In the Shadow of Jezebel

by Mesu Andrews

  Zabad escorted Jehoiada across the Temple courts and out the Guards’ Gate, hurrying down the garden path to the palace’s Horse Gate. Jehoiada much preferred this entrance—especially when he was late for court like today—to avoid the crowds waiting in the main hall.

  His weekly duties at central court provided reason to explore the ground floor of Solomon’s palace, a building six times the size of Yahweh’s Temple. Hurrying through a dimly lit hallway on the northern wall of the stables, Jehoiada and his guard emerged through a side door of the courtroom with only a smear of their stable journey clinging to his bare foot.

  “Ah, I see Yahweh’s high priest decided to join us after all.” Hazi lifted a golden goblet, toasting his brother-in-law’s presence. He looked all too smug on his abba’s throne, surrounded by fawning noblemen and his arrogant cousins. The whole brood had attended both of Jehoiada’s court proceedings since Hazi and Jehosheba had met with Queen Athaliah.

  Jehoiada nodded and took his seat behind a low-lying wall, pounding the scepter of Solomon, Judah’s ancient symbol of wisdom and justice, on the platform. Zabad stood in place at Jehoiada’s right shoulder, and those gathered in the Throne Hall fell silent. A wandering thought took root as Jehoiada glimpsed the golden scepter in his hand. How had it been saved from the Philistines? And another question nagged. Where had Hazi found that golden goblet?

  “According to the laws of Judah set forth by our beloved King Jehoshaphat,” the royal herald announced with practiced tones, “all matters of Yahweh’s Temple are set before the high priest of Yahweh.”

  The first twenty complainants filed into the courtroom.

  “You may begin, sir.” Jehoiada trained his attention on the man before him, refusing to let his suspicions of Hazi or Athaliah rob God’s people of justice.

  “Your priests required me to bring a female lamb for the sacrifice, but my family is poor. We should only be required to sacrifice two doves.”

  Jehoiada scratched his chin, letting the man linger under his gaze. Experience told him that liars fidget, unable to stand under the inspection of their accuser. But honest men—

  “I believe the man deserves recompense from Yahweh’s priests.” Hazi’s smooth, warm voice stole every man’s attention.

  With all eyes on the prince, Jehoiada had a moment to quell his fury. How dare Hazi offer a verdict on the day of the Temple’s court? Zabad’s hand landed hard on his shoulder as the silence forced the crowd’s attention back to the high priest.

  Mind spinning, Jehoiada stared across the grand hall at Hazi’s pleasant smile and lifted brow. Was he anticipating Jehoiada’s answer, or did he believe he’d trapped Yahweh’s high priest? “If Prince Ahaziah would be so kind as to instruct this man on the specific requirements of the law in question, I would be willing to consider the prince’s verdict as held by God—Ahaziah.” His use of Hazi’s full name, weaving its meaning into his answer, drew an appreciative sigh from the crowd.

  Not from Hazi. Though his smile remained, it became chiseled granite. “Please forgive me, Jehoiada. I spoke out of turn.” He addressed the crowd with the warmth and charm that drew men like bees to honey. “Though I value Yahweh and his Law far more than my reprobate abba, I will never pretend a devotion equal to my saba Jehoshaphat.” He nodded in Jehoiada’s direction, his hard stare communicating what his words couldn’t. Hazi was wholly committed to his ima’s purpose.

  The first plaintiff got his lamb, and the proceedings continued. After the last complaint was heard, Jehoiada noticed Obadiah enter the Throne Hall, bow to the prince, and then shuffle toward Jehoiada. If the old nobleman hadn’t seemed so frail, Jehoiada might have been more pleased to see him.

  “We must speak quickly,” Obadiah whispered. “Queen Athaliah has assigned me the terrible task of appropriating small Judean farms into royal lands. She’s affixing King Jehoram’s seal to the orders so the whole nation believes him the villain.”

  Jehoiada’s temper flared. “But she can’t do tha—”

  “Shh!” Obadiah clamped his crooked hand on Jehoiada’s shoulder. “Keep your voice down. Prince Hazi concocted some excuse to steal me from my duties. Don’t squander his efforts.”

  “Hazi?” Jehoiada cast a confused glance in his brother-in-law’s direction but found the prince engaged in more fraternizing. “Where does Hazi’s allegiance lie?”

  Obadiah looked as if he might throttle the high priest. “Is that why the repeated summons? Surely you can figure that out without endangering me. Hazi is a survivor who loves his wives and his sister. It’s that simple. Now, what do you want? Queen Athaliah is becoming suspicious.”

  Obadiah was weary, and Jehoiada’s regrets warred with urgency. “Forgive me, Obadiah. I didn’t think about Athaliah intercepting my messages, but I need someone I can trust inside the palace.”

  “Consider anything you send to the palace fodder for the queen. She seems to know everything.”

  “Does she know about the quarry?” Jehoiada held his breath.

  “Yes, but only that Jehoram hid there during the raid. She hasn’t mentioned it since.”

  “How well do you know your way around the tunnels?”

  An impish grin creased the old man’s face. “Like the back of my hand. Why?”

  Jehoiada’s hope soared, but he kept his voice low. “They may be our only way to protect Yahweh’s sacred items if Athaliah uses the city watchmen to attack. Is there any way to tunnel directly from the quarry into a chamber on Temple grounds?”

  “No need. Such a tunnel already exists.”

  “What?” Jehoiada shouted.

  “Shh!” Obadiah chuckled and leaned in. “When you visit the Most Holy Place as new high priest on the Day of Atonement, you will discover more than Yahweh’s presence waiting to be revealed.”

  “But that’s four full moons from now.”

  “I can assure you—Athaliah is conniving, but she’s also patient. She lets King Jehoram writhe in pain until Hazi wins Judah’s favor, and she steadily builds military and treasury funds to a surplus. You will not need the tunnel until after the Day of Atonement.”

  Jehoiada caught sight of Zabad signaling him and Obadiah. Their conversation must have drawn suspicion. They needed to return to the Temple, but one last question grated. “If there was a tunnel in the Holy of Holies, why didn’t we save the Ark and King Jehoram when the Philistines raided the city?”

  Obadiah’s compassionate gaze offset his urgency. “Remember that night in your chamber when I said we must move the king, but I asked if we could move the Ark as well? Amariah chose to move only the king. I knew he meant to keep the Ark’s tunnel secret—and it’s good we did. Jehoram told Athaliah of the quarry’s existence, but if he’d known of the Ark’s tunnel, Athaliah would have an unhindered path into the Temple compound.” He squeezed Jehoiada’s shoulder. “For now, only I know how to navigate the quarry.”

  Zabad’s warnings grew bolder, capturing Obadiah’s attention again. “We can’t talk here. I’ll send word of another meeting through Lady Zibiah.” Obadiah walked away before Jehoiada could answer.

  Yahweh, keep him safe as he treads among serpents in this dark palace.

  32

  LEVITICUS 16:29–30

  On the tenth day of the seventh month you must deny yourselves and not do any work—whether native-born or a foreigner residing among you—because on this day atonement will be made for you, to cleanse you. Then, before the LORD, you will be clean from all your sins.

  Sheba wound the last length of yarn on her spindle, feeling an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. She raised a single eyebrow and issued the challenge. “Ready, Princess Zibiah.”

  Keilah laid her own spindle aside and lifted Samson from the goatskin rug—out of the field of play. Zibiah sat on the rug, legs outstretched, spindle tucked between her feet against two heavy pieces of leather. Sheba assumed her position—leaning back against the princess, legs outstretched, spindle ready to unwind. Keilah sat on a cushion with her
elbow propped on the table to help support Samson as he nursed.

  “Don’t start until I’ve settled Samson into nursing. I want to see who’s winning.” Keilah nestled Samson into position to begin his meal and lifted her free hand in the air to begin the competition. “All right, grab the thread . . .”

  Sheba and Zibiah leaned toward their feet, pinching the leader thread, ready to begin winding their ball of yarn. This little contest was their favorite part of the day, the moment they wrapped their finished yarn into tight, neat balls, with a strand to draw from the middle. Sheba’s hands ached from her daily task, a wonderful weariness born of productivity.

  “Okay, start wrapping.” Keilah’s verbal signal was less than enthusiastic, and though Sheba felt Zibiah’s frantic whirling behind her, she was distracted by the concern in Keilah’s whisper. “Come on, sweet boy. You’ve got to eat or this infection will get worse, and then we’ll both be in trouble.”

  “Come on, Sheba. You’re not even trying!” Zibiah continued her frenzied pace. Sheba increased her speed but kept an eye on Keilah and the baby.

  Watching her friend’s intimate moments with Samson piqued the ache in her heart. On most days, Keilah’s presence warmed her, giving her a much-appreciated dose of motherhood. She and Jehoiada never discussed children. The subject seemed too painful for him and too confusing for her.

  Amid Jehoiada’s other lessons, he’d explained Yahweh’s promise of King David’s eternal ruler. Every woman with a drop of David’s blood thought she could bear the Anointed One. Sheba, as the daughter of Jehoram and one of his Judean wives, was a candidate through both parents’ lineage. But did she really want to have children? Watching Keilah with baby Samson reminded her that she’d never known an ima’s love.

  Shame wracked her. How could she be relieved at the prospect of childlessness? Was she evil as Leviathan—or simply thankful for one less opportunity to fail?

  “Done!” Zibiah leapt to her feet, holding her ball of yarn aloft like warriors’ booty.

  Sheba turned her head to wipe tears, hiding emotions that had so suddenly overwhelmed her. She heard Keilah sniff and found her wiping tears as well.

  Zibiah fell to her knees between them. “Well, I would have let Sheba win if I’d known you’d both be this upset.” They laughed together, knowing Zibiah’s humor eased into compassion. She took Sheba’s hand. “Has Queen Athaliah called you back for another meeting? Are you and Jehoiada arguing?”

  Sheba stared at the ceiling, trying to blink away her tears. It wasn’t working. Her emotions had become steadier during the waxing and waning moons, but for Sheba, any tears were too many. What if she couldn’t stop them? What if her friends grew weary of her moods? With a frustrated sigh, she smiled and shook her head, sparing them her burdens. Sparing herself the risk of more pain. Would she ever be able to talk as freely about her feelings as Zibiah and Keilah did? Yahweh, are You weary of my weeping?

  “You can trust us, you know.” Zibiah’s eyes glistened now.

  Sheba nodded, refusing to cry—or confide. “I do trust you. It’s me I don’t trust.” It was partially true.

  Zibiah’s face twisted, tears beginning in earnest, and Keilah brushed her cheek. “Have we made you cry now?”

  “Why haven’t I conceived yet?” Zibiah’s voice was small.

  The nursemaid tilted her head, compassion radiating. “Sometimes it takes awhile, especially when you must share your husband with other wives. How often does he come to you?”

  “He visits almost every night now, since all but three of his other wives are with child. But the queen is forcing him to take more wives—ten more noblemen’s daughters, I think. And when they arrive, my time with Hazi will again be limited.” She paused, as if the words were too bitter to speak. “What if one of his new wives steals his heart from me?”

  She wilted into Sheba’s arms, sobbing. “Shh, my friend. Don’t be afraid. Hazi loves you deeply.” She and Keilah exchanged a heartbroken glance, Keilah’s pure and innocent, Sheba’s entirely too informed. In yesterday’s scroll from Ima Thaliah, among other reports of Baal’s growing influence came news of Hazi’s imminent marriages to ten more noblemen’s daughters—from wealthy families faithful to Baal Melkart.

  “Sheba, you know what harem life is like. The other wives scheme for Hazi’s affection and barter for his time as if he were a trinket in the market. They go to Baal’s temple, offering sacrifices to win Mattan’s favor, hoping he or your ima will manipulate Hazi on their behalf.”

  Sheba silently mourned for her friend, a prisoner of palace intrigue day and night, but she couldn’t let her lose hope. “Hazi sees the purity of your love, Zibiah, the love of Yahweh’s covenant marriage—a lasting promise that never wanes, never dies.”

  “But can he recognize it while he continues to worship Baal?”

  Zibiah’s question escaped on a sob, and Sheba grasped her shoulders, meeting her gaze. “I’m not giving up on him, and neither is Yahweh. You mustn’t either.”

  Keilah whimpered. Startled, Zibiah and Sheba watched her normally calm facade crumble. The nursemaid tried to reposition Samson, who fussed and fidgeted at her breast. Grinding her teeth, she was obviously in pain. Finally, she gave up and hoisted the baby into Sheba’s arms. “I’m scared,” she whispered and opened her robe, revealing large, red splotches on both breasts. Sheba and Zibiah gasped as Keilah closed her robe just as quickly, tying her belt. “I’ve had a fever since last night, and Samson doesn’t want to nurse because my milk has changed. Both breasts are hard as rocks. I’ve tried warm compresses, but nothing helps.” Tears stopped her words, but she didn’t need to explain.

  “Have you seen a midwife to get herbs?” Sheba asked.

  Keilah shook her head. “I can’t pay her, and if Samson’s family finds out, I’m afraid they’ll find another nursemaid.”

  Zibiah removed an ivory comb from beneath her head covering. “Here. This will help pay a midwife and maybe even feed the widows until you’re feeling better.”

  Keilah covered the comb in Zibiah’s hand, gently pushing it away. “Thank you, my friend, but I can’t. If Samson’s family sees a midwife, they’ll know something is wrong. And if the midwife makes me stop nursing, I’ll stop producing milk. Then I’ll need more than a comb to feed my widows.” She took a deep breath, regaining control.

  Before Zibiah and Sheba could argue, Keilah stood and began gathering her things. She lifted Samson from Sheba’s lap. “Since tomorrow is the Day of Atonement, I’ll have the whole day as Sabbath after the sacrifice. I just need rest and I’ll feel better.” Zibiah and Sheba stood to offer hugs, and a little mischief crept into Keilah’s smile. “I’ll see you both tomorrow at the sacrifice, and then I’ll be back the day after to show Zibiah how a real woman winds a ball of yarn.”

  This morning’s vestments were much lighter than the golden garments Jehoiada usually wore. On the Day of Atonement, the high priest dressed in a simple linen undergarment, tunic, belt, and turban. His ornate ephod, breastpiece, and diadem rested on the wooden cross in the corner of Nathanael’s chamber, waiting to be donned after Jehoiada made atonement for himself and the Israelites in the Holy of Holies.

  Will the Lord be displeased that my heart is divided in duty, part of me fulfilling the role of high priest, part of me seeking the entrance to the quarry?

  “You seem distracted.” Nathanael’s voice scraped like bone on bone, interrupting Jehoiada’s contemplation of the Most Holy Place. The second priest’s face shadowed with concern. “You can’t have a moment’s lapse when you minister before the mercy seat. I don’t want to haul out a dead high priest because he was daydreaming about his lovely wife.” He pulled on the rope fastened to Jehoiada’s ankle—the method by which they would extract his body if he displeased Yahweh in the Holy of Holies.

  Jehoiada met Nathanael’s teasing with a scowl, but his young friend wasn’t easily cowed. Should he confide in Nathanael about the quarry entrance? Surely if the Temple was attacked, so
meone besides the high priest must enter the Most Holy Place to rescue the Ark . . .

  Before he could ponder further, Nathanael began quizzing him—again. “All right, your bath is complete, and you’re wearing the white garments only. Are you sure we’ve done this correctly?”

  “I prepared Amariah for the Day of Atonement for forty years. I know how to do your job. It’s my ability with the high priest’s tasks that I question.”

  “Let’s go over them again.” Nathanael reached for the scroll they’d perused four times this morning. “You’ve chosen the bull and ram for yours and Sheba’s atoning sacrifice. Zabad will open the Temple gates at sunrise, and you’ll choose two goats and a ram for the Israelite community’s atonement. You’ll then slaughter the bull as a sin offering for you and your household, and we’ll have Eliab stir the bull’s blood in the trough to keep it from coagulating while you cast lots at the Temple entrance to determine which goat will be slaughtered and which will become the scapegoat. Are you listening? The timing is crucial.”

  Jehoiada grinned at his meticulous second priest and glanced at the eastern sky through the chamber window. Barely a glow. They had time to form a plan. “Nathanael, your schedule must allow me to search for a tunnel entrance in the Most Holy Place.”

  The shock on his face was worth divulging the secret. “A tunnel? What do you mean, ‘a tunnel’? A tunnel leading where? And how do you know—”

  Jehoiada lifted his hand, stopping the questions. “For now, let me say that Obadiah is the only other soul who knows the full details. I’ve told you in case I displease the Lord today and meet His wrath.”

  Nathanael’s eyes glistened. “I can’t bear to think of it, but go ahead. Tell me what I need to know.”

  “The tunnel was built as an escape for the Ark if the Temple should fall under attack. When King Solomon built the Temple, Yahweh warned that Israel would one day turn to foreign gods and that He would destroy His Temple. Solomon believed Yahweh and built the tunnel under the Holy of Holies in order to rescue the sacred articles and protect King David’s lineage—and then Solomon destroyed all record of the quarry. I believe if the Temple comes under attack, the Lord will allow consecrated priests to use the tunnel in the Most Holy Place to protect His presence.”