by Lynn Austin
“You wanted to see me, Your Majesty?”
“Yes. I may have some interesting news for you.” Ahaz reclined on his divan among a clutter of silken cushions, his expression one of boredom. Hezekiah wondered if he had been summoned to be Ahaz’s entertainment. His father didn’t offer him a seat but left him standing while he took his time coming to the point. “Pour my son some wine,” he told his servant.
“No, thank you,” Hezekiah said, holding up his hand. He hoped that his refusal wouldn’t irritate his father, but it wasn’t even noon. He saw Ahaz eying him narrowly.
“How old are you now?” he said at last.
“I’m twenty-five, sir.”
“Twenty-five . . . is that so? Well, I’m fairly pleased with your education so far. You’ve done well in your studies and your military training.” He rose ponderously from his seat to wander around the room, occasionally picking up some trinket and examining it casually.
“Tell me—has Shebna taught you how to conduct yourself at formal ceremonial proceedings?”
Hezekiah considered how to answer. He knew that his father conducted frenzied sacrifices at altars all over the city, and they disgusted him. “If you mean taking part in formal religious rituals, I really don’t have much interest in—”
“No, no,” Ahaz said impatiently. “I don’t mean religious sacrifices. I know you never participate in those.” The truth was that Ahaz rarely allowed Hezekiah to join him at public ceremonies or even at the Temple’s worship services. The physical contrast between father and son was great, and it was almost as if Ahaz didn’t want his heir to compete with him in the public eye. He kept Hezekiah in the background as much as possible.
“No, what I meant was, how much do you know about formal diplomatic protocol?”
“I’m fluent in a few languages,” Hezekiah said, trying to sound patient. He was already tired of his father’s games and wondered where these questions were leading. “And I’ve studied the customs of international diplomacy, if that’s what you mean.”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I mean. And do you like to travel?”
“I’ve traveled throughout most of our nation, Your Majesty, and it was quite enjoyable.” The prospect of leaving Jerusalem’s confining walls excited Hezekiah, but he pretended indifference, unwilling to give Ahaz any leverage over him.
“Good, good,” Ahaz replied, and for no apparent reason he began to laugh. But his laughter triggered a coughing fit that left the king wheezing and flushed. Hezekiah hesitated, unsure how to react. Should he express his concern—or would sympathy only highlight his father’s weakness? In the end he said nothing, and Ahaz’s servant helped the king back to his divan and refilled his wineglass. Ahaz took a few sips.
“Tell my cupbearer to send something stronger than this,” he said.
When the servant was gone, Ahaz looked up at Hezekiah again. “It’s time I arranged a marriage for you. Would you like that?”
Ahaz’s condescending manner infuriated Hezekiah, and he had difficulty hiding it. His father was toying with him, hinting at travel, then tossing in a marriage. He knew the danger of contradicting his father, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “I already have several concubines, sir. A legal wife doesn’t interest me at all.”
“Well, you’d better get interested,” Ahaz growled. “My trade minister is negotiating an agreement, and if he’s successful, I’ve decided that his daughter will be wed to you.”
The idea of being used as a prize, a reward for doing the king a favor, enraged Hezekiah. For a moment he couldn’t speak.
“The girl’s name is Hephzibah,” Ahaz continued. “She sounds delightful, doesn’t she?” He laughed at his own joke, a pun on her name, which meant my delight is in her. Hezekiah nodded mutely, knowing that his opinion didn’t matter. Ahaz had already made up his mind. He would be commanded to marry her.
“Hephzibah’s father is negotiating a trade agreement with Tyre. Are you interested in traveling with him as an envoy?”
“Yes, of course. But Tyre? Why would—” Hezekiah stopped short, catching himself. As much as he liked the idea of travel, the trade agreement made no sense to him.
“But—what?” Ahaz asked impatiently.
He hesitated, aware of the danger in questioning Ahaz’s decision. But Shebna had taught him to think logically, and Hezekiah couldn’t help speaking his thoughts. “Why would we want a trade agreement with Tyre, since we have no direct access routes to their territory?”
Ahaz looked at him blankly. “What are you talking about?”
“When the Philistines conquered our territory in the foothills, they took control of all the northern passes through the mountains to the coastal trade route. In order to trade with Tyre, we’d have to go through Philistine territory and pay duty or else go farther north and—”
Hezekiah stopped when he saw his father’s face slowly reddening. Too late, he realized the mistake he’d made in demonstrating his superior knowledge to Ahaz.
“But you’re aware of all this, sir,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to imply . . .” But Hezekiah knew from his father’s expression that Ahaz had been ignorant of the situation.
The king sprang from his couch to confront him. “You have all the answers, I suppose? Maybe you think you’d be a better king than I am?”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“Don’t interrupt me! I’m still the king of this nation, not you! Although you’d jump at the chance to take over, wouldn’t you?”
Hezekiah didn’t reply.
“Wouldn’t you?” Ahaz demanded, glaring up at him.
“No, sir. I don’t want to take over. But I do feel that I’m capable of holding a position of responsibility in your government, and I’m willing to serve in any—”
“I’m sure you are, just like Absalom served his father, King David, by staging a rebellion!” Ahaz looked him over accusingly, as if Hezekiah had chosen to be tall and lean and muscular in order to spite his overweight father. “I know the fickleness of the masses. The last thing I need is for you to persuade them that you’d make a better ruler than I would.”
His father’s accusations angered Hezekiah, and in spite of his resolution, he lost his temper in self-defense. “I never said I wanted to take over! But since I am going to be the king someday, why can’t you at least allow me to attend the Advisory Council meetings once in a while so I can get acquainted with how the nation—”
“No! How dare you?” Ahaz turned his back and stalked across the room. “Next thing I know you’ll be poisoning me in my sleep.”
“What?”
“Silence!” The rage that Hezekiah saw in his father’s eyes stunned him into silence more than the command did. He watched Ahaz gulp some wine, and it seemed to cool his father’s temper. Hezekiah waited.
“You’re not ready to take responsibility yet,” Ahaz finally said. “Maybe once you settle down with your new wife I’ll have more for you to do—if you deserve it, that is. Now get out!”
Hezekiah brushed past the royal cupbearer on his way out and strode down the palace corridors, furious with Ahaz. But he was angrier with himself for losing his temper. It would probably cost him the opportunity to travel with the trade mission—as useless as it was. He only wished that Ahaz had changed his mind about the marriage, too.
As soon as Hezekiah reached his study, Shebna read the anger on his face and sighed. “Your father did not have good news for you, I gather?”
Hezekiah groaned and sank onto a pile of cushions near the window. “I don’t know—it might have been good news if I hadn’t lost my temper. My father was about to make me an envoy on a trade mission—to Tyre, of all places. But when I pointed out the futility of a trade agreement without trade routes, it infuriated him to discover that I knew more about geography than he did.”
“Oh, dear,” Shebna said, wincing.
“It gets worse. I asked him for a chance to learn more about running the nation, and he accused me o
f plotting to overthrow him.”
Shebna slowly lowered himself onto a bench, his dark face turning pale. “Plotting . . . ?”
“Yes. That’s when I lost my temper and he threw me out. Oh, I almost forgot. My father has arranged a marriage for me.”
“You did not refuse, I hope.”
“He’s using me, Shebna, like . . . like some kind of trophy. I’m to be a reward for some trade minister or other. I’d like a more useful function in the kingdom than that.”
Shebna shook his head in dismay. “Do you realize how dangerous it is to make him angry, my lord? If only you would hold your fiery temper when you are with him, be patient, and listen to him without comment.”
“I honestly tried this time, but it was all so idiotic—a trade agreement with Tyre!”
“Well, idiotic or not, it was an opportunity to prove yourself to him, and—”
“And I ruined my chance.”
“You will have to get back in his favor, my lord. Perhaps it would help to show interest in the wife he has chosen.”
“I don’t want a wife that my father has chosen.”
“See? Your stubbornness always gets you into trouble.”
Hezekiah looked at Shebna, then managed a smile. “You’re right, as usual. Do you have any other advice I need to hear?”
“You have finished your education, as far as I am concerned. You already know more than I do. If the king were to ask me, I would suggest that he allow you to gain practical experience in running the nation. He could make you a lower court judge or civic administrator. At the very least, you could sit in on his advisory meetings and find out what is going on in the nation.”
“I agree, Shebna, but unfortunately my father doesn’t. In fact, I asked for a seat on the Advisory Council just now, and that’s when he accused me of plotting to overthrow him.”
“Then, now is not the time for me to discuss it with him. We would both be wise to wait.”
Hezekiah heard the note of fear in the tutor’s voice, and for the second time that morning he was aware that Shebna was deeply afraid of King Ahaz.
“I’m afraid of him, too,” Hezekiah said quietly. “He’s too impulsive. He lets his emotions rule him. And he doesn’t have to make me his successor. He has no shortage of heirs, as he’s always quick to remind me. My brother Gedaliah gets along with him much better than I do.”
Shebna looked thoughtful. “But you say he hinted at making you an envoy?”
“He said maybe. But my father has hinted at a government position before and nothing ever came of it. So I’ll just have to wait and see this time, too. My father is not an old man, Shebna. I could be waiting years to inherit the throne.”
“That is true, my lord,” Shebna said with a sigh.
“Then maybe you’d better start giving me lessons on how to be patient.”
14
Hephzibah lay on a pile of cushions beneath the fig tree in her family’s courtyard, dreaming of the man she would marry. Her father told her she had several suitors, and she paraded them through her mind as she gazed up at the shiny green leaves, considering each of them as a husband. Her opinion wouldn’t matter of course, but she loved to dream all the same.
Hephzibah knew she would command a high price when her father negotiated her bride price, not only because he was a prominent government official, but also because she was very beautiful. She had been told that it was so all her life, but she recently had become aware of the effect she had on men, even with her face discreetly veiled. She was petite and fine-boned with a fragile quality that made men desperate to possess and protect her. And Hephzibah also had the natural grace and elegance that spoke of her social standing among Judah’s nobility.
The afternoon sun warmed her as it dappled through the trees, the tranquil afternoon and quiet hum of insects made her drowsy. She closed her eyes, then awoke to see her father smiling down at her.
“Is this any way for the prince’s future bride to spend the afternoon?” he said, laughing. He was dressed in the ornamental robes that he wore when he attended the king’s court, and she knew he had just returned home from the palace. Beads of perspiration dampened his forehead and his face was flushed, not only with heat but also with excitement. Hephzibah quickly sat up, not sure if she was dreaming.
“What did you say, Abba?”
“I suppose I shouldn’t tell you about it until the arrangements are final,” he said. “But I can’t keep quiet about a secret this big.”
“What, Abba? Please tell me.” She grabbed both his hands and pulled him down beside her onto the cushions.
“I’ve been working on a special project for King Ahaz for the past several months, and he’s been very pleased with what I’ve accomplished. This morning he told me that once my trade agreement is finalized, you will be married to his son, Prince Hezekiah.”
The news astonished her. “Oh, Abba! You mean, I’ll live in the palace? Me? Married to a prince?”
“Yes, my dear girl. And your future husband is also the heir to the throne. He’ll be the next king of Judah.”
The news overwhelmed Hephzibah. Her shock, combined with the afternoon heat, made her feel dizzy. This had to be a dream. It couldn’t possibly be true.
“Oh, Abba,” she whispered.
“What’s the matter? I thought you’d be thrilled, but you look as if you’ve seen King Uzziah’s ghost.”
Hephzibah knew she should be overjoyed but terror gripped her instead. “I never dreamed . . . I never thought . . . Abba, I don’t know what a king’s wife is supposed to do.”
Her father laughed. “She’s supposed to bear him sons—many, many sons. It’s what every man expects from his wife, whether he’s a king or a slave.”
Hephzibah knew that he was right. As her terror slowly began to subside, replaced by the excitement of this unexpected betrothal, her mind teemed with questions. “What does he look like, Abba? Have I ever seen him? How old is he?”
“Slow down—one question at a time,” he said, laughing again. “Besides, does it really matter what he looks like? He’s going to be the king someday.”
Hephzibah had seen King Ahaz in processions and at royal ceremonies, and she remembered him as grossly fat. Not even the aura of royalty or his fine robes could disguise that fact. The thought of being married to him, being held against his doughy belly, made her shudder. Once again she was afraid.
“Yes, Abba—of course it matters. Is Prince Hezekiah pale and fat like his father?”
“Hephzibah!”
She clapped her hand over her mouth. Her outspokenness had shocked her father.
“That’s the king of Judah you’re talking about,” he said. “How can you be so disrespectful?”
“I’m sorry, Abba.” She lowered her eyes and tried to look repentant, but she shuddered at the thought of being married to someone like Ahaz, whether he was the king or not.
“Ah, I forgive you. You’re bound to be a little jittery before your betrothal.” He brushed her dark hair from her face affectionately. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know much about your future husband. I’ve seen several princes, but I don’t know which one is Hezekiah. They never come to council meetings. I’ve heard that they study under an Egyptian tutor, a genius of a man, so they say. And they spend a lot of time with the captain of the palace guard for their military training. I promise I’ll try to find out more once you’re betrothed, all right?”
“Yes, Abba,” she answered quietly.
For the rest of the evening Hephzibah alternated between joy and terror as she dreamed of being wed to an unknown prince. The pampered life appealed to her, with elegant clothing and jewels and hundreds of servants. But her dream man was supposed to be handsome and strong, not flabby and pale. What would she do if Prince Hezekiah resembled his father? How could she hide her revulsion every time he held her or pressed his bloated cheek to hers?
Long after the household retired for the night, Hephzibah tossed and turned in bed, u
nable to sleep. Her father said it might be weeks before she would be certain if the betrothal would take place, and Hephzibah decided that she could never cope with the terror of the unknown that long. She had to find out whom she was marrying and stop the betrothal, if necessary, before it was too late.
All night Hephzibah watched the stars sweep slowly past her window and the silver moon rise and set. By the time she had formulated her plan, it was nearly dawn. She rose from her disheveled bed and crept into her younger sister’s room.
“Miriam, wake up,” she whispered as she shook her awake.
“Hephzibah? What are you doing here?” she asked sleepily.
“Shh. Be quiet and listen to me. You’ve got to help me. I’m going to go out of my mind if you don’t.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Abba’s betrothing me to a prince.”
“I already know that,” she said in a cranky voice. “You woke me up to tell me what I already know?”
“Shh. Listen to me. I’ve got to find out what he looks like before it’s too late. What if he’s really horrible? What then?”
“You’ll marry him anyway, like a dutiful daughter should. Now let me sleep.” She closed her eyes and rolled over with her back to Hephzibah.
“Will you please listen to me?” Hephzibah begged. “If I really hate him, maybe I can pray to all the gods to cancel the betrothal or . . . or take a vow or something. Please, Miriam. Suppose it was your betrothal. Wouldn’t you want to know what he looked like? You’ve got to help me.”
It required no effort on Hephzibah’s part to plead desperately. She merely had to think of sitting beside the fat, pompous king, and helpless panic overwhelmed her. Miriam rolled over again to face Hephzibah.
“It depends. What do you want me to do?”
“I have a plan. We’ll stuff cushions in our beds so it looks like we’re sleeping. Then we can sneak out and try to get a look at Prince Hezekiah.”
Miriam sat up straight. “Are you crazy? We can’t wander around the city by ourselves. If Abba catches us, he’ll have us stoned.”