In the great hall of Ahaz the King, all was festive and bright. Cups clattered. The voices of the guests echoed off the cedar-paneled walls and danced around the huge stone pillars. Jewels flashed in the ladies’ headdresses. Brightly colored robes, fringed in gold and cinched up with long, striped sashes, swished across the marble floor. Earrings dangled. Ankle chains jingled. Ezra could see it all from his hiding place under the table that bore the silver wine cups.

Suddenly a sharp pain shot through his hand and up his arm. “Ow!” he cried. “Shub! You’re on my little finger!”

“Sorry,” said Shear-Jeshub, shifting his weight. Shub, as his friends called him, was tall for an eleven-year-old —nearly a span taller than Ezra, even though Ezra was more than two months older. It was a trait Shub had inherited from his father, the prophet Isaiah, but it didn’t suit him as well as his famous parent. At least Ezra didn’t think so. Isaiah was an imposing, daunting figure. Shub, on the other hand, was just gangly and clumsy —surprisingly so for an intelligent boy who played the harp and amused himself by writing poetry.

As Shub leaned to one side to remove his knee from Ezra’s finger, his head jerked upward and bumped the underside of the table. Bang! The table shook. There was a light chime of ringing silver cups overhead.

“That was smart!” whispered Hezekiah, a stocky, ruddy-faced boy of ten. He was a boy who, in Ezra’s opinion, spent too much time thinking and took everything way too seriously. Hezekiah could definitely be a pain. Still, he was the crown prince of Judah, son of King Ahaz, and he did look up to the two older boys —especially Ezra. So he was worth keeping around.

“I was afraid of this,” Hezekiah went on, glancing nervously at Ezra. “Now they’ll catch us for sure!” He darted a deadly look at Shub.

Shub shrugged apologetically. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I’m a musician, not a thief or a spy.”

Afraid, thought Ezra. Hezekiah is always afraid! Well, maybe he had a good reason to be afraid. After all, if they were caught, their little game —secretly “crashing” a state dinner party and stuffing themselves with as much stolen food as possible —probably wouldn’t go over very well with King Ahaz. And Ezra would be in no end of trouble if his father, Tola, ever found out. Tola was Isaiah’s right-hand man, a dignified statesman and staunch believer in the Lord. Tola had helped Isaiah set up the Remnant, a righteous community of “true disciples” of Yahweh, the God of Israel.

Not to mention the fact that Tola was considered to be a prophet himself —one who spoke for Yahweh. It was a lot for a kid like Ezra to live down.

While these thoughts were passing through Ezra’s head, the ringing of the cups died away. The sandaled feet of the adults who stood clustered near the table shuffled this way and that over the polished marble floor. A conversation just beyond the fringe of the tablecloth began to gather steam. Apparently no one had noticed the bump. Ezra heard Hezekiah breathe a sigh of relief.

“No, absolutely not!” said a gravel-throated man who was standing not more than two arm’s lengths away from the boys’ hiding place. “I wouldn’t hesitate to say it to his face.”

“The prophet Isaiah himself?” The second speaker sounded much older. “I take it you’ve never met him. Why, he literally thunders when he speaks of the penalty Judah will pay for the sin of chasing after other gods.”

“Ha!” laughed the first man. “And what have all his thunderings come to? Things have never been better, I tell you. Turned my biggest profit ever in the copper trade this year. Ahaz knew what he was doing when he rebuilt the high places and introduced the Syrian and Assyrian gods into the city.”

“Don’t count on it,” said the older man. “Just look at Israel’s history. Decisions like this have always led to . . . unpleasant consequences.”

That’s when Ezra saw his chance.

“Come on,” he whispered, pointing to a long side table that stood over against the cedar-paneled west wall. “The really good stuff is over there.”

Then, with a swift, sudden motion, he pulled the tablecloth aside and dashed into the open. The two other boys scuttled after him, crossing the marble floor on hands and knees. Ezra fixed his eyes firmly on their goal: a sideboard loaded with all kinds of delicious-looking appetizers. There were bowls of moist dates, platters of raisin cakes, pomegranates, small loaves of sweet bread, pressed figs, olives, and juicy little squares of hot, roasted lamb. He could almost taste it. Past the wine vat . . . just a little farther and . . .

Bang! Scrape! Inwardly, Ezra groaned. Not again! he thought.

But it was true. When he turned and looked over his shoulder, there sat poor Shub, the latch of his sandal caught on one of the claw-shaped feet of the huge silver wine vat. As Shub struggled to free himself, the vast container shuddered slightly. A few drops of deep red liquid spilled at the feet of a stout, important-looking man who was dipping out a measure of wine into a fashionable lady’s silver cup.

“Wait! Let me do it,” whispered Ezra. He grabbed his friend’s foot and began fumbling with the leather sandal latch. All the while Ezra kept a nervous eye on the stout man and fashionable lady. Fortunately, they seemed absorbed in their conversation. That was when it hit him.

Mother! Why hadn’t he recognized her before? Her hair, perhaps . . . piled high on top of her head and wrapped with ribbons and chains of tiny gold rings. Ezra knew that his mother frequented affairs of this sort, but he really hadn’t expected to see her at this one. Father hadn’t said a word about it. He wondered if Father even knew. To make matters worse, the man filling his mother’s cup was none other than King Ahaz himself! Ezra ducked, hoping to avoid being seen.

“It’s regrettable, Jehudith,” the king was saying in his golden voice, “that the gods should have given a charming woman like you such an undeserving husband.”

Jehudith bent her head slightly and batted her long-lashed eyes. Her dangling gold earrings sparkled in the lamplight.

“‘Undeserving . . . a very apt choice of words, Your Majesty,” said another man, stepping up to join the conversation. He was a darkly handsome man with a trim black beard, and he wore a robe of white linen and a scarlet turban. Ezra saw him lay a hand on his mother’s arm and smile pleasantly into her face. “I might have used the term dense myself.”

Dense? My father? thought Ezra as he tugged and tugged at the leather thong. He didn’t particularly like the sound of that, but there was no time to think about it now.

“Oh, Tola is a very intelligent man, Hanun,” Ahaz went on. “Like his fellow prophet, Isaiah. But they are also both exceedingly stubborn. I say we can learn much from the Assyrians. Their gods have obviously been a great help to them. Surely they can help us too.”

One last pull, and the sandal latch came loose. “Got it!” whispered Ezra.

“My thoughts exactly, Your Majesty,” said Hanun. “Why limit ourselves to one god? That’s so —so narrow. Don’t you agree, my dear Jehudith?”

“All right, Shub —now!” Ezra ordered.

“An astute observation, Hanun,” Ezra heard the king say as he and Shub crept away. “Why, I’m even of the opinion that the Assyrian gods may be the key to ridding us of the Assyrians themselves and their bothersome tribute. The fire of Molech’s altar is especially powerful, as I have good reason to know . . .”

As the king’s voice droned on, the boys reached the side table, seized a handful of dates apiece, and plunged to safety beneath the embroidered blue tablecloth. There they sat, feasting on stolen fruit and talking in hushed voices.

“Whew!” said Ezra, munching a date and readjusting the leather headband he always kept bound around his black curls. “That was a close one.”

“I told you,” Shub said. “This kind of thing is a little out of my field. I’m much better off at home with my kinnor. Playing that little harp isn’t nearly so dangerous.” He smiled and took a bite out of a particularly plump date.

That’s when Ezra caught sight of Hezekiah’s face. He thought the king’s son was looking strangely pale. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

Hezekiah shut his eyes. “I couldn’t help hearing what my father just said. About . . . Molech.”

“What about it?”

Hezekiah just shivered and shook his head. “And that other man back there. Did you hear what he said? About the prophet and . . . unpleasant consequences?”

“Consequences?” asked Ezra, laughing.

“Yes, Ezra,” said Hezekiah. His cheeks were red, and he had a very serious look on his face. He paused, as if a fog were lifting from his eyes. “I’m afraid we’re going to get in big trouble for doing this, in spite of what you say. Don’t you think so, Shub?”

Shub chewed thoughtfully. “It’s possible. There are several ways of looking at it. On the one hand, as my father always says . . .”

“Your father!” snorted Ezra. “He’s a fanatic, that’s all. Shear-Jeshub —‘A Remnant Shall Return.’ Come on! Who would name a kid something like that?”

“Your dad would,” answered Shub with an ironic smile. “Ezra-Elohenu —‘A Help Is Our God.’ ”

“Don’t remind me.”

“But what if they’re right?” Hezekiah managed to break into the conversation. “I mean, about God’s law and consequences and all that. Maybe there really is a price to be paid for . . . for worshipping idols and . . . well, swiping food and stuff.”

Ezra swallowed hard and scowled. “Do you really think that?”

“Don’t you?”

“I’ll tell you what I think. I think a kid can get away with anything if he’s smart enough!” Then, smiling as if he had a sudden inspiration, Ezra added, “Watch this.”

“Wait!” said Hezekiah. “Where are you going?”

But Ezra had already slipped out from under the table. Reaching up, he seized a pair of big red pomegranates from a white ceramic bowl and headed back toward the wine vat. Dropping to his knees in front of the huge silver vessel, he cracked the hard red rinds of the fruit against the floor. After prying the pomegranates open, he crushed the tiny juice-filled beads inside against the marble tiles.

It was done in a moment. The next instant he was back in his hiding place, gulping down a mouthful of honey-raisin cake.

“What was that all about?” asked Hezekiah.

Ezra glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Just watch,” he said with a grin.

They did. It wasn’t long before Ahaz’s chief cupbearer approached to replenish the guests’ supply of drink. He was a stiff, dignified-looking man. His white tunic was smart and crisp. His gray head was held high. He carried a golden tray of silver cups on his uplifted palm. Ezra saw him smile at Ahaz, Jehudith, and Hanun as he passed their small discussion group.

In the next moment the cupbearer’s smile gave way to a look of horror. That was when his left foot landed in the middle of the mass of crushed pomegranate and shot out from under him with all the swiftness of lightning. It was followed just as suddenly by his right foot. Ezra choked down a laugh as the man’s entire body flew forward feetfirst. Cups sailed in one direction, the tray in another. The tray bounced off Hanun’s richly turbaned head and landed with a bang as it went skidding across the floor. There was a terrific splash, and before anyone knew what had happened, the dignified cupbearer was sitting in the wine vat, dripping with red liquid. Wine and pomegranate juice flowed across the white marble floor, staining the hems of the guests’ robes a deep shade of reddish purple.

Everyone stared. For a brief moment silence reigned. Ezra fought to hold back his laughter. And then, from across the room —from the dripping wine vat —the angry cupbearer suddenly found a gap in the blue tablecloth. The man scowled at Ezra, who crouched hidden with his mouth full of roasted lamb.

“I told you so,” moaned Hezekiah. “He sees us. Now we’re caught for sure!”

“Just wait,” whispered Ezra with a confident smile. “It’s not over yet. I can talk my way out of anything!”

“Your Majesty!” shouted the cupbearer. “Look! Under the table against the wall. It’s your son and that hooligan of a troublemaker, Tola’s boy!”

Instantly the entire party was in an uproar. Guards in brassy armor and pointed helmets descended upon the sideboard and dragged the boys from their shadowy hiding place. Everything became a blur as Ezra was pulled to his feet and shoved in the direction of the king. When he came to a stop, he found himself standing in front of the king and Jehudith. Beside him were Hezekiah and Shub.

“Better make it good!” whispered Hezekiah through clenched teeth.

“Well, well!” said the king as a hush descended over the great hall. “What have we here?” He paused to hiccup and then bent down and stared sternly into the boys’ faces one by one. “Hezekiah?” he went on, glaring angrily at his son. “What is the meaning of this? What were you boys doing under that table? And who made this mess all over the floor? Hmmm?”

“Father, I —I —” stammered the prince.

“Hezekiah, perhaps you can answer my question,” the king growled.

Quickly Ezra sized up the situation. This was a tight spot for sure. His status as a hero was hanging in the balance. His theory was about to be disproved. Worst of all, his friend was about to be blamed for something he had done. Well, he’d told Hezekiah that he could talk his way out of anything, and if ever there was a time to start talking, it was now. So he blurted out the first thing that came into his head.

“Please don’t blame him, Your Majesty,” he said. “It’s not his fault.”

Ahaz frowned. “Not his fault? Well, then whose fault is it?”

“Mine.”

Ezra saw his mother turn pale. It was a bold stroke, but he had his reasons for believing that it just might work. Hezekiah turned and stared at him in disbelief. Shub looked at his feet and scratched his nose.

“Your fault?” said Ahaz, eyeing the boy narrowly. He hiccuped again. “Hmmm. Tola’s boy, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Son of our sweet Jehudith, here?”

“The same, Your Majesty.”

A murmur arose and wafted around the hall. Ezra sensed that every eye in the place was fixed upon him. He trembled inside, wondering if he had miscalculated. And then, slowly —ever so slowly —a lopsided smile broke across Ahaz’s face.

“Well,” said the king with a chuckle, “I see no reason to make any more of this affair than it warrants. Boys will be boys, eh? And now I think you boys had better leave us . . . before something worse happens, hmm?” He hiccuped again and waved them off.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Ezra. Then grabbing his two friends by their sleeves, he hurried from the hall as fast as he could go.

“Like the way I handled that?” said Ezra triumphantly when they were standing together at the palace gate. “I told you guys!”

Shub scratched his ear. “I’m still not sure how you did that,” he said.

“Easy. The king’s had too much to drink, and an honest confession was the last thing he was expecting. It’s the old element of surprise. I knew it would work.”

Hezekiah looked up at his friend with a confused frown. “I guess I owe you one, Ezra. But I still can’t help thinking that your tricks are going to catch up with you one of these days.”

“Even after what just happened? Aauughh! What does it take to convince some people?”

Shub looked amused.

“I’m sorry,” said the prince, staring down at his sandals. “I keep thinking about the prophet and . . . what that man said.”

Ezra heaved a frustrated sigh. “Looks like it’s time I got serious with you, Hezekiah.”

“Serious?”

“That’s right. Time we started your education in earnest.”

“Education?”

“Mm-hm.” Ezra relaxed, smiled, leaned his shoulder against the wall, and straightened his headband. “You just wait. By the time we get through, you’ll see that all this grown-up talk about gods and rules and judgment and consequences is just a big joke. You’ll know I’m right. If a kid is smart enough and lucky enough, he can get away with anything. You’ll see!”