by Mesu Andrews
His face was a mixture of fear and hope. “I apologize, my queen, for revealing my emotions. I…”
“Answer my question, please.”
He squared his shoulders and raised his chin. “Yes, my queen. Weary to the bone.”
I could work with that. “You will restore Rizpah and her possessions to her chamber. Today.”
Ima grabbed my arm, turning me to face her. I pulled away. “I won’t let the Gevirah rule me and wound Rizpah in the process.”
She stared at me for a long moment, and I wondered if I was about to feel her wrath. Instead, she bowed. The woman I trusted more than any other stepped back and bowed. “You, Queen Hephzibah, are a woman I can respect.” Ima rose with eyes glistening. “Yahweh will honor your candor and kindness.”
I wanted to fall into her arms or run back home, but my guard cleared his throat, demanding my attention. “My queen, where will you live?” He shifted the baskets in his arms.
“Are there any empty chambers in this harem?”
“Of course. We’re in Solomon’s palace. He had hundreds of wives.”
His answer was so forthright, it broke the tension, and I grinned. “Imagine the games of women in his harem, Amram.”
He ducked his head, hiding a chuckle, and suddenly I was simply speaking with a friend.
“I intend to live in my husband’s chamber,” I said, causing all three in my company to look appropriately shocked. I was undaunted. “I’ll ask for my husband’s decision on the matter. If he asks me to stay in the harem, Yaira and I will share one of the smaller, empty chambers.”
Amram attempted a restricted bow and toppled one of the baskets to the floor. Yaira picked it up and stacked it on top. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll issue orders for Lady Rizpah’s belongings to be replaced immediately. I’m sure you’ve made a friend today, my queen.”
Ima pointed toward Abijah’s door. “And I’m sure you’ve made an enemy, my girl. Assigning Rizpah’s chamber was Abijah’s first show of power as Gevirah, and by refusing you’ve crossed swords with her. She wields great influence among the royal wives and guards, Zibah. I can’t protect you here.”
“Only the king can protect you against the Gevirah, my queen.” Amram started walking down the hallway, past the other family chambers.
Ima grabbed my hand. “I’ll go to Abijah, thank her for her thoughtfulness, and explain that yours and Hezi’s is a unique relationship that will look different than any other king and queen of Judah. She’ll be angry, but I’ll try to forestall any wrath until you can talk with your husband.” She kissed my cheek.
Amram paused until Yaira and I could catch up with him. “I’m stepping into the stoning pit with you, my queen, by obeying you over the Gevirah. But if you secure the king’s permission to live in his chamber, we can more easily avoid harem politics.” I exchanged a hopeful glance with Yaira and reached for her hand as Amram led us through the king’s private gardens and a hall lined with servants’ chambers.
Finally, we emerged on the king’s hallway, a few cubits from Hezi’s chamber. I smoothed my robe, and Yaira straightened my crown. With a deep breath and hurried prayer, I followed Amram regally toward Hezi’s double doors.
“Shalom, my queen.” One of the guards bowed and opened the door. No knock. No announcement.
My heart leapt for joy on the inside, but on the outside I simply inclined my head in a serene bow. “And shalom to you.” Amram waited outside. Yaira followed me.
“There you are!” Hezi opened his arms when he saw me. “I came back from my meeting and you were gone.”
I rushed into his arms, consoled by his love, empowered by his strength. “I missed you this morning too.”
Over my shoulder, he greeted Yaira. “I’m glad you’ve come, Yaira. You’re like her right arm. She’s lost without you.” He released me, and I stood gazing into his wide, hopeful eyes. “How’s your harem chamber? Did Ima choose one suitable for my bride?”
The question nearly waylaid my plan. Hezi knew his ima would choose a nice chamber? “Your ima gave me Rizpah’s chamber, second largest and next to hers. It was a very kind gesture.”
He backed onto a couch and pulled me to his lap. “You don’t sound happy about Rizpah’s chamber. We can have it redecorated.”
The absurdity of the moment rammed me like a war machine. Hezi had spent all morning speaking with advisors about Judah’s future, and I was complaining about harem assignments? I refused to be one of those royal ninnies who talked of nothing with substance.
“I want to sleep with you.”
His cheeks pinked. Snatching a discreet glance at Yaira, he lowered his voice and leaned close. “I’ve been thinking about nothing else all morning, but why did you bring Yaira with you?”
I swatted him. “No, I mean…” Looking toward the servants’ quarters, I noticed Yaira had already slipped out of the room. I rested my arms around my husband’s neck. “I want to sleep in your chamber and have Yaira attend us.”
Hezi pushed my head covering behind my shoulder, exposing my neck—and placed a gentle kiss there. “Tell me why you asked to stay in my chamber. Did something happen in the harem?”
We’d been apart for six years. Before that we had been learning partners and best friends. A single wedding week wasn’t enough for me to lay myself bare to a man who understood so little of a woman’s heart.
“Hephzibah, my delight,” he whispered. “I can’t know your heart if you don’t tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I want to live in your chamber. Sleep with you. Eat with you. Live with you. Forever.”
He paused, his focus on something beyond me, clearly thinking. I waited, heart pounding. He looked toward the servants’ quarters, where the door was ajar. “The servants who attended us last week have moved out,” he said, more to himself than to me. “My chamber attendant was to move in this afternoon.”
I suddenly felt like another burden in his new list of duties. I was being ridiculous. Queens lived in the harem. I fairly leapt to my feet. “Yaira! We must go!”
“No, Yaira!” His shout jolted me to a halt. “Give us a moment longer.”
I stood facing the servant’s chamber, cheeks flaming. His presence loomed behind me, but I couldn’t look at him. I’d been impulsive, strong willed. Change had always been hard, and I must—
His arms encircled me, and he leaned over my shoulder, his breath warm on my neck. “I will have your personal things moved into my chamber in time for this evening’s meal,” he said with clear delight. “Yaira may stay in the adjoining servant’s chamber—if she agrees.”
Without warning, he spun me around to face him. I stared at the most handsome man I’d ever seen. And he was mine. He kissed my cheek and left a trail of kisses down my neck. “Is there anything else we should discuss before I return to court?”
I shook my head and swallowed hard. With one final kiss, he left me in the chamber—our chamber now.
Yaira must have heard the double doors shut because she peeked out the moment he was gone. “Well? What did he say?”
Still reeling from his presence, I whispered, “We’re home, Yaira. Both of us. This is our new home.”
32
In the first month of the first year of Hezekiah’s reign, he opened the doors of the temple of the LORD and repaired them.
—2 Chronicles 29:3
Hezi stood on the balcony of his private chamber at dawn, awakened on the sixteenth day of his reign by the smell of smoke and a sense of awe. He looked out over the Valley of Kidron at the smoldering piles of rubble that were testimony to the purifying of Yahweh’s Temple and of Jerusalem.
His royal council said the Temple couldn’t be repaired and consecrated in so short a time. “It would require a miracle akin to crossing the Red Sea,” they said. The city had sheltered covert idol worship for nearly two hundred years, and the Temple itself lay in ruin after Ahaz closed its doors years ago.
“We must attempt more than is humanly po
ssible to witness what only God can do,” Hezi had told them. Now the streets and high places were being purged of incense altars and Asherah poles. The nightmarish statue of Molek had been disassembled and, along with every unclean thing that had defiled Yahweh’s Temple, was discarded in the Kidron on the city’s eastern side. The fires had burned hot and long but were a sweet aroma to Judah’s Holy God.
Familiar arms slid around his waist, sending fire through his veins. He closed his eyes and let the feel of Zibah’s nearness soothe his concerns about the day. Why would any king wish to relegate his wife to a separate chamber?
She pressed a kiss against his back. “You’re up earlier than usual. Excited about the consecration ceremony?”
“Yes, and trying to make a decision.” Glancing to his left, he gestured toward his abba’s prized sundial. “It was a gift from a Babylonian king, but surprisingly, I can find no engravings depicting their gods. Do we keep it, or shall I toss it into the Kidron?”
His wife ran her hand over the two-cubit-tall monstrosity. “It’s been rather helpful to keep time, hasn’t it?” He nodded. “I like it. It stays.”
He pulled her back into his arms, grinning. “If only my advisors could make decisions so easily.”
She frowned. “Most of your advisors are new. How can they cause trouble already?”
“Have you forgotten that my newest advisor is Shebna?” They laughed together about their brash and opinionated classmate from the past. “He’s meticulous and not afraid to disagree. He’s the perfect palace administrator—and the center of every conflict.”
“Hmm,” she said, resting her head against his chest. “Who else is giving you trouble?”
That was a question he must step around carefully. “I’ve named Jokim ben Hanan as the new commander of our troops. Jalon ben Enoch is in charge of forced labor. Jekuthiel isn’t a new advisor, so he adds experience—”
“Why aren’t you answering my question?” She pulled away, meeting his gaze.
“What do you mean?”
“Who is causing trou—” Her eyes lit with understanding. “What has Abba done?”
He chuckled and tried to pull her back into his arms. “What makes you think Isaiah has done anything?”
“You’re only vague when you’re afraid we’ll argue.”
He waved off her observation and walked into their chamber. Perhaps changing the subject would work. “Be sure your whole family knows they can stand on the Temple’s eastern portico with you. Dinah and Leah too.”
She stood in the balcony doorway, arms folded. “Why won’t you tell me what Abba did?”
She was too smart for evasion. He sat on the couch and let his head drop into his hands. “Your abba asked if I was willing to destroy all the high places in Judah.” He looked up, frustration rising. “He went on to remind the whole council that I’d actually rebuilt them during my six years away. Then he asked if I would destroy even the high places where Yahweh was worshiped alongside the pagan gods.”
His wife sat down beside him. “Why do you think Abba asked?”
Raising an eyebrow, he paused. “Why don’t you ask what I answered?”
“I know what your answer was. The Law clearly states we must worship only at Yahweh’s Temple.” She looked at him as if he were a first-year student in her abba’s class. “Now, why did Abba ask it?”
“It was clear why he asked it when my advisors began to argue over whether we should destroy the high places or not. Poor Joah, my newly appointed recorder, scribbled his reed across parchment to document their debate for the archives of kings, but he finally shrugged and set the reed aside.” Hezi felt the reality like a millstone across his shoulders. “My advisors will need careful guidance to adhere to the Law completely.”
Zibah placed her hand inside his. “What does the Law require of you, King Hezekiah?”
That insufferable set of her jaw didn’t require an answer, but he gave it, grinning. “We will worship in Yahweh’s Temple only—starting this morning at the consecration ceremony.”
King Hezekiah stepped through the Guard’s Gate—the dividing threshold between the palace complex and Temple grounds—the separation between common and consecrated. He removed his sandals and gawked like a beggar at a baker’s booth. The transformation of the Temple was nothing short of miraculous.
The abominable statue of Rimmon was gone, crushed to pieces in the Valley of Kidron. Yahweh’s bronze altar had been restored to its rightful place, the holy Sea returned to the backs of the four bronze bulls, and the priests—descendants of Aaron—were preparing animals for sacrifice. Hezekiah and his officials had dedicated seven bulls, seven rams, seven male lambs, and seven male goats as a sin offering that would atone for the entire nation of Judah. Azariah, the high priest, looked exhausted enough to fall over, but he soldiered on, slaughtering beast after beast according to every requirement of the Law.
The king and his invited guests were allowed into the inner court—where the priests ministered—to stand on a platform called the upper pavement. Today, Hezi had invited his advisors to accompany him, and they stood in reverent awe. Even the prophets were silent. Isaiah and Micah had arrived in sackcloth, the typical prophets’ garb, but so far seemed as overwhelmed as the rest.
When Hezi lifted his gaze to the eastern portico, a balcony overlooking the area on which he and his guests stood, he saw Zibah with her ima, Yaira, Dinah, and Leah. Someday soon all the porticos and public outer courts would be teeming with people. Jerusalem would once again resound with the worship of the one true God.
Hezi’s thoughts were interrupted by the bleating and bawling of skittish animals. The priests led seven goats to wait at his feet. The poor beasts looked up with soulful eyes when Hezi and his officials laid their hands on them. Azariah lifted his voice above the noise. “Hear our prayers, Yahweh, God of our fathers. May our sins and the sins of all Judah pass through our hands to these innocent animals so that their atoning blood would give us life in Your holy presence.”
Without warning or hesitation, the high priest made the death cut while another priest caught the blood in a bowl. Hezi watched the spark of life leave the animal’s eyes, and his elder brother’s screams suddenly replayed in his mind. Hezi held the limp body in his arms—no longer a goat, but now his brother Bocheru. Hezi blinked, but the image remained. He began to tremble, then sob. “Take him! Take him away!”
Nervous hands removed the body, and Hezi scrambled to his feet, straightening his blood-spattered robe, regaining his bearings.
“Hez?” Eliakim grabbed his shoulders. “Hez, look at me. Are you all right?”
Hezekiah tried desperately to clear his mind, blinking, breathing deeply.
Isaiah nudged others aside and grasped Hezi’s head, his hands like a vise, then looked into his eyes. “This is a sacrifice for Judah’s sin, Hezekiah, not a pagan bribe to an imagined god made by human hands. Yahweh never requires human blood.” He pulled Hezi into a fierce hug.
“Why must any god have blood?” Hezi whispered, careful not to spread his doubt.
Isaiah held him, never wavering. “I don’t know why. But this truth we do know: Life is in the blood. And Yahweh—the gracious God—accepts an animal’s blood to pay for human sin.” Isaiah pressed his forehead against Hezi’s. “Bocheru’s death wasn’t your fault, Hezekiah. No one could have stopped your abba.”
Hezi squeezed his eyes closed and nodded against his teacher’s head. “We will end pagan worship in Judah, Isaiah. I swear, we will end it.”
His teacher patted his shoulders, eyes misty. “Yes, we will, my king. Yes, we will.”
The Levites began their worship of the Holy God with cymbals, harps, and lyres—instruments prescribed by David and prophets of old. Priests grabbed their trumpets, and the assembly bowed before the Lord, swept away by the overwhelming sound and aroma of Yahweh’s Temple.
Hezi paid no attention to time or changing guards as the sun moved across the sky. The bleating of sheep and
lowing of cattle, however, grew distracting. Rising from his knees, Hezi turned toward the eastern gate and found Temple guards barring it to keep a throng of people from invading the priests’ inner court.
With equal parts laughter and tears, Azariah explained, “The Levites told me that people began bringing sacrifices and offerings when they heard the worship. But we don’t have enough priests to present the offerings. Only two hundred have been consecrated.”
Hezi noted the priests at the slaughter tables, wearing the sacred blue tunics, sashes, and caps. “Has Aaron’s line diminished so much?”
Azariah studied his bare feet on the Temple pavement. “I’m sorry to report that the priests haven’t been as conscientious about their consecration rites as the Levites since we’ve begun renovation of the Temple. There would have been enough if they’d all reported for duty when you sent out the summons.”
Hezekiah clenched his jaw to keep from shouting and squeezed his eyes shut. Yahweh, why should Your people’s offerings be refused because Your priests have shirked their duty? Since great-saba Uzziah’s days, Judeans had abandoned Yahweh’s Temple, worshiping instead on pagan high places. Hezi had taken away those high places to follow God’s Law completely. Should he now turn the people away from God’s Temple?
Hezi looked again toward the eastern gate at the crowd of people pleading to worship. They were like drowning men in a stormy sea. He returned his attention to the high priest. “You will receive their offerings, Azariah. These people have obeyed Yahweh’s commands, and they will not be turned away. Do you hear me?”
“My lord, we haven’t enough priests to—”
“You will allow the Levites to present the burnt offerings until enough of your lazy relatives are consecrated.”
“The Law requires that only priests sacrifice the burnt—”
“The Law requires that priests fulfill their duties to Yahweh, but that hasn’t moved them into service, now has it, Azariah?”