Song of Redemption (23 page)

“Do you want to part with even more of your precious gold?” Iddina shouted.

“Make the stakes as high as you want, Iddina. But if you wager it all, you’ll lose it all!”

“Then I’ll raise your bet! Because I know I won’t lose!” Iddina turned to face Jerusha. “Isn’t that right, my pretty one? You’re my little good-luck charm, aren’t you?”

The men rose to their feet and led Jerusha down through the encampment to where the infantry divisions had their tents, and for the next half hour, the officers paraded her before their assembled ranks. Jerusha couldn’t imagine what cruel game they were playing. She felt confused and disoriented as thousands of cold black eyes studied her as if trying to memorize her face.

Then all at once it made sense. Jerusha nearly cried aloud at the terrible realization of what they had planned. They were setting her free to hunt her down again! She was the object of their wagers. Whichever officer recaptured her would probably receive the promotion Iddina had mentioned last night.

Jerusha felt as if she were sinking in cold, black waters. They would pursue her and track her down for sport as if she were a wild animal, then take her captive again. How long could she hope to stay free with four divisions of Assyrian soldiers trailing her, searching for her? She wanted to scream. Why hadn’t she ended her life last night as she had planned? Why hadn’t she realized that Iddina would plot something horrible? She knew that mercy played no part in his vicious nature. But before she could recover from her shock at what they were doing to her, they reached the edge of the camp, and the main road that led south toward Israel.

Iddina shoved her into the middle of the road. “Go on, little birdie! Fly away home! I found you the first time, and I can find you again.”

She turned to face him, longing to throw herself at his feet and beg him not to do this to her. But he grinned like a wolf and flapped his arms, crying, “Fly! Fly away, little birdie! You have fire, my pretty one, and a strong will to live. I know you’ll provide a good hunt.”

The watching soldiers dissolved into laughter at his words. As if in a daze, Jerusha turned away from them and stumbled blindly down the road, clutching her bundle to her breast. The sound of their laughter rang in her ears.

Running was useless. She wasn’t free from them, and she never would be. She would wander through an unknown land alone and barefoot while they pursued her with chariots and horses and thousands and thousands of men. She wanted to sink down in the dust and wait for them to come for her, refusing to play their sadistic game. But that would make Iddina furious, and he would torture her without mercy. She had to play along.

Jerusha knew that the Assyrians wouldn’t break camp and follow her for a few more hours, but once they did, the well-disciplined soldiers could travel at an exhausting pace. She could never outrun them. Why should she try? She had no reason to keep walking, except that Iddina expected her to. And so she plodded hopelessly on, not caring where the road led.

Jerusha had walked for more than an hour, never once looking back, when suddenly she became aware of a deep, eerie stillness all around her. The strangeness of it made her stop. For the first time in years she no longer heard the low rumble of the army camp, the raucous cries of the vultures, the dying moans of the condemned. Instead, in the echoing silence, she heard the hum of bees and insects, the sweet chirp of songbirds, the soft swish of the wind as it brushed through the treetops. She hadn’t heard those sounds in such a long, long time that they seemed like music to her.

Jerusha sank down in the middle of the road to listen as tears streamed down her face. She drew a deep breath and smelled the fragrance of the earth—clean and fresh, free from the stench of smoke and rottenness and death. Dazzling colors replaced the black she had grown so accustomed to—the deep blue of the sky, the rich green of the trees and waving grasses, the snowy white of billowing clouds, the yellow and scarlet of dainty wild flowers. Jerusha had forgotten that such a beautiful world existed.

This was freedom—and this was torture. They would let her taste it and smell it for a while, then snatch it from her again.

“No!” she cried aloud. “Never!”

If only she could call upon God for help; if only He would deliver her. But Jerusha knew that there was no God. He hadn’t answered her other prayers, and if she wanted freedom she would have to win it herself. Suddenly she realized how desperately she wanted to remain free. She wanted to beat Iddina at his game or die trying. She hated him, hated what he had done to her, and she vowed that no matter what, she would never return with him to that hell on earth.

Jerusha scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding with determination. She must get away from him, but how? The chariots and horses would overtake her first. Her only hope was to leave the road and climb the rocky hillsides where the horses and chariots couldn’t follow. Immediately she left the road and began blindly running and stumbling across the rugged terrain toward the safety of the steep hills and barren rocks. She imagined Iddina crouching by the side of the road, studying her trail as it cut toward the foothills, and smiling to himself. She hadn’t disappointed him.

“All right, Iddina,” she said fiercely. “You’ll have your hunt.”

King Hezekiah sat in his private chambers with Shebna, reading the daily reports. The sun had set more than an hour ago, and his servants had lit all the oil lamps, moving the tall bronze stands closer to him for more light. Reading the tiny lettering made Hezekiah’s head ache, and when Shebna offered him a scroll with a long list of numbers, he closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Read it to me, Shebna.”

“It is a report on the wheat harvest, Your Majesty, with recordbreaking figures once again.”

“Enough to export and trade?”

“More than enough. More than last year.”

Hezekiah opened his eyes and leaned forward, scanning the list with growing excitement. “That’s three years in a row! Think of the goods we can import with profits like these!”

“Our economy continues to prosper, my lord.”

“Yes, and do you know why?”

“Certainly. It prospers because of your brilliant economic policies. First you won back valuable farmland where most of this surplus is grown, then you decided not to pay tribute to Assyria.”

“That’s not why, Shebna.”

“I know, I know … You are going to say it was because of your God.”

“How else could we conquer that territory when the Philistine army outnumbered our inexperienced troops ten to one? And all that farmland would be worthless without rain to make the crops grow. You hold the proof right in your hands of how God has blessed this land since we renewed our covenant with Him, and you still refuse to believe it?”

“I am sorry, Your Majesty.”

“But the evidence is so clear!”

“I interpret the evidence differently than you do.”

Hezekiah’s head pounded painfully, but he continued to argue, frustrated by Shebna’s stubbornness. “How do you interpret it, then?”

“You are a bold, decisive leader, willing to take enormous risks, such as attacking the Philistines and rebelling against Assyria. And your risks have reaped astounding benefits.”

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were trying to flatter me.”

“Not true.”

“Then how did my bold leadership bring three years of abundant rainfall and cause the crops and herds to multiply in record-breaking numbers?”

“I would have to evaluate the rainfall in nations that have not served your God and examine their crop yields before I would be willing to eliminate the possibility of a coincidence.”

Hezekiah sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. “Time to quit, Shebna.”

“Have I offended you, Your Majesty?”

“The better question is—have you offended God?”

Shebna appeared unconcerned. “Shall I read you this next report, Your Majesty?”

“No, I really want to quit for the day.”

“So early? Are you unwell?”

“Just very tired, and this headache is making it difficult to concentrate.” ‘

‘Well, there is one more issue that I have been wanting to discuss with you for some time,” Shebna said.

“Is it important?”

“Yes. It is of vital importance.”

Hezekiah closed his eyes. “Go ahead, then.”

Shebna drew a deep breath. “The potential for a crisis in our nation is growing worse now that the Assyrian army has invaded Israel. They are only one hundred miles from our borders, and—”

“I’m very aware of that fact.”

“—and they may invade our nation next. I would strongly advise you to organize a defensive treaty with some of our neighbors. No single nation can mobilize an army the size of Assyria’s, but if we formed an alliance—” ‘

‘Shebna, are you forgetting that the reason the Assyrians are invading Israel is because they attempted to do that very thing?”

“We would be more subtle about it than they were, Your Majesty.” He smiled slightly and folded his arms across his chest, looking very pleased with himself.

Hezekiah exhaled wearily. “What are you talking about?”

“As you know, we already have trade agreements with all our neighbors… .”

“And?”

“So the foundation for a military alliance is already in place. The diplomatic ties, the network of roads, the economic interdependence and cooperation—they are all there. I am only suggesting that we take those trade agreements one step further.”

“How?”

“By establishing family links.”

Hezekiah glared at Shebna. “You’re talking about marrying the daughters of foreign kings, aren’t you?”

“Just consider it for a moment, Your Majesty. Suppose you married Pharaoh’s daughter; if the Assyrians threatened Jerusalem, he would send his armies here to defend her and his grandsons.”

“Shebna, I’m ruling this nation by God’s Law, and that Law says that the king should have only one wife. I won’t even discuss marrying another one.”

“Just a minute, please. I have reread that passage, Your Majesty, and it says, ‘the king must not take
many
wives.’ It does not limit you to one.”

“But I remember copying that portion with my grandfather. I’m sure he told me that it meant
one
wife.”

“It says
many
. You may read it for yourself. Even King Solomon formed an alliance by marrying Pharaoh’s daughter.”

“Yes, and it led to his ruin. Did you read that part, too?”

Shebna’s calm facade began to crumble. “Your Majesty, international politics are very complex. Marriage alliances are a modern necessity. You cannot govern this nation with a set of laws that are a thousand years old.”

“I can and I will.”

“But—”

“Foreign wives bring foreign gods with them, Shebna. They encourage their sons,
my
sons, to worship those gods. How would Pharaoh respond if I refused to let his daughter worship Isis or Ra or any of her other idols? I won’t do it!”

“If you refuse to marry a foreign king’s daughter, it might collapse the whole agreement. And the day may come when you will need the support of your neighbors.”

“Well, you’ll have to find another way to win their support, Shebna, because I won’t do it.”

The throbbing pain in Hezekiah’s head seemed worse than before. Shebna stood abruptly and gathered his scrolls and tablets in icy silence, his dark eyes brooding. Then he stopped and looked up at Hezekiah in stubborn anger.

“I am sorry. But I still do not understand your refusal. I do not see how the Torah would be violated.”

Hezekiah faced him with a steady gaze, carefully controlling his own anger. “This may come as a great surprise to you, Shebna, but I love my wife very much. I don’t want to marry anyone else—not for Pharaoh, not for politics, not even for pleasure. I don’t care if the Torah grants me a hundred wives.”

Shebna looked away. “I see. However, I doubt that there are many kings in the world who would agree with you.”

“You’re probably right about that, Shebna. I doubt it, too.”

19

J
ERUSHA TRAILED THROUGH THE ROCKY
underbrush until her feet bled, yet the mocking foothills appeared no closer than when she had first left the road and started toward them. By noon the sun blazed in the sky, a fiery enemy determined to defeat her. The skin of water was already half empty, and she desperately needed a drink, but the bleak, arid countryside offered no water. It seemed useless to go on. She could never survive out here on her own.

She rested for a moment, dizzy and nauseated from the heat. She studied the sky to make sure she still headed south, then plodded forward. The road was no longer visible, but she knew that if she kept the sun’s rising point on her left and setting point on her right, she would be going in the right direction. Occasionally she nibbled on some of her food for strength, rationing it carefully.

By dusk, a gradual upward slope in the terrain told Jerusha she had finally reached the foothills. She could no longer see the mountains through the thick forest ahead of her. She yearned to lie down, to close her eyes and sleep, but she forced herself to keep going. Her enemies would stop at night, but every hour that she walked put more distance between them and her.