“Four.” Hezekiah answered before Shebna finished, and the tutor’s thick black eyebrows rose in surprise.
“And suppose I had five figs. How many would we—”
“Nine.”
“Have you done this before?”
Hezekiah thought the question was ridiculous. “I’ve eaten figs lots of times.”
“That is not what I meant. Anyway,” Shebna quickly continued, “if we wanted to divide up all the figs between us—”
“You’d have to cut one in half,” Hezekiah said, already picturing them in his mind, “or it wouldn’t be fair.”
Shebna’s eyes widened in surprise. “I did not realize my division problem worked out unevenly, but you solved it anyway. You seem quite bright.”
“Can I ask you a question now?” Hezekiah asked.
Shebna smiled weakly. “Certainly. That was the bargain.”
“Why do you smile all the time if you’re not really happy inside?”
Shebna’s smile faded, and he looked at Hezekiah in surprise. “And what makes you say I am not happy?”
“Because your eyes aren’t happy.”
Shebna leaned back on his elbows as he studied him. “You seem quite perceptive, as well as bright. Tutoring you could be a tremendous challenge. But you do not like me very much, do you?”
Hezekiah shrugged. “I don’t know . . .” He gazed down at the scrolls on the floor in front of him, feeling sad again. Then he remembered that it was his turn to ask Shebna another question. “Where’s my grandpa? He said he’d come back for my lessons, but it’s been days and days.”
And for the first time Hezekiah formed the question in his mind that he had tried so hard not to think about. If his grandfather had abandoned him, would Yahweh abandon him, too?
“I do not know where your grandfather is,” Shebna sighed. “That is the truth. I will try to find out for you. But in the meantime, the king has hired me to teach you. Is there something you would like to learn about?”
Hezekiah thought of all the soldiers who had come for his brothers and him. The men had been armed with swords and spears, and he’d been helpless against them. If his grandfather and Yahweh could no longer protect him, then Hezekiah needed to protect himself. “I want to learn to be a soldier, like King David,” he said.
“Really? Do you like to read about warriors and battles?” Shebna shuffled quickly through his scrolls. “I have many stories about brave warriors and the battles they fought. Perhaps we can read one of them.”
“Do you have the one about David and Goliath?” For the first time, Hezekiah was almost interested.
“Maybe . . . somewhere . . .” The scrolls rustled noisily as Shebna rifled through the pile. “Let me see. There must be one here . . .”
“My grandpa has lots of stories about King David in the Temple library. He’ll let you borrow some.”
“Yes, I am certain he would,” Shebna said. For some reason, he sounded annoyed. He abruptly pushed his scrolls aside and studied Hezekiah again. “So, you want to be a soldier, yes? Can you shoot a bow and arrow? Fight with a sword? Throw a spear? Can you ride a horse?”
Hezekiah shook his head to each of these questions.
“Would you like to learn how?”
“Yes!” Hezekiah couldn’t help feeling excited. If he had his own sword and learned to use it, he could save himself from Molech. He wouldn’t have to wait for Yahweh or his grandfather, who might never come back again.
“Follow me, then,” Shebna said as he stood. “First we will go to the stables and find you a horse, then to the armory to get a sword. . . .”
Hezekiah scrambled to his feet, hurrying to keep up as Shebna strode from the room.
Zechariah walked down the long hallway from his room to the door, each step slow and deliberate. He knew he had to keep his aching joints moving in spite of the pain, or eventually he would be unable to walk at all. The sun glared off the golden roof of the Temple, blinding him momentarily as he stepped outside, and he shielded his eyes from it. Then he slowly crossed the deserted courtyard, aware of the gatekeepers who were watching him from their posts.
As his eyes adjusted to the bright light, a sudden movement in the middle court caught his attention. He shaded his eyes from the glare and drew closer for a better look. Someone seemed to be beckoning to him.
“Abba—Abba, it’s me!”
“Abijah? Is it really you?” Zechariah hobbled to the gate that separated the courtyards and embraced his daughter, blinded now by tears.
“Abba! Thank God you’re all right! I’ve been praying and praying. . . .”
“Yes, I’m fine, just fine,” he assured her. “A little stiff in my joints maybe, but that’s what happens when you live in a crumbling old building.” Abijah was the first person from the outside that he had seen in more than a month, and she looked lovelier to him than ever before. “So, tell me your news. You’ve had your baby, I see.”
“Yes, another son. Ahaz named him Gedaliah. He’s forty days old already, and I came to the Temple today to make the offering for purification.” She smiled as she spoke, but then Zechariah saw her eyes fill with tears.
“What’s wrong?” he asked gently.
“I’ve been so worried about you, Abba. I overheard Ahaz telling Uriah to execute you, and I’ve been so afraid. . . . I begged Uriah not to do it. . . .”
He drew her into his arms again. “I’m fine, Abijah. Uriah put me under house arrest to keep me quiet—that’s all. We’ve had a major disagreement, you might say, about his new altar, and I think my living arrangements here will be quite permanent.”
“Then you’re a prisoner?”
“It’s not so bad. I spend a lot of time reading and studying the Torah. And I can walk around the courtyard when there aren’t any sacrifices being held. It’s not so bad.”
“How can you be so calm about it? You’re being held prisoner for no reason, without even a trial.”
“It’s all right, Abijah. Yes, at first I questioned God throughout the long, boring days and sleepless nights. I kept waiting for Him to vindicate me and to punish my enemies. And when He didn’t, I immersed myself in the Holy Torah, always questioning, demanding answers.
“But then I read the Book of Job, and I discovered another victim of injustice who demanded answers from God. And do you know what I learned from Job? Yahweh doesn’t owe us an explanation for what He does. He’s sovereign over all: ‘Can you fathom the mysteries of God? Can you probe the limits of the Almighty? They are higher than the heavens—what can you do? They are deeper than the depths of the grave—what can you know? . . . If he comes along and confines you in prison . . . who can oppose him?’ So you see? I don’t need to know why anymore.”
“Things have gotten worse in Jerusalem since you’ve been imprisoned here,” Abijah said. “King Ahaz worships every new god he hears of, and it seems as if Uriah is encouraging him. The servants told me that Ahaz consults witches and mediums.”
“I’ve seen the changes here, too. The quiet orderly rhythm of the Temple is no longer the same. Ahaz even had the doors of the holy sanctuary closed. Can you imagine that? The golden candlesticks in the Holy Place have gone out. And Uriah has instituted an entirely new order of rituals and sacrifices in Yahweh’s Temple. I wouldn’t worship here even if they allowed me to.”
“It scares me, Abba. What’s going to happen to our nation?”
“I’m afraid that we’re rushing headlong toward ruin, plunging deeper and deeper into sin. I don’t suppose there are too many godly people left anymore. I questioned Yahweh about that, too, but He showed me in His word that He’s still in control of the nation, the king, and even Uriah. ‘If he holds back the waters, there is drought; if he lets them loose, they devastate the land. . . . Both deceived and deceiver are his. . . . He silences the lips of trusted advisors and takes away the discernment of elders. . . . He deprives the leaders of the earth of their reason; he sends them wandering through a trackless waste. The
y grope in darkness with no light; he makes them stagger like drunkards.’”
“I came to comfort you, Abba, and instead you’re comforting me,” Abijah said.
“How is Hezekiah?” Zechariah asked quietly. “How I miss him!”
Abijah’s face looked troubled. “They haven’t allowed him to visit me since Gedaliah was born. The servants told me that the king hired an Egyptian scholar to tutor him.”
“An Egyptian? What can a foreigner teach him? Hezekiah should be studying the Torah, and learning about—” He stopped when he saw the fear in his daughter’s eyes. Zechariah drew her close again.
“There is a reason for everything that happens,” he said in a trembling voice. “Hezekiah is in Yahweh’s hands now, and we have to trust Him. I pray many, many times each day for Yahweh to be with Hezekiah. And Yahweh hears. He’ll watch over him.”
“I’m afraid for you, Abba,” Abijah murmured. “What’s going to happen to you?”
“Don’t be afraid. Yahweh has given me peace. That doesn’t mean that I’ll never have struggles or questions. Our lives will always be filled with those. But the peace of God comes from knowing that there’s an order in the universe and there is a reason for whatever happens, even if only Yahweh can see it. We must trust His sovereign will. ‘To God belong wisdom and power. Counsel and understanding are his. What he tears down cannot be rebuilt; the man he imprisons cannot be released.’”
“Then they’ll never let you go free again?”
“It doesn’t matter, Abijah. It doesn’t matter at all. I have Yahweh’s peace—and that makes me free.”
Abijah returned from the Temple immensely relieved. Her father was alive, and although he was a prisoner, his unwavering faith in Yahweh—his certainty that God was in control—had convinced her to trust Him, too. Zechariah had changed so much during the months since Molech’s sacrifice—and especially since he’d come to the palace to help Hezekiah. He was no longer the pitiful alcoholic she’d known growing up, but the man of God who had once counseled kings. She knew that those changes—and his newfound strength and courage—had come from God, and his faith fueled her own.
Once inside the palace, Abijah passed the hallway that led to Uriah’s quarters. She wished she could send a message to him, thanking him for sparing her father’s life. But Uriah would be angry with her for taking such a risk.
She hurried up the stairs to Hezekiah’s room, eager to explain to him that his grandfather still loved him, that he longed to come back but couldn’t. But when she got there, Hezekiah’s room was empty. Disappointed, she returned to the harem, certain that baby Gedaliah would be awake by now and crying to be fed. But when Abijah opened the door, the room was strangely quiet, the cradle empty.
“Where’s my baby?” she asked Deborah.
“They came and took him.”
A tremor of fear went down Abijah’s spine when she recalled Ahaz’s sacrifices to Molech. “Took him? Where? Why?”
“They moved him to the palace nursery, my lady.” Deborah seemed nervous for some reason, and Abijah followed her gaze; Ahaz’s chamberlain stood in the corner with his arms folded, waiting.
“Why are you here?” she asked him.
“His Majesty has summoned you to the throne room.” He gestured to the door and waited for her to lead the way.
Abijah’s heart began to race. Ahaz had never summoned her to the throne room before. “Perhaps . . . would he like to see his new son?” she asked.
“The king said nothing about his son. He sent for you.”
Lord, help me, she prayed, and she remembered her father’s words: “There is a reason for whatever happens, even if only Yahweh can see it. We must trust His sovereign will.” She drew a deep breath for courage and walked through the corridors to the throne room.
King Ahaz’s anger was apparent as soon as she entered, his expression one of slowly simmering rage. She bowed low on shaking knees, wondering what she had done to cause his displeasure and how long he had been waiting for her. When she rose again, she noticed that Uriah wasn’t in the room, and her heart seemed to stop beating. Had someone seen them together, kissing? A tall, lanky man in Egyptian robes stood below the throne, but Abijah was certain that he wasn’t one of the palace servants. Could he have seen her with Uriah? She whispered another prayer, then said, “You sent for me, Your Majesty?”
“Where have you been? I sent my servant to the harem for you an hour ago, and you weren’t there.”
“I’m sorry, my lord. I went up to Yahweh’s Temple to offer the sacrifice of purification that’s required by the Torah. It has been forty days since the birth of our son.”
“Without my permission?”
The question stunned her. “Yes . . . I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know that I needed your permission to fulfill one of Yahweh’s commandments.”
“I’m the one who decides which gods my family will worship and when they will worship them. You will consult me, not some outdated rulebook, when you want to know if it’s time to give an offering.”
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”
“But that’s not why I called you here.” Once again, Abijah was afraid that he had found out about her visit to Uriah’s chambers. She risked glancing up at Ahaz and noticed how strange his eyes looked. They had a frenzied, manic appearance that she had never seen in them before, and his pupils looked abnormally large. This was not the man she had married.
“By whose authority did you invite your father into my palace to brainwash my son with myths and lies?” Ahaz shouted.
For a long moment, Abijah was speechless. This wasn’t about Uriah at all—it was much, much worse. It involved Hezekiah. And her father. And Yahweh. Abijah silently asked God for help and heard the words that came out of her mouth as if someone else spoke them.
“I-I wanted Hezekiah to learn some of our nation’s history and traditions. I thought he should hear the stories of Yahweh that I grew up with. He’s my son—”
“No! You gave birth to him and to this new child—that’s all! You have no other part to play in any of my sons’ lives. How dare you try to influence what he learns?”
“But Yahweh is—”
“You’ll never see any of my sons again—ever!”
It was Ahaz’s most vicious blow, more painful than any beating—and one she hadn’t bargained for. Tears filled her eyes when she remembered the baby’s empty cradle, and she longed to cling to Ahaz’s feet and plead with him not to take her children away from her, to at least let her hold them one last time and kiss them good-bye. But she knew what Ahaz’s answer would be.
“And now you will tell Shebna, my son’s tutor, exactly which lies your father taught him.”
For a reason she couldn’t explain, Abijah felt no fear. She had already lost her sons, and she had nothing else to lose except her life. Without her children, Abijah’s life with Ahaz wasn’t worth living.
“My father didn’t teach Hezekiah lies,” she said calmly, wiping her tears. “He taught him about Yahweh, the God of our ancestors, and how He delivered our people from slavery in Egypt. He taught Hezekiah the truth—that there are no other gods but Yahweh, the God of Abraham and Isaac, the God of our fathers—”
“Your father is dead,” Ahaz said coldly. “I ordered Uriah to execute him for treason.” He studied her closely, as if hoping to enjoy her reaction. Abijah prayed that he would never find out that Zechariah was still alive.
“He and Isaiah were plotting against me,” Ahaz continued when she didn’t respond. “And I think you’re part of it. I think that’s why you’ve played the dutiful wife these past few months. It’s why you’ve been running up to the Temple every day. And it’s why you brought your father into my palace.”
“No, Your Majesty. It isn’t true. I—”
“You and Zechariah have been conspiring to brainwash my heir. And once you control his mind, you’ll murder me while I sleep.”
“Please—there is no conspiracy,” Abijah said.
/> “You’re a liar!” Ahaz’s face grew red as his anger mounted. “Ever since I sent Yahweh’s gold to Assyria, his so-called spokesmen have been plotting to get rid of me. Your father and Isaiah invoke Yahweh’s name every time they threaten me. They disrupted my sacrifice in front of the entire nation, hoping to trigger a revolt. Isaiah has royal blood in his veins, and I know he wants my crown. If there’s no plot, how did he manage to disappear as soon as he heard that I was about to arrest him?”
Abijah scrambled to think of a reply, desperate to reason with him. “Your Majesty, Uriah is Yahweh’s high priest. He can explain to you why my father and Isaiah—”
“You leave Uriah out of this. He has already proven his loyalty to me by his obedience. He didn’t threaten me with Yahweh’s wrath when I ordered him to make sacrifices to Molech and Assur—Uriah obeyed me. But we’ll soon see whose side you’re on. You will bring an offering to Asherah’s sacred grove—right now. She’s the goddess of fertility, and you need to thank her for the gift of my new son. If you refuse, it will prove that you’re part of the conspiracy. You’ll be executed for treason like your father.”
Abijah could scarcely breathe. She didn’t want to die. Offering a sacrifice to Asherah would be a simple way to escape the death penalty. It was just a meaningless ritual. Abijah could appease Ahaz and perhaps win back his trust if she did it. Maybe he would relent and let her see her children again. But she also knew Yahweh’s commandments—thou shalt not make a graven image; thou shalt not worship or bow down to it. She might buy time here on earth if she pretended to worship Asherah, but she would face God’s judgment for all eternity.
“I can’t take part in idolatry,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I won’t worship any other God but Yahweh.”
Ahaz’s eyes turned as cold and gray as granite. “You’d rather die than obey me?”
Abijah had to choose between her life and her soul. She had nothing more to lose. Her father was imprisoned, and she would never see her children again. “I can’t disobey God,” she said in a trembling voice.