Gods And Kings (31 page)

Gradually the polite conversation around the banquet table dwindled into anxious silence. The guests eyed the food and each other nervously, but no one dared begin the meal without the king. Hezekiah stopped drumming his fingers. He slapped the tabletop with his open hand and motioned to the nearest servant.

“Why have we been kept waiting? Where’s the king?”

“I don’t know, my lord.”

“Well, has anyone bothered to find out?”

“We know that he’s in his bedchamber.We’ve knocked repeatedly on His Majesty’s door but he doesn’t answer. We were afraid to disturb him.”

“He probably got drunk and passed out cold,” Hezekiah muttered to Shebna. He hoped his assumption was true so he could return to his room and forget about the dinner. It was ruined anyway, and so was his appetite.

“The king has never been this late before,” Shebna agreed, shifting his position and flexing his long legs.

Hezekiah signaled to Uriah, who sat across the table from him in stony silence. He had said very little in the long hour they had been waiting, and even now he showed no trace of impatience as he stroked his gray-flecked beard.

“Do you know what could be keeping my father?” Hezekiah asked him.

Uriah shrugged. “I haven’t seen the king since this morning. He returned to his chambers after holding court, and I believe he ate lunch there, as well.”

The hall fell silent again, and Hezekiah heard someone’s stomach gurgle with hunger. He looked around and saw Jonadab, captain of the palace guards, turning red with embarrassment. “Pardon me,” the captain mumbled. Shebna passed him a platter of date cakes, but he shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ll wait for the king.”

“This is ridiculous,” Hezekiah said, motioning again to the servant. “Send the king’s personal valet into his chamber. Tell him to see what’s keeping King Ahaz. I’ll take the blame for disturbing him.”

“Do you think that is wise?” Shebna asked in alarm.

“I don’t care, I’m tired of waiting. Go ahead,” he told the servant.

The man slipped from the room. Several minutes passed, the silence broken only by Hezekiah’s drumming fingers and the rumblings of Jonadab’s stomach. Suddenly the king’s valet burst into the room, pale and trembling.

“Somebody come quick! The king … the king!”

Uriah leaped to his feet with surprising swiftness and strode from the room. For a long moment, the other dinner guests sat frozen in their places. Then Hezekiah stood and stopped the frightened valet before he hurried away behind Uriah.

“What’s wrong with the king?” he asked. The valet shook his head. He seemed unable to speak. “Show me, then.” Hezekiah took the trembling man by the arm.

Hezekiah had no idea what to expect as he hurried down the covered walkway to his father’s chambers. The valet was in such a state of shock that the sight of his blanched face made Hezekiah’s nerves tingle with dread. Uriah had already gone inside the king’s bedchambers by the time Hezekiah arrived, and he quickly emerged again to stop Hezekiah at the door.

“Don’t go in there, my lord.”

Hezekiah pushed past him. He wasn’t prepared for what he saw.

King Ahaz lay sprawled on the floor, his back arched in agony, his limbs twisted in grotesque angles from his body. His fixed eyes stared, and his mouth gaped wide as if in a scream of anguish. Hezekiah wanted to look away but somehow was unable to move.

“The king is dead,” he heard Uriah telling the others behind him. His voice sounded very far away.

Hezekiah refused to believe what his eyes told him was true. He squatted down and touched his father’s hand, curled against the carpet. His stomach rolled over at the feel of his cold flesh. It was true. Ahaz was dead.

Hezekiah stood, and the room seemed to grow smaller and smaller. Then it began to spin so dizzily that he had to shut his eyes. He shook himself, as if he could wake up from a bad dream, and drew a deep breath. When the dizziness passed, he opened his eyes.

Uriah stood in front of him for a moment, then dropped to his knees, bowing to him. “Long live King Hezekiah!” he said.

Hezekiah glanced around and saw Captain Jonadab and the other men following Uriah’s example, falling to their knees and touching their foreheads to the floor, murmuring, “Long live King Hezekiah!” He stared at the prostrate men, struggling to comprehend their words.

His father was dead. He was the king.

Hezekiah turned to stare at his father again. He felt no grief for Ahaz—only shock and surprise. Until today Hezekiah’s life had been neatly ordered and scheduled, with few changes and very few surprises. He hadn’t dared to hope that he would reign for many more years. But Ahaz was dead. And now he was the king.

The news spread quickly through the palace, creating a hum of noise and confusion in the hallways outside the room. But Hezekiah remained immobile. He continued to stare at his father’s body as if it would help him comprehend the utter finality of death. At last, Uriah stood up and gripped Hezekiah’s arm, squeezing it until the pain broke the spell of his shock. The priest pulled him toward the door.

“Your Majesty, there’s nothing more you can do in here. You should leave now.” He pulled Hezekiah all the way into the hallway and closed Ahaz’s door behind them. “I know that this tragedy has come as a great shock to you, Your Majesty, but there are several urgent matters of state that must be dealt with immediately. In order to ensure an unbroken command of power, I ask for your permission to take care of them right away.”

“My permission?” Hezekiah repeated. He wondered how it was possible that an hour ago he had nothing more important to worry about than dinner, and now he was in command of the nation. He felt Uriah studying him, his eyes bold and challenging, and Hezekiah had to resist the urge to look away. Uriah knew much more about running the kingdom than he did, but Hezekiah had always disliked him, without knowing why. Perhaps it was because, as far back as Hezekiah could recall, the imposing priest had always hovered close to his father. But in spite of his instincts, Hezekiah decided to let Uriah remain in control for now—for the good of the nation. He would need time to learn his new role as king.

“You may continue with your duties as you did under my father,” Hezekiah said at last.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Uriah’s steely features never changed. Hezekiah sensed his strong will—so unlike Ahaz’s—and he knew who had been running the nation.

“First, there is the matter of the emissaries,” Uriah said. “It is imperative that they be sent back to their own country immediately.”

Hezekiah had no idea what Uriah was talking about. It seemed to require a great effort to make sense of Uriah’s words, let alone their importance. The hallway tilted as Hezekiah nodded his assent. “I will have to trust your judgment, Uriah, until I can be briefed.”

“Good. I’m sure you’ll want to meet with your father’s advisors as soon as possible. Would tomorrow morning be too soon?”

“No, that’s fine,” Hezekiah replied. He needed at least that long to recover from his shock.

“Also, there are the details of King Ahaz’s burial for me to attend to.”

At the mention of his father’s name, a question came to Hezekiah’s mind. “How did he die, Uriah?”

“He was alone, Your Majesty. We may never know.”

“Well, I intend to find out. I want to interview all his servants, all his concubines. It’s obvious that he died in agony. And it’s hard to believe that no one heard him, much less came to his aid.”

Uriah’s features hardened. He pulled Hezekiah away from the door as if worried that Jonadab or one of the others might overhear him. “It can only tarnish the king’s memory to dig too deeply. I already know what you’ll discover.” He paused, and his voice softened slightly. “You’re well aware that your father drank too much. What you may not know is that he also misused the ritual drugs from Assyria. I tried to discourage him, but he demanded more and more. He was the king. How could anyone refuse him?”

“Are you saying that he took a lethal dose by mistake?”

“I’m certain that’s what you’ll discover, but I’ll look into his death for you if you wish.” Once again Uriah stared at him defiantly, and Hezekiah’s deep distrust for the priest resurfaced.

“I guess there would be no point,” he said at last.

“Then if I may be dismissed, I will take care of these other matters and begin the preparation for your coronation immediately.”

“You may go,” Hezekiah mumbled. Uriah seemed to vanish.

Hezekiah walked slowly down the hall, oblivious to the flurry of excitement all around him. Ahaz’s life had ended. And Hezekiah realized that the sheltered life he had always lived had also come to an end. From now on, he was responsible for the entire nation. He knew that Ahaz had often tried to evade that responsibility, and for a brief moment Hezekiah thought he understood why. He only wished he had been given more warning; that he’d had more time to prepare for his new role. But the time had come for Hezekiah to be king, whether he was ready or not.

At first Hephzibah thought King Ahaz’s death was only a rumor; gossip was plentiful in the palace. But when she heard the highpitched mourning cries coming from the king’s harem and saw Ahaz’s wives and concubines draped in black, she knew it was true. King Ahaz was dead. And she was married to the new king of Judah.

Within days the palace servants prepared to move Hephzibah, and all of Hezekiah’s concubines, out of their crowded quarters near the prince’s chambers and into the lavish apartments of the king’s harem.

“Wait until you see your new suite, Lady Hephzibah,” her handmaiden, Merab, told her. “The rooms are the finest in the palace, except for the king’s. They have tall windows that overlook the courtyard on one side, and there’s a view of the whole city from the balcony on the other side.”

For as long as Hephzibah could remember, Merab had taken care of her like a second mother. She had nestled as a baby on Merab’s lap and been carried around on her broad hips. Merab’s hands had soothed Hephzibah’s tears and her smile had greeted her each morning of her life. Now the servant had come to the palace with her as a wedding gift from her father. Merab loved her like her own daughter, and she was Hephzibah’s only friend and companion in her new home.

Hezekiah’s concubines had refused to accept Hephzibah into their midst. At first, it was because they resented her superior position over them as his only wife. Then, as the months passed and Hezekiah called for one of them night after night instead of Hephzibah, they began to taunt her, making certain she learned of it whenever he slept with one of them. Merab had done her best to shield Hephzibah from their mockery and try to lift her spirits, and Hephzibah knew that was what the servant was trying to do now.

“My lady, the concubines will go to the harem, but you’ll have the most beautiful suite of all, the one that’s reserved for the king’s favorite wife.”

Hephzibah smiled to try to hide her pain, but she knew the truth. She was Hezekiah’s only wife, but not his favorite. “Here, I don’t want those clumsy servants to carry these,” she told Merab, handing her the ivory box that contained her wedding jewels. “Will you take them to our new apartment for me?”

“With pleasure, my lady.” Merab strode from the room, carrying the box like a treasure.

A few minutes later, when the palace servants returned for another load of Hephzibah’s things, she suddenly decided to see her new suite for herself. But as she entered the outer sitting room, she heard Merab’s voice in the bedchamber, arguing with someone.

“My lady will
not
live with the concubines! She’s the king’s
wife
! She’ll live here, in the wife’s chambers!”

“I’m in charge, and I’ve already decided,” the harem eunuch replied. “The wives’ quarters are only for King Hezekiah’s favored wives, the ones he’s pleased with. Your lady goes in the harem with the rest.”

Hephzibah felt as if she’d been slapped. She stifled a cry and leaned against the wall to keep from falling over.

“How dare you insult my lady?” Merab cried.

“The prince spent his wedding week with your lady and hasn’t sent for her since. It’s been more than six months. Does it sound to you like she’s a
favored
wife?”

Hephzibah covered her face, wishing she could hide from the ugly truth. As the eunuch continued to argue with Merab in the next room, his words struck Hephzibah like the lashes of a whip. “He never asks for her—that speaks plainly enough to me. Besides, she failed to conceive his child. She’ll go into the harem until he sends for her again. I’m not going to clutter up the finest suite in the harem with a wife he doesn’t want. Now that he’s the king, he can choose any woman in the nation for his wife. And the one he chooses will live here.”

Hephzibah sank to the floor, weeping. The eunuch ignored her as he swept out of the room, but then she felt Merab’s arms around her, soothing her, and she knew by her trembling voice that Merab was crying, too.

“Don’t cry, baby. It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t, Merab. My husband doesn’t want me. He doesn’t love me.”

“Shh. Don’t listen to that hateful man. It isn’t true.”