The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

by Lynn Austin

  Eliakim rested his hand on one of the jars. “We’re building storehouses like this all across the nation for army supplies. We’ll be well prepared for an Assyrian siege.”

  “Tell me about Lachish,” Hezekiah said. “I understand you and Jonadab just spent several days there.” Hezekiah had heard unsettling rumors about the way his brother governed the city, and he trusted Eliakim to tell him the truth.

  “Lachish is a very impressive fortress, Your Majesty—one of the strongest cities in Judah.”

  “How is my brother Gedaliah?”

  Eliakim brushed invisible dust off the storage jars. “He’s fine. He lives well. It’s a very prosperous city.”

  “He’s doing a good job as administrator, then?”

  Eliakim wiped his hands on his tunic. “That’s really not for me to judge. I’m only an engineer.”

  “I’m asking for your honest assessment, Eliakim. Forget that he’s my brother—I need to know.”

  “The city appears to be running smoothly, and their standard of living is very high, if that’s any indication of his leadership ability.” Eliakim glanced briefly at Shebna. “But personally, I don’t agree with all the decisions he’s made. And I don’t think you would, either.”

  “Which decisions?”

  “He allows the people to worship at a temple to the sun god.”

  “It is not such a simple matter, Your Majesty,” Shebna interrupted. “The elders of Lachish are very powerful men, and Gedaliah has had to deal carefully with them. Most of them never agreed with your religious reforms and would rebel against your brother if he pushed too hard.”

  Eliakim frowned. “I got the impression that he wasn’t merely appeasing them, Your Majesty. I seriously question if Gedaliah himself supports your religious reforms.”

  “Are you saying my brother is an idolater?”

  “He worships at the temple to the sun god—twice a day.”

  “Maybe he is pressured!” Shebna shouted. “You would do the same thing in his place.”

  “No, I would resign before I would worship idols,” Eliakim said.

  Shebna folded his arms across his chest. “Listen, Your Majesty—I am sure Lachish is not the only city that still has a foreign temple.”

  “It’s the only one Jonadab and I found,” Eliakim said. “The people have destroyed all the others. In Beersheba they not only tore the temple down, they brought me the pagan altar for building material. I used it to reinforce the city wall.”

  Hezekiah smiled slightly. “That’s putting it to good use.” He decided to steer the conversation to another topic. “Jonadab has requested some leave time before he takes over our military training program. Would you like some time off, as well, Eliakim?”

  “No, I’ll be needed down at the tunnels. We’re very close to the middle.”

  “Keep me informed, Eliakim. Let me know as soon as you hear the signals from the other side.”

  As they walked back into the sunlight, Hezekiah felt a surge of confidence. He had excellent men working for him, and he had spared no expense. When his plans were complete, every citizen in Judah would be within traveling distance to a well-fortified, well-supplied city. At the first sign of an Assyrian attack, they could take refuge behind reinforced walls and wait out the siege. Now all Hezekiah could do was pray that his plans and fortifications would never be needed.

  32

  Eliakim crouched in the coffin-like tunnel with his measuring cord and clay tablets, checking his calculations for the third time. In the distance, chisels clashed against stone and one of the laborers hummed tunelessly as he worked. Eliakim bent close to the lamp to read his figures, and the oily smoke stung his eyes. These calculations couldn’t be right! But where had he made a mistake? He wiped his burning eyes and added up the numbers again.

  “We’re hitting harder rock where you told us to dig, sir.”

  Eliakim looked up; his burly foreman filled the tunnel in front of him. The chiseling and the singing had stopped. “Not again.”

  “Afraid so, sir. The fissure in the limestone takes another twist to the left.”

  “Show me.”

  Eliakim pushed his measuring cord and tablets aside as the foreman ordered the workmen to take a short break. Then Eliakim led the way, crawling on his hands and knees toward the wall of rock at the end of the tunnel. Only one small lamp burned, mounted on the wall a few feet behind them. Their crouching shadows danced eerily on the wall. In the inky gloom, Eliakim couldn’t see any fissures in the rock. He picked up a hammer and tapped the wall, listening for changes in pitch. Maybe the foreman was wrong; maybe the vein of limestone they followed would continue in a straight path. But after several minutes of testing, Eliakim knew the tunnel would have to make yet another sharp turn to the left.

  He threw the hammer to the floor and crouched in the semidarkness, resting his forehead on his clenched fist. Silence filled the tunnel. Even the mumbling of the workers had stopped, and all he heard was the foreman’s chesty breathing. The air felt damp, his skin clammy.

  “What do you want us to do now, my lord?”

  Eliakim tried to recall his latest measurements and to calculate in his head, but exhaustion slowed his efforts, frustrating him. “I don’t know—follow the softer rock, I guess.” He turned around to crawl out and cracked his head painfully on the low ceiling.

  “But, my lord, if we follow the vein, won’t we be veering away from the other tunnel again?”

  Eliakim didn’t know where the other tunnel was. That was the problem. According to his calculations, the two tunnels were perfectly aligned and within a few cubits of breaking through. But in reality the tunnels didn’t seem to match his calculations. He rubbed the rising welt on his head and inched back to the end of the tunnel. He pressed his ear to the wall like an anxious physician on a dying patient’s chest, listening in several places for sounds from the other side. If they were as close as he thought they were, he should be able to hear the ringing vibrations from the other tunnel, conducted through the stone. He heard nothing.

  “Are you sure they’re digging over there?” he asked.

  “I can check—”

  “Never mind. Let’s try the signals again. We’ll listen here, and then over here, where the softer vein lies.”

  “First thing tomorrow morning, you mean?”

  “No! Right now! How else can we dig?”

  “But it’s the middle of the night—”

  “I don’t care!”

  “But they have to blow the shofar to let us know when they’re ready to signal, and we can’t go blasting shofars now. We’ll wake up the entire city. They’ll think the Assyrians are coming.”

  The Assyrians. They were the reason he had gotten into this mess. Eliakim slumped against the cold stone wall in defeat. “I can’t even remember if it’s day or night anymore.”

  The foreman nervously toyed with his hammer. “Sir? You can tell me to mind my own business, but I think you should go home and get some rest. Maybe things will look different in the morning.”

  “Torches!” Eliakim suddenly shouted. “We can signal with torches instead of shofars!”

  He squeezed past the stunned foreman and scrambled down the tunnel on his hands and knees to issue the orders. “Send a runner over to the other side and tell them to try the signals twice. Tell them to light a torch when they’re ready to start and extinguish it when they’re done. We’ll do the same. Got that?”

  Eliakim brushed the loose dirt off his knees and crawled back to his foreman. “You listen there and I’ll listen here, then we’ll switch.”

  The foreman’s slippery sweat soaked Eliakim’s tunic as they maneuvered into position, side by side, in a space large enough for only one man. The ceiling was just inches above Eliakim’s head, and the man’s salty odor nauseated him.

  At last word traveled down the tunnel that the signaling had begun. Eliakim pressed his ear against the cold wall, now damp with his own condensed breath, and listened.<
br />
  Nothing.

  He watched the foreman’s face, just inches from his, but it remained fixed in a scowl. When word reached them that the signaling was over, the foreman shook his head.

  “All right. Switch places,” Eliakim ordered.

  In his haste, Eliakim smacked his head on the ceiling again and grunted in pain. As he listened for the second set of signals, he knew that if he closed his eyes he would probably fall asleep on the hard stone floor. He was sticky with sweat, his own and the foreman’s, and coated with a layer of dirt. When he finished listening he would go home, get washed, and go to bed. It was hopeless.

  At last the signaling ended. He had heard nothing. The foreman held out the hammer.

  “Do you want to pound the signal, sir, or should I?”

  “You do it. I’m going out for some air.” He crawled down the tunnel to where he had left his drawings, then slumped against the wall to rest and promptly fell asleep.

  When he opened his eyes, the foreman was crouching beside him, shaking him awake. “We can’t dig until you tell us where, sir. They didn’t hear our signals over on the other side, either.” Eliakim looked down at his measurements, but they dissolved into an unreadable blur. “Follow the vein of softer rock,” he said.

  “But that means—”

  “Then do whatever you want! It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m going home to get some sleep.”

  Hilkiah lay in bed, staring into the darkness, listening. Eliakim had promised to come home for supper, but it was already after midnight, and he hadn’t arrived. Hilkiah tried not to imagine a cave-in at the tunnel or some other disaster. Months had passed since he’d talked to Eliakim about slowing down, but if anything, he’d been working even harder. He was digging the tunnel to bury his broken heart.

  Hilkiah couldn’t remember when Eliakim had last gone to the Temple with him—or when he’d laughed or smiled. His depression was as deep and black as the tunnel shaft. Wealthy fathers continued to line up at Hilkiah’s door, offering to match their daughters with Eliakim. Maybe his heart would heal faster if Hilkiah arranged a match for him. But Eliakim had been so short-tempered lately that he was afraid to suggest it.

  At last Hilkiah heard the front door creak open, then slam shut. He leaped out of bed, grabbing his robe and an oil lamp on the way out. He saw by Eliakim’s face that the news wasn’t good.

  “Abba, why are you still up?”

  “I was worried about you. You said you’d be home for dinner.”

  “Yes—well, I’m sorry. I guess I forgot. I lose track of day and night when I’m inside the tunnel.”

  “We waited to eat—we were all worried about you.”

  Eliakim peeled off his dusty outer robe and let it drop to the floor. “Don’t you have anything better to do than worry about me? You’ve got the girls now. Worry about them.”

  Eliakim smelled like stale sweat. He looked exhausted, but he stumbled around the front hall as if filled with nervous energy, his bloodshot eyes darting restlessly. “Look, if I’m causing you so much worry and distress, maybe I should move out for good. Then it won’t matter when I come or go, and you can stop losing sleep over me.”

  “You hardly live here now as it is.”

  “We’ve been through all this before,” he said wearily. “It’s my job—you know that.”

  “And it’s my job as your father to worry about you.”

  Eliakim rubbed his eyes, and Hilkiah saw that his hands were shaking. “I’m sorry, Abba. Maybe once the tunnel is finished we can all relax again.”

  “Any sound from the other side yet?” Hilkiah hated to ask.

  “No. Nothing.”

  “How about water seepage?”

  “We’ve got to be close! That’s why I’m so late. I measured it all over again, and we’ve got to be within hearing range by now! I don’t understand it!”

  “I never did understand how you could get two narrow, winding tunnels to meet.”

  “You sound like Shebna. He’s convinced I can’t do it, but I know they’re close. I know they are!” Eliakim’s hands balled into fists.

  “Then why are you so upset? You should be happy.”

  Eliakim stopped pacing, and his whole body sagged. “King Hezekiah received a report today. They’ve spotted Assyrians in Judean territory.”

  Hilkiah’s heart seemed to stand still. “Are they invading us?”

  “Not yet, but it doesn’t look good.”

  “They’re scouting Judean territory, Uncle Hilkiah.” The voice came from behind him, and he jumped in surprise. Jerusha stood in the shadows, hugging her robe tightly around herself. She looked beautiful in the pale lamplight with her long hair hanging loose. No wonder his son was smitten.

  “The siege of Samaria must be nearing an end,” she said. “That’s why they’re sending out their scouts.”

  “Oh, Jerusha. Are you sure?” Hilkiah asked.

  “Yes, I’m positive. They scout their next target when the siege is about to break through.”

  Hilkiah wrung his hands. “God of Abraham! It’s time for our nation to cry out to you. The Torah says that sometimes the Holy One sends a crisis to wake us up. Sometimes that’s the only time men will call on Him, and the Torah also says—” Hilkiah stopped when he saw his son’s face. All the color had drained from it, and he looked as though he might collapse. “Eliakim, what’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  “I have to go back to the tunnel.”

  “Go back? It’s the middle of the night. You can’t—”

  “I told them to follow the softer rock, but they have to go straight!” Eliakim picked up his outer robe and struggled to put it on. His motions were jerky and out of control. Before Hilkiah could stop him, Eliakim disappeared through the door.

  “God of Abraham, please help him. When does he eat? When does he sleep? What can I do for my son?” He turned to Jerusha. She looked as pale and frightened as Eliakim had. “Jerusha, what’s wrong?”

  “Why did I ever think I could escape from them?” she asked. “Iddina’s stalking me, I know he is—and there’s no place left to hide!”

  Hilkiah drew her into his arms and let her weep. God of Abraham . . . what would become of all of them?

  33

  King Hezekiah sat on his throne, holding court as usual, but deep inside, faith and doubt battled like two armies locked in mortal combat. Assyrian soldiers had been spotted in Judean territory, and Hezekiah knew he faced one of the greatest crises of his reign. Outside his throne room the air was still. No branches stirred, no birds sang, as if nature tensed with the strain of waiting. The steady pounding of hammers sounded in the streets as workmen labored to complete the walls around the palace complex and military fortress. The sound seemed to echo the Assyrian battering rams as they hammered against the walls of Samaria in the north. When the scribe announced that General Jonadab had arrived, Hezekiah knew why.

  “Your Majesty, the siege of Samaria is over,” the general said. “I just received word that the city fell to the Assyrians three days ago.”

  In the hush that filled the throne room, an overwhelming sadness filled Hezekiah. Israel was defeated. All the territory that had once belonged to the ten northern tribes was conquered. How could all those descendants of Abraham, once as numerous as the stars of heaven, be lost?

  “It was inevitable,” Jonadab said. “No one has ever defeated the Assyrians. Samaria held out bravely for three years, but the remaining inhabitants neared starvation at the end. They’d resorted to cannibalism.”

  “How does news like that find its way here?” Shebna grumbled.

  “The Assyrians will make sure every man in Judah hears about it,” Jonadab said. “It’s part of their plan to demoralize their enemies so they’ll give up. The Assyrians are masters at it. They’ll keep some of their victims from Samaria alive until they reach the next city—then they’ll impale the poor souls around the walls and leave them there to die. Do you have any idea how terrifying that is to the peopl
e watching from inside the walls?”

  “Yes, and if they attack Judah next, those Israelite prisoners will remind us that Israel was always larger and stronger than our nation.” Hezekiah passed his hand over his face. “What else, Jonadab?”

  “The Assyrians will deport the survivors as slaves. By the time they finish, not one Israeli will remain in that country. It will be as if they disappeared from the face of the earth.”

  Hezekiah felt a chill. That was what Isaiah had prophesied during the first year of Hezekiah’s reign. He wondered if this, the seventh year of his reign, would be his last.

  “Has anyone learned what Assyria’s next move will be?” he asked.

  “No, Your Majesty. No one seems to know.”

  Hezekiah drew a deep breath and grimly faced the two men. “Use the signal fires to keep me informed on the Assyrians’ movements. I want to know as soon as they march. As I see it, we have two choices: submit and become a vassal nation to Assyria again, or call upon any allies we can find and get ready to fight back.”

  Shebna gnawed his fingernails. “Whatever you decide to do, you had better do it quickly. Once the Assyrians cross our borders, it will be too late for tribute.”

  “We shouldn’t wait to start mobilizing our allies or our troops,” Jonadab said.

  “Are we prepared for a fight, General?”

  “Not as ready as I’d like to be. We need more time to finish our fortifications and train our forces. But this is our land, Your Majesty. The men of Judah will fight with all their hearts to save it.”

  Shebna stared at the floor and shook his head. “Their love for the land will never be enough. We are a nation of farmers and craftsmen; the Assyrians are professional soldiers. Without allies we are doomed—outnumbered a hundred to one.”

  “Is slavery preferable to annihilation?” Hezekiah wondered aloud. “Would the men of Judah prefer to live, laboring in their fields for foreign masters for the rest of their lives?”

  “Given the choice, I think they would,” Shebna said.

  “No! Only the cowards would choose to surrender,” Jonadab said. “We were outnumbered when we faced the Philistines, too. We should fight for what is rightfully ours.”