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Authors: Lynn Austin
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tried to bow, but the ankle chain was too short, making it difficult for him to rise again without a guard’s help.
His forehead was damp with perspiration, his lips white with pain.
“Are you ill?” Manasseh asked.
“It’s my wrist. I think the bone is broken. I’ve been suffering all night.”
“Send for one of my physicians,” Manasseh told his servants. “Tell him to bring bandages and a splint.” The guards hauled over a bench for Zerah to sit on while he waited for the royal physician.
“I’ve begun to investigate your accusations of conspiracy, Zerah. You were correct when you predicted that Isaiah would refuse to reveal my future. Also, that my palace administrator would support him.”
“I’m not surprised, Your Majesty.”
“But the soldiers who searched both houses found only vague references to a conspiracy.” He gestured to the piles of scrolls on the table in front of him.
“They are supremely clever, Your Majesty. Any evidence that might condemn them would be cleverly hidden among the words of innocent-looking documents.”
“A code?”
“Exactly.”
“Then let me read one of them to you: ‘For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders . . . Of the increase of his government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on David’s throne. . . .”’
“Vague words, but their intent is clear, King Manasseh. They planned to replace you with their own man.”
Manasseh stood and walked a few steps to his window, turning his back on Zerah, unwilling to reveal how upset he was by Zerah’s interpretation. “You should also know,” he said, striving to keep his voice steady, “that the soldiers found no mysterious books of incantations or magic spells, nothing to prove that Isaiah put a curse on my father.”
“Did you find anything that belonged to your father among Isaiah’s things?”
Manasseh felt as if all the blood had drained from his body as he remembered the psalm his father had written. He whirled to face Zerah. “Yes. Why?”
“In order to invoke a curse, Isaiah would have needed something that belonged to his victim. Something very personal.”
“I found a psalm my father wrote after he nearly died. It was in his own handwriting.”
Zerah nodded. “It would have given Isaiah power over him.”
Manasseh was grateful for the interruption when the royal physician arrived. He needed time to absorb this news.
“Where would you like me to treat him, Your Majesty?” the physician asked.
“Do it here. Unshackle him.” Manasseh sank into his seat again, watching in silence as the doctor carefully examined the prisoner’s wrist. Zerah uttered only a faint moan as the doctor realigned the bones, but he appeared pale as the doctor affixed the thin wooden splint to his wrist with bandages.
“How did you break your wrist?” the doctor asked as he worked.
Zerah glanced up at the king. “It happened during my arrest.”
When the physician finished, he took a square of linen and tied Zerah’s arm in a sling. “It won’t be possible to shackle his wrist for a while, Your Majesty.”
“The shackles are no longer necessary,” Manasseh said. “You may remove the ones on his ankles, as well.”
After the doctor left, Zerah bowed low to Manasseh once again. “I am very grateful, Your Majesty.”
“Can you decipher this code for me? I need proof of their conspiracy.”
“You won’t need to decipher it in order to convict your enemies. The rabbi’s own words will witness against him. I’ve heard his so-called prophecies. He preaches things that contradict the Laws of Moses. May I show you?” Zerah gestured to the scrolls piled in front of the king.
Before Manasseh could reply, the shofar trumpeted from the Temple Mount, announcing the morning sacrifice. “I’ll have my servants carry these to Eliakim’s office,” Manasseh said. “You may take all the time you need to read through them.”
“How
His forehead was damp with perspiration, his lips white with pain.
“Are you ill?” Manasseh asked.
“It’s my wrist. I think the bone is broken. I’ve been suffering all night.”
“Send for one of my physicians,” Manasseh told his servants. “Tell him to bring bandages and a splint.” The guards hauled over a bench for Zerah to sit on while he waited for the royal physician.
“I’ve begun to investigate your accusations of conspiracy, Zerah. You were correct when you predicted that Isaiah would refuse to reveal my future. Also, that my palace administrator would support him.”
“I’m not surprised, Your Majesty.”
“But the soldiers who searched both houses found only vague references to a conspiracy.” He gestured to the piles of scrolls on the table in front of him.
“They are supremely clever, Your Majesty. Any evidence that might condemn them would be cleverly hidden among the words of innocent-looking documents.”
“A code?”
“Exactly.”
“Then let me read one of them to you: ‘For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders . . . Of the increase of his government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on David’s throne. . . .”’
“Vague words, but their intent is clear, King Manasseh. They planned to replace you with their own man.”
Manasseh stood and walked a few steps to his window, turning his back on Zerah, unwilling to reveal how upset he was by Zerah’s interpretation. “You should also know,” he said, striving to keep his voice steady, “that the soldiers found no mysterious books of incantations or magic spells, nothing to prove that Isaiah put a curse on my father.”
“Did you find anything that belonged to your father among Isaiah’s things?”
Manasseh felt as if all the blood had drained from his body as he remembered the psalm his father had written. He whirled to face Zerah. “Yes. Why?”
“In order to invoke a curse, Isaiah would have needed something that belonged to his victim. Something very personal.”
“I found a psalm my father wrote after he nearly died. It was in his own handwriting.”
Zerah nodded. “It would have given Isaiah power over him.”
Manasseh was grateful for the interruption when the royal physician arrived. He needed time to absorb this news.
“Where would you like me to treat him, Your Majesty?” the physician asked.
“Do it here. Unshackle him.” Manasseh sank into his seat again, watching in silence as the doctor carefully examined the prisoner’s wrist. Zerah uttered only a faint moan as the doctor realigned the bones, but he appeared pale as the doctor affixed the thin wooden splint to his wrist with bandages.
“How did you break your wrist?” the doctor asked as he worked.
Zerah glanced up at the king. “It happened during my arrest.”
When the physician finished, he took a square of linen and tied Zerah’s arm in a sling. “It won’t be possible to shackle his wrist for a while, Your Majesty.”
“The shackles are no longer necessary,” Manasseh said. “You may remove the ones on his ankles, as well.”
After the doctor left, Zerah bowed low to Manasseh once again. “I am very grateful, Your Majesty.”
“Can you decipher this code for me? I need proof of their conspiracy.”
“You won’t need to decipher it in order to convict your enemies. The rabbi’s own words will witness against him. I’ve heard his so-called prophecies. He preaches things that contradict the Laws of Moses. May I show you?” Zerah gestured to the scrolls piled in front of the king.
Before Manasseh could reply, the shofar trumpeted from the Temple Mount, announcing the morning sacrifice. “I’ll have my servants carry these to Eliakim’s office,” Manasseh said. “You may take all the time you need to read through them.”
“How
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