The Strength of His Hand (25 page)

The Assyrians had declared war on Judah! Hephzibah remembered how much Hezekiah loved his tiny country and how worried he had been when the city of Samaria had fallen seven years ago. He would soon endure the greatest trial of his life, but she could do nothing to help him. Even if she knew the words that would console him, she had forfeited any right to say them. Again Hephzibah briefly caught sight of his purple robes between the bobbing heads.

“Be strong and courageous,” Hezekiah continued. “Do not be afraid or discouraged because of the king of Assyria and the vast army with him, for there is a greater power with us than with him. With him is only the arm of flesh, but with us is the Lord our God to help us and to fight our battles.”

He signaled to the Levites, and the sacrifice began. Smoke from the altar curled above the crowd as the music played, but Hephzibah was too far away to understand the words or to feel like she was part of the worship. She craned her neck, trying in vain to keep the speck of purple in sight through her tears.

Hephzibah knew she may never have a chance to escape the villa again, and as the sacrifice drew to a close she began edging toward the south wall of the Women’s Court. Maybe she could catch a glimpse of Hezekiah as he descended the royal walkway on his way back to the palace. She made slow progress, enduring poking elbows and harsh glares as she forced her way through the crush of people, but by the time the service ended, she had reached the edge of the courtyard. The royal walkway stood thirty yards away. She wasn’t allowed to go any closer.

The crowd buffeted her as they filed from the Temple, and she clutched the wall to keep from being propelled out of the courtyard along with them. She watched the royal dais, squinting in the bright sunlight. Hezekiah stood beside Jerusha’s husband; then they stepped off the dais together and began their descent to the palace.

For a few fleeting seconds, Hephzibah had a glimpse of Hezekiah as he hurried past. His dark eyes were clouded with worry, his lips tight with anger. He walked with a weary, limping stride, dragging a leg that was stiff and scarred. His head was lowered, his shoulders hunched forward as if wading into a tempest. Then he vanished from sight.

After all the weeks of planning and waiting for this opportunity, it was over. Hephzibah had seen him—and now she trembled at the magnitude of what she had done to him and what they had lost. She covered her face and wept, sobbing bitterly in the uncaring crowd.

“Hephzibah …”

She looked up, startled. A stranger stood on the other side of the wall from her. He had a faded reddish-gray beard and eyes the color of the sky. She wanted to run, but fear froze her feet to the pavement.

“Forgive me, Hephzibah. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

“You know me?”

“I’m Isaiah ben Amoz, a distant relative of your husband.”

“You’re mistaken. I no longer have a husband.”

“I know. But I have a message from Yahweh for you and for all of God’s people. Yahweh has rejected His bride in anger, just as your husband has rejected you. But neither king will stay angry forever.”

“The king will never forgive me for what I’ve done.”

Isaiah shook his head as if to contradict her words. His voice grew louder, stronger. “ ‘Sing, O barren woman, you who never bore a child; burst into song, shout for joy, you who were never in labor; because more are the children of the desolate woman than of her who has a husband,’ says the Lord.”

People were stopping to listen to him, gathering around both of them. Hephzibah lowered her head, trying to hide her face. She wanted to run, but the crowd hemmed her in.

“‘Do not be afraid,’ ” Isaiah continued. “‘You will not suffer shame. Do not fear disgrace; you will not be humiliated. You will forget the shame of your youth and remember no more the reproach of your widowhood. For your Maker is your husband—the Lord Almighty is His name—the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer; He is called the God of all the earth. The Lord will call you back as if you were a wife deserted and distressed in spirit—a wife who married young, only to be rejected,’ says your God.”

“Please don’t offer me false hope,” she begged. “I know God will never forgive me for what I’ve done.”

Isaiah didn’t seem to hear her. “ ‘For a brief moment I abandoned you, but with deep compassion I will bring you back. In a surge of anger I hid my face from you for a moment, but with everlasting kindness I will have compassion on you,’ says the Lord your Redeemer.”

“Please stop. Why are you doing this to me?” she asked. It was as if he hadn’t heard her.

“‘Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed,’ says the Lord, who has compassion on you. ‘O afflicted city, lashed by storms and not comforted, I will build you with stones of turquoise, your foundations with sapphires… . All your sons will be taught by the Lord, and great will be your children’s peace. In righteousness you will be established; tyranny will be far from you; you will have nothing to fear.’ ” “No. It isn’t true. Hezekiah will never forgive me, and neither will his God!”

She turned and forced her way through the crowd, leaving Isaiah behind, a look of bewildered sorrow in his eyes. When she reached the Temple gate, Hephzibah kicked off Hoglah’s floppy shoes and carried them as she ran down the hill through the streets. By the time she reached the villa and hurried past the dozing gatekeeper, her feet were bruised and filthy.

She fled to her tiny cell and tore off Hoglah’s clothes, sending the old widow away without a word of thanks. Then she closed the door to the outside world and latched the shutters, sitting alone in the darkness. She wouldn’t try to leave the king’s villa again.

20

I
DDINA DUCKED INSIDE
the Philistine temple and paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. The stone structure felt refreshingly cool after the dust and heat outside. He found Emperor Sennacherib waiting for him in the inner chamber.

“There you are, Iddina. Congratulations—you’re doing a splendid job of inspiring fear in our enemies. Most of them are giving up without a fight.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Iddina hadn’t seen the emperor since they had begun the western campaign. Sennacherib preferred to follow after the conquest collecting the spoil, while Iddina rode at the forefront, paralyzing the enemy with waves of shock and terror before the first bloody assault. Iddina bowed slightly. “The campaign has gone well.”

“Frankly I’m a little surprised that the Egyptians haven’t come to help their allies yet,” Sennacherib said.

“The Egyptians are cowards, preferring to fight close to home.”

“But if they had joined forces with their allies, they might have raised an army nearly the size of mine.”

“Yes, it was a stupid strategy on their part, Your Majesty.”

The emperor picked up a golden chalice from among the pile of sacred temple vessels and waited as his servant filled it with wine.

Then he shoved the golden image of Dagon aside and hoisted himself up on the raised platform to sit in the god’s place.

“I want you to hear what I’ve written in my annals, Iddina. Go ahead—read it to him,” the emperor told his scribe.

“ ‘From the annals of Sennacherib,’ ” his scribe read, “ ‘Luli, King of Sidon, fled out to sea and died. His fortified cities of Sidon, Zarephath, Achzib, and Acco were stunned by the prevailing arms of Assur, my god, and they bowed at my feet.’ ” “And now you can add the story of King Mitini of Ashkelon,” Iddina said. “When he saw our forces surrounding his city, he went insane.”

The emperor laughed. “All of our victories should be so easy!

Pour me some more wine,” he told his servants, “and tell the soldiers to bring in the Philistine priests.”

Two soldiers entered with the captive high priest of Dagon, a distinguished-looking man with flowing white hair and beard. His stout body, dressed in a robe of fine linen, testified to a life of ease and privilege, but he moved in a daze, as if trying to awaken from a bad dream. Iddina smiled as he watched the sweat pour down the man’s face as if he were a common laborer. As a man of power and one of the Philistine elite, the high priest had probably never perspired like this in his entire life. The soldiers brought two other priests in with him, one in his mid-forties, the other in his early twenties. Their chalky faces and jerky movements betrayed their terror.

“Blasphemy!” the high priest cried when he saw Sennacherib sitting in Dagon’s place, drinking from the ritual cup.

“But I conquered these gods of yours, so who is superior?”

Sennacherib asked. “Why shouldn’t I take Dagon’s place and drink from his cup? I am obviously more powerful than he is.”

More soldiers entered and began taking all the sacred vessels and images away as booty, clearing the sanctuary while the men talked. The high priest looked bewildered, as if watching his life come apart before his eyes.

“Would you like a moment to say good-bye to your gods?” Iddina asked him.

“Where are you taking them?”

“To the temple of Nisroch in Assyria,” Sennacherib said. “I have a rather nice collection of all the gods and goddesses I’ve conquered. Now I can add these to my collection, as well.”

He hopped down from his seat and strode around the temple, examining the furnishings, signaling to the soldiers who streamed in and out whenever he saw something that appealed to him. Iddina liked working with Sennacherib; he didn’t waste time. The emperor could plunder the temple and interrogate these priests at the same time.

“But that’s not why you’re here, gentlemen,” Sennacherib said.

“Our next target is your neighbor to the east, the king of Judah. I understand that he’s your ally. You can spare yourselves an agonizing death by cooperating with Iddina, my Rabshekah. You simply have to tell him what he wants to know, and he’ll let you live.”

The high priest looked at the other two. “Don’t help them. Die like men, not traitors. They’re going to kill us all anyway.”

“Whether or not you die isn’t what’s important,” Iddina said. “It’s how long it takes you to die that matters.”

The high priest shook his head, staring stubbornly as Sennacherib sat down on the platform again.

“I assume you don’t want to cooperate then?” Iddina asked him.

“I’ll do nothing to help you.”

Sennacherib sighed, shaking his head. “That’s too bad.”

Iddina signaled to two of his soldiers, and they gripped the high priest’s arms and dragged him from the room. Iddina studied the pallid faces of the other two priests while he waited, feeding off the fear he saw in their eyes. The room fell silent. The torture his soldiers would inflict on the high priest would be horrible, but what took place in these men’s imaginations was a much more potent form of torture.

A full five minutes passed without a sound. Sennacherib sipped his wine, looking thoughtful. Iddina stood perfectly still, his arms crossed on his chest, not moving a muscle. Sweat poured down the faces of the two priests, and Iddina could see their knees trembling. The shaking gradually spread through their entire bodies.

Suddenly, quite close by, an agonized scream tore through the silence. Terror gripped the two priests in its power, and they fell to their knees, their legs no longer able to support them.

“I’ll cooperate,” the younger one cried. “What do you want to know?”

But Iddina simply smiled and cocked his head toward the anguished cries as if listening to beautiful music. Several more minutes passed and the screaming continued, blood-curdling, horrifying, until both priests began to weep. The older priest crawled forward on his knees and gripped Iddina’s feet.

“Please … please …”

“Tell me about Judah’s king,” Iddina said.

The priest’s voice shook as the words tumbled out. “His name is Hezekiah … from the dynasty of David. He has reigned fourteen years … he’s popular with the people … very prosperous … a soldier …”

“What gods does he worship?”

“One … only one god … Yahweh. The king is telling the people that Yahweh will deliver them from your hands.”

Iddina laughed out loud. “What makes him think Yahweh will succeed when your gods and the gods of all the other nations have failed?”

“I-I don’t know. Yahweh is a powerful god… . He sent terrible plagues on Egypt centuries ago when Hezekiah’s people won their freedom … and he intervenes in Judah’s battles, giving them victory.”

“We’ll soon see about that,” Iddina said. He suddenly remembered how Jerusha had eluded him, and he grew tense with excitement as he neared his goal—he must defeat her god.

“Where is Yahweh’s Temple?” Sennacherib asked.

“In Jerusalem.”

The younger priest suddenly entered the conversation as if anxious to cooperate, his voice high-pitched with fear. “The people used to worship at altars and high places scattered throughout the country, but when Hezekiah became king he destroyed all the shrines. He makes the people worship in Jerusalem now.”

“Was this a popular decision?” Iddina asked.

“No, not everyone agreed with it.”

“Could I use this to turn the people against their king?”

“Yes, I-I think so.”

Sennacherib picked up a small calf idol, handling it like a toy. “Tell us about their god, Yahweh. What form does he usually take?”

The younger priest spoke first. “The Judeans have no image to represent their god. He is—”

“Wait a minute. What do you mean, no image?”

“It has been that way for centuries. Their laws forbid the people to make an image of their god.”

Iddina couldn’t comprehend anything so foolish, and he felt angry at the Judeans for denying him an image for the emperor’s collection. “But how can they worship without a representation of their god?”

“They hold sacrifices to an unseen god. It is the wonder of all the nations, this imageless worship of theirs.”

“One god with no image? And they’ve convinced the ignorant masses to believe in something so vague and foolish?”

“Yes, they—” The screaming outside suddenly stopped, and Iddina held up his hand for silence. Both priests held their breath, waiting, probably guessing that their high priest was dead. Iddina knew better. He smiled to himself, knowing that the soldiers would revive the man any minute. He waited until the chilling cries began all over again, until the two priests wept uncontrollably, pleading with him between screams.