Joash - The King Who Would Not Die Chapter Nineteen

THE KING WHO WOULD NOT DIE

THE KING WHO WOULD NOT DIE

By Robert Allen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

            The crowd pouring into the courtyard of the temple in pursuit of Zechariah had become a mob.  Incited by Matt and his cohorts their rage had grown completely out of control.  Some of the priests and Levites serving in the temple attempted to rush to the protection of Zechariah, but so many people had entered the court that they could not even get close to him.

            “Stone him!” A voice from the crowd urged them to action.  “He is the one who is troubling Judah.”

            “Stone him!  Stone him!”  Others took up the cry.

            Using the rocks picked up from the street outside, the men Matt had planted in the crowd turned the vicious cries into action.  Only a few stones at first, but then more and more, hitting the back, arms and even the head of the young priest.  Instead of protecting himself from the barrage, Zechariah stood upright in the middle of the angry crowd.  “God will look upon you and require a punishment on the nation for your sin,” he called to them.  Just as he spoke those words someone threw a heavy rock from high above him on a balcony and struck him hard on the back of his head.  With a cry of pain he pitched forward  and fell head-long into the middle of the mob.

            When they realized Zechariah lay dead at their feet a hush fell over the people.  Men started backing away from the corpse and then filing quietly out of the temple, avoiding looking anyone else in the face as if they had no desire to remember who had been involved in the evil deed.

            Matt, who had been the one in the crowd to first call out “Stone him,” rushed out of the courtyard and ran down the street toward the temple.  He wanted to be the first to bring word of Zechariah’s death to the king.  On the way into the palace he met Haggith, still in her chair, and the two of them entered the throne room together.

            “Oh, Joash, what a wonderful day this has been.”  Haggith reached out with her scepter and rapped the servants carrying her chair on the head so they would set her down more quickly. “So exciting.  Our people have demonstrated their love for me.  I was so scared.”

            “Scared?  Why scared, my dearest?”  Joash rose from his throne and wrapped his arms around the queen.

            “That terrible prophet.  The one who has been harassing me.  Why, you wouldn’t believe all the terrible curses he called down upon me this morning.”

            The king turned to Matt.  “Can you tell me what is going on?  What happened to the queen.”

            “My lord,” Matt bowed low before the king.  “Your queen has just witnessed a great victory over one of her greatest enemies.  In the very midst of his stronghold, surrounded by his most loyal supporters, the priest Zechariah has been struck down by the very hand of Jehovah-God Himself.”

            “In the temple?” the king gasped.

            “Sure,” shrugged Haggith.  “Why not?  That’s where he had been starting all of those terrible stories about us.”

            “But the temple is sacred.  A holy place.”

            ‘You’re right, Joash,” Matt spoke in a quiet voice, trying to calm the king.  “But perhaps that is all the more reason why it should have happened there.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Well, you know how Zechariah and his father Jehoiada told you that only Jehovah God can protect the nation of Judah.”

            “Certainly.  Jehovah the God of Hosts, the All-Powerful One.”

            “All powerful.” Matt repeated and the stopped as if he needed to think about that.  “They also told you that Jehovah dwells in the temple.”

            “In the holy place, between the cherubim.  You know that as well as I do.”

            “Now, if God the All-Powerful dwells in the temple, surely He must be the most powerful, the strongest, near to the place where He makes his home.”

            Joash realized Matt sought to make a point, but still didn’t know exactly what point.  However, he had to agree.  “Yes, Jehovah would be most powerful near his dwelling-place.”

            “Then,” Matt drove home his argument, “why was He not strong enough to protect Zechariah right there in the temple?  Why did he allow the people, simply protecting your queen, to stone His own prophet, if Zechariah really was a prophet?”

            “I guess I never thought about it like that,” said the king.

            “Let me tell you what I think,” said Matt.  “God didn’t protect him because God didn’t call him to be a prophet.  He belonged in the priesthood and sought to take on a role for which God had not equipped him.  Zechariah and the priests have a limited view of God.  His belongs to all the world.  He lives in the stars and the planets.  He lives in the hills and the mountains.  Haven’t you also learned that God is omnipresent?  That He is everywhere?”

            “Yes,” said the king, but Matt had not finished.

            “If God dwells in every place, then He must be worshipped in every place.  God allowed Zechariah to die because He wanted people to know that they must not limit Him to one certain dwelling-place.  He doesn’t just live in temples made by men’s hands.  So people must worship Him on every hill, in every grove, in every city.”

            “You think that is why Zechariah died?”

            “I am convinced,” said Matt.  “Now that his narrow view of God has been eliminated we can trust the people to honor Him throughout the entire nation.  We will see a revival of worship not known since the days of Solomon.”

            “You think God will be pleased enough to protect us from the Syrians?”

            “Absolutely.  I promise you that Judah will enjoy a prosperity unlike anything this country has seen for years.  I know that God rejoices over the kingdom of Judah this day.”

            “I’m sure too,” said Haggith.  “I think it would make Him even happier if we would build a grove right here on Mt. Zion.  It’s such a long trip across the valley to the Mount of Olives.  I know that if I have a grove nearby I could worship much more often than I do now.  Why, I could worship three times a day, and you could join me as well.”

            “All right, Haggith dearest,” said the king.  “Whatever your little heart desires.”

            So they planted a grove opposite the courtyard of the king’s palace and Haggith’s golden calf made the trip back to Mt. Zion from the Mount of Olives.  Matt dressed in priestly garments in order to serve as the queen’s private religious counselor and priest.  Soon Joash began worshipping with her in the grove and the next time the advisors met they started their meeting by offering a sacrifice to the golden calf.  King Joash forgot all about the kindness of Jehoiada and Jehoshabeath and the friendship of Zechariah.  Matt and Haggith convinced him that if he allowed the people to worship any way they desired God would be pleased and as a result would protect him from his enemies.

            About one month after the death of Zechariah, Joash came down for breakfast to find Haggith weeping as if her heart had broken.

            “Haggith dearest.  Please don’t cry.  Is there something you want?  Something more I haven’t given you.”

            Haggith shook her head and continued to wail loudly.  Frustrated, Joash turned to her personal attendant.  “What has happened?  Why is she weeping?”

            The maid bowed low before the king.  “A messenger arrived this morning from Samaria.  My queen has been weeping ever since his arrival.”

            “Bring me the scroll.”  Almost before the words left his mouth the young girl scurried out the door and returned almost immediately with the parchment.

            “Dearest Haggith,” read the king.  “My lord King Jehoahaz is dead.   Only Jehoash, the king’s son and I remain.  The Syrians attack on every side.  Please come to see us before all is lost.  Your best friend, Beni-baali.”

            “Jehoahaz dead?  Haggith, why wouldn’t you tell me?  You should have told me immediately.”

            “Don’t yell at me,” Haggith wailed.  “My best friend’s brother has died.  How could this be?  How could God have allowed such a tragedy?”

            Joash left the queen in the care of her maid and sought out the captain of his guards.

            “I must know the truth,” he said.  “Send a party of men to Samaria immediately and another group of scouts to discover the whereabouts of the Syrian army.”

            As the guards turned to carry out his orders, Haggith rushed into the throne room, grabbed his robe and hung onto him like a little child, screaming through her tears.  “I have to go.  Beni-baali needs me.”

            “But Haggith, the journey would not be safe,” the king pleaded.  “The Syrians may be anywhere.  We may be under attack next.”

            “I don’t care.  I must go.  You can’t stop me.”

            “Guards,” ordered the king.  “Instruct the stables to hook up the tent on wheels.  Assemble fifty men to serve as escorts.  Queen Haggith must leave for Samaria immediately.”

            Frantic actions characterized the next few hours in the palace.  Haggith changed her mind four times about what she wanted to take and each time the maids had to re-pack the wagon with the tent on top.  The soldiers had simply mounted their horses at the command of the king without packing any more than bare necessities and waited impatiently until the queen finally climbed into the wagon and give them the order to move out.

            The scouting parties did not need to wait for the queen so they left long before the queen’s entourage exited the gates toward the north.  Joash knew it would be at least a day before anyone from the scouting party returned but to his surprise a horseman galloped into the palace courtyard later that night.

            “Halloo!” shouted the scout.  “I have an urgent message for the king.”

            “Leave it with me,” the king heard his bodyguard reply.  “I will deliver it in the morning when the king has risen from his sleep.”

            “This message cannot wait.”  Still half-asleep, the king recognized the voice of the messenger.  This man had not accompanied the scouting party.  Instead he had been part of the entourage traveling with Queen Haggith.  The king rose from his bed and called to his bodyguard.  “I will see him in the council chamber.  Bring him there immediately.”

            The king hurriedly dressed with the help of a servant and entered the chamber to find the messenger pacing restlessly across the room.

            “What is so important that you needed to see me tonight?”

            “Forgive me, my lord,” the messenger bowed.  “Only this morning I and my companions left for the city of Samaria to escort the queen on her visit.”

            “I know that.  I know that.  Get to your point.”
            “We had ridden for almost three hours and neared the border with Israel when we spotted what seemed to be a small skirmish in the valley before us.  A group of Syrians had attacked the scouts you sent out earlier in the day and our men fought hard for their very lives.  Immediately our captain signaled for us to join the fight on behalf of our fellow soldiers.  With our fifty men the Syrians would be greatly outnumbered.  Charging down the hill we entered the fray but somehow the Syrians could not be defeated.  I alone have survived to report to the king.”

            As Joash listened a senses of dread grew upon him.  “And the queen?  What about Queen Haggith?”

            The soldier bowed his head.  “The driver of her wagon followed our men down the hill.  We all thought the Syrians would be easily defeated.  The odds lay in our favor.  But it was not to be.  The queen, my lord, is dead.”

Joash - The King Who Would Not Die Chapter Eighteen

THE KING WHO WOULD NOT DIE

THE KING WHO WOULD NOT DIE

By Robert Allen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

                As guests departed from the banquet the king once again noticed the two men in robes from Samaria.  They rose slowly from their places at the table, moving toward the place where he sat.  Neither said a word, but as they bowed very low before the king he realized they both had very long hair cleverly concealed under their headdresses.

            “Haggith,” the king gasped,  “and Beni-Baali.”

            The king bowed in return, hiding the grin that tried to escape.  Haggith had indeed figured out a way to attend the banquet.  He should have known, she always seemed to get her way.

            Not even King Joash realized how much he would miss Jehoiada until he had been dead for several weeks.  The counselors seemed hopelessly divided.  They had depended on the high priest to help them come to the few decisions they did make.  Now they refused to agree on anything.  Things grew so bad that the king lost his temper and simply told them to get out of his sight and go home, which they did.  But he still needed advisors.  So in place of the old men he chose a group of fellows his own age who met once a week to help him make decisions.  Most of them had grown up with him in Jerusalem but some were village leaders from the cities round about the capital.  Those cities wanted to choose their own representatives instead of having the king appoint them, and so Matt became the advisor from the village of Ramah.

            For more than twenty years peace reigned in the land of Judah.  The king’s family prospered with both Queen Jehoaddan and Queen Haggith presenting the king with several male heirs.  The fear that he line of David would be at an end gradually diminished.

King Joash maintained his friendship with King Jehoahaz of Israel so they did not have to worry about attacks from the north.  While Israel continued to skirmish with Syria the effect on Judah remained minimal.  Israel acted as a buffer between them and the aggressive military might of the Syrian army.

            Gradual changes began to take place in the kingdom of Judah after the death of Jehoiada.  The advisor’s, at Matt’s suggestion, voted to allow people to worship God in their own villages, without constantly coming to the temple.  He assured them of the value and prosperity it would bring to the land.

            “I know God will be pleased,” he said.  “Not everyone has the leisure to go to the temple every week like those in Jerusalem.  Many more people will be worshipping Jehovah if allowed to do so in their own home towns.  Just think, the day could come when every village in the country would have its own grove, its own place to bow down to their God.”

            Joash did not agree with the advisors, but he had asked them for advice.  He really didn’t see the danger of such an agreement as long as they were all still worshipping Jehovah.

            A few days after the decision of the council had been reached, the doors to the throne room swung open and a solitary figure strode into the room.

            “Why transgress ye the commandments of the Lord,” the man shouted.  “The temple is the house of God, the place where all men are to worship.  Unto the place which the Lord your God has chosen to put his name, there, even unto his habitation shall ye seek, and thither thou shalt come.  Thither shall ye bring your burnt offerings and your sacrifices and your tithes and your heave offerings of your hand and your vows and your free will offerings and the firstlings of your herds and of your flocks.  There ye shall eat before the Lord and ye shall rejoice in all that ye put your hand to, ye and all your households, wherin the Lord hath blessed thee.  Take heed to thyself that thou offer not thy burn offerings in every place thou seest.  In the place which the Lord shall choose, there shalt thou offer thy burnt offerings and there thou shalt do all that I command thee.”

            As quickly as he had appeared the strange figure left the room.  Quiet reigned as if all had been turned into stone by the words of the prophet.  Quiet, except for Queen Haggith who always had something to say.

            “I didn’t like him.  He wasn’t nice at all.  Who was that man, Joash?”

            “His name is Zechariah.  We knew each other pretty well when we were kids.”

            “Well, who does he think he is?  A prophet or something?”

            “Zechariah is the son of priest Jehoiada.  Not a prophet.

            “Well,” sniffed Haggith.  “I think that is no way for a priest to act.  He ought to just stay in the temple with his sheep and doves instead of coming down here and trying to make us all feel bad.  In fact, I’m feeling so bad right now that I’m really going to have to have something special to cheer me up.  Will you give me something special, Joash, really special?”

            “What do you want now, Haggith?”

            “I want a grove of my own, right here in Jerusalem.  It’s so hard to worship God in that temple without any pictures at all.  And what if I were to run into that terrible man?  I want to worship God out under the trees like we did back in Ramah.”

            “But Haggith, that is exactly what Zechariah condemned.  Don’t you realize he was quoting Moses?  Moses said to worship God in the temple.”

            “Moses?  Why do I need to listen to him?  He’s been dead for years.  You just don’t love me.” The tears began to flow.

            Four weeks later Haggith worshipped in her own new grove on the top of the Mount of Olives.  Technically it had not been built in Jerusalem, but it was close enough that she could go over there whenever she wanted.  Since Joash never joined her at the grove he had no idea she had moved her golden calf from her room to the new place of worship.  Haggith’s worship did not involve Jehovah in the least.  And in that she was not alone.  From Ramah to Bethlehem, from Beersheba to En-gedi to Hebron, the people who had started to worship God in their groves had changed to the worship of the golden calf.  Worshipping a calf required so little of  them, unlike keeping the law.  No prophets and priests tried to tell them what to do and not to do.  When they went up to the temple, on the other hand, prophets yelled at them from every corner.

            “Turn from your wicked ways,” they yelled at the queen as she rode in her elevated chair up to the top of the Mount of Olives.

            “God’s wrath will fall upon us,” the shouted to the people leaving the temple and returning to their village groves.

            Haggith grew agitated every time she climbed into her chair, the one which had belonged to Athaliah, and started through the Kidron Valley toward her personal worship space.  Every time she left the palace the same two men would follow her, screaming at the top of their voices.

            “Death and destruction will come to the grove on Olivet.  Follow not the ways of the wicked, for evil shall not prosper in the land.  Repent!  Turn from your wicked ways.”

            Haggith’s depression worsened week by week.  “Something must be done,” she complained to the king.  “It doesn’t look good for those horrible prophets to be following me and saying terrible things like that.  All I want to do is worship God and they make me feel so bad I could just cry.”

            “O no, Haggith.  Please, not that.  I’ll do something. I promise I will.  Only please don’t cry.”

            The next time Joash met with the council he brought up the problem himself.

            “It seems we have a great influx of self-made prophets in the land these days,” he began. “Elisha’s school of the prophets over by the Jordan River must be flourishing.  I remember the day when almost all of the graduates found work up in Israel where they are definitely needed.  But we have the temple and all of our priests.  We have never needed the interference of prophets.  Various sources have informed me that some of these men have been causing problems for certain segments of our populace.”

            “I know what you mean,” said a leader from Hebron.  “Why, I heard that somewhere out toward the Great Sea a prophet actually went out at night and cut down an entire grove and smashed their altar into a million pieces.”

            “Wanton destruction of property,” said another.  “And in a grove dedicated to God at that.”

            The king continued.  “I had not heard of that destructive act, but I do know that right here in the capital some have been harassing our people with unwanted sermons.”

            Another counselor nodded in agreement.  “The same in our city as well,” he said.  “One of the prophets has even built a shelter right by the trail that leads up to our grove. Whenever people go to worship God he comes out from his booth and yells at them, saying terrible things.”

            “Something has to be one,” said the king and everyone nodded.  They always agreed with the king but they very seldom had any more solutions that his old group of advisors.  Finally the head man from Ramah rose to his feet.  “The king speaks wisely,” said Matt.  “Something must be done about all these prophets.  May I suggest taxing them, perhaps a fine of ten shekels for each time they preach.”

            “Most of them have no money,” said the advisor from En-Gedi.

            “That’s the idea.  If they cannot pay the tax, we will throw them into prison.  That way they can pay up or shut up.”

            “Maybe we should send men up to the Jordan to destroy their school,” said the advisor from Hebron who had heard about the earlier destruction of a grove.

            “We could burn any shelters they build alongside the sacred paths,” said another.

            “Good ideas, all of them,” agreed Matt.  “However, there is undoubtedly only one way to solve the problem for good.”

            “What is that? said Joash, anxious for some answer to his problem with Haggith.

            “The only final solution to this pressing issue would be to convince the prophets the nation finds their actions reprehensible.  The only real answer would be for someone to die.”
            “Die?” gasped several of the men.

            “Yes, someone must die.  We cannot have it look like we planned it and the nation must never know of any involvement from the king.  This must be a state secret.

            Many of the advisors were shocked and looked to the king for some objection, but he remained silent. 

            Matt looked at the face of every man in the room before continuing.  “We must make no record of any official action.  As far as each one of us is concerned, this meeting never took place.  When you return to your homes simply begin spreading the word that the next time one of the prophets gets out of hand, it may mean a stoning.”

            No one dared object to the plan because the one man who could have changed their minds said nothing

            For the next three weeks Haggith made her trips to the Mount of Olives undisturbed.  The rumor passed quickly from mouth the mouth and the prophets stayed off the streets.  What the king and his counselors did not know, however, was that two of the guards on duty in the throne room that day had shared an account of the meeting with the temple priests.  The priests had sent a messenger up to Elisha warning the school of the prophets about the danger.  That initiated an investigation into whether King Joash could really be complicit in such a plot.

            The disappearance of the prophets thrilled Haggith.  In her mind nothing should ever be done to embarrass a queen, especially when that queen was her.  Everyone in the city knew about her golden calf on the Mount of Olives.  They knew the king had done nothing about it.  Now when she made her journey she instructed those who carried the chair to walk slowly through the streets of Jerusalem so everyone could catch a glimpse of her beauty and know of her dedication to her god.  On days of worship she had servants curl and pin her hair high on her head.  A girl walked behind the chair carrying a huge fan larger than herself which shielded Haggith’s face from the sun.  A boy playing a flute walked in front, entertaining her with the latest popular tunes from Egypt and Samaria.  Beni-baali had sent the talented musician to her as a gift.

            One day the chair had just reached the base of the path that wended its way up to her grove when a man in a long white robe stepped from the crowd.  She recognized him immediately.  Zechariah.

            “Thus saith the Lord.  Why transgress ye the commandments of the Lord?  Ye cannot prosper.  Because ye have forsaken the Lord, he also will forsake you.  Let Joash the king and all Judah know that the wrath of God has fallen upon them for all their wickedness.  Death to the abomination on the Mount of Olives.  May the judgment by fire fall as it fell on the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel.”

            Pushing as close as he could to the chair in which Haggith rode, the priest raised both hands to the sky, imploring the judgment of God to fall.  Terrified, Haggith started to scream at the top of her lungs.  A group of men Matt had planted along the road for exactly this purpose grabbed for the priest, but he broke through the angry crowd and headed back in the direction of the temple.  Those who had tried to capture him ran behind, picking up large stones as they ran.  Haggith instructed her servant to turn the chair around and join in the chase as well.  The chair jolted up and down, nearly unseating her as she continued to scream.  “Don’t let him get away.  Stop him.  Stop that man.”

            Right up the road toward the temple they chased him, through the triple gates and up the way of the kings into the courtyards.  Once inside the court Zechariah stopped, convinced no one would dare to harm him in the very presence of the Lord.  But he reckoned without the hatred of Matt and others who in their hearts had been worshipping false gods.  Up the stairs they ran, rocks in their hands, ready to stone the one who dared to tell them the truth.           

Joash - The King Who Would Not Die Chapter Seventeen

THE KING WHO WOULD NOT DIE

THE KING WHO WOULD NOT DIE

By Robert Allen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

            Jehoiada was dead.  He had simply died in his sleep from old age.  But his death still  tremendously shocked the nation.  No one alive could even remember anyone else being the high priest.  Jehoiada had lived for one hundred and thirty years.

            The news of the high priest’s death caused Joash to hurry back to Jerusalem from Samaria along with all of his men.  Haggith stayed behind for a longer visit with Beni-baali. 

            In Jerusalem the preparations made for the celebration of the work on the temple quickly changed to include a funeral.  King Joash decided that since Jehoiada’s leadership had been so important to the nation of Judah he should be buried with the kings in the palace garden.  They prepared a place for his body alongside the tombs of David and Solomon and Jehoshaphat.  One entire day of the week-long celebration would be given over to the funeral for the high priest.

            The week passed quickly with the final day scheduled to include the greatest of all the planned events.  Early that morning Joash attended a service in the temple along with all of his invited guests as the priests of the Most High God Jehovah sacrificed one thousand sheep.  The guests included men from each of the villages in all of Judah.  Every one of them contributed sheep for the massive sacrificial honor to the Almighty.  All of the priests and all of the Levites had gathered for the celebration but it would still be late in the evening before all of the sacrifices had been completed.

            Besides the sacrifices taking place in the temple other activities continued all day.  The Levite choirmaster directed a concert featuring the psalms of David.  Accompanied by harps, flutes and trumpets they sang in the courtyard during the morning sacrifices for all those gathered for worship.  After the initial sacrifices they moved to a large room within the inner court and performed exclusively for the king and his honored guests.

            After the concert Joash and his guests proceeded out through the Western wall, across the bridge and down through the Valley Gate to where the camel trains and merchants gathered.  The smell greeting them included a mixture of fragrant teas from India boiling in little pots inside each booth and the stink of unwashed camels.  The odor of perfumes with names like “Cleopatra’s Tears,” and “Arabian Mystery,” combined with the smell of freshly slaughtered chickens.  Dogs and children ran wild and horses stirred up a constant haze of dust.  Since the women could not actually watch the sacrifices in the temple most of them along with servants and small children had been outside the wall all morning.  Jugglers held their attention by throwing colored balls into the air or, at times, silver daggers or even flaming torches.  The women haggled with merchants for carpets from Babylon, perfume from Arabia, peacock feathers from Ethiopia, spices and teas from India and brass from Egypt.

            The main attraction all week, however, had been a merchant who claimed to have traveled all the way to the edge of the earth, a place he called Cathay.

            “Strange-looking people live in Cathay,” he told those who stopped to listen.  “People with yellow skin and eyes that slant upward.  The women wear beautiful robes called kimonos made of an entirely new material that comes from worms.”

            “Lies, just lies,” the women muttered to each other.  “You can’t make cloth from worms.  Cloth comes from wool, from sheep and goats.”

            “But it’s true.  Come closer and I will show you I am telling the truth.”

            In spite of their skepticism the women crowded into his booth.  “Cloth from worms?  What a laugh.”

            Once he had their attention the merchant would unroll a bundle of leather and reveal the most beautiful yellow, red and blue material the women had ever seen.

            “So smooth.”  Those close enough to run their hands over the silk, for that is what it was, spoke in awed tones.  “Beautiful.”  The women marveled to imagine themselves in a dress made of such exquisite cloth.

            “Make way for the king,” thundered a voice behind them and the crowd scattered in every direction leaving the area in front of the Cathay merchant’s booth completely open.  Joash and his guests, attracted by the crowd, halted their chariots and horses and pushed forward to satisfy their curiosity.

            “Ahmed the merchant remains your most humble servant oh king of kings.”  The squirrely little world traveler spoke in a raspy tone sounding like the rough sand through which he had traveled.  “Allow me to serve you my best spice tea from the mystic shores of India while you gaze your noble eyes on the finest merchandise in the entire world.”

            Ahmed clapped twice and suddenly twenty young men appeared.  Each carried a low stool which the placed in a semi-circle around the merchant for the comfort of the guests.  In the middle of the half ring formed by the stools two young girls, swathed from head to foot in heavy black robes, their faces covered with black veils, rolled out a beautiful blue, green and gold Persian carpet.  In the very center of the carpet a small boy placed a bright red pillow at least three feet thick.  Ahmed bowed low and invited the king to take the place of honor on the pillow.

            “Thank you Ahmed.  Thank you.  Now, may I see this beautiful cloth which you say has been made from worms.”  The king lifted a small cup of fragrant tea to his lips and sat down on the red pillow in the center of all his guests.

            “In good time,” said the merchant.  “First of all everyone must have their tea.”  The young men appeared again with a cup of tea served on a brass platter for each guest.  Only when the men had finished their tea and all the cups had been collected did Ahmed signal for the girls to bring out a bolt of silk.  They placed the cloth at the feet of the king.

            “The finest of silk from far-off Cathay,” said the merchant, unrolling one end of the bolt and placing the material into the king’s hands.  “Brought here at great danger to myself over thousands of robber infested deserts.

            Unlike the women, King Joash knew about silk although he had seen very little of it.  He knew the merchant exaggerated the dangers of the journey since large caravans seldom faced attacks from small bands of robbers.  But he didn’t mind the hype.  All he could think about was how beautiful Haggith would appear in a robe made of the bright yellow silk he ran through his fingers.

            “What price are you asking for this beautiful cloth,” said the king.

            “Price?  You do me a dishonor, oh king.”  Ahmed looked as if the king had slapped him in the face.  “How can I set a price on my life?  How can I set a price on that which rightfully belongs in the court of the king?  For you, it is a gift.”

            “A gift?  You are most generous Ahmed.  What a beautiful gift you have given.  It will make the heart of my queen most happy.”  Picking up the entire bolt of cloth he waved to one of the palace guards who stepped forward immediately and carried the cloth away toward the king’s chariot.”

            “How pleased I am to make such a wonderful gift to please the heart of the queen.  And for me?  Only a small token of compensation for my diligent endeavor in risking life and limb to bring it to you.  Say, one hundred gold shekels?”  Ahmed rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the sale.

            Joash knew the wily merchant had planned the entire bargaining session in an attempt to outwit the king, but he would not let that happen.  The cloth already rested in his chariot and he could not return it without losing face in front of his guests.  But he also did not want them to think he was easy pickings for every two-bit merchant.

            “Do you have more of this beautiful cloth you have brought from Cathay at such risk of life and limb?” asked the king.

            Ahmen, fulling expecting the king to dispute the outrageous price he had named for delivery of the silk, was caught by surprise, but only for a moment.  With the vision of many more gold shekels floating through his head he clapped for the girls who brought out a bolt of blue silk.

            “Even more beautiful than the first,” the king raved and motioned to the guard to load it into the chariot as well.

            Again the merchant clapped and the girls displayed a bolt of red.

            “Ah, you have kept the best for last,” said the king as all the guests applauded.  “That must be mine as well.”

            With all three packages of silk safely deposited in the king’s chariot the merchant held out his hand.  “And now, if you please, my three hundred gold shekels.”

            “But we agreed on one hundred shekels, my good friend, with all of these noble men as witnesses.”

            “One hundred for one.  Three hundred for three.”  The merchant held up three grubby fingers.   “It is only right.”

            “Ah, but the cloth is a gift.  You said so yourself.  You desired one hundred shekels for the cost of the trip, and you only made the trip once.”

            One of the king’s guards counted out the shekels to the merchant and they prepared to leave, but before the king had risen from the pillow where he sat Ahmed clapped once more and the small boy who had carried out the pillow appeared from with the merchant’s tent with a small, carved, wooden box.  Ahmed took the box and held it in front of the king.  Opening the box he showed the king a small red tube from which a single string extended.

            “Noble and honorable King Joash,” said the merchant.  “Allow me to show you the latest and best product from far-off Cathay.  I know you will agree that you have never seen anything like this in all your life.”

            The king nodded.  He had never seen anything like it.  “What good is it?” he asked.

            ‘I will tell you,” said the merchant in a mysterious whisper.  “Take it to your banquet tonight.  When the moon grows full set it on the window sill.  Take a coal from the hearth and touch it to the end of the string.  It will make your banquet into an evening your guests will never forget.”

            Putting the tube back into the box and carefully closing the lid, Ahmed bowed low and then turned to the work of selling the rest of his merchandise to the crowd gathered just beyond the ring of stools which the boys quickly removed.

            The final banquet of the week had been planned as the highlight of the entire week of celebration.  The table in the great hall of the palace groaned under the weight of fruit baskets, bowls of nuts, and steaming plates of vegetables.  In the center of each table a whole calf roasted in one piece stood ready for the knives of the banquet guests.   Each person would be allowed to take his favorite cut.  Oil lamps cast bright light into every corner of the room and around the tables assembled the great men from all over the kingdom of Judah as well as the invited guests from Samaria.  King Joash knew most of the men, but there were a few who seemed only distantly familiar.  Two of those sat at a table near the entrance doors.  They both wore robes similar to the visitors from Samaria, but their heads were practically hidden under hoods which they did not remove all evening.

            Just before midnight the king noticed that the full moon had risen and shone in the window, reminding him of the box Ahmed the merchant had given him earlier in the day.

            “Bring in the box from Cathay,” he commanded.  A guard bowed low and returned with the box resting on a pillow.

            “Take out the tube and place in on the sill.”  The room grew quiet as the guests watched the actions of the guard.  With the tube on the window sill the king himself rose from the table and crossed the room to where a fire burned behind a grate.  With a set of tongs he secured a coal, walked to the window and touched it to the string.  But nothing happened.

            The king frowned. “Just as I thought,” he turned to the guests.  “All a fake.  I got the best of our merchant friend this afternoon and he simply seeks to embarrass me in front of all of you, my honored guests.  Let us return to our celebratory meal.”

            Joash took his seat once again and reached for a bowl of pomegranate seeds when a brilliant flash lit up the window.

            “Boom!  Crash!”

            The entire room shook as the tube exploded and sent a huge spray of fire shooting toward the moon.  People dove off their couches and tried to hide under the tables.  King Joash threw the entire bowl of pomegranate seeds into the air and for the next few seconds sticky, juicy pomegranate rained on all those nearby.

            No one was injured by the firecracker, but it effectively ended the banquet.  No one wanted to stay around much longer after the explosion.  As soon as they could leave politely, without being rude to the king, the guests excused themselves and hurried away.  The merchant had certainly been right about one thing, the banquet would never be forgotten.