“I want to buy it,” Ahab declared, standing up.
“What?” Naboth continued working, checking every herb bed with care, his lips moving silently as he made notes in his head.
“I want to buy your garden. All your land,” Ahab said.
Naboth stopped as if he had been struck. He stood and brushed the dirt from his legs. “Come anytime you would like. I will never close the gates to my king.”
“No, no, I will buy it. Sell me your vineyard, or if you prefer, I’ll give you another in its place.”
“My son,” Naboth said, “this I cannot do. The law of the Lord is that the land belongs to one family forever. It cannot be bought or sold. To do so would be to disobey the Lord.”
Ahab waited for the real reason Naboth would not sell, but Naboth said nothing else.
“You are so afraid of the Lord?” Ahab said finally, his voice harsh and mocking, but really, he trembled inside to think another man understood his fear, his total terror of this unreasonable god.
“Do you not understand?” Naboth asked. “It is not fear that compels me. It is love. I love Him so much that I could never dishonor Him.”
Ahab nodded, glancing back at the path that would take him from here, back to the palace.
“Of course,” Ahab said, taking his leave quickly. “Forgive me. It was only a mistake. It was all such a mistake.”
Jezebel
Ahab still had not eaten and had not emerged from his chambers.
Obadiah had entered the chamber, a hand over his nose and mouth as he went straight over to open the doors leading to the portico. With fresh air moving in the chamber, he stood over Ahab, who was in bed, staring at the ceiling, blinking and sighing at odd intervals. He had not gotten up to bathe or eat. The room smelled of sweat and stale beer. His dinner from last night sat untouched on the nightstand, with the breakfast from the previous morning untouched as well on the floor beneath it.
“What can I do?” Obadiah asked.
Jezebel sat in a chair in the corner, watching it all. She had stayed with Ahab through the night, though he had never said a word.
“Get out!” she yelled. “This does not concern you!”
“Stop!” Ahab cried out. He held his head in his hands, his fingers clenching his hair.
Obadiah took his leave, slinking away like the palace rat he was.
“Why are you so sullen? Why won’t you eat?” Jezebel said, moving to the bed to stare down at him.
“I tried to do something good yesterday,” Ahab said. “And I’ve been humiliated.”
“Is this how the king acts?” she asked, slapping him on the arm.
“A throne doesn’t mean anything.”
In that moment, Jezebel wanted him dead. She thought of holding him over the pit of fire, him instead of Temereh. Jezebel had given everything for a throne, and what she hadn’t given was taken from her. Nothing was sacred, nothing mattered but a throne.
“What happened?” She sat on the bed, near defeat herself.
Ahab sat up to look at her while he talked. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen. He had been crying.
She tried not to recoil.
He began. “I know how much you like Naboth’s vineyard and gardens. I decided that I would make a present to you of his land. I knew you wanted it.”
He returned to that point again, she noticed, as if blaming her.
“So I made my offer. I was generous, Jezebel. More than generous. I offered him a fortune, or his selection of any other land he desired. I would have even given him both, had he asked. But he accused me of not loving the Lord.”
“That makes no sense,” she corrected him. He was leaving something out. She had never known him to be a liar.
“There is an old law of Yahweh. He gave each family their land, so no family can sell it. But that was generations ago.”
“You know what troubles me about this Yahweh?” Jezebel asked Ahab. “He began with one altar, built by David, yes?”
Ahab nodded.
“Then he has a temple in Jerusalem and promises to dwell there. Then he comes to Samaria and troubles our people there. Then he follows you to Aphek and condemns you for making a covenant. Now he is in Jezreel, too? Does the whole world belong to him?”
“Yes!” Ahab said.
“In all my years listening to stories of sailors and merchants and dignitaries from every empire in this world, I have never heard of a god like this,” she said, standing, pacing from exasperation. He said nothing but gave her a sullen look, like a child refusing to play.
She made a fist and pounded Ahab so hard in the stomach that he gasped. He needed to listen. “Get up and eat. I’ll get you Naboth’s land.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” he said. It sounded like a declaration of his innocence, in case Yahweh was nearby and listening.
She laughed at the thought.
“No, you didn’t,” she told Ahab. “I can do this all by myself.”
Jezebel
To host a feast, most royal courts required at least three month’s preparation. The palace must be cleaned, repairs made, decorations tended to, murals added and inlays finished. Additional toilets must be constructed and tables brought in.
Jezebel loved the whirlwind she had created over the past month, the hum of activity. Every time she walked in the valley, she was met with appreciation and compliments from Ahab’s men. Ahab began to recover from his melancholy as he noticed the activity and was slowly drawn in. He still had marrow in the bone.
Obadiah was the reluctant participant. Jezebel ordered him to have one hundred sheep butchered and to see to it that every dish was well seasoned. Naboth had plenty of fennel and anise growing; Obadiah could be sure to give him a fair price and see that it was done. In addition, she asked him to audition musicians. A good feast had great music, and she insisted he find quality musicians. She didn’t care which instruments, only that he had plenty of musicians stationed throughout the grounds.
They would have tables all through the grounds, too, separating guests by gender, and then by rank. In the main hall of the palace, which served as an administrative center, the other tables would be set. At the far end of the hall he would place the king’s table, and Ahab and Jezebel would entertain from there. Elders would flank the royal couple at their table and at the tables nearest. She made a careful point to Obadiah that she wanted Naboth seated with Ahab, in full view of everyone present. Naboth was to be given great honor.
With so much to be done, Jezebel told Obadiah, Ahab did not mind if she used his seal. He had not fully recovered from his moods, and she had to seal purchase orders for many of the larger requests, otherwise a merchant or farmer might be reluctant to send so many goods to the palace. Everyone wanted royal reassurance. And so the queen worked, sometimes late into the evening, when the birds had quieted down and the insects thrummed in the valley below. An oil lamp burned on the table before her as her own hand sealed Ahab’s name to documents and contracts. One such evening, in the peace that came with the dusk, Jezebel wrote one last set of letters.
A week went by, and no one pulled her aside to whisper in her ear. No one condemned her for what she had written. Everyone understood the problem, because they all wanted something too, something the old laws would have forbade. Jezebel had always represented progress, which was why the old god hated her. The elders were on the side of progress.
And this was what she wrote in the last batch: “Proclaim a fast.” A pious request that could offend no one’s god.
“We will end the fast together at a royal feast.” A generous offer.
“Give Naboth a place of honor.” Wise.
“Find two men who will say anything for money.” Not an impossible job. Drought had changed many men and loosened hard morals.
“Have these men make accusations against Naboth. Naboth has cursed both go
d and king.” A crime punishable by stoning, a crime there was no remedy for. A merciful king might forgive slander against his own name, but Ahab had chosen to worship Yahweh. He would be forced to defend his god. The irony was not lost on Jezebel. By defending Yahweh, Ahab would be forced to break Yahweh’s law. He would commit murder.
What god would want a king like that?
Jezebel would have Ahab all to herself again.
Ahab
Ahab allowed his servants to dress him in new robes. Jezebel had insisted. Today’s feast was the first time some of these people had seen Ahab wear the crown. She wanted to make an impression, he knew. She cared very much about impressions.
He listened to the roar coming from the palace kitchens, carried on the breeze to his window. The sting of smoke and lure of roasting meats, the shouts of cooks commanding men to their stations, carts creaking along the paths in and out of the palace, carrying bleating animals and sweet-scented berries and cakes. So much went into one feast. Ahab smiled. Had preparations for any battle been this elaborate?
The feast began by noon, and everyone with wealth and station seemed to be in attendance, making the atmosphere stiff with pretension and polite laughs. That is where wealth and battles differ, Ahab thought. The wealthy think they’ll get out alive. Soldiers rarely did. It made soldiers far better company.
Jezebel entered, and he held his breath as he took in her appearance. She wore her hair loose, falling around her shoulders, like a young bride. She wore the royal jewels from Tyre, the queen’s crown of Israel, and a gown of purple linen embroidered with gold and silver beads that hung loosely over her growing abdomen. She radiated pleasure as she took in the tables and the citizens.
Servants bustled between tables, keeping their heads low, speaking in whispers to each other as the courses began. Ahab sampled a soft cheese that spread in his mouth and tasted like spring onions. He sipped the burgundy wine, and it was sharp, its tang on the back of his tongue absolutely perfect. He smiled at Jezebel, for her attention to these details had been perfect.
The afternoon wore on better than he had hoped, for not so many elders were used to drinking this early, and by the first hour a good many were drunk. They slurred their words and blushed, able to hear themselves and understand their embarrassment. The noble sitting with Amon—Ahab could not remember his name or what goods he sold—stood and asked for attention. Ahab noticed his legs sway slightly, as if on unsteady ground.
“Long live King Ahab!” the man cried out.
Ahab smiled and tipped his goblet to acknowledge him, but the man did not sit. He continued.
“You are the first son of Israel to ascend to the throne of his father. Your name means a new dawn for Israel. Your name means everything to us.”
The man was drunk, Ahab thought. No man got emotional so early in the day.
“Naboth has insulted your name, my lord. He has blasphemed you and the Lord. He has called for your death!”
Ahab’s stomach tightened into a knot as he dropped his knife, cracking the bowl before him. Naboth sat near him in a similar state of shock.
Murmurs rose from the tables as two other men stood and attested to the truth of the accusation. Guards took a step toward Naboth, then looked at Ahab for confirmation. Ahab picked up his goblet of wine and drained it, then poured another cup to the rim and drained that. He could feel his heart absorbing the news, swelling, the tissues stretching and thinning.
Jezebel lifted her goblet in his direction, and her smile was wide and red.
Ahab knew he would die for this.
20
Jezebel
Jezebel’s bath the next day was a disappointment. The water cooled too fast, and Lilith shouted for more and more warmed water from the other servants. “Hurry! She is in her bath!” she yelled. Jezebel could not relax with the shouting. She rose, shivering, reaching for her linens to dry off, just as there was a burst of conversation at the chamber door. Lilith received a message and scolded the other servants for the failed bath before she closed the door and faced her queen.
Jezebel stood and waited, naked and wrinkled from the bath, livid red stretch marks across her abdomen. Her wet hair hung around her shoulders, and her face was unpainted.
“Naboth is dead,” Lilith said.
“Is that what the servants were gossiping about?” Jezebel asked. She reached for her tunic.
“There are rumors you caused it.”
“I did.” Jezebel sat on her bathing stool and began slipping her feet into their sandals. “Naboth defied the king based on an old law. Ahab deserved that land. So I used an old law to condemn Naboth. If the people want to follow the old laws, they must be prepared to keep all of them.”
“They say you paid men to lie,” Lilith said. Jezebel noticed how she was backing toward the door, glancing everywhere in the room but at her. “What if Elijah hears what you’ve done? What if he comes back and withholds rain again?”
“He hasn’t been heard of or seen by anyone, in any of the territories, for a long time. I doubt he’s still alive. He was under no one’s protection, and he had a talent for insulting kings.”
Heavy steps coming toward them from the hallway ended the conversation. Lilith opened the door and nodded to Ahab, who entered the chamber with a heaviness in his step.
Ahab sat on the bed and motioned for Lilith’s dismissal. When she left, he groaned, his head in his hands.
Jezebel rose and joined him, sitting next to him on the bed, their thighs touching.
She rested a hand on his leg and spoke to him tenderly. “You couldn’t have done anything.”
“Naboth loved the law,” he said. “He would have wanted it upheld.”
Jezebel patted his thigh. “Go on. Take possession of Naboth’s land. It is forfeit to you for his crimes.”
Ahab did not rise, so she grabbed him by the arm, forcing him up, pushing him toward the door.
“Bring back something wonderful, and we’ll have the cooks prepare a meal tonight,” she told him, her voice high and confident. “We’ll celebrate a coming child and the peace of winter.” She patted her womb, knowing a child was within again, her third. She hoped this would be the end: of children, and of Ahab’s weakness.
By the end of their time in Jezreel, Jezebel had to walk to the dining hall with both hands under her belly to support its weight. Perhaps the child within was growing very big, or her body was growing weary. By evening she was so tired, and the weight was hard to carry. Her eyelids were heavy too. The dark sky all afternoon, the chill wind, the early shadows that fell over the valley, all these conspired to make her want nothing more than sleep. She would entertain Ahab and perhaps a few of the elders tonight at dinner but excuse herself early and return to bed.
She entered the small dining hall, which held no more than twenty, and so had not been used for the recent feast. A table was set with two oil lamps at each end, and servants worked quickly to bring out bowls and platters. The food looked no different. She groaned inwardly. Why had she labored to get Naboth out of the way if the servants didn’t even know what to pick?
Several elders joined her, including one who had made an accusation at the feast. Both were cordial to her, inquiring about her health and the coming child.
Three other elders sat with them. Two of the men owned fine homes in Samaria and traveled with Ahab for the winter, presumably for relief from the weather. The other man was local to Jezreel, and a wealthy landowner himself. Jezebel looked forward to getting his opinion on her recent acquisition.
Ahab had not arrived, so Jezebel motioned for Lilith to draw near. “Find out why Ahab is delayed. Tell him his guests are seated and waiting.”
She nodded and stepped away as a page entered and addressed them all.
“The king is unwell. He will not join you tonight.”
Jezebel gritted her teeth and
rose. She had slept in his bed every night of the winter, but he had drifted further away from her each day.
“Please excuse my husband.” She addressed the men, who were still staring at the untouched food. They wanted to eat, and none dared move until she was gone. They were more concerned with offending her than with honoring their own appetites. That’s what a small god reduced a man to, she thought as she left.
She found Ahab exactly as she dreaded she would. He was in their chamber, lying curled in a ball on the bed, his face turned to the wall.
“Ahab.”
Her arms crossed, she waited at the door. Her abdomen was so heavy it hurt, and she hadn’t eaten a thing. She had gotten rid of every enemy between her and Ahab, but she could not conquer his moods. She left him there, refusing to say even one encouraging, or inquiring, word.
She refused to fight for him even one more time. He deserved to fall into that pit and burn.
Ahab remained in his chamber two days. He did not allow her to enter, and she was too weary to fight. Fighting for Ahab was pointless. His god had ruined him completely. He could have been a great king.
Two days later, she entered their chamber without knocking, motioning for the guards to step aside and remain silent. One guard’s hand had flown to his sword, and he moved quickly out of her reach.
She noted the dank smell inside. His bed table had a pitcher of what smelled like stale beer, plus a loaf of uneaten bread and curds that had shriveled to stone.
She had to stop and take a deep breath. The baby tumbled inside her womb. She grabbed the blankets covering Ahab and ripped them off, letting them fall to the ground. He still did not move, but he groaned, proof he was alive.
“Get up,” she said.
He did not move. She shoved one hand against his shoulder.
“Get up, king!” She sneered the word king, hoping to wound him. He had to fight back.
He did not move but did speak, his voice hoarse and dry. He’d been crying. “I knew. You set him up. Didn’t you?”
“Do you want me to answer that? Or are you going to be a man and get out of that bed and run this kingdom?”
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