The Strength of His Hand (20 page)

She didn’t answer at first, and when she finally spoke it was slowly, hesitantly. “For as long as I can remember, ever since I was a child, you have been the king of Judah. I’ve watched you from theWomen’s Court as you stood on the royal dais at the Temple. My father—the entire nation—respects you because you are such a great king. Year after year we’ve waited for the announcement of the birth of your heir. But it has never come. All your people grieve for you.”

Hezekiah wondered where this long, rambling speech was leading, but he forced himself to be patient with her.

“Your Majesty, all my life, all I have ever desired is to have a husband and children. I would be content to marry an ordinary man or maybe a Levite like my father. But you must understand that to be chosen … to be honored with the privilege of bearing the king’s son …” She stopped, and he saw tears in her eyes. “There are many women who would envy me because I am here with you.”

“Abigail. Do
you
want to be here?”

She stood and reached to tenderly touch his face, as if to assure herself that he was real, that she wasn’t dreaming.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I can’t believe that I am.” Her gesture and words moved him. He hadn’t known such tenderness since his last night with Hephzibah.

Hezekiah felt the stirring of desire for the first time since the fire. But at the same time he knew the terrible pain that accompanied love. He feared he might hurt this gentle girl the way Hephzibah had hurt him.

“Thank you for your honesty, Abigail. Now I owe you the truth, as well. Before you decide that this is what you want, you need to understand that I’m not certain I can ever love anyone the way I loved—” He couldn’t say Hephzibah’s name. “The way I loved my first wife. Could you live with that, Abigail? You’re so young. Could you live the rest of your life with me, knowing that I might never be able to say the words ‘I love you’? ” She bit her lip, trying not to cry, but a tear slipped down her cheek just the same. “It … it doesn’t matter.”

She moved into his arms, and as he felt the warmth of her embrace, smelled the sweetness of her scent, his longing for Hephzibah was almost more than he could bear. He took Abigail’s face in his hands and kissed her hair, her forehead, her lips. But God forgive him—in his heart he was kissing Hephzibah. When Hezekiah realized what he was doing, he stopped and released Abigail from his arms.

“No,” he said. “It
does
matter, Abigail. I can’t do this to you. I’m sorry.”

She stared up at him in fear and confusion. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No,” he said sadly, “no, you haven’t done anything wrong.” Suddenly Hezekiah’s grief gripped him so powerfully that he had to turn away to hide the tears stinging his eyes. “You are a beautiful, desirable woman, and I’d like nothing more right now than to have you stay with me tonight. But it wouldn’t be fair to you. You could give me pleasure, help me forget my grief for a while, even give me a son to take my place someday. But I have nothing to give you in return.”

“Yes, the honor of being your wife … of living here …”

“Honor and prestige and wealth and privilege aren’t important in the end. They don’t last.” He turned to her again. “Relationships, love—nothing can replace them, don’t you see? I have the honor and respect of all my countrymen, even of other nations, but it doesn’t mean a thing.”

She stared at him in silence as tears fell down her lovely cheeks. How could he make her understand?

“Abigail, did you have another suitor? Someone else who loved you and wanted to marry you?”

“Yes … but to be married to the king, to give birth to your heir, is—”

“Don’t trade a chance at happiness for a title or prestige. It’s not a fair exchange. And right now, a title is all I could give you. Maybe in time I’ll be ready to love again. Maybe someday I could give you something in return… .”

“But I could—”

“Don’t you understand, Abigail? When I kissed you a moment ago … I was kissing someone else.”

He saw by her expression that she finally understood. And in spite of his efforts not to, he knew he had hurt her deeply.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “You’re hurt because you think I’m rejecting you. But someday, when you find a husband who loves you as much as you deserve to be loved, you’ll understand why I sent you away. I pray that you’ll be grateful.”

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears. The pain in them was gone, replaced by pity. “But you deserve to be loved, too, Your Majesty.”

She was a very beautiful woman, and Hezekiah ached inside with the need to be loved, the need not to be alone anymore. He quickly rang for his valet before he changed his mind, before his own selfish needs caused him to ruin Abigail’s life.

“Take her home,” he told his servant; then he turned his back so he wouldn’t have to watch her go.

He was alone again, and his sorrow and grief seemed greater than before. He needed Hephzibah to rub the tension from his aching shoulders and neck, to fill the empty place in his heart. But she was gone forever. He stood before his window staring at the outline of the Temple on the hill.

He had served God faithfully for more than a dozen years, upholding the Law, governing his nation by it. And God had fulfilled His end of the covenant in return, blessing his country, granting him honor in the sight of other nations. God had given him every prom- ised blessing except one: an heir. But as Hephzibah had so painfully pointed out, God had made that promise to David, not to him. And God would keep it, too—through Hezekiah’s brothers and their sons.

How easily God’s Word could be misread and misinterpreted, just as he had misread God’s command to marry one wife.
Do not return
to Egypt …
Maybe he had misread that law, too. Maybe it had nothing to do with joining an alliance.

The door opened, and his valet returned, interrupting his thoughts. “Did you send the young woman home?” Hezekiah asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Would you like anything else?”

It seemed to Hezekiah that his valet was looking at him strangely, and he wanted to explain to him why he had sent Abigail away. He wanted to tell him that just because he was the king and could have anything or anyone he wanted, it didn’t give him a license to use people for his own selfish needs. But the valet wasn’t waiting for an explanation. Hezekiah hadn’t answered his question.

“Yes, I’d like one more thing. Ask Shebna to come here.”

Hezekiah gazed up at the stars while he waited, watching the thin, gauzy clouds that raced across the sky like a bridal veil. He felt tired, but it wasn’t the type of fatigue that sleep would cure. When he heard his door open, he turned around.

“Two things, Shebna. First, I’ve decided to sign a treaty of alliance with Egypt. You will go as my envoy, but you will make no concessions to them. I will sign as Pharaoh’s equal or not at all.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I can be ready to leave right away.” He broke into a broad grin, showing his straight, even teeth.

For some peculiar reason, Hezekiah suddenly recalled the first time he’d ever met Shebna. Hezekiah had been a child, and something in Shebna’s smile had seemed false to him.
“Your eyes aren’t
happy,”
Hezekiah had told him. He searched Shebna’s eyes now and saw that they still didn’t seem happy, in spite of the fact that he was the second most powerful man in the nation, that he was getting his wish for a treaty, that his advice had been heeded instead of Eliakim’s. Hezekiah wondered why not.

“And second,” he continued. “Don’t ever send a woman to my chambers without consulting me again.”

Shebna’s grin vanished. “She did not please you, Your Majesty?”

“I’m sure she would have pleased me a great deal if I’d let her stay, but that’s not the point.” He saw Shebna’s confusion and searched for a way to explain it to him. “Shebna, you’ve had the same concubine for many years now. Does she bring you pleasure?”

“Yes, and she has also given me four sons.”

“Then why haven’t you married her?”

“What for? I am content without marriage.”

“Indeed—what for?” he said softly. “‘The Lord God said, “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.’ ” And the Torah also says, ‘A man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh.’

There’s so much more to marriage than pleasure or sons, Shebna. It’s a sacred covenant, a mutual covenant, for the benefit of
both
partners. It’s like—”

The blank look of incomprehension on Shebna’s face stopped Hezekiah. A wall of unbelief separated him from Shebna, and for the first time Hezekiah realized how different they were, how far apart they’d grown over the years. Hezekiah’s faith led him to live for God, not for himself; Shebna had no one to please but himself.

“Never mind,” Hezekiah said. He sank down wearily on his couch, shaking his head. “That’s all, Shebna. You may go.”

Shebna didn’t move. “I am sorry if I have offended you, Your Majesty. I was only trying to be a friend to you. I thought the girl might help lift the burden of sadness you have carried for so long.”

“I know. And I appreciate it. But maybe I’m just not ready to let go of it yet.”

And for the first time Hezekiah admitted to himself that in spite of all that Hephzibah had done to him, he still loved her. Maybe he always would. Their hearts had been joined together in a miraculous, inexplicable way, and no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he willed it, he would probably never be able to completely forget her, never stop loving her. And never was a very long time.

16

T
HE HOT SUN GLARED
off the paving stones as Hezekiah stood on the palace steps, watching his servants load the caravan with gifts for Pharaoh Shabako. Within minutes, sweat poured down his face and neck, gluing his tunic to his back. He wiped his brow, pushing his damp hair off his forehead.

Eliakim stood beside him, his opposition to the Egyptian treaty clear from his grave silence. In the courtyard below, Shebna strutted before the growing crowd, issuing last-minute orders to the servants. When General Jonadab finished inspecting the Judean soldiers who would accompany the delegation, he climbed the stairs to where Hezekiah and Eliakim stood. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you’ve decided to purchase Egyptian chariots and horses, Your Majesty. They will be a muchneeded addition to our arsenal.”

Hezekiah nodded vaguely. He didn’t want to think about the Egyptian horses. He wanted to get this over with.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come along, Eliakim?” Jonadab asked with a wry smile. “I’ll let you ride your favorite horse. It’ll be like old times, riding together.”

“No thanks, General.” Eliakim’s usual boyish grin had disappeared. Jonadab looked perplexed.

“I thought this was a happy occasion, Your Majesty. Why all the long faces?”

Yes, why the gnawing uneasiness that churned in Hezekiah’s stomach? He had made a reasonable decision about this alliance based on facts and sound advice. But for some reason he couldn’t escape the feeling that he had made a grave mistake.

“We’ll celebrate when you return and the treaty is signed,” he told Jonadab.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Hezekiah watched in silence as Shebna finished issuing orders and bounded up the steps. “Everything is ready, Your Majesty. We are ready to leave whenever—oh no! What does
he
want?”

Hezekiah followed Shebna’s gaze and saw Isaiah pushing his way through the crowd, elbowing people aside. The prophet made no effort to mask his disapproval as he stopped at the bottom of the steps and gazed up at Hezekiah.

“‘Woe to the obstinate children,’ declares the Lord, ‘to those who carry out plans that are not mine, forming an alliance, but not by my Spirit, heaping sin upon sin …”’

“What is he doing?” Hezekiah asked through clenched teeth.

“He’s condemning me here? In front of all these people?” The crowd had fallen silent, listening with rapt attention as Isaiah’s voice carried across the courtyard and echoed off the palace walls.

“‘Who go down to Egypt without consulting me; who look to Pharaoh’s protection for help, to Egypt’s shade for refuge.’ ” Hezekiah hurried down the stairs, the stiffness in his scarred leg making his descent awkward. But he had no time to disguise his limp. He had to stop Isaiah from denouncing his policies in front of all these people.

“Don’t do this to me,” Hezekiah pleaded in a low voice. “Please, Rabbi. Not in public like this. You don’t understand. You don’t have all the facts—”

“‘But Pharaoh’s protection will be to your shame,’ ” Isaiah continued, “‘Egypt’s shade will bring you disgrace.’ ” It seemed like a bad dream to Hezekiah—the prophet shouting to a rebellious king before an astounded crowd, rebuking him in the name of the Lord. He remembered standing beside his father near the aqueduct on the road to the Washerman’s Field the day the prophet had confronted Ahaz. He remembered Isaiah’s warnings in the Valley of Hinnom and how the prophet had pleaded with Ahaz and the rebellious people to stop their sin of idolatry. Now Hezekiah stood in his father’s place. Now the prophet directed his angry words and accusations of sin and rebellion at him. Helpless frustration made Hezekiah want to lash out at Isaiah, just as his father had lashed out, but he choked back his anger.

“Not out here, Rabbi, please,” Hezekiah begged. “Can’t we go inside and talk about this?” Isaiah’s voice rose even louder in volume.

“These are a rebellious people, deceitful children, children unwilling to listen to the Lord’s instruction. They say to the seers, ‘See no more visions!’ and to the prophets, ‘Give us no more visions of what is right! Tell us pleasant things, prophesy illusions. Leave this way, get off this path, and stop confronting us with the Holy One of Israel!’ ” “Guards!” Shebna shouted as he bounded down the stairs. “I’ve had enough of this man!”

“No, Shebna,” Hezekiah said wearily. “Let him have his say. Trying to silence him will only make things worse.” He turned his back on Isaiah and on the caravan to Egypt and slowly limped up the palace stairs, mortified to be receiving the same condemnation as his father. Isaiah continued to shout behind him.