by Mesu Andrews
“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—”
Jizebaal’s expression lit with compassion. “Think nothing of it.” She chuckled warmly. “I’m aware of my Judean neighbors’ play with my name. Now, your answer, please. Was it indeed Yahweh’s Temple that was raided, and what losses were incurred?”
The man seemed to relax and offered a wholehearted explanation. “Yahweh’s holy Temple was stripped of its gold and furnishings, but the greatest loss was the life of Amariah, our beloved high priest. All of Jerusalem mourns his passing.”
The Gevirah feigned concern. “Oh, I’m sure he was a great man, your high priest. Sheba, my girl, did you hear that? It sounds as if your marriage date has been moved up. You’ll have a new husband and Jerusalem a new high priest sooner than we had planned.”
Mattan jumped from his couch, sending it skidding across the tiled floor. “Sheba is to be initiated as Baal’s high priestess at the Awakening!”
Sheba held her breath. Evidently no one had informed her teacher of that detail in Jizebaal’s new plan.
The Gevirah’s sweet smile met Mattan’s angry outburst. “Would you like to join our Judean friend here, Priest? The guards are about to escort him downstairs.”
“Downstairs?” The messenger’s voice quaked at the word.
Mattan’s fury drained as he watched King Ram lead the messenger toward the door. Sheba closed her eyes, trying to imagine anything but the eunuchs’ empty mouths. Would Jizebaal take only his tongue, or had the Jezebel remark cost the messenger his life?
11
2 CHRONICLES 21:17
They attacked Judah, invaded it and carried off all the goods found in the king’s palace, together with his sons and wives. Not a son was left to him except Ahaziah, the youngest.
The full Judean contingent left Jezreel just before dawn, forfeit
ing horses in favor of swift, one-humped dromedaries. They would stop only twice on the journey and arrive in Jerusalem by nightfall. King Ram apologized that he couldn’t send an Israelite escort, but tensions with Aram were too high. Though their longtime treaty called for reciprocal aid in times of war, Jerusalem sat like a chicken amid a circle of wolves, and Israel dared not risk dashing into the henhouse.
The Judean procession traveled without incident, stopping at Tirzah and Bethel to refresh their animals and riders. Sheba rode third in the caravan. Almost as proficient as Ima Thaliah, she glided in rhythm with the camel’s loping strides. Her back and shoulders testified to the long day’s ride, but she hadn’t spouted a single complaint. A satisfied grin creased her lips, the first on this somber day of travel, as they crested Jerusalem’s northern hill at sunset.
A scout returning from the city rode like a man chased by underworld legions. “My lord Hazi, the city is secure.” Though it was a positive report, his furrowed brow and skittish eyes betrayed more news.
Hazi, on the lead camel, raised his fist, signaling the procession to a halt. Ima Thaliah guided her camel forward to hear the report, and Sheba braced herself for the worst. In the stillness, the eerie sound of a city in mourning rose to greet them. Keening echoed through the northern hills, sending a shiver through Sheba’s bones.
“Only a few royal advisors survived.” The scout offered a respectful bow to Ima Thaliah. “I’m sorry, my lady, but the guards confirmed the royal princes were killed. Some other wives and their children were taken captive. The palace treasury has been stripped of everything King Jehoshaphat stockpiled—spices, gold, silver, weaponry. They ransacked the individual chambers and vandalized the Throne Hall, slashing tapestries and smearing blood on the walls.”
Sheba saw Hazi glance in Ima’s direction, but her expression betrayed nothing. She’d been strangely silent after hearing the news of her sons’ deaths and Abba’s disappearance.
Hazi took charge. “Is there any word yet on King Jehoram’s location? Have they sent out search parties?”
“Yes, my lord. Ten pairs of guards left yesterday but haven’t returned.” His tone softened with his expression. “They’re still hopeful that your abba escaped to a fortified city and remains hidden.”
“Well, considering our neighbors are eager to pounce . . .” Ima Thaliah’s chin trembled as her words sliced the evening air. “Edom nearly killed Jehoram in the uprising last year, and Libnah aided them in the revolt. Moab rebelled against both Israel and Judah, and now the Philistines and Arabs have shown the world they can amble through our gates and steal whatever pleases them.” She swiped away uncharacteristic tears. “I’d say if Jehoram is alive, he should be hiding after such failures.”
Sheba bristled at Ima’s open disrespect—and not only because of her fierce love for Abba. Why would she criticize the king in the presence of a subordinate? There’d be no cutting out of tongues in Judah, and soldiers reveled in royal gossip. If Abba was found and returned to the throne, royal discord could slow the nation’s recovery. For the first time in Sheba’s memory, Ima’s emotions had overshadowed her reason.
Hazi cleared his throat and redirected the soldier’s attention. “Join the procession at the rear, and alert the other Carites that we’ll wait until we’ve stabled the animals to assess how many of the king’s royal guard survived. I’ll settle my ima and sister in their chambers immediately and then convene the remaining advisors. Also, summon my royal cousins. They’ve just been appointed to the council. We’ll need every drop of royal blood to rebuild Jerusalem.”
To Sheba’s surprise, Ima didn’t insist on attending the council meeting. Her vacant eyes looked to the city atop Mount Zion. Jerusalem—King David’s crowning achievement and Judah’s heart and soul. Sheba dreaded what awaited them. The whole city would be in mourning, of course, but would her half brothers’ bodies still hang on the palace wall? Had they been burned already, or would the funeral pyres await Mattan’s return? Many of the Yahwists refused funerary burnings, carving out stone boxes—sarcophagi—for their dead. Would blood stain the streets, the palace, the royal bedchambers?
Sheba squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the gruesome images. I must rely on my training for strength. She was a high priestess of Baal, a princess of Judah, favorite daughter of Jehoram.
Hazi gave the order to resume the march toward the city, now slowly, respectfully. For the first time, the staggering realization that they’d been spared this tragedy dawned fully. Why had they been saved? What cruel game were the gods playing?
As they approached the Sheep Gate, two men hurried round the northern wall—one stooped and slow moving, the other in a filthy Carite’s uniform, both waving at the procession.
“Surround the women and take your positions,” Hazi shouted, drawing his sword. He shielded his eyes from the setting sun and leaned forward. “It’s Zev!” Hazi sheathed his sword and tapped his camel’s shoulder, jumping clear of the beast before it was on its knees. He nearly tackled his captain with an embrace.
Sheba watched their animated conversation but couldn’t hear the words. She recognized the stooped man as Obadiah, the nobleman Ima Thaliah had banished the night Elijah’s letter was read. Captain Zev invited the old man to whatever conversation he and Hazi were sharing.
Before Sheba could demand a servant’s help to dismount, she heard rocks crunching underfoot. Ima walked beside her, past her camel, toward the men. Surprised the queen had dismounted so quickly, Sheba looked back and saw that Ima’s camel was only now coming to its knees. If Ima can jump, so can I!
“Wait!” she called out, leaping to the ground behind Ima Thaliah.
Her plea stole the attention of the three men and won a dazzling smile from Hazi. “Abba’s alive!” he said, opening his arms. Sheba rushed to him, and he swung her around in their traditional childlike twirl. “Abba’s alive, Sheba!”
“You forget yourself, both of you!” Ima Thaliah stood with arms folded, a disapproving frown on her face. Aiming her question at Zev, she asked, “Where have you been, and why didn’t anyone know the king was alive?”
Obadiah interjected before the guard could draw a breath. “We’re sorry to have frightened you, but King Jehoram felt his location must remain secret to ensure the unbroken lineage of King David on Judah’s throne. But I assure you he is most eager to see his family.”
A shadow of grief nearly doused Ima Thaliah’s fury—nearly. “You may tell King Jehoram—wherever he is—that he no longer has a family.” She turned abruptly and marched back to her camel, shocking Sheba and the men, who stood with their mouths gaping.
Hazi was the first to gather his wits. “Is Abba nearby? Can you take me to him?”
“I’m going with you.” Sheba folded her arms and planted herself beside her brother.
Zev looked at Obadiah, deferring to the old nobleman, who bowed humbly. “Our first glimpse of safety has been your return. Your abba has been stricken with a sickness that’s left him weak and somewhat . . . disheveled. Please, let us bring King Jehoram into the palace after sunset so that we might wash him before he’s seen.”
Hazi’s brow furrowed. “Captain Zev is my superior in the royal guard, but as a prince of Judah, I could order you to take me to Abba immediately.”
“Indeed you could, my lord.” Obadiah’s tone remained kind and humble. “And I would obey if that is your command. However, I would hope that you’d consider your abba’s condition and the ordeal he’s survived the past three days.” Meeting Hazi’s gaze, he added, “I believe King Jehoram would be relieved if he could greet his family and advisors with his dignity intact.”
Zev stepped forward and placed a hand on Hazi’s shoulder. “Your abba would not want you to see him like this.”
Sheba’s heart was in her throat. “What’s wrong with him? Was he injured in the raid?”
The approach of several camels interrupted their conversation. Ima Thaliah had regained her mount and commanded a small c
ontingent to escort her. “I’m returning to the palace. Anyone coming with me?” she asked as she ambled by.
Hazi seemed torn, like a man tied between two horses pulling him in opposite directions. He turned to Sheba. “What do you think?”
“I want to see Abba now, and if Ima is as angry as she appears, he’ll need to know he has our unwavering support.”
Raking a hand through his desert-brown hair, he sighed. “Stay here,” he said to the other three. Marching back to the waiting guards and servants, he shouted, “Follow Queen Athaliah and her escort into the city. Princess Sheba and I must accompany Captain Zev and the king’s advisor on a short diplomatic journey.” He captured the attention of his second-in-command and added, “Tell Queen Athaliah that I’ll return Sheba safely to her chambers by nightfall. She can visit King Jehoram in the morning.” The soldier affirmed with a nod, and Hazi returned to those waiting by the road.
Obadiah glanced at Zev and then at the prince, his discomfort seeming to increase. “I’m sorry, my lord, but may I speak freely?” Hazi’s raised brow opened a floodgate for the nobleman’s words. “I cannot reveal the hiding place of the king without the approval of Yahweh’s high priest. Until this invasion, only Amariah and I—and one prophet in Judah—were aware of its existence, and—”
“Yahweh’s high priest is dead, Obadiah.”
Obadiah’s instant tears testified to his friendship with the old priest. Zev placed a comforting hand on his back. “I’m sorry, Obadiah. He seemed like a good man.”
“He was a good man.” Overcome by emotion, he asked Hazi in a whisper, “Do you know how Amariah died?”
Sheba’s heart broke. The two old men had probably been friends for years, worshiping the same archaic god. She thought of the pain Ima Thaliah suffered in hearing of her sons’ deaths, and wondered which hurt more—losing the young or the old. She’d barely known Hazi’s brothers, her half brothers. Abba Jehoram had over sixty children, and all of Ima Thaliah’s sons except Hazi had tormented her mercilessly, so though she mourned Ima’s losses, Sheba’s personal grief had been averted when she heard Abba was safe.
