The Judgment

by D. J. Niko

  His memory traveled to Solomon’s negotiations with Psusennes in Zoan. “She must be free to practice her customs and worship in her own way,” the pharaoh had said of his daughter. Zadok knew then it was a mistake to accept such terms. Now, seeing evidence of the Egyptians’ detestable idolatrous religion on the top of the Hebrews’ sacred mount, the high priest felt deep in his old bones the onslaught of Yahweh’s wrath.

  He turned to Zuriel. “I will speak to the king. In the meantime, destroy this and restore virtue to the mount.”

  “Yes, Kohain.” Regarding the statue, the Levite shook his head. “What Israelite could have done this?”

  “None did. The cat goddess is sacred to the Egyptians.”

  Zuriel’s eyes grew wide. “The king’s wife?”

  Zadok nodded.

  “The king will be angry at us for destroying it.”

  “I do not fear his ire. My lord and master is not of this earth. My first duty is to him. Now make haste.”

  Zadok turned on his heel and started down the hillside. It was not the first time he’d encountered such indignity. Two winters prior, he’d found a statue of Molech, the beast-god of the Ammonites, near the Valley of Ben-hinnom. It was in that cursed valley, not far from Jerusalem, that apostates long ago had made their children to walk through a raging fire as a hideous form of sacrifice to the Ammonite deity.

  The practice predated Solomon’s Jerusalem, but the statue was new. Someone among them had placed it in the valley to glorify Molech, defying the Hebrew laws that forbade such a thing. Zadok suspected Naamah, Solomon’s Ammonite wife and mother of Rehoboam, his heir apparent. But she never confessed to it, and Solomon ordered Zadok to drop the inquisition.

  The priest proceeded to destroy the stone statue with his own hands, beating it against a massive boulder until nothing remained but shards. The act had at once taken everything out of him and fed him strength.

  He thought then it was an isolated incident. He did not expect to find more evidence of idol worship so soon after. It whispered of Solomon’s permissiveness with his wives, his refusal to hold them to his own religious standard. The king was in direct defiance of Yahweh’s warning, which had come as a dream-oracle during the first years of his reign.

  When destiny favored them, men became too full of themselves, quickly forgetting that what had been given them could just as easily be yanked away. Zadok had hoped the wise king would not fall into that trap, but the years had proven him wrong.

  He clenched his teeth and quickened his pace. This time he would intervene, lest the entire nation suffer from its king’s licentiousness.

  In the cold gray light of daybreak, Zadok arrived at the palace gates and stopped in his tracks. Two figures were in the courtyard, heads together in conference and whispering words he could not hear. One was cloaked, his—or perhaps her—identity shielded. The other cut a familiar figure. It wasn’t until the man turned his head that Zadok realized who he was.

  Jeroboam, the Ephraimite to whom Solomon gave work when the temple was in early construction, stood beneath the canopy of a pomegranate tree. He looked around, then whispered something in haste to his companion. The hooded figure dashed away.

  The high priest waited a moment before approaching. “Ah, Jeroboam. What brings you to the palace at this hour?” He acted as if he had seen nothing.

  “I seek audience with the king. It is a matter of utmost importance.” His face was pinched, his onyx eyes hard beneath a thick brow. “And you, Zadok. I would have expected you to be at the temple.”

  Zadok did not like the way Jeroboam addressed him—as an equal rather than as a holy man. Since being promoted to overseer of the laborers of the house of Joseph some ten years prior, the Ephraimite’s confidence had taken a dangerous turn toward outright arrogance.

  “I am here to counsel the king. As always.”

  “Good. Perhaps you can bring him to his senses.”

  The priest pointed his cane at him. “This is no way to speak about your king. I caution you to show respect—or face his wrath.”

  Jeroboam smirked and walked away, pacing among the sycamores until a footman announced King Solomon was ready to grant audience.

  Zadok entered the throne room first and noted that the king had positioned himself on the formal seat of judgment. His throne sat at the apex of a six-stepped structure carved of ivory. Each step was flanked by a different set of gilded beasts—each symbolic of the Lord’s commandments to the king of Israel. On the left side of the throne sat the unclean beasts that represented evil; on the right were the righteous ones, representing the divine.

  Though only the king sat upon the throne, there were seats around it reserved for the high priest and the judges. Zadok stopped at the base of the seat of judgment, kneeled, and bowed deeply before the king. He took up his place on Solomon’s right.

  To the king’s left sat twenty-three judges—the sanhedrin—and two of his children, Rehoboam and Basemath. As Solomon’s heir, Rehoboam was frequently present in affairs of the state. The reasons for Basemath’s presence were a little more obscure, but Zadok understood. Solomon’s eldest daughter was his favorite child, and he often treated her as he would a male heir, sometimes to the chagrin of the men in the council.

  The footman announced Jeroboam, and the superintendent of the burnden entered. He stopped before the throne and gave the requisite genuflection.

  “You have sought this assembly, Jeroboam.” Solomon’s voice boomed in the cavernous chamber. “You say you seek judgment about the Millo. Say what you have come here to say.”

  “My lord,” Jeroboam said, “the people are restless. They do not understand the purpose of the Millo. They believe there should be no walls round about the city.”

  Solomon tapped his fingers together. “The common people do not always understand a higher purpose. The Millo fortifications are there to protect them, to guard the city against enemies.”

  “But, my lord, these common people are the pilgrims coming from all parts of Israel, who have traveled on foot for days to come worship at the temple. They can no longer come and go freely. They are having to camp, sometimes for days on end, until they are deemed worthy to enter the city simply so they could worship. It is an outrage.”

  Zadok watched Solomon’s reaction. The king’s body stiffened as he listened to the criticism from one of his own mighty men of valor. Jeroboam’s harsh proclamation was the first indication of a conflict stirring among Solomon’s own people.

  “I have placed my trust in you, Jeroboam,” Solomon said coldly. “I have appointed you overseer of all the labor of the house of Joseph. Your purpose is to ensure the people carry out their duty for the kingdom, not to sympathize with them.”

  “My lord, it is not only the laborers for whom I speak. There are rumblings among the people of Joseph—my people.” Jeroboam addressed all present. “They feel they are being unfairly taxed for the building of something they deem unnecessary. They are calling the Millo an iron curtain, a vanity project for the king and nothing more.”

  Solomon raised his own voice in response. Zadok could see his anger was mounting. “The people need not question; they need only follow. You tell them their king knows what is best for them. You are dismissed.”

  “My lord, have you been so blinded by power that you disregard the desires of your own people? Is your own glory all that matters to you?”

  Zadok started. Jeroboam had gone too far. Surely he knew such displays of disrespect came with catastrophic consequences.

  Solomon rose from his throne and descended the steps to the base, where Jeroboam stood. He struck his servant across the face with the back of his hand. The king’s heavy iron ring left a streak of raw skin on Jeroboam’s cheek. “Do you know to whom you speak, Jeroboam, son of Nebat?”

  Jeroboam’s eyes blazed, but he said nothing.

  “You are hereby stripped of your title and discharged from royal service.” Solomon was breathless. “I should have you put to de
ath for your disloyalty. I will forgive your folly this once for the service your father gave to my father. Now be gone.”

  Jeroboam hurried out of the room. When he was out of sight, Solomon clenched his fists and turned to Zadok. “That fool. Does he not realize what powers are rising around us? Does he not know what simmers in Egypt? Psusennes is dead. His successor is a Libyan warrior with a taste for blood. Shoshenq is not the peace-loving king my father-in-law was. He is a threat to us. It is my duty to guard the people against such dangers.”

  Zadok studied Solomon’s eyes and saw in them something he did not recognize. It was a cross between fear and arrogance. “My lord, I respectfully ask for private audience.”

  Solomon stroked his beard, now more silver than black. Though he was nearing the fiftieth year since his birth, his gaze was still as intense as it was when he was anointed king. He dismissed the others with a wave and turned to his high priest. “Say what you have to say.”

  Zadok waited for the last person to leave the room. He spoke softly. “I am not justifying Jeroboam’s actions, but you must take heed of his words. There are indeed enemies at the gate of Jerusalem, but some wear the garments of your people.”

  Solomon scoffed. “You speak nonsense.”

  “Perhaps you trust too much.” Zadok steadied himself on his cane and rose from his seat. “My lord, our faith is our foundation. When that falters, everything we have built upon it crumbles to dust. It pains me to say I have seen evidence of this.

  “Some time back, the widow Tirzah took to the streets, begging for food for her four boys. I bade her come to the temple and take of the animal sacrifices that they may not go hungry. But she did not come. When next I saw her, she was with Nahash the elder. He was groping her openly.”

  “Nahash? The married, old merchant?”

  “The very one. He followed her to her house before sundown on the Sabbath. Neither of them came to the temple that night. I fear she is selling her flesh to him for bread.”

  “That is shameful. They must be punished. See to it, Zadok.” He sat at a table on which lay a pile of scrolls. He opened the one on top and shifted his attention to it.

  The dismissive attitude raised Zadok’s ire. “My lord, this is not about mere punishment. It is an omen of the depravity that has settled among the people.”

  “It is one incident, isolated to a man and a woman.” Solomon spoke calmly, never raising his gaze. “You cannot judge a people by the actions of a few.”

  “Open your eyes, Solomon. Your subjects’ spiritual armor has been breached. The winds have changed in Jerusalem. People like Nahash and Tirzah are taking what they want without regard for judgment. They seek immediate pleasure without restraint, and that is a certain sign of moral decline. Surely you see that.”

  The king pounded his fist on the table. “Enough! The people’s faith is intact. They come in great numbers to the temple, offering their livestock for sacrifice, and our coffers are full. That is what I see. Rein in your pessimism, lest it become its own, misguided prophecy. The people need guidance; it has been that way since the time of our fathers. It is your duty to lead them down a spiritual path. If they do not follow, it is you who have failed.”

  Zadok could not believe his ears. “Solomon, how can you—?”

  “I will hear no more of this, Zadok. Go.” He bent over the scroll and said not another word.

  Zadok could see it clearly: Solomon had become a victim of his own legacy. He had created a machine of such monstrous proportions that it had consumed him, leaving little time for matters of the spirit. He was not blind to the unrest stirring around him but rather had chosen to ignore it, focusing instead on fulfilling his destiny. For a leader, it was the gravest of missteps.

  “There is something else you must know,” Zadok said. “This morning I stood upon the Mount of Olives and saw the most abhorrent sight. Someone had erected a statue in the likeness of a cat. There were signs of worship . . . spent incense, fresh flowers.”

  Solomon obviously understood the inference. “When I took Nicaule to wife, I made a promise. It would be dishonorable to go back on my word.”

  Zadok tapped his cane on the floor. “Idol worship is an abomination before the Lord. You must not allow this. If you look the other way, you do so at the peril of your soul.”

  “My soul is intact before the Lord. Our people do not worship idols. I have no sway over the beliefs of foreigners.”

  “But they are foreigners on your land. Nay, in your house. Allowing them to worship their gods on Israel’s soil is in direct defiance of the laws of Yahweh.” Zadok paused to catch his breath. “God will not tolerate such abominations. He will raise up enemies against your kingdom. It has already begun. For if you don’t believe Jeroboam is such an enemy, you are the fool.”

  Solomon stood abruptly. “Blasphemy!”

  The priest’s cane slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor.

  Solomon must have realized the gravity of his misstep, for he lowered his head and softened his voice. “Forgive me, Zadok.”

  “It is not too late, my lord Solomon. Lead the people in the way the Lord demands of you.”

  Solomon picked up Zadok’s cane. Handing it to him, he said, “You must trust in me, old friend. All I have done, I have done for the glorification of his name. It is why I have built him a house and a kingdom that is the envy of people of all nations.”

  “The Lord does not want buildings and armies and stores of gold. He wants your heart to be pure and you to walk upright before him. Do not forsake what he said to you all those years ago. ‘Should you or your children falter, should you break my commandments or serve other gods, I will strike down Israel and cast out of my sight the house which I have hallowed.’”

  The king placed a hand on Zadok’s shoulder. “I have not forgotten. The years may have passed, but the wisdom granted me has not diminished. I know what is best for the people. Do not burden your old bones with worry. Now, go.”

  The taste of bile permeated Zadok’s mouth. The king’s condescension was like the sound of the horn at the sight of the approaching enemy. Solomon was so full of his own pride he could not see it. Zadok could say nothing to alter that. For the first time in his eighty-four years, the high priest of Israel had failed. He gathered himself and walked out of the throne room.

  In the corridor, a familiar feeling came over him. As he had few times before, he felt like the conduit for a message. He stood still and closed his eyes, letting it come. In his mind’s eye, he saw the face of Jeroboam, bleeding and full of rage. The captain of the burnden stood on a golden statue in the likeness of a fatted calf. Beneath him were outstretched hands that numbered so many they could not be counted. The image dissolved into blackness, replaced by a desert. The wilderness of Judea. A wind blew the sand across the parched ground, revealing a buried object. As the sand parted, he realized it was his own staff.

  The end was near.

  He opened his eyes and knew what he had to do.

  16

  When night fell upon Jerusalem, Zadok threw a dark mantle over his bony shoulders and crossed the cobbled alleys to the officers’ quarters. He knew his visit would bring forth answers as surely as the vines yielded grapes at summer’s end.

  The light of an oil lamp trembled at the window of Jeroboam’s house. Zadok stood in the shadows and waited. A light rain touched his face, but he did not seek shelter. He would wait in that spot until morrow if he had to, for he knew with all certainty someone would come.

  Two hours later the rain had soaked him to the bone, making him shiver with a deep chill, but his premonition was rewarded. A cloaked visitor rapped at Jeroboam’s door and was quickly let inside, obviously expected.

  Zadok skulked across the alley and hunched beneath Jeroboam’s window. The voices were soft, whispers almost. From beneath his mantle he drew a horn and placed it on his ear to amplify the sound.

  “Three hundred horses and chariots are coming out of Egypt tomorrow for del
ivery to the palace. My men will meet the caravan in the wilderness at dawn and divert the horses to my stronghold in Zeredah.”

  The betrayal Zadok had suspected was true. Jeroboam was plotting against Solomon, and he had an accomplice. He listened actively, but the mysterious visitor was silent.

  “It is imperative you deliver the message to our allies tonight,” Jeroboam said. “Everything must go according to the plan.”

  Allies? Could there be a support army? If Jeroboam was planning a revolt, surely he needed reinforcements. But who among neighboring kings would raise a hand against Solomon?

  “How will we know the time has come?” the visitor whispered.

  Though there was something familiar in it, Zadok could not identify the voice.

  “The prophecy has been made. God’s plan is already at work.” He paused. “A few days ago, I was walking along the road outside the city. Ahijah the Shilonite appeared from behind a thicket of sycamore trees and bade me stop. He removed his mantle and rent it before my eyes. I thought him mad and begged him to stop, but he would not do so until it was shredded into twelve pieces. Then he counted out ten and put them in my hand. ‘Take this cloth which is a symbol of the ten tribes of Israel,’ he said. ‘The united kingdom is crumbling, for Solomon has done wrong in the eyes of God. You have been chosen, Jeroboam. You must lead the tribes of the north. Only Judah and Benjamin will remain in the hands of the house of David.’”

  So it had been done. Zadok looked to the sky. Even the stars were hiding beneath the black, impenetrable veil that had fallen upon Jerusalem that night. There was no surprise in it. He knew in his heart the day of Solomon’s judgment would come. The son of David had everything—power, glory, wealth, vigor, and wisdom—yet he let it trickle away like water through gossamer. Instead of letting himself be guided, he placed his faith in his own sovereignty, disregarding the one who had given it to him in the first place.