Shebna stared at him, too stunned to speak.
“Give me that letter,” Hezekiah told Eliakim. “I’m going to bring it before the Lord.”
Eliakim walked beside Hezekiah as he climbed the stairs to the Temple, and once again Hezekiah thought of the two bronze pillars, Jakin and Boaz. Yahweh was his strength. Yahweh had sworn to establish King David’s throne forever. Hezekiah chose to believe those promises.
Suddenly he noticed Shebna and the other officials trailing behind them, and he stopped. “Now that all hope for man’s help is gone, Shebna, maybe you can begin to hope in God. But if you still hold unbelief in your heart, then stay out of this Temple. That goes for the rest of you, as well. The time for empty ritual, the time for making a pretense of faith, is long past. Yahweh is judging the idolatry in all our hearts. That’s why the Assyrians have ravaged our land. Only the faithful will be left standing. If you can’t pray in faith, if you can’t believe in Yahweh’s power and sovereignty, then go back to the palace.”
He quickly turned and kept walking, unwilling to watch Shebna and some of the others retreat in shame. Hezekiah walked past the royal dais, past the great bronze altar where the morning sacrifice slowly burned, and knelt on the steps to the sanctuary, between the bronze pillars. He spread Sennacherib’s letter on the stairs in front of him and looked up at the doors to the holy place. They were wooden, not golden, and Hezekiah remembered his sin. He knew he could approach God only by grace, not because he deserved any blessings from Him. He bowed his head to the ground.
“I believe in you, Yahweh, not in what I see. And I believe your Word. I believe Isaiah’s promise that you will shield Jerusalem and deliver it, that you will pass over it and rescue it.”
He stopped, remembering what else Isaiah had told him at the Passover feast. The prophet had talked about God’s eternal plan for redeeming mankind, buying them back from the curse of Adam’s sin. The Messiah would be the seed of David—Hezekiah’s seed—and his life would be a guilt offering. God himself would redeem Israel from all their sin. Great was the love of his heavenly Father! Hezekiah bowed his head again.
“This isn’t about me, Lord, it’s about you—your plan, your will for your nation. What happens to all of us doesn’t matter as long as it brings glory to your holy name. I don’t care if I suffer and die, as long as I play my small part in your unfathomable plan. At last I know you, Lord, and I trust you. You’re a holy God of love and forgiveness. You’re my Father and my God. I want the world to know of your love and grace and power and forgiveness. ‘Hear, O Israel! Yahweh is our God—Yahweh alone!’”
Hezekiah bent forward until his forehead touched the ground. “O Lord God of Israel, sitting on your throne high above the angels, you alone are the God of all the kingdoms of the earth. You created the heavens and the earth. Bend low, O Lord, and listen. Open your eyes, O Lord, and see. Listen to this man’s defiance of the living God. Lord, it is true that the kings of Assyria have destroyed all those nations and have burned their idol-gods. But they weren’t gods at all; they were destroyed because they were only things that men have made of wood and stone. O Lord our God, we plead with you to save us from his power; then all the kingdoms of the earth will know that you alone are God.”
As he knelt before God with his forehead pressed to the pavement, Hezekiah had no idea how many hours had passed. But when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he lifted his head.
“I’m sorry for disturbing you, Your Majesty,” Eliakim said, “but this message just came for you. It’s from Rabbi Isaiah.”
Hezekiah took the scroll and unrolled it, reading the words silently:
This is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says: Because you have prayed to me concerning Sennacherib king of Assyria, this is the word the Lord has spoken against him. . . .
Who is it you have insulted and blasphemed?
Against whom have you raised your voice
and lifted your eyes in pride?
Against the Holy One of Israel! . . .
But I know where you stay
and when you come and go
and how you rage against me.
Because you rage against me
and because your insolence has
reached my ears,
I will put my hook in your nose
and my bit in your mouth,
and I will make you return
by the way you came.
This will be the sign for you, O Hezekiah:
This year you will eat what grows by itself,
and the second year what springs from that.
But in the third year sow and reap,
plant vineyards and eat their fruit.
Once more a remnant of the house of Judah
will take root below and bear fruit above.
Therefore this is what the Lord says concerning the king of Assyria:
He will not enter this city
or shoot an arrow here.
He will not come before it with shield
or build a siege ramp against it. . . .
I will defend this city and save it,
for my sake and for the sake of David my servant!
When he finished, Hezekiah handed the scroll to Eliakim. Then Hezekiah bowed his head to the ground once again as the tears came, and he praised his holy God.
Iddina headed for his tent after he had delivered Sennacherib’s message to Eliakim. He had planned to shout to the people lined up on the wall as he had the last time, instilling fear in their hearts, inciting them to rebel against their foolish king. But he felt strangely weak and dizzy, and he lacked the strength to shout. He would wait to see if Hezekiah surrendered voluntarily first. He had plenty of time for frightening speeches.
As he walked to his tent, Iddina noticed that an eerie stillness had spread throughout the camp. He had trained his men to set up their siege in silence in order to instill terror, but this silence seemed different. Usually he could feel the tension in the men as they stayed alert with expectation. But today the soldiers seemed lethargic and dazed. They stood at their posts or sat in front of their tents listlessly. Maybe they were battle-weary. Perhaps he should have allowed them to rest for a day after their victory over the Egyptians.
Iddina felt lethargic, as well. His head swam, and sweat poured off him as if he stood under a blazing sun, but the weather was cloudy and cool, just as it had been for weeks. A jolt of alarm shot through him when he remembered the dying priests’ strange tumors.
Iddina detoured to his officers’ tents. He would order his men out of this stupor and put a spark back into his troops. But Iddina found the officers’ camp deserted. It looked as if it had been hastily thrown together.
“Captain? Where are you?” he called. He opened the flap to the first tent and ducked inside. The smell of vomit overpowered him. The captain lay sprawled on the floor a few feet from his sleeping mat, moaning.
“What’s the matter with you?” Iddina asked. He turned him over and saw the same symptoms he had seen in the three priests—swollen face, bloodshot eyes, shivery with fever. “Answer me! What’s the matter with you?”
The officer replied in a jumble of feverish words that made no sense. Iddina squatted beside him and raised the man’s arm, searching for tumors like those he had seen on the priests. He found none.
“Food poisoning,” Iddina said aloud. “You must have eaten spoiled meat. It’s happened to troops in the past and no doubt it will happen again. In twenty-four hours you’ll be well again, in time to accept King Hezekiah’s surrender and march into the city.” The captain groaned and rolled away from him to vomit.
Iddina found his other officers sick inside their tents, as well. None of them had tumors in their armpits. Relieved, Iddina returned to his tent. His own aide looked droopy and listless.
“Call me if there’s any answer from King Hezekiah,” he told him. Then Iddina sank down on his sleeping mat. The sensation of sweating and shivering at the same time felt very odd. Suddenly the
food poisoning struck him, too, but he fought the urge to vomit. He probed his armpits. They were tender, but he found no tumors.
“I’m not afraid of you, god of Judah,” he mumbled as he drifted to sleep against his will. “The gods who have brought me victory over all the nations will soon bring me victory over you, as well.”
Iddina slept restlessly, his sleep filled with feverish nightmares. When he awoke and saw the sun lying low in the west, he felt a surge of fear. How had he slept so long? He wondered what had awakened him, then heard a trumpet sounding in the distance. He crawled to the door of his tent. It came from the highest point in the city, from Yahweh’s Temple.
“You won’t defeat me,” he said aloud. “I’m not afraid of you.” But as he shivered in the late afternoon shadows, he felt an intense anxiety he couldn’t explain. His heart hammered rapidly in his chest for no reason at all.
He pulled himself to his feet and staggered to the nearest tent, the ground whirling and spinning beneath his feet. The movement made him nauseous. He found the commander-in-chief of the Assyrian army shivering on his pallet.
“Who’s there? Is that you, Shamshi?” the commander asked.
“No. It’s Iddina.”
“Where’s Shamshi? I need him.”
“Probably sick like the rest of us.”
“Am I going to die?” the commander asked, and Iddina saw the terror in his eyes. He had never seen it there before, in spite of all the battles they had fought together. “What . . . what are you doing?” the commander cried as Iddina probed his armpits.
No tumors. Iddina sank to the floor, weak with relief.
“You’re not going to die,” Iddina said, trying to convince himself. “It’s food poisoning. It’ll pass in a day or two.”
As he groped his way back to his own tent, Iddina looked out over the camp. It was so quiet he could hear the moans of the impaled men, halfway across the valley. He saw no movement anywhere. He couldn’t stop trembling, and he wondered if it was from his fever or his terrible fear. Something wasn’t right. How could the entire camp be so still? He wanted to shout and awaken everyone, to scare away the demons that lurked behind all the tents, waiting for him, but he lacked the strength.
He felt another wave of nausea, even though he had eaten nothing all day. His stomach should be empty. But Iddina couldn’t stop himself from being sick. When he saw the huge quantity of blood he had spewed up, he crawled into his tent and fainted.
29
At the end of that very long day, Hezekiah sat on the city wall, staring down at the deathly stillness in the valley.
“It’s been quiet down there all day, Your Majesty,” Eliakim said. “When do you suppose they’ll start their assault?”
“Probably as soon as they get it through their heads that I’m not going to surrender.” He sat with Eliakim and General Benjamin, huddled beneath heavy robes to ward off the evening chill.
“Are you sure you don’t want a fire, Your Majesty?” the general asked.
“I’m sure. I don’t want them to know how many soldiers we have guarding the walls.” Or how few, he thought to himself.
“Don’t you think it’s odd that they’re not building any campfires, either?” Eliakim asked. “They built fires the last time they were here.”
“Yes, very odd, especially considering how cold it is.” Hezekiah stuck his hands into his armpits to warm them.
“I wonder if it’s mind warfare, like Jonadab talked about.”
Hezekiah shrugged. “I don’t know, General. It might be.”
“Listen, my men will stand watch during the night, Your Majesty. There’s no need for you to stay up. Why don’t you and Lord Eliakim go inside and get some sleep?”
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep, anyway,” Hezekiah said. He had walked among the people after the evening sacrifice and sensed the tension and fear barely hidden beneath the surface. He had detected fear even among many of his soldiers. No one could guess why the Assyrian troops were hiding inside their tents out of view, and the mystery heightened everyone’s terror. If the tension inside Jerusalem grew much worse and fear took control of a few persuasive men, Hezekiah knew that the ensuing panic could start a stampede to open the gates and surrender. He would stay awake all night with his soldiers. He and Eliakim would walk the streets again, if necessary, calming the fears of his people.
As darkness fell, the night grew quiet and still. Not a sound stirred from the Assyrian camp. Even the night birds and insects seemed silenced by the unbearable tension in the air. Aside from a few nervous whispers among his troops, the only sounds Hezekiah heard were the dying moans of his tortured brother and the elders of Lachish, growing fainter all the time.
Vivid, terrifying images haunted Iddina’s feverish sleep, peopled by the host of demonic creatures he had feared throughout his childhood. “No! Leave me alone!” he cried out in delirium, but the legions swarming around him refused to depart.
Shortly before dawn he awoke when someone entered his tent. “Who’s there? Who is it?” He sat up fearfully, expecting to see Death’s messengers arriving for him. Instead, he saw two soldiers crouching inside his tent, looting it. “What are you doing?” he cried. They backed away from him.
“There’s death in the camp, Lord Rabshekah.”
“It’s everywhere!”
“We came to see if you—”
“No! I’m not going to die!” Iddina struggled against his weakness and tried to stand.
“But all the others are dead, my lord.”
“We’re leaving this camp . . . those of us who are left . . .”
“Wait! Come back!” Iddina begged. “Take me with you!” But they quickly fled from the tent. Minutes later, Iddina heard pounding hoofbeats fading into the distance.
He pulled himself to his feet and tried to walk, but a fierce pain stabbed him in the groin. He groped for the source and felt something at the base of his legs: a huge tumor. Iddina couldn’t remember ever weeping in his life, but suddenly he began to sob.
“You can’t kill me, Yahweh! I have more power than you do!” The terrible pain in his groin dropped him to his knees. He couldn’t control his hysteria as he crawled to the nearest tent, dragging himself across the rocky ground. He found the commander-in-chief of Sennacherib’s army lying dead. Blood poured from his ears and nose and mouth. Iddina lifted the dead man’s tunic and saw the huge black tumors in his groin.
“I’m not afraid of you, Yahweh,” he wept as he crawled from tent to tent. They were all the same; all his senior officers were dead. All of them had tumors: some in the groin, some in the armpits, a few at the side of the neck. It was just as the Philistine priests had said, just as the two looters had said—Death had stalked the Assyrian camp during the night. Iddina saw his footprints everywhere. Soon Death would come for him, too.
“No!” he shouted. “You can’t kill me like this! I’m a warrior! Kill me in battle! Let me die an honorable death!” Iddina heard laughter ringing in his ears, demonic laughter as the hosts of enemy spirits came to claim him. He couldn’t let them take him yet. He had one more god to conquer—Yahweh.
As the sun rose, Iddina crawled toward the clearing where he had confronted Eliakim. Once again he would demand King Hezekiah’s surrender. He would pour terror into the Judeans’ hearts with his words. He would convince them that their unseen god could never save them.
The morning breeze swiftly blew away the damp clouds, and the weather promised to be bright and hot at last. Iddina saw a flash of sunlight glint off the Temple roof, and it seemed as if Yahweh laughed at him in triumph. Iddina pulled himself to his knees and raised his fist in the air.
“I conquered hundreds of gods! I hold power over a host of deities! Do you think an invisible god can—?” But Iddina never finished his challenge. As blood gushed from his mouth and nose, he collapsed in the clearing outside Jerusalem’s gates.
Heavy clouds had hidden the moon and stars from view as Hezekiah watched atop the ci
ty wall all night, silently reciting the psalms of David to bolster his faith and stay awake.
“Deliver me from my enemies, O God;
protect me from those who rise up against me.
Deliver me from evildoers
and save me from bloodthirsty men. . . .
See what they spew from their mouths—
they spew out swords from their lips,
and they say, ‘Who can hear us?’
But you, O Lord, laugh at them;
you scoff at all those nations. . . .
I will sing of your strength,
in the morning I will sing of your love;
for you are my fortress,
my refuge in times of trouble.”
In the pale light just before dawn, Hezekiah detected a flicker of movement in the Assyrian camp. He stood up, straining his eyes to see in the darkened valley below. As he watched, a dozen Assyrian soldiers ran from tent to tent as if to rouse the others from their slumber. But no one seemed to stir from their efforts. After several minutes he saw movement near the horse paddocks. The handful of soldiers saddled some of the horses, then mounted and galloped out of the valley, quickly disappearing in the low-hanging clouds.
“What do you make of all that?” Hezekiah asked the soldier standing watch beside him.
“I can’t even guess, Your Majesty.”
Several minutes passed, and the shadowy valley remained still. Slumped against the wall beside him, Eliakim suddenly stirred from his sleep and sat up. “I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“It’s all right. Everything’s been quiet.”
“What time is it?”
“The last watch. Almost dawn.”
Eliakim pulled himself to his feet as Hezekiah told him about the soldiers who had ridden away.
“It certainly seems strange,” Eliakim agreed.