Song of Redemption (32 page)

“I’m sorry, Jerusha—I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I never should have asked you to relive that. Can you ever forgive me?”

He was so gentle with her, his voice so soothing, that she lay in his arms with her face on his chest and wept for a long time. He made her feel safe, like Abba did, and she didn’t want to leave his protecting arms. Then she noticed all the people clustered nearby, staring at her.

“Go on now,” Eliakim told the gawking crowd. “Move along and leave us alone.”

Jerusha finally managed to speak, her voice hoarse from screaming. “I was back there again.”

“Shh … it’s all right now.”

“It was so real—all their creatures … the idols they worship … horrible things—”

“Jerusha, hush.” He covered her lips with his fingers. “Don’t talk about it anymore. It’s over, and I’ll never make you relive it again—I promise.”

“But … but what if they come here?” Jerusha shivered, and Eliakim tightened his hold.

“Shh. They won’t come here. They’re a long way from here.”

But she knew how swiftly they marched, how quickly they attacked, almost without warning. And they never lost a battle. Jerusha hadn’t known any of the Assyrians’ other victims, but now she knew Eliakim, and she had seen King Hezekiah and his nobles face-to-face. She shuddered, knowing what they would suffer at the hands of the Assyrians. Unwillingly, she envisioned King Hezekiah staked out to be skinned alive. She saw Eliakim impaled on a stake and left to die slowly. She had tried to warn them, but the king’s chief counselor had cut her short. He hadn’t wanted to hear it.

She drew a deep breath. “We can go home. I’m all right now.”

“Are you sure?” He seemed reluctant to let her go.

“Yes. I … I’ll be fine.” He finally released her and helped her to her feet. Her legs felt limp and watery.

“Do you feel like walking a little bit? I think it might help if you breathed some fresh air. And you haven’t seen much of Jerusalem yet, have you?”

“It was dark when we arrived last night.”

“Come on, then.” His arm encircled her waist, supporting her as they descended the palace stairs. “By the way, how did you get through the city gates so late at night?”

“Maacah gave the watchman your name, and he let us in.”

“I didn’t realize I wielded so much power,” he said, laughing. “It must have been someone who knew me. I’ve been inspecting all the city walls and gates, you see.”

He led her down the hill from the palace past the guard tower, then followed the road through the water gate. As they walked down to the spring, Eliakim pointed out the vineyards and olive groves in the fertile Kidron Valley and the carefully irrigated plots of the king’s gardens near the lower pool. The green patches and leafy vines reminded Jerusha of home, the way it used to look. When they reached the spring, Eliakim coaxed a servant girl into lending them a dipper and he drew Jerusha a drink.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?” he said.

“Mmm. And it’s so cold. Just like the water from Abba’s well.” She felt tears burning her eyes, and she blinked them back. As Eliakim returned the dipper, Jerusha noticed the deep scratches on his arms again. She unwound the sash of her dress and dipped it into the water.

“Here. Let me wash off the blood.”

When Jerusha finished and tied her sash again, Eliakim turned her around and pointed to the city on the hill above them. “Look up, Jerusha. See? Those cliffs form a natural fortress. And once we strengthen our walls, the Assyrians will never be able to topple them.”

Jerusha nodded vaguely. It was true that she had never seen the Assyrians besiege a fortress as steep as Jerusalem, but the greater the challenge, the more determined they were to master it. They would find a way. Jerusha was certain of it.

“You’re safe here,” Eliakim said. “They won’t recapture you.”

She wished she could believe him. Neither of them spoke as they walked up the ramp to the city again, but once inside the gates, Eliakim steered Jerusha toward the market square.

“Come. I’ll show you Abba’s shop.”

The marketplace in Jerusalem was unlike anything Jerusha had seen before, much bigger and busier than the tiny one in Dabbasheth. She slowed almost to a standstill, trying to take in all the varied sights, the mixture of exotic smells, the strident sounds. She saw piles of pottery bowls and oil lamps, baskets of every shape and size, colorful heaps of fruit and vegetables, bolts of fine cloth and embroidered work, mounds of savory spices. Above it all, she heard the sound of haggling and the shouts of vendors as they hawked their goods. But she stared the longest at a glittering display of gold and silver jewelry—earrings, necklaces, bracelets, and rings—decorated with a beautiful bluish-green stone that Jerusha had never seen before.

She picked up a silver chain with an oval pendant stone. “What is this gem called?” she asked Eliakim.

“Do you like it? That’s an Elath stone. It’s found only in southern Judah, by the copper mines of Elath.”

“It’s beautiful.” She caressed the cool, smooth rock. The deep green reminded her of Abba’s fields after the spring rains, the blue of the sky back home on a cloudless summer day.

“How much?” Eliakim asked the old shopkeeper.

The jeweler named an exorbitant price, and Eliakim gasped dramatically. “What? It’s not worth half that!”

“Thief! Robber! You would take bread from my children?”

They began to dicker, so loudly at times that Jerusha feared they would strike each other. But before long the jeweler was weighing Eliakim’s silver pieces on a scale and smiling as Eliakim fastened the beautiful necklace around Jerusha’s neck.

“Look at that—it was made for her,” the old man said. “It matches her beautiful green eyes.”

Jerusha was overwhelmed. “Oh, Eliakim, I can’t accept such a gift! I … I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. Please, accept it with my apologies. I want you to know how sorry I am.”

The old shopkeeper sighed. “Ahhh—young lovers.”

Eliakim glanced at him nervously. “Come on, Jerusha. I’ll show you Abba’s shop.”

He led her through the crush of people to Hilkiah’s shop, nestled between an Arabian incense dealer and a booth of imported pottery. His servant ran out to greet them.

“Where’s Abba?” Eliakim asked.

“You just missed him, my lord. But if you wait here, he might have good news for you when he comes back.”

“What kind of news?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t give it away! You’d better wait for Master Hilkiah. He’ll tell you.” The man grinned, hopping from one foot to the other in excitement.

Eliakim smiled at Jerusha, then turned back to the servant. “Listen—I hate surprises. Why don’t you just tell me where my father went?”

“To a very rich man’s house. Royalty, I think.”

“What for? Is the man buying cloth from Abba?”

“Oh, no, no, no, Master Eliakim! Your father isn’t selling cloth! He’s bargaining for your wife!”

Eliakim gaped speechlessly, then began to blush. Jerusha watched his skin turn red, even beneath his curly black beard.

“Come on, Jerusha,” he said weakly. “Let’s go home.”

After the long, stressful day, King Hezekiah went up to the palace rooftop with Shebna to escape the stifling confines of his chambers. He usually found the view soothing, but tonight the ribbon of walls surrounding Jerusalem seemed flimsy to him, an insubstantial barrier against an impossibly superior foe—one that was camped a mere three days’ march away. Hezekiah’s army remained poorly armed and trained, his water supply unavailable to him in a siege, his situation hopeless. He had tried to reign well for the last four years, to reverse the economic ruin and chaos of his father’s rule, but he wondered if all his efforts would be wasted because of his rebellion against Assyria.

“The plans for the new walls looked good, Your Majesty,” Shebna said. “They should greatly improve our city’s defenses.”

“I’m doing everything I can to strengthen this nation,” he replied. “I only hope we don’t run out of time.”

“I understand your urgency. The woman’s report this morning was very vivid. The Assyrians have wasted no time laying siege to Samaria. How long does General Jonadab think they can hold out?”

Hezekiah shrugged. “I haven’t asked. Samaria has a water supply within its walls, which will help prolong the siege.”

He rested his arms on the parapet and stared at his city, feeling discouraged and sick at heart. “Shebna, have I been a fool not to send the tribute these past few years?”

Shebna hesitated. “It would be very unwise to tell the king that he was a fool, my lord.”

“Don’t play games with me, Shebna. I want the truth.”

Shebna faced him squarely. “All right. The truth is that I did not agree with your decision in the beginning. Even so, I must admit that the wealth that would have gone to Assyria has helped Judah prosper again. We would still be impoverished if you had sent the tribute all these years.”

“I know. And we’ll be able to strengthen our defenses with some of that wealth.” But what was going to happen to his nation because he’d rebelled?

All at once Hezekiah wished Zechariah was still alive. His grandfather had been convinced that rebelling was the right decision. Now that Zechariah was gone, Hezekiah had no one to encourage him except Shebna. He leaned against the parapet and stared at his friend gravely.

“Now that Samaria has been besieged, what do you think I should do?” Hezekiah asked. He saw Shebna’s internal struggle.

“Your Majesty, I think this would be a good time to send a gift to Assyria. Call it a peace offering. If you make an alliance with them now, perhaps they will return to Nineveh after they have conquered Israel.”

“But my father made an alliance with the Assyrians, and you know where that led him.”

“I will be glad to audit the royal treasuries and tally our nation’s resources, then present a taxation proposal. I will even head the delegation to Assyria to request the alliance if you would like me to. That is my advice—send the tribute quickly.”

“But I think I’d be deceiving myself if I thought I could send tribute once and that would solve all my problems. It doesn’t work that way. We’d be enslaved to them for life.”

“Nevertheless, Your Majesty, becoming a vassal is a better choice than being totally destroyed. My advice stands. Pay the tribute. But if you decide not to take that advice, then for your nation’s sake I urge you to form defensive alliances with your neighboring states. I suggest you approach Egypt, then maybe the Phoenicians. Judah cannot possibly face Assyria alone.”

Hezekiah pulled on his beard as he wrestled with his decision, remembering Zechariah’s warning about making alliances with other nations.

“What makes you so sure a foreign king would sign a treaty with us? Assyria is like a hungry lion aroused from a long slumber. And Judah would be easy prey after Israel.”

“Then appeasing Assyria is the only answer.”

Shebna’s advice made sense to Hezekiah, but he hesitated, unwilling to reach the same conclusion that King Ahaz had. “Maybe it would be better for my people if I paid the tribute,” he finally said. “Maybe it would spare them from an invasion, from bloodshed… .” His voice trailed off uncertainly.

The decision perplexed him. It seemed that either choice would end in disaster. He stood balanced on that narrow wall again, the same place he had stood four years ago when he made his decision to rebel. Yet he saw no way down to safety.

“Your Majesty, I would like to go inside and start working on the taxation proposal,” Shebna said. “Then if you decide to raise the tribute, it will be ready.”

“Yes, maybe you should. You’re excused, Shebna.”

He went back to his chambers, leaving Hezekiah alone. As he stood in the growing twilight, discouraged and depressed, a gentle breeze from the north carried the sweet aroma of roasting meat down the hill from the Temple. And as the fragrance of the evening sacrifice reached him, Hezekiah suddenly remembered Yahweh. He had stopped paying tribute because he had put his faith in God.

Hezekiah tried to recall that Passover night when his faith had seemed so much stronger. He had worked hard to obey God’s Law since then, purging the idolatry from the land—but had he done enough? Would Yahweh spare his nation because of his faithfulness? He wished he knew the answer.

He returned to his chambers, wandering idly through his rooms, his mind in turmoil. Had he done everything he could for God? Should he do something more? He rummaged through his scrolls until he found the one he had written with Zechariah, then he sat down beside the lampstand, searching for something he may have missed. When he read the words
He must not take many wives, or his
heart will be led astray,
he stopped reading. Four years ago he had forsaken all his concubines for Hephzibah. But except for the baby that had died, Hephzibah had given him no children. Why hadn’t Yahweh provided an heir?

“Where am I going wrong? Why is everything falling apart?” he asked aloud. God had forsaken him, betraying him to his enemies.

Hezekiah sat alone for more than an hour, allowing the winds of self-pity to blow, piling doubt all around him. His faith in Yahweh had been in vain, the promises of God, a lie. He remembered his last afternoon with his grandfather, and Moses’ parting words to Joshua that became Zechariah’s parting words: “Yahweh himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” He longed to have more faith in God, and he remembered how Zechariah had snatched the Torah scroll out of his hand, saying,
“Either your faith in God is absolute,
or it’s worthless.”