The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

by Lynn Austin

  He leaned against the wall, resting his arms on the top of the parapet, and gazed out at the dark silhouette of the mountains to the north. A hushed expectancy fell over the waiting men, a feeling of suspense that was familiar to Hezekiah. He remembered standing on the platform before Molech, waiting, with Isaiah’s promise of salvation as his only hope. He had waited, interminably, for the hand to grab him and hurl him to his death. But the hand of Yahweh had rescued him instead.

  Now he stood facing another enemy, and once again Isaiah’s promise from God was the only hope he had. He listened to the night sounds in the valley below him, rigid with suspense, as the sunlight gradually faded into darkness.

  Suddenly one of the soldiers leaped to attention. “There it is, Your Majesty!” He pointed to a blinking light on the horizon. Hezekiah’s heart felt like a cold stone in his chest. He didn’t know how to read the signals. He could only wait tensely for one of the soldiers to decipher them.

  “The first Assyrian divisions have broken camp. They have begun to march. . . .”

  “Which direction?” Hezekiah whispered.

  He waited—an eternity—but the distant mountaintop remained dark. Then the tantalizing light flickered once again.

  “Northeast!” the soldier cried. “They’re marching northeast! Back to Nineveh!”

  A cheer went up from the soldiers beside him, but Hezekiah closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, numb with relief. “When you pass through the fire, you won’t be burned. The flames will not hurt you. For Yahweh is your God. The Holy One of Israel is your Savior.”

  The soldiers were rejoicing, embracing one another and clapping each other on the back. Shebna looked unnaturally pale, as if he might faint.

  Hezekiah’s eyes bored into his. “Another coincidence, Shebna?”

  “Perhaps not,” he whispered.

  Shebna found Gedaliah and the elders of Lachish in the palace, planning the government they would soon form. As Shebna burst into the room, the door slammed backward against the wall, nearly rocking it from its stone sockets. The startled men stared at him fearfully. Before he could speak, the shofars began to blast from the Temple walls.

  “That is the sound of your defeat, Gedaliah. There will be no Assyrian invasion, just as your brother’s God has promised.”

  Gedaliah stared at him, too stunned to speak. The triumphant cry of the shofars sounded on and on in the background.

  “Your horse is being saddled. Take your men and get out. Go back to Lachish now—tonight! Or I swear by Hezekiah’s God I will kill you myself!”

  Hezekiah stayed on the wall alone after all the others had left, gazing out from the watchtower toward the darkened hills. Only forty miles to the north the land of Israel lay destroyed, and except for the grace of God, the land of Judah would have met the same fate.

  As the Temple shofars blew, announcing the joyful news, Hezekiah watched the city come to life as the people flooded from their homes into the streets to celebrate. In a few minutes he would go down as their king and lead them in worship. But first he knelt beneath the starry sky and bowed with his forehead to the ground before his Heavenly King.

  “We have heard with our ears, O God—our fathers have told us what you did in their days, long ago. You drove out the nations with your hand and planted our fathers here. You crushed the peoples and made our fathers flourish. It was not by their sword that they won the land, nor did their arm bring them victory; it was your right hand, your arm, and the light of your face, for you loved them.

  “You are my King and my God, who decrees all our victories. Through you we push back our enemies; through your name we trample our foes. I don’t trust in my bow, my sword does not bring me victory; but you give us victory over our enemies, You put our adversaries to shame. In God we make our boast all day long, and we will praise your name forever.

  “Hear O Israel, Yahweh is our God. Yahweh alone.”

  Epilogue

  Jerusha sat in the flower-draped chair in Hilkiah’s garden with a carpet of flower petals beneath her feet. She heard the joyful music of the groom’s procession and recognized the song—the same one she’d sung on the morning of her cousin’s wedding so long ago. Maacah stood beside her, and as the sound of the music drew closer, she bent to hug Jerusha tightly.

  “You look so beautiful! I wish Mama and Abba could see you. They’d be so proud and so happy that you’re marrying Eliakim.”

  Suddenly the music stopped. Eliakim stood in the doorway of the courtyard. His curly black hair was tousled as usual, but he looked like a prince in his wedding robes. When he saw Jerusha, a boyish smile lit up his handsome face, and she wanted to run into his arms. Beside him, General Jonadab wore the uniform of the King’s Royal Army. Dozens of Hilkiah’s relatives and guests crowded into the courtyard behind them.

  Eliakim’s eyes never left hers as he took her hand and squeezed it gently. Jerusha rose to her feet to stand beside him, silently thanking God for all He had done for her—for the miracle of her restored life. For forgiveness. And for the greatest miracle of all: Eliakim’s love.

  She saw tears of joy in Hilkiah’s eyes as he took Jerimoth’s place, as father of the bride. How Jerusha loved the dear little merchant! Hilkiah laid his hand on her head as Abba once had, and she remembered her father’s words: “Someday God will turn these tears into joy.”

  Hilkiah’s hand rested on her head for the blessing, but as he spoke the words, Jerusha heard Abba’s voice: “May Yahweh bless you and keep you. May Yahweh cause His face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you. May He make you as Sarah and Rebecca. May He favor you and grant you His peace. Amen.”

  Behold the tunnel. Now this is the story of the tunnel; while the workmen were still lifting up the pick, each towards his neighbor and while there was yet three cubits to excavate, a voice was heard of a man calling his fellow, since there was a split in the rock on the right hand and on the left. And on the day of the excavation the workmen struck, each towards his neighbor, pick against pick, and the water flowed from the spring to the pool for twelve hundred cubits, and a hundred cubits was the height of the rock above the heads of the workmen.

  Oldest Hebrew inscription ever discovered, carved in the Siloam Tunnel, Jerusalem, 8th Century BC.

  Dedicated to my mother,

  Jinny Davis,

  who taught me to love books

  The Lord is my strength and my song;

  he has become my salvation.

  Exodus 15:2

  Contents

  Dedication

  A Note to the Reader

  Prologue

  Part One

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  Part Two

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  Part Three

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  Epilogue

  A Note to the Reader

  Shortly after King Solomon’s death in 931 BC, the Promised Land split into two separate kingdoms. Israel, the larger nation to the north, set up its capital in Samaria and was no longer governed by a descendant of King David. In the southern nation of Judah, David’s royal line continued to rule from Jerusalem. The narrative of this book centers on events in the life of Hezekiah, who ruled Judah from 716 to 687 BC.

  Careful study of Scripture and commentaries support the fictionalization of this story. To create authentic speech, the author has paraphrased the words of these biblical figures. However, the New International Version has been directly quoted when characters are reading or reciting Scripture passages and when prophets are sp
eaking the words of the Lord. The only allowance the author has made is to change the words “the Lord” to “Yahweh” in some cases.

  Interested readers are encouraged to research the full accounts of these events in the Bible as they enjoy this third book in the CHRONICLES OF THE KINGS series.

  Scripture references for The Strength of His Hand:

  2 Kings 18:13–37

  2 Kings 19–20

  2 Chronicles 32

  Isaiah 36–39

  See also:

  1 Samuel 4–6

  Isaiah 22:15–25

  Isaiah 30:12–18

  Isaiah 31:1–3

  Isaiah 53

  Isaiah 54:1

  Prologue

  Eliakim kissed his fingertips, then touched the mezuzah on the doorpost of his house. He usually performed the ritual without thinking, but not today. After his meeting with King Hezekiah, Eliakim paid homage to the little box of sacred laws as a tender act of thanksgiving.

  When he finally pushed open the heavy front door, he saw his little son peeking around the corner at him. The boy’s dark curly hair was as unruly as his own.

  “It’s Abba! Abba’s home!” the boy shouted.

  Eliakim squatted down, and his son hurled himself into his arms, planting a warm, sticky kiss on his cheek.

  “Abba, look what I’ve got!” He opened his fist, revealing two squashed figs stuck to his palm. “Want one?”

  Eliakim feigned surprise. “You’d really share your treasures with me?”

  “Uh-huh. Here, Abba. They’re good.”

  He gently tousled his son’s curly hair. “The Proverbs of Solomon say, ‘A generous man will himself be blessed, for he shares his food with the poor.’ But you may eat them, Jerimoth—I’m not hungry.” The boy quickly devoured the figs, then licked the sticky juice off his fingers.

  Eliakim had named his son Jerimoth after Jerusha’s father, but with his round face and mischievous brown eyes, he resembled his other grandfather, Hilkiah, more than his namesake. Little Jerimoth had been born to Eliakim and Jerusha four years ago, yet Eliakim still found himself studying his son in fascination, amazed that God had not only given him Jerusha for his wife but had blessed their love with this beautiful child.

  “Where’s your mama?” he asked.

  “Out in the garden with Grandpa.”

  Eliakim stood, lifted Jerimoth in his arms, and carried him out to their tiny courtyard. He delighted in the familiar warmth of his son’s arms wrapped around his neck.

  “Well, look who’s home early,” Hilkiah said. “What’s the occasion?”

  Hilkiah sat on a stone bench, bouncing Eliakim’s baby daughter, Tirza, on his knee. “More, more,” she begged whenever he stopped.

  “That’s the only word this child knows,” Hilkiah said.

  “That’s not true,” Eliakim laughed. “She can say ‘Abba.’ Can’t you, sweetheart?”

  Eliakim set Jerimoth down and swung the baby off Hilkiah’s knee and high into the air.

  “Careful!” Jerusha gasped. Eliakim laughed along with his giggling baby. He pushed the dark curls away from her forehead and kissed her. “Ugh—you’re sticky, too.” He set her down again and wiped his lips as she toddled back to Hilkiah’s knee.

  “The early figs are ripe,” Jerusha said. “We’ve been eating our fill of them all morning.”

  “Do I dare risk a kiss from you, then?” Eliakim asked as he bent to kiss Jerusha. “Mmm . . . sweeter than figs.”

  Little Jerimoth tugged at his robe. “How come you came home, Abba? It’s not dinnertime yet.”

  “Yes, what’s up, son?” Hilkiah asked as the baby resumed her horsey ride on his knee. “Let’s see. It’s not a new moon. . . . We just celebrated Shavuot, so I don’t think it’s a holiday. . . . It isn’t the king’s birthday, is it?”

  Eliakim spread his hands. “Can’t a man come home early to see his family? Do I need to have a reason?”

  Jerusha and Hilkiah exchanged glances and laughed. “Son, the day you leave work early for no reason is the day we’ll have snow in the summertime.”

  “Will you listen to him? My own father doesn’t believe a word I say.”

  “Neither do I, love.” Jerusha pulled him down beside her and tugged playfully on his beard. “Why are you home early?”

  “To tell you my good news.”

  “See? Didn’t I say there would be a reason?” Hilkiah asked, chuckling.

  Eliakim grew serious. “I’ve been offered a promotion.”

  “A promotion?” Hilkiah stopped bouncing the baby. “How can you be promoted? You’re already the chief engineer. Can you get any higher than that?”

  “The king has asked me to serve as his secretary of state.”

  “Secretary of state!” Hilkiah nearly dropped the baby onto the floor.

  Jerusha gripped Eliakim’s hand. “Oh, Eliakim! What will that mean?”

  “It means . . . well, King Hezekiah is the sovereign ruler, of course. Then Shebna ranks second as his prime minister. The third-ranking official is the secretary of state—me.”

  Hilkiah closed his eyes and tilted his face toward heaven. “God of Abraham! Holy One of Israel! Who am I that you should bless my house and my family like this?”

  “I asked Him the same question, Abba.”

  “My son? The third most important man in the nation? Seated at the king’s left hand? Eliakim! It’s the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy!”

  “I know, Abba. I thought of that, too.” Eliakim had been a boy the night he’d gone to the prophet’s house to deliver a message to him. When Isaiah had rested his hand on Eliakim and told him that one day God would place the key to the house of David on his shoulder, it had seemed an impossible fantasy. Yet this morning those words had come true.

  “It’s funny—I used to dream about being somebody important,” Eliakim said as he slipped his arm around Jerusha and pulled her close. “But when you agreed to marry me, all that ended. I honestly don’t care about power anymore.”

  Hilkiah’s eyes widened in horror. “Son! You didn’t refuse the job?”

  Eliakim slowly broke into a grin and held out his right hand. The golden signet ring of the secretary of state gleamed on his finger.

  “No, Abba, I didn’t refuse it. How could I refuse it? As the psalmist has written, ‘It is God who judges; He brings one down, He exalts another.’”

  Little Jerimoth tugged curiously at his hand to examine the shiny ring. “You got a new job, Abba?”

  “Yes, son.” He looked at the boy in surprise, proud that little Jerimoth had been able to follow the adult conversation.

  “Then you can come home early tomorrow, too?”

  Everyone laughed, and Eliakim rumpled his son’s hair. “I’m afraid not. King Hezekiah had to send me home today because I nearly fainted when he offered me the position. But from now on, I’ll have to put in some very long hours at my new office in the palace.”

  “Are you still gonna build things, Abba?” Jerimoth asked.

  “Well, in a way I’ll be building our country.”

  “Oh.”

  Eliakim knew by Jerimoth’s expression that he had lost interest. He turned to his wife, who had scarcely spoken a word. “And you’ll be needing some fancy gowns to accompany the new secretary to formal state dinners.”

  “You mean I’ll be dining at the palace? With the king?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Eliakim, I can’t! I’m not royalty!”

  “That doesn’t matter; neither am I.”

  “But I’m just a poor farmer’s daughter. I used to sleep in a loft above the oxen, for heaven’s sake!”

  He sniffed her neck and hair mischievously. “Hmm . . . you smell pretty good now. Besides, that will make very interesting dinner conversation with the king’s wife, don’t you think? I’m sure she’d love to hear all about your bed above the barn.”

  She gave him a playful shove. “Will you be serious?”

  “I’m very ser
ious. You’ll be the most beautiful woman there, Jerusha. I’ll be proud to have you accompany me anywhere in the kingdom.”

  “Mama, did you really sleep with cows?” little Jerimoth asked. They all laughed again.

  A shiver of joy rushed through Eliakim until he could scarcely stay seated. He wanted to dance and leap with happiness. He gazed at his wife and children, then down at the signet ring that still felt strange on his finger.

  “I think I know how King David must have felt,” he said. “‘My cup overflows.’”

  Part One

  Hezekiah . . . succeeded in everything he undertook. But . . . God left him to test him and to know everything that was in his heart.

  2 Chronicles 32:30–31

  1

  “You may as well return to your rooms, Your Majesty. Lady Hephzibah says it is her time.”

  “Oh no.” The feeling of deep contentment that had filled King Hezekiah a moment ago suddenly vanished along with his hopes for an heir. He had walked the short distance to the harem, looking forward to his beautiful wife’s company and love this balmy spring evening; he hadn’t anticipated being turned away at her door with bad news.

  “How is she taking it, Merab?”

  “Like she always does, my lord.”

  Hezekiah looked past Merab into the room and saw Hephzibah sitting before the open window, staring into the darkness. He knew from experience how deeply his wife grieved every month when she learned that she hadn’t conceived. He seldom succeeded in consoling her or soothing her bitter tears, but he remembered all the times she had cheered him with her love, her laughter, her beautiful singing, and he wanted to soothe her in return.

  “Give us a few minutes alone, Merab.”

  He pulled up a small footstool beside Hephzibah, but she wouldn’t look at him.

  “It’s a gorgeous evening,” he said. “Would you like to come up to the rooftop with me?”

  Hephzibah shook her head, still staring into the darkness.

  “Hephzibah, I’m sorry you’re still not pregnant. I know how disappointed you must be.”