Josiah, The Boy King Chapter 9, Part 2

Josiah, The Boy King  Chapter 9  Part 2

            Early the next morning a cart pulled up in front of the temple and Hilkiah came out carrying one of the scrolls of the holy book.  Very carefully he placed in the back of the cart and then returned for another scroll.  When all of the scrolls were loaded, Ahikam helped the high priest himself into the cart and then took his place in the driver’s seat.  Achbor and Asahiah and Shaphan mounted horses to ride alongside.

            Anathoth was not far away from Jerusalem, just a couple miles to the north.  But the men knew how anxious Josiah was to hear from the prophet Jeremiah, so the sun had not been up for long when the cart and the three horsemen rode through the gate of the village.  Young girls were gathered around the well in the center of the village filling their water pots which would be carried home for the days water supply balanced on top of their heads.  Young boys scurried from door to door with fresh rolls that the baker had cooked in the wee hours of the night.  They were delivering them to the housewives in time for breakfast.

            Shaphan called to one of the boys, “Say, lad.  Can you tell me the way to the house of Jeremiah the prophet?”

            “Of course.  Everyone knows where Jeremiah lives.  Go on through town and out the gate.  He lives in the first house outside the gate, right next to the potters. You can’t miss it.   The potter’s house is the one with all the clay pots in the yard.  What do you have in the back of the cart?”

            “Holy books, son.  The most valuable books in the entire world.  And thanks for the directions.  We really appreciate it.”  Shaphan leaned down from his horse and handed the boy a small coin for his help.  Then they were off again to the house of the prophet.

            Just beyond the far gate, the party from Jerusalem spotted the house of the potter.  There were so many pots of different shapes sitting all over the yard that they almost missed the first house tucked in close against the city wall.  But it was there, just like the boy had said.

            Shaphan climbed down from his horse and knocked on the door.  There was a long pause.  Glancing over his shoulder at the others, he knocked again.  Still no answer.  It was the same the third time, just more silence.

            “Let’s try the potter,” called Ahikam from the front of the cart.  “Maybe the prophet is over there.”

            So Shaphan wound his way through the clay pots to the door of the potter’s house and knocked again.  Almost immediately the door opened and a strong, tall man stepped out into the morning sunshine.

            “Yes?  What can I do for you?  Will it be a water pot today, or a clay lamp?”

            “Neither one, I’m afraid, sir.  I take it you’re the potter?”

            “Right.  Do the best work in all of Judea, people tell me.  Wouldn’t rightly know myself.  Never used anyone else’s pots except my own.  What can I do for you?”

            “Well, actually we’re looking for your neighbor.”

            “Jeremiah?  Strange fellow he is.  But a real good neighbor.”

            “Any idea where we might find him?”

            “You might find him anywhere.  He came over yesterday, bought a couple of my best pots and asked me if I thought they would break easily.  Now, I don’t like to hear people talk like that.  I mean, any pot will break if you drop it hard enough.  But him being my neighbor and all…”

            “Did he say where he was taking them?”      

            The potter looked puzzled.  “Say, what is this anyway?  Are you fellows friends of Jeremiah or what?  I still haven’t forgotten what those Baal worshippers did to the prophet Isaiah.  Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you all of this.”

            Shaphan looked over his shoulder at the cart and then back at the potter.  “Come here.  Let me show you something.”  He led him through the pots to the back of the cart and carefully picked up one of the scrolls.  “Can you read?”

            “Read and write both,” the potter answered proudly.  And then he added, “But only my name.”

            Shaphan smiled.  “Well, these are some holy books that were found in the temple at Jerusalem.  King Josiah has sent us here to show them to the prophet Jeremiah so he can ask Jehovah God if they are really from him and if the message they contain is true.”

            The potter reached out one of his powerful arms and placed his hand gently on the parchment.  A look of amazement came into his eyes.  “Awesome,” he whispered.

            Shaphan carefully placed the scroll back into the waiting arms of the high priest.  “So, can you tell me where to find Jeremiah?”

            “I wish I could.  But all he did was ask me about those pots breaking and then he slung them into a sack he had on his shoulder and headed off into the hills.  He preaches all over Judea and Israel, you know.  Sometimes he’s gone for weeks.”

            Shaphan shook his head.  “We can’t wait that long.  Guess we’ll just have to go back and tell the king we couldn’t find him.  He sure will be disappointed.”

            “Well, when he shows up, I’ll tell him you were here.  He’ll want to know about the holy books, that’s for sure.  He’ll probably go to Jerusalem just to see them.  Are you keeping them in the temple?”

            “Yes,” said Shaphan.  “In the temple.  And thank you for your help.”
           

            King Josiah had found it extremely difficult to sleep that night after hearing the holy book of Moses read to him.  It was at the same time both exciting and fearsome to think that he had actually heard a message given by Jehovah God Himself.  He lay awake thinking about it, dozed for a time, and then woke up again.

            It was during one of those sleepless times that he remembered the scrolls delivered by the messenger the day before.  He had stayed at the temple so long the day before that they had completely slipped his mind.  He hadn’t read one of them, not even the one from Libnah.

            Slipping out of bed he picked up the candle which always burned beside his bed for security reasons and walked over to the table where the guard had deposited the scrolls the evening before.  He knew exactly which one the messenger from Libnah had brought.  His hands trembled as he unrolled it and recognized the precise handwriting of his beloved Hamutal.

            “Hamutal,” the message began, “queen of all Judea.

            To Josiah, king and ruler in Jerusalem—greetings.

            The time has come for you to meet your son.  Jehoahaz is almost seven years old.   As your eldest son he will be the next king and must therefore be trained in the palace.  I have done what I can, but now I send him to you.  At the end of the week, a fortnight hence he will arrive at the palace.  I expect you to give him a royal welcome.  Farewell.”

            Josiah read and reread the scroll hoping for some more personal message that he had overlooked.  But that was it.  There was nothing more from Hamutal except the news that she was sending their son Jehoahaz to live in the palace.  Just two weeks and his son would arrive.  The son he had never known.  And now he was a young lad, almost as old as Josiah himself had been when he became king.

            Without reading the other messages, Josiah went back to bed, but he still couldn’t sleep.  He kept thinking about Hamutal and Jehoahaz.  What would the boy be like?  His own mother had taught him the truth about Jehovah God when he was still a little boy.  What had Hamutal taught Jehoahaz?  Could she possible still be a worshipper of Baal as Hilkiah claimed?  And what about the holy books?   What would Jeremiah say about them?  Had God really put a curse upon their nation?

            When Josiah finally did fall asleep it was a restless time full of dreams mixed with quick startlings that half awakened him but didn’t interrupt his dreams.  He saw Bar-Abel rising up from the top of a rock and trying to grab the holy books away from him.  Josiah went for his sword, but it wasn’t there.  So he tried to run away with the books, but his feet wouldn’t move.  Bar-Abel just kept getting bigger and bigger and Josiah knew he would never get away, so he started to eat the scroll.  It tasted terrible but he just kept on eating and eating, all of the time screaming at Bar-Abel.  “No, you can’t take it away from me.  You can’t have it.  No!  No!  No!  No! No!”

            When Josiah finally did wake up he was covered with sweat, but the night was gone and the sun was shining in the window. In fact, the sun was so high it had to be almost noon.  He had slept through most of the morning.  Pulling on a tunic he walked quickly to the door.

            “Guard.  Saddle up my horse.  Call the king’s bodyguards.  We are going for a ride.  To Anathoth.”

            Josiah couldn’t really believe that anything would happen to an old priest and four young men between Jerusalem and Anathoth.  But his dream about Bar-Abel had been so vivid.  He knew he would feel better if he just rode out to Anathoth and came back to Jerusalem with them.  Besides, that way he could talk to Jeremiah himself.  He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of that the night before.

            It was already way past noon when the horses were ready and they were finally on their way out of the capital.  The sun was not and little heat waves danced over the Judean sands.  There were many carts on the road near Jerusalem, but most of them were heading toward town and the further away from the walls the king and his men rode, the quieter the road became.

            “This is almost as deserted a road as the one leading down to Jericho where we have been having all that trouble with robbers,” the king called over his shoulder to one of the guards.

            “There are many places for them to hide, that’s for certain.  Look down there below us at that big rock that sits right by the road.  I can almost imagine a band of robbers jumping out from there to stop some lonely traveler.”

            Almost as he spoke, from behind the very rock where he was pointing, a dozen men jumped out and stopped a cart moving slowly across the valley floor.  As the king and his guards watched in amazement, the robbers drew swords and attacked the men on horses who accompanied the cart.  Several of them jumped on to the cart itself and tried to grab the reins.

            “Hey, that’s Hilkiah and Shaphan they’re fighting,” Josiah shouted.  “Come on men, let’s bet them before they escape with the holy books. Come on! Don’t let them get away!”