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drowning him in their vividness and strength. He remembered the night he first went to her chambers, shortly after his coronation. Her beauty had taken his breath away, bewitching him, and he had fallen under her spell. Even after she had admitted to worshiping idols, he had abandoned all his concubines for her alone. He remembered her soft scent, the way her voice entranced him when she sang, the sweet taste of her kisses—and a cry of despair swelled inside him like a tidal wave.
    “Are you all right, Your Majesty?” Eliakim asked. “Did I hurt you?”
    “No,” he said hoarsely. “What else do I need to take care of?”
    Running his kingdom distracted Hezekiah for the remainder of the afternoon. But that night his sleep was shallow and fitful as the pain pushed into his dreams. He awoke weak and unrested. For the next few days, Shebna and Eliakim brought his work to him, diverting him for most of the day, seldom leaving his bedside. Hezekiah no longer tried to get up or to argue about going to the Temple, but he had little appetite for the food his valet tried to feed him, and he grew weaker and weaker each day.
    By the end of the week, Hezekiah’s work could no longer distract him from his agony. The torment in his leg had spread like a raging fire throughout his body until every joint and muscle ached and throbbed with it. For a moment or two, someone or something might divert his attention, but the pain always returned to its place of prominence in his every waking thought. Sometimes it seemed to lessen slightly, but it was always there. Sometimes it would build and strengthen until it became excruciating and he couldn’t stifle his moans.
    Hezekiah could no longer hope that it would ever stop. He thought of nothing else but the pain as it became his tyrant, more terrifying than any Assyrian overlord. It pushed everything else from his consciousness and took control, holding his will and his body captive. He couldn’t break free.
    Lying in the same position grew intolerable, but changing positions brought agony. The servants left the oil lamps burning all night, since he could sleep only a short time before the torment roused him once again. Strong wine made him nauseous but did little else. He begged for distractions until Shebna and Eliakim were exhausted from their efforts, but the diversions worked for only a brief moment.
    Hezekiah wondered how much longer it would be until he went mad.
    Late in the afternoon of the sixth day, as Shebna read to him, Hezekiah’s mind began to wander into delirium. He struggled to concentrate as if Shebna were reading in a foreign language, forcing him to translate. Before long, Hezekiah could no longer keep up. He felt as though he were sliding down a long steep slope, away from Shebna and Eliakim, away from his agony and confusion.
    “Shebna … please …” Hezekiah turned his head on the pillow, and the room swirled as if the hand of God had shaken the entire palace. He closed his eyes to make the dizziness stop.
    “Yes, Your Majesty? What is it?”
    “Didn’t you feel that? It’s moving …” The two men sprang to their feet, but their abrupt movements triggered another wave of dizziness. “Don’t! Don’t move—you’ll make it fall.”
    “What’s wrong, Your Majesty?” Eliakim said. “What’s falling?”
    Hezekiah tried to focus on him but couldn’t. “Can’t you feel it, Eliakim? Why is everything moving?”
    Eliakim rested his hand on Hezekiah’s brow, and his fingers felt wonderfully cool, like stones from a mountain stream.
    “Ahh … leave your hand there.”
    “God of Abraham, help us—he’s burning up!”
    “No,” Hezekiah said, “there was a fire but it’s out now. I put it out.”
    “He’s delirious. Call the physicians.”
    “I’m thirsty, that’s all. Water …”
    Eliakim held a cup to his lips, and he drank greedily. But why had they given him salt water? It only increased his thirst.
    Movement and activity suddenly swirled