by Lynn Austin
“Your Majesty, please listen to me, I beg you. You’re endangering the safety of our entire nation. I urge you to have the emissaries stripped and beaten immediately and sent back to King Hoshea in disgrace. The Assyrians would surely interpret that in a favorable light.”
“I don’t care about the Assyrians. I’ve decided to join with Israel and Egypt and gain our independence from them.”
“But we couldn’t possibly break free from Assyria, even with Egypt’s help. Don’t you understand? Jerusalem will end up just like Damascus.”
The more desperately Uriah pleaded the more it amused Ahaz, but he soon grew tired of the game. He needed a rest.
“Uriah, I’m sick of listening to you. If you can’t support my policies, then maybe I’d better look for a new palace administrator.” He smiled and closed his chamber door in Uriah’s face.
Uriah returned to his own chambers feeling stunned and sick. Why would a king who had been a docile puppet for so many years suddenly abandon all reason and commit political suicide? Because that’s exactly what Ahaz had foolishly done. With this one rash act, Ahaz had pronounced a death sentence on his entire nation. The royal dinner tomorrow night was just the final knot in the noose that Ahaz had already slipped around Judah’s neck.
Uriah paced around his chambers, trapped in a pit too deep for escape, cursing Ahaz and his impetuous decisions. How had Uriah suddenly lost control over him? And how could he gain it back? He had run the nation for years without any interference from Ahaz, and life under the Assyrians had been safe and predictable, even if it had been financially crippling. Why had the king picked this moment to suddenly decide to take control again?
The king had refused to listen to reason, and Uriah knew that if he continued to plead with him he was certain to lose his position in the court. But if he didn’t talk him out of this alliance, Ahaz’s participation in the rebellion would bring dreadful consequences on his nation. The Assyrian retaliation would be swift and ruthless. King Ahaz and all of his officials would be tortured to death, and Jerusalem destroyed. Why couldn’t Ahaz see that? It was up to Uriah to save his nation from annihilation—but how?
He spent the rest of the morning carefully considering every possible solution to his dilemma and examining all the implications. He could try to reason with Ahaz again and risk being fired—or worse. He could get the support of Ahaz’s other advisors and maybe his army commanders—and risk being accused of conspiracy. He could go behind Ahaz’s back and send the delegation away in disgrace on his own—and risk execution for treason. But none of those risks could compare to what the Assyrians would do to him. Either way, Uriah faced a death sentence. And why should he be the one to die when King Ahaz was the fool who had placed the nation in such terrible danger?
In the end, Uriah knew that only one solution remained: He must place a new king on Judah’s throne, one who would refuse to join Israel’s conspiracy, one who would appease Assyria before it was too late. Ahaz had to be eliminated—permanently.
Uriah felt confident that if Prince Hezekiah were to inherit the throne suddenly, he would allow Uriah to continue as palace administrator. Then he could influence Hezekiah to reject the Israeli alliance. But first he had to get rid of Ahaz.
Uriah’s decision made sense to his rational mind, yet another part of him drew back in horror at the idea. For over an hour, he paced his room in frustration as the battle raged between the voice of reason and the vestiges of his conscience. It was a fight between the two sides of himself—the powerful palace administrator and the almost-forgotten high priest of Yahweh.
He was contemplating murder. His conscience recoiled at the thought. How could he have degenerated into a murderer? When did the process start? Was it when he turned his back on Ahaz’s idolatry, or when he helped sacrifice those children to Molech? Had planning the first murder made this one a little easier?
But there had been no choice back then. Ahaz had chosen to murder his sons, and Uriah had only participated in order to gain the king’s confidence. And it had been a worthwhile decision, enabling him to do a great deal of good for the nation all these years. And he had no choice now. This alliance with Egypt would bring disaster. Assyria would certainly retaliate. Ahaz was jeopardizing everything they had worked for, and Uriah had to act before the alliance went any further. He was the only one who could save his nation.
But what about Yahweh? Wasn’t his nation in Yahweh’s hands?
Or didn’t Uriah believe that anymore? His beliefs didn’t matter anyway. King Ahaz wasn’t going to suddenly start trusting Yahweh after all these years. He was placing his trust in a new alliance, just as he had foolishly trusted Assyria. So maybe Zechariah had been right years ago. He had warned Uriah that he would change if he compromised his beliefs. And in his heart, Uriah knew that he had changed. He had wanted to stop the king’s idolatry, but instead he had become a willing participant in it.
No. Uriah dismissed that thought with an angry shake of his head. Zechariah was an embittered, defeated alcoholic who didn’t know what he was talking about. And the king was an irresponsible fool. Without Uriah, Ahaz would have destroyed this nation long ago. It was up to him to stop Ahaz now.
But was killing him the only way to stop him?
It was written in the Torah, You shall not murder. But didn’t the Torah also say somewhere that it was permissible to take a life in order to save a life? In this case, Uriah was saving millions of lives, the entire population of Judah. Certainly the Torah would sanction that. It might even be considered self-defense.
And it also might be considered the just punishment Ahaz deserved for all the murders he had committed. His helpless children. His innocent wife. Ahaz had murdered Abijah, and in God’s eyes—and Uriah’s—that was reason enough to execute him. An eye for an eye—a life for a life.
Gradually, Uriah’s frantic pacing slowed and his steps became more firm and assured. His worry relaxed into quiet resolve: King Ahaz must die.
The only thing left to decide was how. The king would have to die in a way that would throw no suspicion on himself. It was important that Uriah remain in power to deal with the political crisis. And Ahaz had to be killed immediately. The dinner with the Israelite envoys tomorrow night must never take place.
Uriah reviewed every moment of Ahaz’s daily routine, searching for the precise time, the exact place when Ahaz was most vulnerable. One thread ran through the fabric of the king’s daily life with unwavering consistency—his dependence on the drugged Assyrian wine. He was rarely without a glass of it close at hand. As his priest, Uriah had access to those drugs. He also understood that too much could be fatal.
Convinced of what he must do, Uriah went to find the king’s royal cupbearer.
17
HEZEKIAH DRUMMED HIS FINGERS on the banquet table. His father often arrived late for his meals, sometimes staggering in drunkenly, but he had outdone himself tonight. Ahaz had invited all the men who took part in his trade delegation to join him for dinner, then kept his guests waiting for over an hour. Hezekiah had watched in disgust as the steaming platters of meat grew cold and the bloody fat congealed into hard puddles on the plates. The servants who had carried the huge meal into the banquet room stood evenly spaced like mute statues around the perimeter of the table, waiting.
It seemed to Hezekiah that he had spent the last several months waiting for Ahaz. After making the trip to Tyre six months ago with his new father-in-law, Hezekiah had waited in vain to be offered a position in Ahaz’s government. The trade agreement had proved worthless, just as he had predicted, and Ahaz hadn’t sent for him again until tonight’s mysterious dinner.
Gradually the polite conversation around the banquet table dwindled into anxious silence. The guests eyed the food and each other nervously, but no one dared begin the meal without the king. Hezekiah stopped drumming his fingers. He slapped the tabletop with his open hand and motioned to the nearest servant.
“Why have we been kept waiting? Wh
ere’s the king?”
“I don’t know, my lord.”
“Well, has anyone bothered to find out?”
“We know that he’s in his bedchamber.We’ve knocked repeatedly on His Majesty’s door but he doesn’t answer. We were afraid to disturb him.”
“He probably got drunk and passed out cold,” Hezekiah muttered to Shebna. He hoped his assumption was true so he could return to his room and forget about the dinner. It was ruined anyway, and so was his appetite.
“The king has never been this late before,” Shebna agreed, shifting his position and flexing his long legs.
Hezekiah signaled to Uriah, who sat across the table from him in stony silence. He had said very little in the long hour they had been waiting, and even now he showed no trace of impatience as he stroked his gray-flecked beard.
“Do you know what could be keeping my father?” Hezekiah asked him.
Uriah shrugged. “I haven’t seen the king since this morning. He returned to his chambers after holding court, and I believe he ate lunch there, as well.”
The hall fell silent again, and Hezekiah heard someone’s stomach gurgle with hunger. He looked around and saw Jonadab, captain of the palace guards, turning red with embarrassment. “Pardon me,” the captain mumbled. Shebna passed him a platter of date cakes, but he shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ll wait for the king.”
“This is ridiculous,” Hezekiah said, motioning again to the servant. “Send the king’s personal valet into his chamber. Tell him to see what’s keeping King Ahaz. I’ll take the blame for disturbing him.”
“Do you think that is wise?” Shebna asked in alarm.
“I don’t care, I’m tired of waiting. Go ahead,” he told the servant.
The man slipped from the room. Several minutes passed, the silence broken only by Hezekiah’s drumming fingers and the rumblings of Jonadab’s stomach. Suddenly the king’s valet burst into the room, pale and trembling.
“Somebody come quick! The king … the king!”
Uriah leaped to his feet with surprising swiftness and strode from the room. For a long moment, the other dinner guests sat frozen in their places. Then Hezekiah stood and stopped the frightened valet before he hurried away behind Uriah.
“What’s wrong with the king?” he asked. The valet shook his head. He seemed unable to speak. “Show me, then.” Hezekiah took the trembling man by the arm.
Hezekiah had no idea what to expect as he hurried down the covered walkway to his father’s chambers. The valet was in such a state of shock that the sight of his blanched face made Hezekiah’s nerves tingle with dread. Uriah had already gone inside the king’s bedchambers by the time Hezekiah arrived, and he quickly emerged again to stop Hezekiah at the door.
“Don’t go in there, my lord.”
Hezekiah pushed past him. He wasn’t prepared for what he saw.
King Ahaz lay sprawled on the floor, his back arched in agony, his limbs twisted in grotesque angles from his body. His fixed eyes stared, and his mouth gaped wide as if in a scream of anguish. Hezekiah wanted to look away but somehow was unable to move.
“The king is dead,” he heard Uriah telling the others behind him. His voice sounded very far away.
Hezekiah refused to believe what his eyes told him was true. He squatted down and touched his father’s hand, curled against the carpet. His stomach rolled over at the feel of his cold flesh. It was true. Ahaz was dead.
Hezekiah stood, and the room seemed to grow smaller and smaller. Then it began to spin so dizzily that he had to shut his eyes. He shook himself, as if he could wake up from a bad dream, and drew a deep breath. When the dizziness passed, he opened his eyes.
Uriah stood in front of him for a moment, then dropped to his knees, bowing to him. “Long live King Hezekiah!” he said.
Hezekiah glanced around and saw Captain Jonadab and the other men following Uriah’s example, falling to their knees and touching their foreheads to the floor, murmuring, “Long live King Hezekiah!” He stared at the prostrate men, struggling to comprehend their words.
His father was dead. He was the king.
Hezekiah turned to stare at his father again. He felt no grief for Ahaz—only shock and surprise. Until today Hezekiah’s life had been neatly ordered and scheduled, with few changes and very few surprises. He hadn’t dared to hope that he would reign for many more years. But Ahaz was dead. And now he was the king.
The news spread quickly through the palace, creating a hum of noise and confusion in the hallways outside the room. But Hezekiah remained immobile. He continued to stare at his father’s body as if it would help him comprehend the utter finality of death. At last, Uriah stood up and gripped Hezekiah’s arm, squeezing it until the pain broke the spell of his shock. The priest pulled him toward the door.
“Your Majesty, there’s nothing more you can do in here. You should leave now.” He pulled Hezekiah all the way into the hallway and closed Ahaz’s door behind them. “I know that this tragedy has come as a great shock to you, Your Majesty, but there are several urgent matters of state that must be dealt with immediately. In order to ensure an unbroken command of power, I ask for your permission to take care of them right away.”
“My permission?” Hezekiah repeated. He wondered how it was possible that an hour ago he had nothing more important to worry about than dinner, and now he was in command of the nation. He felt Uriah studying him, his eyes bold and challenging, and Hezekiah had to resist the urge to look away. Uriah knew much more about running the kingdom than he did, but Hezekiah had always disliked him, without knowing why. Perhaps it was because, as far back as Hezekiah could recall, the imposing priest had always hovered close to his father. But in spite of his instincts, Hezekiah decided to let Uriah remain in control for now—for the good of the nation. He would need time to learn his new role as king.
“You may continue with your duties as you did under my father,” Hezekiah said at last.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Uriah’s steely features never changed. Hezekiah sensed his strong will—so unlike Ahaz’s—and he knew who had been running the nation.
“First, there is the matter of the emissaries,” Uriah said. “It is imperative that they be sent back to their own country immediately.”
Hezekiah had no idea what Uriah was talking about. It seemed to require a great effort to make sense of Uriah’s words, let alone their importance. The hallway tilted as Hezekiah nodded his assent. “I will have to trust your judgment, Uriah, until I can be briefed.”
“Good. I’m sure you’ll want to meet with your father’s advisors as soon as possible. Would tomorrow morning be too soon?”
“No, that’s fine,” Hezekiah replied. He needed at least that long to recover from his shock.
“Also, there are the details of King Ahaz’s burial for me to attend to.”
At the mention of his father’s name, a question came to Hezekiah’s mind. “How did he die, Uriah?”
“He was alone, Your Majesty. We may never know.”
“Well, I intend to find out. I want to interview all his servants, all his concubines. It’s obvious that he died in agony. And it’s hard to believe that no one heard him, much less came to his aid.”
Uriah’s features hardened. He pulled Hezekiah away from the door as if worried that Jonadab or one of the others might overhear him. “It can only tarnish the king’s memory to dig too deeply. I already know what you’ll discover.” He paused, and his voice softened slightly. “You’re well aware that your father drank too much. What you may not know is that he also misused the ritual drugs from Assyria. I tried to discourage him, but he demanded more and more. He was the king. How could anyone refuse him?”
“Are you saying that he took a lethal dose by mistake?”
“I’m certain that’s what you’ll discover, but I’ll look into his death for you if you wish.” Once again Uriah stared at him defiantly, and Hezekiah’s deep distrust for the priest resurfaced.
“I guess the
re would be no point,” he said at last.
“Then if I may be dismissed, I will take care of these other matters and begin the preparation for your coronation immediately.”
“You may go,” Hezekiah mumbled. Uriah seemed to vanish.
Hezekiah walked slowly down the hall, oblivious to the flurry of excitement all around him. Ahaz’s life had ended. And Hezekiah realized that the sheltered life he had always lived had also come to an end. From now on, he was responsible for the entire nation. He knew that Ahaz had often tried to evade that responsibility, and for a brief moment Hezekiah thought he understood why. He only wished he had been given more warning; that he’d had more time to prepare for his new role. But the time had come for Hezekiah to be king, whether he was ready or not.
At first Hephzibah thought King Ahaz’s death was only a rumor; gossip was plentiful in the palace. But when she heard the highpitched mourning cries coming from the king’s harem and saw Ahaz’s wives and concubines draped in black, she knew it was true. King Ahaz was dead. And she was married to the new king of Judah.
Within days the palace servants prepared to move Hephzibah, and all of Hezekiah’s concubines, out of their crowded quarters near the prince’s chambers and into the lavish apartments of the king’s harem.
“Wait until you see your new suite, Lady Hephzibah,” her handmaiden, Merab, told her. “The rooms are the finest in the palace, except for the king’s. They have tall windows that overlook the courtyard on one side, and there’s a view of the whole city from the balcony on the other side.”
For as long as Hephzibah could remember, Merab had taken care of her like a second mother. She had nestled as a baby on Merab’s lap and been carried around on her broad hips. Merab’s hands had soothed Hephzibah’s tears and her smile had greeted her each morning of her life. Now the servant had come to the palace with her as a wedding gift from her father. Merab loved her like her own daughter, and she was Hephzibah’s only friend and companion in her new home.