The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

by Lynn Austin

  “Every soldier is well armed and extremely well trained. Discipline is very important to them. Cruelty is honored. All the soldiers wear thick, protective clothing and helmets, besides carrying shields. Their foot soldiers are highly skilled with bows and arrows and slings. They spend all their spare time practicing, and their aim is deadly accurate.”

  “What about the cavalry?” General Jonadab asked.

  “For every hundred foot soldiers there are ten cavalrymen. They’re sent ahead of the army to scout for ambushes or to size up the enemy. These horse patrols are so swift and skilled that they can appear and disappear suddenly before their enemies’ eyes like ghosts, terrifying them. Some have spears and swords, some have bows and arrows, but they all carry a short dagger for hand-to-hand combat. They can use all of these weapons with deadly skill, even while riding on horseback at great speed. They guide their horses with their knees so both hands remain free to aim and shoot.”

  Shebna muttered a curse and shifted in his seat. “What about chariots?”

  “For every ten cavalrymen there is a chariot, heavily armed with strong metal plates. Each chariot holds three men—the driver, the warrior, who is armed with bows and spears, and a third man to shield the other two. The chariots are pulled by two horses and are extremely fast. Some even have a third horse tied behind in case one of the others gets injured.”

  Jerusha drew a deep breath, as if summoning the strength to continue. “The chariots usually charge first, and very few armies can survive the first attack. Just the sight of them and the sound of their pounding wheels usually cause the enemy to run. The chariots fan out in pursuit, crushing the enemy beneath their wheels.”

  “You’ve painted a very vivid picture of our enemies,” Hezekiah said. “Trained, disciplined, professional soldiers too numerous to count. We’re not prepared for an assault by such a powerful foe. Do you have any idea what their plans are after they finish with Israel?”

  “No, Your Majesty. I have no idea. But when they’re ready to march, they can move with lightning speed.”

  “And are they as brutal and bloodthirsty as they’re rumored to be?” Jonadab asked.

  “They . . . they . . .” Her eyes darted wildly about, as if the Assyrians might be hiding in the next room. Her fear quickly became contagious. Hezekiah saw it written across the pale faces of his advisors.

  “Their lust for blood and their love of torture make them seem . . . inhuman,” she said. “They study their enemies’ weaknesses and use warfare of the mind to terrify them before they attack. After the battle, the soldiers make huge pyramids of severed heads, and they get paid for each one. Then they turn to their prisoners of war. The lucky ones are killed quickly. They’re made to kneel down as the soldiers smash their skulls with clubs. Others are carried away into slavery like I was. The least fortunate prisoners are the nobles and kings—” She stopped as if suddenly remembering whom she was talking to.

  “It’s all right,” Hezekiah assured her. “You may continue.”

  She twisted her thin hands nervously. “The Assyrians love to torture their captives. They prefer slow, agonizing deaths for the highest-ranking officers and nobility, torturing them for several days before impaling them on stakes and leaving them to slowly die. But they torture the king most horribly of all. Th-they stake him to the ground and . . . and gradually skin him alive—”

  “That’s enough!” Shebna shouted. He leaped from his seat, and Jerusha shrank back in fear.

  “You don’t have to yell at her,” Eliakim said. He moved to put his arm around Jerusha, but she shrank away from him, too.

  “She has made her point,” Shebna said. “The rumors of Assyrian atrocities are true. There is no need for her to continue.”

  Hezekiah felt the tension in the throne room. The Assyrians were a formidable enemy, mobilizing their entire empire into a massive war machine. No one could defeat them. Yet he had rebelled against them. He forced himself to appear calm and controlled.

  “After Jerusha’s report I think we all realize the critical situation we face. We must strengthen and fortify this city as well as others throughout Judah—” Hezekiah stopped, watching Jerusha with growing concern. She was trembling as if shaken by a mighty wind, and her gaunt face had turned pale, her eyes wide with horror. She looked as though she might collapse.

  “Let’s take a break,” Hezekiah said. “I think Eliakim had better take Jerusha home.”

  When Jerusha left the meeting with Eliakim, she could scarcely walk. She heard him talking to her, thanking her for coming with him, telling her how important her information was to the council, but a strange whirring sound, like the flapping of a thousand wings, drowned out most of his words.

  Eliakim led her through a maze of corridors, then across an inner courtyard, but her legs felt heavy and slow. By the time they reached the outer courtyard of the palace, her knees buckled beneath her like a rag doll’s, and she collapsed on the stone pavement. As her vision narrowed and darkness crept in, Jerusha saw thousands of demonic creatures swirling around her head, swooping and diving at her with sharp, bloodied beaks. She screamed and closed her eyes, shielding her head with her arms.

  “No! No! Get away from me!”

  Suddenly she was back in the Assyrian camp again, smelling the smoke and the stench of death, hearing the agonized cries of the dying, witnessing the endless torture and brutality, the forests of impaled bodies, the mounds of human heads, the ever-circling vultures. She began to scream, crying out in horror for all the years that she hadn’t dared to scream.

  “Jerusha? Jerusha, what’s wrong?”

  She heard Eliakim calling her, but his voice wasn’t strong enough to pull her back. She began spiraling down into darkness as she relived the nightmare: the first horrible moment of rape, the years of living in the pit of hell, the day Iddina snatched her baby from her arms. She remembered her escape, running blindly, hopelessly, while the Assyrian army pursued her; almost being roasted alive in the stifling cistern; then holding her mother’s lifeless body in her arms.

  As Eliakim tried to help her to her feet, Jerusha remembered Iddina’s brutality, and she lashed out blindly at him.

  “No! Get away from me! Don’t touch me!”

  “Jerusha, it’s all right! You’re safe now—it’s all right!”

  He tried to soothe her, but she clawed at him, then struck him with her fists as he struggled to subdue her. Eliakim persevered, patiently enduring her wild blows until he held her tightly in his embrace.

  “It’s all right, Jerusha. I won’t hurt you. . . . God of Abraham, please help her!”

  Jerusha barely heard him. Once again she lived the nightmare that never ended, and her screams filled the courtyard.

  Gradually the vivid scenes began to fade, and her terrible cries died down to a whimper. As if slowly awakening from a long sleep, she became aware of blue skies above her head, of cobblestones warmed by the sun beneath her, of open space all around her. Eliakim knelt on the ground with her, clasping her tightly. His cheek rested against her hair. Bloody scratches covered his arms where the whirring creatures had sunk their talons, but Eliakim had fought them off.

  “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.”