by Mesu Andrews
“No! No, I don’t care about that. If you believe what you’ve heard, we must warn the high priest.”
The young woman glanced up, eyeing Sheba with suspicion.
“Please, Keilah.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I heard one of the old women—your friends say it.” Sheba smiled at the curious faces gathered around them. “Are they your relatives?”
“Oh no, dear.” One of the toothless women grinned, pink gums shining. “Keilah is a widow like us. She shares her food with us now that she’s found work as a nursemaid—”
“Hobah, the princess isn’t interested in our woes.” Keilah herded her flock of widows toward the outer wall, settling the oldest ones on camel-hair blankets she’d brought. “Wait here while I go with the princess.” She glanced over her shoulder, and Sheba noticed her nervousness. “If I don’t return by the end of tonight’s service, you must find your way back to our safe place in the city. Know that I love you, and Yahweh will protect you.” She hurried away amid promises of prayer and comforted the babe in the sling around her waist.
As if walking to her execution, Keilah arrived at Sheba’s side and bowed. Confused, Sheba wondered why the woman was so certain the truth would bring disaster. Perhaps she was afraid to disturb Jehoiada, but the morning service had ended, meaning they had a few moments before Shavuot sacrifices began. “Do you need to care for the baby before we speak to my husband?”
“A fussy baby will give me a reason to speak quickly to the high priest and go.” She lowered her head. “I will leave the child with the widows if you command it.”
Sheba’s heart twisted in her chest. As a princess, she might have commanded it. As the wife of Judah’s high priest, she’d rather sit with this woman and hear her story. How had she become a widow so young? Whose baby was she tending?
But Keilah saw only the princess before her, or the wife of Judah’s high priest—someone she felt could hurt her; in fact, someone she seemed almost certain would. “Keilah.” She placed her hand on the young widow’s forearm, trying to put the woman at ease. “I was once a princess, but now I’m merely a priest’s wife. I live here on the Temple grounds with my husband.” She lifted her eyebrows, shaking her head. “Surrounded by hundreds of men and no women—it’s awful!”
The young widow gasped and then covered a giggle, her first sign of ease.
Sheba peeked at the baby and stroked his black curls, thankful for a distraction. She wasn’t especially fond of asking a favor or having to trust so quickly. “My husband needs to know of the Baal priests’ treacherous plan. You would serve both Yahweh and Judah with your courage—and I would be grateful if you would speak freely to Jehoiada.”
A tentative grin edged away Keilah’s fear. “I’ll try, my lady.”
“Come, I’ll introduce you, and please—call me Sheba.”
Keilah nodded and followed her through the growing swell of worshipers. Zabad stopped them at the gate separating the outer court of worshipers from the inner court of priests. “I’m sorry, Lady Jehosheba, but your friend can’t come any farther.” His expression was kind but unyielding. “Surely Jehoiada explained the inner courts are reserved only for royalty and consecrated priests and Levites.”
Keilah turned back like a frightened dove taking flight, but Sheba grabbed her arm and addressed the chief gatekeeper. “This woman must speak with Jehoiada immediately, or hundreds of Yahweh’s faithful will become ill.”
Eyes wide with surprise, Zabad hesitated only a moment before rushing toward Jehoiada, who was descending from the great altar. Sheba wrapped her arm around Keilah’s shoulders—partly to comfort, partly to ensure she didn’t flee—as they watched the two men confer.
Jehoiada hurried across the priests’ court, confusion and concern evident before he spoke. “What is it? Are you all right, Jehosheba?”
“I’m all right, but others may not be if Mattan and Ima have their way.”
“What now?” he demanded, looking utterly ferocious, brow furrowed, eyes aflame. He would have frightened Judah’s fiercest warrior.
Keilah stood silent, mouth agape, shivering. Sheba leaned close to her new friend and whispered loud enough for Jehoiada to overhear, “You see all that handsome silver hair, Keilah? He bawls like a baby when I comb out a tangle.”
“Jehosheba!” Jehoiada glanced around sheepishly to see who might have heard, and Keilah giggled, breaking her terror-stricken trance.
Sheba calmed her husband, who had already figured out her motive. “I needed her to know you weren’t going to eat her alive.”
Keilah’s cheeks pinked. “Your wife has been most kind and cares deeply for Yahweh’s worshipers. Baal’s priests plan to disperse tainted bread and wine to the orphans, widows, and foreigners, since they’re the ones who benefit most during the Shavuot celebration.”
Jehoiada exchanged a glance with Zabad. “What do you suggest?”
“I’ll alert our guards,” Zabad said. “They’ll require anyone sharing food or wine to taste a portion themselves before sharing it with others. That should take care of the ploy.” He was away before any of them could thank him.
Jehoiada bowed slightly to Keilah. “Thank you for protecting Yahweh’s worshipers. You were brave to come forward.”
Keilah stood a little taller, and the babe in her sling began a full-throated howl. “I’m sorry, but I must feed the baby.”
Sheba watched sadness shadow her husband’s face. “How old is your little one?”
“Oh, he’s not my son. My husband and son were killed by Philistines in the recent raid. I’m a nursemaid for a nobleman’s family so this sweet boy’s ima can regain her figure and begin bearing children again.” Keilah forced a smile. “The nobleman wants to build his family quickly.”
“I’m sorry, Keilah,” Sheba said, her heart breaking. She’d never considered the lives of the nursemaids hired at the palace. The noble families cared only about sufficient milk to feed their royal babes.
Keilah wiped her tears and bounced the fussing child. “Don’t be sorry, my lady. It’s how Yahweh provides food for me and the widows. We’re here at Shavuot to give Him thanks.” She bowed to Jehoiada and hurried back to her flock.
The high priest grabbed his wife in a fierce hug. “Thank you, my love.” His voice was choked with emotion. “I’m sorry I can’t spend much time with you today. I’ll be very busy with various duties.” He released her but wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“It’s all right. I think I’ve found my first friend.”
Jehoiada nodded, looking distracted, and walked away. Something had affected her husband deeply. Keilah’s circumstance? The Baal priests’ scheming? Or was it the baby boy who broke his heart? She’d never asked him about his life before their marriage. Had he ever been married before? Did he already have a family? The words from Ima’s last scroll echoed in her memory. Does your husband’s age disqualify him for sons? What if Jehoiada couldn’t give her children? Refusing to let the thought ruin this day of celebration, she turned toward the outer courts to join Keilah and her widows.
23
2 CHRONICLES 21:8, 10
In the time of Jehoram, Edom rebelled against Judah and set up its own king. . . . To this day Edom has been in rebellion against Judah.
Jehoiada stood at the threshold of the palace courtyard, Jehosheba at his right, waiting to be announced as part of the honored royal household. His stomach rolled at the thought. Or perhaps he was still reeling from yesterday’s encounter with the young widow and baby—a painful reminder of his lifelong failure. It had been years since he’d been so near an infant, since Amariah’s children had lived on Temple grounds. His life at the Temple usually shielded him from his most torturous thought: Yahweh believes I’m unfit to be an abba.
Jehosheba seemed to sense his sullenness but had respected his privacy and didn’t press. They’d never discussed his first wife, Anna, or their childlessness, but she probably felt as uncomfortable about the top
ic as he did. Perhaps he’d ask Hazi how Jehosheba had responded to the news when she was informed about their match. During their bridal negotiation, the prince had seemed aware of every detail of Jehoiada and Jehoram’s quarry discussion. Surely Hazi would know how Jehosheba felt about Jehoiada’s childlessness.
Jehoiada glanced at his beautiful wife and ached for what they would never have. Since he couldn’t give her children, he loved to offer her gifts—like the new robe she was wearing, woven of linen using the priestly dyes of blue, purple, and crimson. He’d commissioned a weaver in the City of David three weeks ago, but Jehosheba’s joy at discovering the package this morning had been worth the wait. Her eyes had grown round as Solomon’s gold shields.
Startled at the thought, Jehoiada inspected the walls of the courtyard where the king’s shields once hung. Gone, all gone. The first time Jerusalem had been invaded, generations ago, Egypt’s king stole Solomon’s gold shields, and a humbled King Rehoboam replaced them with bronze shields.
Jehoiada leaned over, whispering for his wife’s hearing alone, “Were the bronze shields gone during our wedding feast?”
She lifted a half smile and matched his tone. “Yes. They were stolen in the raid with most of the other gold, silver, and bronze furnishings in the palace. Should I be flattered or concerned that you were so unobservant at our wedding feast?”
The high steward began his announcement before Jehoiada mustered an answer. “Jehoiada, Yahweh’s high priest, and Lady Jehosheba rejoice with the returning crown prince.”
Trumpets blared, and they marched forward, down a long aisle between fifty low tables. Most guests were already reclining, waiting for royalty to be seated. They passed Obadiah’s table, but Jehoiada knew very few of the other Judean aristocracy and even fewer of the Baal priests seated at the six tables near the front. Two head tables perched on the elevated dais, bearing pitchers of wine and platters of olives and cheese. The first table was reserved for Queen Athaliah, the crown prince, and his special guests, while the second waited to be filled with Hazi’s burgeoning harem. Jehoiada and Jehosheba arrived at the queen’s table and took their places on opposite ends, leaving room for the other royals and guests to fill the spaces between them.
“Athaliah, queen of Judah, and Mattan, Baal’s high priest, offer their blessing on the marriages of Prince Ahaziah with the preeminent families of Judah.” The high steward’s introduction initiated Mattan’s march as he led the queen on his arm. “All praise to mighty Prince Baal who has blessed the land of Judah.”
Jehoiada raged inwardly at the credit Baal received for blessing Judah. Would the whole day be one jab after another aimed at Yahweh—and His high priest? He glanced at his wife, who lifted her hand to her heart and mouthed, “I love you.” His heart leapt in his chest, captured anew by this woman Yahweh had given him.
Athaliah sat on the center cushion, blocking their view of each other. Mattan occupied the cushion beside Jehoiada. Yahweh, help me. A whole day of dining beside the pompous Baal high priest. Jehoiada tossed an olive in his mouth to keep from gritting his teeth.
A hush fell over the waiting crowd. When Prince Ahaziah appeared at the archway, the whole courtyard gasped in unison. His purple robe, gold-braided belt, and leopard-skin cape were almost as dazzling as the bride who appeared beside him. She seemed hesitant, timid, but stunning—as radiant in her natural beauty as Hazi was in his grandeur.
The girl’s hair fell in dark ringlets around her face. She wore a simple gold crown, from which a sheer veil mingled with more dark ringlets, golden thread, and precious stones, all cascading down her back. Her eyes, round and black, appeared kohl-rimmed because of thick lashes, somehow having escaped Athaliah’s cosmetics. The effect distinguished her from Hazi’s other women. The rest of the new wives tittered and whispered behind the couple, then were hushed by a solemn stare from their husband and lord. Hazi nodded to the steward when his women were quiet.
Trumpets sounded and the herald crowed, “Welcome, Crown Prince Ahaziah and Lady Zibiah with the favored wives of Judah. May the mighty Cloud Rider make your wives’ wombs fertile, your sons plentiful, and your life a testimony to Baal’s power.”
The six tables of Baal’s priests led the audience in celebration, but it was the utter joy on Hazi’s face that intrigued Jehoiada. He’d seen the prince’s deceptive charm, but his rakish demeanor was lost in the depth of emotion he bestowed on Zibiah.
Mattan leaned over, lifting his hand to shield a whisper. “Our young prince can’t take his eyes off Zibiah. If there were a boulder in the aisle, Hazi would trip over it.”
“I believe he might float over it. He appears to be walking on air.” Jehoiada had no intention of becoming close-knit brethren with Baal’s high priest, but he should at least be civil.
The royal couple ascended the dais, and the brood of wives dispersed to the smaller table. Hazi placed Zibiah between Jehosheba and his ima Thaliah before taking his place on a center cushion between the queen and Mattan. He glanced around Baal’s priest and grinned at Jehoiada. “Hello, Brother.”
Jehoiada’s heart warmed toward the young man. “Your Zibiah is almost as beautiful as my bride.”
Hazi laughed. “Indeed, the two are very much alike. I believe they will be fast friends.”
Queen Athaliah stood, interrupting their conversation, and lifted her wine-filled golden chalice—the only gold in the courtyard. The guests drank spiced wine from wooden goblets but seemed no less ready to celebrate. “Today begins a new era in Judah’s history.” She waved her glass over the two head tables. “My son has completed his first tour of Judah, emphasizing our strong traditions and honoring the memory of King Jehoshaphat, while at the same time embracing the reforms that will keep our nation great. As a sign that we’re embracing the evolving cultures of Phoenicia, Egypt, and the land between the rivers, both men and women of Judah share the same feasting table. And because of King Jehoram’s current condition, I, as his queen, am forced to take on roles never before assumed by a first wife.” She turned and lifted her goblet to Hazi. “But we embrace the new roles and new challenges before us!”
Hazi stood and faced the audience. “Indeed we do. Let the feasting begin!”
His enthusiasm elicited a cheer from the audience and released couplets of servants—young men carrying trays of roasted game and young women serving vegetables, dates, and fruit from heavily laden platters. A scantily clad Egyptian pair was sent to the queen’s table, the girl wearing little more than scarves knotted at her neck and back, the young man dressed in a loincloth exposing his sinewy long legs. They served the prince and queen first, and the audience eased into an indiscriminate hum.
Mattan drained his first goblet of wine and offered his cup to be refilled by a waiting servant. “So, how was the attendance at your Feast of Shavuot yesterday, Jehoiada? I heard your guards averted an incident with some tainted bread and wine.”
Jehoiada tamped down his revulsion for this serpent in priest’s clothing. “Baal’s priests are not welcome in Yahweh’s Temple courts unless they bring a sin offering. Those who came yesterday, dressed as ordinary citizens sharing moldy bread and soured wine, were given the choices afforded in Moses’s Law. Depart or die. On last report, Baal’s priests wisely retreated.” He held Mattan’s gaze and watched his practiced smile fade. Seeming to have lost his appetite for games, Mattan turned away, seeking a safer conversation with the crown prince.
Jehoiada was thankful for the reprieve and offered his plate when the Egyptian servants arrived to serve his portion of fattened calf. The girl used glimmering gold tongs to reach for a thick slice of roast.
Jehoiada seized her wrist. “Where did you find the sacred tongs from Yahweh’s Temple?” He ripped them from her grasp and leapt to his feet, shaking the golden tongs at Athaliah. “Your sons stole these from Yahweh’s Temple!”
The courtyard fell silent. Hazi and Mattan kept their gazes forward while Queen Athaliah stood and met Jehoiada face-to-face. Carites hurr
ied to surround their queen. “Obviously you’re mistaken, Priest. If you had attended Baal’s Festival of Marzeh yesterday, you would have witnessed the miracle, as we all did.” She swept her hand over the crowd. “Baal Melkart gifted us with these tongs and several other golden items in the belly of our sacrificial bull. When Mattan faithfully led us to honor the noble Jehoshaphat and my poor murdered sons, the almighty Rider of the Clouds revealed his miraculous power and visited us with profound generosity.” With a dangerous gleam in her eye, she added, “I believe King Jehoram, you, and Princess Jehosheba were the only Judeans of any significance who missed the display.”
Jehoiada drew a breath to unleash his fury but noticed a scuffle at his left.
Mattan stirred, but Hazi leaned on his shoulder, seating him securely while the prince rose instead. “I’m prepared to give my report on Judah’s fortified cities while our guests enjoy their meal, Ima, but I need to speak with my brother-in-law alone first.” He grabbed Jehoiada’s arm with an iron grip.
Queen Athaliah shooed away the Carite guards as Hazi nudged Yahweh’s high priest to the back corner of the dais.
Finally at his limit, Jehoiada shoved the prince away, earning another gasp from the audience and the return of the Carites. Hazi waved off his guards, keeping his voice low. “Don’t be a fool, Jehoiada. Think about those watching. You’re Yahweh’s high priest, the only example of Yahweh they may ever see. Ima Thaliah wanted you to react. Why do you think our servants had the golden objects? You’re in Ima’s world today, and you must play by her rules.”
Jehoiada ground out his reply between clenched teeth. “I will never play by your ima’s rules.”
“Then Yahweh will be defeated by the Phoenician Jezebel and her scheming daughter.” Hazi’s use of the disrespectful title shocked Jehoiada into silence. “Just because I seem to be Ima’s dumb sheep doesn’t mean I’m ignorant of her sordid schemes or the lives at stake.” The prince glanced over his shoulder, keeping his back to the head table and the crowd. “You won’t get back your sacred Temple objects. Mattan literally found them hidden in one of the sacrificial animals when we returned from Jezreel—no doubt put there by my worthless brothers during the raid. But Ima will kill you or anyone else who tries to take them from her. So we must let her have them, and—”
