by Mesu Andrews
Not so, this morning. She stood silently behind him, yanking an ivory comb through a tangled curl. Hezi squeezed his eyes shut, bearing the pain. Would he have any hair left to hold up his crown? “Are you feeling all right, my love?” he asked.
“Yes, and you?” Her tone was clipped, voice high. Continuing to fuss with his tangled curls, his wife fell silent again.
She couldn’t be pregnant. Her time of uncleanness had just ended. Was she upset about that? He could stand it no longer. He turned on his stool and drew her close. “Tell me, Zibah.”
With unnerving calm, she stared into his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He laid his head against her chest. She knew Assyria was coming. “I didn’t want to frighten you.” He heard her heart quicken and felt her body tense.
“You thought I’d be less frightened if I heard from Yaira that Assyria was advancing toward Judah?”
He released her and met her gaze. “How did Yaira know?”
“I’m afraid the movement of the largest army in the world is not something you can keep secret until you’re ready to discuss it, King Hezekiah. Merchants bring news. Panic spreads. Servants are often the first to hear. You must be prepared to face frightened people in court this morning.”
“I was going to tell you before I left. I didn’t want to say anything until I was certain the Assyrians had crossed Judah’s borders.”
She laid her hand on his cheek, eyes penetrating. “How long have you known Assyria was coming?”
He dared not tell her he’d feared it six months ago, when Sennacherib advanced against the rebellious Phoenicians who had discontinued their tribute. “I didn’t know they were coming until they crossed our border, Zibah.” The argument was flimsy.
She shook her head, seeming more disappointed now than angry. It laid his heart bare.
Hezi had told himself he was protecting his wife, but was it her he was protecting or himself? Maybe it was the same thing. He felt like he’d almost lost her when she miscarried four years ago—not to death but to despair. He couldn’t risk her spiraling into hysteria again at news of Assyria’s invasion. The harem respite had restored his wife, and they’d guarded her peace by keeping a balanced schedule—visits to the harem or her family in the mornings and court business limited to afternoons. Zibah was informed but not immersed in the cares of the kingdom.
But Assyria’s advance would soon consume everyone’s mind. With a resigned sigh, he left his stool and led his wife by the hand to their favorite couch. She followed willingly, her expression open—but tinged with fear.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier about Assyria’s advance toward Judah. Perhaps it was my fear more than yours that kept me from it.” Her brow formed the adorable V that showed her confusion, and he smoothed it with his thumb. “I can’t lose you again, Zibah. If Assyria invades, I need you to be my grounding, my anchor in the storm.” It sounded selfish when he said it aloud.
“I am not your grounding, Hezekiah—son of David, king of Judah.” His wife snuggled into his chest. “You are Yahweh’s servant chosen to lead His nation at this moment in history. I can be a wick in the lamp, but Yahweh must be the fuel and the fire.”
“I adore you, Hephzibah bat Isaiah.” He hesitated, considering how the morning might be different now that word had leaked out. “Do you want to know the full Assyrian situation before I brief my advisors?”
She was quiet. No quick answer. Good. “No. I’ll wait until you tell them, but let me say something first.”
He tilted his head, intrigued. “Go on.”
“Abba’s prophecies predict two things about Assyria that are yet to be fulfilled: they will invade Judah as part of God’s judgment, and because of Assyria’s brutality against His people, God will destroy them.”
“I know, Zibah, but Isaiah never answered my questions of when or how—”
“Please, Hezi. Just listen.”
He sighed and crossed his arms.
“When Abba’s prophecy condemned you for forming an alliance with Egypt, you said the treaty could help fulfill the prophecy of Assyria’s destruction, that you could be the anointed King who ushers in the New Jerusalem.”
Her eyes dimmed. “Hezi, after studying the prophecies, I don’t believe you’re the anointed King, and we may not live to see the New Jerusalem.”
Her words hit him like a stoning, landing hard and heavy on his mind and heart. “So you agree with your abba?”
She brushed his cheek. “Not completely. I don’t believe Yahweh removed the anointing from you because you let unconsecrated people eat the Passover meal or because you altered the Gihon spring or even because you made a treaty with Egypt. I don’t believe you were ever Yahweh’s anointed Son of David.” She pulled him close, speaking close to his ear. “You are a whisper, Hezekiah. The Root of Jesse will be a shout.”
Hezi swallowed hard, processing all his wife had said and hungry for her thoughts on Assyria. “I don’t know whether I’m relieved or more confused. Should we interpret Assyria’s invasion as God’s judgment for our sins, or that Yahweh will use our treaty with Egypt to finally destroy them?”
“I don’t know, Hezi.” She began fidgeting. “I’m either too dull to see it, or it’s not there. I feel Yahweh has given clear insight on many things, but the parts on Assyria He’s left completely hidden.”
Seeing his wife’s angst, he gathered her into his arms and let their teacher’s words console. “Your abba told us, ‘Prophecy—even when we don’t fully understand it—is given so we can watch God’s sovereignty and power unfold.’ We must be watchful, Zibah. Assyria is coming, and we must trust Yahweh’s power will unfold for our good.” He sounded so brave, but the tension increasing in his wife’s arms matched the knots in his gut.
They sat in silence, and he knew Zibah wouldn’t enjoy her visit with family or friends today. She would think of nothing but political strategy. Kissing her head, Hezi nudged her off the couch and toward the dressing area. “Yaira, we need you!” he shouted.
Surprised, his wife stood like a statue. “What? Why?”
“Hurry and get dressed. You should be in court with me this morning to help address the people’s fear. They trust you, Zibah. They trust us. We must show them how to trust Yahweh.” He smiled at the irony. “Perhaps I’ll let you speak to that point.” He picked out her robe as Yaira applied the necessary lotions.
They rushed out the door and made the short walk to the hidden courtroom entrance, where Samuel waited to escort them. Stepping inside the Throne Hall, Hezi felt as if they’d entered a tomb. His normally bustling courtroom was deserted except for the advisors who sat somberly in their elevated gallery.
Eliakim cradled his head in his hands. Shebna, now a royal secretary, stood by himself and was scribbling on parchment. Hilkiah looked as if he’d been awake for a week, with bags under the bags under his eyes.
Shebna was first to notice Hezi’s arrival. “My king! Any word from—”
“Be seated, Shebna.” Hezi led Zibah to her throne and perched on his. “Eliakim, where are my morning petitioners?”
“We canceled this morning’s sessions, my king. All had questions about Assyria, and since we advisors hadn’t yet been briefed, we felt it important to have a closed session.”
“A wise decision, Eliakim. Thank you.” Hezi felt the weight of his delay. He should have called a special meeting last night when the spies reported to him privately. “I’ll tell you what I know and then hear your reports—and the rumors. Then we’ll make a plan, my friends, to withstand Assyrian aggression.” His first attempt at encouragement yielded a few raised brows, but his counselors sat a little straighter and were at least listening.
Joah, the recorder, prepared his reeds and pigment for the official record. Hezi ran his hands over the lion-headed armrests on Solomon’s throne. Yahweh, give me wisdom.
There was no easy way to begin. “Our spies have reported that Assyrian troops have crossed our northern border
and will attack even our southernmost fortified cities within three days. I’ve decided to pay King Sennacherib the total tribute we owe from the years we’ve skipped, hoping to forestall his wrath.” The expected murmuring ensued.
Jalon, the director of forced labor, raised the concern that likely plagued them all. “How can we gather such an exorbitant amount of gold and silver?”
It was a question that had kept Hezi counting stars late into the night. “Judah’s treasure sits in two locations—Jerusalem and Lachish—but we can’t risk moving it from Lachish to combine it. Our spies assured us Assyria doesn’t know Lachish is a treasury city yet, but their scouts are roaming our hills. Hilkiah’s made a thorough accounting of what we have in the palace treasury alone.” Hezi paused, gathering his nerve. “It is insufficient for the debt to Assyria.”
The advisors exchanged uneasy glances, but no suggestions arose. Hezi swallowed hard, nearly choking on his pride. “At this point, I see no other solution. We’ll add to the tribute all silver from the Temple treasuries and strip off the gold from the doors and doorposts of the Lord’s Temple.” Objections erupted like a boiling pot of stew. Repeating the deed of King Ahaz was not how Hezi wanted his reign to be recorded in the annals of Judah’s kings, but he could think of no other way.
Hezi lifted his scepter for immediate silence. “Our chief priest, Azariah, offered his account of the Temple treasury, and Hilkiah has calculated the full amount of tribute.” Hezi nodded to Eliakim’s abba, who stood to read from his report. The room fell silent except for the scratching of Joah’s reed on parchment.
Hilkiah’s hands trembled as he cleared his throat. “A total of three hundred talents of silver and thirty talents of gold will be sent to King Sennacherib of Assyria.” He sat down to the groans of his peers.
“What if the Assyrians keep the tribute and invade Judah regardless?” The high priest’s tone betrayed his lingering anger.
Before Hezi could respond, Zibah reached for his hand and spoke calmly. “Does anyone have a better idea?”
Silence answered.
Hezi squeezed her hand, grateful again for the gift of her support. “Eliakim, how is the tunnel coming along?” he asked. “We need it now, my friend.”
Eliakim shook his head and stared at his sandals. “I’m sorry, my king. I can’t tell you when the men will connect the two shafts underground. They are working below ground without stop.” He looked up. “A tunnel isn’t like building a watchtower or a wall, Hez.”
Feeling his anger rise, Hezi tried to steady his voice. “I told you ten years ago we needed this tunnel, Eliakim. I would think we could have dug to Lachish by now.”
Eliakim’s spine stiffened like a rod. “I took the prophet Isaiah’s rebuke seriously and spent the first three years seeking the Lord before defiling the sacred spring. I spent the next three years inspecting the natural faults and fissures in Mount Zion. We’ve been digging since—my king.”
Hezi squeezed the bridge of his nose, forcing calm. “I’m grateful for your integrity, Eli. I am. But Assyria doesn’t care about natural faults and fissures. When will we have a water source inside Jerusalem’s gates?”
“The natural fault lines are a guide as we dig through a mountain from both sides. We hope to connect in the middle.”
“Hope, Eliakim? You hope to connect?” Hezi’s voice rose with each word.
Eliakim held the king’s gaze. “You asked me to do the impossible, Hez. The truth is, unless Yahweh intervenes, my men could dig for years and never find each other.”
His counselors’ hopeless, frightened faces reminded him of his frailty. He’d let his frustration and fear stretch his nerves too tight again. They needed a leader focused on Yahweh and, like Zibah said, empowered by Him.
Zibah leaned close. “Perhaps if Assyria had no water sources outside our walls, they couldn’t threaten those of us without water inside our walls.”
He smiled, grateful again for his wife, and offered her suggestion to his council. “How many wells and springs lie within a half day’s walk outside Jerusalem’s walls?”
They discussed among themselves and finally, Hilkiah said, “Dozens. A half day’s walk covers a lot of villages. Each one has at least one well with several springs nearby.”
Hezi rubbed his chin. Dozens would be too many to block.
Commander Jokim broke into his thoughts. “I believe I know what you’re thinking, my king, and it’s a wise strategy.” The other advisors still looked puzzled, but Jokim’s eyes brightened. “We should shrink the perimeter to include wells and springs within a short walk around Jerusalem. My soldiers are already spread too thin guarding and fortifying the walls, so we must employ citizens for the task.”
Jalon, the forced labor director, furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand. Why are we blocking our own water supplies?”
Hezi explained his military thinking for the civilians in the room. “If the Assyrians attack Jerusalem, the water outside our gates will become their water supply. If we block it now—after giving our citizens time to draw and store their own supply—the Assyrians are considerably crippled if they have no water for their troops.”
Seeming appeased, Jalon rubbed his chin. “Consider our forced labor at your disposal, my king. Hundreds are already working on the tunnel, but we can—”
“No, Jalon. Thank you, but no.” Hezi sighed. “The tunnel is our first priority, but the general is right. We need citizens to work together if we’re to stand firm against Assyria. The coming days will test us all—our character, our strength, and our faith.”
He looked at Eliakim, and Isaiah’s prophecy came to mind: “He will be a father to those who live in Jerusalem and to the people of Judah.” “Eliakim, my friend, you must speak peace to the people of Jerusalem. Give them a sense of security by dividing the city into sections and appointing military officers over each segment. Train them to work together, drawing sufficient water and then blocking the wells and springs. They’ll feel cared for, and we’ll be ready if Assyria knocks on our gates.”
49
From now on I will tell you of new things,
of hidden things unknown to you.
—Isaiah 48:6
I returned to our chamber after this morning’s closed council meeting fighting an ever-growing sense of dread. Hezi asked if I’d like to accompany him and Eliakim to inspect the work on the tunnel. I declined, thinking time alone on my balcony sounded better.
“Zibah?” Yaira peeked out of her chamber when she heard Hezi leave ours. “What did you learn in the closed session? Can you tell me?”
I opened my arms, and she ran into them, hugging me fiercely. “Hezi is taking action to avert Assyria’s wrath,” I said. “If it doesn’t work, the Assyrians will attack Judean cities within three days.” The tears I’d held in check all morning began to flow. “Pray for the villagers, Yaira. Pray for the children.”
We held each other, memories stirred, hearts pounding. Would the Assyrians take captives as Israelite soldiers had done in Bethlehem more than thirty years ago? No. Worse. The Assyrians’ barbarous acts of war were infamous.
Yaira began to tremble but held me tighter. “Will they lay siege to Jerusalem?” she whispered.
My every instinct said they would, but with every shred of faith, I prayed they wouldn’t. “I don’t know.”
Finally, she released me and wiped her eyes. “The palace servants have been buzzing about it all morning. Can you tell me the truth so I can combat rumor?”
I led her to our couches, rubbing her back. “I can tell you facts but not strategy, of course.”
She nodded. “I don’t care about strategy, Zibah. I just want to feel safe. Jashub would want to hear strategy though—” Yaira’s breath caught, and she pressed her lips together. Cheeks pink, she hurriedly refocused. “You said three days, and Assyria will invade from the north?” Her hands fidgeted with her belt as she awaited my reply.
“Yes, three days.” I was intrigued by her menti
on of my brother. “When do you see Jashub?”
Eyes focused on her belt, she spoke barely above a whisper. “For about a year now, I’ve returned to your parents’ house in the afternoon to watch Jashub’s youngest child while your ima and the twins deliver food baskets.”
“You watch Ellah?” I tried to hide my hurt. Why hadn’t Yaira told me? Why hadn’t Ima or anyone else told me, for that matter. “That’s very kind of you to care for my niece.”
Yaira discarded the belt in her hands and met my gaze, challenge sparking from her eyes. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you would make more of it than need be. Jashub’s older children can care for themselves, but five-year-old Ellah needs a little extra care. Jashub and I are friends, Zibah. That’s all!” Her cheeks were redder now than before.
“All right.”
“All right,” she huffed.
“That’s all,” I repeated.
“Yes, that’s all.”
“If that’s all, Yaira, why are we talking about Jashub instead of the Assyrian invasion?”
Her facade began to crumble, and she returned to fidgeting with her belt. “I’ve tried to stop loving him, Zibah. He is assistant to the chief scribe. I’m only a—”
“You’re a friend of noblewomen, best friend of Judah’s queen, Yaira. Why must you see yourself as a servant—no, a slave?”
“I’m not a slave.” Her head shot up, indignation lacing her tone. “I serve by choice. No one forces me.”
“Perhaps a captive, then?” I asked gently. “We were freed in Samaria, my friend, but your heart still lives in chains.” Pausing, I watched her carefully to be sure I hadn’t offended. She lowered her eyes. I could tell she was thinking. “The excuses of the past have been answered by Yahweh’s faithfulness, Yaira. Jashub has three beautiful children, and you are a respected woman in the Upper City. Your presumed barrenness will not rob him of being an abba—or you of being an ima.”