by Mesu Andrews
Abijah nudged Yaira’s hand out of mine and took it herself. “Tending to someone else fills a woman’s deepest longing. You came into our world utterly capable. You needed nothing from us.”
“So we had no need for you,” Rizpah concluded. “Let us care for you now. It will give two old women someone to tend.”
Abijah sneered at her. “Speak for yourself, old woman.”
Rizpah answered with a grunt. “Yaira, get more rags. We’ll get her on her feet. She needs—”
I squeezed Rizpah’s hand. “Yaira is not my servant. She’s my friend. If you tend me, you must treat her as you would your own friend.”
The woman raised her brows and looked at Abijah. “All right, then. You get the rags.”
The Gevirah laughed and asked Yaira where she kept the supplies. The chamber was suddenly a hive of activity, my busy bees caring in ways only they could. Though my womb and arms remained empty, my heart overflowed under the nurture of women who needed me as much as I needed them.
46
In that day I will summon my servant, Eliakim son of Hilkiah….He will be a father to those who live in Jerusalem and to the people of Judah.
—Isaiah 22:20–21
Hezi exchanged a knowing grin with Zibah, who sat beside him on the historic throne of Queen Bathsheba. During the past three years of pregnancies, miscarriages, and dashed hopes, his wife needed purpose in her life, so she occasionally joined him for court sessions. And she had proved his best advisor. Today, Zibah had joined him for a most joyous occasion. His wife was with child again, and her three clucking hens—Yaira, Rizpah, and Ima—felt after three missed moon cycles, it was safe to share the news. They would wait until foreign business ended to share with Judean petitioners.
Hezi signaled Shebna to announce the morning’s first petitioner.
Shebna gave a quick nod in return, and then announced to the gathered crowd, “King Hezekiah welcomes to his court the ambassador from Egypt.” Their long-ago classmate had resumed his position as palace administrator after returning from Egypt with a signed treaty. Shebna bent to whisper to the king. “I worked closely with this man in Egypt, my king, and trust his judgment. Please, accept his gift.”
Zibah heard the exchange and glared at Shebna. This wasn’t the first time he’d coached the king on a response. Hezi held his tongue but would reprimand his palace administrator at midday break.
The Egyptian ambassador was Cushite like their king—a tall, dark-skinned man with well-muscled arms contrasting his white linen robe. He knelt before the throne, and Hezekiah nodded, signaling the man to rise. “Welcome, Ambassador.”
“I bring greetings from the good god, mighty in power, son of the sun god Amun-Re, Pharaoh So, who wishes to inform you of his great successes.”
The Egyptian droned on, but Hezi’s patience ran short, eager to announce Zibah’s pregnancy. “Please convey my best regards to King So, the great king of Egypt’s Two Lands. What brings you to Judah today, my friend?”
The ambassador bowed humbly and then snapped his fingers at his attendant, who offered up an ornate box. “May I approach?”
Samuel moved between the man and his king. Hezi noted the ambassador’s cheek quiver with a nervous tick. Trying to make light of Samuel’s caution, he chuckled. “My personal guard seems as anxious to see my gift as I am.” The ambassador was less than amused.
After inspecting the contents, Samuel placed the ebony-and-ivory-inlaid box in Hezi’s lap and bowed. “It appears Egypt has offered Judah’s king a new seal.” He resumed his place at Hezi’s right shoulder.
Inside the fanciful box were a dozen royal seals, small baked pieces of clay with the insignia of a winged sun. Hezi offered the ambassador a puzzled look. “Whose royal seals are these?”
“Yours, King Hezekiah.”
Confusion quickly changed to anger when Hezi remembered Shebna’s coaxing. The king tugged on the leather string around his neck and produced the dung-beetle seal for Shebna to see. “Have you forgotten what my seal looks like, Shebna?”
“No, my king. I—”
“Why would I allow a foreign king to determine my royal seal?”
Without waiting for his answer, Hezi turned to Egypt’s ambassador. “Perhaps King So has forgotten. The dung beetle on my seal holds great meaning—and has since the first day of my reign.”
Tension silenced the audience and drew every eye to the ambassador. “In Egypt, the dung beetle is common and earthbound—”
Shebna lifted his hand, and the ambassador fell silent. Again overstepping, he whispered to Hezi, “King So feels the dung beetle is inappropriate for a king who must stand firm against Assyria and…” His whisper died when Hezi stared at him with enough venom to kill a cobra. Shebna wisely resumed his stance.
“Please thank your king,” Hezi said, stepping off the dais to return the gift, “but the king of Judah chooses his own seal.”
The ambassador fell to his knees and stretched out his hands. “King So implores King Hezekiah to trust the power of Amun-Re, the winged sun on these seals. With each use, these seals prove your allegiance to the great god, who will strengthen your army and block Assyria’s advance into Egypt.”
Fury seized Hezi, but he took a breath and controlled his voice. “Rise, Ambassador.” He waited until the man looked at him. “Because King So has been my longtime friend, and because I understand his concern about Assyrian aggression, I take no offense at his gesture. However, the dung beetle remains my seal. Yahweh will strengthen Judah. And Judah will never again trust in any god but Yahweh.”
A cheer rose from the audience as the ambassador dusted off his robe, offered a curt bow, and hurried his servant toward the exit.
Hezi returned to his throne and pinned Shebna with a stare. “Announce the next petitioner.”
Before Shebna drew a breath, another voice rang out. “The Lord has called me to prophesy in the hearing of His people.”
Zibah’s face grew pale. “Abba?”
Hezi searched the crowd, wondering how the naked prophet had escaped from house arrest. He saw Zibah’s reaction before he spotted Isaiah.
Her eyes filled with relief. “Hezi, he’s dressed.”
Tenderness flooded the king’s soul when he saw God’s prophet in his royal robes, hair oiled, and feet shod. Hezi wanted to call him forward, but was it safe? Could he be trusted here, in the presence of foreign dignitaries and the leading officials of Judah?
“Speak, Isaiah, but remember you have permission to speak God’s words alone.”
Zibah reached for Hezi’s hand, squeezing as her abba drew nearer.
Isaiah’s eyes were locked on the king. When the prophet reached the edge of the crimson carpet, he leaned forward, keeping his voice low. “You handled the Egyptian ambassador admirably.”
Before Hezi could thank him, Isaiah turned and pointed a bony finger at Shebna. “This is what the Lord, the LORD Almighty, says: ‘Who gave you permission to cut out a grave for yourself on the heights? Beware, you mighty little man, the LORD is about to take firm hold of you and hurl you away. He will roll you up like a ball and throw you into a large country. You will die there, and the chariots you’re so proud of will become a disgrace to Hezekiah’s house. You will no longer serve as palace administrator. I will summon my servant, Eliakim son of Hilkiah, to replace you. I will clothe him with your robe and fasten your sash around him and hand your authority over to him. He will be a father to those who live in Jerusalem and to the people of Judah.”
Isaiah turned his attention to Eliakim, who sat gawking in the advisors’ gallery. “Yahweh declares, ‘I will give Eliakim the key to the house of David. What he opens no one can shut, and what he shuts no one can open. I will drive him like a peg into a firm place. He will become a seat of honor for his abba’s house, and the glory of his family will radiate through his offspring—great and small. But there will come a day,’ declares the LORD Almighty, ‘when the peg driven into the firm place will give way, and the loa
d hanging on it will be destroyed.’ ”
When the echo of Isaiah’s voice died, silence reigned. The prophet turned next to Hezekiah. “The LORD has spoken. Do with it as wisdom dictates.” Isaiah walked toward the double doors, without further comment or explanation, to the sound of the crowd’s murmured wonder.
“Isaiah, wait!” Hezi stood, confused and overwhelmed. “Samuel, escort Yahweh’s prophet to my private chamber. Court is adjourned for today.”
He offered Zibah his hand, but Shebna turned Hezi to face him. “Let me explain, my lord. I prepared my tomb on the Mount of Olives in the Egyptian style because—”
Hezekiah lifted his arm from Shebna’s grasp and silenced him with a glare. “I made you my palace administrator because you work hard and are an intelligent man, but Yahweh sees the heart. If I determine that Isaiah has indeed heard from the Lord, I will obey without question.” Hezi placed his hand at the small of Zibah’s back and left Shebna gaping.
Hezi wondered on his short walk to his chamber how he would know if Isaiah’s prophecy was born of God or was blatant favoritism. Shebna’s personality had grated on Isaiah since their days in class, and Eliakim was the son of Hilkiah, Isaiah’s dear friend. Yahweh, give me wisdom to discern Isaiah’s motives. He stole a glance at his wife and saw her lips moving in silent prayer.
Isaiah followed Hezi and Zibah into their chamber; Samuel came as rear guard. As the king and queen took their places on a couch, Isaiah sat facing them. His daughter was first to speak. “I’m glad to see you dressed, Abba.”
Isaiah ducked his head with a slight grin. “No one is happier than I. Yahweh released me this morning.”
Hezi relaxed a bit. It was a good beginning. “Is that when you received the word about Shebna and Eliakim?”
“Yes.”
Hezi waited but received no further explanation. “I wasn’t aware of Shebna’s fanciful grave and chariot obsession. Since you’ve been under house arrest for three years, I’m curious to know how you discovered the information.”
“Really, Hezekiah?” Isaiah looked at him from beneath wiry gray brows. “Do I need to explain how a prophet hears from Yahweh?”
Fire rose in Hezi’s belly. “Do I need to explain why I must ask if your prophecy is opinion or divine revelation?”
“Stop it!” Zibah said. “Both of you. Can we agree that you’re both called by Yahweh to serve His people and begin to build trust on that?”
Isaiah took a deep breath and bowed his head. After a momentary pause, he lifted his eyes to meet Hezi’s. “I’m sorry. You asked how I knew of Shebna’s activities. Yahweh informed me this morning.”
Hezi measured his teacher. The man’s eyes were clear and free of challenge. In all the years he’d known Isaiah, he’d never lied. Maybe Yahweh had truly commanded him to walk around barefoot and naked. Hard to believe, but not impossible.
“Are you telling me to replace Shebna and make Eliakim my palace administrator instead?”
“It’s not my request.” Isaiah held his gaze, revealing no venom and seemingly no agenda.
“I’m not giving you back your job.” Hezi grinned but he wasn’t kidding.
Zibah touched her abba’s arm. “Hezi named Magen ben Joshua as foreign minister, Abba.”
“I don’t want to be foreign minister.”
“What do you want?” Hezi asked.
A slight smile. “I want a grandson. Do you have news?”
Hezi laughed, but Zibah grumbled. “Did Yahweh tell you before we had the chance?”
The prophet came off the couch and hugged his daughter. “No. But I had my suspicions when I saw your glowing countenance in court today.” Hezi stood too and opened his arms to the man he’d once loved like an abba.
Awkward, but tender, Isaiah patted his shoulder and released him. “I should return home to tell Aya. She’ll be so pleased.”
“Let me walk you out.” Hezi accompanied his teacher out the door, through the Middle Court, and out to the palace steps. They talked about the weather, the coming harvest, and Zibah’s brave perseverance in waiting for this child.
Hezi paused on the platform outside the palace entrance and scuffed his sandal on the limestone. “I think this is the longest we’ve talked without arguing since I became king.” He tried to laugh, but he noted Isaiah’s intense gaze.
“I wish it weren’t so, Hezekiah. I hope that can change.”
“As do I.” Hezi offered his hand, and Isaiah grabbed his wrist, locking their commitment with a pledge. They pulled each other into a hug and parted ways, leaving Hezi’s heart lighter.
When the king returned to his chamber, Yaira had served their lunch on the balcony, and Zibah was waiting for him. “We’re having your favorite. Lamb stew with lentils, melon, and…” She pressed her stomach and paused.
Hezi’s heart skipped a beat.
She looked up and must have noted his concern. “It’s fine. I think it’s a little indigestion from this morning’s olives. Come, my love. Sit down. Let’s eat.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine, really.” She scooped a generous portion of stew into his bowl and offered him a piece of bread. Zibah ate very little. He assumed her stomach was still unsettled.
When they’d eaten their fill, Hezi offered his hand to his wife. She rose with grace—but winced as she straightened. “What is it?”
Zibah waved it away and tried to smile. “I’m sure it will be fine, but perhaps I’ll lie down for a while.”
Bile rose in his throat. Please, Yahweh. Not again. “Of course. Let me help you.” He supported her arm as they moved to the chamber.
Before they reached the bed, Zibah clutched at her belly and doubled over.
“Yaira!” Hezi shouted.
The sound that erupted from his wife voiced pain beyond physical suffering. Her spirit was shattering.
Yaira rushed in, her face as white as Egyptian linen. Nudging Hezi aside, she guided the queen toward her side chamber. “Call for the midwife, King Hezekiah. Hurry.” Her voice broke as she escorted Hezi’s wife into the bedchamber and closed the door.
Hezi turned to leave, but Samuel stood in the doorway. “I heard the queen’s scream.” He approached and placed his hand on Hezi’s shoulder. “I’ve already sent Naam for the midwife.”
“Thank you, Samuel.” Hezi stared at Yaira’s chamber door. He should go in, be with his wife again. Support her. Console. But his feet wouldn’t move. He’d faced Philistines in battle and never been this frightened. Yahweh, we can’t do this again. He examined his hands and watched helplessly as they trembled. How could he support his wife when he couldn’t control his emotions? He could command generals and kings but couldn’t command his child to live. Only You, Lord. Only You give life and breath. Breathe life into our baby.
The midwife burst through the door without knocking. “Is Yaira with her?”
Hezi stared blankly, nodding.
The midwife rushed toward Yaira’s chamber, and without further thought, Hezi followed. When the midwife reached the door, she whirled and stopped him. “Not this time, my king. You need not endure it again.”
The king of Judah stood like a statue while the midwife slammed the door in his face. Guilt overwhelmed him at the relief he felt. “I’m sure Zibah doesn’t want to endure it again either,” he said to no one.
“We must pray.” Samuel led him back to the couches. He’d forgotten his friend was in the chamber.
Looking into those deep-set eyes, hooded by bushy black brows, Hezi was at a loss. “Pray, Samuel. I don’t know what to say to my God.”
The big man didn’t hesitate. “God of our fathers, Giver of life and breath, You are our Rock, our Fortress, and our Deliverer in times of trouble. It is in You that we take refuge when the cares of this life grow too heavy to bear. You are our Shield in every battle, our Stronghold when we must rest, and the Strength of our salvation. We entrust Queen Zibah into Your care. She is ours, but she is Yours first an
d foremost. Save her. Keep her. Protect her. Let it be so.” He squeezed Hezi’s shoulder. “Trust Him, my king.”
Peace flooded Hezekiah’s soul, and he wrapped his guard in a ferocious hug. “You should have been a Levite! That prayer was anointed, my friend.”
He slapped Hezi’s back and released him. “You are the anointed one, my king. Remember that. Yahweh will give you a son, someday. Don’t despair.”
47
And the LORD was with [Hezekiah]; he was successful in whatever he undertook. He rebelled against the king of Assyria and did not serve him.
—2 Kings 18:7
Hezi paused before entering the private door to the Throne Hall and cradled my hands in his. “Are you sure you’re all right to return to your advising role? You don’t seem quite yourself.”
“Not myself?” Until a little over a month ago, I was more than myself. I was growing another person inside me. Not anymore. “I’m fine. Really.”
“It’s understandable if you need more time to rest—”
“I’ve rested for forty days, Hezi, as the Law requires for a woman’s uncleanness. If I have to spend another day in our chamber with Rizpah and your ima, I may be brought to trial for murder.” After my seventh miscarriage in eight years, I’d had enough nurturing from the traveling harem.
“All right, my love.” He kissed my cheek and then led me through the doorway.
The courtroom was empty except for the gallery of advisors. All fifteen men were engaged in intense discussion until nudges and whispers forced the council into uncomfortable silence. Every eye was on the queen who couldn’t produce an heir. My last miscarriage had been my worst experience—in many ways. It commenced here, in this courtroom, in front of these men, and it began after my stomach had rounded, announcing to the whole world my progress—and then my defeat.
Hezi and I climbed the six steps to our thrones, and he held my hand as I lowered myself to the place of honor beside him. He turned to his council but didn’t yet take his seat. “Please welcome Queen Hephzibah back to our midst. She is one of the bravest people I know.”