In the Shadow of Jezebel

by Mesu Andrews

  Sheba felt Ima Thaliah’s hand nudge her leg. Cheeks aflame, Sheba turned to meet the queen’s cheerful applause and granite stare. Today I die. Sheba knew Jehoiada would kill her if she became Astarte, just as Ima would kill her if she didn’t. She stood, willing her legs to hold her. Let death come swiftly.

  A meaty hand clamped down on her forearm like a vice. “You will never again serve Baal.” Jehoiada rose with surprising agility, his face a terrifying mix of emotions. He faced the wedding guests, drew Sheba protectively under his arm, and lifted his hand to silence the applause. “How many of you are native Judeans, born of the tribe of Judah?”

  Silence met his question, averted glances.

  “Perhaps some of you recall your parents’ stories about Moses and the wandering Israelites in the wilderness. At that time, Yahweh made a covenant with Israel promising we could live in this land—on the very dirt upon which your homes are built. In order to maintain that covenant, his Law must be kept.”

  A disgruntled rumble spread over the gathering, but Jehoiada seemed unaffected. “One of those laws is this: ‘If a man or woman living among you has worshiped other gods, take the man or woman who has done this evil deed to your city gate and stone that person to death. On the testimony of two or three witnesses a person is to be put to death, but no one is to be put to death on the testimony of only one witness.’” The crowd gasped, frantic jeers and dissents rising, but Jehoiada quieted them with an uplifted hand. “Now, if my second priest and I witnessed my new bride worshiping a pagan god, we would be bound by this law to stone her at the city gate.”

  Sheba whimpered, knees buckling, but Jehoiada held her close, his strong arms both protecting and threatening.

  Hazi leapt to his feet, trying to shove Jehoiada away, but the big priest held him at arm’s length and ground out between clenched teeth, “You heard Jehosheba’s vow in my chamber, Prince Ahaziah. She promised to never again worship a false god. Now she is my wife, and I will teach her the truth about Yahweh, about your saba Jehoshaphat, and about Judah. I hope you can learn the truth about them someday as well.”

  Hazi stood, gaping, as Jehoiada swept Sheba into his arms and carried her down the center aisle of the courtyard, Nathanael trailing behind them. Guests on both sides sat in awkward silence. Sheba hid her face against Jehoiada’s shoulder, too humiliated to protest her inglorious palace departure.

  Jehoiada kicked himself all the way out of the palace courtyard, past the Horse Gate, and through the Temple courts. Why had he allowed the farce to continue? Yahweh had approved the marriage with the Thummim, but He had never condoned a vulgar feast.

  “Are you going to put me down, or am I doomed to be carried like a slaughtered lamb for the rest of my days?” Jehosheba lifted red-rimmed eyes and a defiant chin. She was still trembling violently, and he didn’t want to upset her further.

  He stopped near his chamber—their chamber now—and planted her feet gently on the limestone courtyard. “I’ll only carry you when necessary.” He smiled, trying to soften their harsh beginning, and then leaned down to unbuckle her sandals. “You won’t need these anymore. Everyone who lives on Temple grounds is barefoot.”

  When he handed them to her, their eyes met for a moment before she pointed at Nathanael. “Will he be joining us in the bridal chamber?”

  “Oh no! I, uh—no!” Nathanael’s stammering wrenched a begrudging grin from both bride and groom.

  Jehoiada rescued him. “No, Nathanael is my second priest. He lives in the chamber beside us and will arrive each morning before dawn to dress me in our outer chamber.”

  “Aren’t you old enough to dress yourself?”

  Lord God, give me patience! “If his presence in our chamber offends you, I can go to Nathanael’s room to don the golden garments.” Silence—finally. He reached for the latch, shoved open the door, and allowed her to enter first.

  Nathanael waited respectfully outside, clearing his throat. “Shall I wake you at dawn?” He was crimson from the neck up.

  Jehoiada chuckled. “I doubt I’ll oversleep on the day we begin ordinations, but yes, Nathanael. A knock at my chamber would be much appreciated.”

  He closed the door and turned to find Jehosheba’s back pressed against the far wall, her eyes wide. Henna-stained toes peeked from beneath her gold-trimmed bridal gown, the wine she’d spilled still a damp streak down her left side. Trembling, she held her chin high. Defiant. Vulnerable. So beautiful that his heart ached within him. How can she stir this feeling inside me, Lord? She’s infuriating! But somehow she was Yahweh’s gift to him.

  “Will you sit with me at the table?” He reached for two wooden cups and the water skin. “We have a few things to discuss before the seven-day ordination begins tomorrow.” She approached tentatively while Jehoiada filled the cups.

  After settling on a cushion beside the table, she reached for a cup, her hand still shaking. Deep brown eyes peered over the rim while she drank her fill and then set it down, silently demanding more. He hid a grin and indulged her. After she had drained that cup too, her trembling eased. “What do we have to discuss?”

  Jehoiada felt a flush on his cheeks. “Tomorrow begins my ordination as high priest, and during the next seven days, I must not lie with—”

  “I know!” she nearly shouted, startling Jehoiada. Noticing her cheeks shade crimson too, Jehoiada watched her knees bend to her chest, hands locked around them. “Ima told me there would be no yihud until after your Feasts of Passover and Unleavened Bread. I understand our marriage is an arrangement, Priest. You need not feel obligated to me.”

  “Our wedding may have been arranged, but our marriage is not an obligation. You are a gift to me from Yahweh. And please call me Jehoiada. It means ‘God knows.’ Has anyone told you what Jehosheba means?”

  Indignation replaced her reticence. “My name is Sheba.”

  “Your name is Jehosheba, and it means ‘God’s oath.’ Your saba Jehoshaphat suggested the name to your abba Jehoram to remind him of Yahweh’s enduring promises.”

  The revelation quieted her, and Jehoiada wished he knew what thoughts raged behind those liquid brown eyes. He reached out to take her hand, but she skittered backward like a frightened fawn.

  Frustration welled up before he could tamp it down. “What have I done to frighten you so, woman?”

  “You mean besides threatening to stone me? Or maybe grabbing my hand while I was pouring your wine and bullying me when I was simply being kind to you?”

  “That wasn’t kindness. That was a game Queen Athaliah instructed you to play with my heart.” He watched his words hit their mark. Her reply seemed to dissolve in whatever conscience she had left. “I will never harm you. Do you hear me? I squeezed your hand while you poured my wine as a solemn promise that you will never have to live a lie again. Not a threat, a promise.”

  “I’m tired.” She stood abruptly. “Will I be sleeping on this couch?” The cushioned bench under the small window was the only piece of furniture besides the table in the outer chamber.

  “No, Jehosheba. You’ll sleep in the bedchamber and I’ll sleep out here on the floor. But I have one more thing to discuss before we retire for the evening.”

  She crossed her arms and plopped down on the cushion. “What?”

  He stifled a grin. Her emotions were a ball of tangled yarn, but indignation seemed her favorite.

  “The seventh day of ordination ceremonies falls on the tenth day of the month. It’s the day all faithful Judean families choose lambs to care for in their homes until Passover begins at twilight on the fourteenth day.”

  Her eyes brightened. “You actually bring a lamb into your chamber and care for it?”

  He chuckled at her delight. “This year, you will choose the lamb since I’ll be busy with the ordination, and then we’ll care for it together until Passover begins.”

  Wonder showed briefly, but her trembling returned as some dark thought shadowed her features. And then panic set in. “I can’t choose y
our lamb. You’ll be the high priest. What if I choose the wrong lamb?” She shuffled to her feet, eyeing the bedchamber door for escape.

  Jehoiada leapt to his feet and caught her arm. She winced, and he released her, remembering her wounds. And then she stood utterly still—obedient, beaten, resigned to whatever he was about to say or do. The same resignation he’d seen when Mattan announced her role as Astarte at their wedding feast.

  In that moment he realized—Mattan’s blade hadn’t inflicted the deepest wounds. Jehosheba’s inner wounds, though invisible, were far more destructive. He must allow those wounds to heal also. Like a scapegoat, his wife had borne the sins of others all her life. How much violence had been poured out on this young woman?

  He laid his hand at the small of her back and kissed her cheek. “Good night, Jehosheba.”

  She fled to the bedroom and shut the door behind her. Jehoiada heard distinct sounds of furniture being moved, table legs scraping the floor, rattling against the door. He chuckled to himself. She was barricading herself in the bedroom.

  Another sigh—and then a wave of wonder. Thank You, Yahweh, for speaking to Your servant. Jehoiada fell to his knees, the frustration, the anger, the unanswered questions swept away by that holy knowing during their wedding ceremony. Without the certainty that Yahweh had approved this marriage, Jehoiada might have given up before it began.

  20

  2 CHRONICLES 17:7–12

  In the third year of [Jehoshaphat’s] reign he sent his officials . . . to teach in the towns of Judah. With them were certain Levites . . . and the priests. . . . They taught throughout Judah, taking with them the Book of the Law of the LORD; they went around to all the towns of Judah and taught the people. The fear of the LORD fell on all the kingdoms of the lands surrounding Judah, so that they did not go to war against Jehoshaphat. Some Philistines brought Jehoshaphat gifts and silver as tribute, and the Arabs brought him flocks. . . . Jehoshaphat became more and more powerful.

  Sheba sat on the new stool Jehoiada had placed in their outer chamber, grinding barley into the fine flour the priests would use for tomorrow’s bread. The sun had set long ago, and she waited—rather impatiently—for her husband to return home after the crowds dispersed on this last night of the Unleavened Bread Feast. Tonight began their weeklong yihud, and she felt both terrified and anxious to know her husband more fully.

  Over two weeks had passed since their wedding, and Sheba had spent most days sequestered in Jehoiada’s chamber, unable to return to the palace and refusing to observe Jehoiada’s violent sacrifices. She’d enjoyed the days they cared for the Passover lamb together—Methuselah, she’d named him. The little beast had become so tame, they’d taken it outside the city for an afternoon hike through the Kidron Valley—making it all the more heartbreaking when Jehoiada wrenched the bleating ram from Sheba’s arms at twilight when Passover began. She’d refused to speak to him for two days, but he didn’t seem angry—not even when she stubbornly refused to participate in either feast. He said he’d rather she learn of Yahweh before worshiping Him. He wanted her to live in truth rather than living a lie.

  His integrity was exasperating.

  She’d slept alone in his bed every night, having barricaded the door only once. Why didn’t he kiss her again? For that matter, why hadn’t he even touched her? She knew he desired her when she noticed his eyes roam the length of her one evening. His neck turned four shades of crimson when he realized she’d discerned his interest, and he fairly shoved her into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She half expected him to barricade the door.

  A knock interrupted her musing. Odd. Jehoiada had set a Temple guard outside so she wouldn’t be disturbed, and her husband would certainly never knock.

  “Just a minute.” She set aside the grinding wheel, thankful for something to keep her hands busy during the long days alone. After wiping the grain dust from her hands, she reached for the latch. “Hazi!” She leapt into his arms, nearly knocking him over. “What are you doing here?” Joyful tears anointed his fox-fur collar.

  He walked through the door with Sheba hanging on him like a necklace. “I’ve come to see how my sister is faring as a priest’s wife.” The Carite guard Zev waited outside, nodding his greeting before the door closed behind Hazi. “I’ve just attended the last day of the interminable Feast of Unleavened Bread.” He rolled his eyes. “What a lot of rules with absolutely no entertainment. I could only stand four days of their ridiculous crackers before sneaking over to the palace for some real bread, and they don’t even have any priestesses involved in the ceremonies. How do they expect to attract a crowd if they don’t appeal to their sense of adventure and excitement—and need for pleasure?”

  She, of course, had no idea what he was talking about, since she hadn’t attended the ceremonies, but she felt a stab of resentment at his criticism. “Did you hear any of Jehoiada’s teaching on the rituals? Did you learn anything that will help you relate to all the people you’ll meet on your Judean tour?”

  Hazi had become distracted and ignored her question. Having found her grinding wheel, he pinched some flour between his fingers, letting the fine dust fall back into the trough. “So they’ve got you grinding grain like a servant girl, eh?”

  “Stop your teasing.” She shoved his shoulder, eliciting the expected chuckle. “I’m quite good at it, if you must know.”

  He cupped her cheek. “You’re good at everything you do, little sister. You were a good Baal priestess, and Ima was furious when Jehoiada announced your vow to turn from Baal.” He searched her eyes, concern lacing his tone. “Are you unhappy here? Has Jehoiada been unkind to you?”

  “No, Hazi!” She tore her chin from his grasp. “Jehoiada has been very kind.”

  He grabbed her hands and inspected the blisters. “You call this kindness?” Anger tinged his tone. “Why must you work so hard?”

  “Because I choose to.” She let her gaze settle the words into his soul. “Jehoiada has forced me to do nothing, Hazi. He’s given me a freedom I’ve never known.”

  Her words seemed to have the opposite of her intended effect. “Freedom? You call being locked in a guarded chamber freedom?”

  “The guard is to ensure no one bothers me.”

  “Or is it to keep away anyone from the palace who would wish to communicate with you?” Hazi’s eyes sparked with fury.

  “Hazi, I don’t understand. Why are you so upse—”

  “He’s upset because the Temple guard he tried to bribe came to me and ruined Queen Athaliah’s plan to pass messages to you with her secret seal.” Jehoiada’s large frame filled the door as it swung open.

  Sheba’s heart was in her throat. “Jehoiada, I didn’t. I haven’t.”

  “I know you didn’t.” His gaze softened. “But you would have.”

  Shame silenced her like a shroud. The pain in her husband’s eyes tore down a few bricks in the wall around her heart. He was right. She would have betrayed him if a guard brought a scroll.

  “You cannot keep my sister locked away like a prisoner,” Hazi challenged, but after an excruciating pause, he exhaled and tried a calmer approach. “I’m leaving tomorrow on my tour of Judah’s cities, and I need to know she’s safe, Jehoiada. You promised to protect her.”

  The high priest stepped closer, nose to nose with Judah’s prince. “Why do you think I’ve cut off her communication with Athaliah?”

  “You don’t know Ima Thaliah like Sheba and I know her. She thinks Sheba betrayed her when she turned her back on Baal.” Hazi thumped the big priest’s chest. “And if you turn this into a war with Sheba as the prize . . . I assure you, Ima Thaliah will kill Sheba rather than lose the battle.”

  “Every guard on Temple grounds would give his life for us!” Jehoiada thundered.

  “And how long could a few hundred Temple guards stand against all of Jerusalem’s watchmen?” His question silenced Jehoiada, and Hazi returned his attention to Sheba. “I leave the decision to you, Sister. Ima’s last scroll
summoned you to the palace for a meeting in her chamber. You can either stay in this limestone prison until one of Ima’s assassins slips past a Temple guard, or spend an afternoon with Ima Thaliah. Your choice.”

  Sheba’s vision clouded with spots, and a growing roar dulled her hearing. Breathless, she tried to speak but was unable. Jehoiada seemed just out of reach . . . and then darkness . . .

  She awakened lying in her bed, Hazi seated on one side, Jehoiada on the other. The dim glow of lamplight revealed concern on both faces. “What happened?” she asked.

  Jehoiada lifted a single wiry eyebrow in Hazi’s direction, and her brother seemed abundantly contrite. “You fainted, Sheba. I shouldn’t have spoken so roughly.” He stroked the back of her hand, his eyes sincere, a single dark curl fallen onto his creased forehead. She hadn’t seen him look so grave since they’d found Abba in the quarry. “We’ve discussed a plan for you to communicate with Ima Thaliah.”

  “No!” Panic rose in her chest, quickening her breathing. “It’s peaceful here with Jehoiada. I can’t leave. I won’t.”

  Jehoiada gathered her into his arms, the sensation both comforting and . . . strange. He’d never held her before. Did he simply feel obligated to protect her, or did he really care? “Your brother and I discussed a plan, but nothing is settled until you decide,” he whispered against her ear, stroking her back. “Will you listen to Hazi and then make your decision?” He loosened his embrace, but she clung to him. “Shh, I’ve got you,” he said, his arms tightening around her again. As the three sat in silence, her heartbeat slowed, and she felt herself relax.

  Jehoiada laid her gently on the lamb’s wool pillow, and Hazi cradled her hand. “I’ll tell Ima Thaliah you’re struggling to adjust to life as a priest’s wife. Grinding grain, weaving cloth . . .” He glanced at Jehoiada. “You could find some cloth for her to weave, couldn’t you?”