lashing for him. It’s my fault for not being a better father when he was younger. I should have—”

  “I can take my own punishment,” Nathan said suddenly. His face was the color of ashes. “Just do it and get it over with.” He loosened his belt and shrugged off his outer robe.

  Joshua tried to cry out as they led Nathan to the lashing post, but he couldn’t draw any air into his lungs. It took what little strength he had to wrestle with his brother as Jerimoth tried to steer him out of the square.

  “You should leave, Joshua. It would be easier for both of you.”

  “Let go of me! Nothing can make this easier! I’m his father! I have a right to be here!”

  Tears blurred Joshua’s vision as the elders stripped Nathan to the waist and fastened his wrists to the post. He was so thin. There was no meat on his back. Joshua could count each rib, each vertebra. He rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand and forced himself to watch, counting each blow.

  One . . . two . . . three . . .

  The lash whistled through air and snapped sickeningly against Nathan’s flesh. Joshua felt each painful strike shudder through his own body.

  Four . . . five . . .

  It took Jerimoth and three of the elders to hold him back. Joshua no longer cared that everyone saw him weeping.

  Eight . . . n
ine . . . ten . . .

  Nathan groaned after each stroke but didn’t cry out. The torture seemed endless. “That’s enough . . .” Joshua moaned. “Make them stop. . . .”

  Thirteen . . . fourteen . . .

  When it was finally over, Joshua gently untied his son and hefted him over his shoulder, careful not to touch his bloody back. Jerimoth led him home; Joshua was unable to see where he was going, his vision blinded by tears. Nathan was in shock and only semiconscious when Joshua laid him facedown on his sleeping mat. Then Joshua stumbled outside to the courtyard for a basin of water and clean cloths to bathe Nathan’s wounds. Jerimoth followed him.

  “Joshua, why are you torturing yourself like this? It’s not your fault. You have been a good father to him. It was Nathan’s own choice to steal. There was nothing more you could have done for the boy.”

  Joshua set the basin down again and covered his face in despair. “Why did God give Nathan to me? Why not to you? You’re a much better father than I am. Look at Mattan; look how he turned out. You could have helped Nathan, changed him. Why did God give him to me?”

  Jerimoth rested his hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “Because you understand him so much better than I ever could.”

  He looked at his brother in bewilderment. “Understand him?”

  “Yes, Joshua. Nathan is just like you. Both of you are filled with anger. Both of you rage at circumstances in the past that you cannot change. Both of you mourn and question the loss of your fathers. Both of you are furious with God.”

  Joshua leaned against the wall as he struggled to comprehend his brother’s words.

  “I don’t say these things to criticize you,” Jerimoth continued. “God knows how different you and I are. But look closely at Nathan’s anger and rebellion, and see your own. God did give him to the right father—the father who could recognize the pain in Nathan’s heart and understand exactly how he feels.”

  Deep in his soul, Joshua suspected that his brother’s words were true. But if he thought about them now, his heart would break. Instead, he ladled clean water into the basin with deliberate concentration.

  “I’m going home,” Jerimoth said softly. “Nathan has been punished enough. Let him know you love him, you forgive him.”

  Joshua nodded, unable to speak, and carried the basin into the house. When Joshua sat down beside him, Nathan turned his face to the wall.

  “Go away and leave me alone.”

  “I can’t do that, Nathan.”

  “I don’t want you here!”

  “I’m sorry, but I have to be here. You’re my son. Your suffering is my suffering.” And as he spoke the words, Joshua was stunned to discover that they were true.

  In the months that followed Nathan’s whipping, Joshua was well aware of his need to battle against the darkness of depression. He relied on Miriam’s love and patience as he struggled to believe that God was still by his side. He had endured two painful blows: the loss of Judah’s sovereignty to the Assyrians, and the unmasking of his own failures as a father. His fears for Nathan’s soul consumed many sleepless nights, leaving him unprepared for a third blow when it came.

  “Joshua, I think you should send for the midwives,” his mother told him one morning. “I’m worried about the swelling in Miriam’s legs and feet.” Joshua went numb at his mother’s words. Miriam hadn’t seemed well for several days, but she’d stubbornly insisted that she was all right.

  “I’ll get the women myself, Mama.” He left the house at a run, barely aware of his surroundings as he sprinted across the island to fetch the two midwives.

  “Does she have any other symptoms besides the swelling?” they asked as he hurried back to his house with them again.

  “She complained of a bad headache last night,” he said. “This morning she still seemed groggy from it. Disoriented.” He saw them exchange glances, and he began to walk so fast they had trouble keeping up with him. When he burst through the front door, out of breath, Nathan met him.

  “What’s going on? Why are they here? Isn’t it too soon for the baby?”

  “Miriam’s not in labor . . . she’s . . . I can’t explain.” He brushed past Nathan and hurried into the bedchamber, followed by the women. “Miriam, I’m back. I brought—” He stopped, staring in horror at his wife as her body suddenly went rigid. Then her spine arched, her eyes rolled, and she began to convulse. “Do something! Help her!” he cried, but there was nothing any of them could do. Joshua watched helplessly until the convulsion finally ended and Miriam lay still. His mother and one of the midwives hustled him out of the room.

  “What’s wrong with my wife? Tell me what’s wrong with her.” He struggled to pull air into his lungs.

  “Your wife’s condition is very serious,” the midwife said. “Unless we do something soon, she will go into a coma and die. It has happened before to other women with the same symptoms.”

  Joshua listened as if trapped in a bad dream. “Do whatever you have to do.”

  “The only thing we can do is start her labor. Once the baby is born, Miriam’s condition will probably improve.”

  “But it’s too soon for the baby,” Nathan blurted. Joshua had forgotten that he was there.

  “Yes, it’s too soon by several weeks,” the midwife told him. She paused before saying, “The child will likely die.”

  “She wants that baby!” Nathan cried. “You can’t let it die again!”

  “Nathan, please,” Joshua said. “This doesn’t concern you.” Nathan turned and stormed from the house, but at the moment Joshua was much too upset to deal with him.

  “If Miriam doesn’t give birth soon, she could die,” the midwife continued. “I’m sorry. I understand what a difficult decision you have to make.”

  “There’s no question—save my wife. Do whatever it takes, but don’t let Miriam die.”

  “Are you sure you understand that your child—?”

  “I was born almost a month too soon, and I survived. Please, don’t let Miriam die!”

  “Shh . . . If she hears you, my lord, if she thinks there’s a choice . . . most mothers want to give their lives for their babies.”

  He thought of Miriam’s unselfish love, the many times she had willingly risked her life for him, and he knew that the midwife was right. “I want you to start her labor right away,” he said.

  “All right. But once we break the sac of waters and labor begins, there will be no turning back.”

  “Do it!” He paused to cough the air from his lungs, then drew a ragged breath. “What can I do? Tell me what I can do.”

  His mother took his arm and steered him toward the rear courtyard. “You can stay out of their way, Joshua. They have work to do. You’ll make everyone a nervous wreck by hovering around, barking at everyone. Trust God. Let His will be done.”

  But as the hours passed, and then one day of labor turned into two, Joshua discovered that trusting God was impossible. In the past His will had been incomprehensible and had brought devastating losses. What if he lost Miriam? As the fear and tension in the household soared, Nathan vented his frustration on Joshua.

  “This is your fault! It’s your child that’s making her suffer! Do something!”

  “Nathan, I wish I could, but . . . look, I feel as scared and helpless as you do.”

  “If she dies, it’ll be your fault!”

  “Son, wait—” But Nathan slammed out of the house, and once again Joshua felt the devastating anguish of failure. His son should be coming to him for consolation. They should be comforting each other.

  “I can’t take this waiting much longer,” he told Jerimoth, late on the second day. “Neither can Miriam. She’s suffering.”

  “Women often cry out during childbirth.”

  “But for so long? It’s been two days. I need to know what’s going on.”

  “My Sara is helping inside. Maybe she can put your mind at rest.” Jerimoth sent for her, but when Sara emerged from the bedchamber, one look at her distraught face sent
fear racing through Joshua before he even heard her terrible words.

  “Miriam isn’t able to help with the delivery because of her paralysis. She’s almost at the end of her strength. If the baby isn’t born soon, the midwives say that—”

  Jerimoth cut her off. “Never mind what they say.” He spun Joshua around and pushed him toward the front door. “We’re going to the temple to pray. Send for us if you need to.”

  “No, I can’t leave her,” Joshua insisted. “I need to stay here.”

  “You need to pray. That’s the best thing you can possibly do. Right now it’s the only thing.” Jerimoth propelled him forward against his will, through the door and into the street, heading toward the temple grounds. Joshua was dimly aware of seeing other people going about their lives—bartering for food, feeding their livestock, walking home from the river with a string of fish—and it seemed unfair to him that life should continue with such indifference while Miriam suffered . . . while his child, his wife, struggled to live.

  “I can’t pray, Jerimoth. I’m afraid to pray. God has already taken everything I loved. What if He takes Miriam, too?”

  “Is that how you picture Him?” Jerimoth asked in surprise. “As a cruel, heartless God who wants to hurt you?”

  “I don’t want to imagine Him that way, but it seems like all I’ve received from His hand is senseless suffering and loss. Miriam is the only good thing He’s ever given to me to make up for all that He’s taken.”

  “That’s fear talking, not faith. You know God isn’t like that.”

  “Can’t you understand why I don’t trust Him? Don’t you see how terrified I am that I’ll lose Miriam, too?”

  “Yes. I do understand. That’s why we need to pray. Come on.”

  They reached the gate to the temple site and went inside. The priests were going about their duties as if nothing was wrong, and again Joshua wondered why everyone else’s life seemed tranquil except his own. Jerimoth nudged him into the men’s court and dropped to his knees by the altar, pulling Joshua down beside him.

  “You’ve told me how you feel, Josh. Now tell God. He understands.” Jerimoth closed his eyes and lifted his hands.