Joash - The King Who Would Not Die Chapter Nine

THE KING WHO WOULD NOT DIE

THE KING WHO WOULD NOT DIE

By Robert Allen

CHAPTER NINE

                When the boys left Solomon’s Cave, Matt walked with Joash and Zechariah as far as the great bridge spanning the Tyropean Valley.  From there he left them and headed off in the direction of his home.  As soon as the others crossed the bridge which led into the temple mount from the west, he turned around and climbed up to the very summit of the south-west hill.  There in the highest place in the city, with the exception of the temple mount itself, stood the new temple to Baal constructed by orders from Queen Athaliah.

            The doorkeeper recognized Matt immediately.  “Hello you scamp.  What trouble are you up to tonight.”

            “Just tell me where my father can be found,” Matt answered with a sneer.  “Be quick about it.  I have important news.”

            ‘Important news?”  The doorkeeper scooted into the very center of the archway to keep the boy from slipping past him.  “Indeed.  What could be so important as to cause a man to interrupt the high priest of Baal in the midst of the evening sacrifice?  Have you managed to capture a mouse with your bare hands?  Perhaps stubbed your big toe and need someone to give it a kiss?”

            Matt edged closer.  “I demand to see my father.  Open the door immediately.”

            The doorkeeper laughed at his own joke.  “Stick your foot up here, little boy.  I’ll kiss it for you.”

            Instead of lifting up his toe, Matt pulled his foot back and then kicked hard, right on the shin of the doorkeeper.

            “Yeow!”  The man shrieked and jumped around like a possessed dervish.  Dunking under his whirling body Matt pushed open the door and scampered across the inner courtyard.  Straight across the court he ran, up a flight of stairs and onto a balcony where his father often stood when addressing all the priests of Baal.  From there he could look down into the great room where the evening sacrifices burned on seven altars.  At the far end of the room sat an imposing statue of Baal.  His face looked like that of a bearded grandfather except for the ram’s horns which grew out of the top of his head and circled around where his ears should have been.  Large hands rested on the head of stone jackals crouching at his sides.  In front of the idol several priests busied themselves offering a goat on the altar.  Goats and lambs died in the temple every day, but Matt knew that on special occasions they were replaced by human infants.  Those sacrifices took place in the valley of Molech rather than in the temple.  The large idol there bore the name of Baal-Hammon or “lord of the heat.”  The babies offered to him burned to death on his red-hot, out-stretched hands.  Matt had never witnessed a human sacrifice himself, but accepted the sacrifice as necessary should Baal demand it.

            He could identify his father in the middle of the crowd of priests even though they all wore identical red robes and black head-dresses.  The high priest Mattan stood a head taller than all the others and led in the chanted prayers.

            “O Baal hear us.”  The intoned voices blended together as one, repeating words they had spoken for countless days.  “Baal-shemesh, consort of Ashteroth, Lord of the heavens, Lord of the heat, Lord of the flies.  Baal-zebub hear us.  O, Baal hear us.”

            The priests accompanied the chanting with the swinging of heavy pots on leather straps around and around so that a sweet, thick odor of heavy perfume permeated the room.  The chanting grew louder and faster until suddenly two of the priests dropped the live goat on the red-hot coals of the altar standing before Baal.  Smoke and the stench of burned flesh mingled with the heavy perfume as the priests fell prostrate before the idol, moaning and groaning, each trying to outdo the others with displays of emotion.

            Then a bell rang at the back of the room, just under the balcony where Matt stood.  Immediately the emotional displays ceased along with all of the histrionics.  The priests rose to their feet, dusted off their robes and rushed from the room as if participating in a horse race where the gates had just been opened.  Evening devotions were over.

            Matt waited on the balcony until the room emptied, then stepped through a curtain archway into the vestment chamber of the high priest.  His father would come there to change.

            “Father,” Matt bowed with his face to the ground, kissing his father’s hand and then remaining with his head down, respectfully waiting for his father to speak first.  Waiting did not come easy to a boy bursting with news.

            Mattan removed the heavy black head-dress and the long, bright red robe, hanging them carefully in an ornately carved wooden wardrobe.  Slowly he donned his own brown robe and head-scarf before even acknowledging the presence of his son.  Only Matt’s wiggling toes betrayed his nervousness as he stood rooted to the ground in the very place he had been standing when his father entered the room.

            “Sanchuniathan the doorkeeper tells me he has suffered repeatedly from your rude behavior, my son.”  Mattan finally broke the silence.

            “Yes, father, it is so.”  Matt kept his head down.  He knew better than to argue with father.

            “What lies so important upon your heart that you must force your way into the temple environs?”

            Matt could wait no longer and the words poured out like streams through the wadis in the Negev after a thunderstorm.  “He is the king, father.  He said that he is the king.  You must inform Queen Athaliah at once.”

            “Whatever has possessed you?  Who is the king?  We have no king in Judah.”

            “Joash, the priest’s son from the temple.  He said that he is the king.”  Matt raised his voice even high trying to convince his father of the importance of his news.

            “The priest’s son?  But if he is the son of Jehoiada he can’t be the king.  Those stupid worshippers of Jehovah remain so loyal to their sacred writings that they will follow only one who is a descendant of old King David.  You know there are none of his descendants left.  The queen took care of that.”

            “But we were playing a game.  Joash said he was the king.  He really did, father.  You must believe me.”

            “You were playing a game.”  The priest reached down and ruffled the hair on Matt’s head and then slapped his face, just hard enough to sting.  “A game.  He pretended to be the king.  You want me to take that kind of information to the queen?  Bring me some real news from the temple.  Athaliah desires to know about rebellions, not about boy’s games.  Tell me when they start collecting swords and spears, but talk no more of your silly games.  And leave my doorkeeper alone.”

            Mattan swept out of the room, leaving Matt to find his way out of the temple past the still angry Sanchuniathan.  He hid behind a pillar until a large group of priests exited together and slipped in among them, concealing himself among their long robes where the doorkeeper could not reach him.

            If Matt had returned to the temple with his friends that night instead of hurrying over to his father he might have seen the very evidence his father sought.  Every week the Levites living in different parts of the country would travel to Jerusalem to fulfil their duties in the temple.  Twenty-four different groups had been appointed by David himself and each group spent only two weeks each year on temple duty, leaving them free to grow crops and support their families the rest of the year.  Only on special holy days like Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread did they all come to the temple.  As Joash and Zechariah crossed the bridge into the temple area a group of Levites from Ein-Gedi ascended up the triple steps to the south.  They pulled a cart loaded with sacrifices and gifts from their people.  At the bottom of the cart, carefully concealed under layers of sheepskins they boys spied something else entirely.

            “Swords!” exclaimed Joash.

            “Spears!” Zechariah’s mouth dropped open.  “What for?”

            “Jehoiada’s orders,” said the cart driver.  “Every Levite course must deliver swords and spears and shields.  Some day we will discover an opportunity to rid ourselves of that wicked queen.  When the day of freedom arrives, every weapon will be needed, I assure you.  Do you want to help unload them?”
            Each of the boys carefully picked up a sword from the bottom of the cart.  They could hardly lift them.   The weight far exceeded the little fencing swords and wooden sticks they used in their practices.  And they were sharp.  Both sides, the full length of the weapons the edges gleamed like the well-honed knives the boys carried when they hunted rabbits in the Kidron Valley.

            “Bring them along,” the Levite called over his shoulder.  “They belong in here.”

            The boys followed him along a corridor and through a small door into a chamber neither had ever seen before.  The large room held rows of shields hung side by side on all four walls.  Swords lay stacked in piles to one side of the door and spears on the other.  Enough weapons filled the room to arm hundreds of soldiers.

            “Wow!”  The boys could think of nothing more to say.

            As they watched the rest of the weapons from the cart join those already assembled, Jehoiada entered behind them  “Well, I see you have been introduced to the armory.  The temple has possessed weapons for defense since the days of Solomon, but not to this extent.   The time draws nigh when all will be needed.  I’m sure I don’t need to remind you both of the importance of absolute secrecy.”

            When Jehoida said that, Joash felt his heart sink.  Their secret remained a secret no longer.  “Excuse me, sir,” he said.  “May we go somewhere to talk.  There’s something we need to tell you.”

            Quietly the priest led the boys across the hall to a private chamber.  “Now, what has become a burden on your mind,” he asked, shutting the door behind them.

            Joash looked at Zechariah and then down at the floor.  “I told our secret.”  His voice barely sounded but in the small room the words could be clearly heard.

            “About being king?” Jehoiada asked softly.

            Joash couldn’t say it again so he simply nodded.

            “We played in Solomon’s Cave,” Zechariah said, trying to help out his friend.  “Matt decided he should be King Solomon and so did I.  It was just a game.  Joash told us we couldn’t be king because he was the king.”
            “A game?   You all wanted to be King Solomon?  And the only one who heard was Matt.”

            Joash looked up.  “But Matt’s our friend.  He won’t tell anyone will he?”

            Jehoiada took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  “I’m glad it was only a game.  And I am glad Matt’s friendship has been extended to you both.  But I must tell you that his father does not worship Jehovah God.  His father Mattan serves in the false Baal temple built by Queen Athaliah.”

            “Matt’s father?  A worshipper of Baal.  But Matt comes to our class.  He listens to Iddo.”

            “I am aware,” said the priest.  “That makes it easier for us to keep our secret in many ways.  You must be careful to treat him in the same manner as before.  He must continue to be your friend.”

            “But if he tells his father, Athaliah will send her soldiers to kill me.” Joash blinked back the unwelcome tears, determined not to show his fear.

            “You will be safe, my child.  But you must learn the most important lesson of all.  Trust Jehovah.  He alone possesses the power to protect us at all times.”

            “But I can’t see him,” said Joash.  “Does He carry a sword?”

            Jehoiada smiled.  “No, Joash.  God needs no sword.  His power exceeds even the sharpest of men’s weapons.  Though we see Him not, He remains close by our side.  David said that He sees us when we sit down and when we rise up.  He understands even our thoughts.” 

            “I will try to be brave,” Joash wiped away the two tears which had managed to escape.  “I will remember that God is always with me, just like King David.”