The Secret Book of Kings

by Yochi Brandes

  After the two fighters ended up lying motionless on the ground, a tall, skinny man walked into the room and consulted with my examiners in hushed tones. I could see that he was important by the way they bowed and huffed with excitement. I was glad to see the satisfied smile bending up the corners of his mouth.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked.

  I shook my head no.

  “I am Adoram, in charge of the taxes.”

  “The tax minister?”

  He smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I have plans for you, but first I need to speak to Hadad.”

  The next morning, I woke up to a heavy hand shaking me impatiently. I opened my eyes to find Hadad standing before me.

  “Not good,” he muttered. “Not good.”

  “Did I fail the examinations?”

  “You succeeded too well.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “It’s very bad. Adoram has decided to appoint you head of the tax collection corps in Ephraim.”

  I couldn’t speak.

  “You’re going to be the most hated man in Ephraim. Maybe in all of Israel. When you finally decide you want to be king, you won’t be able to launch a revolt. The people will hate you to death.”

  “I’m not going to launch any revolt, but I also have no desire to collect taxes for the king’s insane construction projects. Tell Adoram you’ve trained me to be a fighter and that I don’t know how to deal with miserable peasants who have nothing left to eat.”

  “There’s no point. Adoram told me he’s been looking for someone like you for years and that he needs you now more than ever. Ben Hur of the tribe of Judah, Ephraim’s current tax commissioner, is unable to meet the new demands for supplying the king with the required quota of construction workers. The personal tax rate and the tax rate on crops are both about to rise, yet Ben Hur can still somehow manage his tax collection duties—you expropriate some land, put a few people in prison, and sometimes, when you have no choice, you do some less pleasant things. But now Solomon is about to build the Millo.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You leave that to his architects. What Adoram needs from you is another three thousand strong young laborers from the tribe of Ephraim, in addition to the five thousand who are already in Jerusalem and have just finished building his palace.”

  “Solomon needs eight thousand builders in Jerusalem?” I asked, incredulous.

  Hadad chuckled. “So few? Eight thousand is only the number he’s getting from Ephraim. Until now there have been ten thousand forced laborers in Jerusalem and another ten thousand in his store cities and his cities of horsemen, and now the number will go up to thirty thousand. Do you understand what this means?”

  I preferred not to understand too much. I had no time to think about it, either. Things happened at a dizzying pace. An hour later, I found myself facing Adoram again, as he repeated Hadad’s frightening words in a slightly different way. He summarily explained what my duties would include and promised that the seasoned tax collectors of Shechem would give me all their lists and help me start up my work. In conclusion, he stretched his thin lips in an amused smile and said, “You won’t be very popular in the eyes of your tribe.”

  I wanted to punch him in the face, but instead I politely replied with what Hadad had taught me to say: “I didn’t come here to be popular. I came here to do whatever job you gave me.”

  He looked satisfied. “I told the king you were quite a man. He’s looking forward to meeting you.”

  I felt like I was about to suffocate. “When?”

  “Now.”

  * * *

  Later, when I recounted the meeting to Hadad, he didn’t believe me. The event had been so strange and different from what I could have expected that I wasn’t even able to explain to myself what had happened. I stood before the king. He signaled for me to come closer. I bowed. He asked, I answered, and that was it. I only realized that had been the end of the matter after I left.

  “Didn’t you want to tear his head off his fat neck?” Hadad asked with disappointment.

  “I barely saw him. I was much more interested in his throne, especially the fish swimming so happily inside the glass steps. Where does he get these ideas?”

  Hadad’s eyes welled up. “So, Shelomoam, is this good-bye?”

  “Adoram has given me half a day to take my leave from my friends in the Palace of Candles. In the meantime, he’s putting together everything I’ll need. Guess how many soldiers are going to accompany me.”

  “Even a thousand soldiers won’t be able to protect you from the torrent of stones the people of Ephraim will rain down on you when you enter their land. And the worst part is, each and every stone will be justified. And as for your redheaded friend, fine, go take your leave of him; perhaps it’s better this way, so that it won’t occur to him to try and find out why you ran off without a word. But don’t tell your grandmother that you got my approval.”

  “I don’t need your approval anymore. Soon enough, you’ll need mine.”

  I entered the Palace of Candles through the main gate. My friends were waiting along the path, cheering loudly for me. Uzziah was the most enthusiastic. “I told you!” he yelled. “Our Shelomoam is going to be the next commander of the army of Israel!”

  I hugged each one of them. Some of them asked me if they could join the tax collection corps of Ephraim when they completed their service in the Palace of Candles. I made no promises but left them all feeling good.

  Ithiel stood at the end of the line. We looked at each other and laughed, but suddenly our laughter turned directly into a powerful burst of tears.

  “Our youth has ended,” he said.

  I couldn’t tell him that mine had been taken away ten days earlier.

  We walked over to the edge of the garden. As we walked, I reminded myself that he was the grandson of the man who killed my father, but I wasn’t able to hate him.

  “I want us to swear allegiance to one another,” he said.

  I swallowed and said nothing. When I spoke again, my voice was trembling.

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s swear it.”

  We knelt and extended our hands to one another.

  “My brother, Shelomoam,” said Ithiel, “I am prepared to give my life for you.”

  I shut my eyes. I didn’t know what to say.

  “You don’t have to repeat the same thing I said,” he whispered. “Just say what’s in your heart.”

  “My brother, Ithiel,” I said in a loud voice. “I love you. Always remember that I mean it, no matter what you hear about me.”

  * * *

  Then I went to Grandmother. I sat down across from her on the mat, rested my head in her lap, and took in the smell of old age. She leaned over me, her warm breath caressing my face.

  “We’ll meet again,” I whispered.

  “I think I’m old enough not to be so sure of that.”

  “I’ll come visit you.”

  “You mustn’t, Shelomoam. It might raise suspicions.”

  “People will think I’ve come to visit Hadad and my friends.”

  She thought this over for a few long minutes. “All right,” she said at last. “Come see me one more time.”

  “When?”

  “When you have a child. I want to see my great-grandchild before I die.”

  “I promise.”

  “And one more thing.” She stroked my cheek and put her lips to my ear. “Follow your heart, Shelomoam. You have a good heart. You can trust it.”

  Four

  The whole way to Ephraim I kept the curtains closed and didn’t peek out the window even once. I knew the familiar views might make me overly emotional, so I preferred not to look outside. The soldiers who accompanied me rode their horses on all sides of the chariot and closely guarded Aner, who galloped freely beside them. They understood how dear he was to me.

  So many things had happened in such a short time. I tried to concentrate a
nd organize my thoughts. I hadn’t come to a decision about whether I wanted to help the elders of Ephraim divide the tax burden or whether, as Hadad had suggested, I would be better off presenting the requirements to them and letting them work things out themselves. Adoram had decided to augment the tax army in Ephraim with two thousand more armed soldiers, but I have no intention of using them. I am going to meet with people directly, without bodyguards, and speak to them face-to-face with my whistling sh sound, so that they will know I am flesh of their flesh, not some sealed-off despot dropped on them from above.

  I ordered the coachman to pass through Zeredah on the way to Shechem and instructed the soldiers accompanying me to stop at one of the stalls and buy raisins and almonds for the children. They asked with puzzlement what children I was expecting, and I told them that when I was a boy my friends and I used to gather up the sweets that the king’s horsemen would throw in our direction, and that one time the commander gave me a ride on his horse and asked me my name. I didn’t share the part about the pleasurable feeling that had taken hold of me when I saw the other children looking up at me and I felt like a king.

  The soldiers exchanged looks and asked me how long it had been since I’d last visited Zeredah. When they heard my reply, they said things were different now and that there wasn’t a chance the children of Zeredah would be running after us. I didn’t argue, but in my heart I was thinking that they would soon come to see that children are children and that when you throw candy to them, there isn’t a chance that they won’t gleefully run after you, even if their parents have warned them about you and told them you’re a bad man. I climbed onto Aner’s back and rode at the front of the convoy. I decided to freeze myself a bit in preparation for the familiar sights so that my soldiers wouldn’t see that I am an emotional man.

  The main street was empty, though there were still at least two hours until sunset. I suddenly realized the sights weren’t really familiar at all. I stopped for a moment in an effort to recover from the anxiety that had seized me and from the shaking that had come over me, and then I continued riding past neglected fields and abandoned houses as the tears ran freely down my cheeks. They’d come so suddenly that I hadn’t had time to wipe them away. Had it not been for the soldiers riding alongside me and watching my every move, I would have allowed myself to fall off my horse in a fit of sobbing.

  “What happened to Zeredah?” I cried. “It’s like a ghost town.”

  “Why do you say ‘like,’” the soldiers said. “Are you sure your family still lives here?”

  I began galloping in the direction of my house like a madman. I noticed a few houses that were still inhabited, but they were in such a sorry state that my anxiety only intensified. From a distance, I could see that the wall surrounding our thicket had been torn down, apparently because the secrets had left the house along with me. I ordered the soldiers to ride on to the house of administration, and I directed Aner to keep going. I breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the familiar vineyards, which were just as I’d remembered them. I assumed that Benaiah was at work there, but I didn’t want to take the time to look for him. I rode into the thicket, jumped off Aner’s back, and tied him to one of the fruitless trees.

  I knocked on the door and held my breath. My face burned when I saw Bilhah. I wanted to fall upon her shoulders but held back, afraid that her heart couldn’t take the excitement.

  “There you are,” my adoptive mother said in a restrained tone of voice. “We thought you’d be here much sooner.”

  I felt dizzy. I couldn’t tell if it came from excitement or disappointment. Her tone was so normal, as if she’d seen me only an hour ago.

  “You knew I was coming?”

  “Your grandmother’s messengers are speedier than you are. They told us last night.”

  “Quiet!” I heard Benaiah’s frightened call coming from behind me.

  I turned to face him. He was standing by the window and didn’t come any closer. I opened my mouth to say something but couldn’t find the right words. What is one supposed to say in such a situation? I love you? Thank you for raising me? I know I’ve been ungrateful? Forgive me for what I’ve done to you? Let’s start over?

  None of these statements expressed what was in my heart. I suddenly felt that old yearning spreading through my body. I leaned down to hug Bilhah.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “I know,” she said. “So am I.”

  Her arms were still hanging at her sides. I didn’t know how to get her to hug me.

  When I straightened back up I saw Benaiah standing in front of me. He hesitated for a moment and then came closer. I wrapped my arms around him and he leaned against my chest. I let out a small sigh, and a moment later his arms folded around me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. It was all I could say.

  Then Elisheba entered the room. I pretended not to notice her. I didn’t mean to do that, but I wasn’t able to look her in the eyes.

  “Shelomoam,” she said.

  I looked up at her. Her black curls flowed freely past her shoulders. I was glad to see that they weren’t confined in a headscarf. She’d become a woman but had remained so small and thin that I could have wrapped one arm around her waist and lifted her up over my head.

  “Greetings, Elisheba.” Her name scorched my tongue and paralyzed my body. I didn’t dare go near her.

  Bilhah watched us intently and suggested that we sit down to eat right away because the lentil stew was already warm in the oven, and the bread was ready to eat. The familiar flavors flooded my stomach with a warmth that climbed up my neck and relaxed the muscles of my face. I made an effort not to look in Elisheba’s direction, but when I asked Bilhah and Benaiah what had happened to Zeredah she burst in and interrupted them, saying in a choked voice that the high taxes were destroying the land. The farmers weren’t being left with sufficient crops to sustain their families and had to become laborers or even slaves on foreign soil. The estate owners were still somehow able to bear the weight of the tax burden, but the villages and small towns barely had any peasants left, and many of them were deserted.

  “We wouldn’t have been able to make it either, if not for the money your grandmother sends us,” Bilhah said in a whisper.

  Benaiah glanced outside anxiously. The memories flooded over me. I wanted to cry, but I managed to smile at him.

  Five

  The thought that Mother was imprisoned in a cave because of me filled me with guilt. I knew it wasn’t my fault, but how can I enjoy the feeling of sunlight on my face when I know that my mother has been buried alive since the age of twenty for the sole purpose of saving my life? How can I find the right words to say to her if I haven’t even been able to say what I feel to my adoptive parents? I was afraid I might never be able to develop the feelings I should have had for her. I’d known her since the age of eight. She wanted to know everything about my life and was attentive and sensitive, but seeing a person once a month cannot replace having a mother who prepares meals for you and sits beside you when you’re sick. I actually was able to form a warm relationship with Grandmother in spite of the short time we had together, but a grandmother and a mother are entirely different things. I didn’t have to love Grandmother, and when I realized that I did feel love for her, it was an unexpected gift that filled me with happiness and pride. But I have to love Mother, especially after all she has sacrificed for me.

  And then, of course, there was the last time we’d met, when I had shoved her onto the bed. Even to myself, I couldn’t repeat the terrible thing I’d said to her.

  Instead of dealing bravely with my guilt and trepidation like an adult who takes responsibility for his actions, I put off my visit to the lepers’ cave time and again, telling myself that I had to get everything organized at the house of administration in Shechem before I would have the mental energy to go see her and mend the tears. I knew it was just an excuse, but I couldn’t stop myself from shivering every time I thought about th
ose sad eyes that would be looking out at me from behind the mask.

  Bilhah told me that Elisheba visited Zeruiah every week and that they’d become close friends. She and Benaiah didn’t lecture me, but the looks on their faces were testament to their disappointment in me. How could it possibly be so unimportant to me to see my mother? How selfish could I be?

  That wasn’t the only thing putting a damper on my relationship with my adoptive parents. Bilhah did begin to hug me again after that first visit, but the atmosphere remained tense, and the conversation didn’t flow. I had so many questions to ask them, but I couldn’t muster up the courage to open old wounds and reveal my feelings. We barely even spoke of my job as head of the tax collectors. They were afraid to bring the topic up, treating it as a sore subject that it would be best to ignore. I sometimes got the feeling they were afraid of me.

  But what troubled me most was my aversion to Elisheba. I visited Benaiah and Bilhah only on days when I knew she was off dancing with her friends in Shiloh. I yearned to confess my feelings for her, but whenever I tried to imagine such an encounter, I was paralyzed with fear.

  * * *

  In contrast to the stinging failure of my efforts with the members of my family, which made me feel like an insecure child, the soldiers actually treated me with awed respect. It was flattering to have tough, rugged men, older and more experienced than I was, accepting my authority. I had the sense that their attitude toward me wasn’t merely a product of the title Adoram had given me, but also of that slippery, inexplicable quality that my friend Ithiel had described with the lovely phrase, “the personality of a king.” I preferred not to think of myself as having such a personality so that I wouldn’t be tempted to give serious thought, God forbid, to Hadad’s plans for me to seize the throne.