In the Shadow of Jezebel (9 page)

1 K
INGS
21:19

Say to [Ahab], “This is what the L
ORD
says: Have you not murdered a man and seized his property?” Then say to him, “This is what the L
ORD
says: In the place where dogs licked up Naboth’s blood, dogs will lick up your blood—yes, yours!”

E
scorted by the weasel eunuch Gevirah had assigned, Ima Thaliah and Sheba hurried down the now familiar hallway toward Jizebaal’s chamber. The faded purple tapestries that had captured Sheba’s attention at first no longer held her interest. After two endless days of waiting for news of Jerusalem, her only concern was Abba.

Without warning, Ima Thaliah seized Sheba’s arm, halting her progress, and then pressed a quieting finger to her lips. A mischievous grin awaited the eunuch’s realization that they no longer followed. Two camel lengths ahead, he glanced over his shoulder and jumped as if bitten by a serpent. “Why have you stopped? We mustn’t keep the Gevirah waiting!”

Sheba laughed outright while Ima Thaliah glared at the impudent servant. “Proceed to the Gevirah’s chamber and announce our arrival. Princess Sheba and I will enter directly.”

Only a moment’s hesitation preceded the man’s frustrated
bow. The chamber guards opened the double doors at his approach, and Ima Thaliah began whispering as the doors clicked shut. “Jerusalem’s instability has hastened Ima Jizebaal’s plan to unite Israel and Judah. She’s eager to be rid of my brother Ram, and if Jehoram is dead, she intends to make Hazi king and begin unifying the nations immediately. We can’t let that happen.”

Every emotion inside Sheba screamed for release, but she’d honed her calm facade during the last two days’ insanity. While Ima Thaliah and Jizebaal spoke openly in King Ram’s presence about uniting Israel and Judah, Sheba watched Hazi’s face remain a blank parchment. He was a master of deception—a fine skill to possess amid their life of intrigue. He’d revealed no emotion, none of his opinions—even when the Gevirah unveiled her plan to eventually crown him king.

Sheba maintained her placid expression, keeping her tone level. “I am pleased to do anything you ask of me, my queen.”

“Good.” Ima Thaliah looped her arm in Sheba’s and began walking again toward the Gevirah’s chamber. “We must convince Jizebaal that my oldest son is a better choice for Judah’s immediate king. Otherwise, Ram will be dead before the new moon.”

Perhaps
Abba Jehoram is still alive!
Sheba wanted to scream. Instead, she walked silently, arm in arm with Ima Thaliah, as Jizebaal’s chamber guards opened the doors.

“There you are, Thali,” Jizebaal said. “We’ve been waiting.” Her icy stare could have turned rain to snow.

Sheba bowed, allowing Ima to precede her toward a low couch positioned near a circular ivory table. Judah’s queen took her place beside King Ram, and the seating appeared to alternate male/female. Sheba sat on King Ram’s left, sharing a couch with Hazi. The Gevirah was positioned on a couch of her own next to Hazi, and Mattan was flanked by both queens. He looked as stiff as the teraphim on the Gevirah’s balcony. Sheba scooted closer to Hazi, his nearness serving as silent assurance.
Perhaps this morning won’
t be as terrible as I feared.

Jizebaal clapped her hands, alerting her servants and startling everyone else. “Leave us.” The servants exchanged puzzled glances, hesitating only a moment before hurrying from the room.

Sheba’s eunuch dared to question the Gevirah. “Would you like one of us to stay in case you have need of—” The Gevirah’s glare stopped him. He turned and fled with the rest.

Sheba gulped. What was Jizebaal about to say if even the mute servants were ordered out?

Surprisingly, King Ram spoke first. “We received word this morning from the prophet Elisha. Ben-Hadad, the king of Aram, is dead—murdered by his trusted officer, Hazael, who has stolen the throne.”

Sheba glanced at the others, waiting for someone to explain why this turn of events mattered when Abba and all of Jerusalem hung in the balance. “Is this the same prophet who wrote the letter to Abba?”

“What letter?” Jizebaal’s indignation reminded Sheba too late that the Gevirah didn’t know about the letter Obadiah had delivered the night before they left Jerusalem.

Ima Thaliah squeezed her eyes shut and sighed before reporting the news like a market list. “Jehoram received a letter written by Elijah’s hand, predicting disaster to the king’s household and a wasting illness of his bowels.”

Silence stretched into awkwardness, giving Sheba ample time to study the intricate carving on the table. Why had she spoken without thinking?

“The letter couldn’t have been from Elijah,” Jizebaal said finally. “He’s been dead for more than ten years. His students tell some ridiculous story about his departure to the underworld in a fiery chariot, but I believe the stinking, hairy prophet returned to Mount Horeb and died in the wilderness.” Waving her hand, she seemed to dismiss the rumors, the prophet, and the letter. “Now, get on with it, Ram.”

Ram turned to Sheba, his eyes having lost some of the sparkle she’d admired in days past. “The prophet Elisha is Elijah’s successor. He has helped us overcome the Arameans in recent battles, but—”

“Tell them how your prophet friend betrayed you, my son,” Jizebaal goaded with wicked delight.

“He’s. Not. My. Friend.” Ram released a sigh and turned
to Hazi. “Someday, when you become king, remember that prophets and priests are never your friends. They are tools for gathering information and gaining power. Never trust them.” Sheba noticed Mattan squirm on his couch and wondered if Ram had somehow heard rumors of Mattan’s corruption. “Elisha predicts the new king of Aram will bring fire and sword to Israel in the coming years. I suppose that means Elisha’s days of helping Israel are over.”

The Gevirah made no attempt to hide her smug grin. “And so ends King Ram’s momentary allegiance to Yahweh.”

Ram returned no spiteful comments—only a woeful expression as he cradled his sister’s hand. “I’m sorry, Thali, but it also means Israel’s military remains on high alert and can’t offer aid to Judah—no matter what Jerusalem’s condition after this raid.”

Ima Thaliah’s countenance remained chiseled stone, a silent nod her only reply.

Jizebaal’s overly cheery voice broke the tension. “Why don’t we let my grandson review the contingencies if Jehoram has been killed and yet we somehow retain power in Judah.”

Hazi, ever calm and controlled, cleared his throat. “Of course, we pray that almighty Baal Melkart has protected Abba Jehoram somehow, but if for any reason he becomes unable to rule Judah . . .” He paused and held Ima Thaliah’s gaze. “The succession will proceed in order from my eldest brother down. I will continue to serve in the royal guard, ensuring the safe transition of the throne from abba to son to son and so on.”

Ima Thaliah exhaled and then nodded at the Gevirah, her relief palpable. “My oldest son will make a fine king and will work to fill Judah’s treasury, using Abba Ahab’s more aggressive style of leadership.”

“Ha!” Ram showcased the fading opulence around them. “Because Abba’s style of leadership stuffed Israel’s treasury full of wealth,” he said, sarcasm as thick as his curly black hair.

Gevirah Jizebaal’s head turned slowly, like a cobra coiled to strike. “Would you spit on your abba’s grave and say King Ahab’s government failed?
You
squander what your abba built.”

“It was
your
interference that killed Abba and started this decline!”

The Gevirah ignored her son and turned to Hazi with the sweet smile Sheba dreaded most—it was the last warning before she lost control. “Ram thinks I interfered when I helped Ahab acquire the fenced plot of land you passed between the palace and Gideon’s Pool. That herb garden used to be a vineyard owned by a stubborn man named Naboth, who thought he could refuse when King Ahab
asked
to buy it. A strong king doesn’t ask—and will not be refused.”

“Listen closely, Prince Hazi,” Ram interjected, seething, “to your savta Jizebaal’s lesson on murdering an innocent man.” Ima Thaliah placed a quieting hand on her brother’s arm, pleading.

The Gevirah’s smile widened, her eyes like daggers. “When
you
become king, Hazi, remember it’s impossible to worship Yahweh
and
Baal. The Yahwists will never allow it. Both your saba Ahab and Ram have tried it and failed. King Ahab finally realized Baal Melkart—lord king of the city—is stronger than other gods, so he began buying small farms and moving people into the cities.”

“But how did farmers earn a living for their families if they sold their farms?” Hazi’s seemingly logical question wiped the smile from Jizebaal’s face. Instinctively, Sheba brushed the scab marks on her neck and prayed to the gods for Hazi’s protection.

The Gevirah’s harsh tone matched her stare. “The small farmers carelessly wasted their profits, which forced them into servitude. However, most of them found even slave labor failed to meet their debts. So King Ahab offered further provision by facilitating the sale of their daughters to serve in the temples of Baal and Astarte. He then combined the small farms into parcels, selling them at a profit to wealthy merchants who grew wealthier because they reaped harvests from large plots of land near growing cities.” Her bright smile returned. “You see, my dear Hazi? A strong king acquires land, wealth,
and
the loyalty of key leaders in the land.”

Before Hazi could respond, Ram leaned forward and whispered as if conspiring, “And when a king won’t steal a man’s
inheritance—his family’s vineyard—from its rightful owner, the meddling queen conspires to kill that owner and his family, bringing down Yahweh’s wrath on the king and all his descendants.”

“Ram, please! Let it go.” Ima Thaliah’s eyes glistened, and again Sheba was startled by her genuine emotion. Why didn’t Ima show that kind of concern for Abba Jehoram?

Ram patted his sister’s hand and spoke with aching tenderness. “Do you think Yahweh’s prophets will let it go, Thali?” Then he turned on the Gevirah. “Tell Hazi about Elijah’s prophecy when he heard of Naboth’s death.”

“Elijah or Elisha?” Sheba squeaked the question before she could restrain herself and received glaring disdain from everyone in the room—everyone except Mattan.

Sheba’s relentless teacher, the most powerful priest in Judah, appeared almost sympathetic. “
Elijah
confronted Ahab after assassins killed Naboth and his sons, saying Yahweh would consume Ahab’s descendants and cut off every last male in Israel—slave or free. He said dogs would devour Queen Jizebaal by the wall of Jezreel and eat those in Ahab’s clan who die in the city.”

The Gevirah chuckled—low and menacing. “Oh, Mattan, don’t forget about the birds that will feed on Ahab’s family who die in the country.” She stared at Ima and Ram as if daring them to speak. “I think that about covers it, doesn’t it, children?”

Ram and Ima Thaliah sat like Baal stones. Sober. Silent.

Sheba could hardly breathe. “So, we’re all cursed?”

“Oh no, dear.” The Gevirah leaned forward, whispering, taunting. “Just us. You don’t have a drop of Ahab’s blood in you.”

Sheba reached for Hazi’s hand and found him as white as Mattan’s priestly robe.

A loud pounding on the door caused everyone to jump. The Gevirah shouted, “Come!”

General Jehu entered, dragging a beleaguered messenger beside him. Sheba recognized his uniform as Judean and held her breath. The commander spoke before permission was granted. “I beg pardon, but this messenger has just arrived from Jerusalem with grave news.” Shoving the trembling man forward, Jehu fairly snarled, “Tell them. Everything.”

The man fell to his knees, head bowed. “I beg mercy for the tragic news I have to report. Philistines and Arabs routed Jerusalem. The city and its walls still stand, but the king’s household is . . .” He buried his face in his hands, mumbling.

“The king’s household is what?” Hazi leapt from his couch, grabbing the man’s collar, lifting him to his feet. “Is King Jehoram safe?”

“May Yahweh forgive me, we don’t know. The Philistines raided the palace and the Temple, killed the king’s sons, and hung their bodies on the palace walls, but there’s been no sign of King Jehoram.”

Ima Thaliah leapt from her couch as well. “What do you mean, ‘the king’s sons’? You mean the king’s nephews or the other wives’ children? The king’s
royal
sons—the princes—are governors of their own fortified cities—”

Her words were cut short by the hopeless shaking of the messenger’s head. “I’m sorry, my queen, but King Jehoram had summoned
your
sons to Jerusalem, and all four of them arrived the evening before the attack.” He hesitated, casting pleading glances at the commander and Hazi before finishing. “All four princes are dead, and some of the other royals were killed or taken captive when the invaders retreated from the city—the king’s other wives, his other children, and some advisors.”

A low, guttural keening began in Ima Thaliah’s throat, and Sheba left her couch to comfort her.

Hazi, still searching for answers, asked the man, “How could you know the others were killed or captured but know nothing of King Jehoram’s whereabouts?”

“We have only the testimony of a guard at the Sheep Gate, who said Commander Zev escaped with King Jehoram and two escorts during the heaviest fighting. No one has seen any of them since.”

Before Hazi could question him further, the Gevirah stepped forward. “Thank you, Commander Jehu, you may go.”

The commander seemed startled and looked to King Ram for confirmation. Receiving it, he bowed and backed from the room.

As the door closed, Jizebaal bid the frightened messenger to
stand. “Young man, you said both the palace and the Temple were raided. We’ve heard the report on the losses in the palace, but what damage was done in the Temple? It’s Yahweh’s Temple of which you speak, is it not?”

The messenger seemed hesitant, but after receiving a nod from Hazi, he met Jizebaal’s gaze. “Yes, Queen Jezebe—” Utter horror washed over the man’s face when he realized he’d nearly called Israel’s Gevirah a pile of dung in her hearing. “Forgive me, my lady! I didn’t mean—”