Song of Redemption (34 page)

Hephzibah guessed what her mother was trying to ask, and since she had no one else to talk to about her fears, she opened her heart to her mother.

“My husband has no other wives or concubines except me. I should have conceived by now. I feel like a failure.”

“The king has no harem?” her mother asked in astonishment.

“He says it’s against Yahweh’s Law.” She heard the bitterness in her voice and recognized a familiar prickle of jealousy at the mention of Hezekiah’s God.

“You’re the king’s only wife?” her mother repeated.

“He says Yahweh’s Law allows him only one wife. But that’s the problem—don’t you see? If I don’t give him an heir, he’ll have to divorce me and marry someone who isn’t barren.” She hated that word. It reminded her of the lifeless Judean wilderness, and she imagined her womb dry and shriveled like a withered leaf that would crumble at the touch.

“Couldn’t a concubine give him a son?”

“No, he got very angry when I asked him that question. I’ve never seen him so angry. He made it very clear that he will never take a concubine.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I love him so much, Mama, yet I can’t enjoy being with him anymore. Every time he comes to see me I wish he would go away, because I know I’ll fail him again. Yet I don’t want him to go away! I love him, and I’m so afraid he’ll leave me forever! I’m not even making sense, am I?”

Hephzibah cried quietly as her mother held her. “Sometimes I’m filled with hope—maybe this time, maybe this month. But then my time comes—and I’ve failed again.” She tried to wipe away tears that wouldn’t stop. “Do you think Yahweh is punishing me?”

“Punishing you? Why would He punish you?”

“After our baby died I was supposed to bring a sin offering to the Temple, but I didn’t do it. Why should I? I didn’t sin.”

“Of course you didn’t sin. Where did you hear such a thing?”

“The king said it’s Yahweh’s Law.”

“Well, I don’t care if your husband
is
the king—it’s not right! How can he put one woman under so much pressure to give him an heir? That’s why kings have harems in the first place. Everyone knows that as soon as a husband takes a concubine, his wife gets pregnant. Wasn’t Isaac born after the concubine’s son?”

“I guess so.” Hephzibah was glad she had confided in her mother. She felt better after sharing the feelings she had hoarded so long.

“Listen, Hephzibah—I’ve never had much use for Yahweh and all His rules. He’s an angry god, full of wrath and vengeance. Asherah gave me children, not Yahweh. The goddess understands women. And didn’t she answer your prayers once before? Didn’t you pray to Asherah when you wanted to marry the prince?”

“Yes.”

Mama pondered something for a moment, then said, “I’ll be right back.”

She returned a few minutes later with a small bundle, wrapped in an embroidered cloth. At first Hephzibah thought it was a baby and she wondered where it had come from. Then her mother unwrapped a golden statue of Asherah and thrust it into Hephzibah’s arms.

“Here. I want you to have this. She has blessed our home with children; now let her bless yours.”

“But the king forbids it! He won’t worship any god but Yahweh.”

“And has Yahweh given him a son? Of course not! Asherah is the goddess of fertility, not Yahweh. Your marriage is unfruitful because the king has angered her. He turned his back on Asherah and destroyed all her sacred groves and altars, banished all her priests. Of course she’s punishing him. And you’re suffering because of it. But if you worship her faithfully and renew your vows, maybe she’ll show forgiveness. Take this. Your husband doesn’t even have to know about it.”

Hephzibah hesitated, not sure if she could deliberately deceive Hezekiah. But what if her mother was right? What if her husband had offended Asherah? Yahweh seemed so cold and forbidding, demanding animals and sacrifices and blood. Asherah embodied life and love. The goddess would give Hephzibah a child, not rip it away from her. She looked down at the golden figure with the full bosom and pregnant belly. Then she wrapped the idol in the embroidered cloth again and held it to her breast.

“Thank you, Mama,” she whispered.

28

J
ERUSHA SAT ON THE STONE BENCH
in Hilkiah’s tiny garden and stared up at the starry sky, pretending she was home. She had grown accustomed to the confinements of city life, but her heart still longed for rolling green hills and open spaces. She remembered how millions of stars had twinkled in the clear night sky back home—sons of Abraham, Abba had called them. She missed the sound of the wind in the trees outside her window, the soothing hum of insects, the soft crunching of straw as the oxen chewed their feed in the stall beneath her room. City sounds were so different. They were strident noises, rushed and wearisome.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” Eliakim asked as he stopped beside her. “Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not.” She moved to make room for him on the bench. “Do you like to look at the stars, too?”

“Yes, but I have to confess, that’s not why I came out here. I came out to escape.”

“What are you escaping from?”

“Another marriage proposal. They’re becoming embarrassing.” He sighed as he ran his fingers through his rumpled hair.

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“Sure, but how am I supposed to choose? The best price? The prettiest maiden? The most impressive papa? It’s all ridiculous, and I’m getting sick of it. I’m hardly worth haggling over.”

He sighed again and fell into a long silence, not looking at the stars at all, but sitting hunched with his arms on his legs, his hands dangling between his knees. Jerusha understood why all the proud fathers fought over someone as handsome and important as Eliakim. As a country farmer’s daughter, Jerusha had been content to marry Abram, a poor, hardworking farmer like Abba. But she was no longer a suitable wife for any man.

“Why don’t you just pick one, then, and get it over with?” she said at last. She played with the smooth Elath stone necklace he’d given her, envying the woman he chose.

“I probably should. Abba’s disgusted with me for giving him such a hard time about it. But choosing a wife is a major decision, and I don’t want to make it arbitrarily. After all, I’ll be living with my choice for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t you like any of them?”

His eyes narrowed as he considered. “Want to know the truth?

They’re all shallow, pampered, over-painted brats.”

“Eliakim!”

He laughed. “Well, it’s true. Anyhow, I can’t stand any of them, and I’m sick of talking about it. Let’s talk about something else.”

“How’s your work on the walls coming?”

“Great! Remember that older section I showed you near the Dung Gate? You should come and see what I’m doing there. It will take an army to move that wall when I’m done with it!” They both laughed at the irony of his words. “Anyway, you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know. What about the new northwest wall?”

“Well, I’d planned a casemate wall for that section, but after what you said the other day, I’m still not convinced that it’s going to be strong enough.” He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “I just don’t know what to do there. Any ideas?”

Eliakim was so kind and gentle—so serious, yet so boyishly natural. Jerusha knew she could easily fall in love with him, but she must never allow herself to do such a foolish thing. It was more than the obvious class differences or the fact that she was a penniless orphan and he was a wealthy aristocrat. Eliakim deserved someone pure and unsoiled for his wife, and Jerusha had been with many men. Falling in love with Eliakim was a hopeless folly that could only lead to disappointment in the end.

“I don’t know, Eliakim,” she finally answered. “I think a casemate wall will probably be strong enough, won’t it?” She couldn’t bear to remind him that no wall was strong enough to keep out the Assyrians once they determined to get in.

“Why doesn’t King Hezekiah appease them with tribute payments?” she asked. “Then he wouldn’t have to worry about the walls.”

“Because we’d forfeit our freedom. We’d be their slaves.”

Jerusha looked away. “So King Hezekiah would rather die than be a slave to the Assyrians?”

“Well, it’s a lot more complicated than that, but yes, that’s basically what it boils down to.”

A deep shame filled Jerusha. She had faced the same dilemma and had made the coward’s choice. If she could go back in time, she would let Iddina plunge his dagger into her heart rather than submit to him. She shivered.

“Jerusha, you’re getting cold. Maybe we should go inside.”

“No, I’m fine. I want to look at the stars a while longer.”

“Are you sure? The proud papa is probably gone by now. It’s probably safe to go back in.” Eliakim’s mischievous grin made her smile. She hurried to change the subject, to say something to break the strong pull she felt toward him.

“Can I ask you a question?” she said.

“Sure … anything.”

“It’s silly, really, but I was wondering how you got that scar on your neck.”

“This?” He rubbed the thin line beneath his Adam’s apple.

“It looks like someone tried to slit your throat.”

“That’s exactly what happened,” Eliakim said, laughing. “This is General Jonadab’s handiwork, the commander-in-chief of King Hezekiah’s army. But we’re good friends now.”

“After he almost killed you?”

“Well, at the time he thought I was a dangerous rebel, plotting to overthrow King Hezekiah.”

“You?”

He drew himself up straight and proudly threw back his shoulders. “Yes, me!”

The thought of gentle, scholarly Eliakim plotting a revolution made Jerusha laugh out loud. Against her will, she was drawn to him even more hopelessly than before. She knew she was being a fool. When Eliakim finally married his rich wife, her heart would break, but she was powerless to stop herself.

“Would you like to hear the story?” he asked.

“I’d love to.”

And as a silvery moon rose above them, Eliakim told her the story of the night Micah prophesied to the king.

Hezekiah watched as the oxen strained to move a massive building block for the new city walls. A cheer rose from the workmen as the stone fell into place on the bedrock, and Hezekiah relaxed the muscles he had been unconsciously tensing. As he moved closer and ran his hand over the stone’s rough surface, it seemed inconceivable to him that an army could topple such massive rocks. The fact that the Assyrians had toppled countless walls underscored the terrible power of his enemies.

“God, help us,” he murmured.

Eliakim climbed out of the trench, his face and neck sunburned beneath a layer of dust and sweat. He stood with his hands on his hips, waiting for Hezekiah’s reaction.

“Very impressive, Eliakim. Now let’s get out of this sun.”

“Don’t you have any water around here?” Jonadab asked Eliakim.

“Just this.” Eliakim produced a dusty waterskin, sloshing it to see if there was any left. “It’s probably warm—”

“I don’t care!” Jonadab grabbed it and tipped the spout to his lips, gulping noisily, then held it out to Shebna.

Suddenly a look of horror crossed the general’s face when he realized that he had quenched his own thirst before offering it to the king. “I … I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” he stammered, wiping the spout on his tunic. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, thanks, Jonadab,” Hezekiah said. “But you’ve underscored a point I was about to raise—our critical need for water. The double walls, the weapons in the citadel, the fortifications we’re building will all be useless if we die of thirst. The four of us are going down to the Gihon Spring right now, and we’re going to find a way to safeguard our water supply.”

Hezekiah led the way out of the tent, climbing over the clutter of rocks and debris from the construction. After filing through the gap where the new gate would stand, they followed the road down to the spring. Goats quietly grazed along the steep hillside beside the aqueduct, while workmen across the valley vigorously shook the first ripe olives from the branches. Life went on, unhurried, as if the Assyrian army didn’t exist. But the peaceful scene in the Kidron Valley belied the sense of restless urgency Hezekiah felt.

When they reached the spring, he squatted beside the water, cupping his hands for a drink, splashing some onto his face and neck. The sun blazed in the hazy sky like the fires of Molech, and Jonadab found a patch of shade on the low wall of a terraced olive grove where they could sit. As Hezekiah stared at the city above him, the golden stones shimmered in the heat. He traced the line of ancient walls that encircled the old city, then Solomon’s walls, added to protect the upper hill and the Temple. The fortifications looked impressive from the valley.

Jonadab was looking up at the city, too. “It’s an ideal city to defend, Your Majesty—a natural fortress, built on such a steep mountaintop that my armies could defend it forever if—” He stopped abruptly and looked at Hezekiah.

“I know,” Hezekiah said. “If only we had water. But I refuse to give up. The defense of Jerusalem depends on it.”

Shebna’s blue-black hair glistened with sweat. He wiped the back of his hand across his brow. “We could construct more cisterns inside the walls, haul water up to fill them during peacetime, then use it in times of war,” he said.