THE sons of the king charged their mules back to the capital in a mad race. But the news about their incident travelled faster; for it reached the king first.
Indeed, a hasty messenger had run with the report ever before the dramas were done. He’d picked up a young ass and fled to bring the king news.
It was night in the city of Jerusalem, and the monarch rose from his throne and tore his clothes in the height of misery.
He garbed himself in mournful sack clothes, and fell on the ground grieving terribly.
‘Ah, woe, woe! Woe befalls me, ah, ah! My sons are all gone in one day!’
But that was the report that came to the king by the hand of a hasty servant.
So, he lamented through the dusking night that his Third had killed all of his brothers. All his ministers were down with him also, mourning in rags and ashes.
Now as the lament went on without an end, a brother to the ruler and a close associate to him contemplated the matter. His name was Jonadab.
He reasoned within himself:
The Third cannot kill all his brothers. No, he wouldn’t do so since they haven’t wronged him.
Certainly, only the First had wronged this boy—when he touched what belongs to him two years ago.
So, this murder must be a revenge that the Third One planned for him alone.
It definitely must be.
Therefore, after that contemplation, Jonadab gave voice to his thought and told the king everything he’d mused.
He stressed this point in any case: ‘Only the First is dead. Only Amnon is killed in that revenge.’
Jonadab was still engaged in convincing the king when the council heard thuds of racing hoofs advancing towards the palace gate.
Immediately, the sentry on the watchtower sent in a servant to inform the king about the arrival.
‘It is the king’s sons, Your Majesty!’ went the report. ‘And their riding is like men that flee the sword!’
Just then the king raised his head and sighed. ‘It turns out to be good news indeed!’
Jonadab nodded at him. ‘I told you that your sons live, Your Majesty! And look, here they come.’
Now the monarch rose up and his people with him; then his princes poured in a moment after.
There followed a moving sound of crying that filled the once bustling palace. For the princes raised their voices and wept bitterly.
But among them there was no place left for the Third Son. For that man fled the entire nation of his father’s reign. He chose his mother’s country far away as his hiding rock.
Now the king searched for his Third Son every day, as much as he mourned the loss of his First.
And every day his soul sought for him, and pined.
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