Faith of My Fathers (13 page)

He turned to Jerimoth, but his brother was prostrate with grief, his face pressed into the dirt, unaware of anything but his pain. Joshua had once witnessed a public execution, and the image of the prisoner’s bloody back, the sound of the screams and the stones pelting his body, had tortured Joshua’s soul for days. If that man had been Abba . . . To do that to Abba . . .

“Manasseh will pay for this,” Joshua said. “If it costs me my life, Jerimoth, I swear I’ll get revenge for what he did to Abba.”

7

T
HE COMMANDER OF
M
ANASSEH’S
execution squad bowed before him. “They’re both dead, Your Majesty,” he said quietly.

“Did Rabbi Isaiah confess?” Manasseh asked.

The commander stared at the floor and shook his head. He seemed strangely subdued, as if the task had affected him deeply. He was a seasoned professional. There was no excuse for this behavior.

“What’s wrong with you?” Manasseh demanded.

“Your Majesty, I’m accustomed to executing violent criminals. The rabbi was a very old man. It was hard for me to—”

“Are you questioning my decision?”

“No, Your Majesty. You wouldn’t have issued the orders unless you had proof of his guilt.”

He was speaking the correct words, probably from fear, but everything about the commander’s demeanor told Manasseh that the man had performed the task against his will. Manasseh wanted him out of his sight. “You are dismissed,” he said.

The commander started to leave, then turned back. “We removed this from Lord Eliakim’s finger . . . after . . .”

Eliakim’s official signet ring lay in the soldier’s open palm. The sight of it gave Manasseh a start. For as long as he could remember, he had seen that ring on Eliakim’s finger. It had been part of him. The image of the soldiers wresting it from his dead, limp hand made Manasseh shudder. He wouldn’t touch it.

“Give it to the chamberlain. Tell him to put it in the treasury until I choose a successor.” He thought of Joshua, Eliakim’s chosen successor. “Have they found Eliakim’s son yet?”

“No, my lord. We haven’t found Lord Shebna, either.”

“I want you to double the guard here at the palace until we root out all of the conspirators. Run security checks on everyone who enters, including the servants. Then double all the guards at the city gates. Check every load entering or leaving the city. You must find Eliakim’s son Joshua. He’s at the heart of this conspiracy, and I won’t rest until he is captured.”

After the commander left, Manasseh sat alone in the huge, echoing throne room. The seats on his right and his left were empty, the usual crush of petitioners strangely missing.

What had he done? Shebna and Eliakim had occupied those seats, guiding and counseling Manasseh since the day he’d become king. He couldn’t rule the entire nation by himself. But he couldn’t promote any of his other advisors until he learned who else was involved in this conspiracy. Not knowing whom to trust, he sent for his brother, Amariah. It seemed to take him a long time to arrive.

Amariah finally entered the throne room with his shoulders slumped, his head bowed. His fearful hesitancy infuriated Manasseh. His brother had always been too passive, too content to sit and strum on a lyre all day, composing songs, instead of drilling with the palace guards or maneuvering for his rightful position on Manasseh’s court. He was a few inches taller than Manasseh, but wiry and slender, with the sensitive facial features of a child. His curly dark hair had their father’s coppery highlights, and his beard probably would, too, once it finished growing in.

“Sit down,” Manasseh ordered. He gestured to Shebna’s seat on his left.

Amariah obeyed, staring silently at the floor.

“Say something!”

Amariah finally looked up. “Why did you kill him, Manasseh?”

“Are you part of their conspiracy, too?”

“You know I’m not. It’s just that whenever I think of Abba, whenever I picture him in my mind . . . I see Lord Eliakim beside him.”

“You’re such a fool! Don’t you realize how that compounds his guilt? He sat here in a place of trust, but he abused that trust! He conspired to kill our father!”

“I have a hard time believing that,” Amariah said. He spoke so softly that Manasseh barely heard him.

“Then you’re an even bigger fool than I thought. Doesn’t God’s Word promise long life to those who serve God and obey Him? Who was more faithful than Abba? Why would God take Abba’s life?”

Amariah didn’t reply. He stared at Manasseh for a long time before speaking. “What are you going to do now? Who’s going to take Eliakim’s place?”

“Someone I can trust, obviously. Can I trust you? My own brother?”

“I don’t want the job, Manasseh. I’ve never wanted—”

“I know! You have no ambition at all, do you? You’ve always been content to sit back and let an outsider like Joshua take your rightful place. He isn’t even of royal blood.”

“That’s because Joshua has the talent and the intellect for it. I don’t.”

Amariah’s weakness angered Manasseh. “You’re shirking your responsibilities. You’ve always been able to get away with it as long as Eliakim and Shebna and Joshua were around to take over, but you’re King Hezekiah’s son, too. It’s time you took some responsibility. I’m making you my secretary of state.”

“Are you crazy? What do I know about being the secretary? I’m only nineteen! I haven’t even finished my studies! Shebna held that position since before we were born!”

“Well, there’s no better way to learn than by experience. Move into Shebna’s office. Start with all the unfinished business he left behind.”

“I can’t do it, Manasseh. I’m not qualified to—”

“Oh, grow up! You have our father’s blood in your veins. That’s all the qualifications you need.”

Even with his brother beside him, the day seemed endless to Manasseh and much too quiet without the usual business to attend to. Icy fear, like a rare winter snowstorm, had blanketed the entire city, settling over everyone, bringing the nation to a standstill. Manasseh wondered how long it would take for the fear to melt away and life to return to normal.

When it was time for the evening sacrifice, Manasseh walked up the hill with his brother. He always felt like a stranger at the Temple, with little to do except watch the priests perform the ceremony for him. Tonight the feeling bothered him even more than usual. As king, he should enjoy equal status with these priests. Instead, he stood as an observer, like all the other men. Only the royal platform set him apart and raised him a few feet above the crowd. The rabbis had taught him that he was also a sinner, no greater in God’s eyes than anyone else, but their reasoning didn’t seem right to Manasseh. He remembered what Zerah had said: The kings of other nations were also priests.

When the high priest himself emerged from the Temple side chambers to conduct the evening sacrifice, Manasseh was instantly suspicious. Today wasn’t a feast day or a new moon. But when the high priest began to recite the liturgy, a shiver of dread passed through Manasseh’s veins.

“‘The wicked plot against the righteous and gnash their teeth at them . . .
The wicked draw the sword and bend the bow. . .
To slay those whose ways are upright.
But their swords will pierce their own hearts,
and their bows will be broken.’ ”

Manasseh turned to his brother. “Who are they talking about? Who are they accusing of wickedness?”

“I assume it’s your enemies. The men you executed.”

Manasseh wasn’t convinced. His uneasiness continued to grow, swelling inside him like fermenting wine, until the high priest recited the final verses:

“‘Wait for the Lord and keep his way.
He will exalt you to inherit the land . . .
But all sinners will be destroyed;
the future of the wicked will be cut off.’ ”

Manasseh didn’t wait for the benediction. He stepped off the platform and strode down the royal walkway to where his guards were waiting. “Arrest them,” he said.

“Arrest who, my lord?”

“Every priest and Levite who participated in that service.”

———— Joshua huddled in front of the hearth beside his brother. With the window tightly shuttered and the door closed and barred, the only light in the darkened room came from the fire. He had sent Miriam and the boys to the market so he would have some time alone with Jerimoth and Maki.

Joshua’s lingering fever made him lightheaded, and he longed to give in to sleep. But the shock of witnessing Abba’s brutal death had paralyzed Jerimoth, leaving the task of family leadership to Joshua.

Jerimoth couldn’t stop shaking, even though he sat close to the fire. Joshua hated to pile more tragedy on his brother’s shoulders, but he had to be told about the other deaths. Joshua wrapped his arms around him.

“Jerimoth, I hate to do this to you—”

“Is it my Sara . . . or . . . or the baby?”

“As far as I know, they’re still safe.” He drew a shaky breath. “But Maki said that on the night they arrested Abba they . . . the soldiers murdered Grandpa . . . and Dinah.”

Jerimoth clung to Joshua and wept like a small child. “But why? Why is Manasseh doing this to us?”

“I don’t know. Nothing makes sense. I’ve relived my last few days at the palace again and again, but I can’t recall anything that would explain what Manasseh has done. I wish I could confront him and demand an explanation, but that’s impossible.”

Joshua had shed no tears. Instead, he’d channeled all of his emotions into the reservoir of his anger and hatred. It was growing very deep.

“Jerimoth, listen to me. We can’t give in to our grief until we find a way to save what’s left of our family. Mama is still in Anathoth at Tirza’s house. Your Sara and Rachel, and my Yael, are here in Jerusalem. We need to leave the city as soon as possible. We have to decide where we’ll go, what we’ll do, how we’ll live.”

At last Jerimoth released his grip on Joshua and wiped his face with shaking hands. “Yes, yes . . . you’re right.”

“We’ve lost everything. Maki says Abba’s house, your house, and Grandpa’s booth in the marketplace are all under guard. It isn’t safe to go back for anything. I had only a few pieces of silver with me. Do you have any?”

“I don’t know . . . a small amount.”

“We have to start all over again, Jerimoth. We have to rebuild Grandpa’s business with what’s left.”

“I don’t see how. It’s impossible. We would need investment capital and—”

“But we
have
to. It’s a matter of survival. Think, Jerimoth. Think about what you need to do. Don’t dwell on . . . on this morning anymore. We have to take care of the women and children.” He watched his brother struggle to control his emotions and saw him dig into his inner resources of strength.

“The goods I just purchased are in storage in Moab,” Jerimoth finally said. “They’re worth a fair amount. And I have business contacts . . .”

“Good. You need to concentrate on Grandpa’s business so we can survive once we’re safely out of the country.”

“Where will we go?”

“To Moab. Or maybe to Egypt. Someplace that isn’t an Assyrian province.”

“I think I can find a place for us in Moab. But if the soldiers are guarding my house, how will we—”

“I’ve been working on a plan. Maki, will you come here for a minute, please?” The servant got up from the stool by the table and squatted beside them in front of the hearth. “We both owe you our lives, Maki. I wish we could reward you somehow, but—”

“It isn’t necessary. I owed your grandfather my life, Master Joshua. Maybe now I have repaid him. If there was one thing Master Hilkiah believed in, it was helping those in need.”

Memories of his grandfather tugged at Joshua, threatening to pull him down into grief and despair. He remembered Hilkiah’s twinkling eyes and easy humor, his quiet humility and generosity, his deep faith and love for God. Hilkiah didn’t deserve to be beaten to death. If only Joshua had stayed home that night instead of going to Yael’s house. If only he had taken care of his grandfather instead of leaving him and Dinah alone. Joshua would probably be dead along with Abba, but at least his grandfather and his sister might still be alive.

“Have you made any plans, Maki?”

“No, Master Joshua. I have no plans.”

“Is this your family? Can you stay here until you find work?”

Maki poked at the logs in the fire, trying to coax the embers to life. He wouldn’t meet Joshua’s gaze. “Miriam is my daughter. Nathan and Mattan have other fathers.” When a dry piece of wood finally caught fire, he looked up. “I never wanted anyone to know about her, especially Master Hilkiah. He was such a godly man, and I was ashamed of my sin. Miriam’s mother and I were never married.”

“Where is Miriam’s mother?”

Maki shrugged. “Who knows. Ever since Miriam was old enough to take care of the boys, her mother has come and gone as she pleased. I have always supported my daughter, but most of what her mother gets is spent on wine. That’s why they live like this.”

“You should have told my grandfather. He would have given Miriam a job in the kitchen or—”

“I wanted to ask him, but Miriam wouldn’t leave her brothers.”

“I’m sure my grandfather would have cared for them, too.”

“I know he would have, but the boys resent me. They’ll have nothing to do with me. Maybe it’s because I’ve looked after Miriam all these years while their own fathers . . . Well, I don’t think they even know who their own fathers are.” He turned away again, poking aimlessly at the fire. “The funny thing is, I started my life just like them. My story is identical to theirs. I also made a living by robbing vendors in the marketplace. But I got caught when I was ten years old and sentenced to fifteen lashes. Master Hilkiah paid my fine, and I was spared.” Maki laid down the stick and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. “He was so much more than my master and employer. He was a father to me. When they killed Master Hilkiah . . .”

Jerimoth laid his hand on Maki’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I knew my grandfather loved you, but I never realized how much you loved him.”

Joshua wondered how much more they had never known about their grandfather. “Will you help us, Maki?” he asked after a moment.