Among the Gods (Chronicles of the Kings Book #5)

  Abba had tried to explain how he had sinned, but his words had repulsed Manasseh. He didn’t want to believe that Abba could ever sin. His father was perfect. He could never do anything wrong. And so Manasseh had closed his ears to his father’s confession, and to his warning. But Abba had made him memorize a verse from the Torah, and now the words came back to Manasseh in his room in Babylon as if he had just learned them. “When you are in distress and all these things have happened to you, then in later days you will return to the Lord your God and obey him. For the Lord your God is a merciful God; he will not abandon or destroy you.”

  All his life Manasseh had feared living in his father’s shadow, afraid that Yahweh wouldn’t perform the miraculous feats during his reign that He had during Hezekiah’s. But tonight Manasseh knew that God had performed an even greater miracle for him than slaying 144,000 enemy Assyrians. God had forgiven him, erasing the record of his sins.

  The knowledge was too much for Manasseh. He fell to the floor on his face and worshiped God.

  28

  JOSHUA SAT BEHIND THE WORKTABLE where his father had once sat and stared at the documents spread out in front of him. After working nonstop for nearly a month, he still hadn’t finished sifting through all the unfinished business Manasseh’s palace administrator had left behind. So much of it was worthless garbage—pages of strangely worded omens and reports from the astrologers about which days were favorable to act and which ones weren’t. He sat back and rubbed his eye, remembering Miriam’s warning about straining it with too much reading.

  After living more than half his life-span, Joshua was finally working at the job for which he had trained, beginning the work he once thought he’d spend a lifetime doing. Clambering around construction sites with the hot Egyptian sun on his back seemed to belong to a dream world from which he had finally awakened. But as Joshua gazed at the courtyard outside his window, he found that he missed the fresh air and sunshine more than he thought he would; missed the sense of accomplishment he felt as he watched a new building take shape. Most of all, he missed working with Nathan.

  Joshua stood, compelled by a sudden urge to find his son and see how his work was progressing. They had assigned Nathan the task of removing the barricades from around the palace and restoring the facade. Joshua started toward the door, then stopped; he didn’t want his son to think he was hovering over him, checking up on him. He returned to his seat again.

  Maybe once they reclaimed the Temple Mount, he and Nathan could work side by side on the repairs. Nathan’s original designs and expert craftsmanship would far outshine the gaudy idols that currently littered the Temple courtyards. But he couldn’t begin the work; Manasseh’s priests were still deeply entrenched there. Without a military force, Amariah and Joel weren’t prepared for a power struggle with them yet. In fact, as Joshua and the prince quietly went about their work, most of the nation remained unaware that they had taken control of the reins of government.

  Joshua was tired of sitting; he needed to stretch. He picked up two documents that required Amariah’s seal and decided to deliver them himself. He found the prince in one of the council rooms, poring over lists of Assyrian tribute demands.

  “Have you seen these accounts, Joshua?” he asked in astonishment.

  “Not yet. Why? Are they in bad shape, too?”

  “It’s a wonder our nation isn’t bankrupt!”

  As Joshua skimmed the list Amariah handed him, a palace servant interrupted. “Excuse me, my lords, but a messenger has just arrived from one of our northern border outposts.”

  “Send him in,” Amariah said. He looked up at Joshua, frowning. “Who would send us a message from the northern border?”

  Joshua shrugged. “Who even knows that we’re here?”

  The disheveled messenger appeared as though he had come a long way in a short time and still hadn’t caught his breath. He stared openmouthed at the two of them, as if he hadn’t expected to find anyone in charge. Obviously, the border outpost hadn’t received word of Prince Amariah’s return, and that made the man’s message an even greater mystery.

  “Yes? What is it?” Joshua asked.

  “I was sent ahead to tell the palace servants to prepare for the king’s arrival.”

  “What do you mean? What are you talking about?” he asked irritably.

  “You have to get everything ready. The king is coming!”

  “The king? Which king? Who sent you here?”

  “King Manasseh. He gave me the order himself.”

  Joshua opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Amariah scrambled to his feet, then abruptly sat down again as if his knees had given way. “Is this some kind of a joke?” he asked.

  “No, my lord. King Manasseh and his entourage arrived in Judean territory earlier this morning. They are on their way to Jerusalem right now. They are not far behind me, in fact.”

  “That’s not possible!” Joshua shouted. “King Manasseh is dead!”

  The messenger backed up a step. “He’s not dead, my lord. The Assyrians escorted him as far as the border. I saw him myself. I talked to him.”

  “Was he still in chains?” Amariah asked, his voice a whisper. The messenger shook his head.

  “He was wearing royal robes, my lord. You’ll see for yourself. King Manasseh will be arriving shortly. I was told to run ahead—”

  “NO!” Joshua’s anguished cry was deafening. “God of Abraham, no! No … NO!”

  Amariah closed his eyes. “You’re excused,” he told the messenger. “Go tell the other servants to get everything ready.”

  “This can’t be true … it can’t be!” Joshua couldn’t catch his breath.

  “I’m afraid it might be,” Amariah said quietly. “Manasseh was arrested for treason, but he wasn’t guilty, remember? The Assyrians must have found that out.”

  “O God of Abraham, how could you do this to me again!” Joshua collapsed to the floor and buried his face in his hands. “How could you?” The sound of his bitter cries filled the room.

  When the anguish of his soul was spent, Joshua looked up at Amariah. “You realize that we’re traitors once again. For taking control of the government when no one else would … for wanting to rid the country of idolatry, for wanting to turn people’s hearts back to God…. We’re traitors! He’ll execute both of us.”

  “Not if we leave before Manasseh gets here.”

  Joshua shook his head. “I’m not running anymore. I’m tired of this game. I’m tired of working for a God who seems to be on my enemy’s side. Let Manasseh kill me and get it over with.” He covered his face again.

  “What about Nathan and Miriam?”

  “What?” Numb with despair, Joshua didn’t comprehend Amariah’s words.

  “Your wife and son are in danger. Do you want Manasseh to kill them, too?”

  How many years ago had he escaped with Nathan and Miriam? Nathan had been a skinny urchin, brazenly challenging the king’s soldiers. Miriam had helped him escape the second time, too, after the explosion at the Temple. He remembered how she had unpinned her hair and tossed it over her shoulder as she courageously entered Asherah’s booth. He and Miriam had escaped Manasseh’s soldiers a third time, after the abortive assassination attempt. The thought of doing it a fourth time overwhelmed him.

  “How could God put us through this all over again?” he questioned, struggling to breathe. “How could He let Manasseh go free when He had a chance to punish him? How could God let such an evil man parade back into town to carry on with his wickedness? I don’t understand! I just … I …”

  “Joshua, we have to get out of here before Manasseh returns.”

  He shook his head. “Do me a favor. Take Miriam and Nathan back to Egypt for me.”

  “You know Miriam isn’t going to budge one inch without you. Now get up! We need to go!” Amariah took Joshua’s arm and hauled him to his feet. They hurried through the main palace doors and found Nathan working outside.

  “Abba! What is i
t? What’s wrong?” he said when he saw Joshua.

  “My brother has returned,” Amariah told him.

  “You mean … King Manasseh?”

  Amariah nodded. “We’ve got to get out of the country. Do you know where Joel is?”

  “He went to Anathoth to see what’s become of his family’s property. He didn’t expect to be back until this evening. Do you want me to go get him?”

  “No!” Joshua shouted. “How would you ever find him? No, Nathan, I want you to get out of Judah, now! You have a wife and a child to think about.”

  Nathan seemed to study him for a long moment before saying calmly, “I’m not leaving without you, Abba. And we can’t leave without Uncle Joel, either.”

  Joshua couldn’t think what to do. The terrible injustice of Manasseh’s release from prison so overwhelmed him that he lacked the will to fight. Nathan took his elbow and they started hurrying away from the palace.

  “Abba, listen. I don’t think we’ll be in danger if we all wait at your house until Uncle Joel comes back tonight. King Manasseh won’t know that you’re here—hardly anyone does.”

  “The elders know,” Joshua said. “And all the palace servants.”

  “But they’ve collaborated with us this past month,” Amariah said. “If they reported us, they would be just as guilty as we are in Manasseh’s eyes.”

  “How can Manasseh be back?” Joshua said with a moan. “This can’t be true. God of Abraham, please let this be a mistake!” He was finding it more and more difficult to breathe.

  “Nathan’s right,” Amariah said. “We’ll probably be safe at your house for now. Neither the elders nor the servants know where you live. We can plan our escape while we wait for Joel.”

  “God of Abraham, why?” Joshua wanted to tear his clothes in grief, but he lacked the strength. “Why is God doing this to me again? Haven’t I had enough of that man? Isn’t it enough that he ruined my life?”

  “Abba, shh … people are staring.”

  “I don’t care.” They reached one of the city’s main intersections and had to push their way through the huge crowd jamming the streets. Excitement charged the air, as if the people awaited a momentous event. Joshua halted.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked a bystander. “What’s everyone waiting for?”

  “King Manasseh has returned. We’re gathering to watch his procession.”

  Joshua stared, dumbfounded. It was true. His enemy had returned. How could God do this to him?

  He swayed on his feet, and Nathan gripped his arm. “Let’s get out of here, Abba,” he whispered urgently.

  “No. I want to see him.”

  “Abba, are you crazy?”

  “He’ll never recognize me after all these years. Especially in a crowd this huge.”

  Nathan turned to Amariah. “Can you please talk some sense into my father?”

  “I want to see Manasseh, too,” Amariah said quietly. “I think we’ll be all right.”

  Nathan groaned. “At least take your eye patch off, Abba, so you’ll be less noticeable.”

  Joshua untied the leather thong and tucked it under his belt, silently cursing himself for not wearing his dagger. If he had a weapon, he could disembowel his enemy before anyone stopped him. As he considered jogging home for it, the trumpets suddenly announced the king’s arrival.

  Deafening cheers rang in Joshua’s ears as the people welcomed King Manasseh home. The sound even drowned out the clatter of hoofbeats as the Assyrian chariots swept the king into Jerusalem. Joshua was unaware of his own bitter groaning or that he was gnashing his teeth until he felt Nathan’s comforting hand on his shoulder. When the first few chariots came into view, Joshua strained to see above the crowd. The drivers were Assyrian, and the procession resembled a royal escort, but he couldn’t see Manasseh—the passengers were all elderly, white-haired men. Joshua searched for the king’s dark hair and arrogant face in vain.

  “Where’s Manasseh?” he asked Amariah. “Can you see him?”

  “No. These must be his officials. Maybe he’s at the end of the procession.” But after the last chariot rolled past, Amariah stared at Joshua in disbelief. “We must have missed him and didn’t recognize him!”

  “They were all much too old,” Joshua said. “Maybe it was a rumor after all.” The mob surged forward to follow the chariots, and Joshua felt himself being swept along with it.

  “Please, let’s go home, Abba,” Nathan begged.

  “Not yet. I have to see him.” He took Nathan’s arm so he wouldn’t lose him in the crowd and grabbed onto the back of Amariah’s belt. The procession didn’t stop at the palace but continued up the hill to the Temple. In the distance, Joshua saw the chariots halt outside the gates. The white-haired officials disembarked. “Come on, let’s hurry,” he told the others.

  “We’re not going inside the Temple grounds, are we?” Nathan asked.

  “We won’t stay for any pagan ceremonies; I just want to see him. He’ll be on the royal platform.” Joshua pushed his way forward, towing the others through the gate, into the Court of the Gentiles. When they reached the main courtyard, it was so tightly packed they could go no farther. Joshua craned his neck and caught a glimpse of the royal platform just as one of the old men mounted it.

  “That’s Manasseh!” Amariah cried.

  Joshua stared at a thin, stoop-shouldered man with white hair and a grizzled beard. “No, it can’t—” Suddenly the old man lifted his head and thrust out his chin in a gesture that was unmistakably Manasseh’s. Joshua felt as if he’d been stabbed in the gut.

  “O God of Abraham, why did you let him come back?” he moaned. “Why?”

  “Abba, shh …” Nathan begged.

  Gradually the cheering died away and a hush whispered through the crowd as they waited for King Manasseh to speak. Joshua had to hold his breath in order to hear him above the sound of his own labored breathing.

  Manasseh faced the Temple sanctuary and raised his hands high in the air. “‘Hear, O Israel,’” he said in a shaking voice. “‘Yahweh is God—Yahweh alone! Love Yahweh your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.’” Manasseh dropped to his knees. Then he fell prostrate before the astonished crowd. The sound of his loud weeping resounded in the silent courtyard.

  “I don’t believe what I’m seeing …” Amariah whispered.

  It seemed to Joshua that a long time passed before Manasseh finally stood again. It was longer still before he could speak. The stunned crowd was utterly still, waiting.

  “We’ve all been greatly deceived,” Manasseh said. He gestured to the four-faced image in front of the sanctuary. “These are idols. Worthless idols! I want them out of Yahweh’s Temple! And I want anyone who still worships them to get out, as well!” He sagged, as if his strength had given way. His officials caught him to keep him from falling off the platform, then hustled him down the royal walkway to the palace.

  They all stood frozen for a long moment before Amariah spoke. “What do you make of that?” he asked.

  “I don’t believe any of it.” Joshua closed his eyes, too weak and dizzy to think. The crowds buffeted him as they filed from the courtyard, but he couldn’t move.

  “I believe it,” Amariah said quietly. “I’m going to go down to the palace to see him.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Joshua cried. “It was your fault the Assyrians arrested him! He’ll murder you!”

  “I don’t think so. Whatever happened to him in Babylon changed him, and not just on the outside. He was genuinely weeping just now. And he recited the Shema. He never would have done that the last time I saw him.”

  “Why not wait a few days,” Nathan said, “and see if he’s really sincere about cleaning up the idolatry?”

  Amariah shook his head. “I think I should go now, while he’s still overcome with the joy of being home. If I’m not back by the time Joel arrives tonight, leave for Egypt without me.”

  “What am I supposed to t
ell Dinah and your sons?” Joshua said angrily. “That you foolishly committed suicide? That you walked right into Manasseh’s arms and let him execute you?”

  “I honestly don’t think that will happen,” he said, “but I’m willing to take my chances.” Amariah turned, and before either of them could stop him, he ran across the nearly empty courtyard and followed Manasseh down the royal walkway.

  Amariah caught up with his brother inside the palace. Manasseh stood in the middle of the spacious throne room, gazing around in wonder—much as Amariah himself had done when he first returned.

  “Everything looks the same,” Manasseh murmured. “Who has been taking care of things for me while I was gone?”

  “I have,” Amariah said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  Manasseh whirled around. He gasped when he saw his brother and staggered backward, nearly falling over.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s me—Amariah.”

  “I … I heard your voice … and I thought … for a minute, I thought … You sound so much like Abba!”

  Amariah could no longer contain his joy at seeing his brother. He ran forward and clasped Manasseh in his arms. He could feel his brother’s body trembling. Manasseh felt pitifully thin, his embrace fervent but weak in return.

  “Thank God, thank God,” Manasseh wept. “I’ve prayed for this…. I’ve prayed that I would see you again. That I would have the chance to ask your forgiveness.”

  “I can’t believe that you’re alive! And that you’ve come home again!”

  “Yes, I’m home. I’ve walked these halls so many times in my mind that it still feels like I’m dreaming.” Manasseh seemed badly shaken.

  Pity and love welled up inside Amariah as he helped his brother to his throne. “Here, you’d better sit down. Are you all right? Is there anything I can do?”

  Manasseh looked up at him with tears in his eyes. “I know I have no right to ask this after all that I’ve done to you, my brother …” He rested his right hand on the seat beside him. “But I’ll need your help if I’m ever going to undo all the wrong that I’ve done. Would you take your rightful place here, alongside me?”