The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

by Lynn Austin

  “What have you done to yourself this time, little brother?” he murmured. Jerimoth knew this had all started on that disastrous Passover night. God alone knew when it would end.

  “Miriam . . .” Joshua moaned. He called her name over and over as the cart rumbled down the long road back to the village. “Miriam . . .”

  Jerimoth finally decided to tell him the truth to quiet him. “Miriam’s dead, Joshua. Hadad killed her. Try to get some rest now. We’re almost there.”

  “She’s not dead . . . she’s alive . . .”

  “No, Joshua. One of your soldiers saw Hadad push her over the cliff.” He wondered if Joshua had found her body at the bottom. Maybe that’s what had disturbed him. “You’re going to be all right, Josh. We’re going to get the others, and we’ll all be out of Judah by tonight. Try to rest.”

  “Miriam’s alive! We have to go back for her!”

  Jerimoth didn’t know if Joshua was delirious or telling the truth. Could Miriam really be alive by some miracle? They would waste too much time going back for no reason, and even if she was back by the cliff, Joshua was in no condition to lead them to her. Jerimoth saw creamy stone buildings shining in the sunlight ahead of them; they were approaching the outskirts of Nahshon. “Joshua, we’ll be entering the village soon. I’m going to cover you with this rug. You have to keep quiet.”

  Joshua pushed the rug aside and struggled to sit, gritting his teeth. “Please don’t let her die. . . . You can’t let her die! Miriam is alive. You have to believe me. . . . She’s alive!”

  Joshua’s desperation convinced him. “Turn the caravan around!” Jerimoth shouted. “And God help us all.”

  It was long past noon when Jerimoth finally saw the cliffs in the distance again. He slid off the cart to walk beside it, watching for the place where they had found Joshua. One of the Ishmaelites spotted the trampled patch of grass where Joshua had lain beneath the bush. Jerimoth could faintly see the meandering trail Josh had made through the grass.

  When the cart drew to a stop, Joshua struggled to sit up. “Miriam . . .”

  “Stay here, Josh. We’ll find her.”

  Taking a skin of water and a rug, Jerimoth and two of the Ishmaelites followed Joshua’s trail to the base of the cliff. They combed the area, but there was no sign of Miriam. When Jerimoth realized their search had been a waste of time, he was angry with himself. They could have been across the border by now. He called to his men. “It’s no use. Let’s head back.”

  “Wait, Master Jerimoth! Look!”

  They found Miriam lying hidden beneath a tree branch. Jerimoth knelt beside her and felt for a pulse. “She is alive!”

  He raised Miriam’s head to pour some water between her lips, and she opened her eyes and moaned. “Hang on,” he told her. “We’re going home.” She cried out in agony when they lifted her onto the rug. “God of Abraham, please don’t let us hurt her any more than she already is,” he prayed. Jerimoth helped carry her back to the cart; they laid her beside Joshua.

  “Miriam?”

  “She’s right beside you, Joshua. We found her.”

  Joshua groped for Miriam’s hand and linked his fingers in hers. “Thank God,” he wept. “Thank God.”

  Jerimoth turned the oxen around once more. “How fast can you make these animals go?” he asked the driver. “We need to hurry!”

  The road back seemed endless, the journey slowed by afternoon travelers, herds of sheep, and farmers returning home from market. At last the grape arbors on the outskirts of Nahshon came into view, and they followed the winding road that led up to the village. Jerimoth ordered the driver to slow the cart while he hid Joshua and Miriam beneath a rug in the back.

  “We’ll only stop long enough to collect the others,” Jerimoth told his men, “then we’ll make a run for the border. We can still reach it by sundown if we hurry.”

  The cart labored up the hill, then bumped through the cobbled streets of the village, coming to a halt at last outside their rented booth. Joshua pushed the rug aside and tried to sit up.

  “Where are we?”

  “At the market stall in Nahshon. Stay here. I’ll fetch the others.”

  “The others? Someone else made it?”

  “Dinah and Amariah are here. And two of the soldiers.”

  A tear slid down Joshua’s face. “Jerimoth . . . can you ever forgive me?”

  Jerimoth’s anger toward his brother had been smoldering since Passover night, increasing in strength each time Joshua demanded his own way or manipulated events with his rage. But as Jerimoth looked at his brother, lying bruised and broken, all his anger suddenly dissolved in a rush of pity. Joshua had paid dearly for his mistakes. His blind quest for revenge had done this to him. Jerimoth determined not to make the same mistake by allowing anger and unforgiveness to rule his life.

  “Of course I forgive you,” he said. “Stay here while I go inside.”

  The sacks of spices were still on display outside the booth, but the Ishmaelite traders who had remained behind to sell them were nowhere in sight. All at once Jerimoth froze when he remembered General Benjamin. Had he just rescued Joshua so that Manasseh could murder him? He remembered his father’s execution and began to tremble. He slowly parted the curtain to peer into the stall.

  General Benjamin stood in front of him with four armed soldiers. His weathered face was impassive, his powerful frame immovable. Dinah and the others huddled behind him. “Did you find Joshua?” the general asked.

  Jerimoth closed his eyes. “O God of Abraham,” he prayed.

  Jerimoth turned when he heard a noise behind him. Joshua had emerged from the wagon to stumble toward the booth. General Benjamin saw him, too.

  “So there you are, Joshua. My men have searched everywhere for you. You’re quite an escape artist.”

  “I’m the only one you want, General. Please, let all these others go.”

  General Benjamin gestured to the four soldiers. “I’d like you to meet my sons,” he said. “I wondered if they would be welcome in Egypt, too?”

  14

  Manasseh huddled in the shadow of his mother’s tomb, searching the constellations for his guiding star. A lone bat flitted like a shadow against the midnight sky, then vanished. He wondered if it was an omen. These days he seemed to wonder if everything was an omen, and he worried that he was going insane. When he recalled the blind woman’s prophecy that Joshua would be more powerful than he was, he wanted to weep.

  Hadad’s plot had failed. Joshua had escaped from Judah for a third time. “That means something, doesn’t it?” he asked suddenly.

  Zerah eyed him impatiently. “What does, Your Majesty?”

  “The number three . . . the fact that Joshua escaped from me three times?”

  “It means nothing,” Zerah said. He grimaced in disgust.

  “That beggar woman told me Joshua would be too strong for me, and she was right. Now General Benjamin is gone. Now my enemy has a military expert, too, and I’m going to have to live on edge like this for the rest of my life, wondering what he’ll do next, when he’ll strike, whom I can trust.”

  “You don’t know for certain that Benjamin was a traitor. They might have captured him or killed him for all we know.”

  “Don’t be stupid—his wife and four sons vanished, too.”

  “The sorcerer who is meeting us here is very powerful,” Zerah assured him. “He can tell us what the future holds.”

  But Manasseh refused to be comforted. “Did you see the emblem on their soldiers’ shields? An ox! Don’t you see how Joshua is mocking me?”

  Zerah turned on him with a rare burst of anger. “Pull yourself together! He didn’t defeat you, did he? You’re still the king of Judah; Joshua isn’t!”

  “But I wanted to win. I wanted him to die.”

  “Listen to me. We tortured those men for every last shred of information before we executed them. They were Joshua’s soldiers, and they were children! Your men captured all but two of them with no tro
uble at all, not even a scratch. I don’t care what emblem he puts on his shields, your forces are stronger than his!”

  “But General Benjamin—”

  “Good riddance to the old mongrel. You’re better off without him. Do you want him working against you inside your own barracks?”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Manasseh was grateful for Zerah’s strength and wisdom. He needed someone he could lean on, someone he could trust, a friend who would never betray him as Joshua had. He silently thanked the gods for sending Zerah to him.

  “Now, I want you to calm down,” Zerah soothed, “and forget all about your enemy for a while. This is an exciting night for you. Your mother’s spirit will be summoned from beyond. She’ll tell you everything you want to know. Think of it! You can talk to her tonight. How long has it been since you’ve spoken to her?”

  “She died more than four years ago,” Manasseh said quietly.

  “Ah, look. . . . This must be the sorcerer coming now.”

  A line of torches bobbed up the path toward them, and Manasseh heard the faint bleating of goats. The thought of talking to his mother sent a shiver of excitement down his spine. Such power at his fingertips!

  Sensing his excitement, Zerah moved closer to Manasseh’s side. “If we’re successful tonight, Your Majesty, perhaps we can conjure up King Hezekiah next time.”

  “No! Not my father! I’m not ready!” Manasseh heard the panic in his own voice.

  “Why not?”

  Manasseh wouldn’t answer. He was unwilling to admit to Zerah that he was afraid to face his father. But long after the ceremony ended, Manasseh continued to ask himself why he feared him so.

  “I see it hasn’t taken General Benjamin long to set this place in order,” Joshua said. He stood with Prince Amariah at the garrison on Elephantine Island, watching the soldiers spar in the courtyard, listening to the sound of clashing practice swords. In the two weeks since their safe return to Egypt, the general had already established a measure of order and discipline among the men that even Hadad had never achieved.

  “Between General Benjamin and his sons, this will soon be Pharaoh’s finest fighting unit,” Amariah said. “Maybe now I can concentrate on governing instead of trying to train the men.”

  It struck Joshua as odd that Amariah had said, “I can govern” instead of “we,” and he wondered what Amariah’s reasons were for asking him to come to the fort. This was the first time he had seen the prince since their return two weeks earlier. Joshua had needed that much time to regain his health and strength.

  “Let’s talk inside,” Amariah said suddenly. He led the way to his audience hall and took his seat on the modest throne, then motioned for Joshua to sit beside him. The prince seemed calm and serene, all his usual nervous gestures strangely missing.

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think these past few weeks,” Amariah began. “And I’ve decided to relieve you of your duties as my second-in-command.”

  For a moment Joshua’s anger flared as if a spark had touched dry grass. Was Amariah trying to punish him by taking away his lifework? What other work was he supposed to do on this island? Then he remembered Miriam’s warning that his rage would destroy him one day, and he battled to douse the flames.

  “I understand,” he said quietly. “I’ve made a lot of stupid mistakes and shown poor judgment by—”

  “Hear me out, Joshua. This isn’t about your past mistakes, it’s about mine. I promised God that if Dinah and I got out of Judah alive, I would stop running away from my responsibilities. Governing this island community is God’s will for my life. I understand that now. In the past I’ve depended on you more than on God to make my decisions. It’s time I learned to depend on Him.”

  His words prodded the malignant lump of guilt that constantly devoured Joshua’s peace. He needed to start cutting it away. His chest ached as he drew a deep breath.

  “Amariah, I need to ask your forgiveness. I was wrong to force you to marry Dinah. And I was wrong to involve you in my quest for vengeance. I acted in rebellion—it wasn’t God’s will. Can you ever forgive me for what I’ve done to you?”

  Amariah was quiet for a moment. When he finally spoke, Joshua was struck by how much his voice resembled King Hezekiah’s—strong and resonant. “I’ve been angry with you for everything that happened, but I’m angrier with myself for allowing it. Even so, God taught me some valuable lessons. I do forgive you.”

  Joshua closed his eyes for a moment. The relief he felt was immense and absolute, like removing a heavy pack at the end of an exhausting, uphill journey. “I don’t blame you for firing me,” he finally said. “I understand completely.”

  “No, I don’t think you do understand because I haven’t finished yet. God brought us to Elephantine Island to preserve our faith and our worship—to be the remnant of true believers that Isaiah spoke of in his prophecy. We need to stop thinking of Egypt as our temporary home and build a permanent life here. When I was running from Manasseh’s soldiers and I thought about going home, I thought of Elephantine.”

  Joshua wished the prince would deliver the scathing reprimand he knew he deserved and get it over with. He started to interrupt, then stopped when he saw Amariah’s face. He had never seen the prince so bold and decisive, so calm and self-assured.

  “What I’m trying to say,” Amariah continued, “is that right now I need an architect more than I need an advisor. I want you to be in charge of building a temple for Yahweh here on Elephantine.”

  “You mean not just an altar? But an actual building?”

  “Yes. Identical to the one in Jerusalem. The ark needs a permanent resting place. And we need a place where we can teach our children to celebrate all the sacred feasts and . . . why are you smiling?”

  “I was just imagining how amazed Manasseh would be if he could see what a strong leader you’ve become. You’re going to make an excellent king, Amariah.”

  “I’m going to try.”

  “Firing me is the best decision you ever made. It took courage.” He rested his hand on Amariah’s shoulder. “You saved all our lives, you know. None of us would have made it out of Judah alive if you hadn’t won General Benjamin over to our side.”

  “God changed his heart; I didn’t. But you haven’t answered my question. Will you be in charge of building the new temple?”

  “I’d be honored, Your Majesty.”

  When he left the garrison late that afternoon, Joshua walked straight to the dock and boarded the ferry to the mainland. Now that he had direction for his own future, it was time to keep his promises.

  The Egyptian forge where Nathan worked as a craftsman’s apprentice was smoky and oppressively hot. Joshua’s heart melted with pity when he saw Nathan standing close to the furnace, sweating like a slave as he labored to pump the bellows.

  “Nathan!” Joshua had to shout to be heard above the clamor of the forge. “May I talk with you for a moment?”

  Nathan continued to pump as he looked to his boss for permission. When the man nodded, Nathan laid down his bellows and slowly approached Joshua, his eyes filled with apprehension.

  “Where’s my sister?”

  “At home. She wants to see you. I’ve come to bring you home.”

  “Why didn’t she come herself?”

  Joshua hesitated. “She’s had an accident, Nathan. She can’t walk very well yet. But she’d like to see you. Will you come?”

  Nathan’s stricken face revealed his alarm. He struggled into his tunic and abandoned his work without pausing to ask his boss. “What did you do to my sister?” he asked as they hurried toward the dock.

  “I won’t lie to you; the accident was my fault. She was injured while saving my life.”

  Nathan whirled on him, and his hands balled into fists as he lashed out at Joshua with all his strength. “I hate your stinking guts!” he shouted.

  Taken off guard, Joshua endured a few painful blows to his stomach and ribs before finally pinning Nathan’s arms. The strength
of Nathan’s hatred surprised him as much as his physical strength.

  “Let me go!” Nathan cried, struggling.

  “Listen to me first. I don’t blame you for hating me, but I think you should know that Miriam doesn’t hate me. She knows the truth about Maki—she’s known it all along—and she forgives me. I need to ask you to forgive me, too. I promised to be a father to you, and I haven’t kept my promise. Giving you food and a roof over your head didn’t make me a father. Will you forgive me, Nathan?”

  He didn’t reply. Joshua released him, and Nathan turned away, jogging ahead to the ferry dock. When Joshua caught up to him, he paid both their fares, then found a place to stand beside Nathan against the rail. They faced forward as they crossed the river to Elephantine Island, and Joshua remembered Amariah’s words: They were going home.

  “If you’ll come back to live with me, Nathan—if you’ll give me another chance—I promise to give you more than food and shelter this time. I’d like to give you my name. You’ll be Nathan son of Joshua, son of Eliakim, son of Hilkiah.”

  Nathan quickly turned his head away but not before Joshua saw how moved he was by his offer. Nathan was fighting to keep the wall he had erected between them intact, but the slim crack Joshua had glimpsed gave him hope.

  “What do I have to do in return?” Nathan asked after a moment.

  The question took Joshua by surprise. He didn’t know how to answer. He remembered how Nathan had cut classes, stolen from the vendors, carved forbidden idols, and he knew he should make all the rules clear right from the start. As Nathan’s father, Joshua had a responsibility to discipline him. He thought of his own Abba and took a deep breath.

  “Nothing, Nathan. You don’t have to do anything in return. Being father and son isn’t a bargain we make. It’s a relationship. I’ll try to set a good example for you to follow, and I hope that you’ll learn to respect me, to cherish the values that are important to me, maybe even to love me. But even if you don’t—even if you defy me and shame me and hate me, I’ll always be your father. You’ll always be my son. Nothing can change that. I promise.”