The Strength Of His Hand Part 19

"And are you afraid to continue speaking the truth? Afraid of what will happen to you?"

Eliakim remembered preparing to die at Gedaliah's hands months earlier. Why did he hesitate now? "Maybe fear is part of it," he said.

"Let me ask you this, Eliakim-do you believe Yahweh put you where you are? And that He did it for a reason?"

"I do," he said quietly. "I know I couldn't have earned such an honor by myself."

"Then who will speak for G.o.d if you don't? G.o.d put you at the king's left hand, Eliakim. If Hezekiah asks for your advice, give it to him. Yes, you might be humiliated and thrown out of the palace for speaking for G.o.d. Are you willing to risk that?"

Eliakim thought of how Isaiah had gone stripped through Jerusalem's streets and he felt ashamed of his own fears. "I would like to be willing ... but won't you help me, Rabbi? I can't do this alone."

Isaiah rose and walked back and forth across the tiny room a few times. Finally he turned to Eliakim. "I went to see King Hezekiah after the Babylonians came. I spoke G.o.d's Word. He didn't ask for it, but I gave it to him anyway. I'm not certain he understood what it meant. He hasn't asked for my advice this time, either, because, as the psalmist has written, 'In his pride the wicked does not seek him; in all his thoughts there is no room for G.o.d.' I have the Word of the Lord for Hezekiah. It's right here." He gestured to the pile of scrolls on the table. "You may read these if you'd like, Eliakim. They say the same things you're telling him."

"Then why won't you share them with the king? Please, Rabbi. I can't challenge him all alone."

Isaiah stared at the scrolls scattered on the tabletop for a moment, deep in thought. "Confronting kings with the Word of G.o.d isn't new for me, Eliakim. I've had plenty of practice." He smiled fleetingly, then sighed. "But I had hoped ... Hezekiah has tried so hard to do what is right, I'd hoped that I would never have to do this-opposing him like I did his father."

"But you'll do it? You'll prophesy to him?"

Isaiah nodded sadly, and Eliakim felt as if he could breathe again. "Thank you, Rabbi."

"No, don't thank me, Eliakim. Unfortunately, my words will do no good. King Hezekiah will not heed them."

15.

THE BANQUET WITH THE Egyptians ended very late, and the strain from the elaborate affair left Hezekiah feeling too tense and edgy to sleep. As he pa.s.sed the deserted harem on his way to his rooms, the familiar longing for Hephzibah tugged at him. She would always soothe him and help him wind down after a day such as this one, and a painful, lonely ache filled his soul in the place that Hephzibah had once filled. He turned away from the harem, telling himself not to dwell on what he had lost. Yet he found that he couldn't do it.

Forgetting Hephzibah had proven to be a hopeless task. It would have been easier to forget his own name. She filled his thoughts throughout the day and tormented his dreams at night. He would try to busy himself with the daily tasks of his life, but her image would return to him in unguarded moments, stopping him like a sword thrust through his gut. When he arose in the morning he would resolve that this would be the day he would forget her. He would start all over again. He would erase her from his mind. But slowly, silently, before he was even aware of what was happening, she would slip back into his thoughts, and the devastating sorrow would engulf him once more. A continual wail of mourning filled the background of his days, a cry that couldn't be silenced. She was gone. He would never see her again.

Sometimes he wondered what Hephzibah's days were like. Did she think of him a million times, too? Did she feel the same gnawing, churning anger and frustration at the hopelessness of it all? Was she sorry for what she had done? Did she suffer as he did? He would never know, never see her again. Never.

He went through the daily routine of running the kingdom on instinct, certain that his grief remained hidden. No one knew the torment he lived in or the pain he felt each time her face appeared in his mind. He hated her for what she had done.

Get on with your life. Forget her. He recited the little speech to himself whenever something would remind him of her, and sometimes he thought he was beginning to get on top of his grief, beginning to forget her. Then he would recall something she'd said, something she had done that had made him laugh, or he would see her empty place at the banquet table again as he had tonight, and his sorrow would swallow him alive. When would it stop hurting so much? When would the pain go away?

He hurried back to his own chambers, and when he opened the door he was surprised to find several lamps lit and a warm fire burning in the brazier. He was even more surprised to find a woman standing in front of the fire. Hephzibah?

Hezekiah shook himself. Hephzibah was gone. He would never see her again. This woman was very young, the age Hephzibah had been when they had first married. And she was tall and long-limbed, not dainty and pet.i.te like his wife.

"Good evening, Your Majesty." She dropped to her knees, bowing with her head to the floor, and he recalled how awestruck Hephzibah had been at first. He took a few steps closer and waited.

"You may rise," he said impatiently. She raised only her head, and he studied her features in the lamplight-dark brown eyes in an oval face; a fine, straight nose; skin the color of honey; a soft, sensuous mouth. She was a lovely woman but not as beautiful as ... He caught himself making the comparison and hated himself for it.

"What's your name?" he asked to break the uncomfortable silence.

"I am Abigail, daughter of Joah."

"You mean, Joah the Levite? My scribe?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Sit down, Abigail, and tell me why you've come." He sank down wearily on the couch, suddenly aware of how tired he was.

When Abigail sat down beside him, Hezekiah stared at her, amazed by her boldness.

"I have come here for you, Your Majesty," she said. "That is ... if you want me."

Hezekiah looked around the room for the first time and realized that his valet and the other servants were gone. A tray of refreshments, a flask of wine, and two goblets lay spread out on a low table. He and Abigail were alone.

He saw, then, how carefully she had been chosen for him-beautiful, yet physically the opposite of Hephzibah. She was the daughter of an important family with a G.o.d-fearing father and was probably well versed in the tiniest letter of the Law. Hezekiah would never find Abigail, daughter of Joah the Levite, bowing down to an idol. Yet Hezekiah felt angry for Abigail's sake, angry at whoever had arranged all of this.

"Shall I pour you some wine, my lord?" she asked.

"All right." He saw her hand shake as she poured wine and handed it to him. He set the goblet down without tasting it. "Abigail-'a spring of joy.' It's a lovely name for a lovely woman."

"Thank you," she said with lowered eyes.

"Tell me something, Abigail. Who arranged for you to come here?"

"What do you mean, my lord?"

"You must realize that I wasn't expecting you to be here. That this ... that you ... that it's all a surprise to me."

"Yes. They told me you might send me away."

"That's what I'm wondering. Who told you? Who made all these arrangements? Was it my palace administrator, Shebna?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." She searched his face, anxiously. "Are you angry?"

In a way he was angry. Shebna had no right to interfere in his personal life-to simply decide that he needed a woman and then send one to his chambers. But he couldn't summon enough energy to release that anger. Ever since his illness, Hezekiah had felt very little emotion at all, walking through each day in a flat, gray haze. Maybe Shebna was right. Maybe he needed a wife. And his nation certainly needed an heir to the throne, a son to take his place when he died.

"No, Abigail," he said at last. "I'm not angry."

She looked so worried that he instinctively drew her into his arms to console her. But as he felt her heart beating rapidly against his chest, he wondered if it was fair to Abigail to ask her to be with him like this. Would he ever be able to stop comparing her to Hephzibah and see her for herself? Even if she bore him a dozen sons, would he ever love her as he'd once loved Hephzibah? Or trust her completely, with his heart and soul? Many years ago his grandfather had said that a wife deserved all of her husband's love and devotion. Abigail certainly deserved that, but Hezekiah wondered if he could give it to her. He released her and held her at arm's length.

"Abigail, look at me. I need to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me."

"Yes, my lord?"

"Is this what you want, to come to my bed, to be part of my harem? Or are you here out of obedience to your father and Shebna?"

She lowered her eyes. "Please, Abigail. I'm not trying to trick you. I need to know that this is something you want."

As he waited for her to answer, he thought of Hephzibah again, of the risk she'd taken when she had sneaked out of her house to catch a glimpse of the man she would marry. He knew her strong will and daring had been part of her, part of the reason he had loved her so much. He wanted to close his mind against the pain and the memories of Hephzibah that Abigail was forcing him to relive, but he couldn't seem to do it.

"Is this what you want?" he asked again. "You surely know that living here in the palace harem won't be a normal life for you. Don't you want a husband and a family-a life like other women?"

"I would obey my father, no matter who he told me to marry," Abigail replied. "He knows what's best for me." She gave the standard, predictable answer, what everyone expected her to say.

Hezekiah stood. "Yes, yes," he said impatiently, "but is it what you want? You have a mind ... opinions ... desires, don't you?"

"Yes, I have desires."

"And what are they?" He saw the uncertainty in her eyes and said, "You may tell me, Abigail. Your words will never leave this room."

She didn't answer at first, and when she finally spoke it was slowly, hesitantly. "For as long as I can remember, ever since I was a child, you have been the king of Judah. I've watched you from theWomen's Court as you stood on the royal dais at the Temple. My father-the entire nation-respects you because you are such a great king. Year after year we've waited for the announcement of the birth of your heir. But it has never come. All your people grieve for you."

Hezekiah wondered where this long, rambling speech was leading, but he forced himself to be patient with her.

"Your Majesty, all my life, all I have ever desired is to have a husband and children. I would be content to marry an ordinary man or maybe a Levite like my father. But you must understand that to be chosen ... to be honored with the privilege of bearing the king's son ..." She stopped, and he saw tears in her eyes. "There are many women who would envy me because I am here with you."

"Abigail. Do you want to be here?"

She stood and reached to tenderly touch his face, as if to a.s.sure herself that he was real, that she wasn't dreaming.

"Yes," she whispered. "I can't believe that I am." Her gesture and words moved him. He hadn't known such tenderness since his last night with Hephzibah.

Hezekiah felt the stirring of desire for the first time since the fire. But at the same time he knew the terrible pain that accompanied love. He feared he might hurt this gentle girl the way Hephzibah had hurt him.

"Thank you for your honesty, Abigail. Now I owe you the truth, as well. Before you decide that this is what you want, you need to understand that I'm not certain I can ever love anyone the way I loved-" He couldn't say Hephzibah's name. "The way I loved my first wife. Could you live with that, Abigail? You're so young. Could you live the rest of your life with me, knowing that I might never be able to say the words 'I love you'? " She bit her lip, trying not to cry, but a tear slipped down her cheek just the same. "It ... it doesn't matter."

She moved into his arms, and as he felt the warmth of her embrace, smelled the sweetness of her scent, his longing for Hephzibah was almost more than he could bear. He took Abigail's face in his hands and kissed her hair, her forehead, her lips. But G.o.d forgive him-in his heart he was kissing Hephzibah. When Hezekiah realized what he was doing, he stopped and released Abigail from his arms.

"No," he said. "It does matter, Abigail. I can't do this to you. I'm sorry."

She stared up at him in fear and confusion. "Have I done something wrong?"

"No," he said sadly, "no, you haven't done anything wrong." Suddenly Hezekiah's grief gripped him so powerfully that he had to turn away to hide the tears stinging his eyes. "You are a beautiful, desirable woman, and I'd like nothing more right now than to have you stay with me tonight. But it wouldn't be fair to you. You could give me pleasure, help me forget my grief for a while, even give me a son to take my place someday. But I have nothing to give you in return."

"Yes, the honor of being your wife ... of living here ..."

"Honor and prestige and wealth and privilege aren't important in the end. They don't last." He turned to her again. "Relations.h.i.+ps, love-nothing can replace them, don't you see? I have the honor and respect of all my countrymen, even of other nations, but it doesn't mean a thing."

She stared at him in silence as tears fell down her lovely cheeks. How could he make her understand?

"Abigail, did you have another suitor? Someone else who loved you and wanted to marry you?"

"Yes ... but to be married to the king, to give birth to your heir, is-"

"Don't trade a chance at happiness for a t.i.tle or prestige. It's not a fair exchange. And right now, a t.i.tle is all I could give you. Maybe in time I'll be ready to love again. Maybe someday I could give you something in return... ."

"But I could-"

"Don't you understand, Abigail? When I kissed you a moment ago ... I was kissing someone else."

He saw by her expression that she finally understood. And in spite of his efforts not to, he knew he had hurt her deeply.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "You're hurt because you think I'm rejecting you. But someday, when you find a husband who loves you as much as you deserve to be loved, you'll understand why I sent you away. I pray that you'll be grateful."

She looked up at him, her eyes s.h.i.+ning with tears. The pain in them was gone, replaced by pity. "But you deserve to be loved, too, Your Majesty."

She was a very beautiful woman, and Hezekiah ached inside with the need to be loved, the need not to be alone anymore. He quickly rang for his valet before he changed his mind, before his own selfish needs caused him to ruin Abigail's life.

"Take her home," he told his servant; then he turned his back so he wouldn't have to watch her go.

He was alone again, and his sorrow and grief seemed greater than before. He needed Hephzibah to rub the tension from his aching shoulders and neck, to fill the empty place in his heart. But she was gone forever. He stood before his window staring at the outline of the Temple on the hill.

He had served G.o.d faithfully for more than a dozen years, upholding the Law, governing his nation by it. And G.o.d had fulfilled His end of the covenant in return, blessing his country, granting him honor in the sight of other nations. G.o.d had given him every prom- ised blessing except one: an heir. But as Hephzibah had so painfully pointed out, G.o.d had made that promise to David, not to him. And G.o.d would keep it, too-through Hezekiah's brothers and their sons.

How easily G.o.d's Word could be misread and misinterpreted, just as he had misread G.o.d's command to marry one wife. Do not return to Egypt ... Maybe he had misread that law, too. Maybe it had nothing to do with joining an alliance.

The door opened, and his valet returned, interrupting his thoughts. "Did you send the young woman home?" Hezekiah asked.

"Yes, Your Majesty. Would you like anything else?"

It seemed to Hezekiah that his valet was looking at him strangely, and he wanted to explain to him why he had sent Abigail away. He wanted to tell him that just because he was the king and could have anything or anyone he wanted, it didn't give him a license to use people for his own selfish needs. But the valet wasn't waiting for an explanation. Hezekiah hadn't answered his question.

"Yes, I'd like one more thing. Ask Shebna to come here."

Hezekiah gazed up at the stars while he waited, watching the thin, gauzy clouds that raced across the sky like a bridal veil. He felt tired, but it wasn't the type of fatigue that sleep would cure. When he heard his door open, he turned around.

"Two things, Shebna. First, I've decided to sign a treaty of alliance with Egypt. You will go as my envoy, but you will make no concessions to them. I will sign as Pharaoh's equal or not at all."

"Yes, Your Majesty. I can be ready to leave right away." He broke into a broad grin, showing his straight, even teeth.

For some peculiar reason, Hezekiah suddenly recalled the first time he'd ever met Shebna. Hezekiah had been a child, and something in Shebna's smile had seemed false to him. "Your eyes aren't happy," Hezekiah had told him. He searched Shebna's eyes now and saw that they still didn't seem happy, in spite of the fact that he was the second most powerful man in the nation, that he was getting his wish for a treaty, that his advice had been heeded instead of Eliakim's. Hezekiah wondered why not.

"And second," he continued. "Don't ever send a woman to my chambers without consulting me again."

Shebna's grin vanished. "She did not please you, Your Majesty?"

"I'm sure she would have pleased me a great deal if I'd let her stay, but that's not the point." He saw Shebna's confusion and searched for a way to explain it to him. "Shebna, you've had the same concubine for many years now. Does she bring you pleasure?"

"Yes, and she has also given me four sons."

"Then why haven't you married her?"

"What for? I am content without marriage."

"Indeed-what for?" he said softly. "'The Lord G.o.d said, "It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.' " And the Torah also says, 'A man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh.'