The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

  “Besides, our population is ten times the size of Jebusite Jerusalem,” Eliakim said. “Without the spring or the lower pool, we’d never be able to draw enough water for the entire city from one narrow shaft.”

  “Maybe we could widen the shaft,” Shebna said.

  Eliakim thought a moment. “I suppose that’s possible, but I’d estimate that the city is more than a hundred cubits above the spring. That’s a long way to haul water every day.”

  “We would only need to use it in times of siege,” Shebna argued.

  Jonadab shook his head. “No, I don’t like it. As long as the spring and the lower pool remain exposed, the enemy could find the shaft. And if we made it wider, we’d make it easier to crawl through, too.”

  “Let’s consider this,” Hezekiah said. “If the Jebusites could tunnel through solid rock, why couldn’t we? We certainly have better tools than they did three or four hundred years ago. Let’s forget the shaft and lengthen the existing tunnel. We could channel the water underground to a new pool inside the walls.”

  Eliakim grinned. “Then we could get rid of the aqueduct and hide the spring underground! They’d never know it was here!”

  Jonadab mopped his forehead with his sleeve. “I’d like to see how long the Assyrians could last out here if they were the ones without water.”

  Hezekiah turned to Eliakim. “Do you think we could do it?”

  “I can think of a few problems,” Eliakim answered. His high forehead furrowed in thought. “But I won’t say it’s impossible. I’d like to come back with more torches and look it over carefully. Then I can give you a better answer.”

  “If it is possible,” Jonadab said, “then I’d say the king’s idea of an underground watercourse is brilliant!”

  As they walked up the hill, Hezekiah felt more encouraged than he had in months, and he was eager to begin work immediately. The men gathered in the council chamber with Eliakim’s blueprint of the city spread in front of them.

  “I’m impressed by the Jebusites’ tenacity,” Eliakim said. “It must have been difficult to carve through solid rock with primitive tools.”

  Hezekiah agreed. “I understand that the Phoenicians are experienced in mining operations like this. I’ll send our trade minister to Tyre to negotiate for the tools we’ll need.”

  Shebna seemed unusually quiet and moody.

  “What are you thinking?” Hezekiah asked him.

  “I think your tunnel is an excellent idea, Your Majesty, but I do not believe we will have enough time to dig it. We should concentrate our efforts on reopening the shaft first. That would provide a backup system.”

  “But why waste time on a temporary solution?” Eliakim said. “It would take a major operation to unblock the vertical shaft, because there’s no trace of the other end up here in the city. And if we dig from the bottom up, all that rubble is going to come down onto our heads.”

  “Eliakim’s right,” Hezekiah said. “If we’re going to spend time and money digging, then I’d like to dig a new tunnel that would channel the water over here.” He pointed on the map to a place inside the southern wall of the city. “Could it be done?”

  Eliakim studied the drawing. “Well, I see at least three obstacles, Your Majesty. First, it’s a long way to dig—I’d say almost a third of a mile, maybe longer. Tunneling would be slow, and we’d have to transport the rubble a long way to the surface.”

  “What would we do with all the rubble?” Shebna asked. “If it is a secret project, piles of rock in the valley would certainly give it away.”

  “Second, it would be difficult to get fresh air into such a long tunnel,” Eliakim continued. “And our torches would eat up more air. If we bored air shafts from the surface, it would add years to the project.”

  Hezekiah frowned. “We can’t afford that kind of time.”

  “The Jebusite shaft has already been dug,” Shebna insisted. “We should dig more cisterns and use the shaft when the cisterns run dry.”

  “And what if the enemy finds it?” Jonadab asked.

  Shebna gave him a scathing look. “Only one soldier could climb up at a time, General. Surely your men could fend them off! Besides, they could find a tunnel just as easily.”

  “No, if we had a tunnel,” Eliakim said, “we would bury the spring beneath the surface of the ground.”

  Shebna’s voice slowly rose in volume. “So then why not bury the spring and use the shaft? It is already dug for you.”

  Eliakim’s voice rose to match his. “Because the spring is a natural fountain. It surges intermittently, and the runoff has to be channeled somewhere. That’s what the aqueduct and lower pool are for. If we dug a tunnel, we would make a pool inside the walls to hold the runoff.”

  Hezekiah grew impatient. “We could probably find a solution if you two would quit bickering. You said there were three obstacles, Eliakim. What’s the third?”

  “If you look at the underground route, the shortest, most direct path would take us right through here—”

  “I see,” Hezekiah sighed. “The tombs of King David and Solomon are in the way.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Even so, I refuse to give up the idea,” Hezekiah insisted. “A water supply is crucial in siege warfare, and I know we have the skills to do the physical labor and planning. After all, the Jebusites did it. Keep working on it, Eliakim. Hire any extra help you need. But whatever we decide, let’s keep one thing in mind: the Assyrians are camped less than fifty miles away. We may not have much time to find a solution.”

  29

  Eliakim hated for the evening meal to end. Jerusha and Maacah added so much to the domestic life he’d long shared with his father that it seemed as though they had always been part of his family. But when the girls rose to help the servants clear the table and oversee the work in the kitchen, Eliakim reluctantly started to his feet to return to his workroom.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” his father said, pulling him back. “You’re not leaving this table until you give me your answer.”

  “What was the question?”

  “Eliakim, do you listen to anything I say, or do my words simply bounce off your ears?”

  “I’m sorry, Abba. I have a lot on my mind. Ask me again.”

  “All right,” he said with exaggerated patience. “As I told you at breakfast, I have two eager fathers who are waiting for your answer. Are you going to marry their daughters or not?”

  “Both of them? I have to marry two wives now?” Eliakim asked with a grin.

  Hilkiah did not look amused. “Eliakim, they are from good families. Doesn’t either of them appeal to you?”

  “What’s the big hurry? Why the rush to marry me off?” As usual, the subject irritated him.

  “So you don’t want to get married at all?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just wondered what the big hurry was. Am I the last eligible bachelor in Jerusalem?”

  “You want me to turn them both down?”

  “Would you? And no more proposals for a while, Abba. I need a break from all this nonsense.”

  “If that’s what you want. . . .” Hilkiah sighed and leaned back against the cushions. Eliakim glanced at his father to see if he was angry, but to his surprise Hilkiah was grinning.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing! This matchmaking is serious business!” But Hilkiah’s eyes twinkled merrily as he began a long, rambling speech about the intricacies of the process and all the hardships Eliakim was putting him through.

  Eliakim stopped listening, thinking instead about King Hezekiah’s water system. He was anxious to go back to his room and work on it, aware that he had to come up with a proposal soon or the king would choose Shebna’s plan to reopen the Jebusite shaft. Eliakim couldn’t allow that to happen. He had promised Jerusha that the Assyrians would never get into the city, and Shebna’s plan was too risky. Gradually Eliakim became aware that his father was still talking to him.

  “ . . . and it see
ms like they’ve always been part of our household, doesn’t it?”

  “Huh? What did you say, Abba?”

  “The girls, Jerusha and Maacah.” Hilkiah nodded toward the kitchen. Eliakim could hear their voices and laughter as they supervised the servants.

  “Uh, yes, Abba—I can’t remember what it was like without them.”

  “Yes, and it’ll certainly be quiet again after they’re gone.” Hilkiah sighed and sadly shook his head.

  Eliakim suddenly woke up. “Gone? Where are they going? Not back to Israel?”

  “Don’t be absurd. I mean when they get married and move into homes of their own.”

  “What are you talking about?” Eliakim felt a surge of panic that he couldn’t explain.

  “Well, I’m their adoptive father, so it’s my duty to see that they find husbands. And what wonderful wives they’ll make, eh? They’re such beautiful girls, aren’t they? Especially now that we’ve put some meat on their bones.”

  “Yes, lovely. But what’s the hurry, Abba? I think you’re getting a little carried away with all this matchmaking business. Have they told you that they want to get married?”

  “Well, no, but they’re of age, and is there a healthy young woman who doesn’t want to get married and have a family? Just because you want to stay single doesn’t mean everyone else does.”

  Eliakim tugged on his beard, his concern about this conversation rapidly mounting. “I suppose that’s true—”

  “So I’ve begun to inquire around about husbands and—”

  “You’ve what?”

  “—and if I provide a nice dowry, it should be very easy to find suitable husbands for both of them.”

  “Abba, why are you rushing into this? The girls seem happy here.”

  “Yes, they do. And Jerusha has taken quite an interest in your building projects, hasn’t she?”

  “She understands everything, Abba. She’s very bright and so easy to talk to, not silly and shallow like most other women—” Hilkiah’s laughter interrupted him. “What’s so funny? What did I say?”

  Hilkiah wiped his eyes, then spread his arms wide as he looked toward heaven. “God of Abraham? How is it possible that my son, the brilliant engineer, is so stupid?”

  “Stupid? Are you laughing at me because I think Jerusha is intelligent? How do you think she survived? Have you ever talked to her? I’ve spent a great deal of time with her these past few months, and I’m telling you she’s a beautiful, bright, wonderful woman who—”

  Eliakim stopped short. Hilkiah had dissolved into laughter again, holding his stomach and shaking his head.

  “Abba, why are you laughing at Jerusha this way?”

  “I’m not laughing at Jerusha—I’m laughing at you!”

  “At me? Why?”

  “Because you’re in love with her, and you’re too thickheaded to realize it!”

  Eliakim was speechless. He had never considered the possibility before. Was that why panic had seized him when his father spoke of her leaving? He tried to imagine the long evenings without Jerusha to talk to, and when he thought of her marrying another man, his heart leaped with fear. He stared at his father in amazement.

  “Am I?”

  “Yes, you crazy fool! Why else would you refuse at least two dozen excellent marriage proposals?”

  Eliakim couldn’t imagine marrying any other woman. None of them could compare to Jerusha. “I-I don’t know what to say. Maybe you’re right, Abba.”

  “Ah! At last!” Hilkiah leaned across the table toward him. “Now, what should my brilliant son the engineer do about it, eh?”

  “Should I ask her to marry me?”

  “Well, you’d save me the cost of a dowry if you did!”

  Eliakim eyed his father suspiciously. “Have you really made inquiries about finding Jerusha a husband, or was that part of your little plot to trap me?”

  Hilkiah rose from his seat and patted Eliakim’s shoulder. “As the proverb says, ‘A wise son brings joy to his father.’” He whistled as he disappeared through the door.

  Eliakim sat alone at the table for several minutes, thinking about what Hilkiah had said. The entire conversation seemed absurd. He had work to finish. But when Eliakim returned to his room, he found it impossible to concentrate as his mind wandered back to Jerusha. He picked up a clay tablet and dipped his finger into the bowl of water to wipe it clean, but his hand shook, and drops of water splattered all over his parchment scrolls. He chided himself for acting so foolishly and dried his sweating palms on the front of his tunic. He was a grown man, not a lovesick youth. He had never acted this way before. But he had never before met a woman as captivating as Jerusha. He picked up the tablet again. What if his father was right? What if Jerusha decided to marry someone else? Jerusha, in another man’s arms? Unthinkable!

  He recalled her sweet scent, the sound of her voice, the strange thrill he felt when he worked beside her. He remembered the foolish, giddy feeling he’d had when her hand brushed against his, and the nearly uncontrollable urge he’d had to kiss the lovely hollow of her throat. He felt a constant longing to be near her, and when he realized that she was probably sitting out in the garden right now, his heart began to race. His father was right. He was in love with her. And suddenly it mattered very much to Eliakim to know if she loved him, too.

  He sprang to his feet and looked at himself in the mirror. She could never love him. He was too thin, his forehead too high, his hair never stayed in place. And Jerusha was so beautiful. He tried to smooth down his tousled hair, but it stayed hopelessly rumpled. Eliakim did his best to make himself presentable, raking his fingers through his beard and straightening his robes, then made his way breathlessly to the garden, hoping Jerusha was alone. He found her sitting on the stone bench, gazing up at the first few stars that twinkled in the sky.

  “Jerusha . . . may I join you?” His voice felt out of control.

  “Of course.”

  She moved over and Eliakim sat beside her, convinced that his nervousness was obvious. He was afraid to look at her, afraid his heart would burst if her beautiful green eyes met his gaze. He cleared a lump from his throat.

  “You look so serious tonight,” he said. “What are you thinking about?”

  She brushed her hair from her eyes. “I was listening to your father’s laughter and thinking about my own father. I really miss him.”

  Eliakim played with the hem of his tunic. “Your father was a good man, Jerusha, and a good friend. I miss him, too. He once told me that . . . that he wished I were his son.”

  They sat in silence, and Eliakim was distressed to find himself speechless. He wanted to tell Jerusha in a beautiful, memorable way exactly how he felt about her, but his mind spun.

  “Jerusha—” he began and cleared his throat again. “I’ve decided whom I want to marry.”

  She turned to face him, surprised. “You have?”

  “Yes. I wish I were more eloquent, but I’m not, so I’ll just say it. I . . . I love you. I want to marry you.” He reached to take her hand.

  “Eliakim, no!” She leaped from the bench, jerking her hand away as if his touch had scalded her. She backed away from him, then covered her mouth and wept.

  Eliakim stared down at his empty hands, stunned. He felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

  “Oh, Eliakim, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, “but I can’t marry you. I can never marry anyone.”

  Eliakim saw the anguish in her beautiful face, and he longed to hold her and comfort her. “But . . . but why not?”

  She struggled to force out the words as if pulling arrows from her flesh. “Because I’m not a suitable wife for you. I . . . I’ve been with many men.”

  Eliakim swallowed a lump of grief that had risen in his throat to choke him. “Did the Assyrians rape you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jerusha, no one can blame you for that. . . .” he began, but it was as if she didn’t hear him. With tears streaming endlessly down her face, Jerus
ha told him the truth.

  “It was more than rape, Eliakim. That was only the beginning. I wasn’t their cook; I was their mistress. I had a child. I don’t even know . . . which one . . . was her father.”

  “Oh, God of Abraham,” Eliakim groaned, and a fist rammed into his stomach again at her words.

  “She was such a beautiful baby, so tiny and perfect . . . with huge, dark eyes like they have, and soft, curly hair, so shiny and black . . .”

  “Jerusha . . .” he whispered. He wanted her to stop. He could see that the memory caused her pain, and he felt her suffering as if it were his own.

  “But they took my baby away from me the day after she was born, and . . . and I never saw her again. They have rituals, for their gods. They take newborn babies and—”

  “Jerusha, don’t!” he said harshly, then his voice softened. “Please.”

  “I’ve never told anyone about her before, not even Maacah.”

  He wanted to hold her in his arms as he had that first day, but the memory of how she had recoiled from his touch was still sharp and painful. “Jerusha, it doesn’t matter to me. You were raped—you had no choice.”

  “No, Eliakim. That isn’t true. You don’t know what I really am. You don’t know what they’ve done to me.”

  “It doesn’t matter. . . .” Eliakim loved her, and he couldn’t bear to hear what the Assyrians had done to her. But Jerusha told him anyway, and her words tore through his heart like hot irons.

  “I let them make me into a harlot. I became a prostitute. I let them all do whatever they wanted to me, because I was a coward. That’s why I lived when my cousins and all the others died.”

  Eliakim covered his face. “Oh, God, no . . . no . . .”

  “I didn’t want to die, so I let them own me and use me like an object for their own pleasure. But I did die, Eliakim. I died inside.”

  “Please, Jerusha—stop!” He didn’t want to believe what she was telling him.

  “You couldn’t possibly want me for your wife and the mother of your children. You don’t know how filthy I feel inside. And I can never be pure and clean again. I would pollute you. You deserve someone better than me. I’m filth—I’m garbage.”