Gods And Kings (37 page)

“Search the house—he must be here,” Jonadab commanded.

Then he grabbed Eliakim by the arm and yanked him to his feet.

“Where is your father? Tell me, or I swear I’ll beat it out of you.”

Eliakim never doubted that he meant it. He wiped the blood from his lip, stalling as he tried to think up an answer. But before he could reply, a soldier emerged from the room where Micah had been, carrying his bloody clothes.

“Captain, look … the prophet’s clothing. He was here. And this looks like some sort of map.”

Before Eliakim could react, Jonadab unsheathed his sword, and in one smooth, swift movement he grabbed Eliakim from behind and pinned his arms to his sides, then held the blade to his throat.

“Where is he?” he demanded.

Sweat ran down Eliakim’s forehead and into his eyes. “Y-you mean the peasant who owned those clothes? He’s d-dead. My father tried to save him, but he was too badly hurt. He died several hours ago.”

Jonadab pressed the sword to Eliakim’s neck and drew it across his throat until a ribbon of blood ran down the blade. Eliakim cried out in pain. He was going to die.

“Are you telling the truth?” Jonadab breathed.

“Yes! It’s the truth!”

Jonadab lowered his sword and cursed, pushing Eliakim away. “If the prophet is dead, then he’s no longer a threat to the king,” he told one of his men. “But Uriah won’t be content until he sees his dead body—and Hilkiah’s.”

One by one the soldiers returned with no other sign of Hilkiah or the prophet. From what Eliakim could see, they’d left the house in shambles from their search. He sank down on a bench by the door, badly shaken, and pressed the edge of his robe against the wound on his neck to try to stop the bleeding. They had nearly slit his throat. He was still trembling with shock when Jonadab turned to him again and placed the tip of his sword below Eliakim’s breastbone, applying just enough pressure to make him wince.

“Where did you bury him, and where is your father?” he demanded.

“My father has property outside Jerusalem. He left hours ago to bury the man there—in the tomb of his ancestors.”

“Then you’ll show us where this property is,” he said, hauling him to his feet. Eliakim wished he were a better liar.

“Listen, it’s a long, difficult journey over the mountains, especially at night. I’ll gladly take you there at dawn.”

“We can’t wait until dawn. Let’s go.”

“W-where are you taking me?”

Jonadab didn’t answer. He ordered two of his men to stand guard at Hilkiah’s house, then shoved Eliakim ahead of him into the street.

Hephzibah sat at the women’s table across the banquet hall from Hezekiah, watching him, waiting for his gentle smile to light up his face. He’d been crowned King of Judah today. This was a festive occasion, his coronation banquet. But her husband’s face looked strained and somber. He hadn’t smiled once throughout the entire evening, and she wondered why. She wished she could go to him and say something to make him smile or even laugh out loud again. If only she could make him love her. But he didn’t love her. And tonight was the first time she’d seen him since the week of their marriage.

At the table beside Hephzibah, the concubines ignored her as they enjoyed the feast, drinking cup after cup of wine. Hephzibah had barely touched her food. She was surrounded by hundreds of people at a banquet that honored her husband, but she could barely contain her grief.

She had obtained everything she wished for all her life—until now. And she was powerless to change her situation. Merab had won her the right to live in the wife’s suite until Hezekiah chose a new wife for himself. But like kings everywhere, he would probably marry many wives besides Hephzibah, even the daughters of foreign kings. Hezekiah would never belong to her alone. She would never be the love of his heart. Kings didn’t love their wives as other husbands did. She was only one of many women whose job it was to bring him pleasure and provide heirs for the kingdom.

She had known this truth ever since the day she had overheard the eunuch talking and had wept with Merab. But Hephzibah had never accepted the truth in her heart until tonight, until she had watched her husband from a distance and seen him for what he was—a stranger who had never once looked her way.

Soon the banquet would end, and the eunuch would escort her back to the harem. Months or even years might pass before she saw Hezekiah again. Now that he was the king, all hope that he would ever love her had to die.

Hephzibah wanted to bury her face in her arms and weep in despair. But she would have plenty of time to mourn in the days to come. Tonight, she would gaze at her husband in his royal robes for every second that she could. But she couldn’t help wondering what he was thinking and why he looked so sad.

Hezekiah refused the servant’s offer of more wine. It wouldn’t help to lift his spirits. He had longed to return to his rooms all evening, but duty obligated him to preside over his coronation banquet. His guests showed no signs of leaving, even though it was well after midnight. Maybe he should set the example and leave first.

He hadn’t enjoyed the feast. His talk with Shebna about the state of his kingdom had drained him and left him feeling sick at heart. All around him, the banquet tables were heaped with empty plates and platters of discarded bones, but Hezekiah hadn’t felt like eating. He was much too aware of the true state of his economy and the poverty that most of his people suffered.

He leaned toward Uriah, seated at his right, to tell him he was leaving. Uriah seemed to know a great deal about running the kingdom, as well as who all the noblemen were and what roles they played in Ahaz’s administration. Hezekiah relied heavily on him for advice, although it frustrated him to do so. But just when he got the high priest’s attention, the musicians began to play again.

“Never mind, Uriah,” he said. “I was going to leave, but maybe I’ll stay a little longer to hear the music.”

“In that case, have more wine, Your Majesty.” Uriah signaled to the servant.

Micah paused halfway up the flight of stairs and leaned against the wall to keep from fainting.
Please, dear God. Only a little farther
. He knew from memorizing Isaiah’s map that this was the last flight of stairs he had to climb. He was almost to the banquet hall.

The guards outside the palace gates hadn’t stopped him as he and Hilkiah had boldly strode past them, dressed in Hilkiah’s expensive robes and accompanied by his servants. So far, they hadn’t seen any guards inside the palace, and the few people they’d passed had ignored them. Once Micah had gotten his bearings, he had told Hilkiah to wait for him in the courtyard; he didn’t want to endanger the little merchant’s life any more than he already had. Micah was concerned about Hilkiah’s son, too, wondering what had happened to him after he and Hilkiah had left. Micah whispered a prayer for Eliakim, then summoned all his strength to climb the stairs.

By the time he reached the top he felt dizzy and nauseous with pain. He forced himself to keep moving and turned down the hallway to the left. Suddenly Micah halted. Two palace guards stood in front of the banquet room doors, looking directly at him. He closed his eyes to keep from blacking out. He didn’t know what to do. When he opened his eyes again, one of the guards was walking toward him.

Help me, Yahweh! Help me!

The guard smiled. “You look as though you could use some help, my lord,” he said to Micah. “You’ve been celebrating a bit heavily, I see. They must be serving good wine. Would you like help getting back to your table?”

“Yes … thank you.” The soldier took Micah’s left arm to steady him, and Micah moaned in pain.

“And you’ll probably feel even worse tomorrow,” the soldier said with a grin.

The second guard opened the door for them. Micah gazed at the hundreds of people who packed the enormous room.

“Do you remember which table is yours, my lord?” the guard asked.

Micah spotted the head table on a platform at the front of the room. King Hezekiah was still seated there, wearing his royal robes and a golden crown on his head.

“You can leave me now,” Micah told the guard. “I know where to go.” The guard bowed slightly and closed the door behind him.

As Micah limped up the long center aisle toward the king’s table, he put all his mistakes and all the disasters of the day behind him. His goal was within reach. He began to praise God, and he felt His presence and power surging through him. Micah’s pain was forgotten as he concentrated on the words that Yahweh spoke to him.

The musicians finished their song. Hezekiah rose from his seat to leave—then halted. A man stood below the platform, staring up at him. The intensity of his gaze made Hezekiah’s heart beat faster. He was certain he had never met the man before, yet something about his piercing gaze seemed familiar.

“What’s wrong?” Hezekiah asked. “What do you want?”

“Listen, all you leaders of Judah,” the man said. “You’re supposed to know right from wrong, yet you’re the very ones who hate good and love evil. You skin my people and tear at their flesh. You chop them up like meat meant for the cooking pot—and then you plead and beg with Yahweh for His help. Do you really expect Him to listen to your troubles? He will look the other way!”

Uriah leaped to his feet. “Guards!” he shouted. “Take this man out of here!”

“Wait,” Hezekiah said, holding up his hand. “Let him finish.” He didn’t need this stranger to tell him how much his people were suffering. And seeing the remains of the feast all around him filled Hezekiah with guilt. Maybe this stranger had answers. The hall gradually grew silent as the guests noticed the confrontation.

“Why are you here?” Hezekiah asked.

“Yahweh has filled me with the power of his Spirit, with justice and might. I’ve come to announce Yahweh’s punishment on this nation for her sins.”

“Yahweh?” Hezekiah repeated. “One of Israel’s gods?” This all seemed like a dream he’d once had, and he had the peculiar feeling that this had happened before. Something about the man seemed familiar to him. He tried to remember but couldn’t.

“Listen to me, you leaders who hate justice—you fill Jerusalem with murder, corruption, and sin of every kind. Your leaders take bribes, your priests and prophets only preach or prophesy if they’re paid—” “Your Majesty, tell the guards to take him out of here,” Uriah pleaded. “This man is either drunk or insane.”

The banquet hall was dimly lit, and although the man’s face looked bruised and swollen, as if he’d suffered a beating, he didn’t appear drunk or insane to Hezekiah. He turned to Uriah and noticed that all the color had drained from the priest’s face. He was glaring at the stranger with a mixture of hatred and fear. Hezekiah had the eerie feeling that his elusive dream involved Uriah, too. He turned back to Micah.

“You’ve made some serious accusations. I think you’d better explain yourself.”

“My judgments are not my own. I’m here to plead Yahweh’s case.”

“All right,” Hezekiah replied. “Let’s make this a formal hearing.

You may present Yahweh’s case.” He sat down to listen, and Uriah sat grudgingly beside him.

“Listen, O mountains, to Yahweh’s accusation,” the man shouted. “Hear, O earth, for Yahweh has a case against his people. He will prosecute them to the full: ‘My people, what have I done to you? How have I burdened you? Answer me. I brought you up out of Egypt and redeemed you from the land of slavery. I sent Moses to lead you, also Aaron and Miriam. My people, remember what Balak king of Moab counseled and what Balaam son of Beor answered. Remember your journey from Shittim to Gilgal, that you may know the righteous acts of the LORD.’”