In the Shadow of Jezebel (11 page)

“We love you, Abba, and we’re here to help.”

“Where’s Thali?” he asked through strained emotions. “Where’s my Thaliah?”

Hazi and Sheba exchanged a mournful glance, and the prince sighed, preparing himself to issue the hard news. “Ima is grieving, Abba. My brothers were killed in the raid.”

Grief. Fury. Terror. A swirl of emotions twisted the king’s face and elicited a groan from the depths of his being. “Nooooo! Yahweh, no!” Suddenly he tried to sit, grasping for Hazi and Sheba to help. “Jehoiada! Jehoiada, come here!”

Hazi cradled his weakened abba and motioned to the other men in the cavern. They came running, summoned by the king’s frantic grief. All of them knelt, but it was Obadiah who spoke. “What? What is it, my lord?”

“Jehoiada, this is my daughter Sheba. She’s the one.”

Sheba felt her heart racing, confused by Abba’s desperation and then his strange introduction. She turned to the priest for some sort of clarification but saw only disgust.

“No,” Jehoiada said simply.

“Please! I must find a way to stop Yahweh’s judgment! He’s taken my sons. Did you hear? My sons are dead. I’ll give Sheba to the high priest. I am king, and I command—”

“You cannot make a treaty with Yahweh or command Him!” Jehoiada’s anger echoed off the limestone walls. “Amariah is dead, but Yahweh’s judgment lives on. Only the Lord gives life and takes it.”

With all the intimidation a desperately ill man could muster, Abba rose up on one elbow. “Your high priest is dead, Jehoiada, but another will be chosen by Aaron’s descendants, and the
new
high priest can let Yahweh decide through the Urim and Thummim if my daughter will become his bride.”

Sheba began to tremble. She’d never heard Abba speak of Yahweh or the traditions he must have learned from King Jehoshaphat. And how had Abba decided she should marry Yahweh’s high priest—the same decision Ima and the Gevirah had reached in Jezreel? Unseen forces were undeniably at work, forces as real as Sheba’s magical arts. What if Baal Melkart wasn’t stronger than Yahweh? What if . . .

She stared at the Yahweh priest, his whole being trembling with faith and conviction. He reminded her of King Jehoshaphat. Though she’d only met him a few times, Saba Jehoshaphat had spoken with the same zeal for Yahweh. Mattan had never spoken so passionately about Baal Melkart. Was it the gods who differed or the men who served them?

Her next thought stole her breath.
Why me?
Why had
she
been chosen to enter the conflict? Suddenly it seemed more than petty struggles between queens, priests, and kings. Sheba had entered an unseen war. Yahweh and Baal battled for control of nations, rulers, and individual hearts. Was she to be the weapon or the prize?

2 C
HRONICLES
21:18

After all this, the L
ORD
afflicted Jehoram with an incurable disease of the bowels.

S
heba slipped out of Abba Jehoram’s chamber unnoticed. He hadn’t acted very kingly tonight, wailing in pain, begging to die as they’d settled him into bed.
It
’
s
a
good
thing
Ima
Thaliah
didn
’
t
see
him
.
Sheba descended the guards’ circular stairway and pulled open the heavy cedar door leading to the second-floor women’s chambers, where she was greeted by two Carite guards. Familiar faces, though she didn’t know their names.

Ima Thaliah had ordered the city’s wailing to cease at sunset, but the silence shrouded Jerusalem like a tomb. Enemy bodies smoldered in the Valley of Hinnom, smothering the city with death ash. Yahweh’s followers buried their dead in sarcophagi west of the city, while Baal’s faithful lit funeral pyres in shifts at the new temple. Mattan had gone to oversee the preparation of the princes’ bodies for a special ceremony that would take place tomorrow.

Sheba focused on her bedchamber door.
Just a few more steps and I’ll
sleep in my own bed, wake up in my own
world.
The ridiculous thought paused her hand on the door latch. Her
world was gone forever. Merchants’ stalls lay in ruins, with trade goods—grain, spices, pottery, silk—strewn along the streets. Even the palace had been marred by death. Bloodstains tainted the royal men’s hallway, and Sheba stared down at her feet, where a tapestry lay in pieces—slashed by an enemy sword.

Weary to the bone, she turned the latch, noticing the door slightly ajar. Invading Philistines on her mind, she considered signaling one of the Carites but dismissed her caution as paranoia. If she were to embrace Jizebaal’s destiny of queens, she should have the courage to walk into a dark chamber. Sheba closed the door behind her.

“How sick is he?”

Sheba screamed, startled nearly to death. A single flickering oil lamp revealed Ima Thaliah’s shadowy silhouette leaning against Sheba’s balcony.

Carites pounded on her door, but she opened it only a crack. “I’m sorry to alarm you. I thought I saw a mouse.” She offered her most beguiling smile and changed their barely hidden frustration to poorly veiled desire. After closing the door, she sighed and melted against it. “Ima, what are you doing in my chamber?”

“I want to know how sick your abba is.”

“How do you even know he’s ill? You left before Obadiah and Zev told us he’d been stricken.” Sheba coaxed her to sit on a couch near the balcony. “He’s in a great deal of pain.”

Ima’s black eyes held no emotion. “Tell me the truth. Is Jehoram dying, or must we deal with more of his incompetence?”

“I thought you loved Abba! You’re acting like Gevirah
Jezebel
!”

Without warning, Thaliah slapped her, and the silence grew more profound—no mourning, no crickets, no footsteps. Only her heart pounding in her ears.

“Don’t ever call the Gevirah that name. Do you hear me?”

Sheba covered her stinging cheek and nodded, staring into the granite countenance of a woman she once thought loved her.

“And don’t
ever
accuse me of being like her. She’s never loved anyone except her precious abba, Eth-Baal. The Gevirah will kill anyone who stands in her way—including her children. But I
love my sons, Sheba. Now that only Hazi remains, I will do anything to see him made king of Judah. Do you understand me?” The muscles in her jaw danced, her teeth grinding. “Anything.”

“I love Hazi too,” Sheba said, desperate to please. “And he’s so much like King Ram. I can see why you want to protect your brother as well.”

A shadow of sadness passed over Ima’s features before the stony mask returned. “I can’t worry about Ram now. Hazi must be my only concern. Tell me about your abba Jehoram. Where did they hide him all this time?”

“Zev and Obadiah hid him in some abandoned quarry beneath the city.”

“And you said he was in pain?”

Sheba slowed her breathing, choosing her words carefully. “He’s quite emaciated after only three days. His pain is bearable while reclining, but the moment he moves, he becomes inconsolable, and he . . .”

Sheba’s hesitation fueled Ima Thaliah’s frustration. “He what? Really, Sheba. Now is not the time for decorum. What’s wrong with your abba?”

“The disease of the bowels . . . it’s come upon him as the letter predicted. Obadiah called for the palace physician.”

Ima’s features brightened. “And Hazi witnessed his abba’s suffering?”

Sheba nodded, horrified.

“Splendid!” Ima clapped her hands, seeming delighted. “Did Hazi meet with the royal advisors tonight as he said he would?”

“He’s meeting with them right now.” Sheba grew more perplexed as Ima’s excitement mounted. “Ima, forgive me, but why aren’t you meeting with them? If you and the Gevirah plan to unite Judah and Israel, shouldn’t you begin by meeting with Abba’s advisors and at least hint at the idea?”

“Ah, youth, they’re always in such a hurry.” Ima Thaliah spoke to no one in particular and then turned to Sheba as if she were a child again. “Gevirah and I
will
unite Judah and Israel, but we always allow men to think it’s their idea. This is an important lesson to use with your new high priest husband, dear.”

A knock on the door interrupted them. “Come!” Sheba said. Her maids entered, carrying warm honeyed wine and pitchers with washbasins. “Leave the wine, but I’m not ready for bed yet. I’ll ring the bell when I wish you to return.”

A maid began pouring wine in wooden cups. “What’s this?” Sheba asked, slapping the cup from the girl’s hand.

The maid mopped the spilled wine with a cloth while explaining. “I’m sorry, mistress, but all the gold and silver was lost in the raid.” After refilling Sheba’s cup with trembling hands, the girl bowed and hurried from the chamber.

Sheba sipped the sweet nectar and glimpsed Ima’s approving smile over the rough-hewn rim. “What? Did I do something right for once?”

“You do a great many things right, Daughter, but I’m afraid the past three days might have shaken your confidence.” Ima brushed her cheek, summoning warm feelings nearly snuffed out by all Sheba had learned of this duplicitous woman. “I had five sons by the time I was twenty-one years old. I wanted a daughter, and you were the one I chose. I’ve never been sorry.”

A sudden chill crept up Sheba’s spine.
The one she chose?
“You mean you chose to raise me when my ima died.”

“I mean the nursemaids said you were the most beautiful and clever of all Jehoram’s daughters, and I was determined to have you.” Her eyes sparked with unspoken meaning, and Sheba began to tremble.

What was she implying? Had Queen Athaliah just confessed to murdering Sheba’s ima?

A loud knock startled her, and she jumped to her feet. “I told those maids I’d ring when I was ready for bed.” Ima Thaliah would undoubtedly chastise her for answering her own door, but she needed to put some distance between her and this stranger she called Ima. Sheba began shouting while reaching for the latch. “How dare you return before I call—”

Hazi stood there alone, his face a shroud of concern. “I came to see if you were all right.”

Sheba embraced him like an anchor in a storm, relief summoning forbidden tears. He lifted her off the ground, carried
her into the chamber, and planted her feet on the tiled floor. His expression changed the moment he glimpsed Ima Thaliah, and Sheba quickly released him. “Look who came to check on Abba,” she said a little too brightly.

He knelt before Ima, bowing his head on her knees. “I thought you’d gone to bed. If I’d known you were awake, I would have included you in the advisors’ meeting.”

Sheba wondered what expression was hiding on Hazi’s down-turned face.

Ima cupped his chin, drawing his gaze to meet hers. “You’re more than capable to speak to your abba’s advisors.” She seemed utterly genuine, pleased with and proud of her only remaining son.

“Did Sheba tell you about Abba?” He was measuring her reaction. The last time they’d seen her, she was angry—but he had no idea she was Leviathan in human form.

“Yes, Sheba told me, but she wasn’t sure how serious the illness. Did you get a report from the physician?”

Hazi wiped his weary face and appeared to age before their eyes. “Yes, I’m afraid Abba won’t leave his chamber for the foreseeable future. The physician has no cure, and the best he can offer is something for the pain.”

Ima Thaliah dissolved into a swaying mound of grief, bemoaning the unbearable loss of her sons and then babbling some nonsense about her undying love for Abba.

Hazi gathered Ima in his strong embrace, consoling the heartless queen, while Sheba sat on the bed, aloof, sickened by the scene.

When Athaliah’s uncharacteristic tears had ebbed, Hazi listened with rapt attention as she sniffed and spoke in broken phrases. “My son, you must relinquish your position on the royal guard and prepare to become Judah’s king.”

“No, Ima. I can’t. I won’t.” His voice was kind but firm. “I’ve given it much thought, and we both know I’m not ready to be king. You’ve seen how the Gevirah treats Ram. I don’t want our relationship to become so hostile—and it would, you know, because you would try to rule me while I tried to rule the nation.”

Thaliah ducked her head, pretending coyness. “Well, we mustn’t let it come to that, Hazi, because Judah needs you as king. You and your abba are the only living descendants of King David. Have you considered that?”

Hazi raked a hand through his hair, defenses weakening. “But Abba remains king. He’s not dead yet, Ima. I refuse to steal his throne.”

“You wouldn’t be stealing his throne, dear. I simply ask that you
prepare
to rule if this illness should take your abba from us.”

Hazi stared at the floor for several heartbeats. Sheba considered praying that the gods would give him wisdom, but at this point she wasn’t sure which god was on her side—or if the gods were on anyone’s side. She assessed the ivory and stone images that filled the corners and wall niches. Baals, Asherahs, and teraphims to whom she prayed for life, health, protection, blessing, even cursing of her enemies. To which god could she confide her fears about Ima and the Gevirah? Which gods were on her side?

Hazi interrupted her brooding. “What do you think, Sheba? Is this one of the Gevirah’s conspiracies, or does Ima Thaliah really need me to prepare to become king?”

With all her heart, Sheba wanted to say,
Ima’s plan is as bizarre
and dangerous as one of the Gevirah’s conspiracies! Don
’t listen to her!
But Jizebaal had no inkling of Abba Jehoram’s illness or knowledge that Ima Thaliah’s other sons were dead. Whatever Queen Athaliah planned for Hazi came from her dark heart alone. “The Gevirah has nothing to do with
Ima’s
plan for you, Brother.”

Hazi nodded and kissed her cheek, accepting Sheba’s honesty as approval. She stared at her hands as Hazi offered his full attention to the queen. “All right, Ima. I’ll listen, but I don’t promise to comply with your every wish.”

“When have you
ever
complied with my every wish?” A spark of real frustration seeped into Ima’s performance. “My plan is this: I’ll remain in Jerusalem to facilitate your abba’s day-to-day decisions. You, my son, must follow the example of your saba Jehoshaphat and travel to all the cities of Judah, building strong relationships with the people of your nation.”

Hazi’s brows arched. “So far, I approve. But how do you suggest I strengthen these relationships?”

“First, you’ll encourage our people to be more open-minded, worship any god of their choosing, and make the temples of Baal and Astarte more, shall we say,
pleasing
to the common Judean.” Ima motioned for Sheba to kneel beside Hazi and cupped both their chins, adoration in her eyes. “By the time your tours are arranged, Sheba will have married the new high priest, so it will appear that the royal house of David is still quite devoted to Yahweh.” She brushed their cheeks with her hands and waited, appearing every bit the proud ima.

Hazi sighed and glanced at Sheba. “What do you think, little sister?”

Sheba glimpsed a threatening stare from Ima and gave an approving nod. “The people of Judah will love you, Hazi.”

Ima interrupted. “Of course, dear. I have only your best interests and Judah’s future at heart. And that’s why you must also marry the daughter of a nobleman in every city you visit.”

“What?” both Hazi and Sheba asked in concert.

“Don’t act so shocked. By the time I was Hazi’s age, I had four children.”

“I enjoy my concubines, thank you, Ima. I see no need—”

“Then open your eyes, Son, because the need to build a royal household has never been greater!” Ima jumped to her feet and stood over Hazi, hands fisted on her hips. “You can’t tell me that it’s a burden to find the most beautiful daughter of a nobleman in every Judean city and take her to bed.”

Hazi stood, towering over her by a cubit. “You, more than any woman, should understand that sentencing a woman to a king’s harem is worse than death. I won’t do it, Ima. I won’t!”

“Being remembered as a failure is worse than death.” Ima Thaliah whispered the words, and Sheba saw by the pain on Hazi’s face that they’d hit their mark. “And if you don’t build King David’s house, death will be too good for you.” She stormed out of the chamber without a backward glance.

Ima Thaliah cared nothing about King David or Judah, but she knew Hazi did. Hadn’t she said she’d do
anything
to make
him king? She might not be willing to kill her son, but she had no inhibitions about breaking his heart.

Sheba reached for Hazi’s hand, but he pulled away. “We all need rest. Let’s talk in the morning.”

He slammed the door behind him, and Sheba stood in the silence. Alone. Again. The gods of her childhood surrounded her, but they felt like strangers, their carved faces devoid of life, their empty eyes unable to see her pain. She crawled into her bed and curled into a tight ball, releasing the torrent of emotions that warred within. She had no one. No home. No gods. Soon she’d have a husband—but how could she ever trust a priest of Yahweh?