The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

  “They’re leaving!” he said in astonishment. “The Assyrians are leaving!”

  “Yes, it looks that way, Your Majesty.”

  “Praise God!” He slumped against the wall again. “Any idea why?” The general’s face looked somber in spite of the good news, and Hezekiah felt a prickle of fear. “Tell me what happened.”

  “The signal fire from Lachish never came last night. We think the city has fallen.”

  “Oh no. My brother?”

  “We haven’t heard from him. I’m sorry.”

  Hezekiah moaned. For the past five days he had received urgent messages from Gedaliah telling him that Lachish was under heavy enemy assault again. The Assyrian emperor had lied; he had pocketed the enormous bribe Hezekiah had paid, then renewed the attack on Lachish as well as besieging Jerusalem. But locked behind his own barred gates, Hezekiah had been powerless to help Gedaliah.

  “Lachish is lost.” He repeated the words, trying to comprehend the defeat of one of his strongest cities and his brother’s certain death, trying to understand why Gedaliah and the elders of Lachish had worshiped a pagan sun god, long after the other cities of Judah had returned to Yahweh.

  “But it still doesn’t make sense,” General Benjamin said suddenly. “Why would the Rabshekah and all these troops leave? Why wouldn’t Emperor Sennacherib’s forces join him here? Unless—”

  “Yes! Unless Pharaoh’s armies are finally coming!”

  “Could it be a trick to get us to open the gates?”

  Hezekiah stared into the misty valley, shivering in the wind and the light rain that had begun to fall. He watched the Assyrians withdraw with orderly precision. “I don’t think it’s a trick. It must be the Egyptians. And now that they’ve finally come, we need to pray that they drive the Assyrians all the way back to Nineveh. Come on.”

  As Hezekiah stood on the dais at the Temple a short time later, the morning seemed too gray and dismal to be a day of celebration and deliverance. The men crowding into the courtyard were subdued, as if afraid to believe that the siege was suddenly ending after only five days. Hezekiah found it difficult to comprehend, as well. Part of him wanted to leap and shout for joy, but he was still numb and exhausted, still too uncertain about the future and what the Assyrian withdrawal really meant.

  As the priest prepared to slay the morning sacrifice, King Hezekiah stepped forward. He had arranged to read the liturgy to the people himself.

  If the Lord had not been on our side

  when men attacked us,

  when their anger flared against us,

  they would have swallowed us alive;

  the flood would have engulfed us,

  the torrent would have swept over us,

  the raging waters would have swept us away.

  Praise be to the Lord,

  who has not let us be torn by their teeth.

  We have escaped like a bird

  out of the fowler’s snare;

  The snare has been broken,

  and we have escaped.

  Our help is in the name of the Lord,

  the Maker of heaven and earth.

  By the time the service came to an end, the sun had started breaking through the clouds at last. The people were beginning to comprehend the significance of their deliverance, and Hezekiah was certain that even the departing Assyrians could hear the Judeans’ final shout of praise. He remained on the platform for several minutes, silently thanking God. Then, as he started down the walkway to the palace, he spotted Isaiah waiting for him.

  “Praise God, Rabbi! They’re gone, just as Yahweh promised!”

  “Yes. And now that it’s over, Your Majesty, I have a humble request to ask of you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Would you honor me by joining my wife and me for the Passover feast?”

  Hezekiah was dumbstruck. “Passover?”

  “Yes. The eve of Passover is three days away.”

  “With everything that’s happened, I’d completely forgotten.”

  “Then would you do me this great honor?”

  The rabbi’s request was completely unprecedented. Even though Isaiah descended from royalty, it was no small matter to invite the king to your home. Dining at the king’s table was a great honor, and for a moment Hezekiah considered reversing Isaiah’s offer and inviting him to the palace. But Hezekiah had made no plans for the feast. It would be the first time he would celebrate Passover without Hephzibah. He couldn’t bear to face his memories or his loneliness.

  “Yes, Rabbi. I would be honored to share the feast with you.” He glanced at Shebna waiting for him at the end of the walkway and was grateful that he was no longer palace administrator. Shebna never would have approved of such an unorthodox invitation.

  Eliakim waded through the crowd of worshipers with his father as they filed from the Temple. “I heard God promise that it would happen, Abba. With my own eyes I saw the Assyrians leave. But I still can’t believe that it’s true.”

  “Yes, praise God,” Hilkiah murmured. “Praise God.”

  Eliakim wished he could run. “I can’t wait to tell Jerusha! She’ll be so relieved. Maybe everything can get back to normal.”

  “How is the baby this morning, son?”

  Suddenly Eliakim’s joy vanished. “He’s the same. Not good. All night long I could hear him struggling to breathe. He’s so weak he can barely eat. He tries to suck, then just gives up.”

  “God of Abraham, heal him,” Hilkiah whispered.

  “At least now . . . at least with the Assyrians gone . . . I mean, if he dies now . . .”

  “You’re not expecting him to die!”

  “I honestly don’t know how he’s lived this long, Abba. But I was so afraid that he would die while the Assyrians were still here, and Jerusha would think they’d killed him, and . . . and I don’t want to lose her, too, Abba. Losing the baby will be bad enough.”

  “Why do you even talk about losing him? Pray that he’ll live!”

  Eliakim sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “He’s so tiny—and so sick. Do you know he has never even cried? He doesn’t have enough strength. It takes all his strength just to draw a breath.”

  Hilkiah stopped walking and rested his hand on Eliakim’s arm. “Do you believe God can heal him, son?”

  “I-I want to believe it, but—”

  “But you still remember when your mother died.”

  “I don’t understand why God sometimes answers prayers and other times He doesn’t. I do believe in miracles, Abba. I’ve seen too many of them not to believe—Jerusha’s escape, the tunnel, King Hezekiah’s recovery, and how could anyone doubt God when he looks over that wall and sees the Assyrians retreating? God of Abraham, what a miracle!”

  “But your son?”

  “I’m afraid to ask. I’m so afraid that if God says no again . . .”

  “I understand. When your mother died it rocked my faith like a shepherd’s hut in a windstorm.”

  Eliakim stared at him. He had thought his father’s faith was unshakable, and his confession surprised him.

  “It’s true, son. But my faith survived the trial, and yours will, too. Don’t be afraid to ask for a miracle. But at the same time, pray for the strength to accept God’s will.”

  Eliakim draped his arm around his father’s shoulder as they started walking again. “I can’t wait to take Jerusha to the wall and show her that they’re really gone!”

  “Amen. Praise God.”

  When he reached home, Eliakim scooped his two older children up in his arms. “Let’s go upstairs and see your mama.”

  “And baby Joshua?”

  “Yes, the baby, too. But you have to be very quiet. They might be sleeping.” He crept up the stairs, wondering how he would explain things to little Jerimoth when his baby brother died.

  Jerusha lay against the pillow with her eyes closed. She held their tiny son nestled in her arms to keep him warm. Her eyes fluttered open as Eliakim and the children stopped be
side the bed.

  “Mama!” Jerimoth and Tirza both cried at the same time. They squirmed in Eliakim’s arms to get down, but he held them tightly.

  “Shhh,” he warned. “Don’t wake the baby.”

  “Can I see him, Mama?”

  Jerusha folded the covers back, and Eliakim watched his children’s faces as they studied their new baby brother in awe.

  “He’s really little, Abba!”

  “Well, he’s only five days old.”

  “Was I that little when I was born?”

  Eliakim bit his lip. “No, son. You were much bigger . . . and . . . and much stronger.”

  “Kiss baby?” Tirza, still a baby herself, stretched her arms out toward her tiny brother.

  “Wait until he grows a bit stronger, love.”

  “Abba, why does he make that funny noise?” Jerimoth asked.

  They could hear the faint grunting sound the baby made each time he struggled to exhale. How should Eliakim answer his curious five-year-old, whose questions always seemed to lead to more questions?

  “That’s just the way he breathes, son,” he replied, then hurried to change the subject. “Jerusha, did you hear them leaving this morning? They’re gone! All of them! The Assyrians are finally gone!”

  She didn’t smile. Her eyes filled with tears. “But will they come back again?”

  He couldn’t answer her question. He was afraid to make a promise he couldn’t keep. “Listen, if you feel strong enough this afternoon, I can take you to the wall. You can see for yourself. They’re really, truly gone!”

  “Hug, Mama! Kiss!” Tirza cried.

  Both children strained in Eliakim’s arms to go to Jerusha, but she hadn’t let the baby out of her arms since he’d been born. “How about it, Jerusha? I’ll trade you these two for the baby if you want.”

  He held his breath, waiting for her response. It would prove that she really believed the Assyrians couldn’t hurt her. It would tell him if Jerusha would finally be herself again. He set Jerimoth and Tirza down and held his hands out for the baby. Jerusha closed her eyes and gripped Joshua tightly for a moment. Then she kissed his forehead and handed him to Eliakim for the first time.

  The baby weighed nothing at all. Eliakim could hold him in the palms of his hands. The baby’s tiny nostrils flared with each breath he took as if that might help him draw in more air. He opened his eyes for a moment and gazed at Eliakim as if pleading with him, then wearily closed them again.

  As his two older children scrambled into their mother’s arms, Eliakim turned away to hide the tears that suddenly filled his eyes. He nestled Joshua against his chest and felt his little heart beating rapidly next to his—much too rapidly.

  God of Abraham, he prayed, please heal my little boy.

  “What went wrong?” Emperor Sennacherib demanded. “I gave you five days.”

  Iddina’s fury pressed against his skull, pounding inside his head, longing for release. “They wouldn’t surrender.”

  “Why not?”

  Iddina had asked himself the same question for the past five days, but he didn’t know the answer. He had asked it one last time as he’d stood on a rise overlooking Jerusalem, watching his army withdraw to rendezvous with the emperor’s troops in Libnah. The roof of the Temple on Jerusalem’s highest hill had shone golden as the sun had emerged from behind the clouds the Temple of Judah’s god, the imageless one. The frustration of failure shook through Iddina’s body until he wanted to kill someone. He had only failed once before in his life, when he had failed to recapture Jerusha. And Yahweh—her god—was the only one he had failed to conquer. Iddina vowed to return to Jerusalem. After Egypt, he would come back, and—

  “Iddina?” The emperor was waiting for an explanation.

  “King Hezekiah is relying on Egypt’s help,” Iddina said. “As soon as we defeat Pharaoh, he’ll be ready to surrender.”

  “Good. I hate loose ends.” He rose from his throne and beckoned for Iddina to follow him into the royal compound. He stopped again beside his tent. “Listen, you simply must do something about all these rats. My servants killed five of them in my tent last night. Five! Judah is crawling with them—first in Lachish and now here in Libnah. I’ve never seen anything like it, have you?”

  The unfamiliar tremor of fear rocked Iddina again. He fingered the front of his tunic until he found the lump his amulet made beneath it. But he decided not to remind the emperor of the story the Philistine priests had told them.

  “The Judeans are a filthy people, Your Majesty. The world will be better off rid of them for good.”

  “Right now I’m more concerned about these cursed rats.”

  Iddina shuddered involuntarily. “If I offer my men a small reward for each one they kill, we should be able to exterminate them quickly.”

  “Good. Do it. Spend as much gold as you need to, but get rid of them.”

  While his troops began their campaign against the rats, Iddina spent the day digging through the treasures King Hezekiah had sent as tribute, searching for some article of cultic significance that would give him power over Judah’s god and his army of rats. But after sifting through tons of silver and gold, Iddina found nothing with an image or even a symbol of the deity. The only ornamented item he found was a golden ark, clearly of Babylonian origin. He rubbed his eyes to ease the pounding behind his forehead, baffled by Judah’s imageless, monotheistic religion.

  That evening Iddina went to see the Assyrian high priest, unloading his arsenal of anger and frustration on him. “How can Yahweh be the god of war, the god of fertility, the god of the dead—the god of everything at the same time?” he shouted. “And how can Judah’s priests inspire loyalty and devotion in the ignorant masses without an idol? Without so much as a symbol?” He saw the priest appraising him curiously, and Iddina struggled to contain his temper and disguise his fear.

  “Why does it bother you so much, my lord? Judah is an insignificant country with an obscure religion. Soon both will disappear from the map and from the history books as if they had never existed. A thousand years from now, no one will even remember the name of their god, much less worship him. But the Assyrian religion, her gods—they will endure throughout time.”

  “Prove it!” Iddina threw the sack he carried onto the ground in front of the priest. The bag writhed as the living creatures inside fought to escape.

  “What is that?”

  “Judean rats. My men captured three of them alive.”

  “Rats? What am I supposed to do with them?”

  “Examine their entrails. See what they portend.”

  “You must be joking! Entrails of a rat?”

  Iddina clenched his fists and took a step closer. “Do it!”

  “Very well, my lord.”

  Iddina hovered nearby as the bewildered priests began the ritual, reciting the incantations to the beat of pounding drums, enveloping themselves in billowing clouds of incense. He watched the high priest’s face as he sliced open the first rat, and Iddina knew immediately that the omens foretold something terrible. By the time he had slaughtered the third rat, the high priest could no longer disguise his horror.

  “I-I don’t understand this. . . .” he mumbled.

  “Tell me!”

  “But I-I can’t explain it.”

  Iddina grabbed the front of the priest’s bloody robe, nearly lifting him off his feet. “Tell me what the omens say!”

  “They . . . all three of them . . . foretell death!”

  “Whose death? The Judeans?”

  “No, my lord.” The priest’s voice trembled. “Ours!”

  “How? How is that possible? The Judeans don’t have an army left!”

  “I don’t know, my lord.”

  “Is it the Egyptians? Are they coming to Judah’s aid?”

  “My lord, these omens are meaningless. Let me do it again with the proper sacrifices, not with vermin. This time the omens will foretell victory over Pharaoh’s forces, just as they have before.”


  But Iddina didn’t wait to see what the omens foretold the second time. He faced a god more powerful than any he had faced before, and he didn’t know how to fight him. He withdrew to his tent, battling his own terrible fear, and spent the long night carving figures of rats and tumors—as the Philistines had once done—and fastening them to his ankles, to his wrists, and to his neck.

  26

  Late in the afternoon on the eve of Passover, Hezekiah followed the directions Isaiah had given him, through the narrow, winding lanes to the rabbi’s house. As soon as the sun set, Passover would begin. But as Hezekiah left his guards and servants behind and wandered the unfamiliar streets outside his palace, he regretted accepting Isaiah’s invitation. He felt lonely and out of place here, walking among the crowded houses and stinking gutters. Isaiah met him at the front gate.

  “Welcome, Your Majesty. We are honored to have you as our guest.” He led Hezekiah inside his tiny, one-room home. Isaiah’s wife was busy at the hearth, and the fragrant air carried the aroma of roasting lamb. A small wooden table, covered with a homespun cloth, was set with ordinary pottery plates and cups.

  Hezekiah looked around at the cooking pots on the hearth, the sleeping mat in the corner, the rabbi’s scrolls and tablets piled on a shelf, and the humble, intimate setting made him feel awkward, like an intruder.

  “Won’t you sit down?” Isaiah asked. He gestured to the seat in the center, while he and his wife took their places at each end of the table. Hezekiah had presided over all of the Passover feasts at the palace since his grandfather had died, but tonight the honor would go to Isaiah, as head of the house.

  “Your Majesty, don’t you think it’s fitting that we celebrate our nation’s miraculous deliverance at the first Passover so soon after our own deliverance from Assyria?”

  “I’m still overwhelmed, Rabbi. The Assyrians just vanished, and we were spared! Maybe you haven’t heard yet, but Pharaoh is finally sending out his forces to rescue us. A huge Egyptian army is marching north from Egypt into battle. That’s probably why the Assyrians withdrew.”