Elijah (11 page)

Could I be wrong?
Elijah mused.
Is this where Yahweh would lead me?
He shrugged off the feeling and paused only long enough to drink his fill of muddy water and gather a few wild berries, which he wrapped in his headband and hung at his waist. Then he clambered out of the unsightly jungle, crossed the road and narrow plain, and attacked the forbidding entrance to the wadi.

Progress was slow. The tumbled rocks had to be tested for each step. Tangled masses of debris caused him to climb through thick oleanders and expose himself to possible snakebite. His face was caked with dust. It was in his mouth and clung to his hair. He frequently had to stretch his fingers out hard to keep them from cramping.

Suddenly he was there. A basin of clear water, fed by a tiny stream that trickled from the limestone of the mountain, created a beautiful garden. The water disappeared again from the basin into the limestone to make its way underground through the porous limestone to the Jordan below.

A cave, common in the limestone hills, was close by. Elijah knelt beside the pool of clear water and drank deeply. It was cooler than that of the Jordan, and sweeter. He leaned against a large rock near a stand of oleanders and closed his eyes. His headache was gone and the nightmare of last night drifted from his memory, but he was very tired. He shook his head to stay awake, and leaned forward to untie his sandals. Laying them aside, he walked to the stream and sat with his feet in the water. He had not had his sandals off for two days. He laid his mantle down, loosed his leather girdle, and pulled off his robe. The silt of the Jordan had stuck in the thick hair of his body. He started with his head, washing the silt of two days from his long, tangled hair and beard, and continued until he had bathed himself completely.

His clothes were next. They were even dirtier than he had been. He washed them carefully and hung them on branches to dry, then opened the cloth of berries and ate slowly and tiredly. When he finished he retrieved his clothes, almost dry now, and dressed, walked slowly to the cave, and sank exhausted to its floor.

Chapter Six

Zebul opened the door and looked quizzically at his visitor. His flushed cheeks revealed as much surprise as his eyes. He stepped back from the door and motioned Obadiah to enter.

“Your visit puzzles me.”

“Yes. I can see that it does.” Obadiah’s words were clipped and aloof, a thinly-veiled antagonism evident.

“A glass of wine?”

“Thank you, no.”

“Take a chair, then.” Zebul motioned to a square-backed chair over which was draped a multi-dyed tapestry.

“I will stand. I have little to say.”

The fat priest felt a twitch at the corner of his eye accept his irritation. Righteous Obadiah. How often as high priest he had delighted to bait the governor about his narrow religious views. Now, strangely, he felt an urge to impress the man. “I want you to sit for a few moments. I’m glad you came. There is a matter I wish to discuss.”

Obadiah’s hesitation revealed his distrust. Still, Zebul’s new attitude was curious. He strode to his seat, his well-developed dignity utilized to the greatest degree to show his feelings of detachment.

Zebul waited until Obadiah arranged the folds of his cloak to suit himself, then he spoke. “First, your business.”

The Governor’s beard jerked in precise movements as he spoke. “I have been instructed to advise you that the seating arrangement has been altered at the king’s table.” He paused. When he resumed speaking the words were sharp. “Equal tables are to be set for the chief priests of Melkart and of Yahweh. The two of you will occupy places of equal honor.”

Zebul did not answer. His unsmiling stare was blank, his face furrowed. The priest turned to the grillwork window, his back to Obadiah, his fingers slowly playing with his new ring. Obadiah watched expectantly, but quietly, determined not to be sucked into some intrigue of Zebul’s. When the priest turned his face to his old enemy, his voice was firm. He spoke slowly, with resignation. “I cannot share honors with the chief priest of Melkart.”

Obadiah’s chin thrust upward and forward, the jerk of his head accented by his stiff and trim goatee. “I think you misunderstood me, Zebul. The queen does not
ask
you to share. I state a fact you will be wise not to question.”

“The
queen?
”

Obadiah allowed a moment’s silence to accent his answer. “Our King Ahab has given Jezebel full control over matters of religion. What I have just stated to you is her directive.”

“I shall not sit at a table equal with the high priest of Melkart.”

Obadiah rose angrily to his feet. His words were staccato. “Your intrigues and games bore me, Zebul. I am not an amateur, and I have known you for a long time. Do not pretend with me. I was sick of your whines when you were demoted to a less honorable table, and I am certain that your smiles will be broad at dinner tonight.”

Zebul’s voice was firm and surprisingly calm. “You may report my decision to Queen Jezebel. I will not. . .”

“Your cheap play for power is foolish, Zebul. You at least have been shrewd in your plays for power before. Let me assure you that you will not be assigned a higher place than the high priest of Melkart.”

“Then I shall remain at a lower place.”

The two men stared at each other. Obadiah’s manner was, to Zebul, natural. His hardlined face was determined, his look of distrust and disgust apparent. His confidence bordered on arrogance. Zebul could not see the twinge of uncertainty, however, inside the governor, for the fat priest’s manner was perceptibly changed. Such a shift was difficult for the logically-minded Obadiah to contend with. Zebul’s determined answer appeared not to be playful or conniving, but sincere, his manner more resolute.

Zebul broke the silence. “Obadiah, you have every reason not to believe my sincerity in what I want to tell you.”

Obadiah reacted with a cold stare. Zebul decided to approach the subject another way.

“I have been to see Ahijah.” He detected a slight waver in the governor’s attitude. “I do not intend to reveal to you all of the events and personal distress I have gone through to reach my present state of mind, Obadiah, but my interests now are to eliminate the Baal religion from our courts and our land.”

Coldness returned to Obadiah’s stare. “It is as I suspected. I only regret that Yahweh does not have a high priest in office who would take your course of action for the right reasons.” Disgustedly, he pulled his cloak around his shoulders and started toward the door.

The fat priest moved to block his exit. “Obadiah!” The governor stopped. With all of the dignity of his office evident in his upraised chin and erect posture, he stared again at Zebul with exaggerated patience, as though the priest were an exasperating child on whom discipline would be wasted. “Obadiah.” Zebul spoke more evenly. “I do not expect to win.”

Obadiah’s shoulders relaxed just a bit, and a slight furrow in his brow softened his response. “I can assure you that what you have just stated in undoubtedly correct.” He turned from the door. “Such being the case, I don’t suppose you would tell me who has been your adversary for so long just what you hope to accomplish by your act.”

“Yes, I will tell you. I don’t want to pretend that the religions of Yahweh and Melkart can live side by side. They cannot. Their values are almost precise opposites. I am an observer of the religious scene by profession, Obadiah. If Yahweh’s people accommodate themselves to Melkart, Melkart will win. Battle lines must become apparent, so that people will be forced to choose between the two religions.”

Obadiah seated himself slowly. There was a touch of warmth in his eyes, and the lines in his face were softer. “Zebul, I only wish that I could relax and be confident of your purpose.”

“Such confidence requires time. This particular decision, I am afraid, does not allow for that time. You may do as you wish or think about me as you will, but my decision about seating at the king’s table is final.”

“You speak candidly. You never have done that before. You will allow me, then, also to speak candidly. I will accept your new direction as being honest, but only to a point. I shall cooperate with you and help you so long as I can evaluate the results of your actions. You must know, however, that I shall watch you carefully, because I will not be a party to intrigue.”

“There can be no other way.”

Obadiah rose. More slowly now, he moved toward Zebul. He grasped the priest’s arms and kissed him on both cheeks. “I hope very much that this day will mark the beginning of a common purpose.”

“So be it. One thing. What news is there of Elijah?”

“There is none. He has vanished. The search has been thorough, and is continuing, but no man in Israel knows the land like Elijah. He probably is hiding in one of the thousands of caves in the wilderness.”

“The search continues?”

“The search must continue until it rains. If Yahweh controls the waters of the heavens through the mouth of his prophet, Asherah will lose face. If Elijah can be found, Jezebel will force him to end the drought. Then she will credit Asherah for forcing Yahweh to give in.”

“There is much talk among the people. Elijah’s pronouncement has become widespread.” Zebul smiled, thinking of his visit to Ahijah. “It seems that Yahweh has found a champion.”

“Elijah has caught the people’s fancy. This is why Jezebel is forced to place you at an equal table.”

“Ah! She thinks such an act will temper the public mood.”

“Yes.” The lines in Obadiah’s face hardened. “The queen will not like your answer, Zebul.”

The fat priest chuckled. “So then Jezebel must make a move.”

Obadiah did not return the smile. Solemnly, he opened the door and walked slowly to his chariot. Zebul watched as the governor turned toward Ahab’s palace.

With a sharp clap of her hands Jezebel sent a messenger

scurrying for Meor-baal. Obadiah, outwardly self-possessed as ever, inwardly fought for some way to fend off the disaster he knew was imminent.

“My queen . . .” He addressed her quietly, careful to keep his eyes even. She whirled to face him. He noticed with surprise that her face appeared flushed, even under the olive complexion she so carefully cared for. “My queen, I speak humbly, but I am bound by my king to remind you of his command, which he repeated to me, that the prophets of Yahweh are not to be harmed, nor are Yahweh’s worshipers to be kept from their worship.”

“How dare you challenge the authority of your queen!” Jezebel shrieked in her fury. Then, struggling to regain control of her emotions, she spoke more calmly, pausing between sentences, cautious of her precise wording. “Obadiah, Ahab has given to my hand complete control over the religious life of Israel. His command which you repeated to me did not cover the eventuality of a revolt.”

“A revolt?” Obadiah challenged.

“What else would you call the high priest’s refusal to sit where he is assigned?” Jezebel raised herself to her full height and spoke haughtily. “Never have I heard of such insolence in the court of the king.”

Obadiah fought back the empty feeling that rose in his stomach.

“Listen, Governor of the King’s House.” Jezebel stared down at him from the dais on which her throne sat. “Perhaps I should tell you something to impress on you how serious a matter your loyalty to Yahweh can be.” She paused, savoring the silent tension produced by her words. Obadiah retained his dignity. Jezebel watched for the slightest evidence of nervousness—a twitch about his eyes, a slight jerk of his shoulder, the fractional break of eye contact. He remained resolute. She reseated herself. “Your King Ahab offered sacrifices to Melkart and evoked his blessing when he went to fight Ben-hadad on the northern border.”