In the Shadow of Jezebel

by Mesu Andrews

  The high priest raised an eyebrow. “Tell the queen that Jehosheba is very busy adapting to her new life.”

  “Right.” Hazi bounced his eyebrows at Sheba, making her smile, and then brushed her cheek. “Ima must believe she has unrestricted access to you, or your life will be in danger. If you won’t go to the palace, you must at least accept her secret scrolls.”

  “The scrolls that aren’t secret anymore.” Jehoiada leaned down, tilting her chin toward him.

  Sheba’s tears began again, and she covered her face, ashamed.

  “What? What is it?” Jehoiada stroked her hands, coaxing them away so she could speak.

  She tugged at the leather cord around her neck, drawing out the personal seal Ima Thaliah had given her.

  Hazi reached out to inspect it. “Even I don’t have my own seal yet. Where did you get this?” He inspected the design and dropped it like a hot ember when he recognized the pattern. “This is Jizebaal’s seal, adding your first initial. Did the Gevirah give this to you in Jezreel?”

  “No, Ima gave it to me soon after we returned. The Gevirah planned for me to marry Yahweh’s high priest before any of us knew of Jerusalem’s raid.”

  “Jezebel wanted you to marry Amariah?” Jehoiada asked.

  Sheba squeezed her eyes closed. Her answer would alienate the only person who had shown her honest concern. But he deserved the truth. “The Gevirah’s plan was to wait until Amariah died—of natural causes—and then arrange my marriage. I was then to use my influence with the new high priest to incorporate idolatry with Yahweh worship, and thereby sway his decisions in central court.” She buried her face in the pillow, guilt chewing her insides.

  Silence. She waited for Jehoiada’s shocked disdain, his command that she return to the palace with Hazi. Rejected, she’d be sentenced to execution, or worse—to service as one of Mattan’s priestesses. Unable to bear the silence, she peeked from beneath her pillow and found the two men staring back, wonder on their faces.

  Jehoiada recovered first. “So, you’re saying Queen Jezebel had already commissioned you to marry Amariah’s successor before King Jehoram made the same decision in Jerusalem?”

  Hazi’s mouth still gaped, so Sheba confirmed. “Yes. When Abba told me his plan in the quarry, I realized the gods must have been conspiring—” Sheba clamped her hands over her mouth, hoping the mention of other gods hadn’t ruined her husband’s apparent good humor.

  Jehoiada again drew his wife’s hands away from her face and cradled them gently. “There are no other gods involved in this plan, Jehosheba. Only Yahweh. And on the night we left the quarry with your abba Jehoram, I was certain the king’s decision to wed his daughter to the high priest’s successor was a mistake.” He smiled sheepishly and kissed her hand, sending the most exquisite fire up her arm. “On that same night, Yahweh chose me to be your husband and you to be my bride, and I’m so glad He did.”

  Sheba stared into her husband’s eyes, her breath growing ragged. Tonight was to be the beginning of their yihud. She’d dreaded their seven days of uninterrupted solitude—until now.

  Hazi cleared his throat, interrupting their intimate moment. “I must have a decision, Sheba. Will you exchange scrolls with Ima until you feel well enough for a meeting?”

  Sheba’s fluttering heart suddenly turned to stone.

  Hazi leaned forward, closer to the light so she could read his eyes. “Your scrolls can still report the truth. Tell Ima Thaliah that your husband is a stubborn man—no offense, Jehoiada—”

  “None taken.”

  “And that his age makes him less responsive to your seduction.” Again Hazi raised an eyebrow, looking distinctly uncomfortable before continuing. “I’ll explain my long visit with you tonight by saying Jehoiada showed some curiosity when I spoke to him of Baal and Astarte.”

  “What?” Jehoiada and Sheba asked in unison.

  The prince grinned. “We must convince Ima that Sheba’s efforts are still promising, but that my help will also be beneficial. Plus, it gives me an excuse to visit you more often when I return from my city tour.”

  “But it’s not the truth, Hazi.” Jehoiada was respectful but firm.

  Sheba watched her brother squirm, saw the thoughts spinning behind his eyes. “It’s not the whole truth, but it’s not a lie. Aren’t you curious about Baal and Astarte, Jehoiada—why so many Judeans are drawn to Mattan’s new temple?”

  Jehoiada shook his head, released a sigh, and returned his attention to Sheba. “The decision is yours, Wife. If you write scrolls to your ima Thaliah, we’ll write them together, and we’ll be wise without lies.”

  Hazi grew agitated. “I’m not sure Jehoiada should be involved in writing them. Ima must believe they remain a secret. If Sheba writes them in Hebrew—”

  “What language would you prefer?” Jehoiada asked. “I’m fluent in Egyptian, Phoenician, and Assyrian.”

  Sheba gasped. “Will you teach me Assyrian? I had no idea Yahweh priests were educated in—”

  “Sheba!” Hazi gripped her shoulder, refocusing her attention. “Write the scrolls in Phoenician, and then you must prepare to meet with Ima. She won’t wait forever.”

  Jehoiada shoved his arm away, standing over Sheba protectively. “The only thing my wife must do now, Prince Ahaziah, is remember she is loved. Jehosheba will meet with the queen when—and if—she’s ready.”

  Hazi stood, meeting the challenge. “Being loved won’t save her from Jerusalem’s watchmen.”

  “Enough!” Sheba said, scooting off the bed toward her brother. “Hazi, go on your tour tomorrow. Marry lots of beautiful women, make adorable babies, and learn how to be a king.” She shoved him into the outer chamber toward the door amid both men’s chuckles.

  Before he reached for the latch, he turned and hugged her, resting his cheek atop her head. “I love you too, Sheba. Don’t ever forget that.”

  She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

  “Good night, Jehoiada.” Releasing his sister, Hazi embraced the high priest, kissing first one cheek and then the other. “Take care of her.”

  “I plan to.”

  Jehoiada followed the young prince out the door and greeted the Carite captain, who stood with the chief gatekeeper. “I’d like to speak with Prince Ahaziah alone for a moment,” he said to both guards. He guided Hazi about five camel lengths away, lowering his voice to ensure their privacy. “I want to be sure you know certain things about your saba Jehoshaphat before you tour Judah’s cities.”

  “To what certain things are you referring?” The prince offered a quizzical grin. “Did you know my saba?”

  “I wouldn’t say I knew him well. He was quite close with my friend and high priest, Amariah, but King Jehoshaphat and I spoke occasionally.” He paused, trying to think of a tactful way to broach the subject.

  “Out with it, brother-in-law.” The prince’s charm was undeniable and would take him far.

  “How much do you know about Jehoshaphat’s tours of Judah?”

  He chuckled. “Obviously not as much as I’m about to learn. And I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Hazi. Only my abba calls me Prince Ahaziah, and then only when he’s angry.”

  “Well, that breaks my heart.” Jehoiada’s remark sobered the prince. “I’ll call you Hazi if you can tell me the true meaning of your full name, Ahaziah.” He waited, noting grief shadow the young man’s face before he replaced his carefully sculpted mask.

  “Ahaziah means ‘held by Yahweh.’” He swallowed hard. “And, as I said, I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Hazi.”

  Jehoiada nodded, realizing the topic was closed. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that your saba Jehoshaphat was the most successful king in Jerusalem since Solomon.” The compliment refreshed Hazi’s smile. “But do you know why your saba toured every city in Judah?”

  “Yes. On his first tour, he built fortresses and trained a professional army in each city rather than relying on volunteer farmer corps. He also provided each city wi
th storehouses to withstand independent sieges. And on his second tour, he instituted a judicial system in the cities, incorporating the central court here in Jerusalem . . .” He smiled through his final words. “And you know all that, but there’s something else you want to tell me.”

  Jehoiada chuckled. “Indeed. In the third year of your saba’s reign, he visited every city in Judah, taking with him the Book of the Law of Moses, enlisting Levites and priests to help him teach its precepts to the people. The fear of the Lord fell on surrounding nations, and the same Philistines and Arabs who invaded Jerusalem a few weeks ago bowed at Jehoshaphat’s feet, bringing him gifts and tribute and flocks.”

  Hazi stood expressionless. “I’ve never heard that part of the story.”

  It was just as Jehoiada expected. The prince had been given only the portions of truth that served Athaliah’s purposes. “You can build armies and storehouses—or loyalty through marriages—but only Yahweh protects Judah from its enemies, Hazi.” He paused, measuring Hazi’s reaction, but the prince was a blank slate. “Would you like to hear more about Jehoshaphat, or should we say good-bye for now?”

  Hazi’s answer came with a practiced smile and a curt bow. “I leave at dawn, and my company breaks its fast in Bethlehem with the nobleman Ozem. If all goes as planned, I’ll have married his daughter by midday and move to the next town after I enjoy a week of yihud with my new bride.” Sadness shadowed his expression, erasing all folly. “Your week of yihud begins tonight, doesn’t it?” Jehoiada nodded, measuring the young man’s intent. “Treat her kindly, my friend. She deserves to be loved.”

  The high priest drew him into a fierce hug. “Be well, Hazi. May you realize Yahweh holds you.” The prince hurried away and Captain Zev ran to catch up.

  Jehoiada turned toward his chamber and nearly ran headlong into Zabad, who stood beaming on this moonlit night, silly grin fixed in place. “All preparations have been made for your week of yihud. Meals and fresh water will be delivered to your door three times a day, but I’ve left strict instructions that you’re not to be disturbed.” He lingered, brows forming twin peaks.

  “Well?” Jehoiada asked.

  “Well what?” The gatekeeper’s grin faded.

  “Exactly.” Jehoiada took some delight in the deep crimson that flooded Zabad’s cheeks just before he scurried away.

  Chuckling, Jehoiada opened his door and peered inside. The outer chamber was empty. His heart sank. Perhaps his wife had grown tired of waiting and had gone to bed alone. He knew how hard waiting could be.

  During the two short weeks since their wedding, Jehosheba had been so fearful and fragile that Jehoiada avoided any physical temptation. He’d diligently resisted even the slightest show of affection, and with such a beautiful wife, it had been torture! He might be old, but he wasn’t dead.

  “Jehoiada?” There, standing in the bedroom doorway, Jehosheba wore a sheer tunic. “I wondered if you’d be willing to comb my hair. My maids always did it for me, and I’ve tried—but now it’s a tangled mess.” She held out an ivory comb, her breath coming in quick gasps.

  Oh, Yahweh, can it be? Last night he’d tossed and turned, wondering how he could show a husband’s love without demanding the rights of yihud. On the other hand, she was so young and beautiful. How could he ever believe she came to his bed willingly—without hidden motives? They’d both entered this relationship out of obligation, but at some point it had become . . . more. Yahweh, help me to love her well—to show her true and lasting love.

  “You don’t have to,” she said, her cheeks shading a lovely crimson. “I’m sure you’re tired.” She turned to close the door.

  “Jehosheba, wait!”

  She froze, her back still toward him. He covered the distance in three large steps and gently lifted the comb from her hand. His heart began to race at the sight of the ebony tresses cascading down her back. He grazed the bend of her neck as he lifted a section of curls. She gasped, shivering at his touch, and he paused, afraid he’d frightened her. Yahweh, give her strength. He continued working the comb, easing the tangles to the end. Noticing her breath had become ragged, he issued another silent prayer and kissed the alabaster neck that beckoned him. She groaned softly, leaning into his kiss.

  And then he knew. Yahweh had answered his prayers—spoken and unspoken. Jehoiada had been given a wife with whom he could share the rest of his days.

  21

  NUMBERS 28:26–27

  On the day of firstfruits, when you present to the LORD an offering of new grain during the Festival of Weeks, hold a sacred assembly and do no regular work. Present a burnt offering of two young bulls, one ram and seven male lambs a year old as an aroma pleasing to the LORD.

  Sheba broke Ima Thaliah’s seal on another scroll, hoping—even praying—this one included an update on Abba Jehoram’s condition. Ima’s scrolls arrived faithfully each week on the day before Jehoiada’s appearance in central court. Full of news on Hazi’s progress, Judah’s political woes, and Israel’s suffering at Aram’s hands, they never revealed Abba’s condition. Jehoiada helped craft Sheba’s carefully worded replies, making sure each message was true, always writing them in the Phoenician script to infer Jehoiada’s ignorance of their content. His counsel was consistent before they sealed each scroll: Live the truth; be wise without lies.

  Tomorrow would mark six weeks since their yihud had begun—the sweetest, most precious days of her life. On the last night of the Feast of Unleavened Bread, her mighty high priest held her tenderly and taught her of real love—and of Yahweh. To her husband, love and Yahweh were the same lessons. When their weeklong isolation ended, a new education began—that of living as the high priest’s wife in a community with hundreds of men.

  Only one other woman—a paid servant—visited Temple grounds daily, preparing the side dishes to accompany the priests’ offering portions. But the fussy maid banned Sheba from her kitchen. So Sheba attempted spinning and dyeing the special threads of wool and flax for the priestly robes. She’d worked with the Levites for only a day when Jehoiada explained that several of the men found it too tempting to work so close to her.

  A tear splashed on Ima Thaliah’s scroll, bringing Sheba back to the moment. Why was she crying? Loneliness was nothing new, and at least here Jehoiada loved her. But she missed . . . people. She hadn’t been friendly with her maids, but their incessant chatter and activity was a melody of life she’d taken for granted. With a sigh, she wiped her eyes, unrolled the parchment, and began reading.

  From Athaliah, Queen of Judah.

  To Jehosheba, Daughter of Jehoram, King of Judah.

  I send greetings with blessings from almighty Baal Melkart and Mattan, his high priest.

  May the Rider of the Clouds make your womb as fertile as the pastures of Hebron. Nearly eight weeks have passed since your wedding, and we have not yet received word of a child. Is there yet hope, or does your husband’s age disqualify him for sons?

  Your brother has returned his tenth bride to Jerusalem, having persuaded two noblemen each week to offer their daughters as royal wives. Mattan has divined signs of a child in the first four. We rejoice that the house of David may soon be replenished. Hazi returns next week to celebrate his tour of Judah.

  I must speak with you on another matter too sensitive for written correspondence. Arrange for a guard to bring you to my chamber when your husband reports to the Throne Hall for his central court duties tomorrow.

  Written by my own hand.

  Shaken, Sheba rolled up the scroll and set it aside. Hazi had warned her that Ima Thaliah would eventually demand a personal meeting. Fear clawed at her chest. Maybe I could bribe one of the Carites to sneak me into Abba’s chamber. The thought comforted her a bit.

  “Jehosheba?” Her husband’s deep voice startled her. He’d slipped into the chamber and stood over her like a mighty oak, his concern warming her to the depths.

  Sheba rushed into his arms. “Ima still hasn’t revealed anything about Abba, and now she wants
me to come to her chamber tomorrow—alone—while you serve your regular duty at central court—”

  “No! You’re not going to the palace.” His arms tightened around her.

  She grew quiet, trying to decide if she felt relieved or angry at his commanding tone. In the space of a few heartbeats, anger won out, and she shoved him away. “Did you rescue me from Ima and Hazi so you could become my new master?” He winced as if she’d slapped him. “We don’t even know why she wants me to meet her.”

  “I don’t have to know why you’ve been summoned because I know who summoned you! She hates all that Yahweh holds sacred, and I won’t allow her to destroy anyone else I love!” His serene mask had slipped, and Sheba suddenly saw the roaring lion beneath. Had he been pretending kindness all these weeks?

  “How dare you yell at me when I’m the one who’s upset!” Sheba glared at him, relying on anger to quell other emotions.

  He stepped toward her, and she recoiled, the image of a slain lamb forming unbidden.

  “How can you still be afraid of me?” The thunder drained from his voice, but she couldn’t let her guard down. He raked his fingers through that handsome silver hair. “I’m sorry I shouted. I’m not angry with you. I simply don’t trust Athaliah.”

  She lifted her chin. “You don’t trust Athaliah, or you don’t trust me?”

  His penetrating gaze nearly dismantled her defenses. “I trust you, Jehosheba, but I’m not sure why you don’t trust me.”

  His challenge unleashed the tears she’d so expertly denied. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me for eight weeks, but people I thought loved me all my life betrayed and threatened to kill me.” She released a frustrated sigh, wiping the despised tears from her cheeks. “Who am I not afraid of, Jehoiada?”

  He offered both hands, approaching her slowly as if she were a skittish pony, then cradled her face. He leaned down, brushing her lips with a gentle kiss. She melted into his protective arms, lingering in the safety.