by Lynn Austin
Joshua shuddered. “I’ve heard about such things in pagan nations, but I never thought I’d see it in Yahweh’s Temple.”
The load of wood was heavy, and by the time they reached the top of the Temple Mount it was raining hard. Joshua could barely control his coughing. The guards didn’t seem to notice them as they passed through the service gate. They set the litter down near the bronze altar and began unloading it. The two priests who had been chosen to remove the ark from the holiest place came out to help them.
“How many guards are there?” Joshua whispered.
“Two at each entrance, two patrolling the grounds. We’re praying that the rain will keep them all inside.”
Joshua quickly surveyed the courtyard for movement, then handed pieces of the frame to each priest. “Hide these inside your robe.” The last priest’s hands trembled so badly he fumbled the wood and it clattered to the ground. Joshua picked it up and handed it to him again. “Take it easy,” he soothed. “You can do this.” But Joshua’s own nerves felt as tight as bowstrings. This was only the beginning. So much more could go wrong before he escaped with Amariah tomorrow night.
Asher and the priests moved toward the Temple doors to get the ark. As soon as they were inside the sanctuary, three Levites emerged from one of the side chambers carrying the wooden poles. Like Asher, they were also sons of Kohath, the tribe assigned to carry the ark. Joshua climbed the altar ramp with an armload of wood to watch for guards, pretending to feed the fire. Just as the Levites slipped inside the Temple doors, he saw two guards round the rear corner, walking toward him along the side of the Temple. He dropped the wood into the fire and hurried down the ramp to intercept them before they reached the front courtyard.
“I . . . I need to ask you something,” he said in a whisper. “I don’t want the others to hear.” He motioned them into the shadows on the side of the Temple. He didn’t need to pretend to be nervous. “Suppose I wanted to . . . you know . . . to be with one of Asherah’s women. How would I do that?”
“Well, I’ll be blessed! A pretty little Levite in his clean white robe wants to worship Asherah!” The two guards laughed uproariously. One of them draped his arm around Joshua’s shoulder. “It’s easy, son. You just take your pick, toss her some silver, and she’ll follow you into the booth.”
The second guard thumped Joshua on the back. “After that you’re on your own, kid!” They turned to go.
“No, wait. It’s not that simple. I can’t let the other Levites see me.” Joshua glanced around as if afraid that someone might overhear him, but he was watching for the Levites to cross the courtyard with the litter.
“What do you care if they see you? It’s a free country.”
“You don’t understand. I’m related to half of these men—they’re my brothers, uncles, cousins, second-cousins. If I get caught, they’ll murder me.”
“Guess you’d better get yourself a woman the old-fashioned way, then—marry her!” They burst into laughter once again.
“But my wedding could be years away. Please, can’t you help me somehow?” The two men looked at each other, and Joshua saw their expressions soften in sympathy. He knew he had their interest. One of them leaned against the wall, scratching his chin.
“What you need is a disguise of some sort.”
“Yeah, that should fix you up, kid. A disguise.”
“When would be the best time to . . . you know . . . take my pick?” Joshua’s question started a debate between the two men that quickly escalated into an argument. He let them bicker. It kept them from noticing the figures moving across the courtyard with the covered litter. He waited until the Levites were almost to the outer gate, then pretended to see them for the first time.
“Oh, no! I’m supposed to be helping them carry the ashes! Please, go back the way you came! I don’t want them to know I was talking to you.”
“Calm down, kid, and take a deep breath. You’re wheezing. We’ll stay put until you’re out of sight.”
“Good luck with the ladies, son. Pick a good one!” He heard their laughter behind him as he jogged across the courtyard toward the gate.
When Joshua reached the guarded archway leading from the Temple grounds to the Kidron Valley, one of the gatekeepers stood in his path. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m supposed to be helping the others dump the ashes.”
“There were enough of them to do the job without your help. It doesn’t take five men to dump a load of ashes.”
“You’re right, my lord, it doesn’t. But I’m an apprentice in training. If I don’t catch up with them, I’ll never finish my apprenticeship in time to be ordained.”
Joshua held his breath so he wouldn’t cough. His heart leapt wildly as the guard appraised him. “All right, then. Get going.”
Manasseh drained his wine glass and lay back against the cushions in his chambers. Zerah leaned toward him and refilled his glass. Manasseh felt peaceful, listening to the gentle drumming of rain against his shuttered window and the soft murmuring of Zerah’s voice beside him. But the room was growing cold as the fire in his charcoal brazier slowly died away. He rang for his valet to rekindle it for the night.
“Your concubine sent this message to you, my lord.” The servant handed him a sealed note before tending to the fire.
Manasseh waited for the valet to leave before opening it. His concubine. He hadn’t thought about Dinah in several weeks. Zerah eyed him curiously.
“Dinah can read and write, you know,” Manasseh said. “Her father taught her.”
“How convenient.”
He picked off the seal and unfolded the note. It contained only one sentence: My days of purification have ended. He handed it to Zerah.
“What do you make of this?”
Zerah read it and smiled. “You know, Your Majesty, it would be a very good omen to conceive an heir during Passover, under the sign of the ram. Then you wouldn’t need to tolerate Prince Amariah’s insubordination any longer.”
“Will you wait here for me until I get back?”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
As he made his way down the hall to the harem, Manasseh realized that the strong pull he felt toward Dinah was more than a simple longing for an heir. Her message had been an invitation. Was it possible that she had missed him? That she cared for him?
She was only a woman, one among many who would live in his harem and bear his sons. Yet Dinah meant more to Manasseh than the others did. She was a link to Joshua and to Eliakim, a part of the innocence of his childhood that he could still cling to. Against his will, he found himself longing to hear her say that she loved him.
When he entered her room she stood waiting for him. The lamps in the room had been dimmed, but Dinah’s dark eyes danced with fire. He had missed her. He moved toward her and reached up to unpin her hair. Then he gasped as a shaft of pain sliced through his gut.
“Die, you murderer!” she breathed. “Die and rot in Sheol!”
Manasseh staggered backward, clutching his stomach. He saw the shard of broken glass shining in Dinah’s hand. It was covered with blood. His blood. She drew her arm back to stab him again.
“No, don’t!”
He raised his hand as a shield as she lunged at him and the blade sliced across his forearm. He cried out in agony as blood pumped from the second wound, spurting everywhere. An alarming amount of blood was pouring from the jagged tear in his belly.
With a surge of desperate strength, Manasseh grabbed Dinah’s wrist before she could stab him a third time, and he wrestled her to the floor. “Help me!” he cried. “Somebody get in here and help me!” She was stronger than he imagined. It was all he could do to keep her pinned beneath him as he struggled with her. The pain in his gut was agonizing. She managed to get one hand free to claw at his face, and her nails tore into his skin. “Help me!” he shouted again.
By the time Manasseh’s servants burst into the room he was dizzy from losing so much blood. He roll
ed off of Dinah as the guards grabbed her and he curled into a ball, holding his stomach.
“She tried to kill me,” he moaned. “The little dog tried to kill me!” The shock of Dinah’s betrayal hurt Manasseh nearly as much as his wounds. Zerah ran into the room and bent over him, his face white with fear.
“I don’t want to die,” Manasseh whispered to him. “Please help me!” Then Zerah’s face disappeared as Manasseh lost consciousness.
Joshua caught up with the Levites before they reached the bottom of the hill. Asher turned to look at him, but none of the men spoke. Their somber faces and slow, careful steps testified to the enormity of what they were doing. This ark, symbol of their nation’s covenant with Yahweh, had stood in the Temple since the time of King Solomon—until tonight.
The valley was so dark with clouds that Joshua never saw Jerimoth and the waiting caravan until they suddenly emerged from the fog in front of him. “Joshua! Thank God!”
“Did you have any trouble leaving the city?” Joshua asked.
“No. None at all.”
Joshua saw the shadowy forms of men and animals in the mist behind his brother. “Do your porters know what they’re hauling?”
“Only that the goods are stolen. And that they’re being paid extra to be quiet about it.”
“Are they armed?”
“Yes.”
“Are you?”
Jerimoth nodded.
The Levites halted and lowered the ark to the ground with great care. Joshua saw the deep emotion in their troubled eyes; he couldn’t tell if their faces were wet with rain or with tears. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?” Asher asked him.
“We sought God’s will with Urim and Thummim, remember? Let’s get this stuff loaded.”
The two Levites who had been guarding the cave helped Jerimoth’s men load the hidden goods onto the caravan. The amount of gold and silver the Levites had managed to smuggle out amazed Joshua. Everything was proceeding smoothly, just as he’d planned.
Jerimoth didn’t help his men with the loading. Instead, he stood to one side, staring at the covered litter. Joshua moved up beside him. “I can’t believe what’s hidden beneath that cover,” Jerimoth whispered. “Dear God in heaven—the ark of the covenant! Who are we to carry out such an awesome responsibility!”
“We’re our father’s sons, Jerimoth. Yahweh entrusted His house and His nation to Abba’s hands. Now the burden has been passed to us.”
“This is God’s mercy seat,” Jerimoth breathed. “God’s presence goes with this ark. Do you realize what that means? When this leaves Jerusalem, it’s the end of our nation . . . the end of our people . . .”
“The people themselves made that choice—God didn’t. And this isn’t the end. It’s only a new beginning.” Joshua shivered in the damp, cold air and coughed. He saw Jerimoth appraise him with a worried frown.
“You’re not well, are you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Jerimoth gripped his arms. “Joshua, forget about Prince Amariah and come with me tonight. You’ve got the ark—now let’s both get out of the country alive. Too many things can go wrong tomorrow. Hadad isn’t strong-minded enough to help you. He’ll fall to pieces at the first hint of trouble. Please, for Mama’s sake—”
“The Levites need a leader. They have no one. It’s what I’ve been trained to do.”
“It’s more than that, and you know it. You want to get even with Manasseh. I don’t blame you, Josh, but revenge is a hunger that can never be satisfied. Even if you capture Prince Amariah, it still won’t be enough.”
“It will be a good start.”
One of Jerimoth’s porters approached them. “Everything is loaded, my lord. We’re ready.” Joshua gazed at the shrouded ark for the last time. The two Levites from the cave, along with two other Kohathites, traded places with Asher’s men, lifting the ark onto their shoulders. They would carry it to safety in Egypt. Asher’s men would carry one of Jerimoth’s empty litters back up to the Temple.
Joshua turned to say good-bye to his brother but before he could speak, Jerimoth gripped him in his embrace. “Come back alive, brother,” he whispered. “Please, God. Come back alive.”
Hidden inside the entrance to another cave, the beggar watched the shadowy forms moving in the mist near the dump. Something odd was going on over there. Ever since two strangers moved into one of the other caves, the beggar had been on the alert. It only took him a few days of watching to catch on to the fact that they were smuggling something out of the city along with their garbage and stashing it in that cave. But he hadn’t quite decided what to do about it yet.
If the loot was valuable, the strangers would be armed. The beggar knew he would need help overpowering them before he could make off with their goods. He needed to consider all of his colleagues carefully, working out in his mind who to let in on his secret. If he blabbed to the wrong man about a heist this big, he could get himself killed.
But now it looked as though he had debated too long. There was a lot of movement over there tonight, and the loot was being hauled away by a dozen new men. He cursed himself for being too slow to act. He had missed his big chance to score. What if the smuggling operation didn’t continue after tonight?
He watched the steady rain form huge puddles outside his cave as he debated what to do. The rain would turn all the roads out of Jerusalem into mud. The smugglers would leave a trail any child could follow. But once all the pilgrims left the city tomorrow morning, the trail would be wiped out. There wasn’t enough time to gather a gang and waylay the smugglers. He couldn’t even tell his fellow thieves what they were smuggling!
No, the only chance he saw to benefit from this whole escapade was to alert the authorities and hope for a reward. Let trained soldiers fight the battle, not him. A small payment was better than nothing at all, which is what he had at the moment.
As the beggar watched, the knot of men across the valley formed into a caravan and disappeared down the valley road into the fog. Another group of men, five of them, started climbing up the hill to the Temple again. The beggar pulled his cloak over his head and sprinted down the valley through the rain to the Water Gate.
“I want to report a smuggling ring,” he told the sentries standing guard. His words were met with howls of laughter. “Take me to your captain, then,” he shouted above the noise.
The raucous debate among the soldiers about what to do with him seemed to take forever. Meanwhile, the thieves were probably disappearing into the night along with his hopes for a reward. The beggar persisted, shouting wildly, until he was finally dragged up to the palace and brought before the captain of the guard.
The captain sat in his booth by the front entrance, cleaning his fingernails with a knife. The aroma of roasting meat drifted out from somewhere inside the palace, making the thief’s mouth water. Maybe he’d settle for a leg of mutton instead of silver.
“What’s your story, old man?” The captain wore an expression of boredom on his bland face.
“Those priests at the Temple are up to something, my lord. I’ve been watching them. They’ve been smuggling stuff out with their garbage and stashing it in a cave in the Kidron Valley. Tonight I saw a caravan down there, hauling it all away.”
The captain looked up at him and sheathed his knife. “Which Temple priests are these?”
“I wouldn’t know the difference, my lord. They’re the ones who carry stuff to the dump every day.”
“And how long have they been doing this?”
“All week, my lord.”
“Can you prove your story?”
“I’ll take you down there myself. You’ll see all their footprints in the mud by the cave. I’m sure their pack animals left a trail, too. Your men could still catch them on horseback if they hurried.”
The captain folded his arms across his chest. “Do you know what the penalty is for leading us on a wild goose chase?”
“Yes, my lord. But I’m telling you the tr
uth. I could use the reward money, sir.”
The captain stood. “Very well, I’ll go down with you myself and—”
Suddenly the door flew open and one of the palace guards rushed in. “Captain, you must come right away! Someone just tried to assassinate King Manasseh!”
When Manasseh opened his eyes he was lying bare-chested on Dinah’s bed. His blood-soaked tunic had been torn away and one of the royal physicians was pressing a thick wad of bloody cloths against his stomach. “Lie still, Your Majesty. Don’t move.”
Sweat rolled into Manasseh’s eyes. “Where is she?”
“In the dungeon beneath the palace,” Zerah answered. “In chains.” He dipped another cloth in cold water and laid it on Manasseh’s forehead.
“I want her executed! Tonight!”
Zerah turned to the doctors. “Is the bleeding under control?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then leave us.” Zerah waited until the physicians and servants left the room. Then he sat on the edge of the bed beside Manasseh. “When your bodyguards saw what she did to you, they beat her. I stopped them before they killed her. It isn’t in your best interests to execute her just yet. You need an heir from this woman first.”
Manasseh closed his eyes to make the dizziness stop. “The prophecy . . . the night of the equinox. The spirits warned me that I had another enemy. I just never imagined . . .”
“None of us did, Your Majesty. I’m sorry. We should have been more alert.”
The pain in his gut was the worst Manasseh had ever known. He moaned in agony. “Am I going to die?”
Zerah wrung out another cloth and placed it on his brow. “Don’t upset yourself. I’m seeking omens right now.”
Manasseh glanced down at his arm. The wound was wrapped in a bandage with a strip of linen tied tightly above his elbow to stop the bleeding. “Untie this thing, Zerah. It’s too tight. I can’t feel my fingers.”
Zerah shook his head. “The cut was very deep. Leave it for the doctors.”