The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

  “Now, why do you suppose she wasn’t picked?” another one asked, and they all laughed.

  Hephzibah stood and hurried from the room, unwilling to let her enemies witness her grief. But more painful than their jeers, more painful than the knowledge that she was unloved, was the thought that her husband would soon hold the concubine in his arms instead of her. She might never be held or loved again. She ran down the hallway where the others wouldn’t hear, then leaned her forehead against the cold stone wall and sobbed.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Hephzibah whirled around, shocked at the sound of a man’s voice. Prince Gedaliah stood a few feet away from her. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Men were forbidden to enter the king’s harem. But he leaned casually against the wall beside her as if he were a regular visitor.

  “You’re my brother Hezekiah’s wife, aren’t you?” he asked.

  Hephzibah could barely answer. “Yes, my lord. I . . . I’m his wife.”

  She saw only a slight resemblance between Hezekiah and his younger brother. The prince was much shorter and had King Ahaz’s stocky build. She had watched him at the coronation banquet and he’d seemed spoiled and arrogant. The only similarities she saw were the brothers’ curly dark hair and wide brown eyes.

  “Well, you don’t seem very happy, my little sister. Don’t you like being married to the new king of Judah?” He moved closer to Hephzibah and his boldness unnerved her. She backed away.

  “I . . . I have to go.”

  “Wait—” Gedaliah grabbed her wrist, and the warmth of his hand seemed to burn her flesh. He wasn’t holding her tightly, but she felt powerless to move. He smiled, reminding her vaguely of Hezekiah. “Please don’t go, Hephzibah. I just want to talk.”

  “We can’t talk. You’re not even supposed to be here.”

  Gedaliah shrugged indifferently and rested his other hand against the wall beside her. She couldn’t escape. “You can’t leave until you tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing . . . I . . .”

  “Then why were you crying? Did my brother do something to hurt you?”

  “No. It was the others.”

  “Tell me.” Gedaliah brushed the tears from her cheeks, and his tender gesture magnified her loneliness.

  “The other women . . . they mock me because the king always chooses them . . . instead—”

  “What? Instead of you?” Gedaliah tightened his grip on her wrist. “But why? That makes no sense.”

  “I don’t know why. If only he would tell me how I’ve displeased him, I could try to change or—”

  “Don’t even talk like that. You can’t possibly be to blame. Listen, my brother has been making a lot of stupid decisions lately—believe me. But please don’t think it’s your fault, Hephzibah. I’m sure it isn’t.”

  He brushed away her fresh tears, but more fell in their place. “I think I know how you feel,” he said gently. For a moment Gedaliah’s arrogance vanished and Hephzibah glimpsed his uncertainty. Then his eyes narrowed with resentment. “When my father became king he appointed his younger brother as second-in-command. He made him an army general, too. By rights, I should take Uriah’s place as palace administrator—or at least be the army commander instead of Jonadab. But Hezekiah is ignoring me just like he’s ignoring you, and he’s choosing others instead. So you see? I do understand how you feel, Hephzibah.”

  Gedaliah stood just inches from her. Hephzibah imagined her husband holding the concubine in his arms and another tear rolled down her cheek.

  “We’re both just sitting around all day,” Gedaliah continued, “waiting . . . hoping. Maybe he’ll summon me today. Maybe tomorrow. But he never does.”

  Hephzibah nodded. The prince truly did understand how she felt, and she was moved with pity for his plight. As she looked into his eyes he loosened his grip on her wrist and gently twined his fingers in hers.

  “You’re so beautiful, Hephzibah,” he murmured. “So incredibly beautiful. My brother must be blind. I would never treat you this way. Never.”

  Hephzibah’s loneliness, her longing to be held and loved, seemed unbearable. Gedaliah opened his arms to her, offering comfort and solace, and before she realized what was happening, he had enfolded her in his embrace. His hands felt warm against her back. “It’s all right,” he murmured as she sobbed against his shoulder. “I understand. I understand.” She was only dimly aware that it wasn’t Hezekiah holding her, but his brother.

  “What’s going on? What are you doing in here?”

  The eunuch’s angry voice startled Hephzibah, and she quickly freed herself from Gedaliah’s arms. When she realized that she had allowed another man to hold her, she nearly collapsed in fear. She and the prince would both be stoned to death.

  But Gedaliah’s arrogance quickly returned, and he spun around to challenge the eunuch. “I demand to know who’s in charge of the king’s harem!”

  The eunuch seemed momentarily shaken by Gedaliah’s anger. “I . . . I am.”

  “Then I demand to know what you’ve done to make my brother’s wife so upset. I found her here, sobbing her heart out—and I want to know why!”

  The eunuch seemed unsure whether he should challenge Gedaliah or answer to him. “I don’t know why she’s upset,” he finally replied. “You’ll have to ask her.”

  The two men looked at Hephzibah. She was so frightened she could barely speak. “I . . . I’m all right now. . . . Really, I . . .” And not knowing what else to do, she turned and fled to her room. Even with her door closed she could hear the eunuch shouting and Gedaliah boldly defending her. She was horrified by what she had done.

  At last the shouting stopped. Hephzibah waited, terrified, wondering what would happen to her. Why had she done such a foolish thing? How had Gedaliah managed to entice her into his arms? She wanted to crawl away and hide.

  Suddenly the eunuch burst into her room. His round face was flushed with rage. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? I won’t have you making a fool of the king!”

  Hephzibah cringed, certain he would beat her. “We were only talking. . . .”

  “The devil you were!”

  “The prince is my brother-in-law and—”

  “Now you listen to me, and listen well!” The eunuch grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her. “You belong to the king of Judah. No other man is allowed to touch you, ever! Anyone who does is committing an act of treason, a direct challenge to the king’s sovereignty. Prince Gedaliah would like nothing better than to seize his brother’s throne, and he would use you to do it, too!” Hephzibah knew that what he said was true. She felt faint.

  “If you ever do anything that stupid again, I’ll have you executed!” He gave her another rough shake, then stormed from the room.

  Hephzibah stood rooted in place for a long time, her shoulders aching from the eunuch’s grip. At last she stumbled over to the tall windows that looked down on the palace courtyard and opened the wooden shutters. Cold, damp air streamed inside, and she hugged herself, rubbing her bruised arms. She remembered the feeling of Gedaliah’s strong arms around her, the comfort of his broad chest and masculine scent, the brush of his beard against her hair. Despair welled up inside her when she realized she might never be held in a man’s arms again. She sank down on the window seat and surrendered to her grief.

  After a while she became aware of voices and movement outside in the courtyard. She looked down and saw Hezekiah standing below her window, talking to an older man with a white beard. Their voices were too soft for her to hear their words, but she watched her husband as he talked, gesturing with his large, strong hands. She longed to call out to him, but her throat was choked with tears. Finally Hezekiah embraced the older man and disappeared alone into his chambers. He would find his concubine waiting.

  Hephzibah was barely twenty years old, and she knew she would be Hezekiah’s prisoner for the rest of her life. He didn’t want her, but no one else could have her, either. She would have to live here al
one until the day she died, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  Outside Hephzibah’s window, King Ahaz’s clock tower loomed in the courtyard. Most of her days would be spent watching the sun’s shadow inch slowly up the smooth stone stairs, then back down again. But today the skies were overcast. There would be no shadow. And Hephzibah would remain frozen in time like this—forever.

  Hezekiah returned from his morning prayers with Zechariah feeling more troubled than comforted. Thoughts of political intrigue and conspiracy filled his mind, and his mood matched the gray, dreary day outside. When he entered his chambers he was surprised to find a concubine waiting for him.

  “You look so cold, my lord,” she murmured as she hurried into his arms. “Why don’t you sit over here by the fire and let me warm you.”

  Hezekiah was still unaccustomed to such lavish attention, but he rather liked it. The concubine was one of his favorites—a lively, attractive girl—and she offered him a welcome diversion from his troubling thoughts. He allowed her to lead him closer to the hearth, enjoying the sweet fragrance of her perfume. “This is a nice surprise,” he said. “I don’t remember sending for you.”

  She cupped her hands around one of his, rubbing it gently to take off the chill. “The chamberlain thought you might like someone to help warm up your chambers.”

  “Did he, now?”

  “Yes . . . King Ahaz always did.”

  At the mention of Ahaz, any stirring of desire Hezekiah may have felt suddenly vanished. He clearly recalled the many concubines who had hovered around his father, and the memory disgusted him. The pursuit of pleasure had occupied most of Ahaz’s time while his nation had nearly collapsed in poverty and disarray. Hezekiah pulled away from her.

  “Did I say something wrong?” she asked in alarm.

  “Tell the chamberlain that I’m not like King Ahaz. You’re dismissed until I send for you.” He knew from her expression that he had hurt her feelings, but she bowed low and left his chambers without a word.

  As the door closed behind her, Hezekiah’s worries suddenly returned, and for a moment he regretted his hasty decision. But he had work to do, a conference with his advisors to prepare for. He rang for his servants.

  3

  King Hezekiah was seated alone in his throne room when the chamberlain ushered Isaiah inside. “I am honored to meet you, Your Majesty,” the prophet said as he walked forward and bowed to him.

  “We’ve met before, Rabbi—a long time ago, in the Valley of Hinnom.”

  “Yes, of course. I remember.”

  The throne room was gloomy with the windows shuttered against the rain, but even in the pale light of the lampstands Hezekiah could see that the prophet had aged in the years since he had last seen him. His light brown hair had turned gray at the temples, and flecks of silver sparkled in his reddish beard. Fine wrinkles creased the corners of his blue eyes, but they were still clear and penetrating. Isaiah wasn’t very tall and had only a slim build, but his presence seemed to fill the room.

  “Your Majesty, Micah has told me how you’ve decided to embrace God’s laws and renew our nation’s covenant with Yahweh,” he said. “For that, you’ve earned my deepest respect. But you’ve also made many enemies, and you’ll need to be a man of conviction and courage in the days ahead. I want you to know that my prayers are with you.”

  “Thank you, Rabbi. I’m very grateful for your prayers—but I’d like to ask something more of you. I’d like you to return to your rightful place among the nobility and help me govern our nation. You’re one of the few men I can trust, and I need your wisdom and advice.”

  Hezekiah didn’t get the immediate response he had expected. Instead, Isaiah stared thoughtfully at him for what seemed like several minutes. The prophet’s long silence puzzled Hezekiah. Any ordinary man would have leaped at the opportunity for power and position. But he was beginning to see that Isaiah was no ordinary man.

  “I need to appoint someone to replace Uriah as palace administrator,” Hezekiah said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “My grandfather suggested that I ask you.”

  Again the prophet seemed lost in thought. But finally Isaiah shook his head, giving Hezekiah his answer before he spoke. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I can’t accept your offer. I’m honored—more than I deserve to be—but I can’t accept it.”

  The refusal frustrated Hezekiah. For the second time today, one of the most qualified and trustworthy men in the nation had refused a position of power that was second only to his own. He couldn’t understand it.

  “May I ask why not, Rabbi?”

  Isaiah exhaled. “My reasons are rather difficult to explain. Earlier in my life I worked very hard to earn a position like the one you’ve just offered me. You might say it was my life’s ambition. Even now I have to admit that I’m tempted. . . .”

  “Then why not take it?”

  “Because I’ve accepted another commission, Your Majesty, and I’m not free to accept yours.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand. There is no other job in the nation that’s more important than palace administrator—except mine.”

  Isaiah smiled a brief, warm smile that faded in a flash. “It’s a long story. . . .”

  “I’d like to hear it. I’m curious to know what could tempt a man of your obvious intelligence to refuse the power I’m offering you.” Hezekiah settled back on his throne, waiting.

  Once again, Isaiah smiled briefly. “My story begins when I was a young man, a grandson of King Joash, rapidly rising in the court of my cousin King Uzziah. He was one of the greatest kings this nation had seen in years. I idolized Uzziah, and I worked hard to please him and to gain a position of power in his government. Then everything suddenly fell apart.”

  Isaiah paused, slowly shaking his head as he stared into space. “When God’s judgment fell on Uzziah, I was stunned. It was so unfair. I considered the punishment much too harsh for a man of his greatness and accomplishments, and I was angry with God for cursing him, for making him an outcast, a leper. God refused to show mercy, and when the king finally died, he left a void in my life that his son Jotham could never fill. Uzziah was a great man, an outstanding king, and his shameful death shook my life to its foundations.

  “Then, the same year that he died, I experienced an even greater shaking. I was worshiping at the Temple when the mountain of God suddenly began to quake beneath me. The earthquake was so violent that I was hurled to the ground.”

  Isaiah closed his eyes for a long moment. When he spoke again his voice was reverent, as if he was reciting words that were very sacred to him. “I saw the Lord—the Holy One of Israel. And in God’s presence, all the earthly power and glory of King Uzziah blew away like . . . like dust and ashes. All my life I’d worshiped a mortal king. Now I saw the Eternal One, the King of Kings.

  “He was seated on a lofty throne, high and exalted, and the train of His robe filled the entire Temple. Hovering about Him were mighty seraphim, each with six wings. With two of their wings they covered their faces, with two others they covered their feet, and with two they flew. In a mighty, echoing chorus they sang, ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty! The whole earth is filled with His glory!’”

  Isaiah pronounced each word with such reverence and wonder that the room seemed to resonate with the majesty of Yahweh’s holiness. Hezekiah held his breath, waiting for Isaiah to continue.

  “At the sound of the seraphim’s voices, the doorposts and the thresholds of the Temple shook to their foundations, and the entire sanctuary filled with smoke. I saw the Lord,” Isaiah repeated in awe, “and in the light of His presence I saw myself for the first time. I saw my sin and my unrighteousness, and I cried out, ‘Woe to me! I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the Lord Almighty!’”

  Isaiah lowered his head in shame as if seeing himself once again in the light of God’s holiness. Hezekiah waited, transfixed, until the prophet fina
lly looked up at him.

  “God’s judgment on King Uzziah wasn’t harsh,” Isaiah said. “If anything, it was merciful. Uzziah had dared to approach the holy God in His dwelling place, even though no mortal man, not even a king, is worthy to stand before the Lord Almighty. And now that I stood before God, I knew that I was condemned to die, too. But then one of the seraphim flew to me with a live coal, which he had taken from the altar with tongs. He touched my mouth with the coal, saying, ‘See—this coal has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away, and your sins are all forgiven.’”

  Isaiah paused again, as if overwhelmed by the memory. “I certainly didn’t deserve such forgiveness. I deserved God’s judgment just like Uzziah—not mercy and pardon for my sins. Above all else, God is holy and just. But I saw that for those who repent, He bestows grace and mercy beyond measure. Then I heard the Lord say, ‘Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?’ And I said, ‘Here am I. Send me!’

  “At that moment, God gave me back my life, King Hezekiah—just as He gave back yours in the Valley of Hinnom. And so I said, ‘Send me.’ Then Yahweh said, ‘Go and tell this people: “Be ever hearing, but never understanding; be ever seeing, but never perceiving.” Make the heart of this people calloused; make their ears dull and close their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts, and turn and be healed.’”

  Hezekiah already knew some of the abuse Isaiah had suffered in his work for God, including physical threats and exile by King Ahaz. Yet Isaiah was willing to continue his thankless job, even if it meant turning down political power. Hezekiah knew that men like Isaiah were exceedingly rare.

  “When will your work for Yahweh be finished?” he asked.

  Isaiah gave another fleeting smile and shook his head. “I asked, ‘For how long, O Lord?’ and He answered, ‘Until the cities lie ruined and without inhabitant, until the houses are left deserted and the fields ruined and ravaged, until the Lord has sent everyone far away and the land is utterly forsaken.’”