The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

  “No, sit down. Talk to me.”

  “All right.” He sat down hesitantly, as if poised to run for help. He looked distraught.

  “Where’s Shebna?”

  “He left to eat dinner. Would you like something to eat, Your Majesty?”

  Hezekiah couldn’t remember when he had eaten last, but he wasn’t hungry.

  “Just more water.” Eliakim gave him more.

  “We’ve been so worried, Your Majesty. I’m glad you’re awake. You seem a little better.”

  No, Hezekiah knew how weak he felt, how hard he had to struggle to hang on to consciousness. He had lost all track of time as day and night ran together in a haze of pain. Was it just a moment ago that Shebna had read to him?

  “How long have I been sick?”

  “Your fever started two days ago.”

  Two days had passed without his awareness. The thought terrified Hezekiah. This was a rehearsal for death, the end of conscious thought. He licked his lips again and tried to talk.

  “Once . . . when I was traveling through the Negev, I spent the night in a shepherd’s tent . . . a sturdy little thing . . . protecting me from rain and sun. But in the morning the shepherd yanked out all the stakes . . . one after the other . . . and just like that, all the life went out of it, and it collapsed in a heap. It wasn’t a tent anymore . . . only a pile of lifeless cloth. Then he folded it up and packed it away . . . and only a square of flattened grass could prove it had ever existed.” He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. “Is that all there is to life, Eliakim? When our lives suddenly end and we’re gone . . . is there nothing left to show that we ever lived?”

  “You’ve accomplished a great deal, Your Majesty. You’ve restored Judah’s covenant with Yahweh and brought great prosperity to our nation and—”

  “But what happens when we die?”

  “The Torah says we are gathered to be with our fathers and—”

  “No. Not with my father.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I . . . I meant father Abraham and Isaac and . . .” Eliakim fell silent.

  Hezekiah felt the fever burning all through his body. Sweat poured off him and made the bedcovers stick to his skin, but he was too weak to lift his hand to wipe the sweat out of his eyes, too weak to kick the stifling covers aside.

  “Do you want to know what it feels like to die, Eliakim? It’s as if a lion has me in her jaws. She has broken all my bones, and now she’s toying with me. I’m waiting for her to finish me off—but I don’t want to die. Not now. I’m in the prime of my life . . . and I don’t have a son to take my place . . . to finish all that I’ve started.”

  “You aren’t going to die,” Eliakim said fiercely.

  “I wish I could believe that. But every hour it feels as if I’m slipping closer and closer to Sheol’s gates, and there’s nothing to grab on to to stop my fall.”

  He remembered how his brother had fallen headlong into the flames. Eliab had tried to grab Molech’s shining arms to stop himself, but the metal had been too hot, too slippery, and he had fallen to his death.

  “You will beat this sickness, Your Majesty. Yahweh won’t let you die.”

  “Yahweh seems very far away, Eliakim. I’m watching the horizon, waiting for Him to come, longing to see Him, but my eyes are tired of looking for Him . . . and still He doesn’t come . . . doesn’t help me . . .”

  “God has never left your side, Your Majesty. He has always been right here with you. Sometimes when He seems the farthest away from us, He’s really the closest. He uses these breaking experiences to strengthen our faith, and the difficult times to draw us nearer to His side.”

  “‘I will never leave you nor forsake you. . . .’”

  “Yes, that’s right, Your Majesty.”

  “My grandfather showed me that verse the day he died,” Hezekiah mumbled. “But I don’t want to die.”

  Suddenly he went cold, as if someone had opened a window, bringing in a blast of wintry air. He began to shiver.

  “ . . . for you, Your Majesty?”

  He realized that Eliakim had asked him a question, but he didn’t know what it was. The delirium was trying to take control again, leaving him confused and disoriented.

  “What’s happening to my kingdom?” he asked. “Don’t I have work to do?”

  Eliakim’s answer was a jumble of random words, disconnected from each other.

  “Nation . . . officials . . . daily . . .”

  Hezekiah closed his eyes, feeling weary and cold. Eliakim piled more blankets on him, but they didn’t help. He needed to rest, to sleep, to escape from the pain, but he was afraid he would never wake up. He opened his eyes again, and a dark stranger stood over his bed. His beardless face was shiny, and he wore an unusual robe that wasn’t Judean.

  The angel of death.

  “Who are you?” he shivered.

  “This is your new physician,” Eliakim said. “He’s trained in the Egyptian healing arts. Shebna sent for him when the boil appeared.”

  The Egyptian lifted Hezekiah’s arm and pinned it tightly between his own arm and body. “I must drain some of your blood now, my lord. It is filled with poison.”

  The stranger’s mouth moved, but Shebna’s voice came out. Something sharp stabbed Hezekiah. The physician had slit his arm open, and blood pumped out of the wound. Hezekiah thought of the sacrifices at the Temple as he watched his own blood pouring into a basin. Would they sprinkle it around the altar? Would Yahweh accept this offering and heal him?

  “Don’t . . .” he moaned.

  Pagans performed these rituals. They shouldn’t do this to him. Blood was sacred. “Whoever sheds the blood of man . . . I will demand an accounting. . . .” Life was in the blood. They were draining his life away.

  “Stop . . .”

  No one listened to him.

  When he had filled the bowl, the Egyptian tied a tight bandage around Hezekiah’s arm. “Now I must drain the poison from the boil and change the dressing on your leg,” he said.

  “No! Don’t touch my leg!”

  Whenever they touched his leg it brought agony, then nothingness. He didn’t want to return to the darkness. He didn’t want to die. Hezekiah tried to move away from him.

  “Hold him still,” the Egyptian said.

  “No! I order you to keep him away from me!” He was the king. They had to obey him. But a moment later he felt strong hands gripping his shoulders and ankles. He struggled to break free, the same way he had struggled as a child to break free from the soldier’s grip. But he was helpless, just as he had been helpless back then.

  Hezekiah felt a stab of pain in his leg, the worst pain he had ever known. It shuddered through his entire body, and he cried out. Then darkness fell once again.

  Shebna was sitting alone in his room, his supper untouched in front of him, when Prince Gedaliah arrived. He hadn’t seen the prince in several years—since the night Gedaliah had planned to assassinate his brother—and he wished he didn’t have to see him now.

  “I received your urgent summons,” Gedaliah said. “What’s so important that I had to drop everything and run up here to Jerusalem?” The prince looked gritty and ill-tempered after his journey from Lachish. He stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips, glaring angrily.

  “Close the door, Gedaliah, and sit down.”

  “It must be awfully serious if I have to sit down.”

  Shebna watched him sink onto the pile of cushions and wished, as he had wished for days, that Hezekiah had an heir. Any son, no matter how young, would be preferable to this arrogant prince. Why had the king been so stubborn about taking another wife? It was obvious to everyone that Hephzibah was barren. Shebna cursed Yahweh’s laws for leading to this impossible situation.

  “Where are all your servants?” Gedaliah asked, looking around. “I could use a drink.”

  “I sent them away. I did not want anyone to hear our conversation.” Shebna got up and poured Gedaliah a drink, then set the flask of wi
ne on the table beside him. “Here. Drink all you want.”

  “Aren’t you having any?”

  “No.” He wanted to get this meeting over with. He had already delayed it as long as he dared. “I summoned you because your brother is gravely ill.”

  Gedaliah swirled the wine around in the goblet, studying it. “Oh? What’s the matter with him?”

  “I will be blunt. The king is dying.”

  Gedaliah sat up, suddenly showing interest. “Dying? Really?”

  Shebna watched several emotions play across Gedaliah’s face, but as they transformed from surprise to slow comprehension to delight, Shebna had to look away.

  “Well!” Gedaliah said after a long pause. “Well! I don’t know what to say. This is quite a surprise. My brother’s dying, is he? Why didn’t you send for me sooner? I could have used more time to—”

  “We did not believe he might die until a few days ago when the boil appeared. His condition has deteriorated very rapidly since then.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” But Gedaliah’s face betrayed him; he was overjoyed. Shebna lost control.

  “Curse you, Gedaliah! How dare you sit there and pretend you are sorry. You have waited all your life for this opportunity!”

  “All right, Shebna. You don’t have to shout at me. I’ll admit it. I’m delighted.” Gedaliah smiled, and Shebna fought the urge to slap his face. “But wouldn’t any man be pleased to hear that he’s about to become king?”

  “Perhaps some of your joy will be tempered when you see what an agonizing death your brother is suffering.”

  Gedaliah poured himself another drink. “Mind if I help myself?”

  “No. But try to refrain from celebrating for another day or two.”

  “Only a day? Is he that close?”

  Shebna’s fists tightened. “Yes.”

  “You still haven’t told me what’s wrong with him.”

  Shebna took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “There was a fire in the harem. The king was badly burned trying to put it out.”

  “Was anyone else hurt?”

  Shebna read Gedaliah’s thoughts. “No. Hephzibah was unharmed. You will be able to inherit your brother’s wife along with his throne.”

  Gedaliah broke into a broad grin, which he tried to disguise by lifting his glass and draining the remainder of his wine.

  “This is good stuff, Shebna. Are you sure you won’t have some?”

  “I must also tell you that King Hezekiah has not named a successor.”

  “Which means . . . ?”

  “It means that any of Ahaz’s sons has a right to claim the throne.”

  Gedaliah sat up straight, his brow creased in a frown.

  “Have you notified my brothers that Hezekiah is dying?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well done, Shebna, my faithful steward!” Gedaliah relaxed against the cushions again. “Does this mean you’re supporting my claim to the throne?”

  “I want to make sure there is a smooth transition of power—for the good of the nation.”

  Gedaliah laughed out loud. “What a cunning mongrel you are, Shebna. You want to make sure you hang on to your precious job—am I right?”

  Shebna didn’t answer. He didn’t dare open his mouth for fear of what he might say.

  “All right, all right, we can work something out,” Gedaliah said, laughing. “I suppose I owe you that much for not gathering all the grieving heirs to the dying king’s bedside. Let’s talk about what else needs to be done—to ensure a smooth transition of power, as you put it.”

  Shebna sighed deeply. “What do you want to know?”

  “To begin with, who are my enemies? And sit down, will you? You get on my nerves pacing back and forth like a caged lion.”

  It was exactly how Shebna felt. Trapped. “No, thank you. I prefer to stand.”

  “Start with the Royal Council. Do I have any enemies there?”

  “The only enemy you need to worry about on the council is Eliakim ben Hilkiah. He is intelligent, resourceful—”

  “And as cunning as you are?”

  “Perhaps. If anyone could successfully rally support behind another heir, it would be Eliakim.” It galled Shebna to admit the truth.

  “He’s a threat to me, then?”

  “Yes. He has very close ties to the priests and prophets.”

  “What do you suggest I do about him?”

  “Nothing, for the moment. I have buried him under a mountain of worthless paper work. He believes he is faithfully running the nation during the king’s illness, and I have given him little time to think of starting a rebellion. I assigned someone to watch him in case he tries to contact one of your brothers, but so far he has not even accepted the fact that the king is dying. With luck, he will not realize what is happening until it is too late.”

  “Clever, Shebna. Very clever.”

  “Your other major concern is the military.”

  “General Jonadab?”

  “Yes. He is fiercely loyal to King Hezekiah. I also believe he would sooner take orders from Eliakim than from you or me.”

  “Do you think Jonadab will cause trouble?”

  “Possibly. That is why I sent him to Beersheba this morning, along with a large contingent of the king’s army. For the sake of security, I chose a few ambitious young army officers to remain behind, men who are looking to advance themselves.”

  “You sly fox,” Gedaliah laughed. “You realize, of course, that I am deeply in your debt. You’ve handed me the crown on a silver platter! Come on, Shebna. This calls for a toast.”

  Gedaliah poured himself another drink and raised his glass. Shebna didn’t move. “You will have to excuse me, but I am in mourning. My king—my friend—is about to die.”

  “Have it your way, then.” Gedaliah raised the glass to his lips and sipped noisily. “Naturally, you’ll want to plan a lavish and fitting funeral for my dear brother. He was a pretty good king, all things considered, and very popular with the people. I think he should be buried in the tombs of David’s descendants. Let’s lay him to rest with great honor, Shebna. Too bad he never had a son.” He drained his glass. “We should also begin preparations for my coronation, don’t you think?”

  “You would be wise to stay out of the public eye until after the funeral.”

  “Is there a sympathetic priest we could persuade to perform my coronation at the Temple, or do they all hate me?”

  “I will have to give it some thought.”

  “Let’s see—who else do I need to worry about? City elders? Court judges? Any troublemakers among the nobility?”

  “None of them know how seriously ill the king is. He was running the kingdom from his bed until a few days ago.”

  “Good, good. I’m glad you kept things quiet. By the time everyone recovers from this shock, I’ll be king.”

  “Yes. You will be king. It is what you have always wanted.”

  Gedaliah refilled his glass and raised it high, once again. “Long live King Gedaliah!” He laughed before draining it.

  Shebna turned away, his eyes burning. Finally Gedaliah hauled himself to his feet. He was in high spirits from the news of his good fortune and from the wine. He was beginning to slur his words. “Well, if that’s everything, why don’t we go pay our last respects to my brother?”

  Shebna couldn’t look at him. “I am sorry, but I cannot go.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I cannot bear to watch him dying inch by inch.”

  Gedaliah shrugged. “All right, Shebna. After everything you’ve done for me, I guess the least I can do is excuse you.” He moved toward the door. “Is Hezekiah in his bedroom?”

  “Yes, but for the sake of mercy, do not visit your brother unless you are prepared to show him some compassion.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It is immoral to gloat in the face of a dying man.”

  “What would you know about morality, Shebna?” Gedaliah let
the door slam on his way out.

  Shebna felt filthy after his conversation with the prince, and he had the urge to wash his hands. Gedaliah was right; if he had any moral integrity at all, he would resign rather than help the prince destroy everything that King Hezekiah had accomplished. But in Gedaliah’s eyes, only traitors resigned—and Shebna valued survival more than integrity. It was too late. He had already cast his lot with the prince.

  Shebna turned to stare out of the window, wishing the fire in the harem had never happened. As he gazed into the darkness, bitter tears rolled silently down his cheeks.

  6

  Eliakim sat in his palace office and read through one of the petitions stacked on the huge pile in front of him. The request contradicted the Law and would have to be denied. But then he saw Shebna’s note approving it, and Eliakim’s anger flared. What was Shebna trying to get away with? He knew this decision couldn’t stand.

  Arguments with the haughty Egyptian had become daily events since Hezekiah’s illness, and as much as Eliakim dreaded another one, it couldn’t be avoided. He headed down the palace hallway to find Shebna.

  After a long search, Eliakim found him in the royal archives, deep in conversation with someone who stood in the shadows. Shebna stopped midsentence as soon as he spotted Eliakim.

  “Now what do you want?”

  Eliakim waved the parchment. “We need to discuss this petition. Your decision contradicts the Law.”

  The other man stepped forward. Eliakim’s stomach rolled over in revulsion when he recognized Prince Gedaliah.

  “Well, if it isn’t the busybody engineer,” Gedaliah said. “King Hezekiah’s faithful messenger boy. I’ve heard that you’re a big man now—secretary of state!”

  Eliakim ignored him and held the petition out to Shebna. “Do you have a minute to discuss this in private, or should I come back later?”

  “There is nothing to discuss,” Shebna said. “It is a simple decision. The man owes a debt, and he will have to pay it.”

  “Yes, but you can’t take away his land without leaving him the right of redemption. According to the Torah—”

  “Here we go again,” Shebna sighed. He and Gedaliah exchanged glances.