The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

by Lynn Austin

  It was early evening, and Hadad was still sober enough to wonder if they were using him. Ever since they’d sat down beside him three weeks earlier, he seemed to be paying for more than his share of the drinks. His drunken blackouts were becoming longer and more frequent, yet the three Moabites always appeared by his side no matter where, or when, he awoke. Hadad didn’t quite trust them, and in his sober moments he suspected that if they ever learned where he hid his grandfather’s gold, they would disappear with it.

  The innkeeper hurried over to Hadad’s table with a new skin of wine and refilled all their glasses. The Moabite who had complained took a drink, then smacked his lips. “Ah, much better. A toast, then, to our brother Hadad.” His smile was broad and warm as he thumped Hadad on the back.

  Hadad swallowed half of his drink in one gulp. As the wine’s numbing warmth spread through him, he chided himself for being so suspicious. These were his friends, his dearest companions. They helped fill the aching loneliness in his life since his grandfather’s death. They had been kind to befriend a stranger in a foreign city, so far from home.

  Home.

  Tears filled Hadad’s eyes when he thought of Jerusalem. He still missed that golden city, and his privileged life in the king’s palace. He finished his wine in another gulp and stared into the empty cup.

  “Hello, Hadad.”

  It took him a minute to recognize the bearded stranger standing beside his table. “Jerimoth! Great to see you again. Hey, whatever happened to your crazy brother, Joshua?”

  Jerimoth’s somber expression didn’t change. “That’s why I’m here. May I have a word with you, please?”

  One of Hadad’s companions grabbed a nearby stool and dragged it over for Jerimoth. “Here, have a seat. Any friend of Hadad’s is also our friend. Innkeeper, another glass over here.”

  Jerimoth didn’t sit. “I don’t want any wine,” he said. “Please, I need to speak with Hadad alone.”

  The Moabite kicked Jerimoth’s stool, sending it spinning across the room. “What’s the matter, Jew? Think you’re too good for our company? Tell him to be on his way, Hadad.”

  Hadad felt a tremor of fear when he saw the angry looks on his friends’ faces. He knew that the little merchant would never survive a brawl with the three drunken, street-tough Moabites. Hadad smiled nervously and raised his empty glass. “The next round of drinks is on me, my friends. Please, give us five minutes alone, all right?”

  The air was tense as the Moabites took their time draining their cups and rising from their places. Jerimoth waited to sit down until the men crossed the room to join the revelers at another table.

  “You’ll have to excuse my friends,” Hadad said. “They’re a little drunk.”

  “What about you, Hadad? Are you drunk?”

  He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes. My brother’s life might depend on it.” Jerimoth’s face was so somber, his gaze so intense, that Hadad’s head cleared all at once. He pushed his empty cup aside and leaned closer to Jerimoth, resting his arms on the table.

  “What happened?”

  Jerimoth exhaled. “A while ago I received a letter from Joshua saying that his fiancée was married to someone else.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s a tough break.”

  “Yes, Joshua took the news very hard. He decided to stay with the caravan instead of coming back to Moab. That was the last I heard from him—until yesterday. He’s back in Jerusalem. He needs our help.”

  “Our help?”

  Jerimoth nodded. “His letter was very vague—he was obviously worried that it would fall into the wrong hands—but the gist of it is that I’m supposed to send a caravan of goods to Jerusalem, arriving just before Passover week ends. I’m not to come with it.”

  “That’s all?”

  “He said that the caravan should include a pair of oxen and a cart, and litters, carried on poles by porters. And he asked me to give this to you—but only if you were sober.” He pulled a folded square of parchment from his cloak but held the sealed message close to his chest as if debating whether or not to hand it over.

  “I’ve had a few drinks, Jerimoth, but I’m not drunk. I admire your brother’s guts for going back there. I won’t betray him.”

  Jerimoth nodded and slid the message across the table. Hadad picked off the lump of sealing clay and unfolded the letter.

  Hadad—

  For the sake of your grandfather’s honor and good name, it’s time to repay the debt you owe. My brother’s caravan can deliver it to Jerusalem.

  He read it through three times before handing it back to Jerimoth.

  “He needs money?” Jerimoth asked after reading it.

  “It’s not about money,” Hadad said. “The only debt I owe in Jerusalem is my life. Prince Amariah warned my grandfather and me to escape. Now I think Joshua wants me to help Amariah escape.”

  “That must be why he wants the caravan. But why the porters and litters?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Jerimoth groaned and shook his head. “I never should have let him go back there. He’s going to get himself killed.” He sat with his head in his hands for several moments, staring at the tabletop, then he looked up again. “Are you going to help him, Hadad?”

  “I don’t know.”

  For the sake of your grandfather’s honor and good name . . .

  Hadad knew that he should help Joshua. But he was safe here in Moab. Why risk his life? He glanced over at his Moabite friends and suddenly saw them for the crude, worthless drunkards that they were. And he was no better.

  Jerimoth’s stool scraped on the stone floor as he stood. “You don’t need to decide tonight, Hadad. I won’t leave for Jerusalem until next week.”

  “You’re going? But I thought Joshua said you weren’t to come?”

  “I know what he said, but I’m going just the same. Let me know when you make up your mind.”

  Miriam sat at the table with the others as they finished their evening meal, wondering why the atmosphere seemed so tense and strained tonight. Was it because Jerimoth was going away with one of his caravans tomorrow morning? Was he worried about leaving his wife, now that she was pregnant again? Jerimoth hadn’t been his usual jovial self for days, and whenever he held Mattan or little Rachel on his lap he seemed to pull them a little closer to his heart. Jerusha was unusually quiet, as well. Miriam wondered if it was because her younger son had never returned from his caravan journey, and now her older son was leaving her, too.

  When a knock on the front door echoed through the house, Miriam jumped to her feet. “I’ll see who it is.”

  She didn’t recognize Hadad at first. Not only was he clear-eyed and sober, but he had grown a beard and mustache. “Hello, Miriam. Is Jerimoth home?”

  “Yes. Come in.” She led him inside, surprised that he remembered her name.

  The conversation halted when everyone saw Hadad. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner.”

  Jerimoth appeared shaken. “No, no, we were just finishing. Won’t you join us?” He stood and motioned to Joshua’s empty place.

  Hadad shuffled his feet. “I’ve already eaten.”

  Miriam watched them carefully, sensing something wrong in their awkwardness, then she saw a look of understanding pass wordlessly between them.

  Joshua.

  He was the only tie connecting Hadad and Jerimoth. Miriam’s heart began to race. Hadad must have news that he didn’t want to share in front of the others. She knelt beside the mat they used as a table and began gathering the dinner plates.

  “If you’re sure you’re not hungry,” Jerimoth said, “I was just about to step outside for some air. Will you join me?”

  “All right.”

  Miriam watched the two men disappear through the back door into the courtyard. She had to find out why Hadad had come.

  “Could I please be excused, Lady Jerusha? I need to wash out a few clothes down by the river. Please, I k
now I should have done it earlier today, but I ran out of time and now it will be dark soon, and . . .” She stopped, aware that she was babbling. Worse, she was lying.

  “Certainly, Miriam. Go ahead. We’ll clean up the dishes.”

  Miriam tossed a few of her things into a bundle and hurried out the back door. Jerimoth stopped midsentence as she walked through the courtyard to the rear gate. She closed it behind her, then ducked behind the garden wall to listen as Jerimoth continued.

  “What made you decide to come with me?” he asked Hadad.

  “What difference does it make?”

  “You and I are both safe here in Moab. We have new lives. I have a young family.” Jerimoth spoke slowly, deliberately, as if measuring every word. “I’m putting my life at risk because Joshua is my brother. I love him. For my own peace of mind, I’d like to know what’s motivating you.” There was a long pause. When Hadad said nothing, Jerimoth spoke again. “It can’t be money. I understand that Lord Shebna left you plenty of that. You said you owed Amariah your life. Is it gratitude, then?”

  “Sure, gratitude. Does that ease your mind?”

  “No. You might better show your gratitude by staying here where you’re safe. If the prince cared enough to warn you, then that’s obviously what he would want you to do.”

  There was another long silence. Miriam began to wonder if the men had gone inside. She was about to peer over the wall when she heard Hadad speak.

  “I’m doing it for myself, all right? I admire courageous men—men of conviction like you and your brother—but I’m not one of them. I never worried much about it before all this happened.” He gave a short laugh. “Until your stupid little serving girl started lecturing me.”

  “You mean Miriam?”

  “My grandfather tried to give me the same speech dozens of times—what was I doing with my life, when was I going to amount to something. But he never got through to me like she did. Maybe it’s because I saw myself in her—I don’t know. Or maybe I’m just sick and tired of living like a drunk. Either way, I’ve decided to do something noble for a change. Something that would have made my grandfather proud.” His voice had grown so soft Miriam barely heard his last sentence. There was another long pause. This time Miriam waited.

  “We leave at dawn,” Jerimoth finally said. “It will take us about two days to get to Jerusalem with the caravan load.”

  “How will we contact Joshua?”

  “We’ll wait for him to contact us. He’ll be watching for a caravan from Moab.”

  “Well, I guess that’s all I need to know,” Hadad said, exhaling. “I’ll meet you in the marketplace at dawn.”

  “Hadad, wait. Listen, my brother-in-law and I usually say evening prayers about this time. Will you join us?”

  Miriam barely heard Hadad’s reply. “Yeah . . . sure.”

  In the faint light before dawn Miriam shook her brother awake. “Nathan . . .” He bolted upright, as tense in sleep as he was awake. She stroked his head to soothe him, aware that she was the only person he would allow to make such a tender gesture. “Shh . . . It’s me, Nathan.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Come outside. I don’t want to wake Mattan.” She waited for him to put on his robe and sandals, then led him outside. She heard Jerimoth stirring as they passed his door. “Master Jerimoth isn’t going away on a trading venture,” Miriam told her brother. “He’s going back to Jerusalem. Joshua needs his help.”

  “He told you this?”

  “No, I eavesdropped last night when Hadad was here. The thing is . . . I’m going with them.”

  “Jerimoth will never let you—”

  “I know. That’s why I’m not going to tell him. I’m going to follow his caravan until he’s too far from Moab to turn back.”

  “Miriam, no! It’s too dangerous!”

  “I promise I’ll stay within shouting distance. Listen, Nathan. I need you to tell Lady Jerusha and the others where I’ve gone so they won’t worry.”

  “Let’s wake Mattan and we’ll all go,” Nathan said.

  Miriam planted her hands on his thin shoulders. “Matt isn’t the same boy he was a year ago—and neither are you. We have a new life here, a better life, with opportunities you boys would never have if you returned to Jerusalem. You can both read and write now. You have a future here.”

  “I don’t care. I want to come with you.”

  “If you try to follow me, Nate, I’ll tell Jerimoth that you’re still stealing from the other vendors. He’ll throw you and Mattan both in jail. Is that what you want?”

  She saw his surprise and embarrassment, then his anger. “You’re just like Mama! Always running off and leaving us! I knew you’d do the same thing someday! I knew it!”

  “But I’ll be back, Nathan, I swear it. Master Joshua promised to be a father to you. He needs help. I’m going to bring him back so he can do that—don’t you understand?”

  Nathan didn’t reply. He stood with his wiry body rigid, his arms folded stubbornly across his chest. Miriam pulled him close, rocking him until his body sagged limply against her own. “I love you,” she whispered. “I promise I’ll be back.”

  Nathan’s arms closed tightly around her.

  Travelers crowded the road out of Heshbon for most of the morning, making it easy for Miriam to follow Jerimoth’s caravan from a safe distance without being seen. Late that afternoon, when the road forked west into Samaritan territory, the traffic thinned out. In the plain below, the swollen Jordan River overflowed its banks from the early spring rains. Flatboats ferried passengers and cargo to the opposite bank. Since Miriam had no money to pay the fare, she would have to make herself known.

  Jerimoth didn’t notice her as he paced near the water’s edge, issuing orders to his drivers and supervising them as they loaded the litters on board. So when Miriam saw Hadad sneaking off to a clump of bushes by himself, she decided to follow him. She watched as he removed a small flask from inside his robe and turned his back to take a drink.

  “Hadad . . .” Her sudden appearance startled him, and he whirled around to grab her by the shoulders. She smelled the fruity wine on his breath as he shook her slightly.

  “Miriam! What in blazes are you doing here?”

  “The same as you. Helping Joshua.”

  “Does Jerimoth know that you followed us?”

  “No. Does Jerimoth know that isn’t water you’re drinking?” He released her with a curse. “Pay my fare across the river, Hadad, and he won’t find out what you’re drinking.”

  “You’ve got some nerve, you little . . .” Hadad cursed again. “You may as well show yourself. We’ve come too far for him to send you back now.”

  “Not until we stop for the night,” Miriam said. “I want to cross the river first.”

  Hadad dug into his pouch and shoved a small piece of silver into her hand. “Here. I hope the blasted boat sinks, with you on it!” He took another long drink as Miriam disappeared into the crowd of travelers waiting to cross the river.

  Once they reached the other side of the Jordan, they faced a long, slow climb up thousands of feet to Jerusalem. The men and animals were too weary to begin the journey before nightfall, so Jerimoth decided to spend the night in Jericho. Miriam knew that it wasn’t safe to sleep alone in the caravansary. She saw Hadad standing apart from the others and went to him again. He shook his head in disgust.

  “Well, if it isn’t Miriam. Still tagging along, I see.”

  “And here’s Hadad, still fortifying himself with wine. I want you to tell Jerimoth you found me.”

  “I hope he beats you senseless.” He gripped her arm and towed her behind him. Jerimoth groaned when he saw Miriam and clutched his head.

  “Miriam! Oh no! What are you doing here?”

  “I came to help Master Joshua.”

  He groaned again and turned to Hadad. “Did you know about this?”

  “Not until she popped up out of nowhere.”

  “But my mother will be
worried sick. . . . Miriam, does my mother know you’re here?”

  “Nathan knows where I am. He’ll tell her.”

  “No, I can’t let you come with us. It’s too dangerous. I’ll have one of my men take you home in the morning.”

  “Wait,” Hadad said. “She might come in handy. Didn’t she help you escape the last time? Besides, I don’t look like I belong with this caravan. Miriam and I can enter the city as two pilgrims, coming a few days late for Passover.”

  Miriam could scarcely believe that Hadad would defend her. She held her breath, waiting for Jerimoth’s answer.

  “Why have you done such a foolish thing, Miriam? You were safe in Heshbon.”

  Miriam blurted out the first answer that came into her head, too embarrassed to confess her love for Joshua. “You’ve been a father to Mattan. I didn’t want him to lose you, Master Jerimoth.”

  “Joshua will be furious when he sees that I’ve come,” Jerimoth told her. “I can’t even imagine what he’ll say when he sees you.”

  Miriam worried about what Joshua would say all the next morning as she made the steep climb to Jerusalem. She walked in front of the caravan with Hadad to avoid the dust, staying within sight of the lead driver. There were very few places where the road leveled off to give her legs a rest and they ached from the strain of the continual ascent. Hadad said nothing until they stopped to eat lunch; then he shoved his canteen beneath her nose.

  “Here, smell it! It’s water.” Miriam didn’t reply. They walked all afternoon in silence.

  Jerusalem looked beautiful to her after nearly a year in Moab—pristine and golden in the late afternoon sun. But the streets were so jammed with pilgrims for the Passover feast that the caravan could barely move through them. She watched Jerimoth’s men unload the goods in the caravansary, then she sat with him and Hadad inside the vacant booth they’d rented, waiting for Joshua to find them. Even in the dim evening light, she could see the strain of worry etched on Jerimoth’s face. When the Temple shofar announced the evening sacrifice, he didn’t move. Hadad grew restless.