by Mesu Andrews
Ima Thaliah’s glare screamed into the interminable silence. Sheba wanted to speak her mind, yearned to defend Abba, but knew she dare not enter the fray with emotions as fragile as Persian glass. She noticed her hands fidgeting and laced her fingers together, but Hazi didn’t flinch.
“Well, Ima? Are you going to answer me, or shall we have Mattan divine your reply from a goat’s liver?”
Ima Thaliah smiled, calm and cool. Instead of answering, she turned to Sheba. “Perhaps Sheba would like to divine the answer.” She lifted a single eyebrow in challenge.
Sheba’s heart was in her throat. How could she call on the pagan gods when she’d promised Jehoiada she wouldn’t? More importantly, she’d be betraying Yahweh, and suddenly that thought repulsed her. Yahweh, give me wisdom to answer—
“Your brother seems empowered by his recent independence,” Ima began before Sheba could speak, “and I fear both of my children have become distracted by marital bliss, forgetting their true responsibilities.” She glanced over her shoulder at Mattan and nodded toward her bedchamber.
He disappeared behind the curtain and emerged with the golden tongs stolen from the Temple. He placed them in Sheba’s hands. “You may return these to your husband as a sign of goodwill from Baal’s high priest.” His cold, dead eyes raked over her.
Sheba’s heart raced, fear and confusion tying her tongue. She looked at Hazi for direction, but his furrowed brow reflected her surprise. “Why would you give them back?” she asked finally, but Hazi squeezed her arm, reminding her to weigh every word. “I mean . . . is there a message I should deliver with the tongs?”
Mattan’s lips curved into an insolent smile. “My priests and I have cursed this instrument, and when your husband takes it into His temple, Baal Melkart will begin his destruction from the inside out.” He cast a disparaging look at Hazi. “We have indeed divined through a bull’s entrails that some kind of destruction will originate from within Yahweh’s Temple.”
Sheba concentrated on keeping her breathing steady, praying silently to the one God she knew could save her, while speaking to those who sought her destruction. “I will deliver your gift to my husband, but as you know, he is a stubborn man. I can’t promise his response.”
“Sheba, my dear, I’m disappointed. I thought by now your Astarte training would be wielding greater power over your husband.” Without waiting for a response, she turned her attention on Hazi. “However, I anticipated Sheba’s slow start, and I’m depending on you, my son, to change the opinion of both Yahweh’s high priest and our nation as a whole.”
“I’m doing all I can, Ima,” Hazi said dismissively, cradling Sheba’s hand.
Ima’s dark smile cast its shadow over them. “No, Hazi. You’re about to do more—much more. You will annex small Judean farms to build the royal treasury. You will bribe Yahweh’s priests to overthrow Jehoiada’s leadership. And in your spare time, you’ll marry more wives and give me granddaughters to add to my queens of destiny. Any questions? Hmm?”
“I won’t do it, Ima.” He raised his chin. “When I sit on Judah’s throne, I will lead with integrity—as my saba Jehoshaphat did.”
Sheba held her breath, waiting for Ima’s fury. Instead, the queen giggled. Quietly at first, and then she exploded to full-throated laughter—her gaiety more frightening than her anger. Ima tugged on Mattan’s sleeve. “Tell the guards we’re ready.”
The high priest strolled toward the chamber door, his smug satisfaction adding to Sheba’s dread.
“What guards?” Panic swept Hazi’s features. “My Carites or the watchmen? What have you done, Ima?”
“Nooooo!” A bloodcurdling scream from the hallway pierced the air. The doors burst open, and two Judean watchmen dragged in one of Hazi’s wives, her face bruised and swollen.
Hazi leapt from his stool and it clattered across the tiles. He pounded a watchman’s jaw, sending him to the floor, while the other guard held Hazi’s wife like a shield in front of him. The girl stood sobbing, clutching her belly.
“You see, my son,” Ima Thaliah said with icy calm, “when you spend all your time with Zibiah, your other wives go unprotected and come to harm.”
“How could you do this, Ima?” Hazi screamed. “She is with child!”
Thaliah nodded to the guard holding the girl, and he released her to the comfort of Hazi’s arms. “I chose your least favorite wife, Hazi, and no harm came to your child.” She motioned for both watchmen to leave and continued her explanation when the door clicked shut. “You have thirteen wives, and you’ve spent every night with Zibiah since your return to Jerusalem. Only six of your wives have proven to be with child, so you still have work to do, my son. You will spend equal time with each wife until they are all with child—and then you will acquire more wives.”
Hazi was whispering to his young wife, kissing her bruised cheeks, caressing her hair. Ima’s cool facade began to crack. “How much farther must I go to gain your attention, Prince Hazi?” she screamed, rousing terrified stares from the newlyweds.
Sheba couldn’t bear to watch. She bowed her head, tears dripping onto her folded hands.
“Pay attention, Sheba,” Ima said, regaining her calm. “This is your brother’s Pool of Trembling, the moment I demand his full obedience—and show him the consequences of rebellion.”
Hazi placed his bride behind him and faced Ima. “May I summon Zev to escort my wife to her chamber while we finish our discussion?” His face was chiseled stone as he waited for Ima’s barely perceptible nod.
Ima Thaliah watched the interchange intently as Hazi delivered his bride into Zev’s care. The two men whispered, the captain nodded, and Zev cradled the woman’s elbow as they left. Without warning, Ima clutched Sheba’s hands to stop her mindless fidgeting.
Hazi watched Zev escort his wife to her chamber before he closed Ima’s door. He returned to the couch, righted his stool, and sat beside Sheba. His wicked determination resembled his ima’s. “Tell me exactly what you expect from me, Queen Athaliah.”
“We will appear together every day in the Throne Hall, acting on behalf of your abba Jehoram. You will summon the garrison commanders from all fortified cities, and we will issue orders from King Jehoram to take possession of all small farms in the surrounding countryside. It’s the way Abba Ahab built Israel into a strong nation.”
“Ima, we can’t command Judah’s army to break the Law of Moses. The Law specifically protects the inheritance of land by tribe, clan, and family.” He paused, his eyes sparking with real passion, true leadership. “If we dispose of our standards, our foundation, we weaken the threads that weave the fabric of our nation.”
Sheba’s heart nearly burst with pride. Oh, how she wished Jehoiada could hear him.
Ima seemed more amused than impressed. “I hear the ramblings of the high priest from my son’s lips. When we dispose of Yahweh and His Temple, we’ll have no more need for the Law of Moses. Baal Melkart—the king of cities—will be our lawgiver. And that’s where your system of bribery comes into play.” Her eyes glinted with an unnerving flame. “Of Judah’s three standing armies—the king’s Carite bodyguards, the Judean watchmen, and Yahweh’s Temple guards—the watchmen, of course, far outnumber the other two contingents, but the Carites and Temple guards are far more skilled and fiercely loyal to their respective masters.”
She turned to Sheba, brushing her cheek. “I want to thank you, Daughter, for your recent . . . what should we call it—illness?” Sheba pulled away. “Your high priest husband has been so absorbed in caring for his bride that he’s neglected his duties, stirring resentment among his followers. We’ve found it much easier to purchase their loyalty.”
Emotion tightened Sheba’s throat, cutting off any defense. But what could she say? Her weakness had made her husband vulnerable and could destroy Judah if Ima Thaliah gained control of the Temple.
Hazi placed his hand on her back, the warmth of it bringing her comfort as he spoke. “Surely you don’t think the people of
Judah will lie down and let you replace the Yahwist heritage they’ve held for hundreds of years with a Phoenician god—no matter how seductive.”
“I won’t replace Yahweh, Hazi. You will.”
He ripped off his crown and raked his fingers through his hair. “Ima, it can’t be done!”
“It will be done,” she said, “and this is how you will do it. You’ll appear in the Throne Hall whenever central court is held, winning the respect and affection of the Judean people. On the days Jehoiada presides over Temple matters, you’ll show your support for the Yahwists. On Mattan’s days, you’ll show your allegiance to Baal. And at every opportunity, you will speak ill of your abba, the once great King Jehoram, who chooses to abdicate his responsibility rather than rule your saba Jehoshaphat’s mighty kingdom.”
“I will not betray Abba Jehoram!” Hazi shouted.
“Guards!” Her single cry brought six Carites from behind her bedchamber curtain. Sheba saw recognition on Hazi’s features. “These men who were your comrades needed to hear that your loyalty to King Jehoram remains strong. The royal guard swears to protect Judah’s ruler, and I’ve hand-selected these men to protect you, Hazi—from yourself.”
“But I’m not Judah’s ruler,” he said, pleading with Ima and with the men he once called friends.
“We are Judah’s rulers now, my son.”
Sheba gasped, and Hazi’s head snapped toward Ima Thaliah. “No. Abba Jehoram remains king until he draws his last breath . . .” Hazi’s words died, and Sheba’s heart nearly stopped.
“Ima, did you kill . . . ?”
Ima patted Sheba’s hand. “No, my dear. It suits me to keep your abba alive, writhing in his own filth until Hazi gains the people’s favor.” She jerked her head toward Sheba, and the Carites advanced on her like crows on carrion.
Sheba screamed and Hazi fought them, but his skills were no match for the men who had trained him in combat. Four of the guards restrained the prince while Sheba flailed and kicked at the other two. Ima Thaliah whispered quietly to Mattan until her children were subdued.
“Ima, you can’t do this,” Hazi screamed. “I won’t let you!”
The queen nodded, and one of the Carites backhanded Sheba, sending her to the floor. White-hot pain burst into her left cheek. Heart pounding, tears flowing, she made no sound as she covered her throbbing cheekbone.
Hazi broke free from the Carites and fell at the queen’s feet. “I’ll do it!” he said, sobbing. “I’ll do whatever you say, but stop this. Stop hurting the women I love.”
Ima Thaliah caught the leading Carite’s eye and signaled all six to leave the chamber. Sheba sat where she’d fallen, remaining on the floor in hopes of averting further violence. Mattan leered at her with a carnivorous grin while Ima combed Hazi’s hair with her fingernails, soothing, calming.
The queen’s eyes—and her words—were aimed at Sheba. “Obedience is all I ask. Those you love will be safe—as long as you remain loyal, completing the tasks for which you were chosen.”
Sheba swallowed hard, refusing to answer with the phrase she’d learned as a child: I am pleased to do anything you ask of me, my queen. Her silence wrapped her in a thick darkness. Heavy. Binding. Stifling. She could hardly breathe. This oppression was life in the palace—life devoted to Baal.
Yahweh, help me! She closed her eyes again, this time remembering her husband, his love, and the God he’d revealed. How different her life had become in Yahweh’s Temple—the light and life she felt there. Both Baal and Yahweh required blood sacrifice, it was true, but Baal was fickle and scheming, requiring human blood and pain. Yahweh offered atonement through the blood of perfect animals and fine harvests—gifts from His own hands lovingly returned to Him, purposefully sacrificed. Obedience to the one true God was a response to His worth. Baal’s rituals—and obedience to his leaders—were base attempts to manipulate through deceit and torture.
“Well, Sheba?” Ima interrupted her contemplation, and Sheba’s eyes were truly opened. “Do you see that obedience must be unswerving and without question?”
Overwhelmed by peace, she felt warmth radiate from within her. “Yes, Ima, I will be more obedient than you can imagine.” Ima need not know that Sheba intended her obedience for Yahweh alone.
Ima grabbed a handful of Hazi’s hair and tilted his head back to hold his gaze. “Did you hear your sister? You will do well to imitate her obedience, my son. Learn from her.”
She released his hair, letting his head fall forward. “Yes, Ima. I am pleased to do anything you ask of me.”
Sheba’s heart twisted—her brother was broken. She stood, pulled Hazi to his feet, and retrieved the golden tongs from the couch. “I must return to the Temple before my husband becomes suspicious. I’ll have Hazi escort me to my chamber.”
Ima Thaliah undoubtedly saw that it was Sheba leading Hazi out the door, but she didn’t try to stop them. She was evidently finished with her threats—for now.
30
PSALM 22:19–21
But you, LORD, do not be far from me. You are my strength; come quickly to help me. Deliver me from the sword, my precious life from the power of the dogs. Rescue me from the mouth of the lions.
While Hazi and Jehosheba were at the palace, Jehoiada retired to the second priest’s chamber to dress for tonight’s service. It would be his first public sacrifice in almost a full moon cycle, and he was eager to add a personal offering afterward, a thank offering for Yahweh’s faithfulness during these difficult days. Nathanael secured the ephod at his shoulders with two sardonyx remembrance stones and attached the breastpiece with its golden chains and rings.
Jehoiada released a satisfied sigh, welcoming the weight of the high priest’s garments. “Thank you, my friend.”
The second priest stood. “It’s a privilege.” His eyes shone with a peculiar light, drawing Jehoiada from his own circumstances.
“Why are you so happy these days?” He appraised the young priest, provoking a full-blown blush.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Nathanael busied himself tidying his small chamber, and Jehoiada settled onto a cushion at the low-lying table, pretending to study a scroll. He’d given his own chamber to Zibiah and Keilah for their spinning while they waited on Hazi’s and Sheba’s return. In truth, he was glad for an opportunity to uncover the mystery of Nathanael’s almost bubbly behavior.
Then, the clue he needed. Nathanael began whistling.
Jehoiada grinned. Men only whistled when there was a woman. He began rehearsing his second priest’s schedule. The change had occurred during Sheba’s recovery, but who could Nathanael have met? He never left the Temple. Thinking through his second’s schedule, Jehoiada started at sunrise: cleansing at the Molten Sea, gates open, sunrise sacrifice. He could have met a woman at one of the sacrifices while greeting the crowds in Jehoiada’s absence. After the morning service, Nathanael delegated duties to other priests. Midday, he brought a meal for Jehoiada and Jehosheba to enjoy in their chamber. Most days he stayed to eat, as did Hazi, Zibiah, and—
“Keilah!” Jehoiada said aloud, startling himself and his second priest.
Nathanael’s whistling stopped, face paling to match the limestone walls. “What about her?”
Jehoiada felt his own color drain. What could he say? Jehosheba had told him Keilah’s story, but did Nathanael know? “She seems like a nice woman.”
Nathanael returned to his tasks, and Jehoiada chided himself. What if Nathanael interprets my response as approval? Do I approve? He wasn’t sure. He had hoped Nathanael’s abba would find a nice girl and arrange a marriage for the young man.
“My lord, are you all right?”
Jehoiada looked up, startled. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“Well, you keep sighing as if deeply troubled. Is it something I said? Something I’ve . . . done?”
The two men stared at each other in silence for an interminable moment. Jehoiada caught himself sighing again. “Oh, this is ridiculous!” he said, standi
ng abruptly, startling the poor young priest. “I’m concerned about your marriage, Nathanael.”
“I wasn’t aware I had a marriage to be concerned about.”
“Yes, well . . .” Jehoiada grinned, squeezing the back of his neck. He’d started gutting this fish. Now he had to fry it. “I’ve noticed you seem to enjoy Keilah’s company, but I wonder if there might be another young maiden—perhaps a girl from your hometown—who might be more . . . well, a girl your abba might be more comfortable welcoming into your family.”
Nathanael’s jovial air disappeared. “You mean, because I’m a priest, I should marry a virgin.” The edge in his voice was unmistakable. “I’ve only spoken with Keilah a few times. I haven’t asked her to marry me.”
“I simply think you should speak with your abba before you set your heart on any woman.”
“I know my abba’s opinion on the matter,” he said. “I rejected his choice, and he’s left me to my own stubborn heart.” Nathanael raised both eyebrows, uncharacteristically defiant. “Those were his exact words.”
Jehoiada knew to tread lightly. What did he know of giving advice to a son? “May I ask why you rejected your abba’s choice?”
“Because I didn’t love her.” He paused, glancing at his feet. “And she loved another.”
Jehoiada nodded, realizing he’d wandered into painful territory. “I’m not one to give romantic counsel, my friend, but hear me out. Sometimes obedience comes first—and love comes later.”
Nathanael shook his head and gave a mirthless laugh. “That’s easy for you to say.”
“Easy? You of all people know my marriage hasn’t been easy.”
Nathanael’s features softened. “Easy, no. But you had Yahweh’s undeniable direction from the Thummim.”
Jehoiada pondered the words, remembering how the Thummim had silenced his doubts on his way to the negotiations. “It’s true that the Urim and Thummim made the initial decision less confusing, but both Jehosheba and I made a choice to believe Yahweh ordained our marriage. We choose every day to see each other as a gift from the Lord.”
