Song of Redemption (39 page)

“You think it will take them about two months, then?” he asked.

“Two months at the very least, Your Majesty.”

“It looks excellent, Shebna.” Hezekiah pressed his ring into the small lump of clay, then handed it back to him. Shebna looked tired. “You work too hard, my friend. You should learn to relax. Would you like to take some time off?”

Shebna blinked in surprise. “No, of course not.”

Hezekiah remembered how Eliakim had given him the same answer, and he realized again how alike the two men were. The tunnel foreman had told Hezekiah that Eliakim rarely went home, staying in the tunnels almost day and night. Maybe traveling would be good for him.

“Would you like to go along on this trip, too?” he asked Shebna.

He quickly shook his head. “Travel is not for me. I prefer my own bed at night. And I will need to observe the progress on the walls and the tunnels while Eliakim is away.”

“I realize that’s asking a lot of you, Shebna, but Eliakim has assured me that his project foremen are capable men. All the preliminary work is finished.”

“Of course, my lord. I am happy to do it.”

Hezekiah smiled slightly. “I know you don’t think much of Eliakim’s tunnel—”

“It is your tunnel, my lord, and it must be completed.”

“I’m glad you see it that way, my friend.”

As Hezekiah stood up to stretch, one of his servants hurried into the room. “Your Majesty, General Jonadab wishes to see you right away.”

Shebna turned on the man. “Unless we are being invaded, it can wait. The king is tired, and Jonadab has no right to intrude in the king’s private quarters.”

“But the general said it was urgent—”

“It’s okay, send him in,” Hezekiah said. “I don’t think Jonadab would come at this late hour unless it was important. Maybe it concerns tomorrow’s trip.” He sank down on the window seat to wait.

When Jonadab entered he seemed deeply shaken. He was a battlehardened soldier, but as he groped for words, Hezekiah could see how upset he was. “I’m very sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty, but something terrible happened tonight.”

“Sit down, Jonadab, and take your time.” But the general refused to sit.

“Your Majesty, one of my watchmen at the Valley Gate saw a man and a woman leave the city after sunset, carrying a small bundle. They headed down toward the Hinnom Valley, and a few minutes later the watchman saw what looked like a bonfire over by the cliffs.”

An icy chill passed through Hezekiah. “Oh no …”

The general drew a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, but we were too late. By the time we arrived, the baby was dead. This is all that was left.”

He handed Hezekiah a small funeral urn. Tiny, charred bones lay on the bottom. Hezekiah’s stomach turned as he read the inscription. The baby had been sacrificed to the goddess Asherah to fulfill a vow.

“Where is the couple now?”

“Outside your throne room.”

“Let’s go.”

As soon as Hezekiah was seated on his throne, Jonadab’s soldiers brought in the prisoners. The handsome couple was dressed as if attending a lavish social function, the woman adorned with expensive jewelry. But panic showed on their chalky faces as they cowered before the king, staring at the floor. The woman’s shoulders quaked with silent sobs.

“Why did you do it?” Hezekiah asked. They made no reply. “I asked why you sacrificed your child!” he shouted. “Answer me!”

The husband finally looked up. His voice had the defiant tone of a man who knows he stands condemned and has nothing more to lose. “We made a sacred vow to the goddess a year ago. She answered our prayers and granted me what I asked for, so we’ve kept our part of the vow in return.”

“You vowed to kill your own child?”

“He’s our son. Aren’t we free to do whatever we want with him?”

Hezekiah gripped the urn until his knuckles turned white, controlling his anger with great effort. He didn’t need to consult the Levites. He knew exactly what the Torah said. When he finally passed the tiny remains back to Jonadab, his hands shook.

“Give this little one a proper burial, then take his parents out of the city and stone them to death.”

“No!”
the woman screamed. She dropped to her knees. “Have mercy on us,
please
!”

“The same mercy you showed your own son?” Hezekiah asked. “You burned him alive, and you’re asking for mercy?”

“We have other children at home,” she pleaded as the soldiers hauled her to her feet.

“You should have thought of them before you committed murder. The sentence stands. Stone them both.”

Her cries gradually faded as the soldiers hustled her away. Jonadab remained behind, clutching the urn. The room fell silent as Hezekiah struggled to compose himself.

Finally Shebna spoke for the first time since the incident began. “You should have waited until morning for this, Jonadab. The Law is very clear in this case. A lower court could have judged them without disturbing the king.”

“No, he did the right thing,” Hezekiah said quietly. “I asked him to report any incidence of idolatry directly to me.”

“But why upset yourself with matters that can easily be judged by—”

“Because I started these religious reforms, and it’s important to me that they succeed. It’s important to our nation, too. Don’t you understand that yet?” But he knew that Shebna didn’t. Hezekiah sighed and walked out to the hallway with the two men. “Go home and go to bed, General. It’s been a long night for all of us.”

But as Jonadab turned to leave, Hezekiah stopped him. “Wait. Make sure that their other children are cared for, first.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The incident left Hezekiah badly shaken. An hour later he was still trembling, and he debated whether or not he should go to see Hephzibah. He needed her to help him erase the events from his mind, but he didn’t want to burden her with what had been a revolting duty. At last he decided to go but to remain silent about what he had been forced to do.

“What happened, my love?” she cried the moment she saw him. “What’s wrong?”

Hezekiah drew her into his arms, clinging to her. “You don’t want to know.”

“Please tell me. Maybe it will help if you talk about it.”

He finally released her, and she led him over to a pile of cushions in front of the empty charcoal brazier. He sank down and stared at the smudges of soot on the bronze, feeling sick, while Hephzibah gently rubbed his shoulders.

“I had to order a couple to be executed,” he said at last.

“Why?”

“They sacrificed their son to Asherah.” For a moment Hephzibah’s hands froze on his shoulders. “I remembered how we grieved when our son died,” he continued. “We both wanted a son, and I … I just can’t … I don’t know how anyone could do that, Hephzibah. Sacrificing their own child to a … to a lifeless slab of stone.”

Hezekiah hadn’t thought of his brothers in many years, and their faces had faded with the passing of time. But he remembered all too well the heat of the flames, the terror, and the stench of their burning. He pulled Hephzibah into his arms again and opened his heart to her, hoping to find relief from his painful memories.

“When I was a child my father ordered the priests to sacrifice me to Molech.”

“Hezekiah, no!”

“First he sacrificed my brother Eliab, and I had to watch him die. But that wasn’t enough. He ordered them to sacrifice me, too.” Hephzibah clung to him fiercely, and he remembered clinging to his mother the same way, desperate for her protection. “Someone made a mistake—and they sacrificed my brother Amariah instead of me. He died in my place, Hephzibah. But I was the oldest son. I was supposed to die—burned alive—like the little boy who died tonight.”

Hezekiah stared at the cold black charcoal and heard the sound of the drums pounding in his ears. “My own father … ordered his children put to death because he was in trouble. How could anyone do that, Hephzibah—to his own children?”

He felt her warm tears on his chest, but she didn’t answer.

“And then this happened tonight. I thought I’d purged such abominations from my land. I thought I’d smashed all the idols. I thought … I thought my people knew better than to worship lifeless stones.”

Grief overwhelmed him, and he covered his eyes. “If you could have seen those tiny bones—he was so small, so small and helpless… .” His voice faded away as his heart raged at the monstrous injustice.

“We want a child so badly,” he said at last. “We’ve been praying for one, trusting God for one … and I had to condemn two people to death for murdering their own son.”

31

E
LIAKIM WINCED AND SHIFTED
in the saddle, trying to find a comfortable position. After riding horseback for three days, there wasn’t one. “Are we still behind schedule?” he asked Jonadab.

The general smiled slightly. “Why? Do you want to walk awhile?”

Eliakim nodded sheepishly. They dismounted, and Eliakim groaned with relief. “I’m sorry, General, but I’m a city boy. Horses are a new experience for me.”

Jonadab laughed. “That’s okay. I think Shebna wants to kill us both with his crazy schedule. He didn’t even give us time to enjoy the scenery.”

The road followed the banks of the winding Sorek River, with the beautiful rolling green hills of the Shephelah surrounding them on every side. It felt good to walk again.

Eliakim drew a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of the Sorek vineyards. “This certainly is beautiful country,” he sighed.

“I led the military campaign when we won this territory back from the Philistines—one of the wisest decisions King Hezekiah ever made. It’s as fertile as Eden. My wife’s from around here. I miss her already. But you wouldn’t know about that. When are you going to get married and find out what you’re missing?”

Eliakim hadn’t thought about Jerusha for several days, and his depression had begun to lift for the first time in months. But Jonadab’s gentle teasing reminded him, and Eliakim felt the familiar twisting pain in his gut.
Many men
.

“Sorry—guess it’s none of my business,” Jonadab mumbled.

Eliakim sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “No, it’s all right. I, uh … might be getting married when I get back home.”

“You don’t sound too thrilled. Is she ugly?”

Eliakim thought of beautiful Jerusha and smiled weakly. “I don’t really know. My father has several prospects for me. I’m not sure which one we’ll choose.”

Jonadab studied him as they walked. “But you’re in love with someone else—is that it? And your father is against it—or maybe hers?”

“Something like that.”

“Tell you what: I’ll give you a little sword practice, and when you get home you can ride your horse up to her house and carry her away.” Jonadab slapped Eliakim on the back good-naturedly. “What do you say?”

“When I get home I’m never getting on a horse again.”

Jonadab laughed, but when he looked at Eliakim’s grim face his smile changed to a frown. “Is it really that hopeless—with your girlfriend, I mean?”

Eliakim looked down at the road. “Yeah, it’s hopeless.”

“That’s too bad. I’m sorry.”

They walked along in silence for a few minutes, with the heavy plodding of the horses and the sweet chirping of birds sounding in their ears.

“Listen, Eliakim, if it’s any consolation, I never met my wife until the day we got married. My father chose her for me. But I love her with all my heart now. We’ve had five children together and three grandchildren so far. Maybe you should give one of your father’s brides a chance.”

“Thanks. Maybe I will.” But as they walked along, Eliakim wondered if he could learn to love anyone the way he had loved Jerusha.

They approached the outskirts of Lachish shortly before sunset, riding once again, but several hours behind schedule.

“I’m dreading this visit,” Jonadab said.

“Why is that?”

“The governor of Lachish is the king’s brother, Prince Gedaliah. Ever meet him?” Eliakim shook his head. “I tutored him for his military training, just like I tutored the king. But Gedaliah is very different from King Hezekiah, as you’ll soon see, and … well, maybe I should let you decide for yourself.”

“You’d better tell me now, since we’ll be working closely with him.”

Jonadab scratched his beard. “I never liked Gedaliah. Never trusted him. It’s hard to explain why exactly. King Hezekiah has a certain … royalty about him. He gives an order, and you feel like obeying it. His brother gives orders, too, but they rub me the wrong way. Like petting a dog from the tail to the head—you know what I mean?”

“I think so.”

“I’ve always known the king to be fair, even when the decisions were tough. But Gedaliah? He’s always in it for himself. Selfish little runt, like his father. I’d be willing to bet that he’s lined his own pockets pretty nicely since he was appointed governor of Lachish.”

“Does the king know what his brother is doing?”

Jonadab shrugged. “That’s hard to say. Anyway, it was your friend Shebna who recommended him for the position of governor.”

“My friend?”

Jonadab chuckled. “Someday you’ll have to fill me in on why you two hate each other so much.”

“It’s not
that
bad.”

“Come on, you and Shebna can’t be in the same room together without going straight for each other’s throats.”

Eliakim sighed. “I don’t really know how it started with Shebna. I never liked him and he never liked me. He’s sure getting his revenge on this trip, though.” Eliakim shifted uneasily in the saddle. “But don’t ever tell him that.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“I don’t know; maybe it’s Shebna’s beliefs—or lack of beliefs, I should say. I have no use for people who don’t believe in God. You can blame my father for instilling me with that prejudice.”

“Then you won’t like Gedaliah, either.”

“He’s an unbeliever?”

“Worse. He’ll worship anything to further his own selfish ambitions.”

“You’re right. That’s much worse.”

By the time they rode through the triple gates of Lachish, Eliakim was convinced he would have to eat dinner standing up. They were welcomed by Governor Gedaliah and conducted on a tour of the city’s impressive fortifications.