Empire of Gold: Foundations

INTRODUCTION

Babylonia, the queen of the ancient realms—the Empire of Gold spoken of by the prophet Daniel had such power, wealth, and splendor that its legend lives on in the imagination of the world today.

Assyria, the mighty domain, was Babylonia’s most powerful enemy for centuries. Its seemingly invincible capital city of Nineveh disappeared in one night.

Egypt, realm of the Nile, great in glory, with a tradition of power that stretched back into the distant mists of time. The Upper and Lower realms were reunited at last. Egypt was whole and determined to conquer the world.

Media and Persia, the first of the Aryan Empires, were now pressing into the Middle East, desperate for coastline territories and Mediterranean trade.

Judah, the tiny remnant of the chosen people of God, found itself caught in the middle of the struggles of its titan neighbors and the Prophet Jeremiah struggled to understand God’s plan amid the chaos.

War consumed the world. Everything changed, politically, economically, and religiously. It would never be the same again, and the events have been recorded for us to learn from them.

Empire of Gold is a chronicle crucial to both Christians and Jews, of great interest to historians, and just a good story for anyone else. It is a story of the supernatural and God’s grace in unendurable trials. It is a story of power, war, treachery, and romance, all in epic proportions. Even better, it is true. Who said history was boring?

PART 1: 628 BC

Reformation

Josiah was eight years old when he became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem thirty-one years. He did what was right in the eyes of the LORD.

—2 Chronicles 34: 1, 2a

Chapter 1

The Child Prophet

Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.

Alas Sovereign LORD, I said, I do not know how to speak; I am too young.

—Jeremiah 1:5, 6

Jerusalem, Judah

The sunshine shimmered through the dust kicked up by countless feet in the crowded, narrow marketplace, one of many impromptu shopping areas of Jerusalem, the holy city. But it didn’t look all that holy to the twelve-year-old boy standing in the afternoon heat.¹

Jeremiah ben Hilkiah stamped his sandaled feet and brushed off his rough-woven, tan cotton tunic. He had gotten a bit smudged on his trek into Jerusalem, and grime was unacceptable in a representative of the Sovereign Lord. He needed to look presentable. He shook his shaggy brown hair back from his face and quickly combed it in place with his long fingers.

Not that anyone noticed the boy; shoppers, both men and women, in long multicolored robes wove their way around the small figure. Focused on their own private errands, they were unaware of the true power veiled in this one insignificant form. They missed the intense assurance of authority in the boy’s almost black eyes and were misled into ignoring him because of his height and slight build.

It was time. Jeremiah frowned and stared in disgust at the rickety stall directly in front of him. He had been irresistibly drawn to this spot. The shelter was a ramshackle collection of sticks topped with a dusty straw roof. But the fact that there was a stall at all spoke of the merchant’s success. Most sellers made do with a blanket spread on the ground. This merchant’s stall contained a flimsy table, on which was displayed an amazingly diverse selection of carved miniature figurines: the Canaanite storm god Baal, with his high conical hat; the many-breasted Ishtar of Mesopotamia; the fish-tailed Dagon of Tyre; the cat-headed Bast of Egypt; and much more. Idols were the disgrace of the nation. The boy couldn’t understand how the people thought the Lord could bless them when they betrayed him so blatantly.²

The shopkeeper, infamous in his shameless flaunting of Israel’s sin, was fat and well dressed. His over-tunic was splendidly striped in bright colors. On his head, he wore a red-and-blue turban, not a shawl. His gray-speckled beard was neatly trimmed. Proud and self-important, he sat on a tiny stool next to a small cooking fire near the shack’s open front. The boy smelled mutton bubbling in a metal pot that hung over the fire. The merchant noticed Jeremiah’s attention and beamed at what he saw as a potential customer. Heaving himself to his feet, he stepped behind his table.

Enough of delays. It was time. Jeremiah could not ignore the unspoken demand of the divine, nor would he. A nagging remonstration in the back of his mind told him he was about to be in big trouble again, that he would, once again, bring shame upon his father’s house. He ignored it. His responsibility was to his Lord. He had been called before he was born. For Jeremiah, there had never been anything else, and there never would be.

Squaring his shoulders, the boy walked determinedly over to the table and picked up an ornately painted monstrosity barely longer than his forearm—a small wooden carving of Molech, destroyer of babes, complete with a red-painted flaming belly. Holding the squat, fat figure over his head, Jeremiah spun around and faced the people of the marketplace. He sucked in a breath and let it out in a shout, the force of it shocking the crowd into a frozen silence.

What other nation ever changed its gods? the boy sang out to them, his clear young voice easily carrying over the noise of the crowd.³ "Even though the gods of the nations are"—he broke off a blue-and-gold wooden arm with a crack—not—snap, off came the other arm—gods—one leg came off—at—the other leg—all! Jeremiah finished by breaking off the small wooden head.

The crowd gasped at the boy’s temerity and began to murmur their incredulity to one another.

The young prophet waved the desecrated trunk with its fiery belly into the air above his head for the people to see it as it was useless. But My people have exchanged their glory for worthless idols. Oh heavens, be shocked, and shiver with horror at this thing!

The people were shocked, true enough, but more at the boy’s audacity than at what he held. Indignant, they looked to one another and back to the lad again, wondering. The murmuring grew in volume.

Who does he think he is?

How can he do that?

Is he going to pay for that?

Where are his parents?

"Akh!" The merchant recovered first. He made a grab for the boy and the pilfered statue, but Jeremiah was ready for him, and he slipped under the irate fat man’s grasp and darted behind a startled shopper. The merchant’s flowing robes upended the table in his rush to apprehend the little delinquent. Several others of the merchant’s idols tumbled into the cooking fire and burst into flame.

Jeremiah grinned despite the serious tone of his message. He cocked his head and reflected on what seemed a well-deserved fate for a god of fire, so he tossed the Molech and its pieces into the flames after its fellows.

Wha-at? the merchant sputtered, pushing his way around the upended table. Just wait til I catch you, you little…

I have him, came a voice, and a hard hand clamped down on the boy’s shoulder.

Jeremiah squirmed but to no avail. He looked up to see the leather-armored figure of Neriah ben Mahseiah, an all too-familiar member of the palace guard.

Neriah sighed. Come along, Jeremiah. I’ll have someone notify your father… Again.

King Josiah, the Anointed of God, the good king, the son of Amon, was of the house of David of the tribe of Judah, the lion. The king sat in judgment on Solomon’s throne. The carved ivory throne, depicting Abraham and the twelve patriarchs, was accented in pure gold. It had a high back and armrests, with a plush purple cushion and an ivory and gold footstool sporting a matching purple cushion. It was easily the most comfortable chair Josiah owned, and it sat under the pillared and canopied dais of his ancestors.

Six deep steps of white marble rose to the dais. Each supported a pair of standing and realistic miniature golden lions. On either side of the throne was a life-sized seated lion, its expression serene and aloof. Behind the throne, carved into the cedar paneling, twelve full-sized lions cavorted, fought, and roared.

High up, just below the carved ceiling, a row of windows provided illumination. As in the rest of the palace, the emphasis was on the wood and stone work, not precious materials. The cedar pillars were trimmed in gold, but it was trim only, giving an impression of understated majesty and the solidity and permanence of the house of David. Fresh cedar shavings in ivory bowls hung from the walls and filled the chamber with the scent of cedar, though the walls and pillars were centuries old and had long since ceased to have an aroma.⁴

The king’s unruly petitioners, quarreling on the first step, failed to be properly impressed. This was a family squabble that definitely did not need to be brought before the king. Impatiently, Josiah denied the claim and dismissed the case. He closed his eyes to clear his head before turning to the clerk at his left hand for the details of the next case on the docket.

His mind was elsewhere. Just before he called his court in session, Josiah had met with a pair of spies who had been doing surveillance on Assyrian troop movements. A segment of the Assyrian army was all too close to Judah’s borders, and the men reported that they had now turned to the south. Were they heading for Philistia, Damascus, or Judah?

At twenty years old, Josiah had the stocky build, reddish hair, and ruddy complexion often associated with the house of David, and he tried to wear David’s crown well, though he rarely actually wore it. The formal crown was too heavy. Mostly, like now, Josiah wore an embellished golden circlet.

The king wished that he, like David, were a man after God’s own heart, but he had his doubts. Josiah had been king for thirteen years, since he was eight years old. At age sixteen, he had sworn to uphold the Lord’s precepts as he understood them, and his then regent, Shaphan, had stepped down and Josiah assumed his duties as sovereign king.

That was five years ago. Now, the sovereign doubted his abilities to lead and protect his people—the Lord’s people. Assyria’s constant threat was real. How long before Judah went the way of Israel: trampled underfoot and extinct? The pressure was too much for any man. Lately, the king had been subject to headaches, and now he was getting another one. He squinted to clear his vision and relieve the pressure in his temples. It didn’t really help.

The anointed of Judah looked up suddenly to a disturbance at the entrance to the chambers beyond the masses that were waiting on the king’s pleasure.

Neriah of the palace guard had entered, tightly clutching a young miscreant by the shoulder.

The crowded audience shifted uncomfortably. They too had business that needed attending to, and they wished matters to move forward. An interruption of this sort spoke of a significant delay. Sure enough, the guard shouldered his way to the front of the queue, displacing the entire line of petitioners.

Josiah knit his brow and pushed back the royal circlet on his head as he reflected on the small figure that the guard had dumped unceremoniously before him.

Jeremiah of Anathoth, son of Hilkiah ben Shallum, the priest who serves the Ark of the Covenant, the guardsman announced. "The offense is: Disturbance in a Marketplace and Destruction of Property—this merchant’s property." Neriah nodded at the shopkeeper who had managed to follow the guard and make his way, huffing and furious, before the throne.

Jeremiah had not needed the introduction; the king already knew the lad all too well. He actually knew him better than he knew the boy’s famous father, Hilkiah ben Shallum. Josiah knew the merchant too, an idol peddler. He rolled his eyes heavenward. Why did the Lord’s prophets have to be so irritating? What are the specifics of the case?

Neriah explained as Jeremiah stood straight and unrepentant at his side. The boy seemed completely uncowed by the king’s presence or his scowl.

The merchant wanted to interrupt, but Josiah silenced him with a glance.

It was Jeremiah’s fifth incident, all of them this year. It seemed impossible that such an insignificant-looking child could be such a headache, even without the help of the Assyrians. But then, it wasn’t Jeremiah’s fault not any more than this morning’s messengers from General Kareah ben Nathan had been responsible for the direction the Assyrian army was taking. Jeremiah was simply a messenger. Josiah recognized the truth behind the youth’s scathing indictments. The Son of David, unlike his people, believed the youth was indeed sent by the Almighty.

Boy, do you understand the consequences of your words and actions? he asked. Do you seek to incite Nineveh against us?

The Lord insists on purity, Jeremiah answered. The people pollute themselves. He looked at the merchant. And this man is encouraging them. Do you fear God, Lord King? I think you do.

Young man, Josiah said, frowning, the people worship foreign gods to declare their allegiance. Assyria is watching us, and Egypt is watching them. And we are right in between.

Jeremiah was defiant, not at all afraid of his king. You fear Assyria.

Of course, I fear Assyria! Everyone fears Assyria!

Jeremiah didn’t, but then he was a child, too young to know that Judah, though independent, was a vassal state and owed Nineveh allegiance. He was too young to have learned what Assyrians did to traitors. He had probably never heard of the old and young being skewered alive on poles and left hanging before their cities, of the warriors being skinned alive and those skins being used to make leather seats to be sold in markets. No one had told him of the carefully stacked pyramids of heads.

Josiah carefully took hold of himself. He was king and was not given to outbursts. How could he let a child bait him so—even a self-proclaimed prophet? Boy, he said more calmly, these are matters you do not understand. When you are grown…

I understand there is only one God, Jeremiah interrupted. He is Lord of all the Earth, even the Assyria you fear. So, do you fear Him?

Josiah was not used to being challenged by anyone, let alone a twelve-year-old insurgent. Yet the real challenge he felt came from the air, from all around, from inside, from above. He cleared his head of such nonsense, and the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach vanished. Of course, he feared God, but he lived under Assyria. And this child seemed determined to cause trouble that could escalate to who knew what.

This wasn’t the first time Jeremiah had appeared before the throne. The last time Josiah had seen the boy was a little over a week ago. The young rebel had stood before the king, scratched and bruised and bleeding from a cut lip. He had been brought in for starting a riot when he accosted some citizens at the well in the palace court. He had informed the people in no uncertain terms that the Lord was the Spring of Living Water. But Jeremiah said they preferred the cisterns that they had dug themselves, even though they were broken and couldn’t hold water. Rather than drink from the Spring, the people had turned to the Nile, the river of Egypt and the Euphrates, the river of Assyria.⁵

The boy had told only the truth, and Josiah knew it. Judah was corrupt and full of idolatry. She was sold into slavery to Assyria, just as she had been to Egypt, where she had worshiped the golden calf, Apis. Now, she honored Marduk and Ishtar, Ashur and Tummuz. Their idols stood in the court of the Temple itself and they had done so from the time of Josiah’s grandfather. The presence of the idols was an abomination and humiliation. It grated on the young king and made him sympathetic to the boy, even when the boy looked him right in the eye and asked the same question: Do you fear Him? Josiah did. Israel belonged to the Lord! But did Josiah trust Him? If only he could depend on the Lord to act in his people’s defense, because Josiah also feared Assyria.

The son of Amon considered the adolescent prophet before him. Jeremiah’s face was set in anger and outrage, his bottom lip thrust out defiantly. Despite the throbbing in his head, Josiah managed a smile. The boy was right, but Judah was very tiny and the powers that surrounded her were ruthless. Josiah did not need to answer the boy, he was not on trial. But he liked Jeremiah, so he did answer him. I am king, and I will protect my people.

The boy’s face hardened, and he glared at the king. Josiah suddenly realized that he had avoided the boy’s question. Did he fear the Lord?

A tall, thin man dressed in a rough wool tunic arrived and pushed his way toward the front of the crowd. It was Hilkiah, the priest. Gratefully, the son of Amon turned his attention to Jeremiah’s father, the priest of the Ark. It couldn’t be easy, being the father of a prophet—not this prophet, anyway. Hilkiah had the king’s sympathy.

Hilkiah was highest of the priests of Anathoth, a little town about three miles northeast of Jerusalem, and that particular familial background explained a great deal of the youth’s behavior.

The priests of Anathoth traced their ancestry from Eli’s brother at Shiloh. Through Ahimelech at Nob, they had been responsible for the tabernacle and at times, as now, for the Ark of the Covenant, itself.⁶

They boasted descent from Abiathar, Chief Priest under David. This made them the eldest surviving line of Aaron the first priest, the brother of Moses. Hilkiah was their elder, and Jeremiah was his eldest son. If not for Solomon, Hilkiah would be Chief Priest, and Jeremiah would be well occupied in training for the post of priest, not playing prophet.

Unfortunately for Josiah, King Solomon had deposed Chief Priest Abiathar in favor of Abiathar’s uncle, Zadok. To this day, the priests of Anathoth remained dubious as to the legitimacy of the current Chief Priest.

Their line was eldest, and centuries ago, when Pharaoh Shishak had invaded, the priests of Anathoth had taken the Ark, the Table of Incense, and the Tabernacle from the Temple and hidden them in their shrine. There they remained.

The children of Abiathar had never been priests of Solomon’s Temple. Though they had once built their own temple in Arad, still they recognized that no house could contain the Lord God of Israel. Their ancestors had served the Ark very well from a tent and now they still did from their shrine at Anathoth. The Temple was Solomon’s, and they still refused to acknowledge his authority in deposing them and building it.⁷

That in itself was tolerable… maybe. The Levites kept shrines all over Judah and Israel; one more wasn’t that much of an inconvenience, except that Jeremiah couldn’t seem to stay home and learn to tend the Ark and its shrine. Sadly, Jerusalem was within easy walking distance of Anathoth.

Hilkiah finally managed to struggle through the crowd and arrived at his son’s side, but he said nothing. He inclined his head slightly to the king and waited patiently. It wasn’t his first time in Josiah’s court. More to the point, he was an adult and responsible for his son.

Josiah decided to address the priest rather than his son. Hilkiah, your son is charged with creating a disturbance in the marketplace. Are you aware of the facts surrounding this incident?

I am, Your Majesty.

Have you anything to say?

I am responsible for my son, Your Majesty.

Josiah decided not to spend any more time on this case. He ordered, Well then, take your son home, Hilkiah. Try to keep him out of trouble or at least off my streets.

I will talk to him, Lord King, the priest promised.

The guard stood aside as Hilkiah firmly turned the boy toward the exit. The priest wore an expression that was a mixture of exasperation and pride.

King Josiah stifled a smile at the father’s look. He wished he could have expressed approval of the youngster himself, but the boy’s actions were incredibly dangerous, and he could not approve. If Judah were to actually respond and throw out their idols, including Assyria’s gods…?

So, the king waved for Hilkiah, the priest to be gone, and he simply let the boy go. Again.

Jeremiah turned, head held high, and walked beside his father as the two pushed their way through the court.

But the offended merchant sputtered in protest. But Your Majesty! You’re just going to let him off? Do you know how much that little… how much he cost me? What about the damage to my store?

Your wares have no place in Judah, and you know it, Josiah snapped. If I were you, I’d draw as little attention to myself as possible. Be gone! Just looking at you turns my stomach.

The merchant, still huffing and red-faced, looked as if he might explode. But glancing at the surrounding palace guards, he thought the better of it, bowed stiffly, and left with as much dignity as he dared muster.

Josiah wrinkled up his face and passed his hand over his eyes. He felt the headache growing worse, and the day was still young. He turned to his recorder, Ahikam, who was acting as court clerk. Next, he ordered.

The clerk motioned the next case forward, and the crowd shifted, pressing in and jostling for position.

As the weeks passed, news came of the partial abdication of the Assyrian king, Ashurbanipal. Ashurbanipal had retired to his brother’s care in Harran and the king’s young son, Ashuretilani, was named co-ruler. Ashuretilani was the son of the king’s current favorite wife, but as he was barely ten years old, he was not leading any armies. The Assyrian army pulled back from the northern territories, and everyone breathed easier.

Another thing happened that relieved Josiah’s problems even more. Although Jeremiah had not learned his lesson, it seemed, to the king’s relief, that the boy had gained in wisdom. He continued to upbraid the citizens, but since he now chose the Temple courtyard, for the most part containing his words for the sodh, there was little anyone could do. That was what the sodh was for, a gathering of friends or strangers to discuss religious matters.⁸

And this day, as usual, the youthful prophet was there again. Josiah watched from his chair below the cedar pillars on the palace porch as the boy crossed the palace courtyard and entered the Temple court from the south.

Jeremiah walked across the Temple court to join his favorite sodh. He walked on desecrated ground.

Solomon’s Temple towered behind the child, but the walls were soiled and crumbling. Much of it lay unused and in disrepair. The priests and people alike forgot its laws and rituals. This was the house of the Lord, yet it remained largely empty, having been sacked and looted three hundred years before by the Egyptians and then rebuilt twice, first by Joash and then by Hezekiah, but never fully restored.

The twin bronze pillars on the Temple’s portico, Jachin and Boaz, were meant to establish the strength of faith in the true God. Except four pillars stood there now, not two. The two extras had been installed to the glory of the gods of Amon and Moab.

Just inside the Temple doors, in the Holy Place, stood the hideous ten-foot tall figure of Baal, painted black as obsidian.

The courtyard was largely given over to idols. The kings Manasseh and Amon, Josiah’s grandfather and father, had worked hard to install the latest heathen gods. The bronze-plated altar of the Lord still burned with its three flames, but it stood on the ground next to an altar dedicated to Dagon and Ashtoreth of Philistia. Worse, the altar of Baal and Asherah of Canaan had usurped the high platform overlooking the other two altars.

The stable of the Horses of the Sun was installed at the Wood House, behind the Temple. The Wood House also contained a pantheon of other Assyrian gods.

Jeremiah dodged a group of priests dressed in rich, brightly-colored robes and decked out in gold and silver. The priests never slowed. They moved importantly throughout the people in the Temple court, but these were priests to pagan gods. The sons of Aaron and the Levites dressed more simply in linen dyed in muted colors. The Lord’s servants were powerless to interfere with their competitors. The pagan priests were protected by the power of Assyria.

Even from the distance, Josiah could see the fury growing in the small figure. But the boy managed to contain it.

The king understood. Worship at Anathoth’s shrine remained pure and unsullied by idolatry. The Temple was not Jeremiah’s place, and he could never tolerate such a rampant display of idolatry. But the Jerusalem Temple was where the people were found. So, the son of Hilkiah sat in the sodh and debated with them, and the people listened to him. He was young, but he was the son of the priest of the Ark.

The priest of this particular sodh was a young man named Buzi. Buzi appeared from behind the Temple portico and took his place to speak and teach.

From the palace porch, King Josiah watched through the broken-down gateway into the Temple court. He smiled, satisfied. Let the boy grow, and then, one day perhaps, when he was grown, if he still persisted in these ways, one day, Josiah might listen too.

Chapter 2

Zephaniah ben Cushi

Jerusalem, Judah

Morning after morning, Jeremiah ben Hilkiah came early to the Temple court and attended the sodh, seated directly in front of the giant brazen sea. The boy’s insight and understanding of spiritual matters impressed the people more and more, and the priest, Buzi, was proud of him. The day Jeremiah turned thirteen and came of age, he broke away from the circle of Buzi’s sodh. He sat down as a teacher himself; many got up, left their circles, and sat down in his.

Three months after Jeremiah had last appeared in Josiah’s court, around the time that Jeremiah turned thirteen and formed his own sodh, another significant event occurred.

Josiah sat once again on his august throne in the grandeur of Solomon’s court. The worked gold circlet that was his every-day crown sat on his head and his royal robes were draped around him. He took some comfort in his royal attire. It set his mood and established his office.

His personal secretary and prime minister, the former regent of Judah, Shaphan, stood on his right hand. Shaphan’s son, Ahikam, served as Josiah’s clerk of court and recorder. He sat on the top step to the king’s left, his writing kit ready. Shaphan’s robes were almost as rich as the king’s, but Ahikam served as a clerk and wore a nondescript brown tunic.

Around the throne, the people pushed and jostled each other before their king, and the quiet murmur of their comments filled the air. They were always slightly unruly, upset by whatever circumstances had brought them here to have the matter settled.

The case currently before the king was a family dispute and in no way important enough to have found its way before the monarch, yet here they were a man, his wife, in-laws, and cousins all glaring at each other over an incident regarding the man’s last crop of figs.

There is no way to assign blame in this matter, the king reasoned with the ill-tempered farmer. However, your cousins were in possession of the crop at the time. I find that they are responsible for half the value of the damages, less their wages. Dismissed! he snapped before they could again begin their squabbling. Ahikam son of Shaphan, clerk of court, recorded the verdict.

A movement beyond the scribe, to the right at the entrance to the king’s offices, caught the king’s attention. Huldah, wife of his wardrobe keeper, stood there. Josiah looked at her in surprise. She was dressed in a loose-weave light green robe; a dark green shawl was thrown over her shoulders, leaving her long hair uncovered. She was a married woman; uncovered hair was a sign of severe distress or mourning.

Something was wrong.

Huldah certainly looked distressed. She was an older, average-height woman with medium brown hair going to gray and light brown eyes that normally went right through whomever she addressed. Huldah was a prophetess—Josiah’s personal prophetess. He consulted her on affairs of state almost as often as he consulted his mentor, Shaphan. But Huldah lived in the lower city, and though she often saw him in his quarters where her husband worked, never before had she intruded on his court. And never before had he seen those sharp, intelligent eyes look so troubled.

The disgruntled plaintiff and his equally disgruntled family advanced to Ahikam to receive their documents and then pushed their way back out of the room to the exit at the rear. The clerk opened his mouth to announce the next case, but Josiah stopped him with a shake of his head.

The king stood. I must dismiss court for the day. Those who still wish to present their cases today may do so with my secretary, Shaphan, in his offices to my left. Those who would rather appear before me may see my clerk, Ahikam, and reschedule.

Shaphan had been Josiah’s regent for eight years, until Josiah had turned sixteen, and was quite skilled at mediating and rendering judgments. In his early fifties, he stood straight and tall and in his dark blue and red court robes was every bit as imposing as the king. His graying hair gave him an undeniable air of wisdom. Most of the court would undoubtedly opt to see him. Shaphan raised his eyebrows at his former ward, but he too had seen Huldah. He bowed formally to the king and turned to leave the court for his own chambers.

The people jostled to fall in behind him or to talk with Shaphan’s son, Ahikam.

Josiah, filled with trepidation, moved toward the prophetess.

She inclined her head to the king and disappeared back into his chambers.

The son of Amon followed through the court wardrobe, filled with luxurious robes that he used on formal occasions. Huldah’s husband, the king’s wardrobe keeper, was there, and he eyed them curiously but merely returned to his duties, carefully folding sheaths and undergarments.

The king and the prophetess moved on into a large office that Josiah used for private audiences. What is it, Daughter? he asked formally as he seated himself. She was old enough to be his mother, but he was king, and she was his subject, at the same time, however, she was dear to his heart.

Great King, I have come to ask an audience for another, she said, looking at him with confident deference, visible in her tensed brow.

You are here for another? All he needs to do is see my clerk and have his name added to the docket?

And wait a month to be seen, like a common petitioner? Lord King, you must see him today and in front of all the people, on the palace steps.

Josiah suddenly understood. Ah. He is a prophet.

Yes, Lord.

Why do you represent him?

Lord, prophets ofttimes have difficulty in delivering their messages. He is sent; he must be heard.

What is he to you?

Not to me, Lord King, to you. Zephaniah ben Cushi is a distant relative of yours. He, too, is descended from Hezekiah. He has come far to deliver his message.

Yes, I am aware of the family. But Zephaniah is, like me, of the house of David. And he lives in the countryside, not Jerusalem. So, even if he were a Levite, he could not be a member of the House of Prophets. Nevertheless, you say he now claims to be a prophet? Josiah eyed her curiously.

Prophets abounded among the Jews, but most were priests and kept to the House of Prophets. Their prophecies related almost entirely to the everyday life of individuals. In truth, they revealed very little that common sense couldn’t tell better. Huldah was obviously referring to a prophet in the classical sense—a wild prophet, not one of the trained, tame ones from the House of Prophets. Undoubtedly, this was a prophet come with a message of doom for the nation.

She hesitated and then said carefully, My lord sees why Zephaniah needs an introduction. Besides, I am neither a Levite or the daughter of a priest, nor am I a member of the House of Prophets. Moreover, I am a woman, just the poor wife of a wardrobe keeper. Yet here I stand, the prophetess to the king.

Yes. And you’re vouching for him.

Yes. So, you will see him. It was a statement, a command. To refuse would be to gainsay the Lord of Heaven.

Josiah wished to avoid the whole scene, but he was trapped. He had sworn, on taking the throne, to be obedient to the Lord. He gritted his teeth and said, He doesn’t bear good news, I take it.

She dropped her eyes for an instant in distress.

No, not good news. And if it had been anyone other than Huldah, Josiah would not have given this prophet a hearing at all. Not now, not in a month, not in a year. But Huldah made his credentials impeccable. Huldah was authentic, and Josiah would never dare set himself against the Lord Almighty or his prophetess.

My cousin, a prophet. The king shook his head, attempting disbelief.

And did not David himself prophesy? she argued. Her tone was urgent. So, both you and he are from a line of prophets. His message is grave, O King.

So I thought, Josiah responded in resignation. Which means it will likely cause trouble or at least unrest. Why, then, should I see him on the steps? Why doesn’t he present himself here? He can deliver his message to me and then, if I approve, give it again before the people.

Huldah stamped her foot and folded her arms in displeasure. She reminded Josiah of his nurse from long ago when she upbraided him. "If you approve? Lord King, do you think you are in control? That is the Lord’s place! Her voice rose. His prophet stands in the courtyard and will not come in! Zephaniah demands that you come out so that he may address you and the people at the same time!"

The king felt properly chastised. It was true; he had wanted to maintain some semblance of control. And of course, before the Lord, he had no control. He was no different from the lowliest country peasant in the eyes of the Almighty. How foolish of him.

But he trembled at the thought of a possible divine retribution over Judah’s sins. They were many, and he knew it. He would rather not have known. But what then? Sit in false security, happily unaware until the flames were around his ears and it was too late to do anything about it?

Why did the Lord speak? Presumably, because it was not yet too late.

It was not in Josiah’s personality to be willingly ignorant. He wished for political expediency to give way to what was right, no matter what the cost. Somewhere within him, he wanted to believe he had the courage to do what was right. And if not now, when?

Very well, woman. You are correct, and besides, the words of the Lord are water to my soul, sweet, even when they are bitter. I must hear them, and so, apparently, must the people. The son of Amon rose suddenly and, despite his foreboding, walked swiftly, with Huldah following, out of the royal offices to the throne room.

The clerk, Ahikam, unobtrusive in his somber brown tunic, was still there, just finishing with the rescheduled docket. We have need of you on the steps, My Brother, Josiah said to him. Bring your kit and tablets. Ahikam was Secretary Shaphan’s oldest son and had grown up with the king as his foster-brother. He never imposed on this relationship, however, and quickly and obediently gathered the tools of his trade to follow the king and the prophetess through the courtroom to the steps on the front of the palace.

A royal chair was kept there, seated on the steps between the pillars, for the king’s use whenever he was so inclined. Josiah sat himself on it, and Huldah stood at his right hand, proud of her sovereign, impressed by his integrity and courage. Ahikam seated himself to the left side of the king on the top step and readied his stylus and wax tablets.

Josiah eyed the grimy man standing in front of him. Zephaniah did not wear the hairy mantle of a prophet, but then, he was not a prophet by trade. Huldah, as the king’s prophetess, was a member of the royal court, so she didn’t wear it either.

The prophet’s salt-and-pepper beard was gray with dust from the road; the edges of the striped design of his robe were blurred with it. Zephaniah’s face was lined from long exposure to the sun, but his eyes held the same sharp intensity as Huldah’s, the same as the boy, Jeremiah’s. Josiah looked at him and did not doubt that here was a man privy to the council of the Most High. Zephaniah was not impressed by the presence of the king. He hadn’t even taken the time to refresh himself from his journey. No, all that this man wished was to fulfill his commission as swiftly as possible. He answered to no man. Another king might have been insulted, but Josiah understood.

From his throne, the king glanced around his courtyard. Roughly rectangular, the area wasn’t large. He sat in the portico of the Palace of the Cedars of Lebanon. Once this palace had served as Solomon’s residence, as well as his offices. But a long-ago king had moved his personal quarters to a new palace to the southeast, so Josiah’s personal quarters were separate from the government seat. The third palace, that of Solomon’s wife, the Daughter of Pharaoh, had long ago been torn down. Directly in front of the official building was the wall and barred gate to the Temple courtyard. That gate was open perforce. Both of its two portals hung tilting on broken hinges. The people within, curious as to the goings on before the palace, were elbowing their way through its small interior court into the palace courtyard. Already, there was a sizeable crowd forming.

Zephaniah looked at them and then turned his attention back to the king.

"You have demanded my presence, Josiah rumbled. He was not used to being summoned by anyone, not even a prophet, and despite his trepidation, he was irritated. Well, I have come. Speak then," he ordered, noting that even the priests in the Temple court had now taken note of the goings-on and were making their way to the king’s steps.

Zephaniah inclined his head politely. Then, looking at the assembly again, he paused, assessing his surroundings. He mounted all five steps to the portico so that he would be above the crowd, where all could see and hear him. He now stood directly in front of the dais—hardly the place of a petitioner.

The action was so unexpected that Josiah, startled, felt his mouth fall open. He shut it quickly.

Zephaniah, on the other hand, had no thought but for the message he bore. This position was expedient, nothing more. If the Lord had demanded that he climb to the roof of the Temple and address the people from there, he would have done it without hesitation, though he might have allowed himself to wonder. So, to stand thus, before the king and people, at the very door of the Palace of Justice, was no great thing. It was the message that burned in his heart. The message was all, and it was the only thing that held his attention. He must deliver it and be rid of this burden. He must carry out the will of the Most High. Nothing else—nothing—mattered.

Great King, the man from the hills said gruffly, acknowledging Josiah. There was no hesitation or submissiveness; no apology for having ordered the king’s presence. Josiah was subject to the Almighty, and it was the Almighty that had ordered this.

Josiah had had enough contact with the Lord’s messengers. He understood and set his jaw to control both his irritation and his fear. I am here, he said. Speak.

The prophet lifted one arm and turned sideways so that he faced both the king and the people. Abruptly, he shouted, King Josiah ben Amon, children of Abraham, hear what the Lord says! It seemed that the stone beneath his feet trembled with the shock of the sudden power behind Zephaniah’s words.

Josiah sat back suddenly at the force of it, and the courtyard fell completely still and silent.

Zephaniah wasted no more time on formalities but launched into an announcement of a series of dooms that left the son of Amon speechless with terror.

"The Lord states:

I am going to sweep the earth clean of everything; men, animals, birds, and fish!"

Zephaniah swept the ground with his right foot.

Mankind will be destroyed, and the wicked who are left will have only piles of rubble.

The prophet pointed at the people.

In Jerusalem and all Judah, I will destroy every last remnant of Baal, wipe out even the memory of the names of the pagan priests and idolatrous people who go to their rooftops to worship the stars of heaven; those who bow down and swear by the Lord and then make those same vows in the name of Molech. I will stretch out My hand against Judah and against all who live in Jerusalem; those who will not follow Me or put their petitions before Me…

The rooftop shrines were clearly visible from the top of the mount on which the palace stood. From the steps, Josiah could see over the wall surrounding the Temple and palace complex, down into the valley where the infamous Molech stood. Even now, a priest was throwing a squalling child into the flaming belly of the monstrosity. Josiah looked away and forced himself to breathe.

Huldah stood trembling, next to the king, her head bowed. A tear escaped from her eye and ran down her cheeks.

The Lord will destroy us? the king whispered sharply at her. He will destroy the world?

Eventually, yes, Lord. It is certain, she whispered back, turning her light-brown eyes on her king. He saw the beginnings of panic behind them. She was more afraid than he was! That gave him courage, of a kind.

Eventually? he returned under his breath. "Yet Zephaniah demanded to be heard now! So, are we doomed now?"

The idolatry: the Baals and the Molech… the Lord cannot be happy…

Josiah pursed his lips in disapproval of her hesitation. You are my prophetess! You should know! He turned his attention back to his cousin.

The people still stood transfixed, nailed to the spot by divine displeasure. Many glanced fearfully at the skies. The heaviness and the anger that filled the air did not proceed from Zephaniah, and all present felt it. Zephaniah had moved on. But almost as ominous as the pronouncements against the Jews was the weaving together of the fates of the Philistines and Jews as one. The country prophet railed against the Philistines. He treated them and the Jews who worshiped the Philistine fish-god, Dagon, as one.

When that day comes, I will repay everyone who, in honor of Dagon, avoids stepping on thresholds. The worshipers of Dagon avoided stepping on thresholds since their god had fallen before the Ark of the Covenant and broke off his stone head on the threshold of his Temple."

When that day comes? Josiah questioned Huldah in a violent whisper. When is ‘that day?’

At a loss, Huldah shook her head, her mouth half open, her eyes wide.

Zephaniah looked to the skies and shook his fist at them, including all the starry hosts in his indictment. All were worshiped in Judah. The Lord’s patience was at an end, and judgment was at hand. The idols that were their symbols stood in the Temple itself!

Then the king’s cousin turned from indictment of the gods to their people. He swept his arm from the west to the northwest and prophesied against the cities of the Sea People.¹

Gaza will be forsaken and empty, and nothing will be left of Ashkelon but ruins. At the busiest time of the day, Ashdod will stand empty, and Ekron will have been pulled up by the roots! Woe to you, Sea People; the Lord has pronounced His word against you Canaan, home of the Philistines. He says, I will destroy you, and none will survive. The land of the Sea People will become empty except for shepherds and sheep pens. It will be given to what is left of Judah for their pastures. They will sleep in the houses of Ashkelon, and the Lord will be their God. He will take care of them and bring the exiled home."

Josiah continued to look to Huldah. He said nothing, but his glare demanded answers.

An exile, she breathed. But it will not last forever. And when it is over, the Philistines and their gods will be gone.

The prophet turned to the east and southeast and prophesied against the Moabites and Ammonites, for their taunts and refusal to help Judah.

Moab will be like Sodom and Ammon like Gomorrah, filled with seeds and salt pits to remain wastelands forever. The survivors among My people will plunder there, and they will inherit their land.

Huldah was breathing easier now, her confidence slowly returning, though it was still a very tentative thing. Josiah drew strength from her, but exile" So, at the very least, his throne was doomed.

Zephaniah turned to the south.

And as for you, Cushites, you too will fall by My sword.

This was a short indictment against Egypt and an ominous one, almost as if the mighty empire was an afterthought hardly worth mentioning.²

To the north and northeast, the prophet looked beyond the Temple complex and announced,

The Lord will reach out to the north and destroy Assyria, leaving it as dry and empty as the desert.

Zephaniah clenched his fist as if crushing the titan to dust. He opened his fist as if to let the debris fall to the ground. His eyes gleamed in triumph as he assured the people,

It will only be a fit habitation for animals. The proud columns of the cities will be only be a fit habitation for animals. The proud columns of the cities will be nothing more than roosts for the desert screech owls, whose calls will echo through the rubble of empty windows, broken-down doorways, and exposed beams of cedar.

Zephaniah looked to the king and shrugged.

So much for the carefree city that lived so securely, the city which put itself as equal to I AM saying: I am! Nothing else comes close to me!

Josiah almost laughed. It was blasphemy of course, but that was Assyria, true enough. The proud City of Nineveh probably had those words inscribed upon her gates. In the midst of all