The Temple Gates

Chapter 16

A Deep Mourning

The Judean army moved up the valley, a living moving thing, vicious to it's enemies, the hope of victory to its friends. Megiddo City came into sight. No Egyptians. The reinforcements could be seen filing into the city gate.

The King remained silent for many minutes. When we enter into battle, I'll be the focus of Necho's elite forces. I'm sure he'll send commandos with the strict orders to 'kill Josiah, smite the shepherd and the sheep will scatter.'

To the Commander he said: "Necho will seek to kill me early in the battle." He paused to choose his words carefully. "It seems to me that if I'm killed, the army will disperse . . . and all will be lost."

"We have our fiercest, battle-hardened men amassed around you. They can ward off any commandos Necho may send." The Commander paused. "At any rate, the men will be encouraged to see their King fighting in the forefront."

"Still . . ." Josiah scanned the horizon. "If I were to join the ranks as a regular soldier, it would frustrate Necho's plans and slow his advance; he will be forced to regroup, to reconsider what to do."

"That's dangerous, Father." Eliakim had overheard his father's plan. "Remember Ahab? He joined the ranks as a soldier instead of leading the troops as their King. He was killed with an arrow shot by an enemy archer."

"Yes, my son. But Ahab was a pagan." He thought for a moment. "Anyway, God promised me that I would die in peace."

"Necho may be right," pressed Eliakim. "If you go against God's command, how can He save you to die in peace?"

"God is with US," chided the King. "NOT with Necho."

Without saying another word, Josiah slipped out of his royal robes, revealing the armor and weapons beneath. He fetched his shield, which had been hanging in the chariot. Stepping down from the chariot, he approached Shaphan. "May I join your unit?"

Shaphan's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Why . . . why, yes, your Majesty. But why would you want to join the foot soldiers when you could fight much better from the advantage of your chariot?"

"I want to fight with my men," was all that he would say.

"Egyptians!" shouted the point man. "They're just coming through the pass."

Shouts on every side. Generals, unit commanders, called their troops into prearranged formations. The best warriors were stationed in the forefront, for they would be most likely to do the most damage to the enemy. Their battle-hardened experience had trained them in the use of arms and in the instinctive movements needed to avoid contact with the weapons of the enemy. A sharp-eyed warrior could even spot an approaching arrow and sidestep it, or at least, let it catch only his shield.

Josiah had been in a number of battles, but always as Commander of the troops--riding in his chariot, beside the Commanding General. He had developed skills in fighting off those who sought to "bag" a King--and in side-stepping arrows that were shot specifically at him. But he had no experience fighting on the ground as a foot soldier.

The two armies moved forward, the gap between them narrowing with each step they took. When the distance between the armies came within about 100 cubits, the Commanding General on each side shouted: "Charge!"

The command echoed down the line from one commander to another. But the repetition was unnecessary: everyone had heard the Commanding General's voice. The shock of that command unleashed the spring-steel stress that had built up in every soldier as their hearts anticipated the battle.

Bodies hurled forward toward the enemy, clashing midstream, while volleys of arrows arched over the front guard, like deadly artillery, striking down soldiers in all sections of the force. Jewish archers returned with their feathered flights, cutting down Egyptians with withering exactness. In addition, the slingers went to work on the sidelines, hurling their stones with pin-point accuracy, aiming directly at the fighting men in the front lines, knocking out scores of the finest warriors of the Nile.

The sound of battle deafened Josiah. The shouts of fighting men, the continuous slap of swords on leather shields; the swish of passing arrows; the twang of bowstrings, the cries of the victorious, the wounded, and the dying . . . the decibels were deafening. Josiah reached the front and entered the fray. Dead and dying lay all around. Footing became unsure at best, the soil already slippery from spilt blood.

Shouts, cries, steal on steel, steel on leather, thumps of sling stones, swish of arrows . . . .

Thud!

"Umph!"

It hit like the blow of a fist . . . Josiah took a quick breath . . . his knees buckled. . . his peripheral vision dimmed . . . his hand moved instinctively to the arrow that protruded from his abdomen . . . the stinging sensation took his breath away . . . he felt ill . . . he began to vomit . . . .

His thoughts rambled. Hit . . . I've been hit . . . hurt . . . pain . . . need to lie down . . . men may trample me . . . O Yahweh, help!

"Bring a wagon!" cried Shaphan, dragging the King back from the front lines.

He did not need to speak again. The Commanding General had seen, and winced as though the missile had struck himself.

The King had fallen!

Only a glance revealed the arrow sticking from his abdomen. It had passed through his protective metal breast-plate and his leather vest. The wound would be mortal. He had no chance for survival.

Summoning one of the heavy supply wagons, the Commander led its skilled driver in maneuvering his vehicle to within a few cubits of Josiah, as the battle waged all around. Willing hands carried him, gently laying him on its blood-stained floor. Other dead and dying also lay on the flat surface with their fallen King. "The wagon is heavier," remarked Shaphan. "He'll ride easier."

"Take him to Jerusalem, hurry." In his heart of hearts, the Commanding General knew they had little chance of winning the battle . . . without their King. The General rode in the royal chariot, shouting to the troops, attempting to press the battle forward.

But word spread with lightening speed from one man to another: "The King has fallen! . . . The King has fallen!" And the eyes of the Jews began to follow the wagon instead of pressing the battle.

Soldiers broke off from the enemy and began to make their retreat. Soon it became a rout as thousands of Jews turned to run--in all directions at once. Egyptians followed closely and sought to inflict as many casualties as they could. They would have annihilated Judah's defenders had not Necho called them off. He needed his army. And he needed to continue north.

Both sides fled the battlefield, leaving the dead and dying on the ground. The city of Megiddo lay in ruins, lifeless, while the Egyptians disappeared down the Megiddo Valley.

Now that it appeared to be safe, a few Jewish soldiers returned to see if any of their fallen comrades had survived, and to help the wounded . . . of both sides.

I've never been in such intense pain, thought Josiah as the wagon lumbered over the bumpy road toward Jerusalem, still 50 miles away. They had already rumbled along for hours, and each bump, each sideward jostle felt as piercing as the original wound.

O Lord, you've abandoned me . . . You haven't kept your promise! . . . I've served you all these years . . . destroyed all the pagan altars . . . rid the land of idols . . . brought Your people back to You . . . why You kept Your promise? . . . 'you will die in peace,' You said . . . this is not peace! . . . or . . . perhaps I shall not die?

Eliakim increased his doubts. "You've been the best King Judah has ever had. You've served Yahweh all your life. And now, look what God has done to you. What kind of a God is that? He's no God at all! He had you destroy all the gods that really mattered, and then He left you to die like a pig on the battlefield!"

"Eliakim, don't say that . . . it's not true! ouchhhhh it hurts it hur . . ."

"Look at you," The younger man continued. "Dying from a battle wound, suffering because you disobeyed God when Necho warned you that you would fail . . ."

"Uuunnnggg iiit wasn't God who spoke to him . . . ."

"It came true didn't it?"

"Our loss . . . uuuhhh . . . had nothing to do with Necho's dream."

"It had everything to do with it!" Eliakim spat out the words. "You call him a pagan, when his god predicted the outcome of the battle. You destroyed all the true gods of the land in favor of your God. Pharaoh Amon tried to get Egypt to worship only one god--he called it the true god. He failed. And you failed too!"

"Go away, my son . . . mmmmmmm . . . you speak evil. I can't listen now . . . ooouuu . . . ."

"As you say, Father. You shall see me no more . . . forever. And I shall take Judah with me!"

O Yahweh, uuuuhhhh . . . don't leave me now . . . forgive me, I know You haven't left me . . . You're always with those who trust . . . in You mmmmmm . . . Why have I been mortally wounded in war . . . when You promised I'd 'die in peace?' . . . Why?. . .

His thoughts cleared for a moment. There was more to what You said . . . what was it? . . . yes . . . mmmmmm: "I will gather you to your fathers, and you will be buried in peace. Your eyes will not see all the disaster I am going to bring on this place." . . . I will be buried in peace . . . because . . . oooohhhh I will not see the disaster . . . that's the promise . . . dying in a battle . . . has nothing to do . . . with the promise . . . the disaster! . . . I won't see it! . . . I am dying in peace! . . . THANK YOU LORD! . . . O what relief! . . . LORD . . . at last . . . You've given me peace!

Mile after painful mile the wagon rumbled on, jarring it's royal patient, causing greater agony to his Highness than if they'd hung him on a pole and scourged him to death. Every occupant in the vehicle cringed at his every moan, his cries of pain. They feared that he wouldn't reach Jerusalem alive, and the thought of that caused them the greatest pain.

"Why did we let him get off?" cried the King's charioteer. "If he'd only stayed with us, he wouldn't have been wounded, and we'd have won the battle . . . we were winning!"

"Don't chastise yourself, driver." The Commander had joined them. "It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. The King did what he thought was best. He could have been shot in the chariot just as well as in the ranks."

"It's not . . . you're . . . fault,"cried Josiah over the din. . . . "Don't blame . . . yourselves . . . I . . . nnnnnn . . . got off . . . I chose my course . . . I bear . . . the blame." Every word took his breath away. Every bump of the chariot made it harder to breathe.

He motioned to the Commander, who stooped to listen, for now the King could only whisper. "Tell Jedidah, I love her . . . the best . . . mother . . . tell Zebidah . . . and Hamutal . . . and the children . . . I . . . love them . . . beware Eliakim . . . he will . . . lead Judah away . . . from God . . . do not let . . . him take the . . . Kingdom . . . give God . . . the glor . . . ."

He was dead--within sight of Jerusalem!

As the chariot bearing the now-dead Monarch entered Jerusalem, hordes of people followed behind, already in mourning, for a page had born the dreadful news ahead. Hundreds, thousands, had torn their clothing and put ashes on their heads. Such a volume of wailing seemed to pierce the eardrums.

Palace servants appeared and gently lay the King on a bier. They carried his remains into the Palace to prepare it for burial. Custom required burial on the same day of death or, if necessary, the following day.

Removing the arrow proved to be tricky, as the head had barbs that resisted extraction. The servants finally hit on a plan--push the arrow all the way through, cut off the feathers, and then pull it out through his back. They found it necessary to rotate the arrow, in order for the point to clear the King's ribs. It soon protruded from the back and they were able to finish the operation.

The rest of the preparation was more straight-forward: The servants removed the bloody armor, and took off his soggy clothing. They washed the back of his body, laid him out on a clean bier, and disposed of his blood-soaked clothing. They swabbed the front of the King's body, and clothed the corpse in his royal apparel, including a golden wreath on his head. Finally, they put on his royal sandals.

Palace guards bore the bier to the Temple court, followed by his sobbing family. Behind them, other guards closed the Royal gates.

The guards carried the bier to the center of the Temple's court, and placed it on an elevated table. Wailing for the loss of their King, Jedidah; Zebidah and her son Eliakim and his wife and children; Hamutal with her sons Shallum and Mattaniah with their wives and children; followed by the minor sons and daughters of both women, all filed by the bier and then stood together, about two steps behind it. They wept uncontrollably: The light of the Palace had been stamped out, and darkness blinded weeping eyes . . . and hearts.

Instruments played somber music, adding to the depressive atmosphere that clouded the entire court. A royal herald, standing on the northern Temple wall, invited the people to view the royal remains.

Jews, young and old, filed by the bier on both sides, moaning, weeping, crying, wailing. Most had torn their robes, and many wore sackcloth. Many had sprinkled dust or ashes on their heads while an occasional man had shaved off his hair.

As the people filed by the bier, Palace servants brought food and drink to the mourning Royal family. Some people, who had kept their heathen ways, cut themselves; but since this was directly forbidden by God, they were not permitted to enter the Temple court.

A nation mourned its fallen leader--the heart and soul of the kingdom. Josiah's 31-year reign had brought the nation to God--to regain its spiritual roots and relearn the very reason for its existence. The King had brought the people, once again, to the feet of Yahweh, to kneel before their Creator in worship.

Why would God let His hero fall in battle--to a random arrow of a heathen foe? Why would God allow His army to turn and run from His enemies? Had He abandoned His people? The deep mourning of the Jews led them to allow the evil claw of anger to grasp their minds, and to blame God for the disaster that had overtaken them.

"Yahweh is at fault!" they grumbled. "God caused our champion to fall."

The deep-seated fingers of idolatry rose within the hearts of those who had ostensibly converted to Yahweh, just because it had been the popular thing. Quiet insinuation--expressing blame, anger, rebellion--prattled about among the crowd. Talk of returning to the gods of the land which presumably had gained victory for Judah's armies in the past, fluttered from one person to another. Grief had turned to spiritual rebellion.

When the last person had passed the bier, a light drizzle began to fall, as though nature, too, mourned the fallen Monarch. Hand-picked guards hefted the bier and marched toward the royal tombs to the cadence of tambourines and ram's horn trumpets. The citizens of Judah fell into line behind the musicians. Step by slow step, the multitude snaked its way along the crooked path which lay along the mountainside.

Reaching the tombs of the Kings, the guards entered the rock-cut, cave-like family tomb, below the royal gardens, where Josiah's father Amon, and grandfather Manasseh, had been buried. Carved into the sides of the tomb were bench shelves where the body would lie. At one end of each shelf the mason had carved a rounded pillow on which the head of the dead would be laid. A place had also been hollowed out beside the pillow in which a large scented candle was set and lit, to burn continually until it died out.

Royal embalmers wrapped the body with sheets of gauze-like material, and laid it on the ledge above the dry bones of his father. They placed more than a hundred pounds of spices and perfumes on and around the body--to overcome the stench that would permeate the cavern as the body decomposed. Beside Josiah's body, the servants laid his personal things: His sword and shield, his seal-ring, his personal jewelry, his sandals and other items.

Finishing their task, the royal guards led the embalmers out of the tomb, and placed a stone over its entrance--which had been engraved with the star of David. The crowd dispersed, and only two guards stayed behind, to assure that hoodlums wouldn't desecrate the tomb.

Jedidah, Zebidah and Hamutal, the children, and the few who had been close to him as friends or government officials, lingered near the tomb. The priests and Levites who had been in charge of the evening, daily sacrificial service during the wake, joined them, but remained only a short time.

As the sun set, all but the guards dispersed to their private chambers.

The King is dead . . . Long live the King!